Sad


Having grown up in Alabama, I understand that bigots will go to extraordinary lengths to justify their rage and their hate. When I have supported groups like Black Lives Matter, I have been accused of only having sex with black men. When I supported marriage equality, I was labeled a lesbian. So I guess that it makes sense that my support of rights for transgender/non-binary people means that, drumroll please, I am a man. No, you didn’t read that wrong. In the middle of the night last night, a stranger accused me of having male privilege. I cackled as I read it. Who knew that I’m a dude?! I would have expected my parents or my gynecologists over the years to have told me if I was a dude. I’m especially disappointed that the gynecologist who performed the hysteroscopy/uterine biopsy and D&C didn’t say, “Uh. This procedure can’t be performed on you.” My family and doctors didn’t call me a dude because… I’m not one. Whether you subscribe to trans-exclusionary feminism’s1 reductive view of gender as being based on body parts or the inclusive view I subscribe to that admits gender & sex are not one in the same, this conclusion that I have male privilege makes no sense. I don’t have the body parts of a dude. I don’t feel I am a dude. Therefore: A dude I am not. In case you can’t speak Yoda, let’s try the standard English: I’m not a dude/man/guy/boy/male. I doubt I can put it any more clearly than that, but I’m sure that that won’t satisfy some of these individuals. Calling me a guy because I disagree with what you feel a woman should believe is as hysterical as it is sad. But it’s not the first time that a TERF has gone this route. I would bet that if any woman spends any length of time debating them or disagreeing with them that TERFs would start questioning their biological sex. Or if they don’t question the sex of the person, they start saying that she is somehow incapable of thinking for herself and that men must have brainwashed her. The internalized misogyny is strong with TERFs. How are they “liberating” women2 by denigrating women that don’t agree with them and suggesting that they are somehow unable to use their cognitive processes to come to their own opinions? It’s almost like their own version of a savior complex. They feel the need to “rescue” the poor little women who disagree with them from making informed decisions about their own lives and making conclusions about the things that they believe based on their own experiences. That’s not liberation. That’s oppression. You can’t replace one form of oppressive system with another. That just doesn’t work. Or, more correctly, it doesn’t actually liberate anyone. Also, misrepresenting what people say so that you can perpetuate hatred and encourage a pile-on is not the action of those intent on liberating. The original angst fest by this “liberation” force began after I defended a male friend on Twitter after a female follower of mine said something about him being harmful because he uses the term TERF to describe people who are, well, TERFs. This was the tweet that was being responded to: It’s becoming blatantly obvious where the adage “separate the artist from the art” came from, and we probably should stop using it. — Soyter Krampus 🔑 (@petercoffin) November 5, 2017 I cannot share the text of the tweet that I responded to as the user was reported3 to Twitter several tweets later for threatening to dox multiple individuals. But it is the threat to dox that alarmed me so much about this particular group of TERFs. I tried pointing out what was going on to Helen, which led to the response4 by Juniper that I have male privilege. Helen and other TERFs had insisted that their ilk couldn’t be behind the doxing threats or the ableism, racism, and other vitriol that I had seen while conversing with them. When Juniper came along, she decided that my outrage was due to my either having a penis or a feeling that I should have one. I’m really not sure how a person who has never been a man and who never wanted to be a man somehow has male privilege, so I asked. I think one of the reasons is because you stated that you would fight to get a man who posts picture after picture of his come covered cock into safe spaces for women and girls because he says the magic words ‘I am a woman’. — helen staniland (@helenstaniland) December 2, 2017 The tweets that Helen was referencing were from a different Twitter user who had offended her sensibilities by posting, on her own timeline, nude pictures and video. Helen encouraged a mob of individuals to report Meisha, even though Meisha’s posts do not violate the Twitter rules. She had already given me a hard time for pointing out to another individual that reporting Meisha would only lead to that person being punished by Twitter. No. women don’t post pictures of their come covered flaccid cock. What mental gymnastics do you have to go through to tell yourself he’s a woman? Would you fight for him to be in spaces with women and girls? — helen staniland (@helenstaniland) December 1, 2017 When Helen had discovered the tweet she dislikes so, she had made sure that all of her followers could join in on her hate. Anyone who didn’t had to be shamed. I just didn’t want to play that game with her, so she went full-on with the faux outrage against me and even challenged my gender and biological sex because I supported a person who she didn’t like & who she was simply using to gain prominence amongst her TERFy peers.5 I was familiar with her technique because of the past disagreements with her,6 so I told her to leave me alone. Repeatedly. She thought […]

I’m A Guy?


1
I’ve had clinical issues with depression for 24 years now. I’ve been in and out of therapy, mostly in, for all of that time. I’ve been medicated for it for the better part of 19 of those years. I know the symptoms. I understand the importance of my medicine. I do everything I can to not be in an acute state, but it still happens. It doesn’t help that my body has always had a love-hate relationship with the only antidepressant I’ve had a significant positive reaction to. Effexor is my savior and my torturer. It is fickle. It is capable of a level of pettiness that would cause Gossip Girl characters to screech obscenities. So when I legitimately forgot to take it until nine hours after it was due, my nervous system decided to revolt. Two hours before I remembered, I was crying over a television show being watched in another room. My eyes were overwhelmed by light. My ears couldn’t handle sound. I felt tired. I felt scared. I felt like my life was meaningless and that I served no real purpose in the world. I felt like I should just go ahead and die. I’m lucky. The years of therapy and medicine, of knowing what my disease is like, of knowing why grieving has increased my risk of suicide for a while,1 and of knowing that the disease was lying to me made me start thinking: why do I feel like this right now? Because I have the tools & skills to do so, I started figuring out what happened.  When I fixed my breakfast, I didn’t take my Effexor because I was trying to avoid taking any of a new brand of Fish Oil supplements.2 I actually missed several medications & supplements while avoiding that one thing. And that sent me into a tailspin.  That’s all it takes.  One mistake.  One bad decision.  Depression takes advantage of those mistakes and decisions. It is opportunist, but with the right tools, you can fight back. And if it’s a chronic issue, like mine, that will just be one battle, or maybe just a skirmish, in a lifelong war with it. But I’m willing to fight because I prefer it to the alternative.  Photo via Visualhunt.com Especially after a brief Facebook encounter where someone decided to discuss a graphic rumor of how she had died. ↩It’s too fishy. ↩

This Is What Depression Feels Like