Elliot Page / Ellen Page - Former actress, starred in Juno. Turned into a pooner and divorced her wife because being a lesbian was not boosting her career anymore. Receives a daily dose of asspatting from Hollywood. Likes to show off her "male" body using fake abdominals.

[Marc]

 

[Positron]

Why did she write this? Did she want to be on the ship?

Because interest in wartime vessels is a boys' thing. Soon she'll tell us fascinating stories about ancient Rome.

 

[Fornicario]

That show was amazing.

 

[unexpected onions]

Context of the segment: she’s explaining the history of the place where she was called a faggot for the first time.

When did this supposedly happen? Because she's never looked like a boy.

 

[Peaches the Wonder Cat]

"As I sat next to the Human Shadow Etched in Stone in Hiroshima, I thought about the senseless war that ended in the beginning of the Atomic Age and the deaths of hundreds of thousands of Japanese. I afixed the strap-on and began pounding my girlfriend in the ass. I wondered if other trans men weren't able to realize their dreams before the bomb fell, and if perhaps the shadow of a human wasn't himself trans. What was the last thing he was thinking? Was he angry about being told he couldn't fight in the war? Was he humiliated as he showed up to enlist only to be misgendered as an 'onna'? If he were alive today, would he be proud of me having sex on his ashes? 'You forgot the lube', my girlfriend said. Of course I did, my head was always in the clouds."

 

[Tragi-Chan]

Elliot seems to have a company called Pageboy Productions. Website here but there is no content yet.
Instagram
looks like she wants to go into producing films not acting. Her latest example is a short film called An Avocado Pit where she is the Executive Producer.
View attachment 5566165

Description:

A trans woman and a cis man meet on the streets of Lisbon. They come from different realities but soon find common ground, challenging and laughing their way into each other’s arms.​

In all honesty, given that she’s nuked any possibility of further acting work, it’s probably best to change career.

The trouble is, trans people are only capable of talking about tranny shit and are incapable of realising that it’s just not that interesting.

When did this supposedly happen? Because she's never looked like a boy.

No no, she was always a boy and always looked like one. I know what you’re thinking - she’s been in the public eye since the age of 10 and not once did she look even slightly butch - but that’s just your memory playing tricks on you. This event happened slightly after her time fighting in the war with Eastasia.

 

[Nicholas II of Russia]

"we were two boys, and we looked like two boys"
So Ellen is now rewriting her own past? She was always a boy and never doubted her gender, passing as a lesbian woman because Hollywood is kinder to lesbian women????

You got to wonder how her ex-wife must be feeling about all of this. She was essentially used by her and her marriage as a pawn to be winning those stunning and brave points.

 

[expectant asshole]

You got to wonder how her ex-wife must be feeling about all of this. She was essentially used by her and her marriage as a pawn to be winning those stunning and brave points.

I’m so confused. Was she making out with a guy? I thought that she was a lesbian at the time so if she’s always been a man (eye roll) then why were they being called faggots? Surely it was a straight relationship (eye roll)?
God this mangling of language is so so stupid and confusing.

 

[AssignedEva]

I’m so confused. Was she making out with a guy? I thought that she was a lesbian at the time so if she’s always been a man (eye roll) then why were they being called faggots? Surely it was a straight relationship (eye roll)?
God this mangling of language is so so stupid and confusing.

This is one of the earliest chapters. She's relating a story of how she cut all her hair short and only wore masculine clothes to the point that people thought she was a boy. The context here is her first kiss, and basically she's kissing some kid called Justin and some people start calling them fags, and don't stop when she clarifies she's a girl. She forced herself to be with boys/men a bunch, there's a really unerotic sex scene relayed in one chapter where she skips French class to suck a guy off in a bathroom stall. A lot of the book seems to be her reminiscing about old flames or women she had crushes on that didn't reciprocate.

The first time her ex wife seems to appear is Chapter 23, U-Turn. In this chapter she's describing having first acknowledged she was trans around the age of 30, when she was struggling with having to wear dresses and then hung out with a trans woman called "Star" she met on that Gaycation show she did. After acknowledging she was trans she then claims she used falling in love with Emma as a way of blocking out the trans.

“Do you think you’re trans?” Star asked me, locking eyes.
“Yes, well, maybe. I think so. Yeah.” We exchanged a soft smile.

I was so near. Almost touching it, but I panicked. And it burned away like the joint I was smoking, becoming an old roach left to rot in a forgotten ashtray. It all felt too big—the thought of going through this publicly, in a culture that is so rife with transphobia and people with enormous power and platforms actively attacking the community. The world tells us that we aren’t trans but mentally ill. That I’m too ashamed to be a lesbian, that I mutilated my body, that I will always be a woman, comparing my body to Nazi experiments. It is not trans people who suffer from a sickness, but the society that fosters such hate. As actress and writer Jen Richards once put it:

It’s exceedingly surreal to have transitioned ten years ago, find myself happier & healthier than ever, have better relationships with friends & family, be a better and more engaged citizen, and yes, even more productive … and to then see strangers pathologize that choice. My being trans almost never comes up. It’s a fact about my past that has relatively little bearing on my present, except that it made me more empathetic, more engaged in social justice. How does it hurt anyone else? What about my peace demands vitriol, violence, protections?

Sitting with Star by the pool, I couldn’t quite touch the truth, but I could talk about my gender without bawling. That was a step. It had taken a long time to allow any words to come out. When the subject came up in therapy, my reaction felt inordinate, lost in sobs. “Why do I feel this way?” I’d plead. “What is this feeling that never goes away? How can I be desperately uncomfortable all the time? How can I have this life and be in such pain?”

Not long after my thirtieth birthday, I did a U-turn, I bailed, I stopped talking about it. I closed my eyes and hid it away. Somewhere I’d never find it. It would be four more years until I disclosed who I was. I met my ex-spouse, Emma, around the same time. Meeting Emma let me leave it behind, a foggy memory. Falling madly in love, the energy was indisputable, just a hug would make my body shake. I threw myself in, and we got married quickly.

If a part of you is always separate, if existing in your body feels unbearable—love is an irresistible escape. You transcend, a sensation so indescribable that philosophers, scientists, and writers can’t seem to agree on what the fuck it even is—if it even is. I often wonder if I have actually experienced deep love. I feel as though I have, but is it real if you were never there? When you have numbed yourself to the truth?

Love was unwittingly an emotional disguise, and my relationship to it is another muscle to be transformed. I don’t want to disappear. I want to exist in my body, with these new possibilities. Possibilities. Perhaps that is one of the main components of life lost to lack of representation. Options erased from the imagination. Narratives indoctrinated that we spend an eternity attempting to break. The unraveling is painful, but it leads you to you.

During my marriage I ignored therapy, and when we moved to New York City from Los Angeles at the end of 2018, I virtually stopped going to therapy altogether. It wasn’t until our relationship was falling apart two years later and my gender dysphoria so extreme that I sought out someone in the city. I was ready to talk. I could barely find the words, but I did. As if they moved on their own, wriggling through and up my body, pouring out. My body knew, deep down I knew, and something had shifted. It was now or never. It was alive or not.

The next time she seems to come up is Chapter 26, "Mask". Ellen relates the observed phenomenon that trans people love covid masks, because it makes them less clockable, and basically stopped living with Emma which gave her more scope to be trans. She hung out a bunch with the actress who played her love interest on Umbrella Academy and got high with her and it sounds like emotionally cheated a bit, which the actress probably loves having in this book. Then she asked the actress if she thought she was trans lol. This is a bit annoying to read as she insists on writing non-chronologically

I used to interrogate my shadow as I made my way about the city. It lived on the sidewalk, flat and underfoot, a quiet moment between me and the sun. I saw a boy, it was a boy, his body, his walk, the profile with the ball cap. The spot on the ground felt more real than me and dodged my attempts to squash it.

Storefront windows and I had forever been in a contentious relationship. Unlike the shadow, I could see my face, my torso in a T-shirt. The fall and winter were not as bad, but the summer led to cranks in the neck. Too hot for layers, I’d compulsively turn to look, checking and readjusting. Tugging down my oversize white T, I’d remind myself to get tighter sports bras. Maybe that would help.

During the beginning of the pandemic, my mask collaborated with my early spring wardrobe to alter my reflection in the window. Like my shadow, I saw the boy. Unlike the shadow, the boy looked back at me. A thrilling vibration throughout my body I was not anticipating. It was jarring in a good way—a rush.

What the actual fuck?! My reflection never gives me “a rush.”

Peeking at the boy stomping parallel to me, matching my mannerisms, my pace. I was baffled and also totally not. It didn’t get old, every day when I walked Mo I’d find him, a reprieve. Hope? The soles of my feet pressed firm, confident and grounded. Less of that floating, a more cohesive bond with gravity. It was gratifying seeing myself, which almost never happened. There was a spark, a seed, something getting stirred up. My body leaned in, knowing not to stop there, sensing it before my mind did. This flesh vessel, always vastly smarter than me, if only I’d managed to listen. A path had formed out of the blue, luring instinct. A few knocks on the back of the closet, a portal to a new world, a fresh reality in which I did not have to abandon myself.

I was not being recognized at all. Not even the subtle double-takes. I’m not R. Patz by any means, but this was like stepping into another dimension. And regardless of how much you are stopped or asked for a photo, people look. People “sneak” a picture on the train or at restaurants, not realizing I can usually tell—in some strange way it is quite endearing. I do not mind taking pictures with people at all. People are usually friendly and kind, not forceful. It is only if someone touches me without my consent or calls me by my old name that I become less warm. Boundaries are important, and learning to not feel guilty about setting them is crucial. It took me long enough to learn that.

I wandered around the city in my own newfangled universe. I could just be me, at ease, nothing projected by strangers. And for the first time since age ten, I was having people refer to me as a dude. I tried to not talk much, offering some barely audible grunts to prolong the moments. My voice at ten did not let the cat out of the bag, but at thirty-three it definitely did.

All I knew was something became unglued and now I could let the crack grow. There was no work to run off to, no girl that I had to play. Season three of The Umbrella Academy would not start filming until late fall, the earliest. This was my longest period of not working in … I don’t remember, and arguably my first proper break in years. My marriage was crumbling, we were living separately, and days were not as wrapped up in drama and distraction and suppression. There was time to sit, a moment to think. All that space initially amplified the discomfort. I had spent years and years figuring out all the tricks to avoid my feelings, to exit my body, numb it out. But now, something was simmering, preparing to bubble over, I could feel it. Outside in my layers and concealed face I was solid, taking in optimistic saunters. Inside was different. Taking off my mask, my jacket, I’d be snapped out of my reverie. Changing my clothes felt impossible, I was barely showering, the thought of removing and putting on my sports bra made me cringe. Those seeds of hope, the whispers of a better future, evaporated the moment I entered my apartment. The contrast between exterior and interior heightened my unease, a graph with a climbing linear line that soon was bound to plummet. I was nearing that edge again, and no matter how challenging, how destabilizing— I knew I needed to sink in, to not be afraid, to love myself.

In therapy, I continued opening up about my relationship to gender. I was slowly developing the skill to speak the words I needed to without an endless surge of sobs. Instead of being completely thrown off track, I was able to address the torment, to zoom out, to question why it had to be so agonizing. How come I could not just breathe and explore? Why did it need to come with a truckload of shame?

Not living with Emma did let some of my anxiety dissipate. A fixation and focus only for their feelings had been wearing me thin. I felt that Emma’s emotions always took precedence over mine. This, I am certain, was purposeful on my part. The avoidance, the running, the numbing, the disassociating—all of my nifty tactics at their best. Harmful for me and harmful for them. And ultimately, it had nothing to do with Emma.

As the summer rolled in, I was back to oversize T-shirts, the required tugging and looking. The shop windows did not put a pep in my step, no longer were people referring to me as my correct gender. I first started to properly contemplate top surgery during this time. Realistically it had been on my mind for years. Reaching out to surgeons was the first step. I made an appointment for a consultation, but I did not end up going. I couldn’t specifically say why—whether it was fear or circumstance.

I picked up Marin, my costar from The Umbrella Academy, one morning at her place in Chelsea, and we drove out to Coney Island. Masks on, windows down, we caught up. We hadn’t seen each other in a little while. Marin played Sissy, the woman my character falls in love with in the 1960s in Texas in the second season. Collaborating with Marin was one of the best experiences I have ever had working with another actor. She’s brilliant, generous, and so fucking in it, deep and present in a way that is rare. Basically, I had been talking about my gender and discomfort with Marin since we met. We instantly became friends. The first time we spoke on the phone before meeting each other, we talked for over two hours. It was as if we had known each other for years. The second season of Umbrella was a mixed bag for me. On one hand the character was more masculine, the clothes I far preferred to the previous season, but in the mirror I was still there. It was as if I expected the wardrobe to magically change me and it did, for a split second, but my reflection promptly corrected my thinking. My face, my hair, I wanted to rip it off and rip it out.

Marin was a rock for me during this period. I was struggling and did not know how to communicate it. She helped me, supported me, encouraged me to take time and focus on my well-being, to give myself space. As I crept closer to my truth, unconscious shame reared its head, bullying me to shut it down. It was hard to exist without diversion. Being alone I felt adrift. I mostly sat on the floor and smoked way too much weed, for some reason a couch wasn’t working for me. Stop too long, get too comfortable, and you’ll find the answer you do not want, but the answer you need. My brain was doing everything to get around it, for it to not be the case, it was just too fucking much to contemplate. An actor, an established career, people hate trans people … etc.

The hollow sound of the boardwalk emerged from each step. What is it about a boardwalk? It was hot, early July. The sun peered through the clouds, heavenly beams shot down into the ocean. Most things were boarded up, the amusement park silent, ghostly. Coney Island in the summer is usually overrun with people, but the pandemic had put a stop to that. Still, kids screamed and played in the water. Fathers carried burgers and fries. It was cinematic, time slowed. Men we passed stared at Marin for too long, and it made me angry.

I forgot where we parked so it was a journey to find the car, the stress of the day simmering. When we finally found it, I burst into tears, sobbing.

I turned to Marin. “Do you think I’m trans?”

“Um, it is hard for me to answer that, but between all the things you have shared with me and seeing how it has not let up and how painful it is for you, yes, perhaps. I think you are on the right track and I know this is hard, but you are not alone, you will get through this.”

Exhale.

My marriage had properly ended, personally not legally, that June.

I decided to give up the apartment we had been renting. One of my closest friends had an empty cabin in the middle of the woods in Nova Scotia and said I could stay there. I had not seen my mother in ages, so heading up seemed like the smartest idea. Leaving the United States felt nothing like before. The border was shut, I was able to go because I am a citizen, and while I packed up the car, tears started streaming. The beginning of the pandemic was full of unknowns, an unprecedented event we were living through and still are. I did not know when I would see my friends again.

Mo in his booster seat and me in the driver’s seat, we were ready for our journey. The drive in and out of the city I always find mildly terrifying. But then you get to Connecticut and you are surrounded by trees upon trees. The coast of Maine let my nervous system take a break, rugged with salty air, the smell of the ocean rushing by the open window, reminding me of home, almost there. I spent the night in Bangor to split the thirteen-to-fourteen-hour drive into two days. The hotel was desolate, but immaculately clean. Mo and I crashed early and were on the road by 6:00 A.M.

Emma got rid of their place in the city, too, and made their way up to Montreal. We were barely communicating, I’m not sure where Emma was staying exactly. The quarantine for new arrivals in Nova Scotia was two weeks. My mom and her friends were kind enough to put food in the cabin for me. On top of dropping off groceries, they made me homemade soup and cookies.

This also reveals that in her very first costume fitting for the Umbrella Academy she told them “I have to wear sports bras, because I need my chest to be pressed down", sowing the seeds of the show's derailment before it even started filming.

And that's it. Those are the only references to Emma in the book. I didn't read the whole thing, I just searched the epub for references to "Emma", so there might be more... but I don't think so. Despite devoting entire chapters to women who merely passed through her life, the only stuff she seems to have to say about her ex wife was "Going out with her meant I could be distracted from being trans, but then when we separated I was able to accept the fact I'm trans". Possibly it was too painful or Emma told her to leave her out of the book.

 

[FedPostalService]

After acknowledging she was trans she then claims she used falling in love with Emma as a way of blocking out the trans.

That sounds like someone who has had their reasoning poisoned by therapy and, in danger of sounding MATI, a horrific way to talk about a former spouse whose life Ellen made horrific for a period by taking a LARP too far.

I feel so sorry for her ex-wife. No one deserves to have their partner troon out on them.

 

[Slideshow Bill]

I afixed the strap-on and began pounding my girlfriend in the ass

How poetic. A performative sex act that neither party feels any pleasure from.

Context of the segment: she’s explaining the history of the place where she was called a faggot for the first time.

View attachment 5565717

Faggots. Faggots. Faggots.

Nightmare! Nightmare! Nightmare!

 

[Kari Kamiya]

Possibly it was too painful or Emma told her to leave her out of the book.

The latter I imagine is because Emma realized she married into a lie. There's probably more behind the scenes we're not getting unless Emma speaks out about it. It's highly likely Ellen was emotionally and psychologically abusive because lol she's too tiny to pack a punch without bicep injections.

 

[Fapcop]

A trans woman and a cis man meet on the streets of Lisbon. They come from different realities but soon find common ground, challenging and laughing their way into each other’s arms.​

So it’s a sci-fi/horror flick eh?

 

[FarmVille]

When did this supposedly happen? Because she's never looked like a boy.

If you ever saw her in trailer park boys she was clearly a tomboy. I can believe she and her boyfriend could have been called faggots because every slightly tomboy-ish girl has been called a boy, even if back then it was meant as an insult and not literal.

Troons are always trying to rewrite their histories to make completely normal situations and thoughts “signs” that they were trans.

 

[Dr. Butt]

After acknowledging she was trans she then claims she used falling in love with Emma as a way of blocking out the trans.

Wow, this is fucking horrible. Poor Emma.

 

[moocow]

I can only find an epub
View attachment 5531038

I really wish Library Genesis also handled audiobooks.

Also, lol at writing a fucking "memoir" when you're just barely 30. Who gives a shit what you have to say about anything until you're old enough for there to at least be a chance you've experienced something interesting enough to write about?

"Sheer fucking hubris."

 

[TruffleSpark]

This is one of the earliest chapters. She's relating a story of how she cut all her hair short and only wore masculine clothes to the point that people thought she was a boy.

This goes back to my "what if she had come out as a butch lesbian" post. Apparently it was easier for both her and everyone else to believe she was a man than accept that a woman could wear non-feminine clothing and not be any less of a woman for it. And this is considered progressive these days for some reason.

 

[JelloJerk]

Why does she refer to Emma as a "they" in the book? Is she some type of gender special as well?

 

[teriyakiburns]

Why does she refer to Emma as a "they" in the book? Is she some type of gender special as well?

The singular they isn't new, but its universal use, even when the sex of the person is known, has become a signal of social correctness and a marker of correct thought. The littlest page boy is using it to prove her bona fides and to avoid acknowledging femininity whenever possible.

 

[Narwhal]

She writes like a 2015 Tumbler fanfic author, dreadful doesn't even cover it.

Also gotta love how at 30+ years old she refers to her reflection or whatever the fuck as a "boy" rather than a "man". Fetishizing young boys and adolescents - very cool.