From the earliest days, my home life was unhappy. My parentsβa white Englishwoman and a black American who got together while he was in Britain with the U. Air Forceβdivorced when I was about 5. My mother, who was on welfare, descended into alcoholism and mental illness. Although my father remained in England, he was emotionally distant to me and my younger sister. I was a classic tomboy, which was one of the healthier parts of my early life in Letchworth, a town of about 30, people, an hour outside London.
Early in childhood, I was accepted by the boysβI dressed in typically boy clothing and was athletic. Then puberty hit, and everything changed for the worse. I thought I was the only one who hated how my hips and breasts were growing. Then my periods started, and they were disabling. I was often in pain and drained of energy.
Eventually, I had no friends to invite. I became more alienated and solitary. I had been moving a lot too, and I had to start over at different schools, which compounded my problems.
By the time I was 14, I was severely depressed and had given up: I stopped going to school; I stopped going outside. I just stayed in my room, avoiding my mother, playing video games, getting lost in my favorite music, and surfing the internet.
Something else was happening: I became attracted to girls. This made me wonder if there was something inherently wrong with me. I then found some websites about females transitioning to male. Shortly after, I moved in with my father and his then-partner. She asked me the same question my mother had. I told her that I thought I was a boy and that I wanted to become one. As I look back, I see how everything led me to conclude it would be best if I stopped becoming a woman.
