9/30/2016

I’m upset. I’m angry. I’m hurt. I’m tired. I’m sick. Sick and tired of this daily reminder that I’m not considered a “real” human being. That I’m this sub-human monster who will prey upon society’s weak. And I’m not talking about your average day to day bigotry (though that certainly doesn’t help), I’m talking about my own “side.” Every day I am reminded that I don’t matter; that trans people don’t matter, unless they can be successfully wielded as a weapon or a tool to further some cis hack’s career. We are either one of “The Good Ones,” or you end up in my position: smeared to literally thousands of people as a racist, or an outright neo-nazi, or a rapist, or a pedophile, or some other hideous crap by a group of petty, talentless dickheads wound up over God Knows What.

Sick and tired of all this bullshit about GamerX, this LGB circle jerk that identifies as a “safe space” the same way Kotaku In Action posters identify as an attack helicopter, and these “inspiring” panels and speeches about inclusivity and intersectionality from big name tech feminists who create Twitter blocklists (no, Randi Harper is not the only one; she only picked up where Indie Games left off) explicitly designed to silence those pesky, irritating trannies who won’t shut the fuck up about being threatened with rape and murder all the damn time. You’re great! You can make it! But not you, or you, or you. Be Cis or Be Dead.

Sick of seeing selfies containing the shit-eating grins of abusive motherfuckers who have led dogpiles and witchhunts that have successfully rendered at least two trans women, one of whom is a dear friend that I care about more than a little bit, into homelessness, never-ending PTSD and suicidal ideation. And hey, who doesn’t like waking up every morning for a solid year, hoping that you’re friend didn’t follow through on her threats of killing herself because a member of Riot Games’ Diversity & Inclusion Program decided that they didn’t like her and that her life should become a living hell? I DON’T! 

Sick of these selfies juxtaposing pictures of my friends who have since had the life drained from them with the ear-to-ear grins of people who hurt them.

Sick of having to relive flashbacks of childhood physical and sexual abuse, while in the modern day, “woke” journalists at Kotaku liken me to rapists like Roosh V or Matt Forney.

Sick of saying this shit over and over again, while people come to me privately and say “don’t do this” or “keep it to yourself” or “but they’re actually good people!” Because apparently saying that even supposedly inclusive spaces have their problems is like opening up Pandora’s Box. And what the fuck do you mean by “good people?” Is that implying that I’m bad?

Sick of putting myself out there, and my only reward is abuse, harassment, and a dedicated thread on a fucking Chris-chan message board obsessing over my every move while every greasy slackivist who made their name speaking out about this shit turns a blind eye.

Sick of it all. You’ll never fix your shit. You’ll never stop rewarding toxicity, abuse, and harassment. You’ve all been caught peddling your wares to legitimate hate groups, but we’re the nazis. You’ve thrown us under the bus enough times that Greyhound is suing for damages. Quit this facade of caring.

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