__
What a loaded word. What a loaded-ass term. I never felt so pigeonholed than when I was called a __. I felt ignored. I felt thrown aside. I felt misunderstood. I felt the weight of the world when I was called a __. I felt the weight of expectation. It’s being stereotyped. It’s being crudely identified. It’s being put in a box, shipped mercilessly without thought, without even checking the contents, and received - only to have been looked at, put aside, and never given a second glance of humanity.
That’s how I felt when I was called a __.
After all, what could be worse, in that person’s eyes, than being around a __? Nothing. They felt strongly enough about it, even, to remind me. They really looked at me and thought so little of me as to call me a __. Of all things. Why am I not another human? Why am I a __? There are millions of things I am, including - but not limited to - several different identities, but I do not want to be considered a __. Not by you, not by anyone.
That’s how I felt when I was called a __.
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