Being seen almost killed me.
Not metaphorically—literally.
In this unscheduled truth-drop, I name what the glossy campaigns and rainbow logos never did:
That being visible as a queer leader, as a survivor, as a fucking truth-teller—comes with a cost.
Death threats.
Exploitation.
Women wanting me for sex appeal, but never seeing the soul.
Pride committees using me for clout and tossing me aside.
Fame without protection. Exposure without support.
This isn’t bitterness—it’s accountability.
It’s a call-out and a call-in.
And it’s for anyone who’s ever been praised publicly, then abandoned privately.
For the ones who carried a movement, only to be discarded when they stopped performing.
I don’t want visibility that devours me.
I want truth that frees us.
And today, I name every scar that visibility left behind.
So you know you’re not alone in yours.
