The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy,

it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference.

Severely bloated subject line care of Elie Wiesel. Because I have Something To Say.

On this belated 10-year anniversary of the Transgender Day of Remembrance, I've found myself at a loss for words. I came out as FTM in a world where the only visible FTM for reference was Brandon Teena as portrayed in the film Boys Don't Cry. I don't often celebrate TDoR events, because I don't want the trans community to be defined by our dead.

To the best of my knowledge, I've never known anyone who was murdered by another individual because of their gender expression. I've only known people who have been killed by our society as a collective, and those who have been harmed by individuals.

I know transmen who have been sexually assaulted while their manhood was insulted. Finding a space that will accept survivors who are men, let alone trans, is a gauntlet of systems and references. Those transmen survivors I know have vastly not received the same kind of support that their cisgender female counterparts have readily available.

Over the years, three acquaintances of mine have died thanks to being, at best, ignored by our culture. One was under 18 in an unsupported family and started taking birth control pills without being monitored by a doctor. She had an undiagnosed heart condition which was complicated by the birth control pills, and she died. Being under 18, black, with an unsupportive family, and feeling like her body didn't express her gender, she felt her only option was to take illegal, risky birth control pills. She did what she had to do to feel whole, and we - as a nation - failed her. She was buried in male clothing - a final insult of a person who I always remembered for having cute outfits and enjoying all the beautiful female-centered things in our culture.

Just this past spring, another young person died because his country failed him. He enjoyed dressing in fuzzy, light-coloured women's tops when I saw him - I'm not sure if he would have identified himself as trans or not, but I do know that the average straight cisgender person would have identified him as such. He was socially awkward, was barely maintaining a small, lonely apartment, and was having trouble keeping up with myriad medications. He was found in an alleyway surrounded by enough meds to kill him - or for someone else to.

A number of years ago, another youth - slightly older, but still far too young - was shot at a bus stop the week after premiering his drag alter ego.

They were not murdered for being trans. It was much more insidious: it didn't matter if they died because they enjoyed varying degrees of gender expression. Yes, there are countries that are worse, who outright execute gender variant people. But the U.S. is not supportive of trans people - it is tolerant. To tolerate is "to put up with," "to endure," "to be able to withstand." Tolerance is what is killing gender variant people in this country, especially in the same country where we accept people who are scared or sickened by gender variant people.

The first FTM I ever met in real life told me that I should never tell anyone about being FTM - that whoever I had told thus far was already too many people. He lives in a perpetual state of fear. After working through lots of my own issues with my gender, I've come to my own resolution: I will not be afraid. I will be visible. I will be authentic. If he was right and this will be my undoing, at least the person being undone will have been happy and real, and will have been a good example of a responsible, educated trans person living a truly big life.

Non-trans - usually non-queer - people who ask me about my experiences as an FTM usually think that being trans is the absolute, tip-top of the bizarre things about my life. And they would be wrong. Being a big geek, being extremely accident-prone, being just plain weird... these are the things that give my life the freak show quality that it has. The trans part? Is somewhat interesting to people who are unfamiliar with trans people, but (in general) it's probably the most straight-forward, boring part about me.

So, for this first Trans Day of Remembrance that I'm celebrating in any sort of way, I want to remember all the people who didn't make headlines. Who weren't murdered by another person. The people who were forgotten. The people who we have no statistics on. The people who were going about life the best they could, when the rug was pulled out from under them.