Current Events > Rotty D's generally cyclical gender angst cycle.

(+) Yeah! (+)

Rotty D is definitely getting sick of it. Rotty D is definitely over it.

Rotty D shouldn't talk in the third person.

Sorry, folks.

Ok, you know what? Fuck it. Nobody gives a shit, nobody reads these topics so here you go. Deep lore on Rotterdammerung. It's like an autohagiography.

Content warning: discussion of: Mental health. Anti-LGBTQIA+ sentiment. Domestic violence, death of a family member, cancer.

I am almost 40, but my proudest moment was still when I was about 11, and my dad was catastrophically, explosively angry because I refused to agree with him that "shirtlifters"* were disgusting.

I'd like to say that I stayed firm out of solidarity, and I'm an amazing ally, but really it was because at the time, I had an extremely huge, confusing and absolutely verboten crush on "David", a boy in my class.

There was an incident in January 1997 where my mum and I had to stay over at my mum's friend's place when my dad had a very expressive, very violent moment. He fucked off to a motel because a neighbour called the police, but my mum and I went home. A week after that my mum allowed my dad to come home despite my pleas. I still remember the stink of cheap beer, having to wear shoes for weeks because of all the broken bottles and plates in every room of the house.

Nothing was said to me about his return home, then.

Many years later, I heard from my mum that there was a lot of:
"I'm worried about The Boy"
"I'm worried that The Boy is a shirtlifter*"
"I'm worried The Boy is going to get beaten up for being a shirtlifter*
"I'm worried The Boy is going to get beaten up for Dressing Up Like That"
basically from that moment, until he died.

*This is a weird, Australian slur referring to gay men.

Spoilers for later, but the only punch-up I've ever been in was with my dad.

Content warning: discussion of: Mental health. Anti-LGBTQIA+ sentiment. Domestic violence, death of a family member, cancer.

Not pictured:

The time my mum made me an absolutely exquisite cloth doll (a boy doll), complete with multiple sets of clothes. "Jack" is still one of my most treasured possessions.

My dad beat the shit out of my mum when he realised she made it for me. She went to work for a few weeks with black eyes.

I was worried at the time, but she told me it was because she was clumsy.

Content warning: discussion of: Mental health. Anti-LGBTQIA+ sentiment. Domestic violence, death of a family member, cancer.

My dad had serious issues. When I was 10 (another event where my mum and I bailed to her friend's place).

He decided my mum was cheating on him with a male family friend and went over there to beat the shit out of him.

My dad didn't beat the shit out of him.

Said family friend's lodger told him to fuck off. Said lodger was, as my dad later described, expecting sympathy "A fucking valkyrie holding a cricket bat". Honestly, a girl after my own heart.