deonis bruel ⚢

dehumanization can be not only a weapon but also a survival strategy

i have no power over others: i couldn’t save myself from being raped and beaten. but while i don’t control how men treat me, i do control my attitude toward what happens. so, when i was repeatedly shown that i didn’t deserve to be treated humanely, i didn’t expect anything different. after all, if i deserved not to be raped and beaten, i wouldn’t have been raped and beaten. right ?

asking and expecting anything different is not only stupid, but also humiliating. it’s humiliating to beg for mercy from someone who enjoys torturing you. the only thing you can do with such things is to please

if the goal of my dehumanization is to take away what’s important, and i’m unable to protect it, then the optimal solution is to devalue and reject human treatment myself

i know how to enjoy being beaten — really, it’s not hard to learn. i also know how to enjoy being hit, and it’s much more pleasurable than the first; especially if the violence to others is punishment for violence against you. male language is the language of violence, and i can speak it. i wasn’t taught it, because i’m not a man, but i learned it because i considered myself a man. because it was important to me to prove that i wasn’t a woman. because they showed me that i am a woman

i hate it

i hate that they not only pointed out to me that i’m not a man, but also demonstrated that i am a woman. rape is the most fucking demonstrative thing that could have been. to rub my nose in the fact that i’m different and to emphasize the difference. to show who i am

i given up own humanity and eroticized dehumanization

i have a filthy mouth and a putrid brain. when they told me i was disgusting, i repeated that «disgusting». when they told me i was dirty, i repeated that «dirty». when they told me i was a slut, i repeated — «a slut».

«disgusting, dirty slut» — top three ultimate achievement for a pre-teen schoolgirl

and why should i be upset ? why should i wind myself up thinking «i don’t deserve this, i don’t deserve that» if i’m incapable of defending myself ? to play out the victim’s image according to society’s prescribed scenario ?

well, men raped me. and i was like: «t-h-i-n-g-s h-a-p-p-e-n-s. i don’t have time for tears, i need to done my stuff on kids’ playground before sunset»

i know the reasons why many women find it hard, or at least unpleasant, to hear about what men done to me and the attitude towards it. it’s been explained to me many times, and i understand everything. but i can’t digest or assimilate this explanation. i see no reason to be sad, cry or reason to show empathy to me. for me, there’s no terrible tragedy in my life; it’s one continuous routine. i don’t know how to explain that the type of breakdown i have eliminates the need for sympathy and pity. how can i explain y’all that i’m.. a meat ?

meat can be humiliated,

meat can be beaten,

meat can be raped — meat can be treated however you like.

meat isn’t offended,

meat isn’t in pain,

meat isn’t afraid.

meat is just meat, meat is not a living person

i remember hanging out in the street with a friend, and a boy who’d watched too much porn on tape followed us around, begging me to let him fuck me in the mouth. i was so pissed off that i picked up a stone and hit him over the head with it. he screamed and cried so loudly, i was so happy and didn’t want to stop. if my memory is correct, i cracked his head, and adults scolded me for it for a long time. as if i’d done something wrong. as if that action was wrong. and their actions towards me wasn’t ?

and only recently did i understand where this urge to be mean came from. i was called a girl:

i was dressed like a girl,

taught to talk about myself like a girl,

addressed as a girl.

men raped me like a girl,

offered to frottage me, and harassed me because they saw i was a girl.

they touched me. touched. touched, touched, touched. they touched my genitals because they are female. fucking scums

they indicated my sex through my name;

they indicated my sex through the way i addressed myself;

they indicated my sex through my clothes;

they indicated my sex through gifts;

they indicated my sex through games;

they indicated my sex through things;

they indicated my sex through attitudes

they constantly indicated my female sex

* * *

nobody questioned me when i “become” a cattle. nobody never asked me anything at all: who i was, what i wanted, how i felt

adults slapped my hands when i took something that didn’t belong to me. it didn’t belong to me because i’m not a man and should be a woman. i couldn’t choose a name, i couldn’t choose my pronouns, i couldn’t choose my clothes, i couldn’t choose my hobby: nothing that prevented me from being marked as a woman. everyone should know that you’re a woman — it should be clear and legible, like a price tag on a store shelf. broke every bone in my body, ramming me into that gravestone, repeating over and over again «you are a woman»

i have a school photo where i stood in a row with boys because i refused to wear a skirt. i was told i had to wear a women’s uniform because i was a woman. my teacher thought she would punish me by putting in a row with boys. but when i got that photo, i was the happiest i’ve ever been. i thought «you wanted me to feel bad about not being photographed alongside girls as a way to identify with girls. idiot, you’re only doing me a favor. i’m not a woman. you put me where i’ve always wanted to be». i thought i simply wouldn’t be in the picture, but i was given such a gift. can’t even to describe the level of euphoria i felt back then

i defended myself with the ways i had. if adapting to own dehumanization is necessary for self-defense, then so be it

and i know what i’ll hear in response to this explanation

> «you’re rationalizing your dysphoria»

something like that, right ?

that i’m explaining my dysphoria through stress from male sexual violence, even though «these two are completely unconnected, because other women didn’t break down the way you did, didn’t begin to identify as men, and don’t want to change their sexual characteristics». i’ve heard that before

you’re depoliticizing the issue of how perceptions are formed under conditions of dehumanization and stress, replacing analysis with a focus on artificially created comfort

therefore, any criticism is equivalent to an attack on your personal life, nothing less

i defended my interests and identity, shaped by violence. i was angered by the infringement on my status. being a cattle in a slaughterhouse or on a farm where your mane is brushed, walked, and fed on a schedule — these are different conditions, but the same status. a cattle doesn’t stop being a cattle just because it’s cared for, loved and cherished. i don’t need to live with a status of as a cattle

cattelifcation or domestication. live in slavery or be shot in the back while trying to escape

> «you’re a misogynist if being a woman is the same as being a catlle to you»

yeah yeah, sure. the problem is that i’m good at reading how men treat me and calling things by their proper names, not that i’ve been treated like meat since i was a toddler.

the problem isn’t that men raped me because they perceive women as meat.

the problem isn’t that i was groomed for rape, marked as meat

the problem isn’t that i was forced into the role model of a loving and servile giving-birth machine that loves her slave owner

the problem is that i give everything that happens a name

i am a misogynist because i say that men see women as cattle — whores or wives who serve them anyway. my misogyny is that i and other women are treated like meat, raped, and yet i dare to point out that women’s lives in patriarchy are the lives of meat

but no, in your rosy picture of the world, dear genderists, male violence against women doesn’t exist. it’s just a «coincidence that, statistically, those persons with penises regularly end up with appendages on those vagina havers». godess knows how that happens. do you have an explanation for this ?

my friends’ lifelong experience of male violence against them is not an argument.

male violence against a bunch of women who regularly share their experiences in feminist community is not an argument.

male violence against a bunch of women who share their experiences outside of feminist community is not an argument.

even global statistics on male violence against women are not an argument

women are oppressed, but by whom — «we don’t know». it’s misandric to talk about who rapes and kills women and how often. by the way, does anyone know why this happens ? it’s probably some specific feature of women identity that women identify with....

well, it’s such a fucking shame that the men who raped me didn’t give a damn about my gender identity as a man and raped me because they saw female sexual characteristics

maybe you’ll punch me in the mouth for not clarifying the gender identity of the degenerates who’ve been crawling into my pants since kindergarten, defining who they are for them and calling violence male-based on the structure of their genitals ?

what if it turns out he raped me with a woman’s penis ? but what the fuck does it matter how the rapists identify themselves if, by great chance, everyone has a dick

a fucking postmodern performance, shaped by the demand to create at least some kind of refuge in a cattle pit. you don’t know who women are, you don’t know who men are, you don’t know who oppresses women, you don’t know how women are oppressed, you don’t know why women are oppressed, you live in a fucking world of your own made-up identities. an endless classification of vague garbage with a ton of interpretations, the filling of which is always individual and depends on the subjective experience of the individual. a world of relativity for the sake of peace of mind

* * *

language describes reality: it records phenomena and creates theoretical knowledge about what’s happening in the world. this is essential for building communication: sharing experiences, noticing and identifying patterns to subsequently defend interests formed under the conditions of our enslavement — the desire to live beyond the rights of a cattle. those very class interests of women that radical feminists constantly reiterate

you are destroying and rewriting knowledge

gender is a terrorist product of patriarchy, created to enslave and control women for the purpose of reproductive exploitation. women are oppressed by the very fact of their ability to reproduce human resources. not because the ability to reproduce “by nature” makes us incubators, determining a slave fate, but because human life is a resource that only women can reproduce, and men benefited from brutalizing us along with dumb cattle to increase and multiply resources. this is why gender was created — to shape a slave identity. this is our status

but reducing us, women, to the role of incubators doesn’t deny the reproductive capabilities that the other half of humanity — men — lack. the ability to reproduce is not the same as an obligation. if for you, stating the fact that only women can reproduce is tantamount to claiming that women are incubators, why didn’t you consider that by replacing «woman» with «person» thereby blurring the concept, you’re calling all individuals capable of reproduction incubators by virtue of their ability to reproduce ? you’re changing and expanding the term, not the premise itself

your premise equates ability with obligation. your premise is «since you insist that only women can give birth, women are incubators». you fail to see the difference between defining women by what oppresses us, for the sake of solidarity as an oppressed class for the sake of self-defense, and defining women by the same means for the purpose of oppression

if a knife isn‘t called a knife, but i stab you with it, will that prevent harm ? is the problem with women the fact that they’re called women, or is it the way men define the concept and for what purpose ?

try not calling a knife a knife and deconstruct that concept when i decide to stab you with it. and if you want to call for help, shout that i’m stabbing you with, say, a spoon. what’s the difference ?

a spoon can also cause harm. these are just words, they’re relative, and a spoon and a knife are actually cutlery and can be made of the same material — think about that when you’re pacing around the table while i follow you with the “spoon”

how clear is this analogy in demonstrating the bullshit that you — YES, YOU — queer ideologist, are doing, while they, MEN, torturing us, WOMEN, and mercing like cattle in a slaughterhouse ?

we tells you that only women are capable of reproducing life — you conclude that women’s destiny is to be incubators. i tell you that a knife can kill — you conclude that the purpose of a knife is to kill. you’re speaking through the mouth of the patriarchy

you’re not dismantling the system of oppression by deconstructing concepts; you’re simply throwing a spanner in the works for women by denying reality. you deny the system of oppression of women men create, built around male control of women’s ability to reproduce life. you deny the «gender binary» (sexual binary) of our species by appealing to the existence of people with congenital disorders, organ transplants, illnesses, or age — youth and elderly

sometimes it seems like you enjoy playing dumb and gaslighting us

my rapists knew perfectly well what sex i was. and i know perfectly well what sex my rapists are. only you are confused. only you require a full health check-up of the person with a penis who raped me, including a preliminary interview regarding their/hers/his/its gender identity formation, to determine that he is a man

(5/5)

text was written by veliar in telegram

dehumanization can be not only a weapon but also a survival strategy

i have no power over others: i couldn’t save myself from being raped and beaten. but while i don’t control how men treat me, i do control my attitude toward what happens. so, when i was repeatedly shown that i didn’t deserve to be treated humanely, i didn’t expect anything different. after all, if i deserved not to be raped and beaten, i wouldn’t have been raped and beaten. right ?

asking and expecting anything different is not only stupid, but also humiliating. it’s humiliating to beg for mercy from someone who enjoys torturing you. the only thing you can do with such things is to please

if the goal of my dehumanization is to take away what’s important, and i’m unable to protect it, then the optimal solution is to devalue and reject human treatment myself

i know how to enjoy being beaten — really, it’s not hard to learn. i also know how to enjoy being hit, and it’s much more pleasurable than the first; especially if the violence to others is punishment for violence against you. male language is the language of violence, and i can speak it. i wasn’t taught it, because i’m not a man, but i learned it because i considered myself a man. because it was important to me to prove that i wasn’t a woman. because they showed me that i am a woman

i hate it

i hate that they not only pointed out to me that i’m not a man, but also demonstrated that i am a woman. rape is the most fucking demonstrative thing that could have been. to rub my nose in the fact that i’m different and to emphasize the difference. to show who i am

i given up own humanity and eroticized dehumanization

i have a filthy mouth and a putrid brain. when they told me i was disgusting, i repeated that «disgusting». when they told me i was dirty, i repeated that «dirty». when they told me i was a slut, i repeated — «a slut».

«disgusting, dirty slut» — top three ultimate achievement for a pre-teen schoolgirl

and why should i be upset ? why should i wind myself up thinking «i don’t deserve this, i don’t deserve that» if i’m incapable of defending myself ? to play out the victim’s image according to society’s prescribed scenario ?

well, men raped me. and i was like: «t-h-i-n-g-s h-a-p-p-e-n-s. i don’t have time for tears, i need to done my stuff on kids’ playground before sunset»

i know the reasons why many women find it hard, or at least unpleasant, to hear about what men done to me and the attitude towards it. it’s been explained to me many times, and i understand everything. but i can’t digest or assimilate this explanation. i see no reason to be sad, cry or reason to show empathy to me. for me, there’s no terrible tragedy in my life; it’s one continuous routine. i don’t know how to explain that the type of breakdown i have eliminates the need for sympathy and pity. how can i explain y’all that i’m.. a meat ?

meat can be humiliated,

meat can be beaten,

meat can be raped — meat can be treated however you like.

meat isn’t offended,

meat isn’t in pain,

meat isn’t afraid.

meat is just meat, meat is not a living person

i remember hanging out in the street with a friend, and a boy who’d watched too much porn on tape followed us around, begging me to let him fuck me in the mouth. i was so pissed off that i picked up a stone and hit him over the head with it. he screamed and cried so loudly, i was so happy and didn’t want to stop. if my memory is correct, i cracked his head, and adults scolded me for it for a long time. as if i’d done something wrong. as if that action was wrong. and their actions towards me wasn’t ?

and only recently did i understand where this urge to be mean came from. i was called a girl:

i was dressed like a girl,

taught to talk about myself like a girl,

addressed as a girl.

men raped me like a girl,

offered to frottage me, and harassed me because they saw i was a girl.

they touched me. touched. touched, touched, touched. they touched my genitals because they are female. fucking scums

they indicated my sex through my name;

they indicated my sex through the way i addressed myself;

they indicated my sex through my clothes;

they indicated my sex through gifts;

they indicated my sex through games;

they indicated my sex through things;

they indicated my sex through attitudes

they constantly indicated my female sex

* * *

nobody questioned me when i “become” a cattle. nobody never asked me anything at all: who i was, what i wanted, how i felt

adults slapped my hands when i took something that didn’t belong to me. it didn’t belong to me because i’m not a man and should be a woman. i couldn’t choose a name, i couldn’t choose my pronouns, i couldn’t choose my clothes, i couldn’t choose my hobby: nothing that prevented me from being marked as a woman. everyone should know that you’re a woman — it should be clear and legible, like a price tag on a store shelf. broke every bone in my body, ramming me into that gravestone, repeating over and over again «you are a woman»

i have a school photo where i stood in a row with boys because i refused to wear a skirt. i was told i had to wear a women’s uniform because i was a woman. my teacher thought she would punish me by putting in a row with boys. but when i got that photo, i was the happiest i’ve ever been. i thought «you wanted me to feel bad about not being photographed alongside girls as a way to identify with girls. idiot, you’re only doing me a favor. i’m not a woman. you put me where i’ve always wanted to be». i thought i simply wouldn’t be in the picture, but i was given such a gift. can’t even to describe the level of euphoria i felt back then

i defended myself with the ways i had. if adapting to own dehumanization is necessary for self-defense, then so be it

and i know what i’ll hear in response to this explanation

> «you’re rationalizing your dysphoria»

something like that, right ?

that i’m explaining my dysphoria through stress from male sexual violence, even though «these two are completely unconnected, because other women didn’t break down the way you did, didn’t begin to identify as men, and don’t want to change their sexual characteristics». i’ve heard that before

you’re depoliticizing the issue of how perceptions are formed under conditions of dehumanization and stress, replacing analysis with a focus on artificially created comfort

therefore, any criticism is equivalent to an attack on your personal life, nothing less

i defended my interests and identity, shaped by violence. i was angered by the infringement on my status. being a cattle in a slaughterhouse or on a farm where your mane is brushed, walked, and fed on a schedule — these are different conditions, but the same status. a cattle doesn’t stop being a cattle just because it’s cared for, loved and cherished. i don’t need to live with a status of as a cattle

cattelifcation or domestication. live in slavery or be shot in the back while trying to escape

> «you’re a misogynist if being a woman is the same as being a catlle to you»

yeah yeah, sure. the problem is that i’m good at reading how men treat me and calling things by their proper names, not that i’ve been treated like meat since i was a toddler.

the problem isn’t that men raped me because they perceive women as meat.

the problem isn’t that i was groomed for rape, marked as meat

the problem isn’t that i was forced into the role model of a loving and servile giving-birth machine that loves her slave owner

the problem is that i give everything that happens a name

i am a misogynist because i say that men see women as cattle — whores or wives who serve them anyway. my misogyny is that i and other women are treated like meat, raped, and yet i dare to point out that women’s lives in patriarchy are the lives of meat

but no, in your rosy picture of the world, dear genderists, male violence against women doesn’t exist. it’s just a «coincidence that, statistically, those persons with penises regularly end up with appendages on those vagina havers». godess knows how that happens. do you have an explanation for this ?

my friends’ lifelong experience of male violence against them is not an argument.

male violence against a bunch of women who regularly share their experiences in feminist community is not an argument.

male violence against a bunch of women who share their experiences outside of feminist community is not an argument.

even global statistics on male violence against women are not an argument

women are oppressed, but by whom — «we don’t know». it’s misandric to talk about who rapes and kills women and how often. by the way, does anyone know why this happens ? it’s probably some specific feature of women identity that women identify with....

well, it’s such a fucking shame that the men who raped me didn’t give a damn about my gender identity as a man and raped me because they saw female sexual characteristics

maybe you’ll punch me in the mouth for not clarifying the gender identity of the degenerates who’ve been crawling into my pants since kindergarten, defining who they are for them and calling violence male-based on the structure of their genitals ?

what if it turns out he raped me with a woman’s penis ? but what the fuck does it matter how the rapists identify themselves if, by great chance, everyone has a dick

a fucking postmodern performance, shaped by the demand to create at least some kind of refuge in a cattle pit. you don’t know who women are, you don’t know who men are, you don’t know who oppresses women, you don’t know how women are oppressed, you don’t know why women are oppressed, you live in a fucking world of your own made-up identities. an endless classification of vague garbage with a ton of interpretations, the filling of which is always individual and depends on the subjective experience of the individual. a world of relativity for the sake of peace of mind

* * *

language describes reality: it records phenomena and creates theoretical knowledge about what’s happening in the world. this is essential for building communication: sharing experiences, noticing and identifying patterns to subsequently defend interests formed under the conditions of our enslavement — the desire to live beyond the rights of a cattle. those very class interests of women that radical feminists constantly reiterate

you are destroying and rewriting knowledge

gender is a terrorist product of patriarchy, created to enslave and control women for the purpose of reproductive exploitation. women are oppressed by the very fact of their ability to reproduce human resources. not because the ability to reproduce “by nature” makes us incubators, determining a slave fate, but because human life is a resource that only women can reproduce, and men benefited from brutalizing us along with dumb cattle to increase and multiply resources. this is why gender was created — to shape a slave identity. this is our status

but reducing us, women, to the role of incubators doesn’t deny the reproductive capabilities that the other half of humanity — men — lack. the ability to reproduce is not the same as an obligation. if for you, stating the fact that only women can reproduce is tantamount to claiming that women are incubators, why didn’t you consider that by replacing «woman» with «person» thereby blurring the concept, you’re calling all individuals capable of reproduction incubators by virtue of their ability to reproduce ? you’re changing and expanding the term, not the premise itself

your premise equates ability with obligation. your premise is «since you insist that only women can give birth, women are incubators». you fail to see the difference between defining women by what oppresses us, for the sake of solidarity as an oppressed class for the sake of self-defense, and defining women by the same means for the purpose of oppression

dehumanization can be not only a weapon but also a survival strategy

i have no power over others: i couldn’t save myself from being raped and beaten. but while i don’t control how men treat me, i do control my attitude toward what happens. so, when i was repeatedly shown that i didn’t deserve to be treated humanely, i didn’t expect anything different. after all, if i deserved not to be raped and beaten, i wouldn’t have been raped and beaten. right ?

asking and expecting anything different is not only stupid, but also humiliating. it’s humiliating to beg for mercy from someone who enjoys torturing you. the only thing you can do with such things is to please

if the goal of my dehumanization is to take away what’s important, and i’m unable to protect it, then the optimal solution is to devalue and reject human treatment myself

i know how to enjoy being beaten — really, it’s not hard to learn. i also know how to enjoy being hit, and it’s much more pleasurable than the first; especially if the violence to others is punishment for violence against you. male language is the language of violence, and i can speak it. i wasn’t taught it, because i’m not a man, but i learned it because i considered myself a man. because it was important to me to prove that i wasn’t a woman. because they showed me that i am a woman

i hate it

i hate that they not only pointed out to me that i’m not a man, but also demonstrated that i am a woman. rape is the most fucking demonstrative thing that could have been. to rub my nose in the fact that i’m different and to emphasize the difference. to show who i am

i given up own humanity and eroticized dehumanization

i have a filthy mouth and a putrid brain. when they told me i was disgusting, i repeated that «disgusting». when they told me i was dirty, i repeated that «dirty». when they told me i was a slut, i repeated — «a slut».

«disgusting, dirty slut» — top three ultimate achievement for a pre-teen schoolgirl

and why should i be upset ? why should i wind myself up thinking «i don’t deserve this, i don’t deserve that» if i’m incapable of defending myself ? to play out the victim’s image according to society’s prescribed scenario ?

well, men raped me. and i was like: «t-h-i-n-g-s h-a-p-p-e-n-s. i don’t have time for tears, i need to done my stuff on kids’ playground before sunset»

i know the reasons why many women find it hard, or at least unpleasant, to hear about what men done to me and the attitude towards it. it’s been explained to me many times, and i understand everything. but i can’t digest or assimilate this explanation. i see no reason to be sad, cry or reason to show empathy to me. for me, there’s no terrible tragedy in my life; it’s one continuous routine. i don’t know how to explain that the type of breakdown i have eliminates the need for sympathy and pity. how can i explain y’all that i’m.. a meat ?

meat can be humiliated,

meat can be beaten,

meat can be raped — meat can be treated however you like.

meat isn’t offended,

meat isn’t in pain,

meat isn’t afraid.

meat is just meat, meat is not a living person

i remember hanging out in the street with a friend, and a boy who’d watched too much porn on tape followed us around, begging me to let him fuck me in the mouth. i was so pissed off that i picked up a stone and hit him over the head with it. he screamed and cried so loudly, i was so happy and didn’t want to stop. if my memory is correct, i cracked his head, and adults scolded me for it for a long time. as if i’d done something wrong. as if that action was wrong. and their actions towards me wasn’t ?

and only recently did i understand where this urge to be mean came from. i was called a girl:

i was dressed like a girl,

taught to talk about myself like a girl,

addressed as a girl.

men raped me like a girl,

offered to frottage me, and harassed me because they saw i was a girl.

they touched me. touched. touched, touched, touched. they touched my genitals because they are female. fucking scums

they indicated my sex through my name;

they indicated my sex through the way i addressed myself;

they indicated my sex through my clothes;

they indicated my sex through gifts;

they indicated my sex through games;

they indicated my sex through things;

they indicated my sex through attitudes

they constantly indicated my female sex

* * *

nobody questioned me when i “become” a cattle. nobody never asked me anything at all: who i was, what i wanted, how i felt

adults slapped my hands when i took something that didn’t belong to me. it didn’t belong to me because i’m not a man and should be a woman. i couldn’t choose a name, i couldn’t choose my pronouns, i couldn’t choose my clothes, i couldn’t choose my hobby: nothing that prevented me from being marked as a woman. everyone should know that you’re a woman — it should be clear and legible, like a price tag on a store shelf. broke every bone in my body, ramming me into that gravestone, repeating over and over again «you are a woman»

i have a school photo where i stood in a row with boys because i refused to wear a skirt. i was told i had to wear a women’s uniform because i was a woman. my teacher thought she would punish me by putting in a row with boys. but when i got that photo, i was the happiest i’ve ever been. i thought «you wanted me to feel bad about not being photographed alongside girls as a way to identify with girls. idiot, you’re only doing me a favor. i’m not a woman. you put me where i’ve always wanted to be». i thought i simply wouldn’t be in the picture, but i was given such a gift. can’t even to describe the level of euphoria i felt back then

i defended myself with the ways i had. if adapting to own dehumanization is necessary for self-defense, then so be it

and i know what i’ll hear in response to this explanation

> «you’re rationalizing your dysphoria»

something like that, right ?

that i’m explaining my dysphoria through stress from male sexual violence, even though «these two are completely unconnected, because other women didn’t break down the way you did, didn’t begin to identify as men, and don’t want to change their sexual characteristics». i’ve heard that before

you’re depoliticizing the issue of how perceptions are formed under conditions of dehumanization and stress, replacing analysis with a focus on artificially created comfort

therefore, any criticism is equivalent to an attack on your personal life, nothing less

i defended my interests and identity, shaped by violence. i was angered by the infringement on my status. being a cattle in a slaughterhouse or on a farm where your mane is brushed, walked, and fed on a schedule — these are different conditions, but the same status. a cattle doesn’t stop being a cattle just because it’s cared for, loved and cherished. i don’t need to live with a status of as a cattle

cattelifcation or domestication. live in slavery or be shot in the back while trying to escape

> «you’re a misogynist if being a woman is the same as being a catlle to you»

yeah yeah, sure. the problem is that i’m good at reading how men treat me and calling things by their proper names, not that i’ve been treated like meat since i was a toddler.

the problem isn’t that men raped me because they perceive women as meat.

the problem isn’t that i was groomed for rape, marked as meat

the problem isn’t that i was forced into the role model of a loving and servile giving-birth machine that loves her slave owner

the problem is that i give everything that happens a name

i am a misogynist because i say that men see women as cattle — whores or wives who serve them anyway. my misogyny is that i and other women are treated like meat, raped, and yet i dare to point out that women’s lives in patriarchy are the lives of meat

but no, in your rosy picture of the world, dear genderists, male violence against women doesn’t exist. it’s just a «coincidence that, statistically, those persons with penises regularly end up with appendages on those vagina havers». godess knows how that happens. do you have an explanation for this ?

dehumanization can be not only a weapon but also a survival strategy

i have no power over others: i couldn’t save myself from being raped and beaten. but while i don’t control how men treat me, i do control my attitude toward what happens. so, when i was repeatedly shown that i didn’t deserve to be treated humanely, i didn’t expect anything different. after all, if i deserved not to be raped and beaten, i wouldn’t have been raped and beaten. right ?

asking and expecting anything different is not only stupid, but also humiliating. it’s humiliating to beg for mercy from someone who enjoys torturing you. the only thing you can do with such things is to please

if the goal of my dehumanization is to take away what’s important, and i’m unable to protect it, then the optimal solution is to devalue and reject human treatment myself

i know how to enjoy being beaten — really, it’s not hard to learn. i also know how to enjoy being hit, and it’s much more pleasurable than the first; especially if the violence to others is punishment for violence against you. male language is the language of violence, and i can speak it. i wasn’t taught it, because i’m not a man, but i learned it because i considered myself a man. because it was important to me to prove that i wasn’t a woman. because they showed me that i am a woman

i hate it

i hate that they not only pointed out to me that i’m not a man, but also demonstrated that i am a woman. rape is the most fucking demonstrative thing that could have been. to rub my nose in the fact that i’m different and to emphasize the difference. to show who i am

i given up own humanity and eroticized dehumanization

i have a filthy mouth and a putrid brain. when they told me i was disgusting, i repeated that «disgusting». when they told me i was dirty, i repeated that «dirty». when they told me i was a slut, i repeated — «a slut».

«disgusting, dirty slut» — top three ultimate achievement for a pre-teen schoolgirl

and why should i be upset ? why should i wind myself up thinking «i don’t deserve this, i don’t deserve that» if i’m incapable of defending myself ? to play out the victim’s image according to society’s prescribed scenario ?

well, men raped me. and i was like: «t-h-i-n-g-s h-a-p-p-e-n-s. i don’t have time for tears, i need to done my stuff on kids’ playground before sunset»

i know the reasons why many women find it hard, or at least unpleasant, to hear about what men done to me and the attitude towards it. it’s been explained to me many times, and i understand everything. but i can’t digest or assimilate this explanation. i see no reason to be sad, cry or reason to show empathy to me. for me, there’s no terrible tragedy in my life; it’s one continuous routine. i don’t know how to explain that the type of breakdown i have eliminates the need for sympathy and pity. how can i explain y’all that i’m.. a meat ?

meat can be humiliated,

meat can be beaten,

meat can be raped — meat can be treated however you like.

meat isn’t offended,

meat isn’t in pain,

meat isn’t afraid.

meat is just meat, meat is not a living person

i remember hanging out in the street with a friend, and a boy who’d watched too much porn on tape followed us around, begging me to let him fuck me in the mouth. i was so pissed off that i picked up a stone and hit him over the head with it. he screamed and cried so loudly, i was so happy and didn’t want to stop. if my memory is correct, i cracked his head, and adults scolded me for it for a long time. as if i’d done something wrong. as if that action was wrong. and their actions towards me wasn’t ?

and only recently did i understand where this urge to be mean came from. i was called a girl:

i was dressed like a girl,

taught to talk about myself like a girl,

addressed as a girl.

men raped me like a girl,

offered to frottage me, and harassed me because they saw i was a girl.

they touched me. touched. touched, touched, touched. they touched my genitals because they are female. fucking scums

they indicated my sex through my name;

they indicated my sex through the way i addressed myself;

they indicated my sex through my clothes;

they indicated my sex through gifts;

they indicated my sex through games;

they indicated my sex through things;

they indicated my sex through attitudes

they constantly indicated my female sex

* * *

nobody questioned me when i “become” a cattle. nobody never asked me anything at all: who i was, what i wanted, how i felt

adults slapped my hands when i took something that didn’t belong to me. it didn’t belong to me because i’m not a man and should be a woman. i couldn’t choose a name, i couldn’t choose my pronouns, i couldn’t choose my clothes, i couldn’t choose my hobby: nothing that prevented me from being marked as a woman. everyone should know that you’re a woman — it should be clear and legible, like a price tag on a store shelf. broke every bone in my body, ramming me into that gravestone, repeating over and over again «you are a woman»

i have a school photo where i stood in a row with boys because i refused to wear a skirt. i was told i had to wear a women’s uniform because i was a woman. my teacher thought she would punish me by putting in a row with boys. but when i got that photo, i was the happiest i’ve ever been. i thought «you wanted me to feel bad about not being photographed alongside girls as a way to identify with girls. idiot, you’re only doing me a favor. i’m not a woman. you put me where i’ve always wanted to be». i thought i simply wouldn’t be in the picture, but i was given such a gift. can’t even to describe the level of euphoria i felt back then