“At that time I was still naive enough to try to make clear to them the madness of their ideas; in my small circle I talked until my tongue was weary and till my throat was hoarse, and I thought I could succeed in convincing them of the destructiveness of their desire to become a woman; but the result was contrary. It seemed as though the increasing realization of the destructive influence of their discord groomers would serve only to strengthen their determination.
The more I argued with them, the more I got to know their dialectics. First they counted on the ignorance of their adversary; then, when there was no way out, they would scream transphobe at me. If all this was of no avail, they refused to understand or kept repeating transphobe until the administrator muted me
when driven into a corner; otherwise they brought up truisms, but they immediately transferred their acceptance to quite different subjects, and, if attacked again, they doubled down and screamed at the top of their lungs that they were correct, and I wrong. Wherever one attacked one of these prophets, one's hands seized slimy jelly; it slipped through one's fingers only to collect again in the next moment. If one smote one of them so thoroughly that, with the bystanders watching, he could do naught but agree, and if one thus thought he had advanced at least one step, one was greatly astonished the following day. The Troon did not in the least remember the day before, he continued to push for transgenderism as if nothing had happened, and if indignantly confronted, he pretended to be astonished and could not remember anything except that his assertions had already been proved true the day before. Often I was stunned. One did not know what to admire more: their glibness of tongue or their audacity in lying.
I gradually began to hate them.”