Dear Diary,
Columbia students think I’d be better off with a penis. Seriously.
I did not think that would be the case, to be honest. After learning of the Columbia Student Medical Insurance Plan’s full coverage of hormone therapy and sex reassignment surgery for gender-ambiguous students under Obamacare, I wondered whether students at Columbia would really consent to having their insurance money allocated to students’ sex change surgeries despite it being a non-medical procedure and posing significant health risks.
A few eye-opening findings from studies on transgenderism:
41% of transgender individuals in the U.S. had attempted suicide compared with the 4.6% national attempted suicide rate in one year.
Only 46% of male-to-female transsexuals who undergo sex reassignment identify strongly as female. Only 26% of female-to-male transsexuals identify strongly as male.
The number of male-to-female transsexuals who died post-surgery was five times more than doctors expected.
Males who were injected with a combination of estrogen and cyproterone acetate as part of their sex transition reacted with a 45-fold increase in cardiovascular dysfunction, a 400-fold increase of hyperprolactinemia, a 15-fold increase of depression, and enzymatic liver problems, among other issues.
Sex reassignment surgery is by all sources irreversible.
Aside from the health risks, the costs of female-to-male surgery would be significant, exceeding $50,000 to start off. Would Columbia students pay to have a female student like myself remove all my female organs and replace them with replicas of male organs, hormones, and facial hair transplants?
I figured, now that I am in New York City, I have a chance to test this out for myself. I sat in the center of the Columbia campus Wednesday afternoon with a sign that read, “Help me become a REAL man! DONATE TO MY SEX-REASSIGNMENT SURGERY” while holding a money bucket for donations. I did this all while wearing a tight shirt, flared pink skirt, heels, and makeup.
I had secretly hoped nobody would donate to my fake charity, and that people would instead tell me I didn’t need a sex change. I thought my overplayed girlishness was pretty obvious. I giggled out loud, played with my hair, and spoke in a tone several pitches higher than my usual tone. I wanted people to tell me I looked beautiful as a woman and that I was crazy for wanting a penis.
Sadly, that was not the case. Within minutes after I set up camp with my sign in the center of campus, the donations began rolling in. People donated dollars, sometimes quarters, and told me I was brave for pursuing a sex change. Two male workers who passed by dropped money in my cup, told me they were sorry for me and wished me luck on my surgery.
A young, concerned-looking woman asked how I was doing with the money-collecting at Columbia. I told her I did not know what was fair to expect, and she continued, “yeah, I was gonna say this may not be the best campus for you.”
She suggested I collect at places that might be more “accepting” of my decision, such as Downtown Manhattan.
“I would say, maybe Washington Square Park, near the NYU campus… I just feel like this isn’t the most profitable area of New York for this… do you get what I’m saying?” she said with a knowing look on her face. I thanked her for the advice, and she wished me luck.
A group of Asian tourists began taking pictures of me from up close. Like I’m a statue or something. One guy came up to me and suggested I get a prosthetic penis.
“You don’t even have to go all the way,” he reassured me.
I realized I had to be somewhere within the next hour. I looked inside my money bucket. Within just 15 minutes, I had collected $11.25! I did not even think I had looked very convincing. I wondered how much I’d make if I sat there all day, or even for an hour at least — probably enough for a comfortable full-time salary. I wondered if homeless beggars make that much money in NYC.
Not a single person told me I would be okay without a sex change, or that I looked healthy as a woman. Instead, I was encouraged to spend tens of thousands of dollars to permanently alter my body and increase my attempted suicide risk while significantly damaging cardiovascular and glandular body systems; all because the progressive social justice doctrine says it is proper to do so. I was told I was brave — not for standing up to female insecurities, but for thinking I could be better as a man.
Gawd, I missed the catcalling construction workers I had so frequently encountered in Los Angeles. At least they acknowledged my natural female features, however crassly.
I almost feel like a lesser female here in New York. Today at a meeting in midtown Manhattan, I was asked to “please state your preferred gender pronouns” before proceeding with what I was about to say. I was wearing a DRESS. Meanwhile, liberals are mocking the GOP’s support of conversion therapy as a “death sentence.”
I am curious as to how students would react if I held a sign asking them to “DONATE TO MY SEX CONVERSION THERAPY.” I predict the pay would be far from satisfactory. After all, what is so #brave about wanting to be… yourself?
Till next time,
Pardes
P.S.- That money is going to a real charity!
Follow Pardes Seleh on Twitter.
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