#{Musings}

[johannestevans]

I Am Bad Representation

And I could not care less.

This post also on my website for easy sharing.

Yesterday, I went to my GP and got my testosterone injection administered. It’s an intramuscular injection generally administered to my backside, where the fattier, softer flesh makes the intramuscular penetration of the needle less painful, and also gives it space to settle in the flesh and slowly be assimilated into my endocrine system over time.

Every 12 weeks — 3 months — I get this injection administered. I have been on it for about five years. 

Prior to that, I was on Testogel, a topical form of testosterone where you slather a very strong-smelling slime over your shoulders every day and sit uncomfortably, waiting for it to dry, before you can put your shirt on, and trying not to sweat in the meantime. 

The nurse at my local GP has been administering this T-shot for about a year. 

Previously, I had been prescribed an oestrogen cream to help with the symptoms of vaginal atrophy — when you have a vulva and vagina and you, for whatever reason, have low oestrogen and progesterone, the mucous membranes that make up the inside of your vagina and your labia minora become thinner and produce less lubricant. It can make it harder to produce enough lubricant whilst having sex, make you more prone to tearing, and contribute to muscular pain and discomfort. 

As you might have surmised from how I described the Testogel, this cream was Bad for me. It was very texturally unpleasant and awkward to administer with a little syringe, and I despised it. 

So I made a mistake. I said, hey, can you guys give me a suppository version of the same cream?

The receptionist seemed surprised by how comfortable I was talking about my vagina in the waiting room, but hey. Such is life. 

I receive a phone call the following morning at a few minutes past nine. With delight, the receptionist informs me, “We’ve made a referral to the gender dysphoria clinic for you!”

And I say, “Well, you shouldn’t have done that. Why did you do that?”

And she goes, “Oh.”

“I don’t need to speak to a gender dysphoria specialist. This is for a vaginal suppository. It’s the same thing you’d give to a cisgender woman experiencing vaginal atrophy after experiencing menopause — it has nothing to do with being transgender.”

“Oh. Well. Erm. The doctor just doesn’t feel comfortable prescribing you hormones without you talking to a specialist.”

“What about the hormones you already give me?”

“… What?”

“I was literally there yesterday getting my T-shot administered. You’ve been giving me my testosterone for a year. Is the doctor suddenly going to take me off a medication I’ve been on for eight years? Is he comfortable putting me at severe health risk for no reason?”

“Oh, er, well, I’m sure, um, I don’t — I’m just a secretary, I don’t, um, I don’t know about… I’m sure he wouldn’t… But I can’t guarantee that — “

I was pissed. I made it very clear I was pissed and that I felt this was a waste of time and resources.

I know exactly what happened. Because many doctors don’t actually know anything about much of the medicine they administer unless it comes up on a Google search, they immediately react to base assumptions like “transgender” (or “woman” or “disabled” or “Black”) and attribute any issue you’re having to that. 

My doctor looked at the fact that I’m on testosterone, then saw that I’d asked for oestrogen. Aaaaah!!! That’s so confusing and weird! I must be confused about my gender identity! You can’t just mess with all this stuff and brew it all together!

The fact that I’ve been given a cream-form of the same medication in the past is irrelevant. The fact that what I’ve requested is a LOCALISED form of HRT, which will not impact my broader endocrine system, is irrelevant — he doesn’t know that. The fact that again, the same exact thing can be given to cisgender women, is irrelevant. 

He doesn’t know how any of these medications work. Hormones + transgender = ooh scary!!!!

When you have any sort of chronic health condition — which my transgenderism will be until someone makes an implant for my T — you end up having to learn how a lot of these medications work and how they work together. You have to actually pay attention.

And then you have to manage healthcare practitioners who are acting based on bias and assumptions rather than actual healthcare comprehension. 

And then, infuriatingly, after all this, I was put in the position of having to say, “Look, I’m sorry, I know you don’t know anything about this, and I’m very clearly aggravated, but it feels like I’m being targeted for poor medical care simply because I am transgender, and that my health is being put at risk at random.”

Which is what’s happening. 

But when your doctor tries to do malpractice on you because he’s anxious about the fact that you’re transgender, you’re not allowed to get angry and upset about it, because that makes you scary and intimidating and a Bad Patient. It might make you worthy of even more punishment, or being struck off. 

So that ruined my day. 

I now have to go to the endocrinologist, and hopefully, I’ll be able to say, “I’ve literally been on T for eight years. Do not fuck with me. I do not need a fucking assessment. I do not need to prove for a second time to some stranger that I’m transgender. Just give me the suppository to make my dick work better and fuck off.”

And the endo will just give me the suppository, and my doctor will go back to giving my testosterone every three months, and I won’t have to ruin anybody’s life or publicly embarrass my GP surgery into treating me like a human being. 

It’s so frustrating to have to constantly think about what damage control I’m going to have to do to just be given the basic medication I require to live my life and that I’ve already been on for the better part of a decade. 

The thing about the fact that it feels like this whole thing has put my general life at risk is that it feels like a punishment for caring about my vaginal health and wanting to be able to have comfortable, good sex — and that makes me a bad transgender person.

Cis people don’t want to think about trans men having sex or being sexual beings. That’s gross and scary and weird and uncomfortable. 

Doctors don’t want a patient advocating for their own sexual health or being empowered and knowledgeable about the ins and outs of their own healthcare, let alone contradicting them just because they very clearly not only don’t know how my healthcare works, but because they can’t be bothered to learn. 

Cis people don’t really want trans people to exist, because the concept of trans people disrupts the things they would like to believe about “biological sex” and how it contributes to the roles they choose for each other and pressure one another into.

If they’re okay with trans people existing, they only want trans people to exist in perfect theory. 

They “grieve” over the cisgender children they “lose” when they transition to their correct gender. They don’t want kids and teenagers to be given puberty blockers, but they also don’t want them to get the right hormones — and now even as an adult, I’m constantly put in the position of having to be worried about my T getting stopped at any moment in case a doctor has Feelings about having a transgender patient. 

Because it’s too scary and too hard to actually do any research about my medication. They want our healthcare to go to nebulous “specialists” who, frankly, know more about diabetes and menopause — which is what most endocrinologists study! — than they do about being trans.

Cisgender people are often very fixated on the idea and the narrative that transgender people live in fear and anxiety and self-loathing because we’re so cursed by our bodies and our lives.

But almost every negative experience I have is to do with a cisgender person choosing to make my life difficult rather than any internal issue I have with my actual life or body or gender. It’s cis people using slurs or making places inaccessible, refusing to learn or be educated on any subject, and trying to push any kind of transgender person out of their lives, their facilities, their society.

And so yeah, I’m bad representation.

I’m openly gay and fruity, and I wear sexy fun clothes, and I write erotica and I talk openly about sexual health and resources, and I’m open about being transgender. I’m not ashamed of my sexuality or my gender — or my disability and chronic illness, which I’m also open about, God forbid!

And who cares?

I could be the absolute perfect example of transgenderism — invisible, meek, silent — and I would be treated with the exact same level of disrespect and ignorance. I would just feel like it was genuinely my fault for existing instead of theirs for treating me poorly. 

At the very least I can complain loudly where other people can see and hear me, and it can make other trans people feel better about advocating for themselves and telling cis people and cis-focused systems to fuck right off. 

And I can create bad representation proudly in my own fiction work — trans people who are criminals and assholes and sluts and freaks and actual monsters, who are off-putting and autistic and disabled and weird — and let people enjoy that as well. 

[scriptastra]

[inkpressedpetals]

[johannestevans]

i hate watching documentaries about trans people not because of the transness but because you always have to hear about cis people and their feelings. we don't need it.

"oh i feel grief losing my--" shut up. fuck off. the entire world is about you. your voice does not need to ever be heard on this

[scriptastra]

[shamebats]

If T makes you gain weight and E and antidepressants do it too, and so does enjoying good food and not being hungry all the time, then perhaps maybe sometimes joy & weight gain come hand in hand and that's good

[inkpressedpetals]

[ladylynse]

Yeah, expanding on this would involve getting into the 'different kind of ghost' bit. Maddie and Jack would be of the opinion that the Winchesters have apparently never encountered their sort of ghosts before, while Sam and Dean would figure that the Fentons have a pretty broad definition of 'ghost' if they're counting these things.

Burning Danny would require a body, so.... Technically, he's not in danger. Except from their EMF meter, but Jack and Maddie would be quick to dismiss that; their weapons go off all the time around Danny. (Cue the Winchesters exchanging looks.)

"Ghosts? If you want to know about ghosts, you should ask that Fenton kid." SuperPhantom?

Here you go, @lypten-tee! If anyone’s wondering, it’s a different vein than the one done for @sapphireswimming, even though both are SuperPhantom.

Ghosts:[FF | AO3] Sam and Dean had heard of Amity Park, but no one seemed to take it seriously. When they decide to swing by and check it out, they get a bit more than they bargained for.

“Ghosts? If you want to know about ghosts, you should ask that Fenton kid.” The blonde girl pointed to the corner of the restaurant (if you can call a place named the Nasty Burger a restaurant) where three other teenagers sat. “His parents are all over that kind of thing. He’s the loser in the white tee that looks like his hair has never seen a brush.”

“Uh, thanks.” Sam eased the lid of the laptop closed and smiled at the teenager. He wasn’t used to people reading the laptop screen over his shoulder, but most days, he and Dean could pick a booth that wasn’t as exposed as this one.

Still, he couldn’t afford to look a gift horse in the mouth. The information on this place was a mess. For all that Amity Park and even the neighbouring Elmerton seemed to be a hub of ghostly activity, it was difficult to find someone past the city limits who believed the stories that came out of either place. Most hunters had written it off as some kind of elaborate tourist trap, but Sam and Dean had been nearby, and, well, they hadn’t had much luck finding Cas, so they’d decided to swing by on their way back to Kansas.

Fifteen minutes in, they hadn’t seen a ghost, but they’d seen far more construction and property damage than was usual for a town this size. Dean had said they might as well get some grub while they waited and had picked this place because the name had amused him. Sam just hoped the food was edible.

“Foley’s Ghost Tours are a rip-off,” the girl added. “He’ll probably try to sell you on one, but it’s not worth your money. Ghosts don’t stick to routes like the tour has to, but you’ll be sure to see some if you hang around. It’s rare not to see Phantom fighting someone.”

“Phantom?” The name kept coming up, but never from what he’d consider a reliable resource. Practically nothing on Amity Park was coming from something he wasn’t convinced was made up by akid holed up in a bedroom or basement. He’d actually learned more useful information within ten seconds of talking to this girl than he had in ten minutes with only semi-reliable WiFi.

The girl smiled. “He’s definitely the best ghost hunter in this town, and cute, too, but don’t say that to Danny because his parents are ghost hunters and that’s probably a sore subject.” She turned her head as the door opened and then said, “Oh, that’s Paulina. I’ve gotta go.”

She ran off to meet her friend, and Dean came back to the table with a tray laden with food. “Got you a tofu burger,” he announced, tossing a package to Sam. “And a soy shake. So stop making that face at me. You can at least pretend to be a normal human male.”

“Choosing to eat healthy doesn’t make me abnormal, Dean.”

“Dude, this is America,” Dean said around a mouthful of hamburger. A bit of sauce dribbled down his chin, and he grabbed a napkin to wipe it off. “The only people who eat healthy are the ones who have to and the weirdoes.” He took another bite of his burger and moaned with pleasure, saying, “Man, this is good,” before he swallowed.

Sam decided now was not the time to rehash an old argument. “There’re some hunters in town who’ve gone domestic,” he said quietly. “The Fentons.”

Dean shook his head and took another bite. “Never heard of ‘em.”

“Sounds like they specialized in ghosts, which explains why they ended up here.”

“Or explains the ghosts.”

“Dean—”

“What? We can’t be the only ones who ever messed up big time. For all we know, these guys released all these ghosts like we released all those demons. Or sprang Lucifer. Or—”

The list was long, and Sam didn’t want to hear it again even if Dean wanted to make his point. “Dude, piercing the veil is not like opening a hell gate. And even if it were, they wouldn’t have needed to try something that crazy to deal with a few ghosts.”

Mercifully, Dean swallowed before opening his mouth this time. “Fine, so you think we, what, go ask these Fentons why they haven’t dealt with this town’s ghost problem? You don’t think they’re just trying to retire?”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Really, Dean? How many retired hunters do you know who are just going to pretend they have no idea what’s going on when something like this is happening in their backyard?” Dean’s look was telling him, quite plainly, that Sam had tried to run from this lifestyle, but it’s not like he’d ever ignored a problem that was right under his nose. “At the very least, they would’ve called someone in. They must still have contacts.”

“And if they had talked to someone still in the business, people would’ve heard about it and not just ignored this place,” Dean finished. “So what’s your theory, Sammy? Elaborate hoax? Tourist trap? Or something we need to deal with before we hit the road?”

“I think we should at least touch base with the Fentons. Even if they’re out of the business—and I’m not sure they are; people around here seem to know them as ghost hunters—but even if they are, they’ll be able to fill us in on what we need to know, and if this is something that’s been too big for them to handle, I’m sure they won’t mind more help.”

Dean sucked on his milkshake for a moment before saying, “More help?”

Sam nodded toward the laptop. “Two names keep popping up, and one of the locals confirmed one for me. Phantom and the Red Huntress.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “These guys need to learn how to lay low. And what kind of ghost hunter picks the name Phantom?”

“That’s the thing. There are all kinds of reports of this Phantom fighting off ghosts, but from some of the descriptions….” Sam shrugged. “He sounds like he really is a phantom.”

To his credit, Dean caught on immediately. “You think this is like that situation with whatsername, the chick who was keeping the murderous kids in line.”

“Leticia Gore.”

“Yeah, her.” Dean returned to his burger. “So, what, we leave this Phantom alone till we torch everyone else?”

“It’s not going to be easy to find him when we don’t know his real name,” Sam pointed out, “so we can at least hold off on the research until we get the story from the Fentons. They might be able to provide us with everything.”

“If they could, they woulda done the salt ‘n’ burn themselves.” Dean swallowed and picked up a few fries. “Maybe that’s why they left this situation alone. Figured Phantom wouldn’t turn on them if he was kept busy keeping the other ghosts in line.” He shoved the fries into his mouth. “How long has this Phantom guy been active? You figure we’ve got time before he turns all vengeful spirit on us?”

“The oldest reports I’ve found so far date back to about a year and a half ago, but I haven’t even scratched the surface on this. It’ll take me a while to sort everything out.”

“Assuming the Fentons haven’t done all this already.” Dean took another drink, looked at Sam, who hadn’t touched his food yet, and said, “Aren’t you going to eat?”

Sam pointedly unwrapped the burger and took a bite, washing it down with his shake. The shake was good, but he’d definitely had better burgers. Even with the sauce, it tasted bland.

The token actions were enough to satisfy Dean, who continued, “So where do we find these guys?”

“We can talk to their—” Sam broke off, suddenly realizing that the trio who had been sitting in the corner was absent.

And then he heard the screaming.

Dean crammed the last of his burger into his mouth with acurse and got to his feet with a handful of napkins. Sam shoved the laptop back into his bag and slung that over his shoulder before following Dean out the door.

Almost immediately, he had to dive to one side as something that looked like a missile exploded when it hit the restaurant mere inches from where he’d been standing. Dean was crouched on the other side of the door, pulling dozens of little salt packets from his pockets and opening them. Every time there was another explosion, Sam saw his hand jerk as he fought the instinct to reach for his gun. A handgun full of silver bullets wasn’t going to help them fight a ghost, but ghosts weren’t supposed to have heavy artillery like this. Normal people didn’t have that kind of firepower just lying around where a ghost could manipulate it.

“What the hell, man?” Dean muttered, his eyes still searching the skies. “I thought we were dealing with ghosts.”

There was a bright flash of green light and a figure streaked across the sky, hitting the pavement with a sickening crack. But a few seconds later, the figure reappeared and flew—flew—up to meet a second figure, this one looking more like some kid’s idea of a flying robot than a ghost.

Sam blinked.

The smaller ghost bit off a retort Sam didn’t entirely understand—something about hunters and pelts—before burning through two nets with that same unearthly green energy shot at it by the first ghost. The figure flickered out of sight for a moment, but the robot one didn’t seem fazed by this and released another volley of missiles that turned to track the invisible flight of the first ghost.

And then the third figure showed up, clad in red and black and somehow managing to fly through the air on a jet sled. This one shot at the first two indiscriminately, firing bolts of pink energy from a variety ofblasters.

Sam glanced at Dean, who had stopped opening the salt packets in favour of gaping.

He knew how Dean felt.

What the hell wasgoing on here? These weren’t ghosts. It was more likely that Gabriel had somehow managed to escape death, happily letting everyone think he was dead so no one bothered him, and had set this up just to mess with anyone who tried tofind him.

The first ghost, the small one, dodged one of the pink blasts from what had to be the Red Huntress before shooting what looked like an iceray at the robot ghost. It wasn’t as quick and froze instantly, dropping until it was caught up in a beam of light from— Was that a thermos?

And then the robot ghost was gone, and the smaller one vanished from sight, and the hunter on the sled growled in frustration and took off.

In the silence, Dean pulled out the EMF meter and turned it on.

It squealed, every light shining red.

Dean met Sam’s eyes. “Let’s go find the Fentons,” he said,shutting off the EMF meter. “I want some answers.”

(see more fics)

[septemberkisses]

the fact that i'm no longer the same age as the protagonists of novels and films i once connected to is so heartbreaking. there was a time when I looked forward to turning their age. i did. and i also outgrew them. i continue to age, but they don't; never will. the immortality of fiction is beautiful, but cruel.

[sitronsangbody]

It will never not baffle me how hard society tries to insist that fatness is an abnormality. The average western woman wears plus size clothing. One of the smallest garments on the scale is called a medium. Most people with anorexia are in the overweight bmi category, yet somehow that's known as "atypical anorexia". Fatness is often labeled the cause of a number of diseases, but there are literally no diseases exclusive to fat bodies. Looking at movies and television, you'd think the world was 98% thin people. It's not.

My point isn't that if it was pretty rare to be fat, fatphobia would be okay. Of course not.

My point is that we're surrounded by all these artificial indicators that fatness is unnatural and uncommon and it's just not true?? Humans are not always thin and we've never all been thin and we're not all meant to be thin. Fat humans are a normal type of human. Fatness is a feature, not a bug.

[lambofmoss]

being weird and full of love can save you

and it might save those around you, too

[blurredcoffeeforme]

The last day of June became the day her eyes saw the moon for the last time. The moon took her heart away in exchange for peace of mind. Now she can do nothing but to wait for July to pass by.

Let my soul be soaked in the moonlight for a bit longer as I am the moon's child, and she understands my solitude. June can wait.

[plaidos]

if you’re a trans ally you have to be ok with seeing topless dudes with their tits out & girls with bulges in their jeans or skirts etc. trans bodies are normal, get used to them, they’re not going anywhere.

[spectrenun]

Juansen Dizon, i am the architect of my own destruction

[mascula-sappho]

Aren't plushies beautiful? They were created so a sick child had something to hold. They were created so an adult living alone might have a friend to keep them company. They were created for a teenager to clutch to her chest as she cries. They were created to accompany a college student to his geology classes. They were created not for any material benefit, they don't change tires, but to be loved.

They were created for the purpose of love.