The Transgender Dictionary originated as a read-only channel on a now-deleted discord server of my own creation. I kept coming across words with meanings that I wanted to keep track of, as well as useful YouTube videos that I didn't want to lose. This alphabetized list started getting pretty detailed as more and more members of the discord server suggested more and more terms.
I tried getting more and more people to join the server to check out this list. These attempts were largely unsuccessful, and it was brought to my attention that having this information locked in a discord server made the information inaccessible to others.
After some contemplation, I made a new version of this "dictionary" that consisted of numerous Google Docs all linked to one another. I was told by someone on Discord that it was bad to force people to use Google Docs to access information. This got me thinking some more.
Using the website builder known as "carrd" I made a new version of The Transgender Dictionary. The problem with carrd is that there is a limit to the number of available assets for a website, even with premium, and I got pretty sick of paying for premium. After that, I remembered that I knew how to do basic coding in HTML, and decided to make a neocities website https://pensarecool.neocities.org/thetransgenderdictionary/homepage.
Then, I realized that it would probably be a good idea to make the website have a custom URL. You can support the current version of this website via patreon. Thank you.
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This page contains miscellaneous information about The Transgender Dictionary and its creator (James). This information comes in the form of various lists, anecdotes, and occasional images.
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This is a list of reasons why I decided to make this website. These list of reasons are not in any particular order, but are numbered to keep track of the total number of reasons. This list will be updated over time, much as will be the rest of this website. Edits can be seen on internet archive.
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Image Description: An adult normal morph ball python is curled around a transgender man sitting cross-legged on a carpeted floor. The snake is black and brown with a white underbelly, and is looking at the camera. A 40gallon tank can be seen in the background. Please note that Motorbike has a different enclosure that is larger.
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Image Description: A sub-adult hypo/ghost morph ball python taking a sip of water out of a 3D printed red water dish. The snake is grey with yellow patterns. In front of him, there is some live moss. Behind him, his body emerges from a grey hide, and there is a cork bark round in the background.
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Sometimes, I share my own personal experiences throughout this website. Here they are all linked.
In October of 2024 (around 2 months postpartum), I had the Mirena IUD placed while under general anesthesia. The Mirena was presented to me as the best possible birth control. The doctor who suggested it stated that she recommends this IUD for all of her transmasculine patients. I was given oxycodone to manage the pain. The oxycodone did not reduce the pain of the IUD. Not even slightly. The pain from the IUD started from the moment I woke up from the anesthesia, and did not stop until I had the IUD removed 2 weeks later. Allegedly, the majority of people who get an IUD forget that it is there. I have no idea how it is possible to "forget" that a small plastic rod is constantly poking and digging into your insides and shifting around with every step that you take, and any time you have anything pressed against your abdomen, but many women claim that they are unable to feel this. Personally, I trust the receptionist at the OBGYN who told me that most people have those things removed after a week. Genuinely, it is a miracle that I even lasted 2 weeks.
Click to jump to [v] page [vulva] section [mirena]
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When I was 17 years old, I attended a community college for one semester. At the time I attended this college (the location of which I will not be naming), I was living in off-campus student housing nearby. At this small one bedroom apartment, my only roommate was my normal morph ball python named Motorbike ("Mike" for short).
Awkward and autistic, I was trying to make friends. The strategy that I decided on at the time was to try and invite potential friends over to my apartment on Tuesdays to see me feed Mike (or maybe it was Thursdays. I can't remember. I still have the snake, but he eats less frequently now that he's bigger). It was not the best strategy to try and make friends, but I was awkward and autistic (still am) and I figured that finding someone else who was interested in snakes might be a good idea for new friendship.
I was also openly transgender. I would openly answer questions about being transgender. A the time, I was using testosterone patches, a method of GAHT that had to be replaced weekly. I replaced the patches on the same day that I fed Mike, as it was easier for me to remember to do these two weekly tasks on the same day.
Both before and after I had my first visitor, I'd been noticing an increase of deliberate avoidance. Everyone would step around me in between classes. I would have elevators to myself. Other people would run off if I was nearby. I would be ignored or barely tolerated. There was an increasing disgust towards me that I could not figure out the source of.
I did end up having visitors. Not many, and I won't go into overwhelming detail, but there were a few who did, in fact, come over to see me feed thawed rats to my serpentine companion. It confused me as to why I could hear people outside the window of my apartment, and why it seemed like there were people waiting outside and maybe trying to look in, but I did meet people that I briefly considered friends.
The judgmental stares and whispers on campus only increased. I started to face physical violence, sexual violence, and outrage. I couldn't figure out why, but it seemed like a lot of people were very upset with me. I started getting kicked out of spaces. Denied food in the cafeteria depending on who was working. I was being treated like dirt but couldn't fathom why. I was told that I deserved to be treated the way that I was being treated. I was told that I should've known what it was that I'd done.
The off-campus student housing that I was living in was mildly infested with cockroaches (I was told that it was more severe on the second floor. I lived on the ground floor where I only saw them on occasion). When the apartments started to be treated for these roaches, I was, of course, concerned for the well-being of my snake.
I covered the tank with a wet towel, and brought the snake with me onto campus in a cloth bag to keep him safe and warm. As I already mentioned, he is still alive and well. I'd like to also add that I no longer live somewhere that is infested. When I brought the snake to campus, I was encouraged to take him out of the bag and show him around. I was hesitant to do so, as I didn't want to stress him out, but once I did take Mike out of the bag, he remained calm and friendly.
The reaction to Mike was mixed. Some thought that he was cool. A few people screamed in startled fear upon seeing the small python. The primary reaction, however, was not what I had ever expected. Apparently, there had been a rumor that spread across the entire campus that I was a pervert who was trying to lure people to my apartment and rape them. Apparently, there was the assumption that "python" was somehow a metaphor for my genitalia. There were even rumors that I had raped the few women brave enough to come to my apartment.
When the rumor was finally explained to me, I cried right there on the spot. At the very least, stories of the real live ball python on campus gradually (quickly, in the case of those who laid eyes on him) corrected the previous assumptions. I don't know whether or not snakes were allowed on campus, but there was guilt in the eyes of students and instructors alike. I cannot even count how many times I heard the phrase "OH MY GOD YOU ACTUALLY HAVE A PET SNAKE?!?!?!?!?!" or variations thereupon. There were apologies from people I'd never even met. Random people even offered me money or to buy me food.
Apparently, the few women who had come over to my apartment had only done so with other people on standby outside. They were waiting to beat me up once I "made a move," and were ready to run in the moment they received some kind of confirmation that I was a sexual predator. Unfortunately, even after confirming that I really had a pet snake, they were unable correct the rumors in time to avoid others from going after me. The truth - that I literally had a pet snake - did not spread until after I finally brought him to campus.
I don't think that this would have ever occured had I not been an autistic transgender man. As of me writing and recalling this story, I am 21 years old. I did not return to campus after that single semester. I do not think that I would ever be able to return to any college campus, and do not have the patience for virtual learning.
Note - I did not go into detail about the violence that I suffered during this time. You do not need to know about it. That's none of your motherfucking business. To any of you assholes that may or may not be reading this, there is a link for financial donations below. If you want a prize for feeling sorry, there's an option to buy something off of etsy. Just click through to the store if you want more options.
Edit - I just remembered that during this period of time (the time the story took place), I had a mullet that I dyed pink. (The original color was not supposed to be pink on the box, but it came out pink on my hair for some reason.) Right after I dyed it, I went on campus (there was an advertisement for a 'game club' or something (I forgot what it was exactly, but it was advertised as a way to play random group games on campus like CAH (as in, the card game Cards Against Humanity - not Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia), or charades. Would usually involve someone buying everyone Chinese takeout. Anyways, the first time I went there, everyone was playing a roleplay game called "mafia" and at some point I was described as "the person with pink hair". That is how I found out that that brand of hair dye sucks. I do not remember the brand of hair dye.
Click to jump to the [predatorization] section of the [transandrophobia] page.
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The game "mafia" does not require anything other than a group of people to play. You need one person to be "the storyteller" (choose whoever has the best imagination). You need at least one person to be the "good guy" or "fairy" or "demon slayer" (or something else, depending on how good of a storyteller you have). You need at least one "bad guy" or "demon" or simply "the evil dudes".
Everyone involved in the game should be sitting or standing in a circle (whatever is easier, which will depend on location) with the "storyteller" at the center (or on the outside if that is better).
This game has several phases, as directed by "the storyteller". The first phase is universally known as "The night, when all the villagers/townspeople are sleeping...". During this phase, everyone must either bow their heads, or cover their eyes in some capacity. During "the first night", "the storyteller" will go around and pick whatever player will be the "good guy" and whatever player will be the "bad guy". Note that while it is advised to increase the number of "bad guys" according to group size, increasing the number of "good guys" is not.
The identities of the "good guys" and the "bad guys" cannot be revealed. Only the "good guys" know who they are. Only "the bad guys" know who they are. Only "the storyteller" knows everyone's true identity.
During each night phase, the "bad guys" select one (or more, depending on how much time you have to play this game, vs how many people there are) person who they want to "kill" (aka, eliminate from the game) during the night. The "good guy" can select one person that they want to save.
Once the respective targets have been determined, "the storyteller" will direct all of the players to open their eyes. They will then tell a dramatic story involving all of the targets involves, traditionally how one had a pleasant night, while the other "wandered into the woods or something and tripped into a vat of lava". Note that the stories do not all have to make perfect sense, and do not all have to follow the same theme or narrative. If the "good guy" and "the bad guy" both pick the same target, the story should involve narrowly avoiding some king of mortal peril. If you are somehow boring about it, you are required to provide catering to the gathering (preferably cupcakes or chinese food). Otherwise, you will be forced to be more creative about your story via constructive criticism.
Whoever "died" over the course of "the night" has the option of either walking away from the circle of people, or being dragged off dramatically (but gently) by "the storyteller" at whatever point it would be most entertaining.
After the story about "the night" is told, everyone has to discuss/debate who they want to vote out. If the "good guy" is voted out, the identity of the "good guy" is revealed, and no one can be saved during the night for the remainder of the game session. If the "bad guy" is voted out, the game ends. If more than one "bad guy" is in the game, the game does not end until there are no "bad guys".
If the "bad guy" survives until the "final night" where there is only one other non-"bad guy" player, then the "bad guy" wins and the villagers lose.
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[W.I.P.]
In the year 2022, I wanted to kill myself. Before I continue with this story, I feel the need to state the obvious - me wanting to commit suicide had absolutely nothing to do with me being transgender. Having access to gender-affirming care did not make me want to die. If anything, access to the masculinizing treatments I desire has been one of the good things about my life, and I would be even more depressed without it.
I spent a lot of the year 2022 wanting to die. I had attempted to seek help via trips to the emergency room. Occasionally I had attempted to commit suicide. Sometimes, I would chicken out due to fear of the pain associated with death. Other times, I had been stopped by my partner at the time.
Side note: that was a terrible relationship, and I only stayed in said relationship for as long as I did because I was so full of self-loathing that I felt like being with that person was a greater form of self-harm than it would have been to actually end my own life. I was being treated very poorly, and was often actively encourage to kill myself prior to being stopped. Shortly before that relationship ended in June of 2023, that partner had gotten me into a really bad car accident that I later learned was apparently a suicide attempt. We both survived the crash. The car (and the relationship) did not.
Did you know that if you go to the emergency room, and explain that you want to kill yourself, the standard response is just "Well, you're asking for help, that means you aren't going to do it. You'll be fine. Just go home." There are some people who have not experienced depression that are naive to think that going to medical professionals and asking for help regarding suicidal ideation result in receiving help. I am long past the point of believing in such fairy tales.
At the end of May 2022, my partner at the time (now ex, obviously) prompted me to voluntarily endure a week in an in-patient mental health facility. At the intake appointment, the people who I was speaking to made it seem as though (based on my evaluation) that I would be having a roommate. The adult unit had 2 types of bedrooms - single rooms for one patient and double rooms for two patients.
Not only was I not put in a room with a roommate, I was put in the room meant for additional monitoring. It was the tinest room in the facility with a window on the door (none of the other bedroom doors had windows, but this one had one with a window on the outside to ensure minimal privacy). The only furniture in this room was a single chair and a bed (even the regular single-bed rooms had a desk, dresser, etc). I had to keep my belongings in a laundry basket on the floor.
The room was freezing, and I was not allowed to have my pajamas at night. I tried asking for my pajamas back nearly every single day, complaining about the cold at night. In response, I had various answers ranging from "safety risk/health risk" to "it would make other patients uncomfortable if you wore them during the day." I attempted to persuade the staff into allowing me to have access to my pajamas at night, but was repeatedly denied.
When I asked why I was put in the room next to the nurse's desk with lights so bright I could barely sleep at night, I was told that it was becuase I had had a mastectomy, and because I was being prescribed androgel. They were worried that I might "do something" to another patient, purely due to being transgender and despite having no history of ever harming anyone.
This was a co-ed unit, with both cisgender men and cisgender women. As far as I am aware, none of the cisgender men - with naturally masculine levels of testosterone and without tits - were treated as though they would attack other patients at any moment. I was also forced to use a separate bathroom/shower - again, one meant for high-risk patients. Considering that the hospital now has several lawsuits regarding staff sexually abusing patients, I think that they need to get their priorities straight regarding what policies would genuinely result in the protection of patients.
It would be an exaggeration to say that I received treatment during my stay. When you are in a place like that, your interactions with actual therapists is severely limited. The majority of the time, you are only interacting with other patients and staff members to make it very clear that they could not care less about what you are doing/saying, so long as you are not actively trying to kill yourself.
The majority of "treatment" seemed to consist of group activities, the content of which would vary wildly. No specific discussions were ever allowed, and it was all kept as vague and unhelpful as possible. One group session consisted of a very bizzare thought experiment game. Click here to jump to a rough outline of the game. It is a weird group game that I have not been able to find more information on, but have been forced to play it on more than one occasion.
There was only 1 time this game was played during my stay at the mental hospital. All the patients were split into two groups to discuss who they thought should be able to survive and go on the spaceship to save humanity. The staff member running the group seemed surprised that no one picked the "16-year-old school girl" but everyone picked the old farmer and the teachers. She then spent way too long talking about how the schoolgirl was at a perfect age for helping with "repopulation."
Not a single patient seemed even remotely comfortable with this topic of discussion. I tried pointing out that there was no reason to assume that the "30 year old teacher" was male, as there was no gender associated with that short description of a person on the list. The one patient who was unfortunately triggered by the staff member proposing the idea of the ideal result of this thought experiment being that of a hypothetical teacher more than twice the age of a hypothetical teenage girl having frequent intercourse for the good of humanity was sedated for asking to leave (politely) and for subsequently crying in her room.
I never experienced forcible sedation during my stay, though I was indirectly threatened with it for complaining too often. The food was terrible, and I can't say that there was anything about the environment that promoted the idea of wanting to be alive.
The facility promised a continuation of treatment in the form of an app called "Aptihealth." It is a joke to consider this app treatment of any kind. After being discharged and forced to use this app, I quickly had to stop taking the medication I had been perscribed as there was no way for it to continue being perscribed to me.
The app was garbage, disorganized, and had no way of easily contacting anyone. There was no sort of customer service, and very minimal user interface. The only thing I was able to do (other than answering a pointless survey of questions) was attend weekly therapy sessions with a randomly assigned therapist (that would change every time).
Whenever I feel as though I no longer want to be alive, I am reminded that I have to avoid mental health facilities, as they do not provide any help and overall do more harm than good.
Edit: I only checked myself in becuase my ex (aka the person I was dating at the time) told me that I had to check myself in or else she would break up with me. The only reason I remained in a relationship with her was due to the self-loathing I was experiencing at the time. Staying with her was primarily an act of self-harm.
Sometimes, I feel as though her existence makes transgender women on a whole look bad. That is why I do not talk about her.
Before someone says something about me, I acknowledge that everything about this woman is very much unique to her and completely unrelated to her gender identity. She did, at some point, accused me of turning her transgender. All I did was ask her what pronouns from a list she would prefer to use, explained what estrogen HRT does, as well as how bras work and she ended up shoplifting women's clothes from Walmart. That's not my fault.
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The general premise of this game is as follows...
A long time in the future (say, 1000 years or whatever) the Earth is no longer habitable, humanity has left Earth, or some variation. There is a need to restart the human race. From a list of people, choose only 10 to put on a space craft to either bring them back to Earth, or some other somewhat habitable planet, etc.
Of the list of people, each person has 2 traits of the following categories; age, profession, health status, gender, or some other miscellanous random trait. (ex. a male model, an old farmer with 1 leg, a 40-something year old teacher).
This is a game played as a group. Everyone in the group has to discuss which of the people on the list that they think would be helpful for whatever reason, and explain. There is also a section regarding what crops/animals would be the most efficient to bring along to survive.
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A word that I was not allowed to say in court.
"Did you have a pregnancy?"
"Yes."
"Did that pregnancy come to term?
"No.
Why was I asked that?
It wan't relevant at all.
I wasn't the one on trial. I was only testifying as a witness.
A witness to a crime that never happened. I know for a fact that it didn't happen.
Those are questions that I was asked by an incompetent lawyer.
A lawyer who should have asked better questions. A lawyer who went soft when she saw that woman pretending to need a wheelchair.
Despite never using one. Never needing one. Never wanting one. Never having touched a wheelchair.
Except for when she was testifying to a crime that didn't happen.
I walked out of that courtroom. The judge told me I could leave for lunch if I wanted. She seemed nice.
I sat down outside of the entrance to the courtroom. Waiting.
I wasn't really sure what to do with myself. I was texting back and forth with people. I was ignoring the conversation that I was about to hear.
I didn't start to tune in until I heard the phrase "What a bunch of baloney!"
Oooh. I've got to know what this is. Did they see a goofy AI video on their phone? Did they hear something funny, see something funny.
"How could somebody who looks like THAT ever be pregnant?"
:O
:/
???????
I didn't say anything.
I looked up at the security camera, hoping that it recorded audio.
I took a photo of the door they disappeared behind on occasion. The one to the room with security monitors.
I should have recorded a video.
Why didn't I record a video?
Ten minutes.
They had a conversation that lasted ten minutes. Ten minutes of conversation.
"No man or woman on any jury would ever buy that."
"Megan's gonna get him on cross for that.
Then there was that one voice. That one voice I recognized. I'd heard it on the body cam footage enough times. That cop. The one who thought that me and my deadname were two separate people. Who snooped through my packers (no one will let me see this particular body cam but if anyone knows how I can get ahold of it, please contact me in some way). Who told me to "go to therapy" when I was begging for a restraining order against the person who had quite literally attempted to murder me via strangulation (with their bare hands) while also screaming "I'm going to fucking kill you" which was ON VIDEO because I had to have SECURITY CAMERAS PUT UP IN THE HOUSE BECAUSE THE BITCH WHO KEPT TRYING TO MURDER ME WOULD GO FROM "YOU'RE A STUPID LITTLE PATHETIC FUCKING DYKE BITCH WHO WILL NEVER BE A REAL FAGGOT, I NEED TO END YOUR LIFE" TO "please help officer i live my life in fear of this big scary man."
I was marked down as the "primary aggressor" for having a miscarriage in response to a murder attempt.
I didn't even fight back, hoping that the security cameras would help.
All I asked them to do was to please stop. I asked them to stop. That's it. I didn't touch them.
"Second Degree Harassment"
Had to wait until she was trying to get herself evicted to be rid of them.
I'm so sick of roommates.
Barely two months later, they stabbed their girlfriend while high on cocaine because they "wanted to know what it felt like to stab someone."
Allegedly.
At least she got a restraining order. I didn't. That time? With the stabbery. A week in jail.
You don't have to see the inside of a cell if you try to murder me. Apparently.
My life doesn't matter very much.
The woman who faked needing a wheelchair had told that person that I was pregnant, barely a day before the attack.
It was deliberate.
I could tell while I was being attacked.
That that person knew I was pregnant.
I could tell.
It was too early to even make an appointment.
The woman who told someone I was pregnant in the hopes that I would be attacked, and then immedeatly started to fake a pregnancy after confirming that I woke up bleeding after the attacked pretended to be a wheelchair user in a court of law where she was seen as a more credible person than I am.
I seemed like a not-credible person because I was claiming to be transgender.
Me.
How could anyone believe that I don't have a penis?
What a completely absurd thought. Me? Being transgender? Never.
Obviously, I'm cis now. I'm a cisgender man now.
Assigned Male By Cop.
New acronym just dropped. I have become a cisgender man. I actually don't need to figure out a way to save up for bottom surgery. I have a dick and could have never been pregnant.
Completely impossible.
This is a website that was made by a cis man. A cis man who knows the ins and outs of the transgender community and has been compiling so many links and resources that it is hard to find new ones.
I'm a cisgender man now, because only the cisgenderiest of men could possibly know what a xenogender is off hand.
Yeah, average CisHet man over here who can conjugate neopronouns.
"Uncredible."
"Aggressive."
Apparently that's how the jury saw me. So unbelievable. How could anyone think that I have a vagina?
But that woman who has never needed any kind of mobility aid in her life who can't keep a single detail of her story straight?
They believed her.
The woman who committed a burglary moments before making her report.
Click here to jump to [W] page [Weaponized Infantilization] definition.
Click here to jump to [T] section [Transandrophobia] page [Mpreg] section.
Below is my Ancestry DNA results. Do not question me on matters regarding race. I will not discuss them. I will allow those who are more qualified to speak on such topics to do so. I will discuss gender and sexuality related topics (mostly gender, its more interesting to me), but I will not discuss racial issues. I will, however, link other perspectives on topics wherever relevant.
Edit: Got a notification that apparently my results are now more specific?
https://www.bbb.org/us/ut/lehi/profile/genealogy/ancestrycom-1166-2003190
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On February 7, 2022, I had a double incision mastectomy without nipple grafts. This means that I do not have nipples or breasts. Below is a list of miscellaneous reasons why I chose this. These reasons are not ranked in any particular order, simply in whatever order I can recall said reasons. These reasons are not all of the same level of personal importance.
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These links are not affiliated with The Transgender Dictionary, however, I do think that they are useful and that you should consider checking them out.
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See also the pages for: coming out, homepage, double incision.