ꆛ 
sending my grimace shake vid to everyone who says ‘hi’ 👋 pic.twitter.com/XwMyLqEQXo
— soogsx (@soogz1) July 14, 2024
ꆛ 
sending my grimace shake vid to everyone who says ‘hi’ 👋 pic.twitter.com/XwMyLqEQXo
— soogsx (@soogz1) July 14, 2024
Post by @uptondynastiesView on Threads
Post by @uptondynastiesView on Threads
Instead, the sheer redundancy of such a declaration
exposes their total unfamiliarity with the medical consensus. Since 1980, three editions of the Diagnostic
and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders have included some kind of diagnosis related
to being trans, under names like transsexualism, gender identity disorder, or gender dysphoria. “What the hell is the diagnostic manual of
whatever?”, my bewildered atheist YouTube commenters might ask. Oh, it’s just a little book by the American
Psychiatric Association. It’s generally considered authoritative by
doctors, researchers, insurance companies, and other delusional folks like that. So, let’s say you’ve been diagnosed with gender
dysphoria. What happens now that you’ve been diagnosed
with this “mental illness”, as my friends in the comments put it? Well, I already know what happens, because
I’ve been diagnosed with this! Spoiler alert: I transitioned. And this wasn’t some original idea of mine
that I had to convince anyone to go along with. There are millions of trans people around
the world – it’s so common that there’s an established treatment protocol for us. It’s called the Standards of Care, published
by the World Professional Association for Transgender Health. Here’s what it has to say about our condition:
“Some people experience gender dysphoria at such a level that the distress meets the criteria
for a formal diagnosis that might be classified as a mental disorder. Such a diagnosis is not a license for stigmatization
or the deprivation of civil and human rights. … Thus, transsexual, transgender, and gender-nonconforming
individuals are not inherently disordered. Rather, the distress of gender dysphoria,
when present, is the concern that might be diagnosable and for which various treatment
options are available.” “Stigmatization” – how about that. Maybe it’s not such a good idea to spout off
about how we must be “delusional”? I assume that all the decent people out there
already understand this, but some of you need it spelled out. And what about those various treatment options? Let’s take a look at section VIII: “Medical
Necessity of Hormone Therapy – Feminizing/masculinizing hormone therapy – the administration of exogenous
endocrine agents to induce feminizing or masculinizing changes – is a medically necessary intervention
for many transsexual, transgender, and gender nonconforming individuals with gender dysphoria.” Section XI: “Sex Reassignment Surgery
Is Effective and Medically Necessary – … While many transsexual, transgender, and gender-nonconforming
individuals find comfort with their gender identity, role, and expression without surgery,
for many others, surgery is essential and medically necessary to alleviate their gender dysphoria. For the latter group, relief from gender dysphoria
cannot be achieved without modification of their primary and/or secondary sex characteristics
to establish greater congruence with their gender identity. … Follow-up studies have shown an undeniable
beneficial effect of sex reassignment surgery on postoperative outcomes such as subjective
well-being, cosmesis, and sexual function.” “A medically necessary intervention”. “Effective and medically necessary”. “An undeniable beneficial effect”. And now you know how this particular “mental
illness” is treated. By the way, that’s from version 7 of the Standards
of Care. Six editions came before it,
dating back to 1979. This is not experimental – it’s an everyday
medical treatment. So I don’t know what these people expect
from me when they start yelling about how I’m “mentally ill”. I already saw a therapist about this. And then they referred me to a gynecologist. And pretty soon they’ll refer me to some surgeons. On the one hand, there’s the constellation
of medical professionals who are working with me on this little upgrade and the hundreds
more who’ve worked to develop protocols for this over several decades. On the other hand, there’s FluffyFeralMarmot,
an esteemed YouTube commenter. Tell me again who I should be taking medical
advice from. Transphobes call us mentally ill because they
think it’s an easy way to try and shame us for who we are. The problem is that they didn’t give a moment’s
thought to what would come after that. They didn’t bother spending five minutes learning
about how this is treated, because they were too busy calling us “delusional”. We don’t need medicine to certify who we already
know we are, any more than cis people do – but if you’re going to bring science into this,
you should make sure the science says what you think it does. Again and again, I see this pattern being
repeated by atheists who think they’re equipped to debate trans issues. They assume that science and evidence support
their position, when this most often supports the exact opposite of their position. I’ve seen atheists argue that trans women
shouldn’t be allowed in women’s restrooms, public facilities, or other spaces, because
we’re supposedly going to rape everyone. After all, nothing says “rapist” like testosterone
blockers, suppressed libido, genital atrophy, and erectile dysfunction. In reality, a majority of trans people have
been harassed just for trying to use public restrooms. Have a majority of cis people been harassed
by trans people in restrooms? I haven’t seen any studies suggesting that
this is the case. Do you know of any? 55% of trans people in homeless shelters or
domestic violence shelters have been harassed while residing there. Have 55% of cis people been harassed by trans
women in shelters? I’m not sure if there are any studies on that
either, but feel free to find them, if you can. I’ve seen atheists argue that it’s unfair
for trans women to be allowed to compete as women in professional sports, or that this
gives them a competitive advantage. The Association of Boxing Commissions,
the NCAA, USA Track & Field, the UK Football Association, and the International Olympic
Committee all allow trans people to compete as their declared gender after medically transitioning. The International Olympic Committee
has to ensure that no one has an unfair advantage – but have they consulted that dude on Facebook
who won’t shut up about trans women’s “bone structure”? And in the midst of all this, it’s practically
a cliché for them to say “It’s 8th-grade biology!” whenever they’re enlightening us with yet
another tautology about chromosomes. I guess the American Psychiatric Association
just needs to go back to middle school, right? You’d think that these science enthusiasts
would realize that early education isn’t a core of foundational truths upon which all
later knowledge is built. It’s a rough approximation designed to be
understandable to grade schoolers, and it becomes progressively more nuanced as students
advance. Instead, they’re doing the equivalent
of citing “4th-grade science” to claim that plasma isn’t real, the sun is a myth, and
who are fluorescent bulbs trying to fool, anyway? I’m glad that the surgeon who’s
going to cut my balls off decided to stay in school after junior high. So, why would people who engage in this transparent
nonsense claim that they have science behind them? They don’t exhibit any honest interest in
the process of science and its actual findings about reality. They only seem to have a selective interest
in the idea of something concrete that would back up their preconceived beliefs. If I didn’t know these people were atheists,
I don’t think I would have been able to tell. What else do you call it when someone knows
nothing about science and thinks they can blather on and on about it anyway? What do you call it when someone refuses to
change their beliefs when faced with evidence? What do you call it when they try to tell
us there’s some nonexistent “controversy” to be debated? What do you call it when they think their
intuition and baseless conjecture are more reliable than any research? And what do you call it when they don’t even
care that this lack of acceptance makes life so much worse for trans people? I sure wouldn’t call that a secular value. How is believing I’m a woman any different
from believing in God? Really? Here’s a question: How is believing that transitioning
is “mutilation” any different from believing that vaccines cause brain damage? How is believing that trans people have an
unfair advantage in sports any different from believing the earth is 6,000 years old? How is believing in an epidemic of transgender
rapists any different from believing in “irreducible complexity”? And how is believing that trans people are
“deluded” any different from believing that atheists are just angry at God? Sorry, but you’re not Neil deGrasse Tyson
giving a science lesson to middle America. You’re Ken Ham telling an audience of faithfully
ignorant sycophants how Adam and Eve rode around on a T. rex. Science observation and reality should
matter to everyone, and I hope they matter to you. But if you’re leaving out the science, the
observation, and the reality, you suck at being a skeptic.As found on YouTubeꜱʟɪᴍᴄʀʏꜱᴛᴀʟ The World’s Only Slimming Crystal Water Bottles! The unique combination of crystals is so powerful that it has been used for decades by crystal healing experts to help thousands of men and women change their lives for the better ➯➱ ➫ ➪➬ ᴛʏᴘᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘᴀꜱᴛᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ [Official] ᵘᵖᵗᵒ ⁷⁰% ᵒᶠᶠ ᵗᵒᵈᵃʸ!View this post on Instagram
I’ve been transitioning for the last year or so. I began running because I didn’t know how else to quiet my mind.
Alice Mongkongllite/BuzzFeed
God, I hate running. No — don’t think that. It’s not helping. Just keep going. Run. Run. Run. Mountains, pale green, early spring; carriage trail, dirt, mud. Puddle, dust, roots. Uphill, downhill, flat. Go. Go. Go.
Running, one year and change. Almost 400 miles, one pair of running shoes completely destroyed, another well underway. I’m slower than I was last fall. Thanks, winter lethargy. Thanks, hormones. Some athletes juice to improve their performance; not me, though. My pharmaceutical regimen is actually preventing me from building muscle. I am anti-juicing.
Transitioning from male to female, one year and change. Three and a half decades of denying that I’m transgender, 36 years of a constant inner refrain of “I couldn’t” and “I won’t” have finally shifted to acceptance — “I could,” “I will,” and now, “I am.” 100 milligrams spironolactone twice a day to block testosterone; 6 milligrams estrogen, taken sublingually so it doesn’t destroy my liver. Softer skin, bigger ass. Plus one cup size. Maybe two if I suck in my gut and squint. Just numbers. Doesn’t matter. Keep going. Run. Run. Run.
I began running because I didn’t know how else to quiet my mind. My approach to pacing was simple when I started: I ran as fast as I could. If I still had energy to ruminate, I pushed myself faster. When I couldn’t run anymore, I walked, and when the doubts and questions returned, I started running again. I needed a distraction I’d hate so much that it wouldn’t leave room for anything else. I’d always hated running, so it was perfect. Amazingly, it worked; for a blissful few minutes after every good, long run, I’d feel calm. It does not sound like much, but last year, when I could find little else to hold on to, it was everything.
I always run alone. Especially when I began, though, and all through that first spring, I was never by myself. I carried with me the memory of a relationship that had touched all of my most tender places — the scar tissue that no amount of therapy and no magic number of Al-Anon meetings could ever heal. I ran with the knowledge that on the cusp of my transition, when I had needed support more than ever before in my life, my closest support had opted out. I ran with the overwhelming guilt of knowing that after I had abandoned her months prior, when she had most needed me, I couldn’t pretend that I didn’t deserve the same. No amount of pain, remorse, begging, or prayer could touch any bit of it, though. Villain, victim, and victor were all the same, and every version of the story I kept rehashing in my mind ended with the same line: Here I am, here’s what comes next, and no matter what I do, there’s no way back.
Even though most of me knows I made good decisions last year, it’s hard not to be completely floored by a sense of loss sometimes. Why did I have to do this? I could have kept on as I was.
And so I ran. I ran as hard as I could because I didn’t know if I’d ever again feel the way I’d felt with her, or if anyone else would ever love me that fiercely once I’d passed this boundary. I ran from the poisonous, insidious thought that in my cowardice I’d destroyed the last good thing I’d ever have. No matter how hard I pushed myself, though, no matter how labored my breathing or painful the cramps in my chest, the memory of her and her family — a family that had instantly felt more like home than almost anything else ever had — and my own sense of grief were never far away. They chased after me like ghosts.
What they don’t tell you prior to transitioning is that once the thing you’ve been hiding behind is no longer there, you still need to deal with everything else; the losses accrued in the shadow of a truth you never thought you could live, and the collateral damage from those losses. It’s like addiction recovery, except that there are no 12-step groups for this.
Run. Run. Run. My quads are on fire. My feet are a hot mess of blisters and callouses. My lungs feel like they’re about to explode. Why aren’t I sitting on the couch watching reruns of Buffy? No — stop thinking. Just go.
I’m running from what my therapists have told me: “You’re so strong and good at taking care of yourself.” That’s never felt like an asset to me. If there were easier options, I would have chosen them in a heartbeat. I certainly have elsewhere in my life. Where others see strength, I feel sadness and loneliness. And I can see that some of my “strong” decisions were actually motivated by fear.
I’m running from what friends have asked me: “When are you going to start presenting as female?” What the hell is that supposed to mean? Am I supposed to start wearing dresses and heels every day to confirm my gender identity to the outside world? Fuck that. I am presenting as female, 24/7. And most of the time I’m doing it in jeans and a T-shirt, like almost every other woman I know. People who don’t know me are already gendering me correctly as female, and, god help me, even chatting me up and hitting on me when I’m sweaty and gross, out on the trail. Asking me when I’m going to start trying to look more female is bullshit.
I’m running most of all from what acquaintances tell me: “You’re so courageous.” No. I’m not. No one who says this knows what cowardice and doubt have cost me. Putting on a skirt instead of jeans before walking out the door is easy. I don’t really care about the consequences anymore. But staying and fighting for what I most want, for what scares me and what still makes me feel the most vulnerable, is something I struggle with. Calling me courageous just reminds me of where I’ve failed.
Run. Run. Run. My legs are killing me. My chest hurts. What sadistic jackass invented sports bras? Why aren’t I sitting on the couch watching reruns of Xena? I want to stop. I need to stop. OK. I can stop after that next tree. OK, now the next one. Now the next. Jesus, how does such a stupid trick keep working on me? It does, though, and I keep on. Go. Go. Go.
Eventually, without hating running any less, I’ve begun to love it too. As the hormones have been making my body soft, this has been giving me a physical strength I feel good about. My body is finally beginning to feel right, and that’s at least as much from running as from anything else. It’s become my meditation and release, but not all pious and austere like that makes it sound. It’s my sweaty, filthy, balls-out, lungs-bursting, muscles-burning, oxygen-deprived, tachycardial escape. It’s what I’d always wanted yoga to be, but could never find through all the scandals, pseudo-spiritual mumbo jumbo, and self-proclaimed gurus. There are no scandals or mumbo jumbo here, though. There are definitely no gurus. There’s just me.
When my mind becomes quiet on the trail, the soft voices of hard truths become easier to hear. One of the softest, hardest, and most persistent of these is that what I’m doing, transitioning, is not what I most want. What I most want is family. What I’m running after is love. Isn’t that what I’ve always wanted? Radically disrupting my biochemistry and sociological categorization is at best an unorthodox route to that, though. At worst, I’m scared that I’m slamming a door shut. Yes, I’m becoming who I am, and that’s wonderful, and I could still find someone, and dreams come true, but the facts on the ground are that my odds of ever partnering with someone again are uncertain. A lifetime of discomfort with my body and my identity, a lifetime spent chasing the illusion of security by secreting myself away and playing small, has meant that I didn’t start dating till I was 30. It’s hard for me to have faith that anyone could ever love this revised, unfettered version of me. I never trusted that anyone could love the old me either. Holding on to unsubstantiated hope for a love and a sense of home that may never come again is exhausting.
This is where I really need courage.
This is where courage has consistently failed me in the past.
So I keep moving where I can. Keep running. Go. Go. Go. Thank god I’m almost at the end of the trail. It’s mostly downhill from here. I’ve already made it further than I thought I would or could, and that feels like a quiet victory. I don’t know how to work toward the common, simpler things I want, like finding a partner and a family, and not jumping ship if I do. So I’m working toward obscure, nearly impossible goals instead, like changing my gender via off-label and largely experimental drug use, and forcing myself to run harder and harder over longer distances while simultaneously decimating my body’s ability to build muscle. If I can’t find the way to my deepest desires of family and love, then I’m going to fight like hell for what I can instead. Maybe in the future toward which I’m finally running, I’ll acquire the skills to do that other work. But the home stretch is still beyond my line of sight, and right now, I need to focus my attention on where I am.
Read more: http://www.buzzfeed.com/janedemuth/how-running-helped-me-explain-my-transition-to-myself