Somewhat terrifying. But at least he's confessing it.
https://gendertrender.wordpress.com/201 ... nd-hatred/
AMAB here, age 18. I have been on HRT for 5 or so months now. I want to take this time to let out a rant I’ve kept bottled inside for some months now (I haven’t talked extensively about my transition since it started months ago, and a lot changes.) The transition has been very systematic. Skins softens, breasts grow, the usual. I haven’t yet crossed the line of looking in the mirror and feeling blissfully at ease. I yearn for that still. But something else that feels entirely unchanged is my envy of other women. My lust for the beauty they withhold. My hatred for not being what they are. These emotions manifest and concatenate in often dangerous ways. For instance, earlier I watched that Ryan Reynolds movie called Voices. In it, Reynolds, cute as ever, is a schizophrenic factory worker that works with a number of beautiful women. Throughout the movie he is convinced by his cat and dog to murder the women and keep their heads in his fridge. One of the women, whom Reynolds’ character has a brief romance with before killing her too, is played by Anna Kendrick. This is where the movie stirred up and provoked the triple threat of emotions I mentioned above.
I love Anna Kendrick, in every sense of the word. She’s beautiful, an excellent singer, a lovely actress, as perfect as they come. But she is an excellent example of a target for my emotions. I have a strong lust for her because of her beauty and sexy voice. I have an incredible envy over her because of how fucking white her teeth are, how sexy her singing voice is, how perfect her hair is, how beautiful she looked in the dress that Reynolds killed her in. I also have a despicable hatred for her for all the same reasons.
This is a lethal mixture I have for many many women. Celebrities, girls I know personally, girls I’ve never even heard of that I see in pictures. My last relationship was consumed by my desire to be my girlfriend. I even sometimes, with every ounce of my being, hold a strong resentment towards innocent little girls simply because they are what I never got to be: a little girl. I can’t stand being around them sometimes because I almost break down crying to a five-year-old, which is something they shouldn’t have to deal with and is frankly pathetic.
With that being said, I loved watching Anna Kendrick being killed in Voices. I re-watched her break her neck and lay in bed in her lovely dress helplessly at least five times. That’s where my fantasies center around. I want girls like her to be hurt. Badly. I often subdue bouts of painful dysphoria with more powerful thoughts of hurting the girl who caused it. I feel guilty for feeling this way and these desires date back a few years. Psychology has taught me that this potentially originates from the overwhelming need to control a female body, the delusion that harming a beautiful women at my own hands feeds my desperation to be ultimately near to and have control over her body.
The truth is that I would do anything to be Anna Kendrick, but I fear that, in leu of that ever being a possibility, I would just kill her if ever given the chance, and sob inconsolably over her perfection after the fact.
Needless to say, I have a lot of powerful emotions that I have suppressed my entire life.
These dreadful fantasies are not just directed at celebrities and are not only provoked by watching someone getting killed beforehand. I was on a school trip a couple months ago to the capital of my state. It was for my [nameless] organization for officers-only, which I am one of, and was actually state-wide conference with over 2000 attendants. It was a blast, but my teacher did the usual thing of gendering the rooms. He made each of us – only about 8 officers – room with a partner of the same sex, genders in different hallways. It’s bad enough that I had to be separated from the girls which I internally felt included with, but the ones from my school on the trip were fucking beautiful, and I was so jealous that they were able to be in the girls hallway, no questions asked. One of them, who we’ll call Greg, is someone I’ve been kinda friends with through this organization for about a year. She is the epitome of everything I wish I was. She is so outrageously beautiful and funny and popular and talented. My experience over this entire trip was somewhat tainted by my overwhelming grief of being fixated on her for the whole three days.
For the next few days after, I found myself in my counselor’s office for hours because I was unable to function because my mind was fixated on a desire to cause harm to this girl. I hated her so much and I wanted to press lightly on her trachea and look into her beautiful eyes listening as her final breaths cry for mercy. I didn’t want to actually hurt her, I usually don’t. I always imagine girls’ deaths to be gentle, so as to not disturb their natural beauty. I don’t want to harm them, I just want their life to end. Normally in these fantasies I pinch their nose shut and cover their mouth so I can watch them fade so elegantly at my own gentle hands. It’s not about making them not beautiful anymore. It’s about taking the life from them. I want to reduce their beauty to just a corpse because their life isn’t fair. I want to caress them in my arms and carefully tighten a rope around their neck so they can look at me when I take their soul. I want to feel their final breaths. I want to release the life from their body so I can have the shell. The beautiful shell.
Needless to say, my counselor, whom is otherwise very supportive of me, was concerned to say the least and almost had to call 911.
I texted Greg initially telling her how much of a bitch I think she is, but when I got the surprising response talking about how sorry she is that I feel that way and that she tries not to be since she’s been bullied her whole life, I quickly retracted the statement. I told her that I am trans and that I only said that out of spiteful envy over her beauty. She responded kindly.
The worst thoughts are those of hurting little girls. When I ride the elementary bus home from my school, I am bombarded by fun little kids that all love me because I’m often the only high-schooler, and rather funny. I almost always find myself on these trips home to be fixated on a young girl on the bus. I make everyone laugh while holding back the tears of looking at the little girls who will grow up to be strong, beautiful women. I hate them because I never got to be a little girl and I hate that they have what I never could, their princess room and their cute clothes and their girly little personalities. Sometimes I want to hurt them too. Why did God make them little girls but never me? I miss the childhood I never had.
Thanks for listening to my rant. I hate myself.
By the way, I watched "Silence of the Lambs" the other night for the first time since the 90s and it really jumped out at me how, if it were released now, it would probably be boycotted for being "transphobic".