I feel like my heart will never heal from Neil Gaiman.
I’d never seen a straight up, taking hormones and getting surgeries, trans woman before I read Sandman when I was 19, 23 years ago. It’s a far from perfect portrayal, but Wanda was a human being. She had her faults and she had her better qualities. She had a past and a present and a future that was cut out. Even at that time, I knew how monstrous it was to bury her under her deadname.
After I read Sandman, I read nearly anything that Gaiman wrote. I feel like I learned a lot about myself and shaped myself around his work, due to how they felt like they were written FOR me and people like me. American Gods used to be my favorite novel about America. The Graveyard Book got me to appreciate The Jungle Book more and Coraline had such a distinct voice and just…I could go on.
I got rid of everything that I own that was written by him (except for the first volume of Absolute Sandman, since that was a gift) and even two years later, it still hurts. It still hurts to discover what a monster he is. It still hurts to see someone I used to respect, deny all accountability and reveal himself to have never been worth a damn.
I genuinely don’t know what to do with this grief. Every time I even hear his name is like a wound has been torn open. Why can’t people ever just be decent to each other?