Washington Blade contributor Isaac Amend has released his new book, “Hurt Capital.” It documented a variety of topics related to his transgender status and his personal struggle following the collapse of mental illness.
blade: Why did you write this book, and why now?
ISAAC correction: In college, I was an avid writer at Yale Daily News and tried to prepare for a good writing career by taking classes with Pulitzer Prize-winning Michael Cunningham and other well-known writers such as Anu Fadiman and Cynthia Zarin. But when I graduated from college, I spent six or seven years in the real world outside the gates of Ivy, gaining experience with it, whether it was in love with a woman, hitting a car in Cyprus, or being a manic for 13 months. But once all of that was done, I returned to my literary roots and desperately doodled books and articles in my room at night. Now I want to have a career in writing in some way. I can partially appreciate it for that, as you welcome most of my OP-ED.
I felt it was important to write about bipolar disorder in very honest and raw terms. I went through a mentally ill break from reality when I was 19 years old. Recovery from a mentally ill break is a complicated process and I really don’t know if my mind has fully recovered, but for a break from reality I can tackle the difficult problems of life without being scared. I think it’s also important for the public to know how much pain and pain trans people feel every day.
blade: Who is your book’s audience?
Modify: Interesting, this is the question that all authors need to answer with book suggestions to agents, and I did exactly that and queried dozens of agents. My book has three target audiences. First you are a foreigner or an expatriate. These are people who live abroad either in embassies in South Asia or in suburban compounds on the outskirts of Moscow. These are where I grew up, and when I grew up in Pakistan and India, I felt the “genderless” of my time as an expatriate without worrying about the world. I want to connect with other people who live abroad.
My second target audience in my book is twins. I have the same twins named Helen, my best friend. Whether or not she helps her move around the apartment or buy groceries, I’m always trying to be a good brother for her. We connected on a very deep level and I’m sure my gender transition partially shocked her and somehow felt she was upset. When the same twins want to be a man, it is a unique phenomenon, and the other wants to remain a woman. While God made my twin sisters non-bipolar and cisgender, I will never fully understand how God made me bipolar and trans.
My third target audience in my book is individuals with mental health issues. I also want to connect with other people who have experienced mental illness breaks, have man disease, talk at the speed of light, feel depressed or very anxious and feel like they have to pop a lot of pills and stay in bed. Among many other illnesses, I want to connect with people suffering from schizophrenia, bipolar, ADHD, and OCD. These disorders are inherently very complicated, but we need to be honest about their dimensions and how to treat them best.
blade: How long did it take to write and what was your process?
Modify: It didn’t take long to write the book to me. I had a policy of 500 to 7000 words per week after stirring about 500 to 7000 words per day. This is the policy that we implement in all books. I usually write 500 words per day at the bar at night. I lived in DC at the time and frequently visited Nanny O’Brien. Pull out your iPhone and write 500 words (usually more) in Google Docs. Nanny O’Brien’s had all sorts of characters. If the bartender doesn’t beat me enough, he’ll scream at me. I almost got into a boxing fight there with a Russian diplomat, but I still missed the memories curated by Barr. At the time, I told my landlord that I was associating Nanny O’Brien’s book with the book.
blade: What do you think about how the new Trump administration attacked trans rights? Do you see any hope in the near future?
Modify: It’s a tragedy, what’s going on? The new administration is incredibly cruel, but I still retain the similarity of hope for the future. We think our country is divided, but like Democrats, it is a country that elects Republicans who are almost equal to the presidency. Most big cities in the United States are dominated by progressive people who understand their values by diversifying their sexuality and gender identity and celebrating their diversity. I always tell people to “vote on their own feet.” If you have the privilege to move to a new location, move to a city full of liberal minded people. However, many trans young people do not have the privilege of moving. They are stuck in a school full of students bullying them because of their gender. Certainly, there is a massive mental health crisis among trans young people. The Trump administration has barred everyone under the age of 19 from receiving progender care, which is cruel. I have spoken openly about my belief that adolescents and other young people should have access to adolescent blockers, and I maintain that stance.
This seems to be off the field on the left, but I seriously thought about pooling money together to pay trans young people to get medical care in Canada. It’s a kind of Gauche idea, as trans young people probably need to stay in US schools and parents have to agree to them go north. I dream of how these kids feel better and think of getting care in Canada.
blade: What is your message for young trans kids who are scared during these difficult times?
Modify: Please raise your head. Older trans people like me are fighting to make you live a better life. If someone is trying to put you in school, remember that they are driving you away from the anxiety they have about yourself and the world. Secretly, they feel inferior. Qualities you bring to the table – don’t forget that your unique gender and sexual identity is what makes you beautiful.
blade: There are many strange memoirs out there. What’s unique about your story?
Modify: My story is cross-sectional. In other words, I am bipolar and twins, weaving in the stories of trans men who grew up abroad in Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, India, Russia and Jordan. It’s not a one-dimensional story. It’s rich and complicated, man disease, going to testosterone, being mentally ill, hoping not to lose all of my marble in front of twins and sister, and others in the family. I’m talking about the horrors here in DC with the Russian KGB henchman (like the Russian diplomat who nearly punched me). I talk a lot – just not strange.
Below is an excerpt from “Hurt Capital,” currently available on Amazon and other retailers.
Dear Mom,
The pills in my bathroom cabinet sit next to each other like 15 linebackers on a soccer field. Bolton. Edmunds. Green Low. Wagner. Warner. The chiefs are winning, and I have not yet found Travis Kelse. They are all famous – it’s a single pill bottle – a capsule I need to swallow with orange juice at night. I’m now getting a high pulp variety from Trader Joe, which costs around $4. Semi-pulp doesn’t lower the tablet quickly enough. Since the first episode ten years ago, I have had every kind of medicine I can imagine.
Bipola has never felt this bad. But I’ve never felt that way either good. The enthusiast, which lasted for a year in September last year, has creeped up, but the highs still remain in my mind. At least in part. Partially. Essentially. Basically, it was great. I celebrated every turn. I walked for hours just to feel my breath creeping into my lungs. He forgot that he sold cola. I forgot that he sold cola. I forgot a lot of that year, mom.
One day he became like Rick Ross. I want to appear in the song with Drake. Wrap about lemon pepper chicken and take the celebrity son to Montessori, France. I want to be a hustler, I want to be a gangster and a warlord of the coke every turn. devil For the kingdom. The kingdom I created is in my heart. It is ruled by Dostoevsky and Tolstoy, as well as Pushkin. I named my cat after Pushkin. A Russian writer has never felt this realistic. I want them to come back from death and revive themselves. There is no wax. I remember visiting Tolstoy’s tomb in Moscow with you. Children roamed the city at night, CIA officers wandered the embassy corridors. I was scared in Moscow. It was scary back then. My woman’s body is scary. But now it’s a man and I’m a son. I’m your son and mom. But I’m in trouble. It was certainly very troublesome.
I went to a soccer game again. We are named footyholics. We play near Logan Circle in the backyard of the school and swear that the soccer ball will kill me. It hit my head and zoomed past the skin of my earlobe, not a cry. My black studs shaked a bit. I clenched the ring you got me with my index finger. You got it from Delhi and now I remember things back there when you and I lived in India. But there’s a lot I still don’t remember, mom. Trust me about it. Trust me.
But one thing I remember is: In Delhi. You were all in the front seats, Helen and I were in the back. Then the motorcyclist became clamps in the right window, his flesh and blood spread nearby for us to see. He passed away that day and I think it’s the first time I’ve seen you cry. When Dad was in Kabul, I only saw you cry the second time and missed him like hell, and Phoebe had a tantrum on the stairs of the National Gallery. And there was nothing I could do about it.
I lost a soccer game. Footyholics are lost. But we grabbed some beer in a place near the traffic circle where foreigners, missionaries and bankers were also in the way for beer, just as I guarded the kingdom in my head. I swear that this city is sometimes controlled by sociopaths. They just wait for a mess to cause chaos, like ants around the hill, and crave around here.
We sat outside at the bar at a wooden table. We all ordered beer, tacos and more. Chicken and burritos. And I swear I shouldn’t drink, but I am like your husband. Alcohol in this world doesn’t taste better than moms. But beer is bad for me. That’s bad for a man who thinks the soccer ball is trying to kill him. At the restaurant, I found a street cleaner brushing the leaves. I suddenly stuck to the sweeper: his crew cut, his black boots, his leather skin. I thought he had mane for the leaves. Also, the waitress thought he hated Jesus until the cross kissed her neck. I thought a lot, mommy, and none of them were true.
Blade may receive a commission from eligible purchases made via this post.
Source: Washington Blade: LGBTQ News, Politics, LGBTQ Rights, Gay News – www.washingtonblade.com
