I wore my hair long for most of my life.

This isn't a post about my hair, that's just an incidental detail, but it marks a turning point so it's important to me.

I was raised as a little princess--sort of--though I don't think I was ever particularly spoiled. There were too many rules for that. I went through a difficult transition when I moved to the states, and in the space of a few years I intentionally turned my world upside down.

Shit, this is going to be hard to write.

I was almost 17 when the hair went. I totally butchered it because I was pissed at my mom who always said I had lovely hair. I dyed what remained pink. That wasn't so bad, I like pink well enough, but I grew out of that phase quickly. I was motivated by peer pressure, as if I was claiming part of my identity, re-inventing myself through an act of will... screw nature, I get to decide how the world sees me. Except I never shook the feeling that it was all fake, like streets on a Hollywood sound set that look like a suburban neighborhood in the movies, but when you look behind them it's just dark and empty. Often trashy, full of clutter and cables.

That's a sensitive subject for me.

It was the beginning of my disillusionment over manufactured identities. There's never any reconciliation when you demand that the world sees you as something you want to be instead of what you are. At best you're a dopamine addict living in a world of enablers, but the truth is always lurking inescapably behind it. The pink hair was a symptom of a deeper issue.

At the same time I was proudly part of the LGBT-etc. community. I've never been particularly attracted to men, I had kissed girls, so it seemed appropriate. I snuck into lesbian bars, which was FAR easier than it should have been (I was way too young and I looked it), I went to parades and marches and protests, and I vociferously condemned people who hinted that they didn't like where I put my privates. Why was it their business?

The question I should have asked was, "why am I making it their business?"

I was The Shit, in everyone's face for every little thing. I smoked pot, I rocked second-hand streetwear, I played in a pseudo punk band, I had a girlfriend...

Then life began to repeat itself. Something was off, I just refused to look at it head on until it knocked me off my feet. Literally. 

I knew a trans woman who kept trying to get me to date her, then she'd get mad at me when I refused. I don't like dicks, I kind of figured that fact was well established, but that wasn't the point. According to her and others, I was bigoted for refusing to accept her as a woman even though she had a man's plumbing. Eventually she pissed me off, and I, being who I am, fired back and called her a dude. She hit me. Hard.

I don't give a royal fuck what you want to call yourself, if you've had testosterone feeding your bones and muscles for 20 years, you have the body of a man and no amount of hormones or surgery will change that. I was 17, 90 lbs soaking wet, and this 170 lb, 30 year old MAN flattened me for pointing out the fact that he had a penis. My nose was bleeding, my eye was swollen, and my "friends" told me I had it coming.

I bought a taser and pepper spray that week and kept it on me at all times, and I started looking into conceal carry laws. Nobody was ever going to dominate me like that again. And nobody has.

There were other trans in my social circle who were much nicer. Two of them de-transitioned within a few months of each other, one man and one woman. That was when I saw the earlier "incident" as more than an isolated problem, because holy shit you've never seen so much hate directed at people who are just trying to live their lives. They weren't just abused, they were sabotaged in every way by every means their former community had at their disposal. I tried to stand up for them and I was told to stay in my fucking lane. So much for community. 

Five months after he de-transitioned, the man killed himself.

It wasn't because he was trans and the world couldn't accept him, it was because the "loving" community followed him, making his life an absolute hell because they couldn't accept what they saw as a betrayal. De-transitioners were a threat to the whole community, they said. They jeopardized the narrative that trans is normal, that regret is rare. Fuck that. If you support transitioning, you should support de-trans just as fervently. Isn't the freedom to be who you are the whole fucking point?

There was no hint of regret when we found out he overdosed on pain pills and that's when I realized the alphabet mafia isn't about community. It's about power.

Gatherings became less comfortable. As soon as I began to have doubts, threats seemed less likely from the outside and almost guaranteed from within. My relationship became abusive and I bailed before I was forced to shove my taser up her ass.

This whole story took less than two years to play out and it culminated when my "community" condemned me for speaking out against a homosexual pedophile. I have a particular sensitivity to this topic so the argument was non-negotiable, as if you could ever build a reasonable argument supporting pedophilia, grooming, and trafficking. I wasn't a victim or anything so dramatic... let's just say the issue is tangent to the reason I now live in the US.

Interestingly, I met a lot of alternative lifestyle individuals who left the LGBT+ cult after I made my exit, all with similar stories, and they are the nicest, most supportive people you could meet. They aren't given a platform so you never hear about them, and I'm probably sealing my own fate by speaking up. Some of you who may be reading this probably already hate me for sharing my experiences. I'm ok with that. I'll never be ok with persuasion through violence or justifying the abuse of children.

I was also surprised by support from the "normies" (I employ that word far more lovingly than I used to) in my life, including people I formerly condemned: Christians, republicans, conservatives, and more. When you actually let them talk and deign to listen, many of them make a lot more sense than "my side" ever did.

So that's the reason I don't casually throw around words like "lesbian" in this journal or on social media. I'm not into guys. I like girls. Other than that, I'm not entirely sure what that makes me, but when you don't build your entire self around a shallow identity entirely focused on sexual preference that's not a bad thing. I haven't had a relationship for a while, but I have near-platonic girlfriends that satisfy my need for companionship. Don't be too confused by the term, I just mean there's hand holding and cuddling but it's not sexual. Appliances are available to scratch that itch.

That part of my life is never going to be "normal" and I've accepted that. I might even be a little proud of it, but not in a rainbow flag kind of way. It's no longer an identity, it's just a quirk, as it should be. I don't need a label, I don't need a community, and unless I'm inviting you into my bedroom, what happens there is none of your damn business. The only reason it's even significant is that it helps clarify my perspective, and relationships with guys are less awkward when they know not to bother shooting their shot.

This might be a weird way to wind down a potentially volatile entry, but leaving that identity business behind is like weaning yourself off coffee. You think you'll be a wreck if you give it up, but it doesn't take too long for you to realize you're more consistently awake and alert without it.