This is the creative non-fiction masterpiece of a generation; the one I would have written, had I had the courage or artistry of Armistead Maupin. I thank him for writing it, in spite of himself and the terrifying, painful monstrosity of emotions which must have been bombarding him from start to finish. It is a work of heartbreaking brilliance and almost a relief (and, let’s be honest, almost an affront) not to have to write it myself. It simultaneously brings closure, questions, and a new necessity for me to tell my own story.
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