Sylvia... well. Sylvia Plath, whose writing I don't adore but I can relate to the suicidal ideation, as I see this as a way of killing myself without needing to die. Sylvia Kristel who, upon accidentally seeing her in Emmanuelle 4 when I was quite young, awakened a strange mix of intense attraction and deep, aching sadness that took quite a few years to fully understand. Sylvia Rivera, a big name in trans activism, who fought against her own establishment when they started to suck up to The Man.
Sylvia is not just who I am, but what I am. It is the metaphorical death of something my mind has been trying to reject since I first understood the life I felt condemned to. It is the liberation of myself, in the face of all that has been demanded of me, and a constant reminder not to compromise my truth. It is the mourning of a life I missed, the celebration of the life I have chosen, and the foundation upon which I will build the life ahead of me.
Whew... waxing rhapsodical!