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Live to Fight another day

(I actually enjoy this featured image. Though not an artistic approach new to me, it works for what is intended)

First of all, before the post itself, I do have news to those that read my blog posts. It is now possible to subscribe to this website and receive updates about any new blog post that I may write in the future. Given that I do not write new posts every single day or week, it is a good way to not miss any opinionated post or update about a few things in my life, to those interested.

To subscribe to this website’s automatic email list, register here. Alternatively, you may Hover your mouse above the Home button on the navigator menu and click Register. From there, the procedure is quite standard: Write your Name and Email and a message will be send to confirm your subscription to this website. If registering to this website is not something you’d like but still desire to keep yourself updated, remember to follow me on my social media accounts (which can be found on this website or by searching for SapphyDe90 on Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, DeviantArt and Tumblr). Thank you. 

 

 

Good afternoon. If you stumbled upon this post and do not know what the topic is about.. then do not blame yourself. It’s going to be about politics. And yes, what you have heard in the background, after reading such, was not actual lightning. You are safe here. And I also understand if you have already closed the tab (thank you for the view though).

 

Obligatory jest aside, I have not talked about such topics for a long time. Months in fact, even on social media. The reason is quite simple, no one is interested in what a single individual has to say on the matter either way and my time is better wasted on something that people actually want to hear and interact with. It is also known that, as time continues to pass, a new western culture continues to develop, one that I do not relate to.

Like two children arguing over who gets to wield a piece of linen cloth, the fabrics continue to rip apart as both argue and pull it to their respective side. The cloth, slowly being teared apart, leaving few strings connecting both sides. Stranded, lost and broken from all the other weaved pieces of the same cloth. So is society today and politics, both the left and the right beginning to adopt more radical views and mindsets each day. None offering what I personally deem to be sensible. Yet both have something in common, they have become authoritarian in their nature.

 

 

Politics has always been dirty, filled with hypocrites. Though it is true that every single human being is an hypocrite.. Politics does bring the worst of humanity. I have seen, I have listened. I have been disappointed, I have learned. Though I maintain most of my values currently, I have also considered both side’s viewpoints. Discussion is important, though I have seen that less people are inclined to do so and would rather live in their antechambers. It is, unfortunately, too late for discussion given that those won’t have any major impact in society as we know it. Even if a few change perspectives, it won’t make a significant difference to the general population.

 

In western culture, the left has too much power over their people. With culture, like sheep, the masses have changed their mindset with time. A mindset that I personally find horrendous. Celebrities, people of influence, art, entertainment, education.. they mold the mind of those who allow themselves to listen and believe. No critical thought, despite the claim of such. Tribalism, a trait that humans sadly fall into sooner or later. A trait that I wish we did not had, for it blinds us willingly. Tribe against tribe, ironically losing our humanity in the process. Tribalism is a direct attack to one’s individuality. The moment you have decided to stop listening to opposing views.. is the moment that you have lost. And humanity is losing.

Individuality, liberty. Those values are under attack.

 

Along the years, I have noticed that the people I talk to have become more radicalized. Their views have changed to their respective side more and more. Extremism, totalitarianism. I’ve seen people, who once had a rather neutral and a middle political position, say things that I find appalling. Outright cruel.. outright wrong. Though I do not mind people to have their own opinions (even if those do go against reality and imperial date itself), I do find it distasteful that many of those have became loud, vocal and rude. Slang has been said, the seeds for hatred and bigotry. Given the nature of one’s tribe, one has dehumanized everyone outside of said tribe.

On one side, you have the (ironically) destructive hypersensitive bigots. On the other end, a cold rusty ignorant machine. It almost sounds like a novel, as life imitates art. Yet no side is fully right. Yet both sides do hold a few fair criticisms. There is some merit to their delusions, raising the question to some of the problems that we actually never thought to ever exist. They do exist, perhaps not to the full degree as much would claim to be. Exaggeration, the culture behind outrage and shouting as loud as one can across cyberspace.

 

 

In these last few years, as I’ve maintained some of those values, I too have noticed that I was wrong and dismissive to some of the fair points that have been pointed out time and time again. There is a culture of oppression, people are oppressed based on labels imposed to them by others. Though it is obvious that such exist, it is important to note that such oppression to groups of individuals is perpetuated only by people who prefer to see the world as a set of boxes and labels. They cannot see or understand that individuals should be responsible for their individual actions. They feel offended on behalf of an entire group of individuals. They attack every individual that appear to be of a certain label. Oppression only exists in the mind of those who cannot see other humans as equals. Of those who see groups of people.. rather than individuals.

Unfortunately, the great majority are blinded by such labels. The majority can only see boxes of people.. rather than individuals. Which is why oppression exists for those who are a minority in one’s society. But to conclude that everyone has prejudice towards other individuals based on such labels is ludicrous, a lie fabricated by people who project their own insecurities onto others. Those who have become aware of their own bigotry and assume everyone is just as bigoted as them. No, not everyone is a bigot.. but many are.

As such, I refuse the left. I adore my individuality and I prefer to be in the company of others who see it the same way as me. Which, by itself, is a soft form of tribalism, though one that I consider a lesser evil given our natural human condition to fall into such dogmas either way. However, I do not shun those who think differently than me. My only desire is for those on the left to do the same to me. Much like religion, as long as we avoid the topics that we disagree, we’ll get along. Or, if talked upon, to do so with respect from one another.

 

To the growing right, a monster being revived once again out of fear of the left. To fight fire with fire, leaving the world ablaze. While I understand some of those fears, I have also noticed a growing culture that has dedicated to populism and the rule of the many under a certain label. Either it be a flag, a skin color.. much like the left. While the left, in their bigotry, at least desire to protect the interests of those who fall into a minority in society (which by itself is not wrong, if it were not for the methods and their condescending attitude to those who fall onto such categories, thus a different form of the same issue), the right seeks to discriminate those who fall upon labels that they disagree with. While the left patronizes, the right conserves and dismisses exceptions to their rules.

I have seen those who, with time, became more right leaning, outright shout discriminatory slang to individuals who did nothing to them. They do so because they have grown tired of the left. Yet their “all-or-nothing” logic is, to say the least, troublesome. Even though they claim to have certain statistics and evidence, they advocate for “normality”. Anything that deviates from such “normality” is abnormal or, as I’ve heard from some of those individuals, a “degeneracy”. Why? Because they too have denied reality and desire to go back to a world that wasn’t as good as they might think. They too, as irrationals, seek to perpetuate a culture that discriminates others based on differences.. even though those exist. They claim to be the ones that are “red-pilled”, yet they too live an illusion. An illusion on which exceptions to the rules, that they have imposed, do not exist. And those exceptions, those individuals, are to be oppressed in order to maintain the perfect utopia of bad ideas from ever changing.

While I understand that some individuals, those who fall into such minority based labels, are vocal and loud left leaning people.. that does not mean that every individual from one label or another has any part of such nonsense and shares the same ideals as those who cry for social justice. The fact that those individuals believe such and that, has a consequence, they have opted out everyone that falls into such petty labels by misfortune from being part of your fabled utopia.. it makes them just as awful as those extreme individuals on the other side of the political spectrum.

To those, I will not shun them. However, there are things that are not a matter of opinion. If the individual cannot respect me, then I do not wish for such individual to be anywhere close to me. At least some individuals, on the left, in their bigotry, can prove useful. An individual, on the other end of the political spectrum, with their bigotry, are a nuisance to me personally. Would you rather prefer to be with someone condescending who still, in their misguided ignorance, provide you with something (regardless of motivations).. or would you rather be with someone who thinks you are a “degenerate”? I rest my case..

 

 

In such political climate, I have came to the conclusion a few months ago to make it clear that it is not my best desire to talk about politics. Sometimes I’ll do, just like I am doing now. But definitely not as much as I used to. And the reason is simple. To preserve. To live and fight another day. Censorship has become an issue nowadays and, given that, with a twist of irony, not being extreme is the new extreme, I would rather keep my “extreme” points of view to myself.

I live in a world on which I cannot identify with nowadays. I’d rather focus on my own personal issues, to heal myself. Such is the live of an individual, to look out for my own interests first. You cannot say that I haven’t tried at least something. But my voice is meaningless and it won’t aid, at least not on this political war. So I choose to remain mostly silent on those regards. To care for myself and those that I truly enjoy their company. I do not care for nation, for culture. I have lost hope for my own culture and nation. Do not be surprised if, someday, by a miracle, I decide to migrate elsewhere and avoid the inevitable.

 

Thank you for reading and I hope you have a good week~

I will get back to the usual topics of late, topics that I can actually help others with without major controversy. Plus, I do also desire to talk about aspects that are mostly enjoyable too! With time I shall.. all I need is to do one last exam and we’ll see if the results will reveal the hope that I just need at the moment.

 

 

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Waking up from a Cult – “The truth will set you free”

(I have mixed feelings about this featured image. Most of them bad, though the goal was to humor the organization’s art style and belief)

 

Good afternoon!

It has been a while since I wrote a blog post and, more specifically, one about the Jehovah Witnesses. According to my list of posts, since the 15th of July.. allow me to apologize to those who follow me for such topics. Here’s an early Xmas gift, from someone who never celebrated it.. to other people who probably have to celebrate it themselves too!

Humor aside, since I’m terrible at it (though that has never stopped me from trying), today’s topic I feel is of most importance: The process that has lead some people to leave the Jehovah Witnesses.

 

Synopsis

 

Though everyone is an individual, with their own reasons and thought patterns, it’s important to note that the topic has become more of a focus. We are living a crucial point, where Scientology has been mostly scowled apart and reprehended by their own former members and the media. This is an opportunity to come forward, to share, to speak. But most of all.. to aid others. So let us avoid dramas among ourselves as best as we can and, as cliché as it may sound.. think of the victims. We are all victims here, but experienced ones at that. We need to provide psychological aid at least to the inexperienced that have just left the cult or are considering it.

Many are the reasons as to why people leave the cult. However, besides opportunity, it is a fact that the cult has been bleeding their numbers. (Look, my country is red! From those -149, I was one of them that year!) 

While it’s true that, overall, they are still growing despite it being at a much slower rate.. their growth is insignificant compared to the growth of the world population. Meaning that, in truth, the percentage of Jehovah Witnesses in the world, compared to the 100% of the population, is lower.

 

Photo example of Cart Witnessing

Again, many are the reasons as to why. One of them being that their newest method of preaching their belief is.. ineffective. Dare I say, in my unprofessional view as a mere spectator, it has made their publishers lazy in the long run. Though they still preach door to door occasionally, this form of evangelism doesn’t convince the majority of the population to stop, listen and to take their words for granted.

Another culprit being the internet itself. Everyone has access to information nowadays. It’s easy to search for any kind of information we desire and many have become aware of the true nature of this cult. Many voices are speaking, on Twitter, Facebook, Youtube, Reddit and so on. Those voices are hard to ignore and Watchtower has been struggling to keep their members away from such exposure. It has mattered little that they shout “apostasy”, their members are watching and reading blog post such as these in silence.. besides other more effective forms of media. Watchtower is aware that the internet has been their greatest issue, has seen in their broadcast on November 2017.

Speaking of the Broadcast, it has also been a tool for their own demise. It has become easier for the internet to refute most of Watchtower’s teachings in video format, given that the cult has provided such medium to begin with. Their inadequacy is open for criticism, to be witnessed by anyone who is willing to watch a single video on their broadcast. Their speech hasn’t resonate to the major audience, quite the opposite. It exposed the type of cult it actually is to the world at large.

But most of all, the way they have handled child abuse has been shameful. The ARC (Australian Royal Commission) has shed some light about the way this cult deals with troubling predicaments within their own halls. Avoidance, deceitful, outright lying and victim blaming.. they have resorted to Theocratic Warfare strategies to keep their name intact while ignoring the root of the problem: Pedophilia. Their lack of empathy has been astonishing.. and one can easily gain access to such videos. Though the videos are long, I will share a beginning to spark some curiosity – Governing Body member, Geoffrey Jackson, lying to the authorities. This is not exclusive to Australia, as other countries have become aware of such issues within the cult. Their unwillingness to change the “two witness” policy to justify any action between their members, without involving the authorities, has been proven more than once.

 

The Watchtower—Study Edition | March 2018 (Page 8-9, paragraph 2)

The Jehovah Witnesses’ golden age has been long gone. What follows is the unavoidable downfall of their numbers. They are aware of that, which is why they’ve changed their focus to the current Jehovah Witnesses to be more persistent with their child indoctrination, as seen on the Watchtower’s March 2018 Study Edition.

They are pressuring their children to baptism and, as many are aware, it is the worst mistake one can make within the cult. Baptizing means that you’ve signed a verbal contract with Watchtower for the rest of your life. That you will listen to them, act the way they want to.. without question. That, if you decide to do or say something outside of their expectations, you will be disfellowshipped. Which translates to the complete ostracisation from the cult and their members to those individuals.. including family members.

It breaks families apart. Which is why the idea that they are pressuring their children to baptism more so than ever, is repulsive. Another form of child abuse, besides pedophilia itself within their own cult.

 

Again, I believe that now it is the time to focus on Watchtower’s short comings. I’m not a professional activist.. but I believe now it is the opportunity to speak. Share your personal experiences to the world, expose the cult. Use your voice, be honest and protect others from doing the same mistakes as we did. Tell the world what you’ve learned, find a way to do so. If the internet is not your preferable place, speak to your friends at least. Help other disfellowshipped people.. or even those who are Physically In and Mentally Out (PIMO).

Don’t fall for anger, for resentment, for a complete victim narrative. I am aware how easy it is to fall for such dark emotions, I am guilty of so many of those emotions that you, too, are familiar with. But this isn’t about you. It’s about a cult, several victims and a warning to society that needs to be aware. Do NOT attack individual witnesses, they are not to blame.. for their are also victims in their own way. It is to Watchtower, the Governing Body, that one should direct their outrage to.

 

As for myself, I do not believe that I am an activist of sorts. I don’t intend to extensively talk about such issues, despite being aware and not shying away from it. I speak my mind now and then on social media, on this blog, to the very few followers that I have. It’s the minimum I can do, given that there’s another bigger issue in my life than just being a former Witness. That too needs addressing.

Nonetheless, I want to give an example. I don’t want to be the type of person that tells others what to do and not do it myself. I will, too, share my own process of “awakening” from the cult.. on this very same blog post.

 

A few disclaimers:

  • First, this is going to be a long post. It’s unavoidable.
  • Second, I’m Portuguese. My native language differs from the one I’m writing. Though that has never been an issue thus far, I feel that it is a fair warning given the length of this blog post. The longer I write about a particular subject, the more dull, simplistic and predictable my choice of words and expressions gets.
  • Third, I’m Portuguese. I know I just wrote that earlier.. but it is an important fact to say that these events happened within Portugal. Culture and context is important, for even Jehovah Witnesses can differ a little from region to region. Not by much, but no one is immune to one’s surroundings and societal norms.
  • Fourth, I’m Transsexual. Male to Female.  I am a woman but, to my own self deprecation, the cult saw me as a boy for all intents and purposes. Another aspect to take into consideration and, by all means, a “unique perspective” from the cult that may differ from others.
  • Fifth, it’s hard to talk about the cult and not involve other aspects of my life, that may not be related to the topic at hand on face value. Though I will try my best to focus on the main topic at hand, I do apologize for any explanation or slight off-topics here and there.. but I believe they relate in one way or another in the greater picture.
  • Sixth, do not use this information to harass individual Jehovah Witnesses.. or anyone for that matter. Again, your energy should be wasted to aid others who actually WANT to break free from the cult and to the Governing Body (in the United States).

 

 

 

Waking up from a Cult – “The truth will set you free”

 

My online pseudonym is SapphyDe90 (Sapphy-Dee-Ninety, for those who have issues speaking it out loud. I’m also fine with just being called Sapphy). I was born on the 2nd May 1990, hence the number on my pseudonym. My real name isn’t too far from my pseudonym, though I wasn’t always called by the name I currently have.

 

I grew up in a household made up of two parents and an older brother (seven-nearly-eight years apart). The three of them Jehovah Witnesses by the time I was born. My brother was too born under such circumstances. We both were indoctrinated the moment we were born, though the lineage of indoctrination only began with my parents.

The Jehovah Witnesses only began to exist within my country somewhere in the 1950’s. It was a dictatorship back then, under the rule of Salazar. My parents grew up under such political climate, the Jehovah Witnesses were heavily persecuted by the government. During that time until April 25th in 1974, the Jehovah Witnesses in my country feared the government which, at the time, even had their own secret police. Think of it has our own version of the Gestapo, which was named PIDE. My parents were preached during that time, my father being the first one when he was 10 years old. My mother, though later, was preached in her early 20’s. Though my country has roughly 48.000-49.000 Jehovah Witness Publishers today, my father was part of the first 2.000-3.000 Publishers within the country.

As such, expectations were high for me and my brother. My father was an elder for around a decade when I was born, given how he was known by many within several local congregations. Everywhere he went, at least a family or two knew him and would greet us kindly.

 

When born, unlike my brother, my mother quit her job to take care of me in the first few years. She suffered Postpartum Depression. I was a late-term pregnancy, forced labor.. she needed more time to be with me and to heal from her depression.

My early childhood was one lived within the house. A late talker, doing so at the age of 3 because, as I’ve been told, I was “too lazy to talk” since I didn’t need to talk to get what I wanted (my first word was “Pai” though, which means Father in Portuguese). In short, I’m spoiled I guess. Little I engaged with other children, being quite pleased with the company of my own family. Within the Kingdom Hall, I acted like a normal child. As in, I used to sit and try not to misbehave during meetings and, once it was done, be a little more childish. I was reprehended a few times for misbehaving.. though that stage didn’t last long.

The other Jehovah Witnesses treated me correctly, as any adult would to someone else’s child. There was a strong sense of community and I was love bombed early on. People had high expectations on me, as I’ve touched upon briefly. The one who taught me (as in, the one who used to do my bible study) was my father.

 

Things changed when I was six years old, when I started going to Primary school (1st to 4th grade). I was forced to deal with other children on a wider context, which didn’t end well during the first two years. Given gender dysphoria and the usual social norm of children dividing themselves by gender and being disgusted by their counterpart, I was ostracized and bullied because I thought “everyone was dumb” and I didn’t like to play with the boys that I was forced to. I preferred the company of adults, which I could only find and have a proper interaction within the Kingdom Hall. This furthered my indoctrination and pushed me to actually start paying attention to the meetings.

I did my first “public speech” when I was six years old, on top of a cardboard box. As in, I read the bible to an audience of sixty-seventy.. can’t remember the number of people. Of course, as expected, I was the cutest new promising witness on the congregation because of it. That furthered my interest for the teachings, turning into a Publisher at the age of eight.

 

During that time, I saw the people at my local primary school as the “worldly” people I had to engage with daily. Though the bullying during that time ended once I found a single common interest with my peers at the time (gaming, which was an activity introduced within the household by my brother), I was already indoctrinated to believe they were odd. Gender Dysphoria didn’t help as it further aggravated my inadequacy with other children of my age. As a child, I didn’t thought gender/sex was the issue, even though I wanted to be a mother and then later, since I learned I could never get pregnant, to be a Obstetrician-gynecologist.. or as I would like to say “the doctor that delivers babies”. I thought that the issue with my inadequacy and suffering was not because of gender.. but because “they were dumb worldly people”.

Amusingly enough, there were other children in my local Kingdom Hall. Though only four stood out (besides myself), two boys and two girls; the two girls never engaged with me significantly (despite being from separate families from different elders too) and the two boys belonged to two different families in troubled households and backgrounds. There were a few teenagers, though I felt that I didn’t belong in the same circle of friends that my brother had. It was intimidating.. though there were a few special moments that I can remember fondly.

 

I progressed as a Publisher which, in return, got the attention of the adults. The adults were “nice” and other children were “dumb”.. and since most children I knew were not Jehovah Witnesses, somehow that furthered my indoctrination. I always commented during meetings, becoming infamous for getting mad if I didn’t get the chance to comment. Most people thought it was amusing and took it as a good sign that I was progressing as a Jehovah Witness.

At the age of eleven, I got baptized (15th February 2002). Based on one of the study articles from one of the Watchtower study articles at the time (to be honest, I’ve wasted hours trying to find the exact article and magazine but I fear it will be almost impossible. I do remember however, a specific picture.. one I wasn’t able to find yet), I was motivated to dedicate my life in prayer and to symbolize it by baptizing. The magazine talked that there should be nothing to fear, that even people who got baptized often used to do mistakes. For me, it was a big step but the magazine made me believe that I shouldn’t fear. Because what mattered is that I believed that the things I was taught of were true. And “the truth” is what made people nice, while the “worldly people” were “dumb” because they lacked “the truth”. That such was the reason for the bullying outside of the Kingdom Hall.

When I spoke to my mother in the Kingdom Hall’s bathroom, after that same meeting (right after the last prayer of the very same meeting), I told her about my desire for baptism. She was thrilled, yet she wasn’t completely sure. My father learned such a few minutes afterwards, sharing that he felt that I was too young to make such decisions. Yet I was spoiled and, like a toy I really wanted, I pressed on my desire to do so. My father, though an elder at the time, asked advise from the other elders of the congregation. They shrugged among themselves and came to the conclusion that I was a well behaved child, more mature than the others and, thus, saw no problem with my desire. Though my father never got over his doubts over my youth, my mother soon shared the same sentiment as the other elders.. and I was allowed to be baptized.

… My father was right. When I look back, I can say that I was too young, naive and spoiled by the love bombing I always received during my early childhood. Both within the Kingdom Hall and within my family environment. In fact, ironically, my parents were once alerted by a circuit overseer that they should be more careful with the way they spoiled me. No one is perfect.. I never said I was.

 

After baptism, I was already in either 5th or 6th grade. A new school, new people.. new bullies. It didn’t help that my overall attitude wasn’t the most appropriate. At the time, there was a boy that I wanted to get closer to. But given that I disliked his friends, I often made myself a victim in order to turn that boy against them. Which worked for most part, at least in what I desired. I was the child that was well mannered and “looked like a saint and transpired innocence”, which made it easier when I overreacted to any form of criticism or hint of roughness on the other end. Again, I never said that I was perfect. And the consequence, though wrong for them to have done so, was to have bullies that lasted all the way to 12th grade. This to say that bullying only made me believe that the “worldly people” were “dumb and mean”. Ignoring the fact that my best friend at the time was the very same boy I mentioned earlier, a “worldly person”.

Within the Kingdom Hall, after my baptism, the spotlight was on me and on my family more than ever. Most Kingdom Halls have that one or two “golden” families that are considered the prime example of a “true christian household”. However, it alienated me from every other child of my age within the very same Kingdom Hall and.. even circuit. They felt that I thought I was “too good” for them. Given their behavior and reasoning, I still didn’t thought it was a “gender issue” but the fact that I was simply more mature than the other children of my own age within the congregation and most of the circuit.

The reason why it took me long enough to identify my dysphoria was because of the indoctrination imposed on me. Most people of my age mocked me because I did felt that they were simply.. dumb. Though I would never say it out loud, my overall behavior did made it seem that I highly disapproved their definition of fun and amusement. When I look back, I see that it was a misconception. What I believed to be an issue with “the world” and “the people of my age” wasn’t their lack of intellect. I believed that because I was led to believe it was, given indoctrination. In return, people of my age noticed that I didn’t liked them, which created bullying. And thus the cycle continued as I would go back to the Kingdom Hall and feel better about myself and the belief taught to me.

 

At the age of twelve, I earned the task of carrying and handling the microphones. A year later, directly using the sound equipment. I used to study every meeting during that time, on a congregation that was suffering. I would peek the magazines held by a few other Jehovah Witnesses, noticing that they didn’t had underlined their paragraphs. I would comment about it to my parents which, in return, would hear that some of them actually had depression and a few other problems within their houses. It was a congregation that, by Jehovah Witnesses standards, was “spiritually weak”. Many people were suffering from psychological issues, real problems that, now that I look back, makes me feel upset. From such scenario, I could only think about how they didn’t had their magazines filled with notes.

Strangely enough, I look back at that congregation fondly. I have a few good memories, cult teachings and manipulation aside. I have to admire the fact that they endured soo much in their lives and still.. they found time to stroke my ego. I truly was a brat disguised as an angel..

 

When puberty came, when the changes started to occur, I began to notice the effects of gender dysphoria to a much complete sense of the symptoms. Jealousy took part of most of my thoughts at the time, though I was told by my religious peers that what I felt was love.. since I would never tell them I was jealous. They merely based their ridiculous assumptions on the way I behaved towards other women. Though deep down, even those gals knew I didn’t like them that way. And I didn’t.. because there was a boy that I had a crush on within the local congregation. It was mild.. but it was there. He had the greatest smile~ though later I found him to be so easy to manipulate and lacking a firm position.. easily drifted by whatever direction the wind blew. What a pity..

Such remarks about my sexual attraction by my religious peers made it harder for me to identify my ever growing dysphoria. And to even figure out that I actually had a crush on the boy I’ve mentioned. I only found out many years later, when I was already disappointed at the boy.. as odd as that sound but, to be fair, this isn’t a normal story and I realize my experience is quite abnormal.

 

 

Between my twelfth and fourteenth birthday I also had my first (and only) bible study, to a child around my age. It was given to me, by my mother. She had a bible study with his mother, so both thought I should be the one conducting a bible study to her child.

 

I was.. a lousy Publisher that somehow always got away with my lousiness. I hated preaching door to door, talking to random strangers. It made me nervous, as a shy young girl. Insecure, since you never knew what would come out of those doors. I never revisited people, I simply accompanied someone, talked a few times to hand a magazine or two.. and never went back to those very same doors again. I would always pick the most experienced pioneers, servants and elders to go with.. in hope they had a bible study to sync a few hours without the need to talk to random strangers. Bible studies used to be my favorite aspect of preaching, since it was inside people’s houses, people knew each other and it was easier for me to add a few things to the conversation when I felt it made sense to.

Either way, with my bible study, the victim of my attempts was a boy around my age.. that felt dragged by his mother to do so. I could easily tell how boring that was for him, though I didn’t allowed it to discourage me from trying. I tried to not be dull with my approach, making efforts to have him express himself without having to directly read what was written just to fulfill the questions directed at him. I tried to talk rather than preach. Given that he liked video games (just as I still continue to like), I tried to get close to him based around that.. since it always worked in the past every time I had to deal with boys around my age. That got out of his shell for a while and he began to understand that I was not there to bore him about things he didn’t really cared about. I wanted to please him while, at the same time, share the message that I believed to be right.

He… never took steps to assist the meetings, since his mother never did too. Eventually, my mother abandoned her bible study and told me to do the same. The memory is hazy on those regards to the exact reaction and conclusion to that study.

 

During those years, I was also part of a convention drama (theater), together with my family. Very few were selected on my former congregation, though the role that my family and I had were simple: We were just there to make numbers, to be part of a fictional crowd with other people. Nearly five thousand people saw us that day, furthering my indoctrination and “social status” alongside my family.

 

 

Later, somewhere between my fourteenth and fifteenth birthday, my congregation was dissolved. The Witnesses from my congregation were spread between three different congregations, one congregation being new. However, me and my family were sent to one of the two already existing and established ones. Me and my family welcomed such change, each of us with our own reasons. Mine being that I feared to be spiritual affected by the overall depressive environment from the former congregation. The audience was lowering on numbers, a congregation that used to have eighty to seventy.. was now struggling to even have fifty people present in a meeting. This fear was based on the fact that I desired for the love that I used to feel when I was a child.. but was being crushed by the rising difficulties within the congregation. The mood was affecting me and I wanted to be love bombed again, as crude as it sounds saying it now with today’s knowledge of the situation.. for those weren’t the exact same words I would think of even telling anyone.

 

Within the new congregation, the environment was much different than I’d expected. Simply put, the established congregation saw us as some sort of impostors to their “inner politics” (elders…) .

In the new congregation, there were more people around my age. Some of them I already knew of, others I did not. One in specific, for some reason, saw me has a rival of sorts.. which is incredibly adorable to think about since, back then, I didn’t understood why he was acting in such a loud, over the top clownish, attention seeking moronic way. Looking back, I realize that his mother used to pressure him and tell him that he should be more like me. Some mothers used to do that in my childhood… it’s horrible. You’re basically asking for your child to think less of themselves and, some cases, outright harass the one you want your child to be as. Don’t do that, it’s just evil, love your child.. not other people’s child.

My family noticed that the new congregation wasn’t as inviting as we thought it would. We talked about it several times, pointing examples of Jehovah Witnesses being extremely patronizing and passive aggressive towards each others. The politics at play, the alliances between Elder A and Elder B who disliked Elder C and D. Those who liked Elder A and B and how terrible they were for liking that Elder while spreading rumors about those on Elder C and D side. And how Elder A has shady business in his workplace while preaching about good behavior at the top of the podium. It was.. a mess and it made me realize that not every Jehovah Witness was nice, even though they all believed in “the truth”.

At the same time, as I saw the few members of the former congregation that joined us on this particular new congregation doing, we justified and fortified our indoctrination by saying that we were not here for men.. but because of the god we believed in. For “the truth”. During that period of time, I started to create my own forms of thought as to why I was a Jehovah Witness in the first place. That it wasn’t about the people, or congregations, or elders. About being loved, a hug or a mere gesture of affection. That we were on harsh times and that the only reason that had made us Jehovah Witnesses.. was “the truth”.

 

The focus had changed from the people themselves (the community).. but to the teachings. “The truth” is what mattered. That.. is when the seeds of my awakening began.

 

Every time that the circuit overseer came, we hoped that he would solve the issues within the new congregation. But I learned that the Circuit Overseer only becomes aware of the issues if someone tells them of such. But given that they have but a week every six months and, during such week, everyone was at their best behavior and trying as much as they could to please the overseer.. it slowly made my hope fade. But we had “the truth”.

Every time someone was unfair to me or to my family, we hoped that they would change their ways eventually. That maybe an article would help them become self conscious. Or maybe their favorite elder would actually start acting like an elder and kindly inform them in private to cease their behavior. That never happened. But we had “the truth”.

Every time an elder got to make a speech and began to reprehend the opposing aisle of their political shenanigans, we hoped that they would someday be stripped away from their privileges for being such insufferable and insensitive morons. That sometimes happened.. but never cleaned the rats’ den. But we had “the truth”.

 

Given the flaws within the congregation and the elders (my father included), I learned that not every elder was worth the attention and that there was politics involved. How they abused their power at times, that such behavior didn’t align with the teachings.

That form of thought and realization allowed me to do a minor form of critical thinking and have a different perspective on certain aspects of the faith in question. For example, entertainment and the internet. I always thought it was strange how they shunned specific movies, books, games and titles because they exposed certain aspects that they didn’t like. The example of an apple that is partially brown on one particular side from the inside, tossed away completely because of it.. no. Don’t toss an apple just because a tenth of it is a little rotten while the rest is healthy. Cut a good portion of the rotten part away and eat the untainted area. It’s a waste of potential. And even what is rotten can be used to fertilize the ground. Plus, it is important to note the difference between fiction and reality.

Such thought allowed me to take joy in forms of entertainment that other Jehovah Witnesses would frown if they knew. As a geek, gaming was the source for most entertainment that they would shun away. But we had “the truth”. And the truth is, it’s just fiction!

 

 

As I grew and began to suffer ostracisation from both “worldly people” and the people within my congregation, I also began to notice that a few of the Jehovah Witnesses that still praised me and my family.. never really cared for me. That what they were after was the approval of my father rather than genuine interest in my well being. At the time, to avoid further bullying, I had decided to not go to college and opt for a three years long professional course (after 9th grade) that gave me a high school diploma regardless, to be better prepared for the world.

The people of my age were also terrible, from both sides. Which, together with everything else already described, made me suffer from depression for a few years. After an unexpected shout from my part as my father drove us to meet the boy that I used to have a crush on, as I informed that I didn’t wish to visit him, my family began to worry and they searched for a psychiatrist. Though the psychiatrist was flawed, he lead me to meet the psychologist that I still visit to this very same day, after more than ten years. In my family, we take mental health seriously for reasons I would rather not dwell on. She is a wonderful professional and I am.. soo grateful for her to be part of my whole recovery and.. mess. Besides myself, she’s the one that knows me the most.

I survived my depression at the time, though it took years to do so. I maintained my belief in the cult, against all the odds at the time. Because we cared for “the truth”. We had it.

 

More years passed, I wasn’t able to progress as a Jehovah Witness. Though I believed and still did everything and even a little more, I was never given further privileges. Nor did I wanted them to be fair. I never fought to have privileges, I only wanted to be liked and understood, to relate and be related. Given internal politics among elders, the spotlight was taken from my family and placed on certain individuals that had the approval of the major political faction of elders. Including a certain clown, as he got to be a servant. I laughed at that back then, further underlining what I already suspected about the inner bicker among elders.

However, my inner belief in the cult also desired to purify the congregation in anyway I could. So I talked to one of the elders about my disapproval of the new servant and was given suggestions on how I could become one myself. I didn’t cared for those, so I grasped for that specific elder’s dark past and cornered him: That the reason why he got to be an elder in the first place was “because he acted like a spoiled child that didn’t got his toy when he was a servant”, so the elders took pity on him and gave him the title. That made the elder go silent, but he got the message. And no, I didn’t learned about it because someone had told me such. But because he was part of my previous congregation.. so I saw it when I was a child since he and his family were close to mine. Still! He was one of the best elders from the congregation.. besides my father himself (as biased with “rose tinted glasses over my daddy” as that may sound. Look, I am a daddy’s gal deep down and though I did spend most of the time with my mother and despite the fact that he does have his flaws, he’s still the best!)

 

None of these were enough to shaken my belief over the cult. It did changed my perspective, without a doubt. But we had “the truth”.

… But what if others don’t care about “the truth”?

 

 

When I was twenty, I was getting increasingly worried. I still suffered deep down given my gender dysphoria. It had been years and I had suppressed it for quite some time. I became aware of it finally and did my own research on the subject. Though it took months of research and soul searching.. the nightmares ever increasing, I finally came out to my psychologist first, when I was twenty one. A day later, to my mother and, in an hour or so, to my father. My brother learned a few hours after. Tears were exchanged, my mother being the one who had the worst reaction while my father merely hugged and cried with me. My brother, on the other hand, was just confused and probably didn’t even understood what was being said until a few days later.

 

When I told them about my predicament, I did informed them that I did desire to transition. However, I wanted to know the opinion of the cult, given that little information existed on the subject within their publications. Such lack of information baffled my father as well and we asked a special pioneer for his advice. He didn’t knew either, which lead me to talk to another elder (besides my father).

The elder, though he was part of an “opposing political spectrum within the elder war”, was the one that I had chosen to share the predicament. Because I genuinely was already tired of the bickering and by trusting him with a subject so personal to me and to my family would, hopefully, make the elders unite for once. The elder lacked knowledge on the subject as well, but he told me and my family to stay silent and to not tell anyone else about the subject. To simply trust god, to have hope for paradise, where everything would magically solve somehow. Since I had the same faith.. I believed him, but I feared him.

The fear that I felt.. I cannot truly explain. I.. think I feared that god wouldn’t solve the issue. Not because I didn’t believed in paradise but.. because I feared that god would please everyone else but myself. That everyone that knew about the subject didn’t actually loved me but only wanted me to suppress myself. And, to satisfy everyone that “loved me”, he would change me to something that I was not, since it would be easier to everyone else.

I didn’t like that thought. I ignored the elder’s advise and did something else. I talked to the circuit overseer, since I already knew I couldn’t trust the elders given past experiences. The circuit overseer lacked knowledge on the subject as well.. but he did advised me something: To write in English to Brooklyn, since I knew how to do so. And I did, eight pages of it. After nearly two months, this was the answer that came:

The answer provided mixed feelings. On one hand, their speech appeared kind at first glance. Second, they shown some knowledge on the subject to the point that I was pleasantly surprised! Honestly, they did had some grasp on the subject.

However, their decision and overall reasoning to maintain such position against a treatment that could aid me (and it has thus far) was.. severely lacking. The scriptures were far-fetched to explain their logic. Excluding Deuteronomy 22:5, given that’s a law that doesn’t even apply to this situation and simply tells “You can’t do this”, without proper explanation, I focused on Genesis 2:23, on the definition of the word in Hebrew. The definition of the word isn’t enough to suggest anything that they perceive to be sound logic. Words are a combination of syllables, each with their own meaning to create an entire new word and meaning. It doesn’t mean literally what it sounds when you break it down to syllables. Plus, a man with a womb? I thought everyone was female regardless at first.. and then later, biological men become men after being a woman first within the womb. Anyway.. small rambles in my mind during the time.

The rest of the letter is merely drivel, advises for aid.. though they fall flat if one doesn’t justify their sentence first. That’s how I used to work. Make me believe that your ridiculous demands are right, then I will accept your suggestions.

 

From that point forward, I decided to do my own thing, regardless of what others told me. Because, after sharing the letter with the elders, they weren’t open for a conversation about the subject. They wanted me to follow the letter’s advise, without questioning. It was not what I was expecting, since I had doubts about what was told on that decisive letter. I was told not to write back, to simply suppress my thoughts and pretend that nothing had happened. To not mention this to anyone.. to keep being a good Jehovah Witness, that later in paradise, god would solve the issue. But given that the supposed single channel to god said I couldn’t and that I wasn’t a woman, I knew that something was not right.

I searched for aid and evidence that my condition was true. Appointments with doctors, psychological exams and blood tests.. I wanted to rub on the elders’ faces that I was right.. because I am. I also stopped going to the meetings, started dressing up and growing my hair in a different way. Not strictly feminine.. but something I look back now and shiver to how silly I looked. Every Trans Woman goes through THAT stage, that we want to change our appearance but we still are too afraid to do it so we opt for something not feminine but also colorful and more.. flamboyant? It was strange.. not proud of that stage, though a necessary one.

I searched for an LGBT community, having more of a double life on the internet. Opting the pseudonym of Sapphire, which was the same pseudonym I was heavily criticized during my fourteens for being a female name. On the internet.. I was Sapphire. In real life, I was being tested with the desire to bring evidence to the elders so that I could make my transition and not be disfellowshipped. Because I had “the truth”, not THEM.

 

 

After two years, I made the mistake to go to a meeting under my family’s pressure to do so, despite my appearance and how shocked everyone felt in the congregation about it (the snobs with the monocles and the royalty falling for their thrones because someone dared to dress differently for the occasion. HOW DARE THEY?!) The elders suddenly were reminded that I existed.. even though my father told them to aid me time and time again.. and they arranged a judicial committee. I can only imagine how they went home that day after the meeting and the outrage behind the scenes because I dared to appear after more than a year! Can you feel the love? Because for me, back then, it only underlined the fact that they didn’t cared for me. They didn’t even greeted me, how quickly they forgotten that I was once their prodigy.

Either way, I accepted to go to the judicial committee. I was very afraid, given that I lacked any physical evidence on my hand for my own defense. But, most of all, I feared to lose connection to god. I still believed, I was still indoctrinated.. against all odds. Three men stood in front of me, from different congregations since no one trusted the elders from my own congregation to reprehend me. I stood there, defenseless. They judged me, they were intolerant. One elder tried to be nicer while another one played the role of the “skeptic”. The third one hardly contributed, trying to play the role of the voice that pretended to be my conscious and guide to the right answers. The skeptic didn’t believed when I apologized. Because, in his perspective, I didn’t actually felt remorse for what I was doing. He was right.. I did not. I didn’t understood what I did was wrong, thus couldn’t apologize. My mouth said “Sorry”, my eyes cried.. and my feet couldn’t feel the floor. It felt as if I was dying on that spot, because I feared them. I feared god.. and I love my family. But my mind said “They are wrong and cruel.”

They stripped me from my privileges.. as if those mattered to me. But the worst act of all.. was that they demanded me to cut my hair between that very same Monday and Thursday.. just in time for the meeting. I still fought against that demand, saying that I just went to the Hair Salon that former weekend (and I did, so it wasn’t a lie). Nonetheless, they were not open for negotiation. If I truly regretted my actions, I would need to cut my hair, get a suit and go to the meeting on Thursday with a smile. I had.. no choice but to comply, together with the idea that I would need a “recovery study” (I apologize, I have no idea if this is the correct English counterpart for such). At least they offered me the dignity to choose which elder would.. and I ended up choosing the very same elder I confronted years ago about his dark past that got him to be an elder in the first place.

 

I was at the meeting on Thursday, with a new hairstyle. One that made me die even more inside the more I looked at the mirror. I wore a suit.. after for nearly two years, though that really wasn’t the worst experience comparing to everything else that I was forced to do. I felt traumatized, genuinely. I felt that I lacked life, a spark within me. It felt as if I had witnessed a horror and was trying to coop with a shocking mental picture. Like a child that just witnessed a murder, innocence taken away. As if I was pale and shaking in the cold, starving and bare bone, naked. Trying to pretend that I was alive by the command of a dictator that would crack their whip behind my back if I didn’t perform according to what everyone paid the tickets for. The trick being.. a smile, of how grateful I was for their mercy. Adding insult to the injury, they announced to an audience of nearly one hundred Jehovah Witnesses that I had been reprehended, without context.. though I’m sure most knew why exactly.

The fake smiles that came to greet me, like the bourgeoisie that wish to take a picture with the poor and misfortuned. To look good for the greater picture, for the elders. Handshakes and empty words, I was used to that even beforehand. The type of people that want to please your family and others but don’t actually care for you. It’s about social status, the privileges within the religious community. I was aware that their words meant.. nothing. I knew “the truth”.

Worst of all, even more ignorance from their part, was when they decided to strip away my father’s privilege from being an elder. They announced a week after, without any proper context. Of course, they had used me for their political wars among elders. They couldn’t wait to find a way to get my father out of their royal court, so they used me. Yes, because my father is to blame for the fact I have gender dysphoria apparently! They never provided a reason to me.. but it was obvious. If it were for any other reason, they had many years and opportunities to do such and not a week after my reprehension. It WAS politically motivated, more backstabbing in the great elder wars in a region that nobody cares about. Though such action had not only make me question and grow even more upset.. but my mother has well was upset and confused to the reason and, though my father hid the reason from me, I could tell that he too was upset for losing his privilege. It affected him greatly to this very same day.

 

My family was proud of me.. and I tried to please them. I accepted the aid from the elder that was given the task to provide me with the study. I wanted to give them a last chance, that maybe I was wrong. I wanted to be proven wrong, so that I could believe that god could provide me what I truly needed and desired. But I also feared that their definition of a “study” was.. going to be torturous. And I was right.

I used to predict and joke to my psychologist about the fact that I’d hopped their definition of aid wouldn’t involve forcing me to stereotypical male activities and tropes.. such as watching sports while drinking beer, going out fishing and playing football. Though it wasn’t as absurd, it was quite close in their own subtle and special way. Mostly, the elder came to me in order to talk about topics that I already knew about. Reminders and a large focus on my own predicament. Specifically, in how to dress, the only colors a man should wear, how a man should act.. .. .. things that made me sick inside pretty much even just by thinking about it. And also the absurd amount of time he used to.. bad talk about his own wife and how “certain women in the congregation” were bad because they dressed in a way he didn’t aprove of. No.. I’m not joking. That was actually a thing for months.

Are you, reader, familiar with that feeling of having to hold yourself from figuratively releasing your claws.. even though you are wincing within your mind quite badly? That’s how I felt, I felt that I was a cat that was ready to pounce (once again, figuratively) and scratch all over his face. I haven’t felt such a thing since then.

 

… Still, after a month or two.. I couldn’t resist. I went back to my double life while avoiding the elder in question. I slowly stopped going to the meetings again. I gave them a chance.. and they failed. I was not going to pretend that they were right. Clearly they weren’t up to debate. They didn’t cared about “the truth”.. the truth about the subject. Like a house of cards.. it all felt. “If they are wrong about my specific predicament.. what else are they wrong about?”. I searched the web, videos from DarkMatter2525 (among other youtube users) helped me question religion has a whole, not just my own. I avoided Ex-JW’s in specific at the time, since I feared being called an apostate.

It all felt that.. they really don’t have “the truth”. The truth about “the truth” is that there is no “truth”. Anyone who claims to have all the answers is delusional, there is no way to prove anything that most religious believe in. That’s why it’s called a belief, it’s not backed up with empirical evidence.

I also started to actually seek LGBT communities outside of the internet.. though that’s an entire different subject that has lead me to personally avoid LGBT communities in general once I also found out about the current political climate.

I also resumed my appointments with my doctors with the goal of moving forward with my transition, instead of waiting for a miracle from the cult.

In short, I no longer cared what happened between me and the cult. They no longer held credibility after all the things they had said and acted.

 

 

Another year had passed, three new elders came to the congregation. Apparently my predicament had unraveled a series of events between the elders, which was a pleasant surprise. Glad to had helped.. I think? Oh wait, no I’m not. I don’t like to be used as a political tool for other people’s chess games. Though it was amusing to see two of those three new elders taking up the privilege of being the new Coordinator of the Body of Elders and Service Overseer (a rank that my father had a few times in the past) while the “opposing political party” had to sit on a bench, thus nobody “won” their chess game at the end.

The new elders noticed that I actually existed and paid a visit, to bring me back to the meetings once again. However, I already had decided to start my transition regardless of their thoughts. I gave them the evidence I thought would be enough.. but they ignored it in favor of pushing the former letter from Brooklyn forward as the last word that could not be argued against. Once I made it clear that I wasn’t going to fall for their demands, they shifted their attention to my parents that were present that time. Suddenly I didn’t exist on that room, even though I was there. I was ignored, told by two men in a suit that my parents would now face a challenge. That they now had to deal with it, not to tell anyone about their suffering. May I underline that I was there in silent listening to them simply describing me as basically the source of all suffering for my family from that point forward?

Nonetheless, it was my mother that surprised me that moment. She decided to bring the question as to why my father had stopped being an elder. My father joined in and said that he too was confused with how things were handled. The two elders became defensive and I shared what I thought.. since I had nothing to lose. One of the elders shouted at me, asking “Why are you using this as a means to justify your actions?!” I wasn’t.. but I didn’t dignify him with an answer. I was just upset that they used me just to break a long term elder’s heart. He really liked being an elder, it made him happy that people enjoyed his aid.. Cult and thoughts aside, I wish my father was still an elder. He is in his middle 60’s, he’s not young anymore, it made him active and willing to go an extra mile. It feels.. strange that he no longer is, it crushed part him.

Before they left, after informing my parents that they simply didn’t knew the reasons since they were not part of the congregation during that time and for my father to contact the elders that took part on the decision; they told me they would inform me of a day for a new judicial committee.

I was ready for it.

 

On the 15th of March from 2016, the judicial committee took place. Unlike the first time, that I didn’t knew what to expect, I was prepared. I knew what was going to happen. I knew my decision, I knew that I was right. I no longer believed in the cult, in organized religions. The people I would lose never loved me anyway.. since they never knew me to begin with. I had friends outside of the cult (acquaintances that I had met within the LGBT communities and a few former colleagues from the professional courses that I had took in the past). My family was a mystery.. but a price I was willing to take.

I was.. completely calm and spoke in monotone. Not because I disliked them.. but because I was in court and wanted to make myself clear one last time. I tried to reason with them, provided my evidence once again. They weren’t willing to listen, they were ready to judge me. I remember one elder shouting at me the following “We don’t care what science has to say!”. From that point forward, I knew it no longer mattered. I was in full control of the situation, which only result in their pretentious act of felling sorrow over my decision. They didn’t felt sorrow, one of those elders never liked me and my family anyway while the other two were the very same ones that visited me a week or so earlier.

… And thus I was disfellowshipped. I had but a week to write a letter to appeal in case I desired. If not, it would be announced in the following meeting after that deadline. I didn’t.. why bother? “We don’t care what science has to say!”, which is something I’m glad was finally admitted. It is the same as saying.. “We don’t care about the truth.”

My parents were there, outside. They were called after the sentence and I waited patiently. We went back home that day silently, with the exception of my mother asking if I was going to write that letter, to which I answered no. As a conclusion, she merely said “So, you are just going to give up then..”, to which I did not answer.

Still, I slept well that night. Quite peacefully in fact! My conscience was clean.. or maybe, the actual truth about “the truth” set me free~

 

 

 

Last words

 

Somehow, I was allowed to stay at home with my family. Though I never knew the reason as to why I was allowed to.. we can only imagine. A month after I was disfellowshipped, my family moved to another congregation, to reasons we can all only imagine as well. And on the 15th of December from 2016, I started my transition officially.

 

I would like to thank you for reading this blog post. It was quite long.. and exhausting! Remember the disclaimers and, again another reminder. Now it is the time. Share your stories as well to the world. Find the format you feel most comfortable with. Don’t harass anyone, only approach those that wish to be approached, that want to be free from the cult!

I do not blame the elders.. individual witnesses involved. I blame the Government Body, in the United States. Jehovah Witnesses listen to them and most of their thoughts are not their own, but willingly taken for granted from the mouth of those they have believed to be superior and the link to god. Remember my story. I was bullied when I was younger, and that only aggravated my indoctrination rather than aiding me. Jehovah Witnesses thrive on persecution, for it makes them believe they are right since the “world hates them” given their believes. They are victims too, just as much as I am.

I was lucky, given my own predicament. One that I have yet to fully solve. It allowed me to think critically of what I was told to simply follow with a smile.

 

Again.. thank you for reading this. I cannot wait to hear my followers’ stories too! Be sure to share them as a response to my tweet and Facebook page post.

Pages:

[English and Portuguese] Transitioning – Recommence Update

 

(Para quem não sabe ler Inglês, a versão em Português encontra-se no final)

  • 1st Month/ 1º Mês – Link
  • 2nd Month/ 2º Mês – Link
  • 3rd Month/ 3º Mês – Link
  • 4th Month/ 4º Mês – Link
  • 5th Month/ 5º Mês – Link
  • Withdrawal Update – Link
  • Second Withdrawal Update – Link

 

ENGLISH

 

Good evening!

You read it correctly. The treatment will continue, under new medication! Rejoice~

Of course, it has been a long while since I’ve made these updates. If you are one of my older followers and an often reader of most buffoonery I spew on my website and social media, you are probably wondering about how I’ve been doing. Or perhaps not, perhaps you are merely curious and nosy. Regardless of genuinity and perception, you are welcome. My last update was written on August 17th. I began my therapy on the 15th of December 2016, had to forcefully stop on May 11th 2017. I’ve resumed my therapy yesterday, on November 17th 2017. It may not have been on the 15th, as pattern to most of my meaningful events in life.. but I digress, given how I didn’t had to wait for December this time.

 

In this post, as I’ve became aware with time as someone who casually and seasonally creates blog posts, the best format for these updates is to be first and foremost direct to the point. Then, after the updates, the highly emotional drivel that I personally feel need to share regardless of people’s interpretation. Again, I’m aware that not many are keen to read such type of “emotional pornography”, as I heard someone criticize me once privately. Crude remarks aside, I do admit that I do enjoy writing in what most writers would like to describe as a “stream of consciousness”, as another critic evaluated my writing.

 

 

After August, I was unable to maintain my job and had to, unfortunately, cease it. Many people tried to advise me against such but, as always, I ended up doing what I felt to be the right thing to do without regrets. Yes, I have no regrets on such regard, for it was needed. As such, when September loomed, I remained most of my time at home for obvious reasons.

To no one’s surprise, I hope, most of the aspects from before my transition came back, emotionally and physically speaking. Which is why I avoided almost everyone. Whenever or not those people that tried to approach me to no avail feel certain discontempt over my deliberate lack of response, it was necessary to do so. I do believe that the most sensible will understand why exactly have I abstained from society at large. As far as people agree with my approach to such predicament or not, that is little of my concern. I am an adult, dealing with abnormal issues after all and people need to realize that there are things they’ll never understand and thus only have to accept that they don’t know how it feels and how one should act in such situations.

 

I had an appointment with my Endocrinologist at the beginning of November. Another blood exam given and an overall disappointment with my doctor. Though I would rather not disclosure the overall ineptitudes from our appointments, I have started to contemplate on other known Endocrinologists.

On the 10th, I had my first Gastroenterologist appointment within the public healthcare. The values.. have not lowered. In fact, they have risen beyond even the results set on May!
However, though it’s certain that the former medication had provoked such values, something else is keeping those values high. They should had lowered, given the lack of any type of medication. Despite such, I am now under the gaze of this new Gastroenterologist. She will be watching over those values, to solve a mystery. She has a few theories, though she is waiting to see any evolution or new symptom. Given the lack of symptoms, she cannot act or form any accurate diagnosis. It could be the two centimeter stone on my gallbladder, it could be an awful genetic makeup who merely cannot cleanse the liver at a normal pace. She also suggested that it could be related to the thyroid, though the Endocrinologist denies any correlation with it since, according to past blood exams, my thyroid is fine.

At the end of the appointment, my Gastroenterologist found no issues with resuming my treatment, despite the values. To which made me more than glad to give the good news to my Endocrinologist on the 16th. Cornered by the fact two Gastroenterologists agreed that I could resume my therapy, she had no choice but to prescribe new Testosterone Blockers!

 

Cyproterone wasn’t a good medication to be used. After all, such values were not a surprise to the Gastroenterologist, since she had seen similar values on at least three cases of elderly men with prostate issues who took the same medication. It is no wonder such medication is banned in the United States, there are better alternatives. To which is why I’m beginning to question my Endocrinologist and contemplating on a more capable professional. We’ll see..
Either way, though I will not reveal the name of the new medication, I was told that it will work the same way as the previous medication. Though I’m taking a lower dosage to test my reaction to it at first, the only side effect I should be concerned about is associated with my blood pressure. It may lower it, though after my Endocrinologist questioned my blood pressure and I’ve told her my history and overall values, she felt that I should be fine.

 

With this new medication, my Endocrinologist advised me to focus on things that make me happy. Avoid stress, healthy diet, good sleeping patterns. Of course, I won’t take such advise lightly.. for I am trying my best to do so. Though, to be honest, it doesn’t only depend on me.
I’ll have more regular exams in the next few months, a more careful approach from the doctors. It is reasonable and I do feel that my Gastroenterologist is quite experienced. As for the Endocrinologist, I’ll have to try elsewhere privately.

As far as income, I do believe March is a good month to begin working once again.. if my co-workers agree with such. If such is not possible for whatever reason, I will have to find a new one once I get my new ID eventually. Which brings me to a rather peculiar and frustrating revelation.

 

In Portugal, to change one’s identification (Name and Sex), one needs to have two verified specialists to sign and vouch that the diagnosis for gender dysphoria is correct. I already had my two psychological tests done and signed by two entire different teams on separate hospitals.. for quite a few years. All that is left is a paper with two signatures, to be sent to the right people to open a case and change my identification legally.
Political opinions aside, as I am personally of the opinion that one should be diagnosed with gender dysphoria to legally change such documentation; I could had my new ID a long time ago. Unfortunately, one of the doctors was stubborn enough and desired for one of his colleagues to sign the paper.. despite the fact she wasn’t on the list of verified doctors to do so. He claimed that she was and that the public list was merely not updated yet. However, to my surprise, as the list was updated in September.. not only is his colleague’s name not there.. his name was taken away. Together with a supposed surgeon that I had planned. In short, I need other people to sign it.

I would like to believe those two names were taken out of the list given that the psychologist in question is, in my opinion and of other many, not a capable professional to deal with such issues. As for the surgeon, he was recently caught on national news for being part of a major fraud. Whenever or not those news are true or merely political driven by people with conflicting views that wish for a change in the way Transsexuals are handled in the country in favor of people that claim to be Non-Binary and/or lack gender dysphoria yet desire to change their ID.. is still a mystery and I rather not dwell on conspiracies. I rather focus on my own therapy for now.

As such, given my need to change my ID to find a new job, in case my former co-workers do not wish me back for whatever reason (for legit reasons or not, doesn’t matter, not pointing fingers); I will try to find one of the Endocrinologists that is part of the list of people that can sign. That way, I can solve two issues with only one doctor’s appointment! We’ll see if I can get an appointment still in November with a new Endocrinologist.

After all, without a steady monthly income, I’ll be unable to carry on with my transition. And that would be devastating! So, given the uncertainty of my employers towards March, I would appreciate any suggestions for a possible new source of income in case such becomes needed. It’s important that I have my new ID beforehand, of course. As far as Portfolios go, I will be sure to create one in case it has been established that my employers do not desire my services (since I do need to pay a single visit to the office to gather all the files needed to create such Portfolio).
I am a Graphic Designer that also knows a little of Web-Design. However, as any “millennial” knows, we can’t give ourselves the luxury of limiting ourselves to a specific field. As such, any reasonable job is welcomed within the area I live in (as vague that might seem to some).

 

As far as the therapy that I have begun and what to expect, if nothing wrong happens, I already know what is coming.. and so are you, reader. In the next few months, the changes will happen. The same effects that have been written before will happen once again, at the same pace and order. The same temporary physical pains and wonders, except with less amazement since I already know what’ll happen and when. All I can do is be glad that I am going back to how I was and, hopefully, will go beyond this time!

The doctor said to focus on things that make me happy, to which I will. Unlike the “first season”, I will try to enjoy myself and the things that I genuinely want to do in life without delay or expecting things to get better. I am 27 years old, I want to finally live my 20’s while I’m still.. well, in my 20’s. Of course, such isn’t possible without my treatment, as many would like to claim that absolutely nothing stopped me from enjoying life. Those people know not of what they are talking about, obviously.

Now we’ll get to the sentimental part of the blog post.
I do warn though, dear reader. Don’t read the following part if you are struggling with depression yourself.

 

 

Every Transsexual knows how frightening is the idea of “de-transitioning” for whatever reason. The very few that I’ve talked to.. they could only imagine the pain I’ve been through during this time between May and November. It felt like an eternity, much longer than the time I’ve felt between December and May. It can get quite lonely and, honestly, I’ve never felt so biter! Darker thoughts came to mind, into great detail and planning. Such ideas were welcomed instead of shuttered, it gave peace of mind to imagine the freedom it would provide from everything that was happening.

 

Mental Illnesses are.. incredibly misunderstood by the general population. When you are sick, or you break a bone or body part, people tend to understand you better and form more empathy towards you. Yet a mental illness, for some reason, is easily discarded as something someone should easily handle. When someone breaks an arm, no one asks the person to “ignore” the pain in their arm and to use it as if nothing had happened. Yet, a mental illness, people expect you to have a normal life and to react to situations like a healthy person would. It’s.. unfair.
I always knew that, of such reality and fact about life and our culture. The reason why I deviate from society is not because I dislike someone or people in general. It’s not because I don’t desire for people to comfort me. I abstain from society at large in such situations, despite all the suggestions to not do so.. because I’m aware that society can kill you faster when you are more vulnerable.

 

In May, I “passed” well in society. Noticing such not being the case in late August/early September devastated me. My parents were starting to treat me correctly, because their eyes could not lie. For me, it was an achievement, considering their religious background. But yet, the very same people who were already treating me correctly.. they returned to their old habits. It felt natural to them, the same it felt natural when I “passed”. Though the usual people will tell you how beautiful you are and that you still somehow “look great”, you know that it is a lie. Because the same people will fall to the same pits and hiccups from earlier days.
Humans are animals, they can’t help but call it for what it seems. It’s part of their instinct, no matter how much one can control against it. Without my treatment, there’s no way I can function in society. With my treatment, people naturally feel inclined to act accordingly to a basic truth about my existence.

 

In your mind, during such nightmare, all you can think about is not that “things will get better someday”. That is uncertain, there’s no garante to such words. It’s wishful thinking, it’s a belief that I would rather not entertain myself with. I like to have control over my own life, know that the things I care about are certain. I like certainties rather than questions, because it makes me feel safer. I already have plenty of questions, I’m already uncertain about so many things in life. The least I need is.. more questions and maybes.
Questions make me believe that the worst thing can also happen. When there’s a possibility that the worst thing can happen, it frightens me. Having control over my life assures me that I can change the odds to my favor.

No. What you actually think about during such moments is “if nothing bad had happened, the things I would be doing right now. I would probably already be doing my surgery. If nothing bad had happened, I would had celebrated my first Halloween somehow! I could had gone to the beach during that Summer. Or spend a vacation somewhere, get to know someone.” Those kinds of thoughts, I’m sure you understand. Hence the bitterness when you think about it and then look around you only to notice people still walking on eggshells when they talk to you. That shouldn’t be happening by now. For a moment in the past, months ago, there were no eggshells.
Do you, reader, understand the amount of grudge and pain one feels for the world around them in such situation? For me, it felt that I had cultivated so much hatred for life itself that, at times, I feared that I would never be able to feel loved and love someone else in return.. even if life turned out in my favor once again. It’s not something that you forget. It is not something you simply “accept”. It’s an experience that molds you, it forces you to see how society actually is and not what we think or wished it was. Even at times, it seemed as if I finally understood the mentality behind the so called “SJW’s” on the far left, politically speaking.. or at least what drives them to their activism.

Again, Beauty is pain. Though I really believe this pain was unnecessary at this point, considering everything else I’ve already been through. But we don’t get to choose when such calamities happen. But hey, I’m still alive for now.. let’s hope that never happens again.

 

I could mention a few specific examples of humans being humans.. but honestly, I don’t even have the energy to do so currently. But I will add one last thought to the wall of lamentations to a specific unnamed individual.

When someone is having darker thoughts, don’t be silly and suggest to “don’t do it, think of your friends and family”. You don’t know anything about my life to make such claim, to assume my friends and family would collapse without my presence. They would feel sadness and grief for a few weeks, my family would be the most affected by it for the rest of their life without a doubt. But they would survive. I’m certain of that. If I had a husband and children, then such suggestion would make sense. But I’m single and have no child, no one depends on me to survive. And no one is that emotionally invested to collapse in such a way.
And yes, my family would suffer the most but they are also religious. They would trust in their god and they would survive with their faith. I know that, I was once part of their religion, and their religion doesn’t believe that death is the worst thing that can happen (to be honest, me neither, despite the lack of belief in deities. There are worst things than death). The worst thing that could happen already happened in their viewpoint, turning away from their god. Plus, they believe in resurrection. So, the way they would approach anyone’s death is that it’s “temporary” and that god only resurrects “good people”.

.. So no. Don’t be foolish. It only makes you seem like you care more about my family than myself when the only thing you can say is “think of the family” and that “we will love you, no matter if a man or a woman”. It doesn’t work that way. It never will. In fact, it does the opposite of what you intended. It gives more reasons to entertain those thoughts even further. Because it only shows how much I despise humanity sometimes. Next time if you want to help under such dire circumstances, focus on my issues and emotions instead of thinking how would “others feel about it”. If you don’t have anyone dependent on you to live, the only thing that keeps you alive is the possibility and hope that one can still find happiness. So, to aid someone under such predicament, appeal to their desires and provide them a reason to give life another chance.

I’m only saying this now and on this blog post since I’m less gloomy given the positive news. I’m willing to forgive you with time, when I get better. I do not know if I’m examining your words correctly or just assuming things that aren’t true. I want to believe that I’m wrong, so allow me some time to recover and become happier with life in general. But the advise still stands, be mindful when talking to someone who has darker thoughts and don’t just spout the first thing that sounds nice to the ear. Leave it to a professional or to someone who has had experience dealing with people under such thoughts. Words, tone and body language matter much more than you think.

 

 

Darker emotionally driven walls aside, what I intend to do in the future; besides keeping a watchful eye on my liver, doing my therapy and find a way to legally alter my ID as quickly as possible, return to my old job or find a new one; is to focus on the things that make me happy.

As such, I’ve decided to begin training my voice. Given that I am not currently working, thus a less busy life and more alone time, it will allow me to do so without the fear of sounding silly to anyone listening to me try. That was what kept me from training, despite the fact I’ve attempted several times in the past to have a daily training routine.
Once I’ve become more comfortable with my own voice and (once again) with my appearance, I might start doing videos on youtube. Mostly about the things that I like rather than a larger focus on an attempt to harvest attention for my own predicaments.
I really don’t want to be known as merely “the victim of X, Y, Z and W”, but, if I am to be known, I would rather if for my creativity and opinions on aspects related to things that are part of geek culture. Why would I do so? Because I think it could be fun and it does send a happier message to a wider audience rather than a “victim” narrative. However, I also believe that my life experience could prove useful for certain people, which I won’t shy away from expressing it once in a while.

I’ll begin to draw once again, hopefully in January. Again, there’s absolutely no point in practicing a new style of drawing when I’m still under the influence of testosterone. In fact, when I stopped my treatment, I somehow was able to regain my former art style. But I didn’t invest on it. So, once my emotions start to make sense once again, I’ll be able to properly attempt a new art direction. I intend to draw cartoons, as always. I’m a storyteller at heart, cartoon characters have been my medium. It would be a shame to not invest time on such artistic expression.

 

My life experience has given me much to think about and to share eventually. As I’ve mentioned, mental illnesses are often misunderstood by society at large. While being a transsexual is but an aspect of my life, I am much more than a victim of gender dysphoria. Plus, there are already plenty of voices speaking about such issues. Given current political climate, I would rather turn my attention to former Jehovah Witnesses.
Though I dislike the idea of someone forming or joining a community based on such aspects, I must say that the “Ex-JW community” ends up being the community I overall identify the most with besides geek culture. To be fair, they have interacted with my content the most online. They seem interested in my voice, rather than any other type of voice out there that claims to be part of one community or another. It is my desire to interact with it more often eventually.

 

 

As far as these updates go, given what will happen in the next few months will prove to be predictable.. I will wait until further major news related to my transition to make a new update. I could make a monthly update but, to be fair, it would be pointless. You might as well read former updates to have an idea of what’ll happen.

That’ll be all for now. Thank you for reading and I’ll see you on a next update! Hope you have a nice holiday and a good view for the fireworks in New Years’!

 

 

 

PORTUGUÊS

 

Boa tarde!

É verdade, leram correctamente. Vou continuar com o tratamento, com nova medicação! Alegrem-se~

Claro, já faz algum tempo desde que escrevi uma actualização. Se és um dos meus seguidores mais antigos e uma pessoa que lê as parvoíces no meu website e redes sociais, é provável que questiones como tenho estado. Ou se calhar não, poderás apenas ser uma alma curiosa e bisbilhoteira. Independentemente da legitimidade e percepção, são bem vindos. A minha última actualização foi escrita no dia 17 de Agosto. Eu comecei a minha terapia no dia 15 de Dezembro 2016, forçosamente parei no dia 11 de Maio 2017. Comecei a minha terapia hormonal ontem, dia 17 de Novembro 2017. Pode não ter sido no dia 15, como todos os outros dias significativos da minha vida.. mas não interessa, visto que não tive que esperar até Dezembro desta vez.

 

Neste post, como alguém que tem aprendido com o tempo no que diz respeito a escrever blog posts de forma casual e periódica, o melhor formato para estas actualizações é ser primariamente directa. Depois das novidades, o lado mais emocional pelo qual eu pessoalmente sinto necessidade de partilhar independentemente da interpretação desses mesmos. De novo, tenho consciência que muitos não apreciam este estilo de escrita. Eu pessoalmente gosto, apesar de às vezes ser acusada de ser “exagerada” na descrição de tais emoções e factos. Eu não exagero, eu apenas tenho plena consciência dos mesmos e tento, dentro dos possíveis, fazer com que as pessoas entendam com pouca margem para dúvidas. A vida é muito.. mais complicada e intensa do que poderão pensar.

 

 

Depois de Agosto, eu fui incapaz de continuar a trabalhar e tive que, infelizmente, cessar. Muitas pessoas aconselharam-me contra essa decisão mas, como sempre, eu fiz aquilo que senti ser o mais correcto sem arrependimentos. Sim, não estou arrependida de tal, porque foi necessário. Como tal, perto de Setembro, eu mantive-me em casa a maior parte do tempo por razões óbvias.

Para surpresa de ninguém, espero eu, muitos aspectos de outrora voltaram, emocionalmente e fisicamente falando. Pelo qual a razão de evitar tudo e todos. Independentemente das pessoas que tentaram contactar-me, durante este período de tempo, sem sucesso e sintam injustificadas pelo meu silêncio deliberado; foi um mal necessário. Eu acredito que as pessoas mais sensíveis ao sofrimento das outras pessoas irão entender o porquê de manter-me afastada da sociedade de forma geral. Se as pessoas concordam ou não com tal comportamento em face a esta dificuldade, isso pouco me importa. Eu sou adulta, eu lido com anormalidades. As pessoas precisam de ter consciência de que existem coisas pelo qual nunca irão compreender e que apenas têm que aceitar a sua ignorância no que diz respeito aos assuntos e sentimentos das pessoas que as levam a tomar acções menos convencionais.

 

Eu tive uma consulta com a minha Endócrinologista no princípio de Novembro. Outro exame ao sangue e um pouco desapontada com a minha doutora. Apesar de preferir não partilhar certos detalhes da inaptidão da médica durante as nossas consultas, eu já estou a pensar na possibilidade de ser seguida por um outro Endócrinologista.

No dia 10, eu tive a minha primeira consulta de Gastrenterologia no sistema nacional de saúde. Os valores.. não desceram. Na verdade, aumentaram ainda mais em comparação aos valores em Maio!
De qualquer forma, apesar do valor ter sido causado pela medicação anterior, algo mais está a manter os valores a esse nível. Eles deviam ter abaixado, com ausência de qualquer estilo de medicação. Apesar de tudo, eu agora estou em boas mãos, sob o olhar da minha nova Gastrenterologista. Ela irá vigiar os meus valores, para resolver o mistério. Ela tem algumas teorias, mas precisa que algo evolua ou de um novo sintoma. Com falta de sintomas, ela não consegue formar um diagnóstico e resolver. Poderá ser da minha vesícula biliar devido à pedra de dois centímetros, poderá ser por motivos genéticos. Ela também sugeriu que poderá ser da tiróide, apesar da Endócrinologista negar qualquer ligação com tais valores visto que, de acordo com os meus exames médicos, a minha tiróide está saudável.

No fim da consulta, a minha Gastrenterologista não achou algum problema continuar com o meu tratamento, apesar dos valores. O que me fez sentir grata de fornecer essas boas notícias para a minha Endócrinologista no dia 16. Com a opinião de dois Gastrenterologistas que concordam com a continuação do meu tratamento, ela não teve outra escolha se não prescrever um novo Bloqueador de Testosterona!

 

A Ciproterona não é uma boa medicação para ser usada. Afinal de contas, tais valores não surpreenderam a minha Gastrenterologista, visto que ela já viu valores similares em três casos de homens idosos com problemas de próstata que tiveram que tomar essa medicação. Não é de admirar que esta medicação esteja banida nos Estados Unidos, existem melhores alternativas. A razão pelo qual estou a pensar num outro Endócrinologista mais experiente. Vamos ver..
De qualquer forma, apesar de não ter intenções de revelar o nome desta nova medicação, disseram-me que irá actuar da mesma forma que a outrora. Apesar da dosagem mais baixa que vai testar a reacção a tal, o único efeito secundário pelo qual terei que me preocupar está associada à tensão. Poderá baixar, apesar de ela acreditar que nada deverá acontecer devido ao meu historial e valores coerentes.

 

Com esta nova medicação, a minha Endócrinologista sugeriu-me para focalizar nas coisas que me deixam feliz. Evitar stress, uma alimentação saudável, dormir bem. Claro, não vou ignorar tal conselho.. irei tentar o meu melhor. A verdade é que também não só dependerá de mim.
Irei ter exames mais frequentemente nos próximos meses, um cuidado mais acrescentado da parte das médicas. É razoável e acredito que a minha Gastrenterologista seja bem experiente. Já a minha Endócrinologista, irei procurar um outro em privado.

No que diz respeito a salário, eu acredito que esteja preparada em Março para voltar a trabalhar de novo.. se as minhas colegas me aceitarem de volta. Se tal não for possível por qualquer motivo, terei que procurar um novo emprego logo que obtiver um novo Cartão de Cidadão. Isto serve de motivo de preocupação para o tópico pelo qual irei revelar neste post.

 

Em Portugal, para mudar a identificação (Nome e Sexo), uma pessoa precisa das assinaturas de dois especialistas verificados que consigam diagnosticar disforia de género de forma correcta. Os meus dois exames psicológicos já tinham sido feitos e assinados por duas equipas hospitalares diferentes.. já por alguns anos. A única coisa que falta é um papel único com duas assinaturas, para ser enviado para as pessoas certas para elas abrirem um processo e alterarem os meus documentos legalmente.
Ignorando opiniões políticas, visto que eu pessoalmente sou da opinião que uma pessoa deveria ser diagnosticada com disforia de género para alterar tal documentação; eu poderia já ter um novo cartão de cidadão por algum tempo. Infelizmente, um dos médicos foi teimoso o suficiente e desejou que um dos seus colegas assinasse com ele.. apesar dela não estar na lista dos médicos oficiais que o possam fazer. Ele insistiu que a lista pública apenas ainda não tinha sido actualizada. A verdade, para minha surpresa, é que a lista foi actualizada em Setembro.. e não só não consta o nome dessa médica.. o nome dele foi retirado da lista. E também o nome do cirurgião pelo qual tinha planeado fazer a minha cirurgia eventualmente. Por poucas palavras, preciso de duas outras pessoas para assinarem.

Eu quero acreditar que esses nomes foram retirados da lista devido ao psicólogo em questão ser, na minha opinião e de muitos, incapaz de lidar com situações como a minha. No que diz respeito ao cirurgião, ele foi recentemente apresentado nas notícias por fazer parte de um boato falso com o objectivo de retirar pacientes Transsexuais no sistema público de saúde para ser ele (e a sua equipa) a fazer as cirurgias em privado. Independentemente da veracidade de tais noticias ou se é apenas fabricação de pessoas com objectivos políticos opostos que desejam a alteração na lei no que diz respeito à forma como os Transsexuais são tratados no país.. a favor das pessoas que acreditam ser pessoas Não-Binárias/sem disforia de género mas que, mesmo assim, desejam um novo cartão de cidadão.. é um mistério que prefiro nem pensar de momento. É melhor focalizar na minha própria terapia por agora.

Como tal, devido à necessidade de alterar o cartão de cidadão para facilitar a procura de trabalho, caso as minhas colegas não me desejarem de volta por qualquer motivo (não importa se os motivos são justificáveis ou não, não importa, não vou acusar ninguém de nada); Eu vou tentar comunicar-me com um endócrinologista que pertença à lista de pessoas que possam assinar. Assim, eu consigo resolver dois problemas com apenas uma consulta! Vamos confiar que vou conseguir ainda ter essa consulta este mês.

Afinal de contas, sem um salário seguro mensal, eu serei incapaz de continuar com a minha transição. E isso seria devastante! Portanto, devido à incerteza da parte das minhas empregadoras para Março, eu apreciaria qualquer sugestão para uma nova e possível fonte de salário caso isso seja necessário. Claro, será importante ter um novo cartão de cidadão primeiro. No que diz respeito ao meu portefólio, eu irei criar um caso as minhas empregadoras decidam não voltar a fazer uso dos meus serviços (visto ser necessário fazer uma visita ao escritório para copiar os ficheiros com todo o meu trabalho durante anos).
Sou Designer Gráfico e também sei um pouco de Web-Design. De qualquer forma, como qualquer pessoa da minha geração sabe, não podemos nos dar ao luxo de apenas procurar emprego dentro das nossas áreas de estudo. Como tal, qualquer trabalho razoável será bem vindo dentro da minha área de residência (por muito vago que isso possa ser para algumas pessoas).

 

No que diz respeito à terapia que comecei de novo e o que esperar, se nada acontecer de mal, eu sei o que irá vir.. e também os meus leitores sabem. Nos próximos meses, as mudanças irão ocorrer de novo. Os mesmos efeitos que escrevi outrora vão acontecer de novo, ao mesmo passo e ordem. As mesmas dores temporárias e maravilhas, excepto com menos espanto visto que eu já sei bem o que vai acontecer e quando. A única coisa que posso sentir é grata que vou finalmente voltar ao que era antes e, esperemos, ir ainda mais além desta vez!

A doutora disse para focalizar nas coisas que me deixam feliz, pelo qual irei fazer. Ao contrário da “primeira temporada”, eu vou tentar divertir-me com as coisas que realmente me fazem sentir feliz na vida sem esperar que as coisas poderão correr melhor. Tenho 27 anos, eu quero viver os meus 20’s enquanto eu.. ainda estou nos meus 20’s. Claro, tal não é possível sem o meu tratamento, ao contrário do que algumas pessoas poderão aclamar quando pensam que nada me impede de tal. Essas pessoas não sabem o que dizem, óbvio.

Agora sim, vamos entrar no aspecto mais sentimental dos eventos passados.
Apenas um aviso, leitor. Não leia os próximos parágrafos caso esteja a lidar com uma depressão.

 

 

Todas as pessoas Transsexuais sabem o quão assustador é a ideia de fazer uma “de-transição” (por falta de expressão em Português) por qualquer motivo. As poucas pessoas pelo qual falei.. elas só apenas conseguem imaginar o sofrimento que eu passei durante este tempo entre Maio e Novembro. Para mim, foi uma eternidade, muito mais do que o tempo entre Dezembro e Maio. Senti muito sozinha e, para ser honesta, nunca senti tanto rancor! Muitos pensamentos negativos vieram à mente, com muito detalhe e planeamento. Essas ideas foram bem vindas em vez de repudiadas, uma paz de mente quando imaginava a liberdade que tal poderia dar de tudo o que estava a acontecer.

 

As doenças mentais são.. incrivelmente incompreendidas pela população em geral. Quando uma pessoa fica doente, ou fractura um osso ou parte do corpo, as pessoas conseguem compreender e ter uma maior empatia para a outra. No entanto, as doenças mentais são facilmente ignoradas como algo que é simples de lidar. Quando alguém fractura um braço, ninguém diz para “ignorar” a dor no braço da pessoa e para usar esse braço como se nada estivesse de errado. Mas, para uma pessoa que sofre psicologicamente, as pessoas esperam que a vitima tenha uma vida completamente normal e que reaja às situações tal e qual como uma pessoa saudável. É.. injusto.
Eu sempre soube disso, de tal realidade e facto no que diz respeito à vida e nossa cultura. A razão porque me afasto da sociedade não é porque eu não gosto de alguém ou de pessoas de forma geral. Não é porque eu não deseje o carinho das pessoas. Eu faço tal nestas situações, apesar das sugestões todas contra tal.. porque eu tenho consciência que a sociedade pode matar mais rapidamente quando a pessoa se sente vulnerável.

 

Em Maio, eu “passava” bem na sociedade. Notar que tal já não era o caso no fim de Agosto/princípio de Setembro foi devastador para mim. Os meus pais estavam a tratar-me de forma correcta, porque os olhos deles não mentiam. Para mim, tal foi motivo de felicidade, considerando a religião deles. Mas mesmo assim, as mesmas pessoas que estavam a tratar-me de forma correcta.. voltaram para os seus hábitos antigos. Foi natural para eles, da mesma forma que foi natural quando eu “passava”. Ignorando as pessoas do costume que dizem que és bonita e que ainda tens “bom aspecto”, sabendo que era tudo mentira. Porque as mesmas pessoas caíram nas mesmas armadilhas e soluços nos seus diálogos como antigamente.
Os humanos são animais, eles não conseguem evitar de chamar as coisas pelo que parecem ser. Faz parte do instinto, não importa o quanto uma pessoa lute contra tal. Sem o tratamento, não existe maneira de lidar com a sociedade. Com o meu tratamento, as pessoas sentem naturalmente inclinadas a agir de acordo com uma verdade básica da minha existência.

 

Na minha mente, durante tal pesadelo, eu não conseguia ter esperança de que “as coisas ficarão melhores”. Isso é incerto, não existe garantias para tais palavras. É apenas um desejo, uma crença que prefiro nem entreter na minha mente. Eu gosto de ter controle na minha própria vida, saber que as coisas que me preocupo são certas. Eu gosto de certezas em vez de dúvidas, porque isso me faz sentir segura. Eu já sou uma pessoa com muitas dúvidas por natureza, com muitas inseguranças. Do que menos preciso é.. de mais perguntas e “talvezes”.
Perguntas fazem-me acreditar que o pior poderá acontecer. Quando existe a possibilidade de que o pior poderá acontecer, isso assusta-me. Ter controle na minha própria vida assegura-me que tenho possibilidade de alterar as coisas a meu favor.

Não. O que penso nesses momentos é “se nada de mal tivesse acontecido, as coisas que poderia estar a fazer neste momento. Poderia estar a fazer a minha cirurgia. Se nada de mal tivesse acontecido, já teria celebrado o meu primeiro Halloween! Eu poderia ter ido para a praia durante o Verão. Ou ir de férias a algum lado, conhecer alguém.” Esses pensamentos, eu acho que conseguem compreender. Por isso o rancor que sinto quando penso assim e depois olho ao meu redor só para verificar as areias movediças que as pessoas evitam só para falarem comigo sem me magoarem. Isso não devia estar a acontecer neste momento. No passado, não existiam armadilhas.
Conseguem compreender o rancor e dor que uma pessoa sente pelo mundo ao redor numa situação destas? Para mim, eu senti que cultivei tanto ódio pela vida que, por vezes, tive medo de nunca mais ser capaz de sentir amada e de amar alguém de volta.. mesmo se a vida me favorecesse de novo. Não é algo que se esquece. Não é algo que se “aceite”. É uma experiência que nos molda, que nos força a ver a sociedade por aquilo que realmente é e não por aquilo que pensamos ou desejá-se-mos que fosse. Por momentos, até senti que finalmente percebia a mentalidade por detrás desses movimentos políticos modernos da extrema esquerda.. ou pelo menos o que alimenta tal forma de activismo que repudio.

De novo digo, a beleza é criada com muita dor. Apesar de acreditar que esta dor é desnecessária nesta altura, considerando tudo o que já vivi até agora. Mas nós não escolhemos quando tais calamidades podem surgir. Enfim, ao menos ainda estou viva por agora.. vamos ter esperança que este pesadelo não repita de novo.

 

Eu poderia mencionar casos específicos de humanos a comportarem-se como humanos.. mas para dizer a verdade, nem tenho energias para tal. Mas apenas vou partilhar um último pensamento para este moral das lamentações para alguém muito específico e anónimo.

Quando alguém está a contemplar pensamentos mais negativos, não sejas tolo ao dizeres “Não faças isso, pensa nas tuas amizades e família”. Tu não sabes de absolutamente nada da minha vida para fazer tal apelo, assumires que as minhas amizades e família iria entrar em colapso sem mim. Iriam sentir tristes e mágoa por algumas semanas, a minha família mais afectada para o resto da vida, sem dúvida. Mas iriam sobreviver. Tenho a certeza disso. Se ainda tivesse um marido e crianças, então tal sugestão faria sentido. Mas sou solteira e sem filhos, ninguém depende de mim para sobreviver. E ninguém está assim tão emocionalmente investido ao ponto de entrar em colapso.
E sim, a minha família iria sofrer bastante mas eles também são religiosos. Eles iriam confiar no seu deus e iriam sobreviver devido à fé que tem. Eu sei disso, eu já fiz parte da mesma religião, e a religião deles não acredita que a morte possa ser a pior coisa que pode acontecer (para ser honesta, eu também não, apesar da falta de crença em deuses. Existem coisas piores que a morte). O pior que poderia acontecer do ponto de vista deles já aconteceu, virar as minhas costas para o deus deles. Aliás, eles acreditam na ressurreição. Portanto, eles olham para a morte de qualquer pessoa como algo “temporário” e que deus apenas ressuscita “pessoas boas”.

.. Portanto não. Nada de tolices. Para mim, pareceu que apenas te importavas com a minha família em vez de mim quando dizes para “pensar na família” e que “sempre te iremos amar, independentemente se homem ou mulher”. As coisas não funcionam dessa forma. Nunca irá. De facto, tais palavras tem um efeito oposto do que pretendido. Providenciam ainda mais razões para pensar tais coisas. Porque demonstra o quanto a humanidade me repudia por vezes. Para a próxima, se desejares me ajudar sob tais circunstâncias, focaliza-te nos meus problemas e emoções em vez de pensares no que os “outros poderão sentir”. Quando ninguém depende de ti para viver, a única coisa que nos mantém cá é a possibilidade de um dia encontrar felicidade. Portanto, para ajudar alguém sob tais condições, o melhor é apelar para os desejos dela e providenciar motivos para a pessoa dar uma nova chance.

Eu apenas estou a dizer isto de momento neste blog post porque sinto menos triste devido às boas notícias. Estou disposta a perdoar-te desta vez, assim que ficar melhor. Porque eu não sei se estou a examinar as tuas palavras de forma correcta ou se apenas estou a assumir coisas que não são verdade. Eu quero acreditar que estou errada, portanto permite-me algum tempo para recuperar e sentir mais feliz com a vida de forma geral. Mas o conselho ainda se mantém, tem cuidado ao falar com pessoas com pensamentos macabros e não digas a primeira coisa que vier à cabeça e que pareça bem ao ouvido. É melhor permitir um profissional ou alguém com experiência lidar com tais situações. Palavras, tom de voz e linguagem corporal importam bastante nestes casos, mais do que possas imaginar.

 

 

Emoções obscuras escritas num mural aparte, o que pretendo fazer no futuro próximo; para além ver examinar o fígado, fazer a minha terapia e de encontrar uma maneira de alterar a minha identificação quão breve possível, voltar ao meu trabalho antigo ou encontrar um novo; é de focalizar nas coisas que me fazem sentir feliz.

Como tal, decidi começar a treinar a minha voz. Visto não estar a trabalhar de momento, logo tenho uma vida menos ocupada e com mais tempo para mim mesma; isso irá providenciar oportunidades para treinar a minha voz sem ter receio de sentir tonta para quem me ouvir. Isso foi o que me fez não treinar a minha voz, apesar das várias tentativas no passado de criar uma rotina diária de treino.
Assim que sentir-me mais confortável com a minha voz e (de novo) com a minha aparência, eu penso começar fazer videos no youtube. Videos com respeito às coisas que gosto em vez de um grande foco desnecessário nos meus problemas e passado.
Eu não quero mesmo ser conhecida como “a vitima de X, Y, Z e W”, mas, se é para ser conhecida por algo, ao menos que seja pela minha criatividade e opiniões em aspectos relacionados com parte da cultura geek. Porque faria isso? Porque eu penso que poderá ser divertido a tentativa e fornecerá uma mensagem mais positiva em vez de uma narrativa pessimista. Contudo, eu também acredito que a minha experiência de vida poderá ser útil para algumas pessoas, pelo qual não irei inibir-me de expressá-la uma vez por acaso.

Irei começar a desenhar de novo, penso que em Janeiro. De novo, não faria sentido treinar um novo estilo de desenho enquanto ainda sob a influência da testosterona. De facto, quando tive que parar com o meu tratamento, eu fui capaz de desenhar da mesma forma quanto antes. Mas não investi em tal. Portanto, assim que as minhas emoções fizerem mais sentido de novo, eu irei ser capaz de tentar alcançar um novo estilo de arte. Desejo desenhar banda desenhada, como sempre. Gosto de Storytelling (Contadora de Histórias) e sou tal no intimo, sendo personagens desenhadas como um desenho animado a minha preferência para partilhar tais histórias. Seria uma pena não investir tempo em tal.

 

A minha experiência de vida me providenciou muito que pensar e de partilhar eventualmente. Como disse, as doenças mentais são incompreendidas pela sociedade. Apesar da transsexualidade ser apenas um aspecto da minha vida, eu sou muito mais do que apenas uma vítima de disforia de género. Para além do mais, já existem muitas vozes que falam do assunto. Devido ao clima político actual, eu prefiro dar atenção às Testemunhas de Jeová.
Apesar de detestar a idea de alguém formar ou juntar-se a comunidades com base em tais aspectos, é verdade que a “comunidade Ex-JW” tende ser o grupo de pessoas pelo qual me identifico mais para além da cultura geek. Para ser ainda mais honesta, eles tem interagido mais com as coisas que digo online do que qualquer outro grupo. Eles estão interessados na minha voz, ao contrário das outras “comunidades” em outras categorias. É do meu desejo interagir mais com esta comunidade no futuro.

 

 

No que diz respeito a estas actualizações, devido que os próximos meses irão ser previsíveis.. eu irei esperar até uma altura mais oportuna, com mais novidades relacionadas com a minha transição; para fazer uma nova actualização. Eu poderia fazer uma actualização mensal mas, de novo sublinho, seria inútil. Seria uma cópia do que poderão já ler nas actualizações mais antigas.

Isto será tudo por agora. Obrigada por lerem e vejo-vos numa próxima actualização! Espero que tenham umas boas festas e uma boa vista para os foguetes no Ano Novo!

 

 

 

Pages:

Warcraft Short Story – Loathing Heritage

 

Other short stories starring Isratael

  • Warcraft Short Story – A letter of a pilgrim – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – A brother’s Call to Arms – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – Judgement Day – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – Stranded on a river of leaves – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – The Staff of the Virtuous Pilgrim – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – Creeper of the Soul – Link

 

 

Antoran Wastes

War has always brought the worst. Pestilence, famine and, as a reward for one’s endurance and determination, death to themselves or the enemies.
This, however, is not a tale like any other. It was the beginning of a finale, of a war that had lasted for millenniums across the Great Dark Beyond and countless of other realms. Twisted and fowl creatures, lead by a fallen Titan who sought nothing but the end of all things. A perfect being who concluded, in his infinite wisdom, that the only way to purify the universe from the maddening corruptive tendencies of the Void Lords.. was to purge all life before life itself were to be manipulated by the tendrils of deception.

Truly, the hypocrisy of the Legion knew no limits. Countless worlds had been drained and served as fuel for the Fel rituals that the demons practiced. Instead of being influenced by the whispers of the unknown counterparts of the Light, entire races and planets were instead tortured by horned devils.
Felhounds gnawed on the bones of the wizards. Sayaad preyed upon the feeble minded. Inquisitors formed dark pacts with the betrayers. Nathrezim lead and spied entire nations by the use of the most convincing ruses.
Yet, what plagued the Draenei for more than twenty millennia were the Man’ari. The true demonic Eredar who served Sargeras, the right hand tacticians and leaders of countless demons. A fractured crown, two out of three pieces offered their lives to the Dark Titan. The one piece that remained, the origins of the Draenei Eredar under the leadership of the Prophet. Each piece of the crown had been brought to the Vindicaar, Velen being the only leader of the Eredar that were uncorrupted. The Crown of the Triumvirate had been assembled, bringing the Army of the Light and their allies back to the front line of their invasion on Argus after the countless scavenging tasks on Mac’aree.

A lightforged vessel stood in the skies of Antoran Wastes, a beacon of hope and the final stand against the Burning Crusade. To finally bring an end to an old threat that had plagued the universe.

Physically recovered, mentally scarred. A broken heart that became frail after the constant reminder of a nightmare that had been lived not so long ago. The Arcanist stood, not fearing to encounter those who she betrayed in secrecy. Somehow, with the attention that she had finally harvested by a few, she was able to obtain certain knowledge. Isratael knew she wouldn’t cross with a Nomad of Tureem. A little mana ray informed her that such specific group had gone missing for quite some time. She felt no contempt for their fate, reminding herself that they had used and abandoned her when she collapsed. Yet she lamented that they did not heard of someone named Ytaaru. Nonetheless, she endured and hoped. Despise the fragments of a former self, there was a minor Light that had not been engulfed in darkness. Perhaps such shard protected her during her captivity. A faith that not even the Ethereal was able to reach and manipulate, thus the transaction that he sought. If that candle in her soul were to cease on such dire event, her destiny would had been sealed.

Given the Pilgrim’s exposure, she could no longer escape from the burden of being part of something greater than her own inner turmoil. Told to accompany a group of broken known as the Krokul, to supervise their attempt to infiltrate one of the many dimmed and damped fel riddled caverns; she had no other choice but to clop her way to a Light Beacon. For the first time, the Enchantress stood on the rugged terrain of Argus. Though she once walked on Mac’aree, this land was not preserved. It hosted Antorus, the hallowed capital of the Burning Legion. Felfire rained from the skies, Felbats dove to snatch the Lightforged from the ground. Demonic artillery, twisted metals and pools of fel-lava that spawned hundreds of imps from the womb of much larger motherly abominations.

A war that the Pilgrim did not wanted to partake. A call of duty that she had once avoided, an heavy burden that she could not handle. Yet, to find her brother, she had to brave her fears. She began to wonder if her decision was worth it. Yet those doubts brought her much more pain, doubts that she refused to accept. Instead, she had a desire. Pure as that desire was, it was the only true outcome that she envisioned. She did not lied to herself, underestimating the odds of survival for herself or her brother. Instead her mind was like a web of opportunities and calculated outcomes. To avoid the unwanted, to pursue the path that lead to happiness. Every step counted, every spell meant something, her tongue was a sword to be used wisely. Riddles upon riddles, her sense of safety on one self and the events to come lied on her ability to anticipate and feel that she was in control of her own fate; not allowing it to control her against her preferable destination.
Yet, could she truly predict the future?

 

 

Loathing Heritage

 

The broken Eredar, familiar to such crumbling world, were aware of the unlikely odds in surviving a demonic onslaught directly. Instead, cunning as they were, the group of eight Krokul brought Isratael to the rivers of fel-lava. Plenty of fissures made it possible for the Legion to turn a blind eye to the fel corrupted basilisks that inhabited them. The mutated carnivorous creatures fought for their survival by devouring one another. At times, if their overlords were kind enough to torture a mortal, the wild life feasted on fleshly treats.
As obvious at it may be, the group kept themselves close to the edges of the narrowed rivers. A spell deployed by the Krokul that hid the group in the shadows as they moved together. Step by step, not to alert the beasts who were ecstatic by the numerous Felbats and hopeless warriors from both sides that felt by accident or thrown to their demise. While the Broken were used to such sight, the Draenei couldn’t help but feel sorrow and disgust for the gore she had seen. In her mind, she questioned the fate of Draenor. Did it also hosted such twisted carnivorous infected rivers of bright green, dark rock and crimson strokes of spilled blood?

Fissure by fissure, they distanced themselves from the narrow path of death to an even more confined crack on the cliffs that provided a platform for storming Mo’arg fiends. On a line, they felt the jagged terrain on their back and palms. Even though the Broken were far more burly than the Pilgrim, the stone still abraded her dark skin. Biting her lower lip, she gazed upwards at the dim cracks, shadows blocking the light. Ash felt down, the sound of blades clashing. The agonizing slash of an axe piercing throw the tissue, ichor dripping from above, landing on top of a dark silky cowl. She could not bear to look, despise her own countless executions upon others.
Something was different, war never changes. Yet the beholder of such emotions still had to recover from the past.

Silence loomed alongside the infiltrators. They had a mission, organized as they were. Explorers on a labyrinth of cracks, challenging fate itself against the odds of survival and true destination. Yet there they were, now in a cavern. Nowhere to hide, they drew their blades and began to mutter their spells. Arcane summoned and steamed from the mana Isratael carried on her garments, enclasped in shards and crystals that clinked in harmony against the golden metals. The Serpent Eyes of a staff that were used as a beacon to unleashed a barrage of missiles aimed at the felhounds that were eagerer to draw upon the Arcanist. Blades carved from bones, wielded by the mysterious Broken Assassins, brought but a mere fragment of their vengeance upon the remaining demons. A Shaman commanded the weakened earthen elements from an dying plane of existence, shaking the caverns for their own benefit to cripple their foes.

 

Once the group reached the far end of the dastardly cavern, where broken cages were hanged on the ceiling with long chains made of empyrium; a Jailer absorbed the souls of the war prisoners frenetically. The large hulking demon knew that a group of assassins was approaching, deciding to foil their plans before the inevitable demise. Hundreds of souls were locked on a cage that they carried behind the back, forever swirling in pain as they saw their corpses being tossed to yet another pool of fel-lava one by one.
Though the demon grinned with arrogance once they saw the perpetrators, they carried on with the foul ritual. Four mortals were chained, devoid of will to live after the horrors they had suffered. One stood at the center of a crude fel rune, a hand approaching the face of a male Blood Elf. But before the soul could be separated from the body, two of the assassins stepped to the Shadow realm just to immediately back stab in a blink. The bones carved deep within the thick hunch of the red maniac who began to chuckle as they felt to the ground. Yet the very last breath was only drawn when the Shaman begged for the elements to stab the Jailer with a wide sharp rocky spike that was cut from the stone on the roof.

Squirting, the tormentor was no more. The magical bounds breaking from the four lucky survivors. Two of those were female Draenei while another was a red blooded Highmountain Tauren, besides the Blood Elf himself that gasped for air. Unfortunately, the blood elf did not survived the ritual for his body became quite drained from life. An anorexic corpse that luckily passed away without becoming victim to a crueler fate. Such is the consequence of fel magic, which life itself is the main reagent.
The large built Tauren took hold of the cage that contained hundreds of souls. The enchantment that kept the souls within weakened by the demise of the fiend, crushed by the humanoid bovine when he decided to throw it against the cavernous walls. Guiding the souls, the Shaman brought peace to the dead with a mere wave of his withered staff.

 

Though the journey back to the Vindicaar proved to be more difficult, the three victims were brought to safety. A task that was considered a success, for the Tauren was part of an order known as the Unseen Path. The bound between the Army of the Light and the mysterious order only strengthened after such display of kindness. Yet they mourned for the death of the few Draenei and Hunters from the order that were sacrificed for the greater good.

Despise the triumph, Isratael did not felt that she belonged. Part of her was glad that she had saved a few more lives. Yet again, her focus was on herself and her personal goals. Noticing the distant approach from the Pilgrim, the two suviving Draenei came to her. Besides the obligatory well mannered words of appreciation, one of them recognized the Arcanist. Perhaps in the past, both had a closer connection that meant more to the survivor than to Isratael herself.
Taking the opportunity, the Pilgrim asked for the whereabouts of her brother. Once again, she was met with ignorance on the subject. As always, when one wasn’t aware, she also began to ask for the location of the Illusionist named Mesoora. But unlike previous attempts, the two draenei knew her. They were once her apprentices, saddened to hear that she never fought alongside them on Argus.
Widening her gaze, surprised by such revelation, anger at one self was hidden under the bruised skin. Was her travel to Argus pointless to begin with? She turned her back at the two, who grew some concerned over the Enchantress’ behavior. She marched to a lonesome corner of the vessel, questions came to mind. Confusion flooded her judgement. Yet frustration prevailed at the top.

 

If Mesoora never came to Argus, did her brother never traveled there as well? A question that she could not ignore, since the answer was most likely positive.
Was her suffering in vain? Did she gained anything from the skirmishes she joined, from the nightmare she had witnessed? From the sacrifices she made and the betrayal conducted behind the preying eyes of an Lightforged army?
Emotions overwhelmed her, from the atrocities she committed to reach just as far as she had. The words not spoken, for the decisions she made. She began to imagine what others would had thought about her, given that she no longer could justify herself.

All.. in vain.

 

Thoughts came to her mind after the tears were finally contained. Sniveling, she decided to forfeit her search. Like the Draenei on the Vindicaar, the Nomads that she aided and betrayed, the Pandaren that she heavily judged.. she began to understand.

Pain comes from the past. Actions and words spoken, with the hope of tidying the shards of a former life, end in frustration and torment for the meek. One becomes desperate the more they fail, ending in hypocrisy for the goals are greater than integrity to one’s morality. The devastating realization of one’s struggle to survive in such bleakness, a dystopian self fulfilling prophecy. Hatred, frustration; pebbles being born from withered trees.
Life is not what we desire what could had been. But what we desire to be with the possibilities given in the present. Held close to heart the short comings of life, a lesson rather than a bitter end to one’s future.

A lesson that she had forgotten, given the events she had suffered since the death of her warmth.

 

Upon self reflecting on her path, she approached the nearest Lightforged Draenei. From there, Isratael was guided to the very same portal that brought her to the Vindicaar. A portal that transported her to the Exodar, to Azuremyst Isles.

Again, she welcomed Azeroth. No longer was her goal to find her brother or the Illusionist. If fate allowed, they would meet once again.

The Pilgrim only desired to forget. To travel once again…
…and so she did.

 

Déjà vu

Pages:

Warcraft Short Story – Creeper of the Soul

 

Other short stories starring Isratael

  • Warcraft Short Story – A letter of a pilgrim – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – A brother’s Call to Arms – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – Judgement Day – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – Stranded on a river of leaves – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – The Staff of the Virtuous Pilgrim – Link

 

 

Creeper of the Soul

The perfect house. Adorned in beauty, inviting for the individual. The dream, lounging for thousands of years upon the soul of a once meek Draenei.
She saw, materialized in her sub-conscious. A vivid and convincing room, with those that she desired the most. Such warmth and harmony, never had this been so clear! In Shadowmoon Valley, a modest house where vines and wooden fences protected a magnificent back yard from the preying beast and critters that desired to feast upon others’ allure. Purple light coming from perfectly cut enchanted Taladite crystals that levitated on top of ivory pillars.
On the main hall, the one that presented such yard behind transparent glimmering layers of cloth embroidered in gem chips that reached the ground like tail quill feathers of a peacock; a wooden dining table with silver lining white cloth. The cherry on top, a table chandelier that held candles for those extra cold nights. A floral scent that traveled alongside the brown wooden walls that made a defining contrast with the stellar white stone floor. A bookcase, containing an impressive collection of tales and spell books of old! On one of the walls, a Crystalline fireplace that did not drew the attention away from a smaller sample of a white clefthoof’s pelt resting on the floor. Lastly, a wide yet thin wooden drawer that held the silver cutlery and other necessary utensils for a delightful meal; a rich variety of fruits on a colorful bowl that rested on top of such furniture.

But what made the house desirable was not the beauty in the eyes of the beholder, but the youthful warmth of those that were but no longer could. The Pilgrim’s parents, sharing the wisdom of the Prophet with the children that never came to be. The passionate dialogue from a red-blooded lover of reason, talking to the willful sibling. Other familiar faces came and went, hospitality in the house of the fabled Enchantress, Isratael.
.. Yet, it wasn’t a dream.

The wind blew harshly against the neck, cloth wrapping around it delicately. It was too late! With a snap, she felt on the ground painfully.
A flash, she hadn’t died, where were the others? Something was wrong and she called for her warmth. The long breathtaking wait between each clop from the hooves that never came, a crystal shard pierced through the heart.
A flash, she hadn’t died, her father was there now. She pleaded, the house was haunted! He widened his eyes in disbelief, now victim of the fire that grew right underneath his hooves. She couldn’t save him.
A flash, her father wasn’t there, did he perish? She ran outside the house and found herself in the backyard. There was someone there, a friendly orc that attended the flowers with much pleasure. Her tusks pointing upwards, curling a smile that she wasn’t aware. Was she aware of what was happening at all? The vines came to life, wrapping the Draenei when she least expected. Gasping for air, her last breath gave birth to another flash.
Again inside the main hall, the orc wasn’t there. The children that never came to be were screaming, falling one by one from the enchanted army of cutlery. The bowl of fruit was her shield of righteous. She survived, at what cost?
Flash, she was alone with her new acquaintance, paranoia. Paranoia became her greatest ally, her senses enhanced. For a time nothing came, until it did and she felt.
Flash, the corpse of her mother on top of the pelt.
Flash, she died with her brother.
Flash, the orc was there once again, but so was death.
Flash, blood. Flash, a survivor to tell. Flash, a tale of decay.

The nightmare of a house that never came to be. There was no way to wake up from such a dread, a prison of the past and long-lived yearnings. A constant reminder that, no matter how much one believes they will reach a state of ecstasy, life is anything but merciful. It will chortle in your misery. A chortle that felt real.

Laughter came from the tunnel of light that wittingly came. She stretched her arm to reach it. And from light came darkness, from darkness a blur and a voice that became clear.

 

 

Argus

 

She was in Argus for quite some time, such became obvious to Isratael once again. She had fallen victim to the whispers that surrounded the Seat of Triumvirate, Mac’aree; on yet another mission with a group of Draenei Nomads that she had grown acquainted with.
A verbal contract she had made once again but, unlike the one made with mercenaries and traders, it was one with the only desire to find her own brother. Nomads who constantly enforced her the same mindset she had grown to abhor. Trapped in a past, never releasing the grip from something that was long gone. Echoes, demons and spirits of the past; a reminder of a former home that no longer was but a burning fel rock. She detested Argus with a passion the moment she stepped on Mac’aree, even though it did not share the same cursed landscape from the world bellow. A floating rock, a lost piece of a puzzle that once made Argus the home planet of the Draenei more than twenty five thousand years ago. Isratael was born long after the lost, she had no attachment to such adulterated planet. It was only a planet that she had heard from her parents and much older acquaintances of the past.

However, she was a victim once again at that point in time. The whispers had reached to her, everything became hazy. She had just awakened from a deep slumber, or perhaps from a mind controlling spell. Shadows talked, yet she could not listen. It was still dark, but she was awake at last. Her mind was clearing up and she had begun to feel cold and a hunger she hadn’t felt in a long time. She tried to move, but her body was not her slave yet. It did not move under her command, not even a finger could be raised. Her head was not her own either, but she felt her skin touching upon a rugged surface. It hurt her, but she could not yell or whimper. A chill came from her spine for creeping dark tendrils traveled from her back and reached for her frown. These tendrils had her under control, under their command.

 

A chuckle came from afar, making the shadows flee. Her mind became clearer, her gaze limpid, and she could finally realize that she was inside a dim scavenged Draenei house. And the shadows were Krokul melded in Void. She tried to move once again, to speak.. to no avail. Yet her senses allowed her to realize that she had been stripped from her cloth, bearing her undergarments. Dirt and bruises covered her dark violet skin. The dark tendrils that preyed on her spine and skull were exactly what she had seen and understood, the body that sat on the floor and leaned against the wall was not her own to order, but to only feel. Fortunately for her, the master had no desire for their new puppet.

A fine subject.” said the voice that came closer, forming a shadow on the entrance. Tall yet slender, sharp shoulders and male on first sight. It was the voice that mocked in her dreams, yet the one that also brought her conscious back. Isratael’s own emotions felt distant however, despise the predicament she was experiencing. Such is the Void. Yet her eyes turned, not under her desire to do so. They looked at herself, at her own flesh.
The shadow came closer, growing bigger. When approaching the door frame, her body raised from the ground immediately. Her movements were rigid and reckless for her own well being, for she felt her bones cracking. Yet her body stood, slightly hunched. Her dark purple hair, though not long, waved in front of her gaze, greased. How long had she been in such a state of affairs?
The shadow.. was of an unknown Ethereal “Good, I can feel your presence. Your mind hasn’t been consumed.

He clasped his hands, or what appeared to be hands. The wrappings gave much to desire after all. He continued to speak to her with a tone that no longer mocked, but one of a diplomat “Your conscious mind is still alive. Appreciate that, Draenei. I have no desire to see a creature like you suffer..” he paused, only to wave a hand in front of a frown that was not her own.
From that wave, the tendrils that crawled on her back vanished to nothingness. And from that nothingness came a familiar vessel that was now hers to order and to feel. Suddenly finding herself being in control of her own self, she collapsed on the ground fully conscious. The pain that she felt on her body, it made her scream as loud as she could. The agony that she felt from the hunger, the bruises and pain from a former slave owner who carelessly treated her mortal vessel quite savagely. And from the pain, tears. The Ethereal waited patiently, giving a much more needed moment for the Enchantress to recover from the shock.

 

A moment had finally passed, raising herself quite pitifully. She clumsily stumbled closer to a wall, resting both palms on it. She had grown accustomed to her own body once again, yet there were questions unanswered. She turned to face the Ethereal, her back relying on the crumbling wall behind her. “I do apologize for your attire, Draenei. Your.. tattered drapes held impressive properties that were necessary for this transaction.” finally spoke the Ethereal once again, his hands behind his back with a rather straight posture.
.. W-Where am I? Who are you and.. why.. should I trust you?” mustered Isratael behind a harsh breathing pattern and vulnerable silhouette.
You haven’t left Mac’aree. I am your savior and you may feel free to not trust me.
I.. don’t trust your kind.
You don’t have a choice, regardless. Listen to my proposal or I shall send you back to the Void.

Threatened, the Draenei muttered a few words of wisdom. Yet, to her own dismay, the Ethereal raised a single finger that pointed close to where a humanoid would usually have their lips bloom. She had been silenced, which surprised her. “I wouldn’t do that again if I were you, fleshling. Remain civil and I shall provide with your belongings.” retorted the Ethereal, lowering his finger slowly. She felt her voice cords belonging to her once again, gasping.
Now that you are aware of your plight; I choose you out of those acquaintances of yours because I found that you were the most promising of subjects.” he continued with his negotiation.
T-the weakest, you mean..” lamented the Draenei.
There were others with weaker connection to the Light, fleshling. No, I choose you because you have something that I desire. And you desire something as well.
Walking closer to the Ethereal, she kept a much more reliable stance. One of her hands wandered behind her back in search for any tendril, growing some paranoia over the Void. But no, that Ethereal was aware of something already. Of her true goal on Argus or perhaps the dream she had.
Ytaaru.. is it?” he suggested, to incite more than a mere reaction. Which obviously she did, a trembling hand reached for her own mouth to cover her shock to hear such a name from an Ethereal. A clop back, she almost felt. A faint humorous snicker from the Ethereal, in jest “The things one can learn from another’s nightmares. I could hear your voice from afar, Draenei. You seek a familiar face, yet I do not know who and where this Ytaaru is.

 

Silence settled between the two oddities. The Pilgrim was growing restless from the mystery surrounding her torturer. A frustrated sigh from the Draenei herself broke the abnormality “Be quick, Ethereal. I starve. I.. know your people are oblivious to such realities but know that I may collapse soon if I do not eat..

Very well, fleshling. I’m aware of the nature of a certain mana crystal that you had. That crystal comes from this planet. I wish to know where. I’m sure that you are also aware the implications of not providing me with such information.
I.. should had guessed. You desire something that isn’t yours already. If I do, you’ll set me free?
I’ll do more than just that. I’ll provide what remains of your inventory. Including that particular unflattering staff.

The pilgrim blinked, turning her attention at her own physique. A reminder of the price she would had to pay for not complying with the demands of the Ethereal. If she were to accept the proposal however, she would be betraying the Nomads and, of consequence, her people. Her stare once again settled on the mystical appearance of the Ethereal that hid himself on poorly enchanted wrappings and uninspiring dark yet sharp shoulder pads made of cloth. Yet, in her hunger, she felt certain repulsion for those that abandoned her that day. She began to remember that, during the conflict, she had fallen behind while the other Draenei walked without much of a glance to her struggle. She had but one question to the Ethereal that awaited nothing but the answer he desired from her “How long has it been since the day you have manipulated me?
To which he answered “Nearly two weeks. No one came searching for you, Draenei.
Then I’ll accept your proposal. They must surely believe that I’m one with the Light by now..” she lamented, turning her gaze away from the dealer. She knew the consequences of her decision, yet it was one for her own survival and made ever so lightly given the blindness of her own hunger.
It is settled, Draenei. Surely, a mutually beneficial transaction. Just as I foresaw.

 

The Pilgrim began to provide the information to the mysterious Ethereal. In return, the Ethereal ordered two Voidscarred Krokuls to bring the Draenei her own values, to which they done so. Unlike what her oppressor had lead her to believe, her garments were mostly intact. The Staff of the Virtuous Pilgrim was once again hers to wield. The Ethereal was made aware where she had gained a particular mana crystal. He did not require more than the information provided. It belonged to an Autarch of her kind, from a lineage of magi that she knew so little to begin with. A Draenei that has lived four times over the age and wisdom of this Arcanist. Ancient vaults that held secrets and power, perhaps even subtle traps and curses. He did not fear the challenge itself, for he had allowed the Void to have control over his judgement.

The Enchantress was permitted to walk away from the crumbling ruins, to which she did without much more of a whimper to the few Ethereal she saw on her path back to the Vindicaar. Her mind, though freed from the influences of the Void, it was not fully sane. She only desired a meal, aloof clops on the ground and supported by her staff along the excruciating walk. She could not bear to fully grasp what she had done that day.

On the Vindicaar, the Lightforged were quick to attend to her wounds. There was no sign of any Nomad of Tureem. Long breaths, she closed her eyes and rested for a few days. She had enough time to contemplate about the consequences over and over. Yet no one knew what she had done, a secret that she kept hidden from those around her. On that moment, her only desire was to face her own brother. Perhaps he was on the region known as Antoran Wastes, or so she believed given that was the location the Vindicaar was brought to during her recovery.
Ytaaru…

Pages:

Warcraft Short Story – The Staff of the Virtuous Pilgrim

 

Other short stories starring Isratael

  • Warcraft Short Story – A letter of a pilgrim – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – A brother’s Call to Arms – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – Judgement Day – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – Stranded on a river of leaves – Link

 

 

Dun Morogh

A darkened cloud, carried by the wind. To purify the soul, it must weep and not be forgotten in the skies. Never ignored. The tears, toxic, causing a temporary illness. Yet a river is seen, it must be fed and be given a flow without drying. Without it, all that is natural perishes with time. But so is the cycle of life that brings a storm on the horizon and tears apart what is close to us. Life is but a cycle of destruction and light that teaches us half truths. Not because it hides, but because life is the greatest poet. Like children of the night, embracing the dim nature of the womb. Laughter is what we seek at the end.
But all need to be born. Again and again. Can mortals truly reach the promise land? Ignorance is bliss, life will tear you apart. Wake up, forge your heart before darkness consumes you.

Life begins anew in familiar lands. The womb of a matriarch from Khaz Modan, Kharanos. It has been a year since the demonic invasion had begun. Though the united force of the Dwarven clans and individuals has made this specific town safe from harm; sorrow still lingers in the eyes of the beholder. The enthusiasm from the Gnomes, a race that has endured martyrs from their betrayer, truly the candles in bleakness.
The hum of metal, cling. The strength of a hammer, clack. A clattering hymn of rebirth to one of the most well known towns in Dun Morogh. Heavily guarded, even the mountain kings have to step down from their hills to inspire their people and make sure darkness doesn’t slither.

Again, Summer resides. The snowy mountains, resisting the heat for most part. Corn snow, wet at times, snow squalls aren’t uncommon. Still, it allows the meek to wander without too much concern of freezing to death or sickly. A Draenei pilgrim, by the name of Isratael, finds herself in this town afresh. She knew what to expect, relieved to see the outcome of the local labor. A few familiar faces, reminding her of a choice she had made. One that has cost her dearly. A pain that she felt within her heart, part of her regretted her choice. Yet the face of a few of the locals that recognized her. Those who used to carry bandages, scars. They now smiled, their eyes could not hide! The cheeks, hid underneath layers of musk that tell a tale. A stoutly appearance, protected by long braided beards. There was something charming and endearing when witnessing a Dwarven male genuinely smile. “Was this the right decision”, the Draenei thought to herself through mutters.

After leaving a golden vale of sorrow, to experience the death of an outcast by the hands of their enemies; she couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the lone Mogu. Truly, blind hatred. She expected much more from the Pandaren, after being in their continent for a while. The tales and their philosophy, hospitality, their cuisine! If there is someone on Azeroth that one could trust to make the wisest of choices, it must be a Pandaren. Yet what the Draenei saw was hypocrisy. It betrayed her, tricked her. Toyed with her weakened soul. Her hope, to abandon her previous life and to be reborn anew, to walk a new path along the people of Azeroth. Her family was shattered, most pieces were broken while others were left to wander.
Is such faint desire truly fiction from the mind of a troubled wayfarer? Was it fate, to be a shadow of a former vessel that didn’t beat so violently within the embrace of an ivory palace? Pause, the beat skipped, what is this feeling? It is empty, yet also everything that one feels. Pouring in so vapidly. No, not vapid. It’s intense! Is it too late for the Draenei to scream? To beg? Her mouth hastened, yet it was too late. A weak sigh was all that was transpired from yet another moment of despair. The culmination of a being that has lived for over ten millennia. The same sound one hears from the whispers coming from the most ancient of fauna, a sough.

 

 

The Staff of the Virtuous Pilgrim

 

The Hammerstone family.

Again Isratael had decided to visit them. Haze shrouds the path of faith, lacking direction. In haze, Isratael could only think of an elderly matriarch, Jagda Hammerstone. A Jewelcrafter that she had met, in a family of diggers and a few metalsmiths. After the bulk of the Legion’s army upon this world, the family took the opportunity to enlarge their foundry in the extremity of the town. Their family name was known for their explorer, Galthorm Hammerstone, not for their prospectors and crafters. They had to compete with more prevalent names in their society.

 

After trudging on top of the recently built stone paths that connected the town with prosperity in mind, her hoof had clopped on the foundry. A familiar sound to some of the family members, turning their heads to see the Draenei that had saved them. As she expected, much like the very few commoners that recognized her, their grin lighten up more than the flames that rested on the furnace. It is as if a hero was walking among them. She could not bare to look at them in the eyes, forcing a smile that was buried in the shade cast by her lilac embroidered silky cowl. A gift from another friend of hers, a fabled Pandaren Jewelcrafter from the Greenstone Village, Jade Forest.

Brought to the matriarch, blissfully preparing a feast for her loved ones, with the aid of her grandchildren on the comfort of their own house; the family allowed a moment’s rest from the two. Of course, as tradition demanded, Jagda had brought the pilgrim to the silence that only the death could bring. It was still an afternoon, never completely in solitude. The sun provided enough warmth to make the Draenei finally unveil her hair. She had allowed it to grow, though it yet had to reach her shoulders. It no longer carried the fragrance that was familiar to those that knew her a few years back. Rather, it was sweeter. A contrast to an expression that carried melancholy. If anything, it burden the matriarch to see such a noble creature to be saddened.

Lass..?” the dwarf questioned. She was not expecting to see her friend and champion mourn after what happened. Little did the Dwarven widow knew about the death of Isratael’s father. A planned omission from the Arcanist that did not desire to tell of her sacrifice when she had reluctantly decided to stay in Kharanos. It wasn’t that day either that the Draenei would decide to tell this Dwarven friend about it. Instead, the pain within was finally released after another skip from a dying beat. Though the graveyard did not contain a single tombstone of her fallen loved ones, she felt on her knees and wept. Toxic tear drops in the soft snow, an illness that was contagious even to the Dwarf. The elderly kept her close, no words needed to be told, not this time.

 

Once the canals began to dry, Jadga held the silky cloth in her hands. Soft, delicate and of fine quality. She shared her opinion on it, trying to cheer the pilgrim. It matched her silver garments and purple cloth. A proper armor for a lone traveler, adorned with enchanted azure shards and gems that produced their own melody, an Arcanic aura that gave them a peculiar reflection of reality itself. Yet not even such flattery cheered this Draenei. The darkness started to creep on the Dwarven’s heart, but she resisted. She spoke, afflicted “Isratael.. it pains me t’see ya’ like this! Is this how ancient legends feel when they have lived lon’enough an’ have suffered from fate?

Are you asking if.. if it is a curse to live long just as I have?” the Draenei finally spoke. Her speech slow, weightless. Almost carried by the wind and lost to the ages.

The dwarf knew what those words meant. A Dwarf would never live long enough to experience the wisdom and a wide range of shortcomings throughout life like a Draenei would. Not even an elf could. How many generations of Dwarves has Isratael outlived for? Perhaps most Draenei are older than the entire legacy of the Dwarves as a race! A Dwarf could never fully understand a Draenei. “I.. am because I don’know..” her voice trembled, realizing she was facing an ancient creature that knew much more about life itself than her entire race.

“I ask the same question now and then.. and not even I know. I do not know if I should envy you or..” she paused. She knew that her trail of thoughts would lead to unnecessary drivel.

“Then why have ya’came here? Why are ya’not with yer’ people, pilgrim? We’re more mortal than ya’..” the Dwarf argued, perhaps in desperation in face of a deep desire to assist her friend. The sturdiness of her kind being heavily rooted within her wrinkling facade. Hiding a much more dire truth, a truth that she found to be guilty of as well. Quickly she took a step back and apologized for her outburst.

Yet a truth that Isratael was familiar with. One that was too late to avoid and to reach out with her own voice “To mourn..

 

 

The sky had turned orange, a few shades from the Dark Beyond covering a clear sky. Fully exposed was still Argus, a reminder of the demonic influence of the Burning Legion upon Azeroth. Both widows talked to one another, the venom already tainting the graves of those who are no longer among them. If the dead could hear and speak, the secrets they would tell of every orphan that had bled their soul! Yet the dead, like silent escorts to one’s sentiment, can no longer be adulterated.

 

Both returned to the matriarch’s house, surrounded by the blissful warmth of one’s crib. Deep down, the Draenei felt envy on that moment, for this is what the Draenei truly desired for herself and the warmth that she dearly missed. Another crack on her vessel, a silent one at that. Still, she could not help but set aside her bitterness for now and delight herself in the company of those who only wished to please her. Isn’t that all that matters?

However, when the meal had been prepared and joyfully feasted upon, Isratael was later met with a proposal from one of the crafters of the family. Some of the members of this family wanted to offer the Draenei a gift, an artifact to be crafted by Dwarven hands. After all, the Hammerstone family had a foundry and a tale to tell for countless of generations to come.

The tale of the Virtuous Pilgrim. A tavern tale that was brewing within town, of one of the many saviors of Kharanos:

It tells of a powerful Archmage that traveled the Great Dark Beyond, that predicted the arrival of the Legion which craved to enslave Azeroth and spread darkness upon the mountains of Khaz Modan. That three powerful fel twisted six horned rams were to take over the three thrones. That among the heroes of Kharanos, a Pilgrim, as docile and innocent as a sheep, stood against the demonic rams and their army of wolves. Despise the appearance, the pilgrim sheep stared directly to the soulless, adorned in blue velvet to signify their alignment with the Alliance. The wisdom that the sheep carried made the wolves eat the very snow that their own paws carried. Truly, the determination of a wizard from the Dark Beyond.

Isratael, despise the looming darkened tar that had yet to be purified from all the muck accounted from ten thousand years of pleasures taken away; couldn’t help but find some amusement in the method used to describe the events that took place one year ago. For the Hammerstone family, it meant their life, which Isratael agreed to accept the reward from it.

 

On the following days, a peculiar staff was crafted. Carrying the head of a sheep, bathed in gold. Gems adorned the stone wool, giving a feeling of royalty. And from the spoils of Pandaria, brought from the travels in Pandaria, two serpent eyes symbolized the wisdom that the Pilgrim Sheep carried in their vision. Blue cloth formed a bound between a wizard and the Alliance. Enchanted, to serve as a focus to one’s evocation of the Arcane. And from a staff, new golden attires were forged and blue cloth was sewed by the hands of a tailor among the family. The silk that the Draenei carried was painted in dark and blue shades, embroidered details preserved yet turned into gold.

And thus the artifact known as the Staff of the Virtuous Pilgrim came to exist, to be held by one of the Saviors of Kharanos, the Lost Sheep from the Dark Beyond.

 

Eager to be reunited with her brother, to explain what she had given in exchange for the life of their father, Isratael was determined to find him and Mesoora. To finally drain the impurity of her heart on one last family reunion and to forge a new life on Azeroth. Never to look back in grief. For Azeroth itself, as a whole, was her Valley of Eternal Blossoms. To Argus she went. But the question remains, is Azeroth really the promise land she desires? Or did the light provided to her spoke in half truths?

Pages:

Warcraft Short Story – Stranded on a river of leaves

 

Other short stories starring Isratael

  • Warcraft Short Story – A letter of a pilgrim – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – A brother’s Call to Arms – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – Judgement Day – Link

 

 

Valley of Eternal Blossoms

In the heart of Pandaria, the Valley of Eternal Blossoms is the center of both Mogu and Pandaren culture.
Sealed for millennia, it has reopened its doors to outsiders. Ancient relics and myths of old are found in the ruins of former vaults and golden palace. Mogu Emperors ruled the land of Pandaria while living a luxurious life in the land that was once home of the Jinyu. After the Mogu were driven out, this vale was sealed by the August Celestials and protected by a few chosen Pandaren under the banner of the Golden Lotus.
The rivers that flow in Pandaria originate from its sacred pools. A golden land where the Titans themselves created and experimented with life on Azeroth, much like Un’Goro Crater in Kalimdor and Sholazar Basin in Northrend. Pure, crystal clear, these waters are able to heal and cleanse certain wounds that not even the Light is capable of. A power that has resulted on the demise of this once beautiful landscape by the hands of a tyrant warchief.
Once an eternal blossoming land, a land of sorrow. Yet there is hope, now that the land has been cleansed from the Sha. A vale being rebuilt and healed, blessed by the last emperor of Pandaria.

Isratael, a Draenei pilgrim, was informed of a possible contract. In Dawn’s Blossom, an innkeeper informed her of a human who required her services. Perhaps one that learned of her trading skills. One that was aware that it was her that was involved with the infusion of Arcane into the weapons and ammo that belonged to the warriors of a group known as the Fallen Leaf, which were used to confront a local dispute between the Pandaren and a fractured shadow of what was once a mighty Mogu army.

With the aid of a Jinyu, Isratael was brought to the Valley of Eternal Blossoms. A new bound was celebrated between herself and a group of traders and mercenaries. Yet the shadow cast by Argus made the encounter with the Silver Serpents ever more excruciating than it should.

 

 

Stranded on a river of leaves

 

A landscape that still held scars from a devastating event, the golden landscape yet to fully bloom. The eternal presence of a bigger treat than a mere race war between two kinds of rulers, such was the apathy in general ever embraced by a few that were hired to investigate an already crumbling force of animated stone brutes.
The Pandaren obviously fear their former Slave Masters. The tale of their soul bending shadow magic raising certain curiosity, perhaps providing some distraction from her inner turmoils. Yet one cannot forget the past, nor the dread of one’s single living family member championing a greater legion. Despise being shunned by a single Draenei platoon, it was not Isratael’s desire to suffer yet another personal loss in her life.

 

Amidst a group of mercenaries, she was asked to get involved once again on yet another skirmish against a group of Mogu. Given her verbal contract with the Silver Serpents, they and the Fallen Leaf ventured to the Guo-Lai Halls.
For the Draenei, this task was accepted without any form of grace or true motivation. Coins were never a source of happiness for her, for she still holds a generous amount after centuries of serving as an Evoker in the Genedar. On Draenor, she aided the Artificers as an assistant. Though not an engineer, her Arcane knowledge provided some necessary and quite rewarding experiences. It was with them that she had also perfected her enchantments. With them, she found warmth. A warmth that she dearly misses to this day.

 

Within the Halls, after crossing a series of lethal traps, Isratael marveled the embroidered golden walls on which dust has hardly taken away the magnificence of the architects behind their creation. But her enthusiasm, which had subsided her jaded stare, quickly turned into a louring gasp. Japed by fate once again, a lone demon freely stumbled upon the group while it was assaulting the source of the local Mogu’s desire to protect. Truly a test for Isratael’s patience, which she had failed.

Pointing her staff at the imp, ready to bring the creature back to whatever Imp Mother it crawled out of, she was not in the mood for mercy towards a foul stench without a known master. With no summoner in sight to keep the demon contained and chained to mortals’ desires, with Argus quite near Azeroth, during such a crisis of universal scale with a full threatening demonic invasion. The Draenei was not taking any risks. However, it was one of the Pandaren that averted the demise. The leader of the Fallen Leaf nonetheless! Perplexed by the way the warrior shown some mercy to the lone demon, Isratael had no choice but to recognize that the demon did belonged to someone within their group that wasn’t present. As such, it was of her peers’ interest if the demon was not to be slain.

Of course, hypocrisy is no stranger to even the most serene of races.

 

Once the group was to return to a local village, after a successful campaign, on their way to the outside ruins; a hymn echoed in the walls like a smoothing balm on one’s soul. It taunted the fiend with a melody that it could not endure. A prayer that healed, coming from a Mogu that stood tall in front of the exit. A challenge to one’s preconception that these warmongering brutes dwell with shadow magic, to bend spirits for their own twisted creations.

No, this Mogu chanted and invoked the Light into the Halls. Was it an enemy if it was recovering their wounds? A Human cursed to become a Worgen, provoked by the Scythe of Elune, asked the same question. But instead of clinging to his humanity, he allowed himself to be blinded by his loyalty to his own leader. Against the Draenei’s pled, the Worgen silenced the chanter. And thus the Light ceased to come from an unexpected source.

Surrounded by mercenaries who were wounded and broken, none questioned the action that the cursed human took. No one questioned their leader, who had shown mercy to a foul lonesome demon. Yet, without a thought, without much of a charade to understand the last Mogu that stood and did not fought back.. no compassion was given for the fallen defiant of its own kind. No other.. than the Draenei who stood behind, after scowling the humanoid mercenary worg that felt little remorse for what he had done. Still, with hope that the Mogu could still be saved, the Draenei placed her hand on the mortal wound to bring it back to life. Using the gift bestowed to her people by the Naaru, it was already too late. Even thought the Light reached the wound and closed it, the soul had already departed from the Mogu’s rough body.

 

Mercy for the foul demons, that have enslaved thousands of worlds across the Dark Beyond. Merciless for an insignificant race of brute conquerors that only reside on a single continent on a much wider planet. The priority of a mercenary, where the coin lies. Abstracting one’s consciousness, an individual’s morals are those of a soldier that follows the voice of a dictator. A dictator believes in their own set of morals and laws, the others are expected to follow without questioning. For a mercenary, questioning means to lose a meal or two. To provide less for themselves and maybe for their own family. Selfish in nature, they would bring an end to an innocent’s future if they were paid enough to do so.

A mercenary cannot be trusted. Leaves that float in the air, drifted by the unpredictable wind and falling on the streams of eternal golden bliss that never come to an end; the water cycle on which the river is the journey and the deep blue ocean is the finale that is easily forgotten. The question remains, is Isratael a Lotus in this metaphor?

 

 

The actions that took place within the Guo-Lai Halls were not easily dismissed. This was, after all, one of the first opportunities to cooperate with two distinct groups of traders and mercenaries. The hypocrisy was too much to handle, as much as the unwillingness of her peers to question these events. Reminded by the tales and sorrow that her most memorable acquaintance expressed to her in the Jade Forest, of those who enslaved her people, her actions were based on generosity at first. But after being formally shunned by Mesoora a few weeks beforehand, her goodwill was fading. The looming feeling of loneliness and detachment from those around her, perhaps fogged by the apparent need to accept any group that took interest in her.
Yet, when it was the opportunity for this new group of acquaintances, that she very much desired to be part of in hope that she would had a new lot to call family; to listen to her plead.. they did not listen.

A selfish myopic group. One that she, after a week of isolation within the inn of Mystfall Village, had come to the conclusion that they were not worthy.

 

Her pilgrimage continues.
However, not without leaving a note to the innkeeper of the Mystfall Village, resembling the same level of professionalism on which was used by the Silver Serpent to contact her. With it, she also trusted the innkeeper with two pairs of beautifully crafted cherry-tree wooden chopsticks, that held a familiar large perfectly cut yellow Topaz gem on one of the tips of each stick. Lastly, two black leather bracelets which contain a grey Hematite each.

 

Trusting that the note will be delivered to her former employers, together with the items, it reads:

 

There is a valley where dreamers sleep,

Where flowers bloom and willows weep,

Where loamy earth springs life anew,

And waters sparkle, clear and blue,

Where every hearth brings peaceful ease,

And beauty sings on every breeze.

 

Here the Sacred Pools spring pure

Here, seek any who desire cure

Holy, nature, powers divine,

Turn death to life, death to life.

 

Signed,

Isratael

Pages:

Warcraft Short Story – Judgement Day

 

Other short stories starring Isratael

  • Warcraft Short Story – A letter of a pilgrim – Link
  • Warcraft Short Story – A brother’s Call to Arms – Link

 

 

Azure’s Hope Garrison

Somewhere near Azure Watch, in the Azuremist Isles, a Garrison had been built in a former town made for the refugee’s of the Shattering.

The Human made stone walls, held with the lumber from the wildest and unexplored areas of the isles. A certain chemistry between the might of the Alliance and the kindness and protection of the Draenei. A strong bound between those who made the isles their home and the ancient alien race. These few humans, orphans and widows of the Eastern Kingdom, did not return to their homeland. Without a family, they have rooted themselves in their improvised town within the isles. And during the invasion of the Legion upon this world, this small garrison was built by humans to preserve themselves and aid the Draenei in these troublesome times.

The tales of a vessel, a Draenei ship, have been echoed across the isles. The Vindicaar, an instrument of retribution that will provide a path to the destruction of the Burning Legion within Argus itself. Now that Argus has been brought closer to Azeroth than ever, the Draenei and some members of the Alliance are preparing themselves for one last sacrifice for the greater good!

 

Soon, it shall be Azeroth, with their prophetic Army of the Light, who will invade the demonic home planet. For the Draenei, this is more than the destruction of these devils. Argus was, after all, their former home. Most of the Eredar became known as Man’ari, once they sold their own race to the Burning Legion. The Eredar, who did not fall for the whispers of the Dark Titan became known as the Draenei.

Isratael, a traveling Draenei Enchantress and Jewelcrafter, which her pilgrimage had brought her to Pandaria and the Jade Forest; saw Argus being brought closer to Azeroth.

Without knowing what that green fel riddled monstrosity in the skies was, for she was not born in Argus; she could only deduce that it was a planet or illusion created or conquered by the Legion. Fear came to her, knowing that war had just begun and that this current demonic wave was not going to be tamed, despise the number of fiends being contained mostly within the Broken Isles.

Even so, given that emotion controlled her voice and actions, she was the one that contacted her brother this time. With haste, her brother answered the call and brought her to a familiar town. This is where she lived briefly before she began her pilgrimage, aiding the Human refugees. With the assistance of a much more powerful and talented mage, Isratael crossed the portal and arrived to Azure’s Hope.

 

 

Judgement Day

 

Upon arrival, on the other side of the Portal, Isratael was able to travel between continents and opposite hemisphere in a mere step. Once surrounded by Jade and tall trees, within a Pandaren town known as Dawn Blossom; where most of the people were confused, weeping and questioning their sanity upon the discovery of a green flaming celestial body.. now she was within a Human made barracks. A wide room, perhaps too empty. On the wooden walls, shields and weapons adorned the war room.

 

She gazed around her, trying to understand where she was. Soon, she felt a gentle touch upon her shoulderpad. A familiar Draenei, much taller than her and perhaps just as tall as her own brother. Her skin light, a contrast to Isratael’s own dark purple skin. Her hair long, a talented Illusionist that radiated beauty and subtly. Her name was Mesoora, a Draenei that has lived for nearly twenty millennia. An example to many aspiring magicians. A motherly figure to the abandoned orphans, one that grew to love Isratael’s brother and has a soft spot for Isratael herself.

“Good evening, Isratael. It has been a while.” spoke Messora, kindly gesturing Isratael to turn and face her. Unsure if Isratael wanted to be hugged or kissed, she merely smiled in grace. The grand Illusionist appeared calm, despise the celestial body looming in the sky and bringing dread to Azeroth. Perhaps that is what an Illusionist is, someone that knows how to hide, to conceal and to be courteous. That stroke a nerve, Isratael was always skeptical of her brother’s new lover.

“Greetings.. Mesoora.” stared Isratael, her expression still reflecting her confusion and now an envious seed on her heart that bloomed a cynical eye. “Where’s Ytaaru. He.. spoke to me. He answered my call.”

 

Mesoora blinked, a sigh escaped through her turquoise lips. From within her silver embroidered long sleeve, she revealed the very same enchanted aquamarine crystal that Isratael had left behind a few years ago to her family. “I apologize for the deception..”

“Where is he, Mesoora? We haven’t talked since..”

“You never answered his call to arms.” bluntly interrupted Mesoora. She tilted her head upwards, exposing some self perceiving superiority over Isratael. Perhaps, from this Illusionist’s perspective, she was Isratael’s mother. She felt in a position that she could discipline her daughter. Unfortunately for Mesoora, Isratael did not felt such bound. Instead, Mesoora appeared pretentious at best. Snob at worst.

But such emotions were overshadowed by the fact that the Illusionist was right. Isratael never answered the call to arms, given to her when she was in Kharanos, Dun Morogh.

 

On the day that the Legion began their invasion upon Azeroth, Isratael declined her brother’s call to protect their own father in the Azuremyst Isle. A continent away, Isratael remained with the dwarves. To protect Jagda Hammerstone’s family. A gesture to a new friend, to a new bound that meant so much for Isratael. A figure she could learn from, a dwarf widow who adored her family. One that still lives.. unlike Isratael’s father which died two days after the call by the fangs of a felhound.

A funeral Isratael was prohibited to attend, a farewell that was never given to the Draenei that stood next to her when she had lost her own husband. Another crack on her vase, slowly turning into stone. Like venom, dulling the senses and paralyzing our emotions until there is nothing left but a husk of someone which was once kind and filled with life.

Isratael stood silent, blaming herself for choosing to protect the Dwarves rather than her own family. Her tired gaze lowering, not even a murmur came from her side.

 

To break this silence, Mesoora lowered herself to Isratael’s height. A kiss on her forehead, perhaps a sympathetic one. Her fingertips massaged Isratael’s cheek, expecting a tear to roll.  A tear that never arrived. The Illusionist felt intimidated by such, narrowing her vision “Why didn’t you came? Why do you believe that, now with Argus standing in front of Azeroth, to be the opportunity to repair a broken bridge?”

“A-Argus?!” Isratael shouted, surprised by such revelation. She took a few steps back, away from Mesoora’s grasp and embrace. Her hand resting upon her chest, shocked. “How?!”

“I.. don’t know. And it is none of your business! You have abandoned your kind, your family. You.. have grown cold.” Mesoora expressed, perhaps with more sadness carried in her tone than what she had expected. The fact that Isratael did not break into tears just a few moments ago still loomed her judgement. “You.. have no family here. I am all that Ytaaru has.”

Isratael was unable to contain her emotions any longer, feeling the pressure from the judge, from a Draenei that only met her three times in her entire life. “W-Who are you to judge me? You only have been with my brother for nearly two years. Your opinions are worthless compared to the millennia that I’ve spent with him! Where is Ytaaru?!”

 

In anger, the otherwise noble Illusionist throw the enchanted aquamarine crystal to the floor, crushing it to shards with her bare hoof. A sudden swift of mood that surprised even the doubting sister of the vindicator. “Begone! You have made us suffer long enough.. I’ll not allow you to wither the light within Ytaaru with your constant doubts and fears! I wanted to see some humility..”

Under Isratael’s hooves, unknown to her given the volatile nature of Mesoora, the Illusionist was preparing a telemancy spell. She continued to howl, to shame the younger mage “You do not belong in our army. Nothing but a wretched, preying on other people’s emotions and good intentions.. and when you no longer need them, you no longer care.”

 

The enchantress could not speak, for she did not knew what to say. Her eyes were widened, now the tears could be seen. Isratael understood that Mesoora was genuine in her words, vulnerable to the criticism of her own character. Deep down, Isratael doubted herself and began to consider Mesoora’s words. Perhaps.. the illusionist was right. Perhaps Isratael has always been the demon that haunted their family for quite some time. Responsible for the death of her own husband, her father. Maybe the death of her own mother.

Maybe Isratael needed to stay away from Ytaaru. But before Isratael could bring her thoughts to sound, Mesoora already had activated the spell that brought Isratael to the center of the Jade Forest.

“I’m..” Isratael paused, realizing quickly that she was no longer in front of Mesoora.

 

 

Though the Draenei tried to reach for her own aquamarine crystal, the rune bound to the gift to her family had disappeared.  She had lost contact with her family that day, abandoned in Pandaria like an orphan. A widow. An outcast. Broken.. yet the light remained in her.

A pilgrim, alone in a foreign land. Aimlessly, a daring sign in the skies to remind her what she had learned. Yet, the example of the elderly dwarf gave her comfort. Could it be that her place was among those from this world rather than her own kind? Did she still had a family?

 

For some reason, those questions slowly began to no longer matter.

Ytaaru will have the family that he deserves, with Mesoora.. or so Isratael started to believe while she tried to find Dawn’s Blossom once again. And from there, her pilgrimage continued, leading her to a vale that had lost its glory. A new tale being brewed among traders and mercenaries.

Pages:

[English and Portuguese] Transitioning – Second Withdrawal Update

 

(Para quem não sabe ler Inglês, a versão em Português encontra-se no final)

  • 1st Month/ 1º Mês – Link
  • 2nd Month/ 2º Mês – Link
  • 3rd Month/ 3º Mês – Link
  • 4th Month/ 4º Mês – Link
  • 5th Month/ 5º Mês – Link
  • Withdrawal Update – Link

 

ENGLISH

 

Good afternoon.

Yes, I used the same featured image from the last time I’ve made one of these updates. But I want to keep it short and direct to the point.

 

I’m aware that plenty of people have been trying to approach me and ask about how things are by messaging me in private and so on. I’ve not answered them, despise their best intentions and I do feel awful about it! But I hope this extremely brief blog post will even things out.

 

 

I did not know what was wrong with my liver until today. The Endocrinologist did not know what was wrong with it, despise exposing my Magnetic Resonance and recent complex blood exam. She wanted the opinion of an Gastroenterologist, since I cannot take any form of medicine with values such as those that I hold at the time I’m writing this.

I had an appointment with a Gastroenterologist on November, with the use of the public healthcare system. But, given that this Endocrinologist accepts the opinion of a Gastroenterologist outside of the public healthcare system, I had this appointment privately today with another doctor.

 

The Magnetic Resonance and Ultrasound were fine, except the single two centimeter stone on my gallbladder that isn’t obstructing anything. The extensive blood exam didn’t reveal any hepatitis or virus or bacteria. As such, according to this private (healthcare) Gastroenterologist, the values were provoked by this specific Testosterone blockers that I was taking (Cyproterone). It is indeed a very powerful steroid based blocker, and this was the result of it. Fortunately, there are other solutions.. which I’ll investigate with my Endocrinologist.

As for the values, they will lower with time. In three months to six months. There’s no medicine that lowers them.. except keeping an healthy diet and not taking any form of medicine in the meantime. There is no danger currently and, in fact, the values did lower by around a sixth after two months. They will continue to lower, without a doubt. There is no danger!

 

 

This is obviously good. I needed good news and some hope! But you may ask how I feel overall.

To keep it short, not well. Things have been going backwards.. I’ve been isolating once again. Though, to be fair, it makes sense and I would prefer to keep it that way until I start my treatment once again. It’s best to avoid contact with people in general than to be wounded by their ignorance.

 

If anything, this withdraw was a reminder. A reminder of how exactly and why did I, back when I was young and a teenager, decided to seclude myself from most of society. I wish I wasn’t reminded about it in the first place but, on the bright side, now it became more clear.

I am.. sensitive and people simply aren’t capable of understanding me fully. There is a clear hurdle that almost all people in my life fall for.. without them even realizing it. I am aware of this hurdle, I know when people fail to pass this basic and, quite honestly, simple hurdle. And this hurdle, this barrier.. is the one on which people actually treat me as a woman like any other. I am fully aware when people don’t do that, or are incapable of.. despise their claims of being “open minded” and “accepting.”

I don’t need “acceptance”. “Accepting” something means that there is something that is different and needs to be “permitted” or “tolerated”. As if I need anyone’s “approval”. I am sick, I have an illness. Though true that it makes me different than most women.. it does not mean that I am not a woman and, therefore, I should be treated as a man. And I absolutely know when someone does or does not do that. Because I know the difference. I can tell by the way people talk, approach or even talk about my issues or emotions.

When will some of you grasp the fact that I’m NOT a man trying to become or mimicking  a woman or a man turning into a woman? I am a woman trying to solve an hormonal issue. Sure, chromosomes and biology, you may shout or excuse. I’ll not lose my time explaining the nuance of my predicament.. I believe that it’s just not worth it after all these years. If you did not understood when I explained to you once, twice or even third time; then you will not understand it now. But you’ll have to take my word for it when I say that, once you overcome the hurdle.. my speech, my actions, my emotions.. become more clearer, easy to understand and deduct. You know why I can say that with certainty? Because I’ve already had a few people in my life that crossed this simple hurdle.. and they were able to understand me, to approach me, to make me laugh, cry and be emotionally invested in their life as well. This is why I know the difference (though, to be fair, I already knew the difference before actually experiencing it).

It’s already bad that I feel (and see) myself going backwards given my lack of treatment. Worst is still having to deal with people in general who are “accepting” and “open minded”. I don’t need to be “accepted”, as if this were a “lifestyle choice”. I need to be understood. Sickness isn’t “accepted”, it’s dealt with and understood. And right now, until I start my treatment once again, I need to excuse myself from society at large. It’s healthier that way, for my sanity. Going out and deal constantly with people who can’t cross the hurdle is far more damaging than seclusion.. in my own personal and entire life experience.

 

 

Anyway, that is all for now. Thank you for reading and I’ll see you on a next update! Have a nice vacation~

 

 

 

PORTUGUÊS

 

Boa tarde.

Sim, utilizei a mesma imagem que usei na última actualização. Fiz isso porque eu quero ser breve e directa ao assunto.

 

Tenho consciência que muitas pessoas tentaram se aproximar de mim e de perguntar acerca de como as coisas estão, através de mensagens pessoais. Não tenho respondido, apesar das boas intenções e eu sinto-me verdadeiramente mal por isso! Mas espero que este post de blog breve ajude-me a recompensar pelos meus pecados.

 

 

Eu não sabia o que estava de mal com o meu fígado até hoje. A Endócrinologista não soube o que estava de mal, apesar da Ressonância Magnética e exame mais complexo ao sangue. Ela queria a opinião de um Gastroenterologista, visto que não posso consumir qualquer estilo de medicamento devido aos valores que apresento actualmente.

Eu tenho uma consulta marcada para um Gastroenterologista em Novembro, no sistema público de saúde. Mas visto que esta Endócrinologista aceita a opinião de um Gastroenterologista fora do sistema público, eu consegui marcar uma consulta em privado para hoje com um outro médico numa clínica privada.

 

A Ressonância Magnética e Ecografia estavam bem, excepto a pedra de dois centímetros que se revelou na vesícula que não está a obstruir nada. O exame extensivo ao sangue não revelou nenhuma hepatite, virus ou bactéria. Como tal, de acordo com este médico, os valores foram provocados pelo bloqueador de Testosterona (Ciproterona) em específico. Sim, é um bloqueador esteróide forte, por isso é que provocou esta reacção. Felizmente, existem outras soluções.. pelo qual irei investigar com a minha Endócrinologista.

No que diz respeito aos valores, estes irão baixar com o tempo. Entre três a seis meses. Não existe medicamentos que abaixem estes valores.. excepto uma dieta equilibrada e sem ingerir qualquer tipo de medicação. Não existe perigo nenhum actualmente e, de facto, os valores conseguiram baixar um sexto após dois meses. Irão continuar a baixar, sem dúvida. Não existe perigo!

 

 

Isto é bom, obviamente. Eu precisava de boas noticias e de alguma esperança! Mas poderão perguntar como eu me sinto de forma geral.

De forma resumida, não muito bem. As coisas tem voltado para trás.. eu tenho me isolado de novo. Mas, para ser franca, até faz sentido e prefiro continuar assim até começar o tratamento de novo. É melhor evitar contacto com as pessoas de forma geral em vês de sentir magoada pela ignorância.

 

Se existe algo positivo, esta infelicidade foi um lembrete. Relembrei-me do como exactamente e do porquê de, quando era nova e como adolescente, me ter mantido isolada da sociedade. Eu gostava de não ter sido relembrada de tal mas, para o bem ou para o mal, agora faz sentido.

Eu sou.. sensível e as pessoas simplesmente não têm capacidade de me entender de forma plena. Existe uma barreira clara que quase todas as pessoas na minha vida caem.. sem se aperceberem. Eu tenho consciência dessa barreira, eu sei quando as pessoas falham nesta barreira básica e, na minha opinião, fácil e trivial. E esta barreira.. é aquela que faz com que as pessoas realmente me tratem como uma mulher como qualquer outra. Tenho plena consciência quando as pessoas falham, ou quando são incapazes de.. apesar de descreverem a si mesmas como pessoas de “mente aberta” ou “que aceitam/progressivas”.

Eu não preciso de ser “aceita”. “Aceitar” algo significa que existe algo de diferente e que precisa de ser “permitido” ou “tolerado”. Como se eu precisasse de ser “aprovada”. Eu estou doente, tenho uma doença. Apesar de isso fazer-me de mim uma mulher diferente das outras.. isso não significa que não seja uma e que, portanto, devo de ser tratada como um homem. Eu sei quando alguém o faz ou não. Eu sei muito bem a diferença. Pelas subtilezas no discurso da pessoa, reacção, aproximação ou até em certas conversas mais ao nível pessoal ou emocional.

Quando é que vocês irão entender de que eu NÃO sou um homem a tentar tornar-me ou imitar uma mulher? Eu sou uma mulher a tentar resolver um problema hormonal. Claro, cromossomas e biologia, alguns irão exclamar ou desculpar-se. Não irei perder tempo a explicar o nuance da minha situação.. acho que não vale a pena após estes anos todos. Se não entenderam à primeira ou segunda ou terceira; então não é agora que vão entender. Mas apenas terão que acreditar quando digo que, quando conseguem ultrapassar essa barreira da doença.. o meu discurso, minhas acções, minhas emoções.. se tornam mais claras, fáceis de entender e de deduzir. Sabem porque é que posso dizer isso com tanta certeza? Porque eu já tive algumas pessoas na minha vida que conseguiram ultrapassar essa barreira simples.. e foram capazes de me entender, de se aproximarem, de me fazer rir, chorar e de ficar emocionalmente investida na via delas. Por isso é que sei a diferença (apesar de, para ser sincera, já sabia bem dessa diferença muito antes de vivê-la).

Já é bastante mau quando eu sinto (e vejo) eu regredir-me devido à falta do tratamento. Pior é ainda ter que lidar com as pessoas de forma geral que me “aceitam” e são pessoas de “mente aberta”. Eu não preciso de ser “aceitada”, como se isto se trata-se de um “estilo de vida”. Eu preciso de ser entendida. Uma doença não é “aceitada”, é lidada e compreendida. E de momento, até recomeçar com o meu tratamento, eu preciso de me excluir da sociedade. É mais saudável desta forma, pela minha sanidade. Sair de casa e lidar constantemente com pessoas que não são capazes de ultrapassar esta barreira é muito mais prejudicial que o isolamento.. é o que diz a minha experiência de vida toda.

 

 

De qualquer forma, é tudo por hoje. Obrigada por terem lido este blog post e vejo-vos numa próxima actualização! Boas férias~

Pages:

Warcraft Short Story – A brother’s Call to Arms

 

Other short stories starring Isratael

  • Warcraft Short Story – A letter of a pilgrim – Link

 

 

Dun Morogh

The mountainous snowy peaks of Dun Morogh, known for the Khaz Mountains. The center of Dwarven and Gnomish culture and ingenuity. Ironforge and Gnomeregan are the capitals that have hosted thousands of explorers, thinkers and skilled crafters from the Alliance. Most inventions are brought to live in this region, built from the very same minerals that are dug deep from the quarries within the mountains.

Both the Bronzebeard Dwarves and Gnomes have been allies with one another for centuries. Now with the Dwarven clans united; the region is only threatened by the Troggs and Wendigo buried deep underground, the Frostmane Trolls that wish to control the elements and wild life with their voodoo and, lastly, Thermaplugg and his army of leper gnomes that currently reside in Gnomeregan.

With the recent invasion of the Burning Legion upon Azeroth, this region has been one of the most affected by the demonic crusade, excluding the Broken Isles. Though most has been dealt with, this story is a reminder of the events that have unraveled during the peak of this tainted avalanche of death.

Isratael, a traveling Draenei Enchantress and Jewelcrafter, who had been on her pilgrimage for more than two years at the time; was in the Dwarven town of Kharanos. The search for rare minerals and gems lead her to this town. Though her goal was to trade in Ironforge, she had heard of a fabled Dwarven miner and archaeologist that was visiting his homeland. His knowledge of this world was vast and, perhaps, he could provide her with some knowledge.

 

 

A brother’s Call to Arms

 

Galthorm Hammerstone, member of the Explorer’s League. A fine middle aged archaeologist from the town of Kharanos, from a humble miner family background. His curriculum vast, gaining some notoriety in his excavations in Uldaman and, more importantly, Ulduar! In recent years however, he has been digging for artifacts with his guild once again in the Badlands. Denied with the opportunity to venture into a savage unknown land on another parallel timeline given his age, his life became more stable and tame.

In these last few weeks, word has spread that his latest expedition was over and, once again, he returned to his hometown to share the tales and discoveries he had made about the ruins underneath the earth. With a ram packed with gifts and prospected minerals, he was ready to sell the leftovers of his excavation as well to those that desired. Isratael was one of them.

 

The archaeologist had made himself comfortable in his family’s house. With his vast number of cousins and uncles, he did not lacked company! However, at certain days, he was open for business in his family’s foundry. Given Galthorm’s fame, his family has been able to afford having their own modest forge and to craft their own metals out of the ore. In fact, one of Galthorm’s aunts was a Jewelcrafter, who worked alongside other Metalsmiths. Her name was Jagda Hammerstone. This was the dwarf that Isratael approached.

Jagda gladly accepted Isratael’s plead, entertainment by the thought that she would be spending time with someone that is from a race that is much more ancient than her own. In return Jagda only asked to be rewarded by the tales and knowledge that were unique to a Draenei. Of the worlds she had seen, visited. Her own techniques, as a jewelcrafter.

And so Isratael stayed, for nearly two weeks. Working alongside an elderly dwarf, creating rings and necklaces from precious and semi-precious stones. The two formed a bond rather quickly, sharing the grief of losing their spouse. In fact, Jagda’s spouse was an Earthen Ring Shaman, a Wildhammer Dwarf. Given her spouse’s connection with the Earthen Elements and her own Hammerstone lineage, she had decided to become a Jewelcrafter. In memory of her past relationship with a sturdy fool who had given his life to protect the World Pillar, in Deepholm.

 

 

In one of those cold evenings, after a day’s work, Jagda invited Isratael for a brief walk. The elderly widow still had strength in her legs, creating an healthy habit of walking around town during the night in order to not fall ill and inactive. Most of the populace was still awake, despise the cold. After all, it was still summer and the locals are used to much harsher temperatures that are brought in during winter.

Wearing a wolf’s fur-lined leather coat, Isratael accompanied the dwarf. They walked together to a more secluded area of the town, the outskirts. And in the outskirts, Isratael found herself in a small graveyard. This was not the first time Isratael was invited to visit this particular graveyard.

I had lost hope.” said the elderly Dwarf with her comforting Dwarven accent, gazing at the tombstone that paid homage to the death of her spouse. Though she looked older than the Draenei next to her, it was Isratael who had lived for a few millennia… compared to the nearly two hundred from the dwarf. “But I’ve survived, haven’t I? I never would have guessed that, at this age, I coul’ find an’ befriend a foreign like ye’.

We are survivors, Jagda..” muttered the Draenei with a shiver, the shadows and chill of the night reaching to her knees. Like a spirit, the cold trespassed the holy grounds of one’s undergarments. In Isratael’s mind, she wondered how the Dwarves managed to survive on these mountains for all these years. Her coat was within her grasp, wrapping her dark purple skin tightly.

.. Yet ya’fear the dead?” Jagda questioned, adjusting Isratael’s coat from behind. Unlike the Draenei; most Dwarves, including Jagda, were wearing their summer short sleeved clothing and leather.

I do not. But I do fear a broken heart. There is so much that one can take before their heart turns to stone!” whimpered Isratael, deciding to turn her gaze at the moist soil underneath her hooves. “A heart that has turned into stone cannot allow the Light to penetrate its core.

“My, aren’t ya’ a scholar? Isn’t ya’ kind gifted? What’s this talk abou’ losing ya’ faith?”

 

The gift of the Naaru, a gift to the Draenei from a race of angelic beings made of pure Light. A gift that allows the Draenei to never forget about their past as people, as uncorrupted Eredar exiles who did not fall for the diabolical temptations of the Burning Legion. The Draenei have every reason to be proud of their gift, to be part of the prophetic vision of an army that will stand against the fel corrupted, the Army of the Light.

Isratael, despise the memories that torment her, is aware of this. “You’re right.. Jagda. And what faith do you have?

I have faith that my family will live, that’ll learn from my mistakes. That they’ll take care of me the same way I do to them. That everyday I get up t’prepare our dinin’ table, with their favorite brew.. that they’ll learn what love truly means. So that they, too, can find someone that loves them jus’as much as me!” answered Jagda. Though there was uncertainty in her words, with certain hesitation.. she was able to bring her answer to a rather satisfying conclusion that brought a faint resemblance of a smile on her dry lips.

The words chosen by the elder brought a grin to Isratael’s face. Despise the shrouding mists of doubt clouding her thoughts, to the point of making her indevout; her love for her father still shined brightly. But so did the dread of losing yet another family member “You remind me of my father.. I aspire to be like you one day. Able to move on, bring hope to others.

Ya’ can never move on from such a burden, lass.. but ya’ can teach others how to survive and not’ta be swallowed with grief.

 

Grief.

As the evening turned into darkness and most of the Dwarves walked to their own houses, so did Isratael followed the Dwarven matriarch. This was not the first time Isratael heard these words. The speech and life lessons from the experienced. The voices from those who had suffered, they too have lost and continue to wither with the passage of time. Life is like an orchestra that has a climax, accompanied by the lyrics of a poet who is constantly improvising yet ends up repeating the same chorus over and over when in doubt. And we, the audience, desire to yield the baton and make the orchestra our own. Yet, like fools who never learn from history, we keep falling for the inevitable pits made by our own worst fears, like a self fulfilling prophecy. And thus the chorus repeats and the audience griefs.

Is it us who truly hold the baton? Or is it our nature that compromises our destiny?

 

 

It was during that night that Isratael had received a dire message from her brother, while she slept on the floor on top of a white furred bear rug and surrounded by a few small cushions. Her staff, enchanted and containing a complex set of elaborate arcanic runes that held a perfectly designed Aquamarine crystal, beamed with an aura that only she could recognize. Her family was trying to contact her.

Given that she was asleep, she took her time to take hold of the crystal from her staff. Activating the runes, a voice could be heard from within. It was her brother, Ytaaru.

 

Ytaaru is much older than her. Before her, Ytaaru had other siblings which, from Isratael’s perspective, were half-siblings from their mother’s side. Ytaaru was her only brother and her relationship with her half-siblings has always been scarce. Some of them had long died while others remained. As far as Isratael was concerned, she is aware that there’s at least two of them that decided to abandon the Light and choke themselves with the tainted blood of the Legion’s corruption.

He is a zealot, a fearful paladin. A vindicator, member of the Hand of Argus. His intimidating silhouette makes him a wall and a blazing protector of the Light. Truly a judge that delivers retribution to those who fail to prove their alignment with the vision of the Prophet. Goal driven, his faith is strong and he’ll stop at nothing to fulfill the prophecy that’ll save countless of worlds and realms from the twisted claws of fiends.

 

The voice from within the crystal spoke with authority:

Isratael, it’s Ytaaru, your brother. I’m sending this message to you, hoping that you’ll heed my call…

… the legion, they have invaded this world! They have already arrived to the isles. Remember your people, our people, the vision.

Do not abandon us, Isratael. Forget your pilgrimage and join us! In the light, we are one.. always remember that.

Protect our father. Do not fail the Prophet, do not fail me!

I can ask one of our mages to create a portal for you to come, since you cannot. Tell me where you are, I’ll make sure they’ll do so!

… I’m counting on you… sister!

 

Shocked by the news, Isratael gently placed the crystal on the rug with a trembling hand. Clenching one of the smaller pillows, tears prudently erupted on the room she was in by herself. Using the very same cheap pillow to weep, her worst fears came to reality. She wasn’t ready to face death, yet another war. Perhaps another great lost?

Many questions came to mind while she suffered. If the Burning Legion started to invade Azeroth once again, would this mean that the demons were to invade Dun Morogh? If so, should she stay and aid the Dwarves? What of her father? Why would the demons invade this world now? If she warned the Dwarves of Kharanos, would they believe and prepare themselves for the invasion? Would this town be spared? Was she to die in this town herself among the Dwarves? What of Exodar, her people?

 

Doubt shrouded her judgement and she could not think of an answer to her questions. Grasping her staff, placing the crystal on its rightful place, she walked outside the Hammerstone’s house without making a noise. The night sky was clear and there was yet to be a sign of a demonic invasion. Without a coat, she shivered yet she was blinded by her emotions. She needed some time to think, to consider. To ponder. Would her people, her family.. forgive her if she were to stay and protect the Hammerstone family? Would her family be dead once the invasion was over?

The snow on her hooves, on her knees, wet, ever melting for the lack of a storm for nearly a week. Her palms keeping her balance, the lack of energy. The lack of will and the most important question lingering in the air “Why me?

 

A Call to Arms, yet to be answered.

 

 

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Warcraft Short Story – A letter of a pilgrim

 

 

Azuremyst Isle

For centuries, the Azuremyst Isles remained mostly free from the influence of sapient settlers. The indigenous natives were left to their own devices and wars among themselves. Ruins of ancient civilizations, such as the Night Elves, can be seen on certain areas. Abandoned for millennia, for the fauna to grow and for the barbarians to pillage and defile these lands without any form of punishment.

The Night Elves abandoned these isles for thousands of years, in favor of the land closer to the continent of Kalimdor. Though very few families remained to live in solitude; Furbolgs, Murlocs and Owlbeasts were the only creatures that formed tribes that had a significant presence. That changed, when one of the most ancient sapient races arrived to Azeroth from the Great Dark Beyond. Crashing, their dimensional ship became their capital city. Exodar is the name of this ship, once part of a greater structure known as the Tempest Keep.

With the arrival of such powerful and intelligent race, the Draenei made the Azuremyst Isles their home. Joining the Alliance, they have used their knowledge of the Burning Legion to the advantage of their allies and for the safety and survival of the entire universe. Devoted followers of the Light, like shining almost immortal knights that have lived for thousands of years; their technology and unmatched knowledge of all things magical has left a message to all of those that stand in their way and the way of their Prophet: They are part of the Army of the Light.

The Draenei are survivors that have gained the favor of the Naaru, escaping the grasp of the demonic Burning Legion time and time again. Unlike the other Eredar, they have avoided the temptations and whispers from Sargeras and his minions.

 

This is the story of the Draenei, that now reside in the Azuremyst Isle. In an alien world, they have adjusted to their new environment. It hasn’t been the first time they had to travel to unknown lands. It has been more than six years since they came to Azeroth.

Isratael is one of the few Draenei that have made this far. An Arcanist mage, specialized Enchanter, who has recently taken interest in Jewelcrafting. A pilgrim, who has decided to finally broaden her horizon and learn more about this new planet and their inhabitants.

Before her pilgrimage, two years ago, she wrote a long letter addressed to her family. Placing it on her table, on one of the few settlements near Azure Watch that was specifically built to make home for the refugees of the Cataclysm. She had a cottage of her own, next to her brother’s.

Her father used to visit her once a week and she expected him to be the first one to read. This is the letter that she wrote…

 

 

A letter of a pilgrim

 

Father,

I am writing this letter to you and to our beloved ones. I am sure that you must be filled with hope now that I have finally decided to leave this cottage. However, there is no point in asking those around you about my whereabouts. I left early, before those feathered critters of this land could wake up a few of the humans that have made these islands as their new home as well. I’m sure that my dear brother Ytaaru will not even notice that I’ve left..

 

Thank you, father. For visiting me as much as you did! I am sure your heart still hasn’t recovered from the lost. Which is why you, more than anyone from our family, understand the pain of losing our “other half”. I.. didn’t want to face this new world, I didn’t want to embark on a new war. I’ve avoided it, missing the warmth of my husband’s embrace. His blood was warm and filled with hope! He made me feel loved, safe and ready to aid our armies. Without him, I felt as if the Light had abandoned me as well..

You have grown stronger since the day that we’ve lost mother in Gorgrond. I still cannot look at the Rangari without thinking of her! I am sure that you too; even more than I, since I have seen the way that you clench your fist subtly and briefly when you see one of them. But you always have been stubborn, I know since I am too. You decided to still serve them, to craft and repair their weapons and armor!

This, however, is the difference between you and I. You are not only stubborn, but you can look at a clefthoof in the eyes and face it head on, even if your tears are rolling from the pain within. I am not like that, and you know it too. I am stubborn, but I hide. Which is why Ytaaru has given up on me..

 

Ytaaru has always been special, hasn’t he? He probably never enjoyed the fact that you have spent more time with me than himself. He has been spoiled by his peers, a powerful vindicator. The Light is strong in him, his faith unbreakable. He has always been more stubborn than the both of us and he probably thinks that our tears are distracting him from his devotion. Maybe.. that is why sometimes I feel as if the Light as forsaken me. Maybe I look at him as if he’s a Naaru and I was the demon that carries the shards of the past.

He tried to aid me, I know of that. He gave me this human cottage, next to his, to force me away from Exodar and from the memories of the past. The opportunity to aid our new allies who have suffered too, who have also lost their loved ones from the claws of the one that they used to call The Destroyer. Though this dragon has been defeated, the scars are still burning in the flesh of these people.

I appreciate his attempt.. I have learned more about this world by speaking to these humans. But it did not healed me from the wound in my frail heart, Ytaaru knows that and, for that reason, has given up on me.

However, you have not. Once a week, you visit me all the way from Exodar. I have seen that they have rebuilt most of it..

 

I too need to be rebuilt anew. And you, father, have always been wise! While my brother wanted me to know I wasn’t the only one suffering the lost of a beloved and to have more faith in the Light, you wanted to grasp the shards of my past and shape my fragments into a beautiful enchanted crystal. I’m not that naive, I’ve noticed your intentions when you decided to offer me a Jeweler’s Kit. As if a hobby was going to distract me away from my thoughts.

No, father. What has given me hope was not the kit, or the refugees. It was your determination, your good intentions driven by the love you have for your children. Witnessing Exodar being rebuilt, it made me feel that it is time for me to live my life once again. That there is still time to learn, to dream and to meet new people!

 

I have decided to go on a pilgrimage. To take this Jeweler’s Kit, the one you offered me. To perfect this new skill. To form new memories, a new hope. I have heard that the races of this world are survivors as well, that they have suffered from too many wars! I want to meet them, regardless of the colors that they wear. I am sure that you understand.

Worry not, father, I have left you an enchanted aquamarine crystal bellow my pillow. Take it, it is connected to the staff that I have made together with you on your forge! Hold it firmly, press the edges gently with your thumb and pinky. A rune will be revealed and you’ll have to touch it quickly before it vanishes. Once you do, it will be bound to you. Use it whenever you feel the need to talk to me.

This is not a farewell. I will never abandon my family.. you are not alone! Whatever happens, know that you are loved, the same way that I know that you’ll always love your children.

 

Signed,

Isratael

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[English and Portuguese] HEY! Watchtower!

(I know this featured image is kinda of a mess but I really enjoyed creating it regardless!) 

(Para quem não sabe ler Inglês, a versão em Português encontra-se no final.)

 

ENGLISH

 

 

Hello everyone. Another African heat wave for this weekend, hope you are taking care of yourselves by staying fresh!

Speaking of heat, today’s topic is no other than our beloved cult, the Jehovah Witnesses! Let’s get started right away because my fingers are eager to release what’s going on in my mind and how naughty and cruel some Jehovah Witnesses have been. In short, it’s time to expose and express!

 

As some of my readers are well aware, I have been officially “disfellowshipped” for nearly a year and a half. If you are unaware of what that exactly means, I have wrote a few blog posts about it. This is not the blog post to define and reinforce expressions and aspects of my experience with this cult that I have already done so on other posts! If you somehow get confused and you don’t seem to understand what I’m going to write here.. it’s easy. Go read those other blog posts.

 

As people are also aware, despise being “disfellowshipped”, I am still allowed to live with my parents. The elders in my parents’ new congregation are aware of that and they don’t advise or pressure them to abandon me. In fact, quite the opposite! The reason is obvious. I lack the necessary income to live on my own and I’m doing my transition.. so I can’t be on my own and need to live with someone in the meantime. Plus, my parents love me too much to just.. abandon me.

Obviously, I am very grateful that they have moved to another congregation which, fortunately, have elders who are more kind and merciful. They did the right thing when they changed congregations after I was “disfellowshipped”, since the local congregation on which I and my family belonged.. is quite toxic (even for Jehovah Witnesses’ standards). That also includes most of the congregations that reunite in the same kingdom hall; who share the same petty, gossiper and judgmental mentality. In this new congregation, however, they now go to another kingdom hall entirely. And from what I’ve heard, the Jehovah Witnesses there are much nicer people. I’m quite glad and pleased to know that, I hope my parents are happier there (and from what I can tell, they are)!

 

However, there has been something that has been annoying me of late. Annoying me? Perhaps it’s best to say that I don’t remember being this annoyed over someone or some group since my teenage years and the usual school dramas! It could be because of my current “pseudo puberty”, I won’t exclude that explanation as to why there’s a certain need to expose and do something about this injustice.

 

To better explain what’s causing this anger within, it’s best to keep in mind as to what being “disfellowshipped” actually means and translates to my daily life. It means that Jehovah Witnesses can’t talk to me, that I lost every contact with them. All my friends, that are Jehovah Witnesses, are gone from my life; without a proper farewell.

Just that by itself, knowing that their reasoning for “disfellowshipping” me is quite pathetic and incredibly ignorant (I got “disfellowshipped” because I decided to transition.. basically), should be enough to make most people’s hearts turn sour and bitter. Fortunately, given that I still have my family, I got fairly used to the idea that most of those people no longer talk to me. Like I’ve said on another topic, the only people that I dearly miss from this cult.. are that one family I met in the United States. Besides that, I really don’t care that much. It’s their lost, not mine.

Some people might think this approach is quite cold and that I don’t really attach myself to every person in my life that easily. That some people are easily forgotten, that will never be missed.. even though they have been in my life for a long time. I honestly don’t attach myself to every person in my life, nor do I get bitter enough to the point of hating those who do me wrong. Hate is a strong word that I try to avoid and, even when I use it sometimes (as I did once on this blog not so long ago), it’s mostly me venting a frustration and a way to inform people that they have done (or are doing) something terrible and utterly despicable.

I don’t have time to hate people. I blandly ignore their existence (if I can) and move on with my life. So, in a way, the fact that Jehovah Witnesses are supposed to ignore my existence is, by itself, not wrong in my eyes. What is wrong is the excuse as to why they are doing so and demanding that every member of the cult to do so as well.

But, like I said, I got used to it. As long people don’t remind me of those that I really miss, I lead a “mostly normal” life and don’t think about these things at all! Why bother? I have more things to think about. My family, my (true) friends, my job, my transition, my hobbies, my future, etc..

 

 

But now I’m actually angry. I’m mad. And I’ll explain why.

It has come to my attention that these local Jehovah Witnesses, from the same kingdom hall where the local congregations reunite (as in, not my parents’ new congregation and kingdom hall), have been, bluntly put, talking shit about me and my family.

Alright, so let me get this straight:

  • You “disfellowship” me. 
  • You can’t talk to me, I can’t talk to you. Harsh but alright, if that makes you happy.. sure.
  • If I say anything “bad” or that goes against your believes, I’m an apostate. Okay.. sure.
  • But you are free to gossip and slander me and my family’s name across the globe.

Okay, now you are just pushing your luck and the boundaries of what I find acceptable or, at least, bearable!

Listen here, you cultists. I am fairly aware that you are, indeed, slandering me across the globe. I know that as a fact since people from (quite almost literally, no joke or exageration) on the other side of the world, have came to me out of nowhere, to talk to me and, among other things that we’ve talked about, they have said that they have heard things about me.. from YOU. Bad things, though they didn’t went to specifics as to what exactly or who said it.. except “the local Jehovah Witnesses“. Fortunately, these people were kind enough to warn me about it and they did say they didn’t enjoyed hearing my name being slandered like that.. which is why they’ve talked to me. How ironic, that these Jehovah Witnesses, from the other side of the globe, came to talk to me about how terrible you troublesome fools are!

I ask, is there a need to spread your poison, about me in specific, to another continent?! These people would never likely interact with me ever again anyway, given how unlikely that would be (they live on another continent, they are Jehovah Witnesses, I’m “disfellowshipped”. The odds were incredibly low). Why did they need to be tainted by your venom? Tell me, you cultists, is there a need to slander me this hard all the way to another continent with an entire opposite timezone?

 

You know why you are incredibly comfortable being this shitty? Because you believe to be justified, self righteous. That being this petty and scummy is fine when you do it, because “god is on your side”. And because you know the moment I decide to open my mouth publicly about your cult.. you are going to label me as an apostate and those slanders will become more believable to the gullible!

And you KNOW I can’t really do that at the moment, because if I do open my mouth, my family is going to be pressured by the elders to.. abandon me. Since I would be labeled as an “apostate”. And that would ruin my livelihood. You manipulative assholes!

 

By the way, what’s with this gossiping that I’ve heard about you telling each others that my family is now “less spiritual” or “spiritually weak” because they have me around the house?

Let me tell you something, my lovely local cultists. Even for Jehovah Witnesses standards, you were always terrible. Which is why, even when I was devoted to your cult, I never liked spending time with you. It’s not because I was different, or because I was spiritually weak or whatever silly thought you may have in your indoctrinated brain. It was because you (local cultists) were the most toxic pieces of flesh I have ever had the misfortune of dealing with! And I have dealt with a lot of trash in my life, including schizophrenic radical vegan feminist sociopaths!

Fortunately, my parents are mature and know better, thus ignore those slanders. They turn the other cheek. Because they are good Jehovah Witnesses. So yes, by the use of your own meaningless buzzwords and immaturity, my parents are and will always be “more spiritual” than you, local cultists. Take that as you will and get mad for all I care, because reality doesn’t care for your feelings. Also, fortunately, they are in a new congregation that appears to be “more spiritual” than yours. So what are you going to do? Spread your venom there? I would love to see you try, you cretins.

 

 

Hmm.. but you know what? You actually got me truly disturbed and upset!

No.. you crossed the line of what’s acceptable. And you crossed the line of what is tolerable. And you crossed the line of what is bearable!

You have become.. insufferable. And not many people get this.. far.

Like I’ve said earlier, I usually just ignore people’s existence when they hurt me long enough. That usually helps and makes those same people go away from my life eventually. Because they either give up or they understand that I don’t want them in my life and also step back.

But you, you are different. I thought that, when you “disfellowshipped” me, there would be silence. I no longer had to think about your existence, or to endure your negativity. To tolerate your tomfoolery. You were mostly gone and that made things easy for me to move on.

 

You just can’t get away from me, can you? You have to still influence my life one way or another, the people around me. And that’s why you’ll become relevant enough to the point that I’m thinking of biting back! Because I cannot stay idle for too long. It is incredibly difficult for people to actually get me this upset, disturbed and angry over something or someone! And.. what can I say? You reached it. You’ve done it. And I’m going to do something about it!

Do you actually believe writing these blog posts is the worst I can do? No, these blog posts provide entertainment, a way to vent my frustrations and to share my thoughts with the world. In short, this website is my public pillow. I have no shame in that, in sharing what I share. It’s incredibly liberating, in fact! It’s a diary, it’s fun to look back and read some of the things I wrote!

 

 

Oh no, dear cultists.. once I’m ready to do so, you’ll hear it from me. It may take a while.. but you’ll hear it and you are not going to like it.

I’ll wait a few months, wait for my life to become more stable. Plan ahead, cool down my anger and try to rationalize and form coherent thoughts and ideas. I don’t think this is the best time of my life to go around and expose your cult for what it truly is. But once everything is settled, I will do so.

And while you wait, make sure you clean your own house from the pedophiles you have hiding in your basement before you try to slander people whose only crime was existing and have the misfortune of having a disforia. It’s incredibly hypocritical and embarrassing..

 

 

 

PORTUGUÊS

 

Olá a todos. Outra onda de calor vinda de África para este fim de semana, espero que estejam a cuidar de vocês mesmos por se manterem frescos!

Por falar de coisas quentes, o tópico de hoje não será nada mais e nada menos que o nosso culto favorito, as Testemunhas de Jeová! Sem muitas mais introduções, iremos começar já por falar desse tópico visto que os meus dedos estão empolgados por descrever o que está a acontecer na minha mente e como algumas Testemunhas de Jeová tem sido mázinhas e cruéis. Por poucas palavras, está na altura de expor e expressar alguns problemas!

 

Como alguns dos meus followers estão bem conscientes, e fui oficialmente “desassociada” já faz quase um ano e meio. Se não souberem o que isso significa, Eu escrevi alguns blog posts que falam acerca disso. Este não é um blog post onde irei definir ou reforçar expressões e aspectos da minha experiência de vida com este culto pelo qual já o fiz noutros posts! Se ficarem confusos e não tiverem capacidade para entender o que irei descrever aqui.. é fácil. Apenas têm de ler os outros blog posts.

 

Como as pessoas também devem de saber, apesar da minha “desassociação”, eu ainda tenho permissão de viver na casa dos meus pais. Os anciãos da nova congregação dos meus pais estão bem conscientes disso e não aconselham ou pressionam eles para me abandonarem. Pelo contrário! A razão é óbvia. Eu não ganho o suficiente para viver por minha conta de forma independente e estou num processo de transição.. portanto não posso mesmo estar por minha conta e dependo de outros para viver a minha vida por enquanto. Ainda mais, os meus pais amam-me muito e nunca me iriam.. abandonar-me sem mais nem menos.

Obviamente, estou muito grata de que eles mudaram de congregação que, felizmente, tem anciãos que são muito mais amorosos e sensatos. Eles fizerem bem quando decidiram mudar de congregação logo após a minha “desassociação”, visto que a congregação local onde eu e a minha família pertencíamos.. é bastante tóxica (mesmo dentro dos padrões e expectativas das Testemunhas de Jeová). Isso também incluí muitas das congregações que se reúnem no mesmo salão do reino; que partilham o mesmo comportamento mesquinho, fofoquice e julgamenteiros. Nesta nova congregação, por outro lado, eles estão num novo salão de reino. E pelo o que eu ouvi, as Testemunhas de Jeová lá são muito mais simpáticas. Estou feliz e grata por saber disso, e espero que os meus pais sejam muito felizes lá (e pelo o que posso presenciar, eu sei que estão)!

 

No entanto, existe algo que me tem deixado indignada ultimamente. Indignada? Se calhar é melhor expressar de que eu não me lembro de alguma vez estar assim tão chateada com alguém ou grupo desde a minha adolescência e a vida escolar! Pode ser devido à minha “puberdade forçada”, não vou excluir essa hipótese de ser a razão desta vontade de expor e de querer fazer algo perante esta injustiça.

 

Para explicar melhor o que está a causar esta fúria, é melhor ter em mente o que significa estar “desassociada” e como isso se traduz na minha vida diária. Significa que as Testemunhas de Jeová não podem falar comigo, que perdi todo o contacto com elas. Todas as minhas amizades, que são Testemunhas de Jeová, já não fazem parte da minha vida; sem tempo nem mesmo para despedir deles.

Só isso por si, sabendo que o raciocínio por detrás da minha “desassociação” é bastante patético e ignorante (eu fui “desassociada” devido à minha transição.. basicamente), seria o suficiente para fazer os corações de algumas pessoas ficar amargo e desgostoso. Felizmente, visto ainda ter a minha família por perto, eu fiquei habituada a essa realidade. Como disse noutro tópico, as únicas pessoas que eu sinto mesmo falta que pertencem a este culto.. é aquela família que conheci nos Estados Unidos. Para além disso, eu não estou assim tão transtornada. Eles é que ficaram a perder, não eu.

Algumas pessoas poderão pensar que esta forma de estar na vida é bastante fria e que eu não me apego às pessoas com tanta facilidade. De que algumas pessoas são fáceis de esquecer, que nunca sentirei falta delas.. mesmo apesar de estarem na minha vida durante muito tempo. Eu sinceramente não me apego a todas as pessoas na minha vida, nem fico com rancor suficiente ao ponto de as odiar quando fazem algo de mal. O ódio é algo forte que eu tento sempre evitar e, mesmo quando uso essa palavra por vezes (como o fiz num post não muito longínquo), é mais uma forma de transbordar a minha frustração e uma forma de informar as pessoas de que elas fizeram (ou continuam a fazer) algo muito terrível ou completamente horrendo.

Eu não tenho tempo nem paciência para odiar de verdade alguma pessoa. Eu apenas ignoro a existência delas (quanto possível) e sigo em frente com a minha vida. Por isso, de certa forma, o facto das Testemunhas de Jeová terem que ignorar a minha existência não é, por si mesmo, mau no meu ponto de vista. O que é mau é a razão de estarem a fazer isso e esperarem que toda a gente do culto faço exactamente o mesmo.

Mas, como disse, eu habituei-me a essa realidade. Desde que as pessoas não me façam relembrar daquilo que sinto mesmo falta, eu consigo ter uma vida “dentro da normalidade” e nem penso muito nessas coisas! Porque razão iria eu? Tenho mais coisas que pensar e preocupar. Na minha família, nas minhas (verdadeiras) amizades, o meu trabalho, os meus passatempos, o meu futuro, etc..

 

 

Mas agora estou mesmo zangada. Estou furiosa. E irei explicar porquê.

Chegou à minha atenção de que estas Testemunhas de Jeová locais, do mesmo salão do reino onde a congregação local se reúne (por outras palavras, não na nova congregação e salão do reino onde os meus pais agora pertencem), estão, de forma directa e rude, a dizer merda acerca de mim e da minha família.

Portanto, a ver se eu percebi bem:

  • Vocês “desassociaram-me”. 
  • Vocês não podem falar comigo, eu não posso falar com vocês. Doloroso mas tudo bem, se vos faz sentir felizes.. continuem.
  • Se eu abrir a boca e falar “mal” ou dizer algo que vai contra as vossas crenças, sou apóstata. Okay.. interessante.
  • Mas vocês estão livres de criar fofoquices e de caluniar a mim e ao nome da minha família pelos cantos do mundo.

Okay, agora sim estão a abusar com a vossa sorte e os limites daquilo que eu acho aceitável ou pelo menos, suportável!

Oiçam-me bem, seus cultistas. Eu tenho consciência plena que vocês, sem dúvida, estão a caluniar-me nos cantinhos do mundo. Eu sei disso como facto absoluto porque houve pessoas que (quase literalmente de forma plena, sem exageros) vivem no outro lado do mundo, que falaram comigo do nada e, das várias coisas que falámos, eles expressaram que ouviram coisas com respeito a mim.. de VOCÊS. Coisas ruins, apesar de não me terem dito o quê e quem em específico.. excepto “as Testemunhas de Jeová na localidade”. Felizmente, estas pessoas foram simpáticas o suficiente para me avisar com respeito a isso e disseram que não gostaram nada das calúnias que foram ditas contra mim.. sendo uma das razões pelo qual falaram comigo. Que irónico, que estas Testemunhas de Jeová, do outro lado do mundo, vieram falar comigo acerca do quão horríveis e problemáticos vocês, como tolos, são!

Eu pergunto, existe mesmo necessidade de espalharem o vosso veneno, acerca de mim em específico, a um outro continente?! Estas pessoas nunca iriam interagir comigo de qualquer forma, seria muito improvável isso acontecer (eles vivem num outro continente, são Testemunhas de Jeová, estou “desassociada”. A probabilidade era minúscula). Porque razão eles precisavam ficar envenenados com o vosso veneno? Digam-me, seus cultistas de meia-leca, existe alguma necessidade de caluniar-me desta forma tão agressiva para o outro lado do mundo com um horário quase oposto ao nosso?

 

Sabem porque razão vocês sentem-se tão confortáveis apesar de serem tão repugnantes? Porque vocês acreditam que o vosso comportamento é justificável, seus hipócritas. Que serem tão mesquinhos e reles faz sentido quando são vocês a sê-lo, porque “deus está no vosso lado”. E porque sabem que, no momento que eu decidir abrir a minha boca e informar o público com respeito ao vosso culto.. vocês vão me acusar de ser apóstata e as vossas calúnias vão ser mais fáceis de serem engolidas pelos incrédulos!

E vocês SABEM que eu não posso fazer isso neste momento, porque se eu abrir a minha boca, a minha família vai ser pressionada pelos anciãos para.. me abandonarem. Porque seria acusada de “apóstata”. E isso iria arruinar a minha vida. Seus manipuladores de merda!

 

Já agora, o que é isto de estarem a dizer entre vocês de que a minha família agora é “menos espiritual” ou “fraca espiritualmente” só porque estou na casa deles?

Deixem que eu vos diga uma coisa, meus queridos cultistas locais. Mesmo dentro dos padrões de moral das Testemunhas de Jeová, vocês foram sempre terríveis. Essa é a razão porque, mesmo quando acreditava e estava zelosa no culto, eu nunca gostei de estar com vocês. Não porque era diferente, ou porque era espiritualmente fraca ou seja lá qual a razão estúpida que vocês poderão estar a pensar dentro da vossa mente doutrinada. Era porque vocês (cultistas locais) foram os pedaços de carne mais tóxicos que alguma vez tive a infelicidade de conviver! E eu já lidei com muito lixo humano na minha vida, incluindo vegans feministas radicais esquizofrênicos sóciopatas!

Felizmente, os meus pais são maturos e melhores pessoas, logo são capazes de ignorar essas calúnias. Eles viram a face a esses comportamentos. Porque são boas Testemunhas de Jeová. Portanto sim, utilizando as mesmas palavras imaturas e insignificantes que vocês mesmos usam, os meus pais são e continuarão a ser sempre “mais espirituais” que vocês, cultistas locais. Podem encarar essas palavras da forma como quiserem e ficarem zangados comigo, não me interessa. A realidade não se interessa pelos vossos sentimentos. E, felizmente, os meus pais estão numa nova congregação que aparenta ser “mais espiritual” que a vossa. O que vão fazer perante isso? Tentar espalhar o vosso veneno para lá? Gostaria de ver vocês a tentarem, seus cretinos.

 

 

Hmm.. mas sabem que mais? Vocês verdadeiramente me chatearam agora!

Não.. vocês ultrapassaram a linha do que é aceitável. Do que é tolerável. Do que é suportável!

Vocês se tornaram.. insuportáveis. E muitas pessoas não conseguem chegar a esse.. ponto.

Como disse antes, eu normalmente apenas ignoro a existência das pessoas que me maltratam durante algum tempo. Isso costuma ajudar e faz com que essas mesmas pessoas depois sigam em frente e continuem com as suas vidas longe da minha. Porque eles desistem ou compreendem que eu não as quero na minha vida e por isso também acabam por se manterem longe.

Mas vocês, vocês são diferentes. Eu pensei que, quando fosse “desassociada”, existiria silêncio. Nunca mais teria que pensar em vocês, de suportar a vossa negatividade. De tolerar as vossas criancices. Vocês estiveram bem longe e isso fez com que as coisas fossem mais fáceis para mim seguir em frente.

 

Vocês não conseguem seguir em frente sem mim, pois não? Vocês ainda conseguem influenciar a minha vida de uma maneira ou de outra, as pessoas à minha volta. E é por isso que vocês estão a se tornar relevantes o suficiente para fazerem-me pensar que vos tenho de pagar algo de volta! Porque não posso ignorar estas questões por muito tempo. É incrivelmente difícil as pessoas fazerem-me sentir tão zangada, transtornada e chateada contra uma pessoa ou algo! Mas.. o que mais posso dizer? Vocês chegaram a esse ponto. Vocês causaram isto. E eu vou fazer algo com respeito a isso!

Vocês acreditam mesmo que escrever estes posts de blog é o pior que posso fazer? Não, estes blog posts providenciam entretenimento, uma forma de fluir as frustrações que sinto e de partilhar algumas ideas com o mundo. Em poucas palavras, este site é a minha almofada pública. Eu não tenho vergonha disso, de partilhar o que partilho. É incrivelmente libertador! É um diário, é divertido olhar para trás e ler algumas coisas que escrevi antes!

 

 

Oh não, meus queridos cultistas.. assim que estiver pronta para tal, vocês vão ouvir de mim. Poderá demorar algum tempo.. mas vocês irão ouvir-me e não irão gostar do que irei dizer.

Irei esperar alguns meses, esperar que a minha vida se torne mais estável. Planear bem, ficar mais calma e tentar racionalizar e formar ideas e pensamentos mais coerentes. Eu não acho que esta seja a melhor altura da minha vida para expor ao mundo acerca do que o vosso culto realmente é. Mas assim que a minha vida ficar estável, eu irei fazer isso.

E enquanto esperam, por favor tenham a certeza de que limparam bem a vossa casa de todos os pedófilos que têm escondido dentro das vossas caves antes de tentarem caluniar as pessoas pelo qual o único crime que cometeram foi de meramente existirem e de terem uma disforia. É incrivelmente hipócrita e embaraçoso..

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