#trans!deceit

[justjanusthings]

[ripjeff]

Minds Collide - Logicality Ch 2

Chapter 2

Word count: 1246

Patton sat resting his chin on his hand, staring off into a state of blissful daydreaming. He let out a wistful sigh. 

“You’re not listening, are you? Patton. Pat!” 

Patton blinked, focusing his eyes on his friend, “Huh? Oh, sorry Roman, what were you saying?” 

Roman rolled his eyes dramatically, “I was talking about my newest performance which you were supposed to help me run lines for but CLEARLY you have other things on your mind. What’s going on in that brain of yours Padre?” Roman eyed him curiously; a tall man of 20 years with light brown, flowy hair, and hazel eyes. He is undeniably handsome and a natural gentleman. He is the full package, and he knows it. Above all else, he is a sucker for romance.

Patton smiled sheepishly, “I’ve just been thinking… about a boy…” 

Roman gasped, his eyes widening in intrigue, “A boy?! Pat, you must tell me EVERYTHING!” 

Patton giggled, lying on his stomach in Roman’s bed. “It’s nothing he just… I met him in the library where I read to my kiddos. He’s so- he’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met before.”

Roman smiled encouragingly, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you this infatuated with someone. What’s he like? What’s his name?”

Patton fidgeted with Roman’s bedspread, smiling to himself as he thought about the boy in the library who he was becoming so fond of. “His name is Logan. He’s tall and so smart. Like so smart. Like smarter than anybody I’ve ever met, he’s like a computer.” He giggled, “But he’s like cute smart, y’know?” Roman laughed softly, Patton continuing. 

“He wears these glasses and he like always wears a tie? I don’t know if that’s just his quirk or what but he is always wearing a tie and he just… makes it work? I don’t know but he’s cute…”

Roman smiled, “What do y’all talk about?” 

Patton giggled, shaking his head, “Lots of stuff I don’t even understand. Like he loves space so he talks about space and I don’t understand any bit of it but I’m just like sure whatever you say cutie.”

Patton and Roman burst into a fit of laughter, Roman shaking his head endearingly at his sweet, homosexual friend. “You sure seem to like him a lot Patton but you’ve only known him what? A week? Two tops?” 

Patton shrugged with a slight smile, his cheeks turning pink. “I- I know it’s early but-” 

Roman cut him off, “I’m not judging you Padre, I get it, I’m just saying y’know, be careful. I don’t want my buddy to get his heart broken, okay?” 

Patton nodded, “I know! I don’t expect him to like be my boyfriend or anything. I know I don’t know him well yet but it doesn’t hurt anything to have a crush! It’s fun!”

Roman smiled, “That it is, my friend!” He accepted a hug from his fatherly friend, rubbing his back. Roman and Patton had a special bond and as much as Roman loved romance and, well, love; he worried about Patton. Patton rarely fell in love romantically, so he was excited for his friend. Despite his excitement, however, part of him was still worried. Nobody deserved to have a broken heart, much less sweet Patton. 

 Later the next day, Patton was back in the library to read to the kiddos. He showed up much earlier than necessary to have a chance to talk to Logan. Unsurprisingly, the glasses-wearing boy was sitting in his usual spot, reading his novel and drinking something from his Yeti. 

Patton smiled, holding a tray of cupcakes as he slid into the seat in front of Logan. “Hiiii Logan!” He exclaimed happily. 

Logan looked at him, placing his bookmark in his book before setting it aside, “Hello, Patton.” 

Patton watched him, his blue-green eyes bright and piercing. “How ya doing today?” 

Logan thought for a moment before giving a courteous nod. “I have been well, how are you?” 

Patton giggled at his formality, still not quite used to it. “I’m great! I have a surprise for you.” Logan raised a questioning eyebrow as Patton worked on taking the cover off of the tray of cupcakes he had placed in front of them on the table. He uncovered the tray to reveal several cupcakes decorated to look like cats, aside from one cupcake which didn’t quite look like the others. “We’re reading cat books this week instead of puppy books so I made cat cupcakes! I, uhm… I know you’re not so much of a fan of cats or puppy designs though so I made this one special for you!” He blushed as he pulled the unique-looking cupcake out of the tray, handing it to Logan with a napkin. The cupcake had dark blue frosting flattened on the top as the background with a planet drawn neatly on top, surrounded by stars. The cupcake looked professionally decorated and Patton smiled proudly at his work. 

Logan took the cupcake from his hands, staring at it for a moment before blinking and looking up at Patton. “This was very thoughtful Patton… thank you.” Patton giggled, his blush only growing darker. He watched as Logan took a bite from the expertly decorated cupcake. “Do you like it?”

Logan nodded contentedly, “That is quite delicious Patton, although your baked treats always taste satisfactory.” 

Patton nodded, giggling happily, “Thank you, Logan!” 

They spoke about Logan’s novel for a bit before falling into a comfortable silence, scrolling through their phones. Patton was scrolling through the internet, but he wasn’t very focused. He wanted to ask Logan out. Maybe not even on a date, but perhaps just to hang out and do something fun! He just had to find the courage to ask. He really liked talking to Logan and spending time with him, but he had no idea what Logan thought of him. He took in a nervous, shaky breath, setting his phone face-down on the table and smiling at Logan. “Hey, Logan…” 

Logan looked up from his phone at Patton, humming curiously, “Hm?”

Patton fidgeted nervously with his hands, “Would you like to hang out outside the library sometime? I was thinking we could see my friend Roman’s play together.”

Logan stared at him, studying his face as he thought over what Patton had said. He wasn’t used to someone asking him to go out and do anything, he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Maybe it could be fun to go out and do something with a new friend? He shrugged slightly, “Okay… I can appreciate a theatrical performance.” 

Patton’s smile widened, “Really??! YAY!” he clapped his hands, and moved to hug Logan out of habit, backing out as Logan tensed up uncomfortably. Patton giggled quietly from embarrassment. “Sorry… A-Anyway! Can I give you my number? So that we can plan to go to the play?” 

Logan cleared his throat, nodding and opening his phone to his contacts, allowing Patton to add himself in as a contact and message himself so that he’d have Logan’s number. 

The rest of the day went as smoothly as it could, with the two falling into comfortable conversation until Patton had to go to the children’s section to begin his reading hour. Logan read his novel while Patton read to the children, sending glances over at Patton now and then. Although he didn’t quite know why or how to put it into words, he was looking forward to his plans with Patton.

[k4i-ztimz]

🏳️‍⚧️⚧️🏳️‍⚧️

⚧️🌊⚧️

🏳️‍⚧️⚧️🏳️‍⚧️

🎨🎨🎨

Keisuke Fujinuma stimboard with genderfluid and non-binary stims!!

I made this is a hot steaming car btw PLEASE SAVE ME

[larrythefloridaman]

WOAH, HE'S BIGENDER? I DIDN'T KNOW THAT!

[pridebicons]

trans lesbian otome pride icons

requested by @k4i-ztimz

like/rb if using + credit

[k4ijynxx2]

HE REALLY IS DICKLESS!! REJOICE!!

[ace1diots]

Digitally colored that Devon doodle I did because I was bored, enjoy him and his bucket hat!

[communistkenobi]

I’m reading a paper that uses the term re-transition as opposed to detransition and it crystallised a lot of my problems with the term. detransition implies an ability to return to the “default” “normal” cisgender body that lurks within all of us, just waiting to be re-excavated after a period of intentional (deceitful) burial, and a turning “back” or away from the freakish mutilation and “deviance” of transgender transition to a more natural, more authentic body - a body that can never be transformed, only temporarily cloaked by medicine and social trickery on the part of trans people

[lucarleigho]

why is it, when faced with horrendously false claims and egregious lies abt trans women, ppl come out of the woodwork to criticize the way they rightfully become angry at the deceitful transmisoginysts that got a trans womans blog wrongfully nuked. its never a conversation abt "how could this have happened and how can we stop it", its always "well i dont like the way you responded so obviously you deserved it". the patronizing tone policing makes me fucking sick. the trans woman always has to be perfectly polite and agreeable, even in the face of her own oppression and harassment campaign, lest she become the evil tranny who did every awful thing you accused her of just because you dont like her tone. THAT is transmisogyny.

[ripjeff]

Minds Collide - Logicality Ch 1

Chapter 1 Word count: 1680 words

Logan sat in his favorite spot in the back of his local library. It was quiet, he loved the quiet. He spent most of his days in this spot. He sat in a comfortable chair and read his books, helping the librarians put away returned books when they needed it. He spent most days in his spot in the library while his dad was at work and his other dad took care of things at home. He worked on his online college work on his laptop, then read his books or enjoyed his lunch. It was a simple routine, but one he enjoyed nonetheless. 

Today was different, however. He noticed that there was a chair set up near the children’s books that wasn’t usually there, and a sign that read, “Papa Patton’s Storytime Hour.” Logan furrowed his brow in confusion before making his way over to the librarian. “Hello, Jess.” 

Jess smiled at him, “Hey Logan, how are ya today?”

“I am content today, thank you. May I inquire as to the events in the children’s section today?” 

Jess smiled at his formality. “Yeah, of course! So we have a gentleman coming today at 2 o’clock to read to some homeschooled kiddos. We thought it would be fun and so we called and set up an event on Facebook so that we could see how many people would be coming to be prepared.” 

Logan frowned, not a huge fan of children. “May I ask how long the event will be taking place?”

“Um.. we’re not sure? A while. I mean I know it’s not really your scene, you’re more than welcome to sit in the back office if it becomes too much.”  

Logan nodded, “I appreciate the offer, Jess.” He made his way back to his spot, dreading the inevitable group of loud children. He put his headphones on and scrolled through his phone, only looking up when a cupcake was placed in front of him on a small place with a napkin. The cupcake was decorated to look like a puppy, with fondant ears and paws. Smiling brightly at him was a pale man wearing a blue polo shirt with a cat cardigan wrapped around his shoulders. He was simply adorable in every way, although he looked like the stereotypical image of a white dad. 

“Hi, I’m Patton!” he extended a hand out to Logan to shake, still sporting the bright smile on his face. Logan hesitated for a moment, analyzing Patton’s face and wondering how is he so expressively cheerful? He shook Patton’s hand, “Hello, I am Logan.” Patton nodded, “Well it’s nice to meet you Logan, I hope you like cupcakes!” Patton took a seat, speaking excitedly. “Jess told me you are in here every day so I figured I’d introduce myself since I’ll be coming in to read to my kiddos a few times a week… we’re reading puppy-themed books today so I made the cupcakes puppy-themed!” He giggled, pointing at the ears on his cupcakes. 

Logan nodded, pushing his glasses up. “I’m not one for baking but I do enjoy the occasional treat, so thank you.” Logan noted how bright Patton’s smile was, a dimple present on either side and freckles delicately scattered across his nose and over his cheeks. “You’re welcome! I LOVE baking! It’s so much more fun than buying sweets from the store.” He giggled, his gaze falling upon Logan’s novel and laptop on the table. “So is this what you do every day? You like reading?” Patton was looking at him intensely, curiosity and intrigue evident on his face although Logan didn’t quite notice.

“Yes, reading is an enjoyable pass-time for me. I read and learn something new every day, and the library is a good place for such objectives. It is… quiet.” 

Patton nodded, resting his chin on his hands as he listened to Logan speak, his smile still plastered on his face. He’s barely just met Logan and he’s unlike anyone he’s ever met before. He’s never met someone, especially not someone his age, who sounds so smart (to put it simply.) It fascinated him that someone just had all these big words in their brain all the time and knew what they meant and when to use them. Patton’s not stupid, but his intelligence lies elsewhere. “It is quiet, I bet the quiet’s nice. I don’t get a ton of quiet every day since I work with kids but it’s nice when I do.” 

Logan shook his head slightly. “I wouldn’t be able to work for children. I am… not much of a fan of children. I do not enjoy being around overly loud people or things often.” Patton listened intently, shrugging when Logan finished speaking. “That’s fair! I mean that makes sense but I love my kiddos and I super love my job! It’s so fun, and kids are so creative, speaking of which.. Oh wow,” he exclaimed as he checked his watch, “I need to go set up before the kids flock in! It was nice meeting you Logan, I hope to see you next week?” 

Logan nodded courteously, watching as Patton rushed over to get his books ready and set up the table with the snacks and cupcakes for the kids. It didn’t take long before the kids and their parents started arriving, Patton greeting them cheerfully. Logan watched him from his spot, having turned on the noise-cancelling setting on his headphones to make this time more bearable. He found himself just watching Patton and studying his mannerisms. He watched how Patton worked with the children, being patient and caring of each child there. He watched how Patton interacted with the parents, mature and respectful. Patton fascinated him in every way and he wasn’t sure how to feel about the energetic man. 

Logan sat at the dinner table with his dads that night. He was 19 years old and in college but he saw no reason to move away from home so he still ate dinner with his dads most nights. His dad, Remy, was a thin man of average height who always seemed to have bags under his eyes. He set a plate of food down in front of Logan and his husband before finally having a seat in his chair. His husband, Emile, was a healthy-looking man with caring eyes and an inviting nature (unsurprising considering he spent his days working as a therapist). “Thank you, darling,” Emile said to his husband before taking a bite of his food, turning to Logan after he had finished chewing. “How was your day, son? Anything interesting happen?”

Logan nodded, looking at his papa. “Yes,” he said without any emotion in his voice. 

Both of his dads perked up after hearing this. Logan didn’t often deviate from his daily routine so to hear that he may have experienced something new today, and didn’t seem upset about it either, makes them quite joyous. They wanted the best for their son, and with Logan being autistic they took victories where they could get them. Remy nodded encouragingly, “Yeah? What happened?” 

“I became acquainted with someone new today. His name is Patton and he is going to be reading to children at the library twice a week.” He took a bite of his food before continuing. “He said hello to me today and asked about my novels… he was smiling. He was friendly.” 

Emile nodded, setting his fork down. “You said he’s going to be coming to the library a few times a week? Do you think this could be a potential new friend?” 

Logan shrugged, “I don’t know. He’s not like Virgil.” 

Remy took a drink from his glass before offering his son a dinner roll and a caring smile. “Well, maybe it would be good for you to have a friend that isn’t like Virgil. We love Virgil, but variety doesn’t have to be a bad thing, love.” Emile nodded in agreement with his husband. “Your dad is right, Lo. Maybe someone bright and friendly as you said could add a different perspective to your life and friendships.” 

Logan sighed softly, “Perhaps you’re correct. We aren’t very similar to each other, though.” 

Remy laughed softly at this, “That’s not a bad thing, I mean- I’d hate to be around someone exactly like me. I think I’d go insane.” 

Logan was quiet for a second before humming softly, “I did not consider that perspective.” Logan thought about the happy boy in the library as he and his parents fell into a comfortable silence, finishing their meal. After helping clean up dinner, Logan was about to head upstairs when his dad called to him, catching his attention. “Is Virge still coming over hun?” 

Logan nodded and replied with a simple ‘yes’ before heading upstairs to his favorite room in the house, his bedroom. His bedroom was his safe space. He kept the room dark, usually only lit with his special lamp that shone constellations across his ceiling. His walls were a dark blue, his carpet an aesthetically matching gray. His bed was made neatly with a space-themed comforter. He sat in his large beanbag chair in the corner where he usually resides, reading his current novel and waiting for his best friend to arrive. 

Virgil eventually arrived and they went through the usual steps of their routine. Virgil played some My Chemical Romance at a low volume on Logan’s TV before curling up in Logan’s bed and taking a nap, Logan continuing his reading in his chair. Logan liked these nights he had with Virge most weekends. He liked being able to keep his peace while still being in the presence of someone he was comfortable with, and Virge tended to be a quiet person in general so it just worked out. Virgil has been his best friend and one of his only friends for most of his life. He found comfort in Virgil’s company and wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to see that same comfort in someone else, much less someone more energetic and upbeat—someone like Patton. 

{Alrighty y'all, that's chapter 1 done. I am open to any and all constructive criticism. I'll see y'all next Monday!}

[k4i-ztimz]

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🏳️‍⚧️⚧️🏳️‍⚧️

⚡️🏳️‍⚧️⚡️

🎮🎮🎮

Kiyoshi fujioka stimboard with trans (specifically transmasc) and pokemon stims!!

YOU CAN PRY THE POKEMON SPIN KIYOSHI FUJIOKA HEADCANON OUT OF MY COLD DEAD HANDS

[sunkissed-psyche]

THANATOS: AN INFODUMP

Thanatos (Θανατος) known to the romans as Mors is the god or daimon (personified spirit) of non-violent death. He is a chthonic deity residing in the underworld.

This post covers his family, symbols, notable myths, epithets, orphic hymn, and my favourite passages about him.

PARENTAGE AND SIBLINGS

His parentage and family can be understood through Hesiod’s Theogony (A Greek epic written in the 8th or 7th B.C)

And Nyx (Night) bare hateful Moros (Doom) and black Ker (Violent Death) and Thanatos (Death), and she bare Hypnos (Sleep) and the tribe of Oneiroi (Dreams). And again the goddess murky Nyx, though she lay with none, bare Momos (Blame) and painful Oizys (Misery), and the Hesperides . . . Also she bare the Moirai (Moirae, Fates) and the ruthless avenging Keres (Death-Fates) . . . Also deadly Nyx bare Nemesis (Envy) to afflict mortal men, and after her, Apate (Deceit) and Philotes (Friendship) and hateful Geras (Old Age) and hard-hearted Eris (Strife).

— Parents: Nyx with no father (Roman versions of his birth name Erebus the father)

— Siblings:

Apate (deceit)

Eris (strife)

Geras (old age)

Hesperides (nymphs of the evening)

Hypnos (sleep) Ker (violent death)

Keres (death-fates)

Moirai (fates)

Momos (blame)

Moros (doom)

Nemesis (retribution)

Oizys (misery)

Oneiroi (dreams)

Philotes (friendship)

SYMBOLS AND APPEARANCE

SYMBOLS

— inverted torch → represents a life being extinguished

— butterfly → symbolises the soul

— sword → indicates his authority to sever the thread of life

— poppies → as a symbol of eternal sleep

— wreath → suggesting eternity, or the cyclical nature of life and death

APPEARANCE

Greek vase paintings depicted him as a winged, older man with a beard and rarely as a young, beardless youth.

Roman sculptures portrayed him as a youth holding an inverted torch and a wreath or butterfly

NOTABLE MYTHS

— THANATOS AND THE BODY OF SARPEDON

As seen in the Iliad, Thanatos and Hypnos are tasked to carry the body of Sarpedon away from the battlefield to Lycia so his brothers and countrymen can give him a respectful burial.

Homer, Iliad 16. 453 ff (trans. Lattimore) (Greek epic C8th B.C.) : "[Hera speaks to Zeus about the approaching death of his son Sarpedon :] ‘But after the soul and the years of his life have left him [Sarpedon], then send Thanatos (Death) to carry him away, and Hypnos (Sleep), who is painless, until they come with him to the countryside of broad Lykia (Lycia) where his brothers and countrymen shall give him due burial with tomb and gravestone.’"

Homer, Iliad 16. 681 ff : "Then [Apollon] gave him [Sarpedon] into the charge of swift messengers to carry him, of Hypnos (Sleep) and Thanatos (Death), who are twin brothers, and these two presently laid him down within the rich countryside of broad Lykia (Lycia)."

— THE CAPTURE OF THANATOS BY SISYPHUS

Sisyphus was the (possibly) founder and king of Corinth and was known as ‘the craftiest on men’ in texts by Homer. In the myth, Thanatos was sent to carry Sisyphus into the underworld. Upon Thanatos’ arrival, Sisyphus who was hiding chained him and in doing do, suspended death across the entire world. Thanatos was later freed by Ares who had noticed an absence of death from the battlefield

Alcaeus, Fragment 38a (trans. Campbell, Vol. Greek Lyric I) (Greek lyric C6th B.C.) : "King Sisyphos (Sisyphus), son of Aiolos (Aeolus), wisest of men, supposed that he was master of Thanatos (Death); but despite his cunning he crossed eddying Akheron (Acheron) twice at at fate's command."

Aeschylus, Sisyphus the Runaway (lost play) (Greek tragedy C5th B.C.) : Weir Smyth (L.C.L.) quotes from Pherecydes, a C5th B.C. mythographer, in his discussion of the plot of this lost play: "The drama was satyric; its theme, the escape from Haides of the crafty Korinthian king. According to the fabulous story told by Pherekydes (Frag. 78 in Müller,Fragmenta Historicum Graecorum) Sisyphos made known to Asopos that it was Zeus who had carried off his daughter Aigina; in punishment for which offence the god sent Thanatos (Death) against the babbler; but Sisyphos bound Thanatos (Death) fast, so that men ceased to die, until Ares came to the rescue, released Thanatos, and gave Sisyphos into his power."

— THANATOS WRESTLED BY HERACLES

In the Euripides, a Greek tragedy written in the 5th C B.C. Thanatos is wrestled by Heracles to save the life of Alkestis. Heracles does this to repay Admetos, Alklestis’

Euripides, Alcestis 839 ff : "Herakles : I must save this woman who has died so lately, bring Alkestis back to live in this house and pay Admetos all the kindness that I owe. I must go there [to the funeral at the graveside] and watch for Thanatos (Death) of the black robes (melampeplos), master of dead men (anax nekrôn), and I think I shall find him drinking the blood of slaughtered beasts beside the grave. Then, if I can break suddenly from my hiding place, catch him, and hold him in the circle of these arms, there is no way he will be able to break my hold on his bruised ribs, until he gives the woman up to me. But if I miss my quarry, if he does not come to the clotted offering, I must go down, I must ask Kore (Core, the Maiden) [Persephone] and the Master (Anax) [Haides] in the sunless homes of those below (domos anêlios)."

EPITHETS

Greek

- Paean -> the healing (delivers men from the pains and sorrows of life)

- Melampeplos -> of the black robes

- Anax Nekron -> master of dead men

English (these are ones I've derived from text so partial upg)

- insatiable

- dreadful/dreaded one

- awful god

- with a heart of iron

- without mercy

Latin

- Acherontis - inflicter of Acheron (woe)

ORPHIC HYMN

The Fumigation from Manna. Hear me, O Death [Thanatos], whose empire unconfined, extends to mortal tribes of every kind. On thee, the portion of our time depends, whose absence lengthens life, whose presence ends. Thy sleep perpetual bursts the vivid folds, by which the soul, attracting body holds: Common to all of every sex and age, for nought escapes thy all-destructive rage; Not youth itself thy clemency can gain, vigorous and strong, by thee untimely slain. In thee, the end of nature's works is known, in thee, all judgment is absolved alone: No suppliant arts thy dreadful rage control, no vows revoke the purpose of thy soul; O blessed power regard my ardent prayer, and human life to age abundant spare.

MY FAVOURITE MISC. COLLECTION OF TEXTS

Hesiod, Theogony 758 ff (trans. Evelyn-White) (Greek epic C8th or C7th B.C.) : . . . These are Hypnos (Sleep) and Thanatos (Death), dread divinities. Never upon them does Helios, the shining sun, cast the light of his eye-beams, neither when he goes up the sky nor comes down from it. One of these [Hypnos], across the earth and the wide sea-ridges, goes his way quietly back and forth, and is kind to mortals, but the heart of the other one [Thanatos] is iron, and brazen feelings without pity are inside his breast."

Aeschylus, Fragment 82 Niobe (from Stobaeus, Anthology 4. 51. 1) (trans. Weir Smyth) (Greek tragedy C5th B.C.) : "For, alone of gods, Thanatos (Death) loves not gifts; no, not by sacrifice, nor by libation, canst thou aught avail with him; he hath no altar nor hath he hymn of praise; from him, alone of gods, Peitho (Persuasion) stands aloof."

Aeschylus, Fragment 141 Philoctetes (from Stobaeus, Anthology 4. 52. 32) : "[The wounded Philoktetes (Philoctetes) laments :] ‘O Death (thanatos), the healer (paian), reject me not, but come! For thou alone art the mediciner of ills incurable, and no pain layeth hold on the dead.’"

[dolphin-diaries]

Detrans/Uncis (Part 2)

Originally published on Dolphin Diaries.

My first steps on a detransition journey were underscored by a peculiar mantra: “but I’m not detransitioning though.” I don’t feel like a man, so I’m not a trans man, but I’m still taking hormones, so I’m not detransitioning. I’m getting laser, but I’m not doing anything to my voice—hold on, actually I am. I’m lowering my dose of testosterone, actually, but I’m still taking it, and it’s not like I’m a woman. Only I want to be gendered by strangers as a woman, but that’s different. Actually I’d hate to have any further changes from T, so I’m not taking it at all—but I’m still not detransitioning though. Actually, could you speak of me as she? And her, too? No detrans though.

At a certain point it started to approach total absurdity. My friends and loved ones, well-versed in the queer gender soup, said nothing of it, but I am myself strongly averse to repression, denial, and self-deceit. So I was the first to say I was wrong. The first to say, “I am, though.” And at no point, from the beginning to the end of my epistemic conga, have I encountered any meaningful pushback from my close circles. No implications of betrayal, no cold shoulders, no silence when I walk in the room.

So why the mantra, then? Why was I so averse to the idea?

A large part of that was the politicisation of detransition; how indelibly it is associated with the Right—I said as much in my first essay. On a personal level, though, it was trivial to realise I wasn’t doing a grift. I was confident I hadn’t been brainwashed into anything. I’ve never had any meaningful contact or affiliation with any sort of gender-conservative person or movement.

And I did encounter pro-trans detransitioners. Some of them sniped back at the right-wing ones, some merely told their stories independently. Regardless, they—just like me—did not receive great or meaningful pushback from their trans friends, nor even strangers. They weren’t always understood or necessarily celebrated, but they were taken at their word, believed, and more or less respected as much as any gender deviant. Before I had any thoughts to detransition myself, I had seen detrans people beyond the pale of the rhetoric multiple times, and…

And I hated them. They made my skin crawl. I was never rude or condescending, and as those encounters were online-only, it was trivial to maintain respect and civility. I also realised I had no real cause to hate them. They’d done nothing wrong, nothing wrong at all. It was easy enough to say that in principle, when they talked in the abstract, but when they spoke of their bodies, their lives, the flesh and blood of it all, I felt such visceral revulsion as I might’ve never felt before.

Or have I? Have I known this already, this knee-jerk lip curl, this morbid disgust with another’s aberrant sex? This idea in my mind, spreading like cancer, that these people were wrong? That they’ve violated something inviolable? And how civility and compassion chiselled this violent core into arrogant pity towards an untouchable other?

No, I have known this. And not such a long time ago.

The Body Horror

When I first came out as trans to my university class—cis-majority if not totality, naturally—the perverse fascination with my body was hard to escape. They were mostly polite, of course. My university was very ‘decadent Westian’ (pardon the quasi-inside joke). We were hip with it. Nevertheless—

“It’s okay for you, of course, but if my future children—”

“You mean to say you date women? How do you—”

“You mean to say you date men??”

 “I wasn’t looking at you like that in the bathroom—I mean—uh—”

You don’t need to say it outright. Sometimes you don’t need to say a thing at all. I see it. I know.

That’s to say nothing of the doctors’ dehumanising dissection and the conservatives flashing the least flattering post-operative pictures like they’re gore. As a transsexual, you don’t even need dysphoria; you will be informed of your physical monstrosity in great detail and in every possible manner, from the subtlest glance to the bloody megaphone.

You learn to see transsexual bodies this way very young and not voluntarily, but I was not just any random person. I transitioned aeons ago, and I did not find the flesh of my fellow transsexuals a subject of psychosexual fascination anymore. We were just people. I’d learned that.

I thought I did, anyway.

That’s the thing about the biases that systemic oppression seeds and wields. They are, in my experience, nothing less than psychosocial cancers. Leave one cell alive, and they will surely regrow. Maybe into a new shape, maybe into something old, but they will never die left alone.

Although I’d mentally graduated to gender abolition and genderfuckery-as-political-stance, to activism, to gender constructivism and to queering everything, especially feminism, I’d first come to see transsexuality through the lens of the DSM. Not my fault or anything—that’s what was available to me. Transsexual transition, then, was first presented to me as a linear transformation, a path from A to B, at the end of which laid gender nirvana. Or, like, happiness and fulfilment, I suppose. White-people Buddhism was fashionable at that time, so please excuse my French.

So genderfuckery was all well and good, but you know, done respectably. For me, that was performing picture-perfect transsexuality, just a little spiced-up. So long as I still appeared cis. Anything that marked me as ‘clocky’ was unseemly; although I no longer needed to see any doctors about it, I’d been trained to sniff out such features and weed them out for the sake of gaining medical access. But that’s not the only way ‘respectable gender’ is ensured in queer circles. I’ve also observed it to be an absence of transsexuality. That is, gender is to be fucked with in words and pronouns and haircuts and porn—but to transition about it would be kind of gauche, don’t you think? A little gender-conformist?

Different outcome, but for the purposes of this discussion, same principle: it is disgust with transition. Visible transition, obvious transition; transition at all. My case was not altogether different from ideological non-transitioners; it was just modified to accommodate for some alteration of sex.

After nearly a decade of virilising HRT, my detransition wasn’t simply a matter of changing my name and putting on lipstick. That would just make strangers say ‘yas gurl.’ No, if I wanted to live as a woman beyond my immediate social circle, I needed to make more invasive changes. More than that, I wanted those changes. I didn’t merely wish to say I’m a woman—I wanted to look in the mirror and believe it.

The first truth a detransitioner learns is this: to detransition, you must transition again.

Again?!

Oh, it’s not the same as your first time ‘round, sure. Not just because of the difference in desired sex; if you’ve never had your gonads removed and have no prior issues with hormone production, you can simply cease to take HRT and stop depending on the vagaries of medical supplies. Doctors will, generally, be a little more understanding of your desire to change sex. Often, from their perspective, you’re not changing it; you’re fixing it. So if you were allowed to take the so-called ‘cross-sex’ hormones, you’ll probably be allowed the ‘same-sex’ ones. Conversely, because no such thing as a ‘detransition procedure’ usually exists, it’s a dice roll if any surgery will be covered by the state, your insurance, or anything. Yes, you’re ‘fixing’ your sex—but the fact you’ve ‘damaged’ it at all renders you a bit of an unreliable witness to your own mind. A little bit crazy, you could say. Isn’t it all quite literally your own fault?

However, the day-to-day mundanities of detransition would be highly recognisable to any trans person. Indeed, I got all the ideas on how to relieve my gender dysphoria from my transfem friends. I learned of laser hair removal from them, and they advised me on voice training. Some of the professionals that serviced me had no idea I was detrans—how would they? Kind of an odd thing to randomly bring up while getting your beard fried.

‘Detrans woman’ is not a legible social category (nor any other kind of detrans person). People know what these words mean—at least, if they’re up on the latest gender lingo—but they don’t truly know what that looks like. Maybe they imagine a particular grifter when you say ‘detrans,’ maybe it’s just a void—but it’s never you. No one will ever assume that’s what you are.

So how does a detrans woman move through the world? She passes, of course. She is either assumed to be a cis woman, having worked to file off any signs of testosterone’s magic touch, or she stands out with those features. If she transitioned after adolescence, she might have a leg up on passing, but should a stranger’s transvestigation radar starts beeping, they will surely scan her for other hints. Sometimes they’ll find what was never there, and sometimes they’ll decree a feature that occurs in all women, cis and trans, a sure sign of inborn manhood. I’ve always had a visible Adam’s apple, for instance, but it didn’t use to be proof I was born a man. Now, though, take that and a bad voice day, and I don’t have a leg to stand on.

And if someone decides I don’t belong in a women’s bathroom, do you think it’ll help if I cry I was born to piss here?

Here’s the second truth a detransitioners learns: it doesn’t matter how many times you transition, to what end or for what reason. If you do it at all, you will never be cis again. It’s the real red pill—the one the Wachowski sisters intended, not what the chuds on the internet made of it. Your body, your social and legal history, your continuity of self—it is different now. Not the way it’s supposed to be. Changing sex at all was never meant to be.

Regime and Treachery

Um-actuallying people who think I’m a trans woman will not help me under most circumstances. It won’t help with a strange man in an alley, and it won’t help with an employer that discovers my last manager knew me under a male name. In one case nothing but a good run will help, and in the other—come on now, they won’t think any better of me.

It will not make me cis, and it doesn’t help—under most circumstances.

Detrans women aren’t the only ones which may be assumed for trans women. Cis women that never touched a drop of testosterone get transvestigated too—not nearly as frequently, but it happens all the same, and regularly. The case of Imane Khelif is one that probably jumps to mind first these days, but she is perhaps in the minority of women that never responded to such accusations by loudly proclaiming she is completely and utterly unlike those filthy transsexuals—she is a real woman!

Detrans women have the whole transsexuality thing in common with trans women, of course. But they aren’t quite the only ones—intersex women that were assigned female at birth are also often assumed to be transsexual. They are also subject to severe medical violence and neglect. Some require exogenous hormones to stay healthy. Some wish to take ownership of their body via voluntary sex alteration, for a change. It is rather transsexual-like, all in all.

But yet you will not search long to find similar underbus-throwing. The AFAB intersex woman is not like that trans woman—she deserves gender-affirmative treatment. She’s a real woman. The birth certificate said so.

And so too the detrans woman, despite all her history, despite the indelible mark of transsexuality, looks at the dangling carrot of Real Womanhood—and like a dog, jumps.

She will never be allowed the full extent of it. It is irreversible damage, after all. That’s important. The detrans woman that betrays her sisters—her class, even—must forever cry about the wounds transition left on her, must never heal from them. And trust me, the cis aren’t nice about it behind her back. The detrans woman is promised a shred of cis-ness, of real-ness—but only so long as she divorces herself from all things transsexual. Loudly, repeatedly. The moment she stops, she will be reminded: she too is transsexual. She has seen sex/gender for what it is; her body is evidence. She has eaten of the tree of knowledge. It’s only at the regime’s great mercy that she can peek into Eden—but god forbid, never enter.

Because what would happen if the ‘damage’ wasn’t irreversible? If society allowed the detrans woman to be a woman wholly and totally—its woman, real woman? Why, it would mean sex can be changed without repercussion. It would mean you could leave gender.

It wouldn’t quite mean that trans women are women and trans men are men—it would only allow that your birth sex can be ‘returned to.’ But if even that much was permitted, it would make transition no longer a threat. You could do it and come back just fine, see? What’s there to fear? Why not just try it? And if you can just try it, just leave and come back as you please—how can you force people to obey gender?

It would mean I could opt out of womanhood any time. Of the mandate of reproduction, of subordination, of sexual and domestic servitude—of the constant fight to break free of those things. I could opt out even if I didn’t like being a man. I’d always have one foot back in the door, if I pleased. And that’s the thing about the patriarchy: women must never be allowed to leave. Or to desist, or to fail. For that they must be punished. Want fewer lashes? Kick the weaker bitch out the door.

Cis-ness is a regime. A status quo. To define it merely by the relationship to birth-assigned sex is erroneous—intersexness reveals this, but if you’re the kind of person who thinks the intersex are some sort of rare and bizarre exception (they’re not), perisex detransitioners must surely hammer the nail home. To be cis is not merely to self-identify as the sex on your birth certificate; who’s even looking at those? It is to live in accordance with your biological destiny, and every social law that entails. This destiny is assigned at birth, yes, but it does not end there: it follows you all the way.

Cis-ness is not an identity—it is a reward for doing as you’re told.

The Freedom of Sex

It is obvious, then, why detrans medical care is a pain to get even though you’re complying with your birth sex assignment. That is the true engineer of detrans misery, of dysphoria and resentment. To come to dislike the features you’ve acquired during transition is one thing—but to be prevented from changing them? To be looked at like a lunatic? To not know what to do, because information about de/transition and how it works is so understudied and obscured?

If transition was easy, known, free—more people would detransition, certainly. But that wouldn’t mean much. Because they’d be people like anyone else. Their bodies—transsexual bodies—would be just the same, just as worthy. They would be real.

The implications are even greater than that. Freedom of sex, as Andrea Long Chu puts it, means a freedom to change anything about your sex, in any way, for any reason, without restriction. Not the A->B path I was first taught under the illusion of two wholly distinct, non-intersecting sexes—rather, the tweaking of individual aspects. It is to really examine how sex works and take it apart on your person. It is what some trans people already do, with microdosing and what you might call small acts of detransition. If you don’t like the beard after T, why not zap it off? If you want to be on oestrogen but don’t like the breasts—double mastectomy works just the same regardless of initial sex. The idea of customisable, ‘nonbinary’ transition is one that’s gained prominence in recent years, even as attacks on all transition have exponentially increased.

Linear transition was written in an attempt to enforce a kind of gender austerity. Only those that really need it can get it, and so there must be competition, a hierarchy of haves and have-nots. There must be doctors that will prescribe you wrong dosages based on irrelevant research and leave you to wonder why you feel so off. You must not pick and choose the changes you want, because your sex is not for you to decide—it is to be granted to you, justified via a constant defense of self-identification. For the crime of violating sex/gender, your autonomy is branded as harebrained desire until proven otherwise. You’re not allowed to simply want something; you have to need it, hence the attempts to naturalise and essentialise transsexuality—you have to be real, you have to be born with it.

Above all you must be kept in the dark and hurting, so that any time someone suggests anything as ‘frivolous’ as the freedom to have their body as they wish, you snipe back: Shut up, vapid idiot! You’re going to hurt yourself in your stupidity! I’m not like you—I’m the one who’s really hurting!

To look at de/transition from the perspective of liberation is to ask: why? What’s the austerity for? We have the hormones, the surgeries, almost all the treatments we want, and the science isn’t calling it quits tomorrow last I checked. What horrible thing are we preventing by stopping people from doing to their sex whatsoever they wish? Are we running out of gender juice?

But of course, I already told you why. A smarter woman than me has also written extensively why. It is because sex and gender come with a fine print, a set of prescripts, which must be enforced. Irreversible damage to fertile wombs must not be allowed. The pedestal of Man must not be tarnished.

Freedom of sex, then, is the patriarchy’s anathema.

Detransition is part of freedom of sex. To accept acts of detransition as neutral is to allow that changes wrought by transition—just like naturally developed sexual characteristics—can be changed at will. Even disliked. To be free is to embrace the possibility of discontent, too; to allow oneself to do something you may regret later, and to be free to go back. To accept that nothing is final. Finality is one of the ways transition is made more difficult than it needs to be: you must be sure, must be happy with what you get—or else, it is argued, you never had a real need for it anyway.

That is plainly not true. I know that from my own example.

Transition served me well way back when. I do not know of an extant, realistic alternative that could’ve helped me as effectively. I was happy with my transition for years, and suicidally discontent before then. So who cares if transitioning proved in the end an imperfect permanent solution for me? Why must transition be held to perfection and permanence before it is allowed? It worked and it saved my life—who are you to tell me I shouldn’t have done it? And who are you to hold me hostage to it?

What if, even now, I enjoy that I’ve been constructed rather than simply born?

Not So Fast

Now that’s a nice thought, isn’t it? I can feel the gender nirvana coming on already.

Unfortunately, it can’t be that simple. To dream of a world you want, you must first contend with the world you already live in.

There’s a particular aspect that’s been largely absent from my essays so far: forced detransition and conversion therapy. In part, that’s because I argue from the perspective of a willing detransitioner with no shadow of a right-wing past or influence; a viewpoint which is lacking in the public conscience. Plenty of trans writers and thinkers already staunchly argue against forced detransition. They omit the detrans by virtue of either irrelevance or ignorance or both. When voluntary detransition is mentioned, people tend to merely point out there’s not that many of us. In actuality there’s very little statistical research to give definitive numbers, but it’s certainly true we are the minority of transitioners, and the absence of statistical evidence only further confirms: the Right are pulling numbers out of thin air.

Except, saying that is missing the point. The Right never cared about numbers. Or facts. Or logic. Their argument is that willing detransition ought to be the nail in the coffin for transition. If you retort that, um actually, there’s only half as many willing detransitioners, you still concede we exist and are a contradiction to you. That is enough to prove the Right’s point. I, therefore, wish to argue we are not a contradiction to trans rights or existence, but in fact on a continuum with both. That by virtue of our needs and lived realities, we are trans. Differently trans, but trans nonetheless. Some (trans and detrans) may not enjoy that assertion for a number of reasons, but the empirical fact is that we are irrevocably cast out of cis-ness, and we are in need of support structures that are near-identical to those of trans people. If by every function we are trans, then it’s under that name that we should be understood, because it is the only thing that makes sense and yields results.

But.

Detransition is not a neutral act in practice, even if it has the potential to be. Just like transition isn’t. Both are politicised, and the nature of detransition’s politicisation diverges from that of transition quite sharply.

In the current political climate, as trans people are being denied medical care and the anti-trans rhetoric pollutes every information space, this cannot be avoided or denied. Transition is reviled, and detransition is said to be the cure and is wielded as a punishment. Detransition-as-sex-freedom cannot be understood without also grappling with the other two kinds of detransition I distinguish based on motive and emergent needs: forced and coerced.

Forced detransition is the simplest to define. It is detransition that occurs when circumstances necessitate it as the only possible course of action, or it is altogether done unto the transitioner without any pretense of choice. The starkest example is, say, the new law in Florida which forcibly detransitions the incarcerated. But it needn’t be so wholly dystopian to qualify as ‘forced.’ Detransitions due to family or peer pressure, poverty, lack of access, or social isolation are all forced in nature, even if in the most technical sense you made the ‘choice’ to undergo it. If you wish you were still transitioning, it is forced.

Coerced detransition is a grayer area. It is motivated by an individual’s choice—not a lack of one or a pseudo-choice, as above—under circumstances in which transition is possible, but highly discouraged. You will naturally recognise conversion therapy as an extreme example, but it needn’t be so blatant. Often it isn’t.

Say, for instance, your closest circle of friends regards transition as a frivolous neoliberal excess. Or, let’s say, your cis boyfriend is perfectly happy you’re a man now, he swears, but—well, he’s not gay, you know? Just for you. It’s different with you. Except he still treats you the same way he did before your transition—but that’s a good thing, right? Good thing he still wants you at all? He would probably prefer a girlfriend, and he’s never dated men—actually, is this whole thing really that important to you? Aren’t you rushing into things? Do you really know what you want? You don’t mind if he slips up on pronouns when you’re not in the room, do you? 

Or maybe your general practitioner keeps insisting any time anything is wrong with you, that it’s the hormones’ fault. The classic ‘trans broken arm’ syndrome. And when something actually might be wrong with the hormones, the solution is always to just stop HRT altogether. And the surgeries—they’re just so dangerous; look at how horrifying post-op pictures are! It’s just biology, just facts, which don’t care about your feelings (but remember: it’s only a fact if it makes you feel worse.)

In other words, the decision to go through coerced detransition is made in a state of reduced agency, often caused by social pressure and/or misinformation about transition. Nothing is explicitly preventing you from doing as you will to your sex—and so it is precisely your will which must be subverted and undermined.

Notice that I make no claim whether detransition is right or wrong for the person in question. Perhaps they would’ve arrived at this decision another way, perhaps not. The point is, they are led to believe detransition is simply more sensible, healthier, better. It is the superior choice—so of course, they make it. In the end, coerced detransition is not truly dissimilar from the forced kind. What merits it separate consideration is that it’s designed to make you relinquish your own judgement, and your very own sense of self. Under such conditions, even if you would’ve ultimately detransitioned regardless, your relationship to your sex/gender is made maladaptive, and your independence as an individual is maliciously compromised.

The needs of coercively and forcibly detransitioned people are closely aligned. The forcibly detransitioned, naturally, require that the circumstance which necessitated their detransition is removed, and that their retransition is facilitated and supported. The coercively detransitioned may or may not require the same thing—some detrans people do, in fact, discover they genuinely desire detransition in less-than-ideal circumstances—but what they certainly need is a pathway to recovery from conversion. They are to be given their agency back, as well as access to accurate information about transition and transitioners, so that they are free to make the choice to retransition or to keep detransitioning as they see fit.

Both cases run counter to detransition-as-sex-freedom, to voluntary detransition—which is to say, a choice made due to a shift in self-perception, under circumstances in which continued transition is unhindered. The needs of a voluntary detransitioner are also starkly different, and most resemble that of a transitioner. A voluntary detransitioner requires a facilitated pathway to sex modification and gender recognition, from hormones to surgeries to legal procedure. It is the same thing for which trans people fight; it need only be recognised that voluntary detransitioners are part of that fight.

Grouping voluntary and involuntary detransitioners under the same umbrella makes little sense. We may superficially share some experiences, but such an equation falls apart from the perspective of rights and needs; it obfuscates motive, absolves abusers and systemic injustice, and it smooths over radical differences in our stories and perspectives. It draws a false equivalence that either condemns voluntary detransition or celebrates forced and coerced detransition, thus making it impossible to either embrace or reject detransition in good conscience. Thus no progress can be made.

In other words, conflation of voluntary and involuntary detransition only works from the cis perspective—from the perspective of the regime, which observes its deviants and wishes them gone, and rejects understanding them on principle. From either the trans or the detrans perspective, it is nonsense.

Except…

How do you know, though? How do you know? How do you know, when everything from your very cradle is telling you trans people are aberrant for existing, and when trans life is so hard? The coercively detransitioned wholeheartedly claim total autonomy; they are not really lying; from a strictly liberal-minded perspective, they are not wrong. How exactly can continued transition be ‘unhindered’ when society is engineered to always make it difficult?

How do you really know it’s your choice and your choice alone?

We all realise the answer: you don’t. You can’t. Not with complete certainty. There’s no such thing as a pure, unadulterated, individual choice, and there’s very rarely such a thing as an unhindered transition.

We live in a world that reviles transsexuality, that denies and despises the mutability of sex and stamps out any proof that gender is smoke and mirrors. The regime of cisheterosexism seeps through every layer of society and through every aspect of life. Purely voluntary detransition is, in the strictest sense, impossible. Sex/gender is a regime, and no act under it is free; all are forced to exist and be legible within its framework, or else be totally exiled. To exist socially is to exist under sex/gender.

This is not whatsoever unique to detransition. Or detrans people, or trans people. Cis women, for instance, must grapple with what it means to be a woman when Woman is defined as subordinate to Man—even as most do not transition about it. So, too, do men grapple with what their gender means when Manhood is defined and enforced via violence towards women, other men, and the gender-deviant. Even the cissexual must contend with the demands placed on their bodies—almost all transsexual treatments originate in cissexual healthcare. There is no exit from this struggle, because patriarchal sex/gender is constructed to be all-encompassing and mutually exclusive. Woman is everything Man isn’t, and vice versa; never the twain shall meet, and no stone will they leave unturned. No matter what you do, it will be sexed, it will be gendered, and though the conclusion will shift from occasion to occasion, in any particular instance it will allow for no ambiguity. Even when someone yells at you on the street, “Are you a chick or a dude?!”—that is not ‘ambiguity.’ It’s just a longer version of a slur.

Similarly, this is not the first (nor the last) time when sex/gender alteration has been contorted and weaponised against transsexuality—that is, sex-mutability’s most blatant, most acute manifestation. The Cass Review has notably cited the existence of non-transitioning nonbinary individuals as ‘proof’ transition must be curtailed:

“Secondly, medication is binary, but the fastest growing group identifying under the trans umbrella is non-binary, and we know even less about the outcomes for this group. Some of you will also become more fluid in your gender identity as you grow older. We do not know the ‘sweet spot’ when someone becomes settled in their sense of self, nor which people are most likely to benefit from medical transition. When making life-changing decisions, what is the correct balance between keeping options as flexible and open as possible as you move into adulthood, and responding to how you feel right now?”

Doubtless, the Gender Criticals wish the nonbinary non-transitioner to be as non-existent as their more deviant sibling. But while a greater deviant still exists, those that happen to be more acceptable, more assimilate-able, are called upon to do the one thing they’re good for:

Kick the weaker bitch out.

Such too is the final fate of detransitioners under the patriarchal regime. They are to be the knife in the back of their siblings, and when those are gone, they will find their own backs perforated.

So far I have provided eloquent arguments towards clear and singular conclusions—at least, I hope you’ve found me eloquent and clear. Today, on this matter, I offer no such thing. I have nothing to offer but this: so long as transition is reviled, so long as the transsexual are persecuted in any manner at all, there is no freedom of sex and there is no neutrality. Insofar as this pertains to detransition: so long as the transsexual are persecuted, hated, and forced into obscurity, we are likewise bound to their persecution, hatred, and abandonment. So long as that holds, voluntary detransition can never be free.

What Now?

I know. I’m a killjoy. It’s a fate all serious anarchists and college dropouts must contend with: if we’re really sincere about what we think, the mood will be thoroughly murdered.

The fight is clear. The fight is needed. And, the fight is hard. But there is life to be lived in the meanwhile, and it’s worth living even if we don’t see a victory during our time. Total certainty may be impossible and foolish to seek—but you have to make choices anyway. Doing nothing is merely choosing passivity and inertia; you face the consequences either way.

So I ask again: how do you know?

If you’re someone contemplating detransition, here’s the second best thing I can offer: have the courage, the self-insight, and the compassion to face yourself and be honest. Have the intelligence and the disobedience to measure what you’ve been told about transition and transsexuality against the things you have seen and experienced. Have the audacity to be wrong, to make mistakes as many times as you need. Have the pride to ask for better things than you are offered. Have the humility to not think yourself exceptional. Above all, never relinquish the responsibility over your life and your choices to anyone or anything else. No, no one else knows any better. No, there is no easier way.

The first best thing I can offer—to anyone, detrans or not—is to tell you how I knew. In the end I speak from my own experiences, and so it’s only fitting that the message I broadcast is incomplete without a degree of testimony.

Oh, it is to my chagrin, believe me—well, kind of. For all that I love attention and getting told I write oh so powerfully well, a part of me also detests personality pieces. I’m just one woman; I don’t mean much; I shouldn’t mean much. But you must’ve wondered, right? Especially if you don’t recognise yourself in me. I’ve spoken briefly about aspects of my de/transition, and let’s say you took all that for granted, but you must’ve wondered: how did I get here in the first place? How did it feel? How does it feel? Really, truly, how? And why?

I don’t like personality pieces because I think they mine for compassion. That can be a catalyst for a great many things, but just as often I’ve had people treat me with total nicety and then vote for a politician that would kill me, or exile a child that used to be me. Compassion is common, human, and incredibly cheap.

It is also required for kinship. For comparison, for legibility. And one of the issues that plagues detransitioners is illegibility. Silence. A lack of reference by which to see yourself. Community is best known by example.

So an example I shall provide. Next time.

Recommended Reading

On the freedom of sex: Andrea Long Chu, The Right To Change Sex.

On the nature of sex/gender hierarchy within the patriarchy: Talia Bhatt, Understanding Transmisogyny, Part 1.

On the mechanisms of gender-conservatism among women: Andrea Dworkin, Right-Wing Women.

[vomitdodger]

This story is several years in the making and slowly coming to light. The details of which are truly astounding.

Short version:

Texas outlaws transgender surgery

TCH, the largest hospital system in Texas, says “ok we stopped the surgeries”

TCH falsified data, claims, surgeries and every other deceit possible to continue the surgeries. And manipulate federal funding to do so. This went on for many months, (years?) in the open atmosphere of the hospital.

The chief surgeon of transgender surgery gives a Grand Rounds lecture to the hospital staff on the Trans surgeries they are continually doing. An open admission of breaking the law and the hospital lying.

A single surgeon among multiple hundreds of people in the know, steps forward as a whistleblower. His house is subsequently raided twice. Once with guns drawn and his life now in turmoil. Slowly other people (as above) are coming forward.

Jordan Peterson interviewed the initial whistleblower and it’s fantastic. He talks how the permissive environment for this lunacy evolved from Covid lockdowns to trans surgery. The interview is long but amazing. If you live in Texas you should be very interested in this. The entire medico-legal system of the state is at risk.

[dosesofcommonsense]

Don’t believe me?

I challenge you to watch this short video.

**I couldn’t watch it all the way through. It breaks my heart and repulses me that the “abortion is healthcare” motto is used in society.

Abortions have happened for centuries. It’s not like they’re a new thing. However, thanks to Margaret Sanger (Nazi) and her work in eugenics to sterilize the human race through the targeting of black communities AND Hillary Clinton championing and mainstreaming her work, the present abortion culture and satanic sacrificial system is accepted as a form of healthcare when it’s far from it.

Baby pictured at 14-22 weeks. Looks like a tiny human.

Link: https://www.abortionprocedures.com/

Can you stomach the video?

So, out of 1200 abortions, none of the pregnancies endangered the mom’s life - though the abortion endangers the mom’s life and future ability to have kids. Hmm.

Mom’s host babies. Give the baby any name you want, it’s still a baby inside the mom.

And while we’re here. Implanting a baby inside a man’s rectum “so he can give birth” is evil, is sick, and doesn’t make him a mom.

Stop affirming mental illness and let women shine as women. Men and women are different AND that’s a great thing. We complement each other. Men provide and lead; women nurture and raise kids. They are the roles we are designed for. Masculinity isn’t toxic; the absence of men is toxic.

Or there’s the damning study that found the direct correlation between a mom’s mental illness and the kid’s desire to be trans.

Of course, some people are just crazy. Look. Clinton pitched this same sad story when Roe was returned to the states where it belongs. If your state doesn’t allow abortions, you’re able to find a state that does and have the abortion there. Much like getting a tattoo from any studio you want, you can cut that kid up wherever you like. Do I agree with it? Fuck no. Can you do it? Yeah. Is it wise? No. But that’s the ruthlessness of personal choices.

Maybe this mom sounds like someone you know…an activist mom fighting for “the right to kill a baby” that you - didn’t - have - wait a minute…that sure sounds like that proud mom is subtly saying she couldn’t kill her kid…mental illness comes in all forms.

It’s certainly not like Hillary is the only one to blame, but she’s definitely near the top of the pyramid. If she hadn’t championed Sanger and abortions and helped Planned Parenthood get taxpayer money, we wouldn’t be facing the same battle or same level of sin.

Make no mistake. This is a spiritual battle with an ugly dark web of deceit surrounding abortion and what it actually means to all involved for that abortion to happen.

If you want to fund this stuff, set up a GoFundMe. As for our tax dollars, our tax money belongs nowhere near this evil system.

Joe Biden was pro abortion until after the day the kid was born. Kamala was pro-after birth abortions. Your kid was just born; Kamala was ok killing that kid and calling it an abortion.

Is Trump a solid no abortion guy? No. On that topic we differ. However, he like me says it’s a state’s rights issue and not a federal issue. SCOTUS agreed with that.

[banana-with-a-bow-tie]

is being gay/trans REALLY a sin? Is being attracted to the same sex/wanting to dress as the gender you feel you should be really all that bad to christians? Why do christians care what people do with their own lives to the point that they tell them it’s “sin”

I'm seeing three questions here. 1. What is sin? 2. How do we know something is a sin? 3. Why do Christians care if people sin?

What is a sin?

In order to understand what sin is you need to understand who God is. God is good. He does not just possess good or desirable qualities. He is good. The word "good" comes directly from the word God because God is the very standard of what it means for something to be good. We can say things like flowers and sunsets and sharing are good because they are based on God who is the source of everything good (James 1:17).

God is also our Creator. He designed us according to His perfect goodness so that we could be like Him and walk in His good ways (Psalm 25:8; Hebrews 12:10). God would be unloving to create the world and not follow His goodness.

Sin, then, is our rebellion against God and His goodness. When Adam and Eve first sinned, they were tempted with the idea that they could be like God and decide what is good and evil for themselves. They wanted to be able to say, "God is not king, I am king. God's ways are not good, my desires are good."

This is a lie from the father of lies. Satan wants us to believe that if I just do whatever I think is best then I will find true goodness and satisfaction, but all it does is lead us further and further away from true goodness which comes from communion with God (Psalm 34:10).

2. How do we know something is a sin?

When Adam and Eve sinned, our communion with God died. We all like sheep went astray and turned aside to our own ways. (Isaiah 53:6). We stopped listening to God's loving care and instead started following our hearts, but our hearts are deceitful and wicked beyond understanding (Jeremiah 17:9).

We cannot listen to our attractions or our feelings because we are attracted to and find pleasure in things that God declares are evil, things that are contrary to His good design. If people did not find pleasure in things like cheating on your spouse or stealing, then they would never do it. They are drawn into wrongdoing by their own wicked desires (James 1:14).

But God is still good. He has not left us without a witness. He has given a conscience to people who are hostile to Him so that even they can recognize when their desires are not good. We all know inherently that lying is bad, that pride is bad, that fighting and anger are bad, because God has hidden His law in our hearts (Romans 2:15).

However, because we have deceitful rebellious hearts, we try to justify ourselves and explain it away and muffle the conscience so it can't bother us any more, like searing your hand with a hot iron so it can't feel anything (1 Timothy 4:2).

The only way we can know something is sinful is by God giving us new life and enabling us to trust in the goodness of His Word again. We can know with certainty that all sexual desire outside of marriage is sin because God told us it defies His character and people do it because they want to rebel against Him, so God gives them what they want (Romans 1:24-25).

3. Why do Christians care if people sin?

Ray Comfort tells a story about a man who hated homosexuals. There was a broken elevator in his building with a sign on it that said "DANGER! OUT OF ORDER!" The hateful man saw two lesbians approaching the elevator so he took the sign down so they would use it and fall to their deaths.

God has given us a clear warning in Scripture that following your heart is dangerous. It's like an addictive drug, numbing your mind with pleasure so you don't realize it's killing you. If someone you loved was overdosing in front of you, you wouldn't say "whatever man, live your truth." You would shake them awake so they could see what is happening to them and try to get them help. If I believe that God's warning is telling the truth, the most unloving and hateful thing I can do is not tell anyone about it. Woe to me if I see judgment coming and don't tell anyone how to be saved (Ezekiel 33:6)!

Christians aren't trying to control you or force you to follow their personal preferences. Some people who profess Christ do that, but mostly we have met a God who loves us, who saw us hurtling in a downward spiral of guilt and shame and earning eternal punishment for our crimes against Him, and choosing to show us forgiveness in an unfathomably kind way.

Every single one of us has disobeyed God and tried to take His place on the throne. We all stand guilty before God not just for things like murder or homosexuality, but for lying and envy and idolatry. We have broken God's laws and because He is good, He cannot leave evil unpunished. The wages of sin is death (Romans 6:23). Every single one of us dies because it is what we have earned for ourselves. We deserve for God to give us His wrath and anger for waging war against Him (Romans 1:18).

But God is rich in mercy and abounding in love even to those who hate Him. We owe God a righteous life, but none of us are righteous, so God decided to wipe away our debt by living the perfect life for us. God became a man, Jesus, lived a perfect life, then died on a cross, taking the wrath of God we deserved, then rose again on the third day, proving that the price had been paid, then He ascended to God's right hand to offer Himself as the reason people can stand before God as righteous.

God does not delight in the death of the wicked. He does not want you to keep trying to find your identity in yourself. He wants you to know Him and His love for you. He wants to wipe away your sin and make you white as snow. What you need to do is confess your sin to God, which means to agree that you are guilty of rebellion against Him and that He is truly Lord, and you must believe that He will forgive your sin and give you eternal life because of what Jesus did for you on the cross. God is faithful and just to forgive the sin of anyone who asks Him (1 John 1:9)

I care about what you do with your life because I love you and because God loves you, just like a Father loves His children and wants what is best for them. I don't want you to miss out on the amazing gift of grace God is offering to you. Don't let Satan keep deceiving you. He promises you peace but all he can give you is death. Every promise of God will always come true (Titus 1:2)