The fear of disagreeing with a trans-person or a trans-ally.
Agree or get canceled. Agree or kiss your career, life, and children goodbye. Agree or be destroyed on social media. Is your neighbor’s kids’ genitals so precious to you that you’re going to torch your life by disagreeing with some crazy purple-haired freak on TikTok? No.
Let them go and get their go-nuts cut off; that’d be a service to humanity, after all.
I understand. It’s hardly worth it, but here I am with no career, reputation, money, house, car, family, friends, children, or life to speak of. I can disagree and get away with it. There’s nothing you can take from me without killing me.
Am I confident that you won’t? No. I’m as transphobic as much as the next sane person, but I have the least to lose, so I’ll speak out.
I’m not angry with you. I fear for you.
The way you are is not your fault. The fact you cannot decide whether you’re a boy or a girl is not your fault. If I am angry with someone it’s my own generation and that of the millennials for having raised you so off course. I know you think you know everything. I know you think you have the answers, but those answers were given to you, and like so many other people before you, you mistake reading or watching videos for thinking. You’re not smart. You’re a spoon-fed idiot.
If you don’t stop feeding off the crap they feed you, you’re going to wind up without the best thing that a human being has: their genitalia. I don’t mean to be crude or coarse, I’m just honest. You have no idea what you are gambling with. You have no idea.
If you are on puberty blockers, how could you know? Before my puberty kicked in, I thought I wanted to be a nun. A NUN! Now, phew… I curse any man who hasn’t fucked me yet! Well. Exaggerating a little bit. I don’t curse them, nor is it every man, but you get the idea. I’m meant to be fucked, and I’m meant to be fucked by men, and uh, had I ever done anything to my genitalia that would enable that… I’d fucking kill myself, kids. I’d fucking kill myself.
If I knew what I know now, that is.
What you look like doesn’t matter. Whether your genitalia fits a gender stereotype or not doesn’t matter. What matters is that whatever hormones your body produces it is free to produce. What matters is that you don’t cut your genitals just so you could fit a GENDER STEREOTYPE.
Gender is fluid, that much is true.
Gender is absolutely fluid, kids. That much is true. Gender cannot be defined by some characteristic either physical or non-physical. So how does it make sense that you have to alter a body to fit a gender stereotype that cannot be reliably defined in any way except by the genitalia itself? By anything except a chromosome pair? What your gender is defined by is nothing except chromosomes and genitalia. Everything else is anyone’s guess.
Children define women as dress-wearing long-haired people, and men as pants-wearing short-haired people. Toddlers, in fact. The rest of us should know better. We know gender is a lot more complicated than that, and also so very, very simple. Just chromosomes and genitalia. The only thing that is certain about gender is that boys have penises and girls have vaginas, end of discussion. WHAT KIND of a person that person with a penis or vagina is, is their business. They can do whatever they like with their bodies, personalities, careers, lives… But whatever they were born with is what they’ll always be… And if you think you’d be better accepted in the opposite gender… Hardly.
I have nothing against trans people as long as they don’t mess with what they’ve got.
Trans people are fabulous. I am especially fond with fabulous transwomen. Love them. However, my love and adoration dies quickly with the scalpel. That’s where it ends. After that, you’re ruined for me… I don’t know how many people agree with me, but I just cannot understand such conformist attitude that you’ll have to cut off genitals to fit a standard. It’s so dumb it just blinds me with angry frustration.
I didn’t use to be a transphobic. I’ve grown to fear you lot because you’re… Fucking insane. You understand what “transphobia” means, right? It’s not “discriminating against” it means “illogical fear of trans people.” However, we’re beyond the point of “illogical” here, I feel. We’re talking about something way worse than that. We can’t all be fucking illogically afraid of trans people and their wrath.
Half of them are on the kind of doses of fucking testosterone their brain and bodies are not equipped to handle after all, they don’t even give grown men testosterone replacement therapy, because that shit is powerful, but they give it to teen aged girls in crazy dozes and think “there you go little princess, that should make you happier!”
I don’t like the medical interventions AT ALL. I don’t care two shits if a guy wears a dress and a woman paints a fucking fake beard on her face, couldn’t give less of a shit. But when those people start taking hormones that they don’t need and lobbing of genitals, that’s when I start screaming bloody murder.
And… Not really at them, but to the fucking doctors who all should be behind god damned bars.
They’ll have a Hell to pay when this craze is over. They’ll have a Hell to pay.
The problem isn’t kids who know who they are, it’s the kids who don’t.
There are kids who know who they are and those who do not. Then again, there is very few kids who know with absolute certainty who they are from a young age. It’s a very confusing time at the best of times.
When I was a kid, I read every Tarzan book I could get my hands on, read Nancy Drew religiously, watched cowboy movies and rom coms in a similar ratio, I wanted to be a soldier, a fire fighter, a police officer, a veterinarian, I swore I would never need to know how to type (it was the 90’s), I’d never need to know how to sew, and I’d never touch a computer for as long as I live. I figured I needed to learn welding, tho, and did.
Now, I write on a laptop all the time, have a degree in interactive media design and dressmaking. I love computers, fashion, heavy metal, glitter, sculls, roses, grave yards, crystals, and what not? Girl things, boy things, in a glorious mix. All the things I swore I’d never do, and everything I wanted to do, I never did. No regrets.
But fuck, had I decided at some stage that my first career ambitions and the fact I wanted to go by a boy’s name and wear blue all the time meant I was a boy! The fact that the first toy I threw a tamper over was a yellow plastic truck instead of a doll, at the same time as I worried that my hair was so short that people would think I’m a boy and it terrified me.
Kids do not know who they are, they never have and they never will. And then, there are adults who don’t know who they are (or how the fuck to help their kids to figure out who they are.)
Who are you? What gender are you?
Let me help you there:
You are what you enjoy. The things that entertain you, that you take pleasure in define the person you are. It’s not any more complicated than that, even if the things you’d take pleasure with were complicated. (Like freaking people out. We all love that to an extent I think.)
Your gender is the closest thing to a CIS-gendered gender-conformist that you can comfortably live as. Not the wildest version of a gender non-conformist you can portray.
You are welcome in your own birth gender. You don’t have to conform to it – there’s nothing to conform to! Nobody can define a man or a woman as some unified blob of people. I swear I have more in common with the average man than the average woman, but I have never thought of myself as a man. I’m a tom boy for sure, but I don’t need a dick to prove it. What I am is interesting BECAUSE I’m a CIS-gendered heterosexual woman, rather than some non-binary “catch all” answer. Having said that, of course I’m “non-binary” but why can’t I be a woman? I have the genitalia to prove a woman can be and think the way I am and think. I don’t need anybody’s permission to be me. I don’t need to conform to a standard just to make it easier for others to box me up.
And you know what… I LOVE the look on lesbian bitches’ faces when I tell them I just cannot fatom having sex with another woman. Them bitches cannot understand how ANYONE could say no to sex with a woman. It’s fucking priceless.
This blog is protected with an RTA-label (Restricted To Adults) if you want your kid to read this (sorry for the profanities, they’re staying) let them read it off your phone or print it out or something. Or just take my pointers and run with them, as you like. (I was going to write this to parents and teachers but that’s the way it poured out.)
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