As a small child, I used to dream of walking to school with my brothers as a girl. When I would wake up, the realisation of not being an actual girl took a few minutes to accept the truth. That was how I first experienced the feelings that I should have been a girl and not a boy. I don't know why I had those feelings, I didn't ask for them. I remember, and I don't know how old I was, maybe 6, waiting for a film to come on television with my parents. I think they were allowing me to stay up late to watch it. Which was nice. My dad always used to give an overview prior to watching films, and this was no different. It was the Naked Civil Servant with John Hurt. Dad warned me "This is how some people end up." In the opening scene, (and I'm speaking from memory here, having not seen it for a very long time) a boy stares at himself into a stand-up mirror. I thought, I do that all the time, but this boy was dressed in his mother's clothes. It was the disgust from my parent's faces, which made me feel something evil had just happened in the film, and I remembered back to my dreams. By the end of it, John Hurt's character, (playing a Dandy) was beaten and humiliated throughout. My dad said, "That's what happens to people like that." When I went to bed, I asked God never to let me end up like that. I didn't want them to ever look at me as they did with that boy looking into the mirror. Even now, at 36, I can still remember the disgust on their faces. It haunted me for a long time.
Growing up, the feelings were always there, but I never told anyone. But at the age of 8 or 9, I went to hospital to have an operation on my nose. I don't know why, or why it came about, but when I woke up, I was upset I was still a boy. On my 13nth birthday, I promised myself I would sort these feelings out, once and for all some day.
Growing up, I never had a girlfriend, and I was about 20 when my brother accused me of being gay. In horror, I went out, got a girlfriend and later got engaged. She always accused me of having a gay affair with a friend, and we always argued. We split up eventually. (Ironically, although I was not having an affair, that friend eventually became my partner.) Things were getting confusing. I had a job as a salesman (not a good one), and my head was becoming so confused about the feelings I had, and because of the shame of those feelings, while driving home on the motorway one night, in dense fog, I actually accelerated the car to top speed. 110mph. Every once in a while, I would change lanes, zooming passed cars. I knew it was just a matter of time before crashing. Believe me or not, I did this for 10 minutes. I couldn't see a thing, and somehow I didn't crash. I eventually slowed down realising the poor innocent person I would have crashed into.
By mid 20's, when my parents were away on holiday, I started to dress up in women's clothes in the house. I had bought them, but kept them in a bin bag. High-heeled ladies shoes too, I used to practice walking in them. But this wasn't enough, and it wasn't stopping the growing emotional pain inside my head, which had developed out of nowhere. I wanted to go out dressed up. I started buying very expensive hormone tablets from a transvestite shop, at a £100 for 90 pills, 2 bottles at a time, I was forever broke. (They were herbal) Although they were harmless (I think) I would overdose with them, desperate for feminisation. I would go through both bottles in a week! Well, it was better than using my mother's HRT patches she kept in the fridge. (I once took a whole box and she didn't notice).
I suppose I should mention the kinky clubs. (Looking back, I can't believe I actually did that) I got this idea to help me gain the courage to wear women's clothing in public. The idea was, if I could wear the kinky PVC gear in a club, I might develop the courage to wear women's clothes in public. (Now by this time, I had moved into my partner's home. His parents were invalid, and he was their carer.) I would buy the most outrageous PVC clothing and travel off to Chester to a club, which held a kinky night each month. It wasn't me, though. Watching people whip their partners, or people with strange electrical equipment that would give out an electric shock when touched. This was supposed to be stimulating. One man asked me if I would whip him when he would later be wrapped up in cellophane and tied around a post. I politely refused. Yuk! I stopped going.
At night, I started having panic attacks. I felt I was just going round in circles. The pain I was feeling was so strong, I just wanted it to stop. I thought of the possibility of suicide, thinking it may be the best thing, for me and everyone else. (My partner hid all the kitchen knives and any meds in the house. I didn't, of course.) It was like, I could hear a continual screaming in my head; it was an emotional scream. It was like my very soul was fighting to climb out of my body. I couldn't look into mirrors. I hated myself, and the way I looked. I really wanted to simply grab a scalpel and cut everything away. I wished I hadn't been born, and angry that I had been born. I hated society for being against me (meaning, if I were to change sex, I would end up being humiliated like John Hurt's character in the Naked Civil Servant. My depression hit bottom, and I was still falling. I even preyed for nuclear war. I wanted the world to die. It felt like it was somebody's fault I was feeling this way, and it was my fear of society which made me hide away. That's the time when I couldn't breath at night. Night after night, breathless attacks came on me; it was so difficult to breath.
I eventually went to my G.P. I told him I wanted a sex change. He referred me to a gender reassignment clinic (which took three years to get an appointment date). I calmed down. (Oh, I was told I had asthma due to stress.)
I started going to church with my partner, and this helped. I began to calm. Over the three years I became very incorporated into church life (joined the choir). People suggested I should enter the ministry (Church of England) so I started a long line of interviews. My clinic appointment date came up, but the pain wasn't as strong anymore, so I cancelled the appointment. I thought, if the pain was not as bad anymore, I would live as a man. I was doing well, until on my way to the final interview (of the first stage) the emotional pain came back like a sledgehammer. I was bad. I went to my G.P (this time a woman) and she told me she was going to write to the clinic. She saw that was my only solution, and indicated any other solution might end in death. (Which took another three years to get an appointment date, due to sparse funding.)
I stopped attending church and started college to train as a hairdresser (2 year course) and got a job at the end of it. By this time I felt the need to reach out to other people at work to talk about my emotions. Telling them - without telling them. I suppose I was giving hints, desperate for people to see me as I really was. They caught on fast. As a result; they segregated themselves from me, and started humiliating me and calling me names like 'freak' 'monster' and other things... Working there was unbearable. That ended when all the girls jumped me and tried to beat me. Of course, I didn't want to hurt them so I did nothing. They tore my clothing. I can still remember the hatred on their faces. Evil bitches! I resigned the next day. Got a job in a nursing home, loved it, and started my access course to get into nurse training. Half way through my clinic appointment date came up. It appeared to me that I wouldn't get HRT for a while. My psychologist wanted a long-term assessment. I was so desperate. I went on the real life test (this is what we have to do to prove we are genuine - a test for 2 years living as a woman, regardless how we appear) - thus getting the go ahead for HRT three months into counselling.
When I told my fellow students and colleagues at work, I was terrified. But they were good, and accepted it. At work, they supported me emotionally. I dressed up wearing women's jumpers and started growing my hair. I changed my name too. It had finally come to the point where the pain inside of me was so great, I didn't care what other people thought of me, and I just knew I had to change sex. I wore a woman's uniform at work.
I didn't tell my parents. Mum had a stroke leaving her paralysed, I couldn't tell her without making her worse. I was still having an emotional time, transforming into a woman is not easy. To visit my parents meant dressing as a man, which brought all the pain back. Dad used to have a go at me for not helping out with mum, but what could I do? He ridiculed me for planning to become a nurse, so imagine his attitude at a sex change! I didn't trust him to accept me, and eventually, after an argument, I left the house never see them again. Before I left, I said to him, "Oh, by the way, I'm having a sex change!" but not sure if he heard me. He never contacted me since. I miss my mum.
I was petrified at starting my nurse training. But the university were fantastic, and treat me no differently. When I started, I still did not really look right. After a class, I went looking to buy a book, but some thugs started taunting me. Calling me 'tranny' etc... I was relieved when they went away. I had been having a bad asthma attack and felt like collapsing when they drove passed in a car, throwing a bottle at me, shouting what they were going to do with me, and shouting 'pervert!'.
I think I look better now. Friends tell me, my face, my body and my voice are female. In fact, unless I tell people, they don't know. I completely live as a woman without any problems, and no longer have to hide myself away. The pain has gone, except for some small aspects. I can't afford hair removal treatment, but that isn't really a problem. I am on medication to weaken the body hairs. One day, I will have laser treatment (when I can afford it), and of course, the operation. I still need to be assessed by a specialised psychiatrist who works with gender identity disorders, it's just a formality, but an important one. (ordinary psychiatrists can't assess or treat transsexuals, so I have to travel very far). Funding for this, as well as the operation is currently being worked out. Then it's a matter of time. After the operation, my body will match the mental image I have of myself, I will be completely free of pain. I now feel normal, and not a freak. Life is good, and the world is a great place to be in.
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