ONCE I left my job, things were okay between me and Josh, at least for a while, and I fell madly in love with him. I opened up to him about everything, including my experience working in the sex industry. He seemed okay with it all, and I was thankful to have someone accept me for me. He told me that he didn’t see me as transgender but as a cis-woman. This was all I had ever wanted—to be seen as the woman I always felt I was. Now I think about those comments differently, but at the time, I felt flattered and seen.
It was always up and down with him—one moment, things would be okay; the next, he’d be jealous about some little thing or accusing me of cheating on him. He started to use what I had told him about my life in confidence against me. He threatened to tell my parents about the sex work. He called me a whore. He told me that no one else would love me for who I was or with what I had done.
“You’re lucky that you’ve found somebody as accepting as me,” he’d say. “Nobody would ever want you.”
Of course he wasn’t really accepting. If he had been, he wouldn’t have used my past as fuel for his abuse. He wouldn’t have belittled me or made me feel less-than. He wouldn’t have been ashamed about the fact that he was dating someone who identified as transgender.
His words got to me. And based on my experience with men, I knew how most thought about trans women. Once, I was chatting with a guy on Tinder. It was friendly and sweet, but all of a sudden the conversation took a turn. I told him that he seemed to be looking for a hookup, and I wasn’t interested in that. And then he went off.
What the fuck do you expect? You’re trans. You think these niggas out here gonna take you serious? You think we’re gonna settle with you, a trans girl? No. All y’all are is a piece of ass. A toy.
At first, I was shocked that someone would talk to me like that. And then, anger and hurt sank in. I realized that what he said probably was true. That he wasn’t the only one who thought like that. And it’s perceptions like these that prevent many trans men and women from disclosing their identities to new partners. I understand why my trans brothers and sisters might not want to: fear of rejection combined with fear of widespread transphobia and the hate crimes that come along with it. I am up front about my identity, but even still, I’ve interacted with many men who, after learning that I’m trans, try to blame me for their own attraction to me. And this can quickly become violent.
Josh knew about my identity from the beginning, and he seemed to be okay with it—he just didn’t want other people to know. He told me that it was between us, that it wasn’t anyone else’s business. Of course intimate details between couples should remain private, but this was more than that. I started to feel trapped, like I was forgetting who I was at my core. No one other than my family knew about the truth of my identity, and I didn’t stand up for myself out of fear that I would lose him.
In a way, I felt unable to fight. I started to believe the things he told me: that I would never find anyone else, that I wasn’t worthy of love. But at the same time, I really did love him. I thought I was going to marry him. And suddenly, just several months into our relationship, things took a turn for the worse.
Chapter 24
MARIZOL
On the Fourth of July, my sister invited me to her in-laws’ family’s house in Long Island for their yearly barbecue. I was excited to go, to spend the day with my sister and my niece and her extended family. I felt comfortable around them. They were always happy and jolly and loving, and I was excited to be away from Josh for a time. The emotional abuse was in full force by this point, and I needed a break, to be around my family, and to enjoy myself.
The house was really nice, in an all-American neighborhood with an in-ground pool. We were all having a good time, sitting outside, eating hot dogs and burgers from the grill. There was sunshine, lots of flowers and trees all over the place. I thought about what had been going on between me and Josh, and I started to come to my senses—anytime I was with my family, away from him, I started to come to my senses. He knew this and tried to further isolate me from them because of it. That day, seeing people around me be happy and functional, celebrating the holiday, I began to realize that things were horrible between us. He wasn’t the guy I thought he was.
At the same time, though, I missed him. I wished he was there with me to enjoy this beautiful day.
Out of nowhere, my phone started blowing up. Texts from Josh.
SLUT
FUCK YOU
UR NOTHING BUT A WHORE
And almost immediately, all that clarity I had, all the peace I had been feeling, just went out the door. I didn’t understand why he was mad at me, so I tried to contact him. I tried to figure out whatever it was he thought I had done so that I could apologize and make things right.
I texted him:
what’s going on?
why are you so mad?
He responded by sending me a link to a pornography website. He had found videos of me.
It was as if he’d punched me. I started to panic, but I tried to keep it to myself. No one in my family knew the truth about our relationship or about my experience with sex work.
Seli noticed that I was distracted. She saw me in the corner, on my phone, desperately calling him over and over.
“I gotta go home,” I said.
She looked at me, confused. “Well, we’re not leaving now.”
“I gotta go now.”
“Marizol, we can’t leave yet.”
For the rest of the party, I was on edge. I couldn’t relax. I couldn’t enjoy myself. I was so worried that things would be over between us if I didn’t get back quick enough.
By the time we were getting ready to leave, it seemed like he had calmed down.
I’m hungry.
Come over.
I want to see you.
I was relieved but still nervous. I made a plate of leftovers for him and said my goodbyes. I felt like I couldn’t get back to him fast enough.
MY SISTER dropped me off by the park near his mom’s house. It was already dark, but people were still out and walking by, and I waited for him on the corner, across the street from the park.
When he met me, he gestured to a dark area of the park. “Let’s go down there,” he said.
“Why?”
“There’s too many people here.”
We walked down the stairs and started talking face-to-face about what had happened. And that’s when he started going off on me. Yelling, calling me names. He slapped me across the face, over and over again. He started choking me.
I was crying my ass off, and here he was still beating on me.
“Why are you doing this to me?” It killed me that I was crying hysterically, looking scared and in pain, and he seemed to have no remorse at all. He just kept beating on me. He wanted to know how I could have kept this from him. How could I have lied to him about something like this?
But I didn’t lie. I hadn’t told him—but I was going to. I just didn’t feel ready. I’d only done porn twice, and it was not something I was proud of. It was something I did for survival. I was embarrassed and ashamed, and I didn’t want someone to go looking for it, to put it out there for the world to see. I didn’t explain this to him in that moment. I couldn’t. Instead, I started to think to myself that I was the one in the wrong. That this kind of anger and abuse from him was justified.
At the same time, I felt totally stripped down. Like I had lost myself. I couldn’t believe that I had let our relationship come to this. I couldn’t believe that I was becoming that girl—the one who is abused and too weak to get out. These thoughts made me even more upset and made me feel even more like I was trapped. Like I had nowhere to turn.
Luckily, someone walked by, and I was able to get away. I walked home after the fight, all the way from Manhattan to the Bronx.
The next day, he called me.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what happened. I didn’t mean it. I swear to God.” He was begging me for forgivenes
s.
I didn’t talk to him for maybe four days. He kept calling, kept trying to hit me up. He seemed to return to that charming guy I had fallen in love with, and I fell for it. Things seemed to be okay for a while, but the abuse returned. Over and over again. And with each incident, I felt more and more trapped. More and more like I had lost the me I had fought so hard, and for so many years, for.
I want my trans sisters to be aware of the signs of abuse. Josh isolated me from my friends and family. He made it so that I was wholly dependent on him—financially, socially, emotionally—and forced me to abandon my identity and, essentially, live a closeted life. And that was before he started physically harming me.
We, trans women, need to learn to love and stand up for ourselves. Never should someone tell you to keep your identity secret. Never should someone make you forget who you are. We need to pay attention to the signs, to be brave enough to get out of a relationship when it turns abusive. And though it might at times seem like we won’t find anyone who will accept us for who we are, we cannot settle for anything less than what we deserve, which is to love and be loved, just like anyone else.
Chapter 25
SELENIS
After that first Christmas home, we didn’t see much of Marizol. But it wasn’t because she was struggling or because she was hurting. We didn’t see Marizol because she was doing well. She was working, living her life. And she was in love. We were all happy for her, relieved that her life had taken on some stability.
I had never met any of Marizol’s boyfriends before Josh. Early on in their relationship, she had expressed to me how happy she was. She told me how she had met his family, and how he was very accepting of who she was. This excited me, but I was very cautious. I suppose that I’m not the most trusting of human beings—it takes me time to warm up to others, to let them into the circle. But I tried to reserve judgment. I wanted to be happy for her. I wanted to believe that she was in control of her life.
All right, we’ll see, I thought to myself.
But then I met him. And right away, I knew there was something I didn’t like.
Before Marizol brought him over, she said to me, “Promise me you’ll be nice.”
“What? Of course I’ll be nice!”
But, when he finally came to my home, my version of nice—the only way I could keep my promise to Marizol—was to not say anything.
From the moment he sat in my living room, I did not like him at all. Physically, I thought that my sister could do much better. She had told me that he was really into martial arts and other athletic activities, and I had imagined this fit, handsome man. In reality, he seemed a bit fluffy to me, different from what I expected. But she was into him, and who was I to judge that?
But more than his physical appearance, I just didn’t feel like I could trust him. I’ve always been an observant person, and I think my experience as an actress has influenced how closely I read others. My mother seemed to like him—he could speak Spanish and was flattering her, saying all of the right things—but I got the vibe of someone who was phony, someone who was trying too hard to impress. I felt like he was trying to sell me something, like he was a used car salesman covering up a shoddy transmission and worn-out brakes. I didn’t see any honesty in his eyes. Instead, I saw that he was working this big personality of his—just like Jose Sr.
I remember Marizol sitting on the couch beside him, looking at me. Her eyes were almost pleading for my approval. She had a nervous smile, and she kept looking over to me with anticipation.
But it was awkward. He and Mami were the only ones talking.
Marizol mouthed to me, “Be nice to him!”
And I mouthed back, “I’m not saying anything!”
Oh, Seli, I thought to myself, stop being such a hard-ass. Your sister’s happy! Look at her! She’s fawning all over him. And he’s telling you that he loves her.
When we were finally alone, she asked me: “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said, not wanting to upset her.
“What do you think?”
“Oh, I don’t know—I just met him!”
Such a lie! Like I’ve never not had an opinion. So I added: “I did think he’d be cuter.”
She laughed it off. “Oh my God, shut up!”
I didn’t say anything to her that day because I wanted to be open-minded and supportive. She looked happy and healthy, and so what if I didn’t understand what she saw in him? I watched Marizol as she sat on my couch, and I was reminded of how awkward and nervous I felt when I brought my first boyfriend home. I remembered the pride I had; it was like telling everyone in the neighborhood, “Hello, my boyfriend is here!” That day had been so important for me, and so I imagined that it must have been even more important for her, as a trans woman. I didn’t want to ruin it. How evil would that be of me?
Still, I couldn’t get rid of this feeling in my gut that something was terribly wrong. Now, knowing what I know, I wish I had spoken up. But had I been more vocal, she would have shut me out more, and he would have taken more control over her life.
The feeling of concern didn’t go away. The more time went on, the more suspicious I became.
One incident sticks out in my mind. Just a short time after our first meeting, Marizol called me because she didn’t have money for food. I told her to come over and that I would buy her some groceries. I knew that he had been spending a lot of time over at her place, and my instinct was not to give her money, though I didn’t quite know why.
I went shopping, and later they came by. He drove her to my house, they filled his car up with the groceries and left.
I still don’t like this guy, I thought. Like, are you serious? You can’t even buy groceries for my sister?
After that, I didn’t see him again. And I barely heard from my sister. I assumed she was doing her own thing, that she was in love and in new relationship bliss. It wasn’t until the Fourth of July at my in-laws’ place did I realize that something more must have been going on. She was on her phone, and I watched her go from having fun and enjoying herself to nervous and preoccupied in a matter of seconds. Later that night, I dropped her off at his place and from then on I didn’t hear from her much. We talked here and there, but for the rest of the summer she was certainly more absent than she was present.
THE WOMEN’S EVENT is an annual gala fundraiser hosted by The Center, an LGBT community center in New York City. In 2013, Laverne Cox was to be one of the event’s three honorees, and I was asked to introduce her.
I hadn’t thought about it until that moment, but I realized that, though my sister was living her life, she wasn’t living her life openly as a trans woman. Instead, it seemed to me that she was trying to live her life as a cis-woman and that part of her was in hiding. I wanted her to be celebrated. I had the idea that, during my speech, I would say publicly and proudly that I had a sister who was trans. I asked Marizol if she’d like to come with me, if she’d be okay with me announcing this to the world.
She seemed so surprised that I wanted to take her. “Me? Really?” I remember the look on her face—it was the same look she gave me that day in the attic, when I asked her if she wanted to be a woman.
“Yes, of course you!”
“Oh my God, yes!”
And almost immediately, her eyes darkened, her smile dropped into a frown.
“Well,” she said, “I don’t know. I think it will make him mad.”
She told me that Josh didn’t like her talking about being trans. That he didn’t think it was anybody’s business or that people should know. I found this unsettling. Disturbing. I thought that he had accepted her for who she was. But instead, she was hidden. I started to see cracks.
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“I mean, he wouldn’t want his mom to find out. Or his friends.”
For me, that was the first real indication that something was horribly wrong between them. But I gave her space, let her think about it. She we
nt back and forth a little, but eventually came back to me and said, “You know what? No matter what he says, I’m going to do this.”
The night of the Women’s Event was magical. I praised Laverne for her fierceness, for her bravery. And I thanked her—I thanked her for showing people all over the world that trans folk were more than just oversexualized stereotypes. I thanked her, again, for giving my sister Marizol a voice.
Laverne, through her amazing, beautiful, honest portrayal of Sophia, has broken many, many barriers. Laverne has created a revolution. People are talking, people are listening. You are educating and it is about damn time we listened. I was drawn to Laverne from day one, for many reasons, not only because she is a goddess, and when she walks into a room she demands attention. She is not only beautiful, she is not only eloquent, she is kind and she is honest, and I love that about her. And Laverne and I have had many many conversations, and she knows exactly why I adore her.
Because you are the face and voice to someone who I love very much. Because I am the proud sister of a transgender woman. And she is here with me tonight and she is sitting at the same table as Miss Laverne Cox. Marizol, my beautiful sister. I have seen firsthand, I have been made witness to how difficult it is to live your truth at times. But Laverne—being recognized tonight and being acknowledged tonight by Hollywood, by the media—Laverne is a revolution. I am so grateful to not only Jenji Kohan and Netflix and Lionsgate for giving this opportunity to this amazing brilliant actress transgender woman to have a voice, and to do it with dignity.… What you are doing, my dear friend, is amazing. There are homes all across America, all over the world, that have never uttered the word transgender yet are now having conversations about it.
My Sister Page 19
