1984: teenaged angry and trans

I also grew up with a deep seated sense of justice, and a need to put the world to rights - joining LP in 1983 – after a surviving intact a series of right wing and or religious teachers trying to fill me up with their ideas. Jeffreys was an apartheid supporter. Luckily I had a mother who put me right on things in those days.

Falklands War was my first war. Luckily, too young to die and fight, but old enough to be incensed by the injustice of the whole thing. Megalomaniac Thatcher took us to war to boost her ratings. She succeeded. My sense of innate justice took a knock, but it spurred me on to join the LP. At the time I was in running battles with my parents who thought I spent too much time indoors, reading, listening to music etc.

It was to be a difficult time. Luckily being in the LP helped me escape the claustrophobic family unit. I welcomed the chance to become engaged in things that weren't all about me. I can’t say I had a firm grasp on the issues at that point but I learned.

The miners strike. Being challenged at school.

The miners' strike began in 1984 - which taught me much - about misuse of power and spurious economics, how little a part rationality plays in politics - and how politicians can hold grudges against whole communities for over a decade. Before the Tories were scapegoating the unemployed, they scapegoated those who wanted to work. But it wasn’t about that. Neither is it about laziness, or sponging off the state. It’s about turning skilled and proud people into fodder for low paid short term unskilled work, that back then, the corporations knew they would need over the next 20/30 years. If they needed skills they could import it from Africa, South America, or Southern Europe.

On a personal level - there was a breakdown of relations at home – seeing a psychiatrist in my final year at Plymouth – it was an intrusion. I was being accused of mental illness   (no matter what people say there is a stigma and I felt the shame) and the two things that I needed support for – being autistic wasn't even identified and being trans wouldn’t have got me any support. I was briefly identified as being schizophrenic, which was initially a shock, but I read about it and over a couple of weeks came to terms with it. I did hear voices, I did have mood swings, I was suicidal much of the time, and then there were all my autism traits which may have been cherry picked to add support to the misdiagnosis. I don't know what talks were going on between health professionals, parents and teachers, but I wasn't involved at any stage. They decided I wasn't schizo in the end but I still got given anti-depressants and sent to see a shrink.

My parents used to stitch me up a fair amount. One time my mum told me I was anti-social when I was trying to write a self assessment for careers so I put that on the form, which made it into a report and then my mum got upset because the report came back and said I was anti-social.

And a time when I hadn’t prepared for a careers talk –  I may have been sick, so I went in and because I hadn’t prepared they did a white-wash report which ended up saying that I wasn't suitable for any of the jobs on offer, which my mum would not let go.

I had sleepless nights over all this. It didn’t help with the feeling hopeless and being suicidal. I had exams to get through and a failing personal life. I realised something was really wrong in my teenage years because I was often isolated. I was awkward. I felt stupid and clumsy. I kept misunderstanding people and saying weird things in conversations which got picked up on. It was very hard. And all through this I was thinking about how much I wanted to be a girl. All the time. I hated my voice, my face, my hairy body, my broad shoulders. I’d grown into, against all the odds I thought, a man. Not what I wanted.

I know now that autism was a root cause of my isolation and my failure to engage. It wasn't that I wasn't trying but I wasn't able to engage in a way that others recognised. The best work I did was at home and by myself.

Tutors in maths to get me through. Part of the struggle was not really understanding what the hell was going on at any point. I was always steps behind.

SHS closed for good:
Sutton Pupils Leave for the Final Time: Friday 13th July 1984

wardrobe adventures:

My mum worked and if I was at home, my sister was usually out, I would try some of her stuff on. Unfortunately she threw out a lot of the nice vintage stuff along the way – I remember a lovely long woollen pleated skirt – 50s style, and a straight pink skirt with side splits. But around 16/17 I grew too big to wear my mothers clothes, except for the odd but. And the panicky feeling.

The last time was in 1988 during the summer and I found a long floaty skirt with elastic waist – manager to squeeze into a pink blouse with shoulder pads, that skirt and a pair of tghts, and it was the first time I wore a complete outfit.

But I found it so stressful because I knew I’d make a mistake and get caught eventually and kept telling myself I’d stop doing it. But I couldn’t.

But I did, after I left home, I stopped for a while.

An important step in moving away from Plymouth and my family was the school ski trip I went on in early 1985

August ’84 – scotland, Gina and Willie. I liked one of Willie’s daughters - the one closest to my age - and we had a bit of a chat about stuff at one point; the future, my future, ski trip, college, how things will open up for me, etc. It was probably a missed opportunity to talk about being trans if only I'd had the language or even some idea I wasn't damned for eternity, and below human because of it.

 I spent time alone in sauna and indoors pool, which had a ropey home made stereo system – and about the only tape was John Lennon’s posthumous 1984 album.

I found a girl’s swimming costume in a room and put it on. That sort of thing was very hard for me to resist in those days. Parents had a really horrible row going round Loch Ness. 

Xmas – pissup from school – went to a club. I apparently went into the toilets with a girl and we snogged, though I can’t remember. And a prostitute was following me about because I didn’t reject her immediately. But I was too drunk to deal with anything. Heard later my drinks were spiked. Not surprised, I remember being given a drink of unknown origin. It tasted nice but that was the last I can clearly remember.