quote:

I have an intensity of hatred for myself beyond any reasonable measure. Hatred isn't irrational, it's a cold hard line of focused pain. I have hated myself for feeling trans for over a decade now and the pain is too much to bear. I find myself confessing now, for reasons I can't nor wish to understand. I've written millions of words on all sorts of topics, ranging from histories to creepypastas and everything inbetween and I now finally feel like I can put that hatred, that pain into words now. I used to look up art of people being turned into women, and I didn't know why. I went for a shaky transition once, but slipped back. I wrote a vile and evil essay against people I shouldn't have, and now I find myself putting that hatred into text once more. I don't want to be a woman, but I am obsessed by the idea of it. Every day I can function normally. I moved, I learned another tongue, I speak it fluently and yet that insidious flicker of doubt followed a thousand miles over hills and sea. I was born a man, raised one, act as one, but I pretended to be a woman online sometimes. I came out ironically on April Fools day and it scares me that I can't stop doing it. Something awful inside me is seizing me like a demon and one by one I leave people utterly baffled and confused and I become more and more scared because I've been losing control. I've lost a lot of weight and can't eat anymore and fall into shaking fits. I have to hit myself to stop it, and when I have a moment alone it takes all I can to avoid bursting out laughing because every part of me is at war with itself.

I keep being obsessed over trans topics. I hate the loving flag, I hate when I see it and I hate trans people because I hate myself. I don't want to be trans, it loving repulses me to the core. I've tried woodworking, photography, planting, cooking, languages to take my mind off it. I've lied and cheated and tried to avoid it and yet when I go to sleep it burns me so poisonously I wake up screaming. The people I called trannies, that I laughed at and insulted and hated and found tragic wretched beasts, I hated them because they were like me. Whenever someone brings up the possibility that I am trans myself, I try to do what I can to avoid breaking down. I once drank bleach and it hurts nowhere near as much as it does pressing each key on my laptop right now. It burns the skin on my fingers and chars my flesh and yet I keep typing. I know I was born a man with the chromosomes of one, that I have the bones and flesh, the upbringing and soul of a man. And yet the thoughts come back in, the obsession, and the terrible implications. I don't want to sterilize myself, nor turn into the monster I fear I'll become. I wanted people to hate me and gave them every excuse to do so, and I went to someone who hated me, begging them to tell me everything they hated about me.

The notes of Haydn no longer flow together for me, they clang together. I used to pass through a few moments of wanting to be a woman but when it passed the feeling repulsed and terrified me. It's reached the point where its breaking down into a constant confusion and I've started hearing noises in my head. I've been grabbing onto justifications like a drowning man does for straws. I know that I can't be trans, and yet it feels like it cordyceped me, that someone possessed me or seeks to lead me into hell. The obsession returns like a tumour to scream at me. I don't want to fall down this path, I don't want to change, I still want to be me. But she looks at me whenever I look in the mirror. She's offering me her hand and I'm scared of what will happen if I take it.