This is partially in response to Little Light's post Taking Steps: fair, or maybe her post was a trigger, in many senses of the word, to write this.
I of course agree completely with her. My girlhood was basically a horror. The world is a cissexist cesspool. Masculinity is more or less beaten into children who are considered to be boys.
Being loved or seeing oneself as lovable isn't too easy after all that. I embrace the idea intellectually, although even that was rather a struggle. But my emotions betray me every now and then. There's inside me this black hole, punched by the schoolyard bullies and teachers and pornographers and cissexist lesbians and cissexist trans-fetishists and tabloid journalists and, well, practically every cissexist there is, that whispers its evil message that I'm not supposed to exist as a human being at all. That I'm supposed to be a living sex doll for the fetishists. That I'm supposed to help patriarchy stand tall. That I'm supposed to be an object of sensationalist publicity, all well-meaning, of course. That I'm supposed to be a perverted man.
Anything but admitting the fact of cissexist forced masculinisation. Anything but admitting that cissexist society guards masculinity with violence. Anything but admitting that cissexist society doesn't want to consider all of its members as fully human.
My words cannot carry my rage. There aren't words powerful enough to hit back with sufficient force. There's a reason why so many trans women joke about bringing about a complete annihilation of all life. It's not completely a joke. The rage behind it is very real. There's a reason, too, why so many trans women see sex work as the only alternative*. How the hell are you expected to make ends meet if no-one will see you as anything else but a hypersexualised doll or a sick pervert?
Christianity taught me an important lesson. It taught me that I'm loved by God no matter what shit the world may pile on me. That I'm lovable. That God loves me and I don't have to give a flying fuck about what other people think of me. My rage, and my feeling lovable go hand in hand. If I'm worth loving (and I bloody well am, and so are you), I'm worthy, and I should be treated like the human being I am, like the woman I am, and that past shit should be named for what it is - forced masculinisation.
*I did, too. Didn't actually do it but yeah, considered it seriously. FWIW, sex work is ok in my books - forced sex work definitely is not