eh not according to most people, so I call bs, if I deserved better I would have it. but I don’t so I don’t. that is how the world works.
(via technicaltales)Source: regard1ess
..Apparently I’m an Obsessive Twat.
Forever. and ever.
Horoscopes and astrology are both bullshit to the highest degree, but “Egotistical Douchebag” fits me fairly well. Then again, so do: “Stubborn Asshole”, “Annoying Attention Whore”, “Moody Jerk”, “Neurotic Bitch”, “Flaky Derelict”, and “Perverted Psychopath”.
Astrology in a nutshell. Everything applies to everyone because it’s made up of vague descriptions of common character traits found in large portions of humanity.
Let us embrace the dark side of life, where every minute is another closer to self-destruction. Ah, the sweet sound of unrelenting nihilistic doom.
TRIGGER WARNING. SEXUAL ASSAULT. NEAR RAPE. A LOT OF DETAILS.
Last night, I went to a party. Without going into too many details about the before, when the partying finally started happening, a somewhat muscular looking redneck showed up. I was sitting next to my friends H and A. H, who invited me, told me not to talk to him, not to look at him. He had apparently already hit a minor.
He disappears and over subsequent minutes, things change around: I am next to A on the other side of our sitting area, K and H are both where H, A, and I were prior. I was sitting on the ground. I stood up, and redneck, whom we will hereby reference as RN, started talking to me. I sensed from his looks he wasn’t friendly. Ignoring him, I thought, would make things worse, so I answered his questions.
He started touching me. First my nipples, making lewd suggestions along the way. My groin was obviously next. He would alternate between them, while I tried to swat away his hands, telling him to stop. He started to threaten me. I was, by this point, shaking thoroughly. I was absolutely terrified.
I was high. I had smoked weed before all of this, so my mind was scattered as well, in addition to the terror. He suggested that if I didn’t allow him to touch, he may take it by force. (The implication was rape.) I, still shaking, and with teary eyes, stuttered out a ‘yes’. After the consented touch, I was almost paralyzed with fear. I slid into the empty chair next to me, as A had moved a little bit earlier. It continued.
He briefly stopped, and I started to get up, when he told me if I did I was getting thrown over the bannister. Mind you, once more, he had already hit a minor, a 15 year old, earlier in the night. There is no doubt in my mind about his seriousness. His friend backed him up, oft blocking me from moving, or blocking me from getting up at all.
The home owner started making comments. “Wanna suck cock tonight?”, “How small is your dick?”, other such things. Before this had happened, I was looking around, thinking, “why isn’t anyone helping me?” Most of the time I couldn’t see K, my only defense, and I couldn’t see H or A most of the time. I tried to get A’s attention. I tried to get K’s attention once when I was in the process of sitting down. I was saying out loud, “help”… “somebody help”… as often as I could manage - I couldn’t think when I was being touched, it was like my mind turned itself off and I was just teary eyed and shaky.
Finally, when he moved to the other side of me, I saw an opening. I was still being fondled, but I leaned forward enough to yell out, “K! K! Help me, please!” He came over and told the guy to stop, as he was coming over, I ran. I laid in K’s car crying for the next 2+ hours. K wouldn’t take me home. Once he did, I haven’t been able to ring him since, and have now been without estrogen for two doses, anti-androgens for three, and antidepressants for two, because he has my bag. Incidentally, I have also been out of a toothbrush - annoying in its own right.
I spent the entirety of Sunday absent-minded. Numb. Gone. Twelve, thirteen hours on, my eyes were still puffy, wet, red. I still look like I’ve been through a trainwreck, and it’s almost been 24 hours since it happened. (It should reach 24 in approximately 1.3 hours.) I still don’t feel anything but some insane violation and hurt at the people around me. Even so-called friends. A makes the following claim on my Facebook, after I made a blanket statement about sexual assault;
“you told him to grab ur dick then said u liked it…..”
It should have been fairly clear from the shaking, the repeated nos and stops, the cries for help, running away, crying for hours alone, and immediately going to my house instead of K’s as soon as we left, early in the morning… that I didn’t like it. I don’t even remember sarcastically suggesting I liked it. In any way. From my perspective, it was very different. From my perspective, I was in the process of being violated, and tried the only option I had left, said what I was more or less forced to say, and was promptly violated more and threatened. How could anyone assume I liked what was going on?
So, not only have I been sexually assaulted, but I have been blamed for it by my own friends. My biological father too, was quick to say it was my fault for going to the party. What use, even, is pressing charges when 2/3 or more of the people are going to side with the violator, including the owner of the house? What the fuck do you do in a situation like this?
Even worse is when he comes out to where I’m crying to say he’s straight, has two kids, and was just joking. As if his claimed sexual status makes me feel better. As if that is the person that needs to have custody of kids. My friends, all three of them, suggesting that it happens at these parties, that it’s all joking, and it’s all hazing because I’m new there. It’s not a joke to me. It may be hazing, but beyond hazing, it’s still sexual assault and abuse, and I still feel extremely violated, like there is nothing to take that feeling away. A day later and I’m still feeling nothing but the occasional deep hurt and feelings of violation, despair, abandonment… whatever it was to him and the other people there, it was not those things to me. To me, it is the worst thing I have ever experienced, a terror beyond anything I could imagine. I would have rather had a gun held to my head.
I was pondering closing shop before and now I have made a decision: YFA is done.
For now, I have nothing more to put in on the subject of being transgendered. Nor do I foresee any highly interesting life-developments which would make me reconsider in the immediate future.
However, I do have other projects coming up that I will occasionally point out. I’d like to do an LGBT website, an actual website, that is. I’ve been planning it for a while but do not know when I shall have together the monetary funding for such.
The only immediate project which I have to speak about is A New Ism. A full-fledged “Articles of Humanity”, a new constitution of sorts, for all of mankind. A combination of the best aspects of the various isms.
If you’re not interested in that kind of thing, we shall meet in the place where there is no darkness…
It doesn’t surprise me that within the BDSM community and outside of it, one of the most common fetishes to women today is the rape fantasy.
The reason it doesn’t surprise me, more than any other, is that women are shamed for their sexual behaviors. One who has sex frequently with many is called a slut. One who has sex frequently, whether with few or many, they are called a whore. Such a stunning double standard that does not apply to men.
Now, I’m not a professional, but it seems reasonable to think that since women are shamed for their sexual behaviors, the idea of being in a situation where they get pleasure without being demonized for it or having caused it would be a pro.
The reality of rape is a lot less fun than the fantasy, and I’m sure most fetishists who haven’t been raped are aware they don’t want to be. Fantasies are good, healthy, even delicious! Many fantasies should stay fantasies.
What brought on this topic is a discussion I had with a friend a long time ago. He once again brought up the incident, and it just hit me that… damn, people can be pretty fucking crazy.
A female friend of his revealed to a guy she had met on a trip that she had fantasies of being raped, and of receiving oral sex as a wake-up. She was mentioning it casually. She started off with an interest in this guy, she called him sweet, funny, charming, he seemed like her kind of guy. He had offered her and her friends a place to stay that was more comfortable than where they had been, so of course they accepted, she had her own room, and was pretty happy to have met the fellow.
The next morning, she snaps awake when she feels hands around her private areas. This fellow had managed to unzip and pull her pants down, he had his hands on her sides, and was about to remove her panties. (No, I don’t know why she was wearing jeans to bed.) She screamed, kicked him off. Her friends came in, bitched him out hardcore, and they left.
It goes without saying, but I will say anyways, that it could have ended a lot worse.
A harmless sexual fantasy told to the wrong person can end up a total nightmare - but I’m not going to blame her. You don’t blame the victims. Instead, I’m going to say what any rational, reasonable, sympathetic human being should think about things like this: it is truly a fucking shame that in our modern society, 21st century North America, men don’t respect women by and large in any way at all.
I hate to sound like a radical feminist, but it seems men are the ones engaging in slut/whore shaming, as far as I can tell, though I’m sure women engage in such antics as well. As such, I don’t find it surprising at all that men like this exist, ones that will take casual discussion of a fantasy and take it to mean they are the ones who should do something about the fantasy.
It occurs to me also that there are many who would defend the guy for acting on her fantasies that she willingly told him. Fuck that noise. Just because someone confides in you does not mean you run with it and make it out to be more than it is.
Shit, Republicans will say that women are raped for their clothing choices! It’s not at all because of how the men who do the raping are taught that women are lower creatures, slutty and whorish, who are rarely to be in positions above men. No, it’s all about that skirt or those shorts. If you wear a skirt short enough, or shorts that show too much leg, clearly you’re just asking for it. Fuck that.
And to anyone who wants to complain that I’m demonizing men or engaging in misandry, let me just say: fuck you. You should be offended that there are men who do these things, not whatever words I use to describe them. And I know it’s not all men, or most men, for the record! These things are happening, though, and it needs to be paid a lot more attention to. Patriarchal attitudes create horrible incidents.
As an aside, most women I meet tend to have been sexually abused. Usually molestation at younger ages. The detrimental effects tend to stick with them for quite a while. The rates of molestation and rape are way too high for comfort. Abuse of women needs to end, ASAP.
I have aspirations to move to a larger city, whether sooner or later. Whenever it can be managed, setup, made for certain. Prime amongst these larger cities is Boston. With a population of six hundred thousand and a metro area of over four million, it will far dwarf the last place I lived away from here, which had about thirty thousand people and one hundred thousand in the micropolitan area.
Going from statistical area to micropolitan area, and back to statistical area was a pretty big series of changes. Likewise with going from small town shut-in to medium-small city shut-in, to medium-small city socialite, then to small town socialite, and back to small town shut-in. I don’t want to be a shut-in when in a large city, however, it’s mainly that the people here suck and are completely unreliable, even as friends, most of the time.
I don’t know whether I have bad judgment about friends like some have suggested as late or if I’m just too far away and tough to get up with. On one hand, I’m always on Facebook, Skype, and AIM. On the other hands, I haven’t a cellphone, calling my house is a dangerous matter (whenever we have phone service), all of those I hang with are either from the small towns I used to live near, being about 30-45 miles away, or those whom used to live here but no longer do. I don’t drive, wouldn’t have a car to drive if I did, and the only place within 40 miles to “hang” is a Walmart. Obviously you’re only going to meet the friends of friends here or randomly encounter people.
In the city, we’re assuming Boston, there will be a lot more people, and a lot of ways to encounter them. Luckily, I never have problems seeming interesting, except to boring people that I would not be interested in conversing with regardless, so the idea of networking doesn’t scare me in a new place so much.
Nor does being LGBT.
Back when I lived on campus, I was repressing my transgendered needs, and as such also doing my best to drug dysphoria into silence. As any trans person or reader of this blog will know, when you’re drugging yourself to stop dysphoria, you’re not just drugging yourself to shut up some evil or sick thoughts in your head, you’re drugging yourself in order to ignore the deeper you, the you that matters most, the you that defines you.
In a new city, especially in a progressive place like Massachusetts, I am not going to attempt to defy or deny myself.
So I would suppose that I will go fulltime as female. It will be time to shake off this act of being male and let loose the inner being. I’m not expecting the city to be some kind of LGBT utopia free from discrimination and prejudice. I don’t really know what to expect in that regard. As with life in general, murder could still happen, rape could still happen, miscellaneous discrimination could happen… but will it? In the case of Boston in specific, violent crime is pretty low. I don’t intend to be an easy target for general crime or specific discriminatory types.
I would say the city of Boston is about as safe as one can be in and be LGBT. I may be mistaken, of course, but I don’t just enjoy that city because of its LGBT protections and progressive nature. I enjoy the history. Not just the history-history. Boston has a rich cultural history. Some of it has been amongst the most inspiring to my music career. Take, for instance, Boston’s 1980s and 1990s hardcore scenes. Some of the best early hardcore punk bands were coming out of D.C. and Boston. In the 90s, it became one of the go-to places for early metalcore. Later in the 90s and all the way to present, Massachusetts in general is still somewhat of a stronghold for powerviolence, another genre within punk that I quite enjoy and would like to play, live and otherwise.
I’ll say again that, honestly, I don’t know what to expect from a big city. I know city life can be hard. That’s just life in general, though. It may be hard to make things work up there, but I’ll tell you, it’s a lot harder here. At least there I will have personal freedom. Here, if I exercise personal freedom (even with relation to apartments and such), I will end up jobless and homeless. I don’t know if it happens there or not – I’m unfamiliar with LGBT law and such - but it always happens here.
I’m back on estrogen as of today. I’m working harder than ever on a female voice. I’m mentally preparing to go from having to act like a guy every day - and expecting it - to having no other daily “acts” and “expectations” than being myself… and looking cute.
Gay bars, punk shows, doubtless poor-selling metal shows, parties… all fun, all good for meeting the like-minded. I’m sure there are also interesting LGBT groups, political parties/groups, and kink munches.
I don’t get too “wild” anymore. I would imagine I’ll be smoking pot again sometimes, hopefully not too much because of the cognitive effects, I like drinking but haven’t done that in a while and didn’t do it much anyways… illegal drugs of the psychedelic and harder varieties don’t interest me too much anymore… I’m not into the usual metal-punk shenanigans. I’m basically like an undercover Conservative. Appears to be drinking a lot, seems to have a controlled chaos thing going on, talks a lot, creates laughter, usually by way of darker humor, but… secretly doesn’t enjoy the party hard aspects as much as the chances for socialization and connections.
One thing unrelated to LGBT things and just adjusting is that I would hope that if I did insert myself into the crowd of Bostonians, the city holds up its intellectual reputation. It certainly hasn’t disappointed so far. The Bostonians that I have met over the years have tended to be more on the intellectual side of things than persons from most other places. Only those from Edmonton in Alberta, Canada seem to match up fairly well in intellectual prowess.
I’m from the south but do not speak as a southerner speaks. I don’t fit in here at all. There’s no assurances I’ll fit in with the New England crowds, given as I don’t really seem to fit in anywhere, but hey, it’s worth a good shot and some adjustment, right?
I really do worry about the difficulty of things. Don’t get me wrong with all my talk of partying and such. Just looking at pictures of the city make me think, “damn, that will be pretty fucking new.”
Living on campus at EKU was kind of hard to adjust to. All the people, especially in my age group, and I’m talking about moving to a place which should be more densely populated, and contain vastly more of my own age group. Especially considering target location(s) seem to be those with a high amount of college-aged persons. Your typical college and post-college crowds. It was hard to adjust to just seeing and being around many people all the time when walking around or hanging out. In the end, it didn’t bother me any longer. Given as I have, however, been in a town of 1,600, and another town of 255, for a year and a half since then, it’s going to be interesting readjusting.
Large crowds, new places, and new people never stopped me when I was truly interested in getting out and living. In fact, that bothers me a lot more in places like this - places where there are no crowds, there are no new places, there are no new people. Everything is familiar. You can only drive around a town like this so many times before you know every single detail of it. You can only meet the same people over and over so many times before you realize how small a place like this really is. It’s not just boring for extreme socialites, it’s a true vibe-killer. It’s legitimately hard to motivate myself enough to get out of the house here to do basically anything. I can’t get work, there is nowhere to hang, nothing to do, all the cool people moved away, what’s the point? It’s not like people are all thrilled and lining up to move to the town of Louisa, Kentucky! Absurdity, that would be.
If you’ve been with me for a while, and I know many of you have because I get a lot of visitors, messages, and my Google Analytics stats are pretty heavy, you probably know my whole life’s story by now. What’s new to both you and I, though, dear reader, is the future of my life’s story. I think as I get deeper into transition now that I am once more on hormones and fairly close to being able to move away, the new things that shall go here will easily be as interesting as old. Doubtless better and happier for me, plus a lot more fun to tell, not as depressing to read!
There is a lot to think about. I’m trying. Research can only go so far. Thoughts on the research can go a lot further. Expect more details on things as I get closer to entering the next phase of life, which I shall so eloquently and imaginatively refer to as being the “newly female” phase. Of course, it’ll be newly female in appearance, behaviors, and how I am perceived, since I’ve always been female on the inside, but it’ll obviously be pretty fucking new living myself instead of just feeling it. I would assume that “adjusted female” would come next, once adjusted to the proper and fitting role. (I’m not talking about societal role, fuck societal gender roles and all that bullshit, I mean my fitting gender role, which is the opposite of having to act male.)
Much love, ladies and djents.