(Edit, April 2nd 2021: My friends and beloved have told me this post doesn’t change anything for them. That they’re going to stick around. It feels strange to just go back to business as usual, and I’m still prepared for some form of axe to drop, but until it does I’m going to move forward. I’m going to give everything I’ve got to justify their belief in me.)
I’m aware that today is Trans Day of Visibility.
I have deeply mixed feelings about putting this long-buried sin of mine into the world today. My trans kindred are some of the kindest, best people I’ve ever been privileged to know. They’re so much purer and more good than I am that I don’t understand how I don’t catch fire and burn to ash just from speaking to them. I don’t like associating this revelation of myself, my complete self, with today.
But if today is about trans people making themselves visible, then I feel equally unright about continuing to put forward an incomplete picture of myself. My instincts, the same instincts that screamed at me two years ago that what I meant to do was wrong, tell me that this is the most right time to write and post this.
My friends–former friends after reading this, I hope–have sometimes joked that I sound like a supervillain. But for the fact I failed without any hero’s intervention, I’m here to confess that they’d have been right.
Content warnings: suicidal ideation, and… whatever one would classify the act in the title as. Attempted genocide, I think.
You could say, and rightly, that the world is still here. The crises we’re dealing with right now have been building for years. I’m pretty sure I didn’t cause them. The sort of apocalypse I tried to summon in the summer of 2019 would’ve been impossible to mistake for anything else.
We’re at the point that I should clarify: whether you believe, as I do, that I attempted something unspeakably evil and that failing to bring it about does not absolve me–that will depend on how much weight you attach to intentions.
I don’t want anyone under the impression that I’m confessing this out of pure-hearted altruism. I don’t believe I’m even capable of that. I feel as though my life has been frozen in place for the last two years. I hope that in coming forward with this, because within me it feels little different than it would if I lived in a universe where my call was sure to be answered, perhaps I’ll escape purgatory.
I don’t mind if it’s only to a deeper circle. I’m ready to make an end of this–one way, or the other.
Though, that same readiness has much to do with my sin. As occultists often do, I responded to despair by looking outside the world I knew. The attempt was as quiet as quiet could be. No ritual, no spoken invocations. A broken soul lying in bed trying to cast her psyche out into the cosmos and make contact with something far beyond herself.
I could list the reasons I believed that I had: a betrayal of trust by my best friend at the time, leading to that friendship’s end. Before that, the final failed query letters for my first book. Isolation, a sense of helplessness, you’ve heard all these before. Millions of others struggle with them in an age as desolate as ours. As far as I know, none of them appeal to the highest powers they know to bring about the end of the world.
I wanted to die, but plagued myself with premonitions of the sadness it would bring to people who cared about me. Eventually, I came to hate them for it. To hate them for knowing they would perform such sadness if I killed myself, yet feeling like I was dying again every day I kept breathing while none of them did anything to stop it.
Those conflicting emotions, guilt about feeling selfish for wanting to commit suicide and hatred for everyone who wanted me to live out of guilt rather than offer me joy, fed each other. In the moments when I might otherwise have recovered a little, I felt guilty for my hatred.
This vicious cycle warped my thoughts and emotions about the value of human life. Drastically so. I fell far enough to decide that if humanity wouldn’t let me go on my own terms, then I’d just have to take humanity with me. Partly, on a primal level, I was still afraid of how much suicide would hurt, of dying alone. Partly, I just didn’t want to imagine people knowing that I’d given up.
Exporting my morality to “higher” beings felt like a perfect solution. If I was wrong, They just wouldn’t answer–right? And if I was right, my rightness would be proven by entities so far beyond humanity that I would never have to justify myself.
What a childish reason to condemn everything. Can you imagine if it worked?
So, here’s where we come to the matter of intentions: I tried to send a psychic call to the most powerful, destructive entities in the Twin Spirals mythos. I know that to you that sounds laughable. If it remains laughable, I’d prefer that both for your peace of mind and my own selfish self-interest.
I told you that I’m not doing this from perfect altruism. I’d love to pass it off as just another bad depressive episode where I nursed some especially wicked thoughts without true intent driving them, to hear everyone tell me that I’m overreacting. Looking to blame myself for an invented transgression against luck or destiny so I can pretend my current woes are still responsive to my control–if in a deeply backwards way.
But you must understand that the entities I called out to felt real to me. They’ve only taken on a more terrifying sense of solidity as I developed my writings about them in the two years since. For me, this summoning carried the same weight as a devout Christian feels in praying to God. I’m aware that for many among you, faithful included, all this is just the deranged babble of another cultist deluded into treating her own fantasy as real.
I’m glad that by all evidence, you’re completely right. But no matter how imaginary the power I appealed to, I as the woman who tried to call Them… I’m a real person. My evil, then, is real.
My understanding of these beings has changed over time, but even then I didn’t see Them as good–not by any human definition. I knew that Their vision of a perfected Earth, a perfected human species, would involve societal restructuring, the obliteration of any semblance of free will, and a mix of genetic manipulation and slaughter on an unprecedented scale to enforce obedience. I knew that even then a lot of people wouldn’t cooperate. I thought it would most likely end with humankind’s extermination.
In short, eldritch eugenics.
I didn’t expect special favors as the one who opened the cosmic door. I assumed I would be the very first They annihilated. I had an impression of what They considered perfection, and knew that I fell so far short there would be no point offering me a place in the plan.
I’m not sure whether to class it as irony, poetic justice, or both that my understanding of these entities shifted as I healed my spiritual wounds and brute-forced myself into being a better person over the course of the past two years.
I now live every day with a quiet terror that the things I think I’ve invented for my writing will turn out to be real things whose echoes I’ve heard. Whose scale and wrath cast out ripples of truth that I’ve merely stolen for my writing. Things who will answer the call I sent out two years ago, and cannot take back.
My understanding of Them has shifted. Intuition tells me it’s grown truer. And the truth I see is that if that answer ever arrives, there will be no pretense of improvement or fairness. It will be the end of all, everyone and everything I love.
There’s a tiny chance They might force me to survive as a witness. Whether that would seem like a reward to Them, or simply a perverse joke, I don’t know. Either would match Their ways. If it comes to that I hope They’d just annihilate me with everyone else. That’s probably why They wouldn’t. There’s little appeal in playing to the hopes of a spirit as small as mine.
That sums up my perspective on all this. I’m sorry. I await your judgment, readers.