I have lurked on and off for years at this site, but finally registered an account today because I have something to say. Please listen to me.
I am trans. I also have something called Klinefelter Syndrome: that is, I have forty-seven chromosomes instead of forty-six. I have three sex chromosomes: XXY. This is actually a not uncommon event; it has the same stastical likelyhood as Down Syndrome because the mechanism is the same, just acting on a different chromosome.
People with KS are raised as boys, and the majority are happy that way. A significant fraction of us, however, are not. I am one of them.
I am fortunate enough to have a very good memory, and I remember my childhood vividly. By the time I was six I was aware that something had gone wrong, that my body was screwed up and deformed. I also learned that it was something that must never be talked about, ever ever ever. It was worse than admitting to being a murderer in terms of social sanction for a small child. Once others know, you can't take it back. It instantly becomes a weapon that is employed enthusiastically by many, including adults and "authority figures."
I hid it away with suffocating zeal, but still I was called "faggot" more times than I can count. I can think of a dozen individual, humiliating and physically dangerous events that involved the use of that word just off the top of my head. To this day, if I hear someone yell that in the distance it freezes my heart and makes my blood run cold.
It gradually dawned on me that I would never enjoy my life; it would be a slow, long wait until death. I got used to simply waiting out my life. I thought of suicide every single day, but the truth is that the survival instinct and fear of death are incredibly strong and hard to overcome. I tried to cope with what I guess you would call "death meditation," using meditation to take away my fear of death, so I could do it.
Puberty was a nightmare beyond description. I had dreams about turning into a Mr Hyde-esque monster, and then I woke up every morning with stubble on my face and hair on my hands. For my penis I felt the exact sort of visceral horror and loathing normally reserved for tapeworms and other internal parasites. I felt ashamed, worthless, defective goods. Truly I was worthy of death, but instead was punished with life.
I wore clothes down to rags, even though I wasn't poor. What was the point of buying clothes? I would hate how I looked no matter what I wore. Might as well spend the money on more drugs.
Imagine you had a penis sticking out of your forehead. No doubt you could have some fun with it, but you'd still want it off, right? What if people told you you were crazy and disordered to want it off, that half the world has dicks on their foreheads and they like it, and we have to save you from yourself and keep you from making decisions that make us uncomfortable.
What other condition do you know where you have to prove yourself for two years (and sometimes sexual favours) before you are allowed medical care? What other condition is there in which they send you a questionairre with questions like "have you ever been arrested" on it? Not charged, not convicted, arrested. Followed by a demand to know the circumstances of that arrest. Accompanying the interrogation form was a letter to the effect that failure to answer all questions correctly will result in rejection of care. Sadly, I threw them away, otherwise I would scan them and post them here. Just to give you some idea about how we're treated. Not patients, not human beings, just lab rats for the psychologists to wring some papers from, maybe get some more grant money, maybe make them famous and respected among their peers. They were so ashamed of even being associated with me that they sent them in a plain brown envelope with no identification. I'm surprised they don't handle us with latex gloves.
In the end, after my second suicide attempt nearly succeeded, when I woke up in the ER with tubes emerging from every orifice, that a loved one begged me to tell them what was wrong. So, finally after 32 years which have felt like 32 centuries, I told them. And I did it. I did it without the Official Permission, without grovelling and scraping at the feet of people who despise me. I made use of every resource available to me, and ruthlessly bulldozed through it all and came out of the other side happier than I have ever been able to remember. And my memory is a good one.
Now, imagine how I feel when I read the revolting way the author of the thread with the lower-case version of this one's title was treated. The Right hates us. They spare no invective, no lie, no attribution of motive: literally anything goes. Nothing is beyond the pale for them. They will not rest until they have us tied to beds, full of Risperdal and half our brains removed until we are no longer a threat to their worldview. And they get away with it because of something that I learned only recently, something shattering that pulled the carpet from under my understanding of human nature.
The Left hates us too.
I am going off to cry now. Mods, please feel free to delete this thread and ban me. I will understand. And the rest of you guys feel free to pile on with the "oh boo hoo shut up you baby" comments. I will also understand those too. I have heard them many many times before.