Saturday, April 26, 2025

strong desire to be treated as the other gender…

Why no. No, I don’t look butch when I leave the house. Not at all.

Here’s the thing: I have gotten a metric fuck ton of shit on Facebook recently because I’m LOUD about trans rights. In comments on news stories. In my Facebook DMs. I even had a friend threaten to not refer someone to my little bookkeeping business because I was “pro-mentally ill people”.

That last one? OMG.

Hey, fuckface (yes, you. I know you stalk my little blog. HI!!!!), I don’t know if you know anything about me even though we’ve been friendly for decades now… to be honest, despite the multiple visits here, I don’t think you’ve ever read a word I’ve ever posted.

If you did, you would know that I am pro-mentally ill people. BECAUSE I AM ONE, YOU DUMB FUCK.

Social anxiety? Check
Bipolar? Check
General Anxiety? Check
A touch of OCD? Check
Seasonal Affective Disorder? Well, more like annual, but there’s a cure for that and it’s called MAINE.
Gender dysphoria? Never diagnosed, but I know I have it. I’ve had more luck controlling that than the OCD, anxiety, or bipolar combined, though.

When I was younger, I couldn’t leave the house without a baseball cap. A practice my mother tried to literally beat out of me.

My dad used to call me “his son, [name]” in a joking fashion, but it felt right in a way my real name never has.

I used to live in men’s clothes - another habit that mother tried to beat out of me. Literally. I did so right up until my boobs got too big. (Hi again! I know you love my double Ds. You once wrote a very… interesting… poem about them one night when you were drunk off your face.) Anyways, my boobs don’t fit in men’s shirts any more unless I buy them a tad too big. Don’t even get me started on my breeder’s hips. Men’s pants are a thing of my past as well.

All the trappings of being born in a female body bother me. They always have, but I’ve learned to live with it because living my life as a man wasn’t a thing when I was at my lowest point. I know I talked about my fencing buddy, Phyl, before and how she transitioned after her wife died and her kids were grown.

I’ve been thinking about her a lot.

About how brave she was to transition so late in life. If I had the balls (HA!) to do it now that I’m fifty.

But it doesn’t matter because nobody cares about FTM trans people.

What they do care about is MTF, but not for the reasons you think they do. It’s not about bathrooms and it’s not about men genetically being better than women in sports. It goes deeper than that and to be honest, I’m not even sure they know why they need to force a gender binary.

May I remind you that Felon 47 was recorded saying he grabbed women by the pussy? YET HE WAS VOTED INTO OFFICE. TWICE.

I’d rather take my chances with the trans women than with a cis man.

Anyhoo… Did you know, they’re so worried about “perverted” men accosting girls / women in locker rooms, that they want to do gender checks? They are literally talking about checking female athletes for men’s genitalia.

Um, no.

I’m loving the backlash that’s coming out of the trans community, though. There are some trans men I follow that - if they didn’t announce they transitioned - I would never have guessed. Yet, our politicians think they belong in a women’s restroom. Because they have what I assume are grabbable pussies… I mean, who’s the real pervert here?

Seriously. What it is about conservatives / magats that make them so obsessed with penises? Peni?

Schlongs. Let’s go with schlongs.

It doesn’t end there, though.

This culture of fear about the different? It’s affecting cis women.

Read that again.

IT IS AFFECTING CIS WOMEN. THE VERY WOMEN THEY WANT TO ‘PROTECT’.

People are actually accosting cis women in bathrooms because they look masculine. That’s if they even get in in the first place.

There are videos and news stories. Blog posts. TikToks. Facebook posts. Instagram posts.

They’re out there if you care to look.

Now, despite hating my female body, when I was untreated for the bipolar, I was um… shall we say, unbothered by getting nekkid with men when I was manic. (Do you remember that night? I’m sure you do… since you were the recipient of a - and I quote -  “million dollar blow job”. Too bad you couldn’t afford it.) I’d regret it, sure, once the mania passed. But during those manic periods, I was too busy trying to get off, to make my body behave in ways it wasn’t built for.

I faked every. single. one.

EVERY. SINGLE. ONE.

(Yup. You, too, asshole. Especially with you, whisky dick.)

Looking back, it’s easy to think I was a sex-repulsed asexual, even though that term wasn’t well known back then. Now, hindsight being 20/20 and all, I think I’m just repulsed by anything that focuses on what’s below my waist.

Any way… you want to know why I say the quiet things out loud? Why I’m spending money supporting trans rights groups?

Because I could be one of “them”.

Because I want to be one of “them”.

I’m just too damned scared.