London – 1970
At the age of seven (scary to think how old I am now!) was when I first become aware that I was “different”
I grew up in a very working class environment and council estate, this was an environment of “set” gender roles, boys were boys and girls were girls, no blurring of the gender model.
It was also a environment of racism, domestic violence (almost worn like a badge of honour by the cavemen and had to be accepted by the women as there were no places like “The dove Project” at this time, if there was then all her self esteem would have been stripped away and the poor woman would not have been able to leave the fist happy and shouting low life, Sadly to say my mum was in the “married to a caveman club”.
With this in mind, when I watched the girls playing hopscotch and skipping, a little voice in my head was saying “be careful” I was scared that even my thoughts could be heard.
When you have a dad who hits you for nothing, my young mind never dared thought what I would get for putting on my sisters clothes.
Dressing
A strange term this, one now used by my family as their acceptance of my “condition” one used by transvestites or even their own way of identifying a transsexual “so you dress all the time then”? (Well I don’t walk about naked)
For me as a transsexual woman “dressing” as a girl was my way of expressing my gender, not for a fetish reason, or a “hobby”
In a world where gender roles were so set, wearing a dress and a ribbon in my hair was walking over to the dark side and shattering my public gender role.
When I first wore my sister’s clothes I remember a feeling of guilt and extreme fear and also anger, the anger was “why was I born a boy?”
As I went through school acting (very badly) in my gender role as a boy, my gender expression never went away and yes I was even caught when I was 13 (very quickly dismissed as “a phase” by my parents) At this stage I told my dad I wanted to be a girl (I figured if he was going to kill me, I may as well make those bruises’ count)
Funny enough it did not hurt anymore when he hit me, I was kind of numb inside and hey I wanted to die (more about the suicide attempts for another journal.
By the time I was 13 going through to 15, apart from wanting to be “Sandy from “Grease” my puberty did come, it was a late one for me, and still the horrible day did arrive.
I now know from looking back what a average teenage boy was doing at this time in their life, I wasn’t, I never “played” with myself, or explored my hateful changing body, I had no penis fascination like the typical boy that never goes away throughout their life to manhood
To me it seemed natural not to masturbate; I had such a low body image and did not want to look at it in any way, I hated it.
Added to the issue was me being diagnosed with cancer in my bowel and I had to have a ileosotomy operation (large intestine removed) and had a “bag”
This happened August 1st 1979 just after my 16th birthday.
This was also the time I first become aware of words like “transvestite” “drag queen” and “fetish” (I write my fetish journals later!)
So I was a screwed up teenager, adding to the fact that I nearly died during my operation and weighed 6 stone at one stage.
Could life get any worse?
More to come soon
At the age of seven (scary to think how old I am now!) was when I first become aware that I was “different”
I grew up in a very working class environment and council estate, this was an environment of “set” gender roles, boys were boys and girls were girls, no blurring of the gender model.
It was also a environment of racism, domestic violence (almost worn like a badge of honour by the cavemen and had to be accepted by the women as there were no places like “The dove Project” at this time, if there was then all her self esteem would have been stripped away and the poor woman would not have been able to leave the fist happy and shouting low life, Sadly to say my mum was in the “married to a caveman club”.
With this in mind, when I watched the girls playing hopscotch and skipping, a little voice in my head was saying “be careful” I was scared that even my thoughts could be heard.
When you have a dad who hits you for nothing, my young mind never dared thought what I would get for putting on my sisters clothes.
Dressing
A strange term this, one now used by my family as their acceptance of my “condition” one used by transvestites or even their own way of identifying a transsexual “so you dress all the time then”? (Well I don’t walk about naked)
For me as a transsexual woman “dressing” as a girl was my way of expressing my gender, not for a fetish reason, or a “hobby”
In a world where gender roles were so set, wearing a dress and a ribbon in my hair was walking over to the dark side and shattering my public gender role.
When I first wore my sister’s clothes I remember a feeling of guilt and extreme fear and also anger, the anger was “why was I born a boy?”
As I went through school acting (very badly) in my gender role as a boy, my gender expression never went away and yes I was even caught when I was 13 (very quickly dismissed as “a phase” by my parents) At this stage I told my dad I wanted to be a girl (I figured if he was going to kill me, I may as well make those bruises’ count)
Funny enough it did not hurt anymore when he hit me, I was kind of numb inside and hey I wanted to die (more about the suicide attempts for another journal.
By the time I was 13 going through to 15, apart from wanting to be “Sandy from “Grease” my puberty did come, it was a late one for me, and still the horrible day did arrive.
I now know from looking back what a average teenage boy was doing at this time in their life, I wasn’t, I never “played” with myself, or explored my hateful changing body, I had no penis fascination like the typical boy that never goes away throughout their life to manhood
To me it seemed natural not to masturbate; I had such a low body image and did not want to look at it in any way, I hated it.
Added to the issue was me being diagnosed with cancer in my bowel and I had to have a ileosotomy operation (large intestine removed) and had a “bag”
This happened August 1st 1979 just after my 16th birthday.
This was also the time I first become aware of words like “transvestite” “drag queen” and “fetish” (I write my fetish journals later!)
So I was a screwed up teenager, adding to the fact that I nearly died during my operation and weighed 6 stone at one stage.
Could life get any worse?
More to come soon
1 comment:
Having grown up with a Dad who had a backhand that knew no bounds, along with a penchant for using belts and paddles whenever my mother told him I needed it I can't imagine throwing anything else into the mix!
I'm glad you survived all of it and the cancer!
And as far as that age reference goes, your photos think you are about half that...
alan
Post a Comment