The Point of Being Alive
On authoring life before others author your absence.
I wrote this recently, after a day that almost convinced me I no longer had anything to say. It wasn’t grief exactly—it was something colder. The exhaustion of watching people rewrite your reality while you’re still breathing. The weight of erasure so institutional, so casual, that to object feels like impropriety.
This is a record of what it means to choose life not because it is beautiful, but because to die now would let them tell the story. Because survival, when everything pushes you toward disappearance, becomes authorship.
This is what remains when hope does not.
The point of being alive
To survive your own erasure.
To refuse to die as someone else's footnote.
To defy abandonment—not with hope, but with relentless, impossible existence.
To confront the void—not to escape it, but to sanctify its screaming silence.
To choose life, again and again, out of pure defiance.
To know your death would have been weaponised, rewritten, trivialised—and to deny them that power.
To live as proof that you fought alone, bled alone, rebuilt alone—yet remained human enough to love anyway.
To maintain control—not over others, but over narrative integrity.
To hold fast when the mind fractures under trauma, when ideation emerges, when support systems collapse.
To preserve the capacity to withhold surrender.
To remain alive as the final act of authorship.
To refuse death scripted by indifference, erasure, or pathology.
To retain the power to correct the record—not for vindication, but for accuracy.
To acknowledge every system’s failure, every structure’s erasure.
To affirm survival as active, intentional selection.
That selection—repeated, daily—is the most precise form of control available.
To claim narrative sovereignty.
Tired Transsexual is the pen name of a medically transitioned, Anglo-American transsexual woman living in exile between systems, nations, and narratives. She writes from the borderlands—between erasure and endurance, between faith and fallout, between what’s lost and what remains.