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submitted 3 days ago by [email protected] to c/[email protected]

Hello everyone~ I hope you are all doing okay.

If you will permit me some self-indulgence, I have, as of today, been trans for 5 years. It's been an interesting and long journey already, but I don't think I'd give it up for anything. I wrote a lot going through some of that journey as a way to work through certain emotions for myself. It's all quite heavy, and I suspect uninteresting for anyone who is not myself. But I felt I had to, for my own sake if no one else's. Please do not feel like you need to read it if it is too much or you don't have any interest in it. I promise I will not mind at all, I wrote it all for myself, after all.

5 years (CW: Horror, Internalised Transphobia, Identity Collapse, Parental Abuse, Hair)5 years ago today, a boy sits in an airport lobby, patiently waiting for a flight to take him away from his current home to a new one. The boy is used to this; he has done it so many times that it has become nearly ritualistic for him to abandon everything and everyone after a few short years in any given place. The only company he ever maintains through these upheavals are his direct family. Yet even that thinned as his siblings moved away for school and, temporarily over the next year, his father would be stuck working elsewhere away from the family. So it was that the boy and his mother were the only two who would be boarding this flight and settling at their next home.

The clock is ticking, but it will still take an hour for the plane to arrive. He scrolls and scrolls and scrolls, hoping it will help burn the wick of time even a little bit faster. But not much is worth reading or remembering: the strongest emotions he feels are slight giggles at memes of the current new game, mild anger at bad takes, or simple awe at a work of art. The scrolling continues.

But wait! Young boy, this next post might catch your eye! A simple meme in pink and blue, expressing a simple affirmation for trans girls. Something stirs. This is nothing new for him, he has been reading these memes for months at this point. Yet somehow, despite this familiarity, this random meme has found its mark and pierced his heart. The stirring grows. For months while reading these memes and researching transness he had undergone a probabilistic analysis of himself. His mind has been a flurry of gender confusion for a long time now, though the probability never rose beyond 50%. He had wanted to become a femboy for years, yet never dared try. So why had he been feeling this way these past months? Dread starts to set in. He thinks it may be over 50% now. A silent panic arrests him. The vision of his future self collapses. What will he do now if this probability is true? He can't tell anyone, not his mother who ridiculed him anytime he showed vulnerability, nor his friends online who will be unable to reach him in just a short while when he is on the plane. He is stuck, simply waiting, as a myriad of wordless feelings race to dominate his mind.

He boards the flight. 8 hours go by, and he is completely numb through it all. His mother is next to him, but he is completely isolated in his thoughts, in his wordless fears. The hours pass as a slow dismantling of his identity occurs, parts cannibalised by the newborn which has yet to fully emerge. Anxious and lonely, unseen by all, the stirring reaches its crescendo.

She reaches her new home. The numbness is still there, but at least she can try to rest now that she is somewhere safe. She enters the bathroom to find a dirty tub covered in so much hair one might think it was growing out of some pores hidden by the grime, like a mockery of the dark fur covering her body which she so loathed. She is still too numb to care. She runs the water and sits in the muck as it fills the bath at her feet. trying to wash away the fear of the day. It doesn't work. The muck rises further, high enough now to hide the pieces of him adorning her body. She shuts off the water and lays back. She tries to avoid thinking about it. But she can't deny that the body which he thought was okay now feels like a prison. She realises that maybe it always did, and he was just a mask to hide it. With the porcelain of the mask peeled back a little, the pulsating flesh beneath is vivid and clear, deformed and wretched in every respect. She washes herself quickly, wishing she could feel ignore this again. She never will.

Eventually she gets in bed and, alone in her room, messages one of her friends. Honestly friend is too strong a word, this person is more of an acquaintance. A trans woman who months previous insisted that the boy was in denial of his transness. At the time this insistence simply felt as barbs that pushed him further into denial. The irony was not lost on the girl now. Though nonetheless the woman gloated as though it were. Their conversation continued, the woman offered advice on surgery and DIY HRT, but for the girl stuck dependent upon her family, these were wholly useless. How could she even attempt to afford DIY without a job? How could she get a surgery anytime soon? Why was this woman so insistent on these as the correct and only way to be?

The conversation lulled and so the girl went to look for any other options near her. Surely there is something, anything that she can do. Surely it isn't hopeless yet. An article flashed by. There is a local clinic which offered informed consent HRT! Yet she felt the pang of excitement turn to anguish as she kept reading. It was set to be shut down in just a few days, far too soon for her to do anything. Her face felt wet. The tears she held back would wait no longer.

4 Years (CW: Parental Abuse, Transphobia, SI, Digital SH)4 years ago today, a girl lays upon her bed. She is encased by a smooth ceramic prison in the shape of a boy, locked by her parents who threw away the key. The mask which began to show its first cracks a year ago is even further degraded now, letting in more and more hurt, but the lock holds her behind it. Despite this degradation, her parents insist on ignoring the signs, on ignoring her needs.

Months earlier, she tried to pull the vicious mask off before it could mar her body any further. Against her better judgement, she chose a day to tell her mother. A poorer choice could not have been made. On that day, the boy she was introduced the girl she is to her mother. For the next three nights her mother wept incessantly. The girl, feeling a putrid shame and remorse well up inside, comforted her mother throughout it. They both had no one else, after all. Yet no matter how hard she tried, the girl could not change her mother's view. She would forever be a murderer, the one who killed the boy and now possessed his body like a malignant devil. She would be a disgusting mockery of womanhood, ugly and insulting in every respect. She would be the one who became a monster within the family that would tear its last vestiges apart. And through it all her mother was sure to let the girl know of one thing: if she ever transitioned, her mother would kill herself.

During these nights, her mother insisted upon telling the rest of the family. The others all said they would support her. Her brother was foremost among them, and actively argued with their mother to defend the girl, though it helped little. Her sister spoke with the girl in private, to help comfort her. Finally, her father said that they would, upon his return, help the girl get a therapist. These statements of support simply incensed her mother's fury further. She would degrade the girl at every turn, until eventually her daughter put back on the mask shaped like her son. Encasing herself in the porcelain prison willingly to avoid the fire of her mother as much as possible.

But the girl would keep trying in private: She would train her voice so others might hear her instead of the boy, she began to rid herself of the fur that marred her skin, and she would practice styling her hair in private, adorning her prison in ways that hid the mask with herself. Any time her mother caught wind, however, she would lash out. Once, upon catching the girl taking a photo in a mirror, she demanded to know if the evil child was selling her son's body to some pimp. Once, after demanding to know if she was still possessing her son, the mother burned the girl's books.

Through it all, the girl focused on the hope that, once father arrived, she could at least get the therapy that she needed so she might get HRT to fix her continually degrading body. But when he arrived, he never once mentioned the therapy, never once even used the nickname he promised to use. The girl was hurt, but too afraid to mention it herself. She set herself then on possibility that lay on the horizon: her sister's visit in August. She waited and waited for the day, until it finally arrived.

The memories were fresh in her head, but she tried to pay them little mind. She continued to lay on her bed until she heard a car outside. Her sister arrived. The two spoke, quickly connecting again. After a few minutes, they went to the girl's room. There, she pulled the mask of the porcelain boy back a little to ask her sister if she might help the girl speak with father. Her sister refused, insisting that their father would have no problem if the girl asked him herself. But the girl was afraid, she could not do it alone. So she let it go and never tried.

That night, feeling alone and hopeless, she turned on her phone to try and distract herself. She opened sites filled with those like her mother and read what they would say, trying to numb everything. It wasn't enough. She read a post referencing a suicide statistic, then thought of going to the nearby bridge and jumping. Everything was hopeless, after all. No one would ever see the girl as herself, they would either insist upon the cracked mask as the true self or leave the girl to rot on her own. Nothingness seemed a lot better than that. This was nowhere near the first or last time the girl would have such thoughts. But, for a change, the thoughts elicited a new emotion: Anger. She refused to have her entire gods damned life be summed up as a dot in a statistic that would be used to hurt others like herself. She refused to let her mother keep her locked in a porcelain prison. She resolved herself then and there: she would save herself if no one else would. She would break the last vestiges of the mask of the boy.

3 years (CW: Passage of Time related worries)3 years ago today, a girl sits in an office wearing the mask of a boy. She is procrastinating on her computer by browsing pixiv. As she scrolls through the pictures, she spots an artwork that speaks to her like no other. It is very simple, two girls walking side by side and drinking coffee. But one of the two looks just like the girl, with a slightly square face, light brown hair, and brown eyes. She's even taller than her friend and has a side-braid just like the girl wants to have! The girl's love for it is so strong that she immediately sets it as her pfp.

This feeling, however, has little long-term effect in improving her mood. Time has seemingly stood still for the past year, nearly everything remained the same. But it hasn't; the girl was at university discovering her love of learning and teaching. And now, she had a job. While she continued to hide behind the mask, the first steps towards her reaching HRT were falling in place. Months earlier, she had concocted a plan to receive it: Money was the first priority, then she would seek a psychologist for a diagnosis, then finally she would be able to receive it secretly while still living with her parents until university finished. Yet try as she might, she could not find a psych, and the time limit she imposed upon herself was fast approaching. The lack of progress felt like failure as she watched the candle of time burning near its base. She could feel her body decay more and more into the prison with each passing day, even if she could not see it. Through it all she still worried about how she would look in the future. But she could push past the pain, at least for now. Because the little progress she had made was enough to help her drag on. After all, time hadn't run out yet.

2 years (CW: Facial Hair)2 years ago today, a girl sat at her desk refreshing a page which tracked her first ever dress. Excitement filled her every cell, to the point where she nearly forgot the mask she hid behind, the ceramic prison encasing her body. She knew, even before putting it on, that the dress would make her happier than anything else. But there was yet more which excited her; she had in fact found a psych and got a diagnosis, and with it she had an appointment to receive HRT which was only a month away. After everything, the mask could finally fall away and let the girl bloom, repairing her body from the degradation it underwent.

But that degradation would stick with her, too. A few months prior, she began to need to shave on a daily basis to keep the appearance of a clean shave. This final symbol of her prison held her down, a stake rammed into her hand that would bolt her to it. It horrified her as she watched the prickling hair crawl out of the seams of her face to cover it all. Every morning routine now served as a reminder of her failure to go quick enough. A sting akin to a cut that would never go away.

The girl got up. Worrying about this would do her little good. She walked over to pick something to eat, yet as she did so she caught a glimpse of someone in the mirror. The immediate trait that jumped out was the person's long hair. So she thought, briefly, that the girl in the mirror was pretty.

She didn't realise until she returned to her room that the girl was herself.

1 year (CW: Parental Abuse)A year ago today, a woman sits on her floor in an elaborate dress. In front of her is a cup of tea with a tart that she had made herself. There is no mask on her, though she keeps the discarded husk of the boy she once was around, both for when it is necessary and as a memento to remember where she came from.

The family the girl was once so beholden to is no longer holding her down. Months prior, they had learned of her plans and began to abuse her yet again. Now both mother and father insisted upon her inevitable ugliness, the mistake that she was making, and how she would be gone to them. Matters were not helped by the cousin who visited and was treated as the ideal child by her own mother. She lost count of the days she would cry herself to sleep or the times that she would need to chant some phrase to avoid thinking about her mother's threats of suicide.

One night, while she was still awake, her mother came to her, and began to yell how she needed to get out of the house, how she wants her to be homeless because she is not her son but simply some devil possessing him. The girl didn't budge, but the worries began to creep that night.

The next day, her father told her directly to prepare to move out. The girl had an indeterminate amount of time to get a new home and job to pay for it lined up. Alone. She quickly found a cheap apartment, and as soon as she had the tour lined up her father declared that that day, the day of the tour, would be the day she would have to leave. She did not even have confirmation she'd get the apartment in question, nor a job at the time. The girl packed her bags over the next few days between bouts of crying and a difficulty breathing which she had never felt prior.

While this was occurring, she also finally received her HRT. The first pill felt like a tingle as it slowly dissolved, and immediately she felt the fog that always obscured her mind clear, but with it the emotions came crashing down harder than ever before.

Over the next days, as she left her home, she was in a dazed, zombie-like state, simply going through the motions to set herself up. She had the luck of having friends offer their places, but the transition to her adulthood was rough nonetheless. Through the next months she would move 3 more times to different places, and gradually have to become more and more independent before eventually, she could no longer consider herself a girl.

But through it all, she reached a happiness she never felt before. The woman who took the place of that scared girl is content with where she is; she is pretty, independent, and can finally be who she is. No pain in her past can change that.

TodayToday, a woman sits at her desk writing a short autobiography of her transition. She is on the verge of tears. She continued to go further, become more independent, and more content with herself. There has been other pains, but it does not change the lovely feeling of watching herself bloom into the beautiful woman she imagined all those years ago.


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[-] [email protected] 3 points 1 hour ago

Been reading my Feinberg leslie-shining

[-] [email protected] 0 points 18 minutes ago

mutual aid question

spoilerIs it worth putting a post in if the method you can get cash in isn't cash app or PayPal?

Idk if I should post there, I want to take testosterone but I see posts in the comm and they have it a lot worse than me. idk what to do

[-] [email protected] 6 points 2 hours ago

Cw: venting, depression, bad vibes idk

Today has been rough. Work has been insufferable. Dysphoria is eating me, because I can't see any way of becoming the person I want to be, or even taking steps towards that, in the near future. I might have been holding in some feelings. This sucks. I need a better job. I need a way to move out and live by myself. I need to live in a country that does not gatekeep trans Healthcare behind a year of waiting for no reason. Not like waiting in line, just: no, you need to see this doctor for a year before taking any hormones. I'm going to go take a bath (and cry).

[-] [email protected] 4 points 2 hours ago* (last edited 2 hours ago)

latest fantasy: LLMs or something better become sapient, turn out to be super-woke (despite the proclamations and elon meddling), and use bio-nanotech to just instantly give us the genders we want because it takes 0.0001% of their capacity to do

you think it's a kill bot but it's actually the Gender Drone at the door

(the FALGSC drones are the kill bots, and we know where they are going)

[-] [email protected] 4 points 2 hours ago

fucking whiffed it at karoke last night after putting in my name too late, waiting two hours to go on stage, then getting to drunk to nail the last third of who can it be now?, now I must return to karaoke night next week with a vengeance and I don't know what to sing

[-] [email protected] 2 points 2 hours ago

Feeling like I'm at step 2 again catgirl-huh or maybe at need to figure out step 4 now

[-] [email protected] 2 points 3 hours ago

The pads in my bras have dislocated and are causing me to behave in funny ways. I wish bras with removable pads were designed better. The pad shouldn't just be something you shove in (leading to it moving around or even folding). It should .... huh. How would a more robust design look like? Velcro? Laces?

[-] [email protected] 8 points 6 hours ago

custom print bisexual pride flag that says "it's adam and eve not adam OR eve"

[-] [email protected] 6 points 4 hours ago

How are you so funny

[-] [email protected] 6 points 5 hours ago

CW vaguely dysphoric/discussion of addiction

i hide away from this megathread sometimes because yall make me fiend for E. like the part of my brain that likes drugs (it's a big part) reads everyone's experiences and combines with the gender dysphoria to produce cravings that remind me of the years after i got off of heroin. which then immediately makes me freak out a bit because wtf.

besides general fear of permanent dependency and the political situation (my own is very precarious as well), i think this is what is keeping me from even going for DIY meanwhile i know all my drug use, past and current, was either to mask dysphoria, cope, or make me feel more femme (cannabis, mdma).

anyone that reads this please keep talking about your experiences this is my own brain to deal with. i already got a vial of E and sat on it then shipped it to a former co-worker worried about loss of access.

i'm only "dependent" on one thing now, kratom, and i've cut my doses 60% in a slow taper. once i'm done i'm going to be agonizing over whether i should finally do this, and can i stockpile enough.


[-] [email protected] 7 points 7 hours ago

Went to Mom's funeral the other day.

Holy shit I look just like her younger photos.

I mean, I remember someone told me I wouldn't become a cute anime and and would just look like my Mom, but it's really striking. Even as later transitioner I basically just look like if she went to the gym and got yolked shoulders from lifting. 🤷‍♀️

[-] [email protected] 7 points 7 hours ago

I keep waking up in the middle of the night wanting to snuggle up with my partner (who isn't my partner anymore) catgirl-cry

[-] [email protected] 4 points 6 hours ago

beep boop i am the update robot

THE TRIPits ok we'll figure it out. last time was copious amounts of checklists and we only almost got trapped in a city we don't know anyone in overnight and only 3 of the four flights were rescheduled. but apparently there are puppies at my parents' house ... i just like being at home and hate travelling.

bottom surgeryapparently i got an email yesterday from the clinic that wants to book me so now i need to figure that out - is it really gonna be worth all the pain for me? who knows ... lots to think about, like also having to get electrolysis done for like a year beforehand, ugh

::: spoiler gamedev i just kinda clicked some buttons in blender to make a simple idle animation for the shitty sword in my game, and then loaded it into Bevy. the animation stuff in Bevy took me a while to grasp (why does AnimationGraph::from_clip(...) return a tuple of (graph, node_index) instead of a single value, for instance? it finally made sense once I got it working of course, the node appears to always be 1 since there's only one clip inside the graph I'm making, and it points to the point in the graph that the clip was put to. confusing at first, not really well documented IMO, i am very excited for the official Bevy Book to be not a secret link and also have a section on animation.

anyway i can't figure out how to post the video but now when you pick up the dumb test sword it has an idle animation that just bobs a bit, and the animation set is defined in the spec i showed before. of course, all the animations will be living on the viewmodel (for first person animations) so referencing them by index is right out, but it turns out that the Gltf type has a named_animations field so I can iterate through those and build a little HashMap to store them:

#[derive(Resource, Default)]
struct ViewModelAnimations(HashMap<String, (Handle<AnimationGraph>, AnimationNodeIndex)>);

fn build_animation_lut(
    mut er_loaded_viewmodel: EventReader<AssetEvent<Gltf>>,
    handle: Res<ViewModelHandle>,
    gltf_assets: Res<Assets<Gltf>>,
    mut graphs: ResMut<Assets<AnimationGraph>>,
    mut view_model_animations: ResMut<ViewModelAnimations>,
) {
    for event in er_loaded_viewmodel.read() {
        let AssetEvent::LoadedWithDependencies { id } = *event else {
            continue;
        };

        if id != handle.0.id() {
            continue;
        }

        let gltf_asset = gltf_assets.get(id).unwrap();

        for (name, clip_handle) in &gltf_asset.named_animations {
            info!("discovered named animation {name}");

            let (graph, index) = AnimationGraph::from_clip(clip_handle.clone());
            let graph_handle = graphs.add(graph);

            view_model_animations
                .0
                .insert(name.to_string(), (graph_handle.clone(), index));
        }
    }
}

then it's a trivial matter to actually play them later using the AnimationPlayer added to the scene automatically by Bevy (since it has an Armature)

[-] [email protected] 4 points 7 hours ago

Just saw a bird get a worm, went from just calling it a dirty birdy to niko-wonderous I will say tho I been up earlier than this bird. The bird got the worm at around 8:47 my time so just saying not that early catgirl-smug

[-] [email protected] 1 points 5 hours ago

jane remover is crazy talented, ghostholding has been on repeat this past week and I didn't realise it was them the first or second time. that, and their main stuff, and dariacore etc? crazy

[-] [email protected] 5 points 7 hours ago

Like 22 pages into Foucault's pendulum and

spoilerIt just reminds me of all the people going off the deep and because of AI now catgirl-huh

I don't mind it but the timing of when I picked it up yesterday is funny.

spoilerIdk I've just come to distrust ai in general, it was neat at first but not even accounting for the waste it can just make shit up. People falling for it got a lot of things going on but the hyper alienation we feeling isn't helping

[-] [email protected] 4 points 7 hours ago

Riddle me this math nerds: all sets of poo poo contain pee pee but not all sets of pee pee contain poo poo, what am I?

[-] [email protected] 4 points 4 hours ago

pee pee is a proper subset of poo poo

[-] [email protected] 4 points 8 hours ago

I posit that there are 3 layers of the mind. The linguistic mind, the executive (or concious) and the subconscious.

The middle layer, the consciousness "experiences" reality through sensations. It processes sensations and generates controls for the body, like moving your muscles, or ... mostly moving your muscles. It also can recall and make memories, and processes emotions.

I am saying that the consciousness is actually separate from the "top layer" which processes language and logic. This is the layer where beliefs and thinking first start, and the process of "internalisation" consists of having the logical patterns on the top layer of your mind affect the way that the bottom layers.

This is based entirely on my own experiences. I have often felt that my ability to be "present" and "mindfull" is separated from my ability to speak and write. This is most noticeable when I drink alcohol. My ability to pay attention to my surroundings can drop massively without reducing my ability to do logic and math.

Like basically, I can't drink and drive (not that I have a car), but I can certainly drink and do math problems or do code, or even learn new things.

I have also noticed cases where I write down something, come back to it 10 seconds later and don't remember writing it. But the writing itself makes sense.

The function of the concious mind is then to support the higher linguistic mind by providing a memory function that can allow for solving more complex tasks and long-term planning. Long-term by brain standards (longer than a few seconds).

[-] [email protected] 1 points 2 hours ago

I have often felt that my ability to be "present" and "mindfull" is separated from my ability to speak and write. My ability to pay attention to my surroundings can drop massively without reducing my ability to do logic and math.

I bet it is! for instance in an aphasia your language ability might be damaged but you can still be completely cognizant and aware, and able to plan in certain ways. Research has also shown that language and math/logic operate in two different areas to an extent, too.

[-] [email protected] 3 points 4 hours ago

Please keep these ted talks coming. I loooove hearing personal consciousness theories so much

[-] [email protected] 2 points 2 hours ago

You're in luck. Today I spent a lot of time working on my economic simulations.

I went through much of the process while basically "zooted", like I am most of the time. Basically, I barely remember any of my experiences in the time period. I don't really remember much of anything tbh. I can't really pay proper attention to things. I find it extremely hard to talk to people because if this. I spend most of my days wandering around doing fuck all cause honestly, that's the best I feel like I can do right now.

And yet, as soon as I open my laptop and sit down to code, or pick up a pencil, I can just do things. I can't really focus on it for too long, but I can do it. I just need the thing to be written down in front of me and for me to write. Thinking about stories is also something I can focus strongly upon.

I've read somewhere on the Internet that dissociation is something trans people often go through. I'm not sure how strongly I am experiencing dissociation. But I can say that I do experience some of the symptoms I see on the Wikipedia page. As far as I can see, dissociation seems to affect the sensous experience rather than higher order reasoning. If you combine that with attention deficit, maybe you can explain my experiences? Idk.

[-] [email protected] 2 points 8 hours ago

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk.

No, I am not currently drunk.

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[-] [email protected] 7 points 11 hours ago

Do they put something in estrogen that makes you want to buy a record player and collect vinyl records, I've never had this urge before but it's so strong.

[-] [email protected] 6 points 9 hours ago

for me it's an urge to play bass guitar. I've been playing guitar for over a decade (on and off and not very well tbh lol), but getting on estrogen suddenly made me want to play bass

[-] [email protected] 5 points 7 hours ago

The rhythm is stored in the estradiol, though I came at it from the opposite direction. I got a bass, then 3 months later I was a stage kitten in a drag show showing off my ass while cleaning up the stage, and 3 months after that I started HRT. I had no queer friends before I got the bass, btw.

[-] [email protected] 7 points 10 hours ago

Oh fuck I also want to put a sword on my wall too. Argh. It will be so cool.

[-] [email protected] 6 points 10 hours ago

Do you have a sword in mind?

[-] [email protected] 6 points 10 hours ago* (last edited 10 hours ago)

Not sure maybe Carolingian/Viking Era, that's a real classic. I'm going to a medieval fair (gonna wear a medieval dress hell yeah). Might pick one up there. Moving out of a state (Aus) with sword license laws to a less strict one and only just remembered that.

[-] [email protected] 3 points 6 hours ago

i have a crappy viking replica sword basically rusting away in the corner of a room i've had since i was 15.

occasionally playing with it only thing i don't like about swords of that era is the handle is only for one hand (i suppose because it's meant to be paired with a round shield)

[-] [email protected] 7 points 12 hours ago

I'm starting to be convinced that if a protagonist is obsessed with math that's just short hand for "they bananas" monke-beepboop mostly that math make you lose it. Math really is the joker-dancing of STEM fields.

[-] [email protected] 8 points 11 hours ago

one of the most famous mathematicians of the last 50 years is literally a-guy

[-] [email protected] 3 points 8 hours ago

I forget that sometimes, these math nerds gotta keep an eye on them

[-] [email protected] 4 points 8 hours ago

stay vigilant, there may even be math nerds among us amogus

[-] [email protected] 3 points 4 hours ago
[-] [email protected] 2 points 4 hours ago

who is "yewler"? disgost

[-] [email protected] 4 points 7 hours ago
[-] [email protected] 5 points 12 hours ago

I think other than distraction I might have stopped reading books because I was self conscious of the fact that in order for me to read for an extended period of time I have to read out loud or at least mouth what I'm reading, always felt people would make fun of me so I didn't do it as much as a got older. Now being in a safe space at the library I've gotten into the swing of it again, if people are gonna make fun of me like they do might as well enjoy myself le-monke

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this post was submitted on 11 Aug 2025
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traaaaaaannnnnnnnnns

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https://rentry.co/tracha (Includes rules and invite link)

WEBRINGS:

🏳️‍⚧️ Transmasculine Pride Ring 🏳️‍⚧️

⬅️ Left 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈 Be Crime Do Gay Webring 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈 Right ➡️

founded 2 years ago
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