I guess, from the outset some things just happened which was perhaps faite? Born with blonde curly hair my mother was often greeted with isn't she beautiful!! my faite took another twist when I had stunted growth, the doctor suggested options one of which my mother accepted and I started ballet at school.
Life was tough with being asked if I was a girl, even my cousins called me a pretty girl!!! My other sin was a high-pitched voice, I had everything to pin the tail to the donkey. In ballet I found I could express myself, needless to say I ended up doing the girls' parts, which for me just added to my inner thoughts, more so that there were more girls at ballet school than boys.
At school a boy had a crush on me and my emotions were all over the place, on the one hand I saw him as my protector, he acted like he owned me, but that just added in to messing my head up. The year-end school report was another mixed message, it read this rather effeminate little boy and went on about me not taking part in sports, indeed I sat at the side of the pitch making daisy chain neckless's.
My first breakdown and wishing to die, my mum and dad took me to hospital, I had stopped eating and looked like I had had a stroke, I could not function, a psychiatrist deemed that I had had a nervous breakdown!!! Confronting my thoughts was hard. Whilst in hospital I began to talk about my thoughts but the conflict was I want out, end, no more.
I attended a Gender Identity Clinic but soon ended up back in hospital because I could not get my head around getting into role, I despised it. For me it was not about clothes. I ended up having another breakdown and eventually agreed to conform. I was groomed into the stereo typical image of what they wanted, my heart was a mess, this was not me. I argued that if I wore a white coat that did not make me a doctor, nonetheless, I was told to do as I was told.
When things started to get better was the introduction of hormone therapy. I was given a high dosage of cyproterone and Premarin. The psychiatrist asked how I felt and looking down at my body I smiled and god my boobs really hurt (ouch). My mind became less foggy and I watched over time as my hips began to grow. I learnt how to express myself through clothes.
I was turned out the perfect little blonde that the clinic wanted, my speech was excellent and I was shown off. By this time I had learnt the art of flirting and male attention!! It was the 1980s and boys did not hold back from wolf whistles, to "I wouldn't mind giving her one."
Living in a house share with four girls meant Friday night was a night out. This was when the psychiatrist decided that it was time for my surgery, sadly the clutches of the psychiatrists was not about to end. My surgery failed, I said something stupid and ended up being detained whilst they figured out what to do with me.
I was given a care plan to seek out a surgeon that could fix me, I had to endure condescending men. "Would the pretty little one with the sad face come in." Grrrr U made me late to get home now I am stuck here. The surgeon smiled and said, "Do not worry you can sleep in the nurses' quarter at the hospital."
The surgeon went on to say he knew how to correct my surgery but did not have the necessary skills to correct your surgery. He wanted to team up with one of the UK's lead surgeons but he was private.
That night back at the nurses' quarter I sat in the common room watching television and drinking tea. A girl sat next to me said, "Hey you can't be a nurse you're way too glam!!!"
Eventually I did get my surgery sorted out and had several relationships, two of which lasted several years. I was lucky that I was able to go through surgery at a relatively young age (at that time).
I look back and smile, car doors opened for me, my heavy shopping taken out of my hand. Men still enforce the feminine trait, like when I was learning to drive. Me and my driving instructor were both blondes in an open top car. We approached a road junction, it was a busy main road and a guy comes along in his big truck and stops all the traffic and gestures for us to go forward.
I looked at my driving instructor, grinned and said, "You think it's his hands on that steering wheel? It's not!!!" I refused to pull out. Needless to say, my driving instructor put her foot down and we were off.
I found men to be very condescending, telling me I didn't mean what I said, and "Go and do something with your hair." Grrrr.
