Butterfly (Part II) Trigger Warning

 Butterfly (Part II) Trigger Warning

Writer and Model - Lexus Bradbury

I hate eighties music, I literally can't stand the crap. Soon as I hear that electro sound, I'm out. It's like finger nails down a chalk board to me. The music videos aren't much better. Some of it's so vile and sleezy, I daren't listen to it without wearing a condom. Men prancing round on stage, sporting heavy makeup, singing some dirty song about a homosexual encounter they've had. I'm often told it was the fashion back then, yeah ok. I see it clear as day. Fashion was the excuse to dress up as women, wear makeup, and be gay, got ya !! The wives must have been in mad denial about it all. 

I was born in 1984. It wasn't the world George Orwell predicted. Celebrities banded together to feed the world. Michael Jackson set himself on fire shooting a Pepsi commercial. And scientists discovered the AIDS virus. 

I came from a dirty old town called Oldham. My family all lived close to one another on a council estate called Sholver. If you're not familiar with Oldham, it's a small town about half an hour from Manchester. People always assume I'm from Manchester, but I'm actually from Greater Manchester. They're not the same. Manchester's a big city, whereas Oldham's a little town surrounded by countryside. It's famous for the Hindley and Brady Moors Murders, roughly twenty minutes from where I grew up. The hangover from the murders was still fresh. Parents were scared to death. I often had it drilled into me to be home before the streetlights came on. And to enforce that, my Mum would frighten me to death with stories of what happened to them poor children up on Saddleworth Moors. Oldham was like a world of its own. Check out the video below. It's an honest review that sums the place up perfectly. Whenever I feel homesick, I drop into this video, and remind myself I'm better off out of it.

Also, if you're interested in a side quest, here's a review of Sholver, the estate I grew up on. I couldn't describe it any better than the person who's written this review. https://www.ilivehere.co.uk/sholver-a-giant-category-c-prison-built-on-a-hill-side.html 

I had a relatively big family, most people did in the eighties. Seems like people had a lot more children back then. At the head of the table, sat my Nan and Grandad. They had five children in total. Two boys. My Uncle Colin, and my Uncle Sam. And three women. Aunty Jen, Aunt Susan, and my Mother Alison. Then there's the folk that married into the family. My Uncle Pete, who married my Aunty Jen, and my Uncle Frank, who was with my Aunt Susan. And then there was my father Roy, who was with my Mum. Together, our bloodline made up the Bradbury's. I was actually given my fathers surname Harrison at birth, but I consider myself a Bradbury. I've taken the liberty of making a family tree so it's easier to understand.

My Uncle Colin doesn't feature much in my story, because he got sent down for murder the same year I was born. Other than the odd prison visit, and him being allowed out on day release, I didn't see much of him. I was having a nosey on the internet to see if I could find anything in the newspapers about it, this is all I could find.

I'm not going to get into this, because the victim had two children, and I don't think it's fair on them to be digging it all up. It took its toll on my Nan big time. She was a religious lady, but how I remember her, a kind loving lady. She certainly didn't raise her son to do shit like that. It wasn't her fault, but our family name got dragged through the mud over it all. Christine didn't leave Sholver like she said she was going to in the paper. She raised her two children about five minutes walk from where I lived. We saw each other often. The daughter would stare daggers into me, it was mega awkward. I get it, my Uncle killed her Dad, no worries. That being said, Colin was still my Uncle, and he'd have given his life to protect me if he had to.

I lived round the corner from my Nan and Grandad, with my Mum and Dad. Originally, I was living on a street called Swift Road. My Father was only in my life for a brief period. When he was gone, I grew up hearing horror stories of all the bad shit he did while he was with my Mum. My Father already had two daughters with another woman. My Mum, before she was my Mum, was brought in to babysit my Dads girls. One thing led to another between them both, and they had an affair. My Mum caught pregnant with me, and somehow ended up in a full time relationship with my Dad. My Mum told me he didn't want me from the off. She said that when he found out she was pregnant, he kicked her in the stomach, telling her "He didn't want any more fucking kids". Apparently, my Mum began to lose blood and ended up in hospital. The doctors told her she was losing me. But then something remarkable happened. The bleeding stopped. Then the doctors told her, if she continued with the pregnancy, I'd be severely disabled, and being a recovering stroke victim, my Mum risked her life to carry me. My Mum decided to keep the baby, obviously ...  Apparently, my Dad tried every trick in the book to get rid of me. Plying my Mum with Gin while pregnant, and then forcing her to take a warm bath. Some stupid old wives tale that he must have heard back in the day. I often wonder if that kick screwed up my gender development. Or maybe it screwed up my brain development, who knows. Course, he will deny it, but I reckon if we were to go back and check was my Mum admitted to hospital with a miscarriage, we will find medical evidence. 

How I remember him, he was a frightening strict man. Very tall, longish black hair, arms covered in shit tattoos. He used to make me stand in the corner of the room, facing the wall for hours with my hands on the back of my head. I was only about four, but I remember the cunt well. My arms would go dead from being held up in position for such a long time. I daren't even turn round to see what was going on behind me. I'd hear my Mum sobbing and pleading with him to let me out the corner. You can't even call it discipline, I was a tiny kid. Explain to me, how a toddler will benefit from standing facing the corner of a room all day, with their hands on the back of their head. I thought I remembered it all, but then I had a flashback that came back to me roughly five years ago. It was the last day I saw him as a child. I went many years without remembering the incident I'm about to discuss, but when it came back, it came back in ultra high definition. I remember everything perfectly now.

He'd been at work, I think he was driving taxis at the time. It was a usual day, nothing out of the ordinary. I was sat on the floor in front of the television, waiting for Thomas the Tank Engine to come on. Don't fuck with me when I'm waiting for Thomas the Tank by the way, serious business that. There was some drab mid afternoon documentary on, about some old fire brigade. I remember the camera panning over a black and white picture of all the men in the brigade. I remember we had a Cockatiel that was bald from pulling all its feathers out. There was constant screaming and shouting in the house, so they must have stressed the poor thing to death. I remember we had a little sausage dog that my Mum got rid of. It used to come in my bedroom every morning, and take a shit on the bottom of my bed. I'd be pleading with it not to, because my Mum didn't believe me that the dog was the one doing it. My Mum, genuinely thought I was taking a shit on the bottom of my bed every morning. She'd come in my room and give me a good hiding over it, every single morning. Until one day, after months and months of it, she caught the dog doing it. She got rid of the dog not long after that, the dog paid the price for her guilt and shame.

Thomas the Tank had started when my Father got home. He looked desperate, like a man on the edge. He was screaming and shouting at my Mum, while she pleaded with him to stop for my sake. That's when he pulled out a gun, and pointed it at me. I'll repeat that. My own Father, pulled out a gun, and pointed it at me. A tiny little child, and he pointed a fucking gun at me. He told her he was going to do me while she watched, and then he was going to do her. The gun had a long black barrel, with a dark brown handle. It looked like something out an old Clint Eastwood movie. I don't recall being afraid at the time, it was only years later when it came flooding back, that the incident became scary. My Mother was a grovelling snivelling mess on the floor, frantically putting herself between me and the gun, begging and pleading with him not to shoot me. No child, should ever have to see their Mother like that, it's soul destroying. He was moving the gun around my Mum, repointing it firmly in my direction, I just looked on blankly. My Mum was desperately trying to protect me, moving constantly with the direction of the barrel. He must have got bored with his sadistic game after a few minutes, because he eventually lowered the weapon, and headed upstairs to bed. And just like that, it was over. All because he'd had a bad day at work, and felt tired. When Mum was sure Dad had fallen asleep, she began packing an overnight bag, and we fled to my Nan and Grandads. My Grandad and my Uncle Sam chased him out of Oldham that evening. Apparently, they were smashing up his car with him locked inside like the coward he is. If Grandad and Uncle Sam would have got their hands on him that night, I have no doubt they'd have switched him off. He's very lucky to get away that day, my Uncle particularly, was very protective of me. That was the end of my Fathers involvement in my childhood, well directly anyway.

When I went back home to my Mums the next day, she was a broken woman. I didn't want to go back, I hated it there. I remember having the sense to be good, and as kind as possible. She sat at the back of the house all day, listening to the radio crying. I remember hearing Drive by The Cars on the radio, I've loved that record ever since. She told me if I was good, she'd make us some home made crisps, and The Wizard of Oz was on later that evening. She said she'd let me stay up with her to watch it. I sat on my Mums knee that night, eating soggy, horrible, home made crisps that my Mum had butchered, while watching the movie. I didn't really know what to do for her. Her eyes were visibly red from crying constantly. "It'll be alright Mummy" I told her repeatedly, as we snuggled up for the film.

There's not much trans stuff to mention in this part of the story, other than one thing that may have seemed like nothing at the time. Sometimes, my Mum would take my nappy off for me to have a breathe, and get some fresh air to my bits. You've no doubt been in a house somewhere, with a naked kid running round like a maniac, displaying no shame, having a mad half hour. Well I had shame. I didn't want to see my cock at all. Whenever my Mum would strip me naked, I'd go and hide under the dining room table at the back of the house, waiting for her to cover me up again. I can remember her bringing her mate round who lived next door, showing her how I went and hid. Cheers Mam, make my nakedness even harder why don't you !! This is about as much trans stuff that will feature in this part of the story. I was too young, and there was too much going on.

People often get caught up in the sensational side of a transition, the world's obsessed with it. There's a lot more to my story than that, This is more a story, of someone who's been through a lot, who happens to be trans. Even if I wasn't trans, it's still a hell of a story.

My Dad frightened my Mum long after he left. She directed my primary school to not let me near the outer layer of the fencing in the playground, for fear he'd snatch me. He'd made some idle threats to her, that he was going to have me snatched by some of his taxi mates, and I'd be took off to Pakistan. See he didn't want me, but he didn't want my Mum to have me either. I'd be stood in the school playground, watching the other kids run around free, shitting bricks, wondering if a stranger was going to bundle me into their car, and I'd never see my Mum again. That isn't a normal childhood is it ? 

I remember a police lady coming round taking a statement from my Mum about it. We were both scared shitless of him. Just the mention of my Father would send me into a hysterical meltdown. His impact would last a lifetime on my Mum. Maybe I'm only just realising, that she wasn't the only person he left his mark on. Like a yellow stain, that no matter how hard you scrub at, will simply not go away.

Shortly after the gun incident, we moved into my Nan and Grandads house. They'd taken a new job together, running a halfway house for ex cons fresh out of nick. So the plan was, Mum and me would be moving into their old place, and sharing it with my Uncle Sam. I was already familiar with 33 Wells Road before we moved in. My Nan and Grandad lived there for years before heading to the halfway house. I can remember sleeping over, creeping into my Nan and Grandads bedroom early in the morning. Stood at the door, peeping through at their false teeth in glasses of water on their bedside tables. My face a mixture of horror and disgust. Their gummy mouths wide open, snoring, lips flapping with the snores. My first taste of morbid curiosity !! 

I was made up to move in there, but sad to see my Nan and Grandad leave Sholver. My Grandad told me years later, that he and my Nan took me from my Mum for six months when I was a baby. Apparently, I cried a lot, and was at serious risk of my Mum hurting me. It probably explains why I was closer with my Grandparents, than I ever was my Mum. The halfway house they moved into, was about an hour up the road, in a place called Wakefield. I spent a good few summers at that house.

It was a big old Victorian style house, four floors with a basement. In the basement ? A POOL TABLE !! I'd usually be found downstairs in the basement, brushing up on my pool. I can still smell the chalk, alcohol, and stale cigarette smoke. All the lads living there were dead nice to me. God knows what they'd done to land themselves in the nick, but they were all sound with me. I can remember sticking my head in the TV room where they all used to gather, and them inviting me in to show me my first porno. A heavily distorted video, of a gorgeous curvy woman, on the screen of an old Ferguson TV. She was covered in blue feathers and pearls, occasionally flashing a humongous pair of tits. I covered my eyes in embarrassment, they all laughed and took the piss out of me the cunts. I felt like Danny from The Shining, going on adventures round the Overlook Hotel, only without the dead twins. I had some great summers down there.

So now, my Nan and Grandad had left Sholver, and my Mum, My Uncle Sam, and me, all lived together in Nan and Grandads old spot, 33 Wells Road. A few doors down on the same street, was my Aunty Jen. She also lived on Wells Road, with her at the time husband, my Uncle Pete, and my two cousins, Nina and Sam. My Aunty Sue lived in Oldham, but not on the same estate. Sue had two children, Paul and Tina. I used to fight like cat and dog with Paul, but he was by far my favourite Cousin.

I didn't see much of Sue Paul and Tina when I was little. I hated going there. The house was a complete shithole, no place for my cousins to be growing up. Tina and Paul had it much worse than I did. I won't get into it, because it's not my story to tell, but they had it hard. I had it hard in a clean home. They had it harder in a shithole. You'd not see them for months on end, then Tina would show up at the door telling my Mum she needed to go see Sue, and sort Paul out for being bad. Tina and Paul both acted up as kids, but who could really blame them, them kids got dragged up.

The incident that really sticks in mind, was Tina showing up saying Paul had bit Sues bad arm. Sue was disabled. Her mind was sound, but her body was fucked. She had no feeling at all in her left arm. I don't know if she had a stroke when she was young like my Mum, or if she was born disabled. Anyway, Paul bit his Mums bad arm. The one she had no sensation in. The one she didn't realised had been bit, until she noticed a bite mark on it. I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh, but I did find it funny, I still do. My Mum didn't make things better really, her answer to everything was always violence. It was always the same process. Mum would stop off at the shop, and buy me a comic book and some sweets to keep me occupied. I'd sit outside Sues house, reading my Beano and scoffing blackjacks, to the sounds of my Mum kicking the crap out of Paul. 

It wasn't just Paul that got beats, Tina got them off my Mum too, we all did at some point. We'd gone round one afternoon so my Mum could tidy up Sues house, when my Mum noticed some writing on the wall. It said "Auntie Shaz, is a slag". My Mums middle name was Sharon, the kids called her Aunty Shaz. Whoever wrote it, spelled Aunty, I-E. Tina and Paul were at school at the time, I knew they were in for it when they got home. Paul was the first home from school. My Mum sat on the sofa, sipping her tea, patiently waiting to greet him. No sooner had he got through the door, my Mum asked him to spell Aunty. "A-U-N-T-Y Aunty Shaz" Paul said. My Mum nodded and then let him go about his business. Next through the door was Tina. "Tina, spell Aunty" my Mum quizzed. "A-U-N-T-I-E Aunty Sha" my Mum had already began carting Tina off upstairs, before she'd finished her sentence the poor bitch. I never saw anything, but I heard my Mum beat that girls arse for a good ten minutes up in her room. I just sat on the sofa in Sues living room, looking at Paul. We were both smirking at Tina's monumental fuck up, just relieved it wasn't us.

My Mum was a fierce woman when she was younger. Violence was just a part of her nature. Expelled from secondary school for violence, it was all she ever really knew. Grandad used to talk about it with a smile on his face. He was a mixture of proud that she was his girl, and reluctantly defeated, that he couldn't change her. His Alison was his Alison. Noticeably his favourite of the five kids he had. 

Things were cool for a good while, I was living with my Mum and Uncle. My Aunty lived on the same street with my two cousins, and I was having some great holidays at my Nan and Grandads new place. Living with my Uncle Sam, we became very close. He had a lot of time for me. I didn't know what it all meant at the time, but Sam was a full blown alcoholic. Years before I was born, he dated a girl who's parents had their own pub. That's where he must have got the taste for it, because he didn't put it down after that. I'd get up to go to primary school, and he'd be sat in his chair, already chugging back the Strongbow. He never let that come between us though. I have nothing but nice memories of Sam from when I was little. I used to have horrendous nightmares as a kid, I still do. But he would always get up with me in the night, and sit with me colouring pictures, or reading a book until I was tired again. It seems my Mum would palm me off with just about every relative reflecting as I write. She didn't cope with raising me well at all. Sometimes it was as if she resented me. I remember my Uncle Sam grabbing her by her throat one day, after she'd belted me. He told her straight, never to lay a finger on me again. His days were numbered after that.

Like all things in life, nothing lasts forever. The game was about to change in a big way, and not for the better. I was upstairs in my room, when I heard my Mum call me down to the living room. I'd have been about six at the time. I went downstairs and was greeted by my Mum, who was sat with this strange looking woman. All the appearances of a man, but a soft female voice. She sat there with a big happy smile on her face, looking pleased to see me. I didn't really know what to make of this stranger, I'd never seen a woman like her before. Slightly overweight, seemed tall to me at the time, but actually quite small in height, short black curly hair.

"Dan" My Mum said. 

"I'd like you to meet my friend Karen"

The story continues next Friday, when I return with Part III.

I overdosed the night I wrote this piece. I was sick for days after writing it. I didn't want to kill myself. I just didn't want to feel the feelings, that remembering it all provokes. All the anger I feel towards both my parents. Then there's the abandonment to deal with. It's quite possible, my gender, and or mental health issues, are largely down to my Father kicking my Mum in the stomach. And he's out there, living his best life, getting away with it all. It's MY head in bits, MY gender I'm having to have surgery to correct. He discarded his child like rubbish, and moved on. Has he been there for me as an adult ? Has he fuck. He couldn't give a toss about any of his kids. I was talking to my oldest sister a few year back, and I challenged her to say one nice thing about him. The best she could come up with was "At least he didn't molest any of us". That's the closest to a compliment she could give him. I'll be going into him again, further down the line in my story, but for now, he was gone. 

I didn't ask to be born, I often wish I hadn't been. Neither one of them wanted me. It's a tough pill to swallow.

Roll Credits.

See you next week, but for now, Goo Goo Ga Ga x

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Butterfly (Part I) Broken Pieces

 Butterfly (Part I) Broken Pieces

Writer and Model - Lexus Bradbury

The first thing I can remember when I woke up from surgery, was the blurred image of Mr Musgrove, my face surgeon. All I could taste was blood, and I was in agony all over my face. I vaguely remember hearing the distorted sound of his voice, telling me everything had been a success. I'm not even sure if it was a dream. My body was well and truly sedated, but I was aware of my surroundings. I can remember thinking, hang on a minute !! What do you mean surgery has been a success ? It was only a moment before, I was lay on a bed in a little quiet room, after being wheeled down to theatre. Them two nurses that were in there, said they'd tell me when they were about to put me to sleep. THEY TRICKED ME THE BASTARDS !! They didn't even warn me they were doing it. We were having a laugh and a joke about the tin foil bed sheet they put over me. Next minute, I'm all bashed up. I was under for eight hours in total, it literally felt like seconds. When I had my boob job, they warned me when they were putting me to sleep, so I expected the same. The two blokes administering anaesthetic, must have a laugh doing that to people all the time !! I never saw them again, pair of cunts.

"We're just administering some pain relief Lexy, we'll let you know when we're going to put you under", yeah alright !! Bullshitters. Joke aside, I'm glad they didn't tell me really, I was terrified enough. It felt like I was walking the green mile going down to theatre. This was a moment I'd anticipated most of my life. Since being a pre teen, I was well aware that one day this moment would come.

I can't remember them wheeling me back to my room post surgery, I can just remember being there. My next earliest memory, is being thirsty, eyeballing a room temperature cup of water on my little desk. It sat just out of reaching distance, teasing me with its watery goodness. Seems like an easy concept to sit forward and grab it, but if you've ever been sedated and had major surgery, you'll relate and know, that this isn't possible. I couldn't even wiggle my toes yet, so I just lay back, glaring at the solution to my thirst.

I eventually got my drink when my girlfriend showed up. I can't remember much of her being there, other than seeing her sat in the chair to the right of my bed. I felt rude keep falling asleep on her, so I found myself fighting it, giving her a faint rub of her hand to acknowledging her presence. It was hard really, because we were going through a break up, which we put on the back burner, so I could get through my surgery. I was in and out of consciousness, but every time I woke, I could tell she didn't want to be there. I knew at some point, I'd have to continue my journey alone, without her. I knew she wanted out, she'd already made that abundantly clear to me, numerous times before surgery.

When I finally came to, she'd gone home, I must have been well out of it. I could now move properly, so I began to investigate my face with my hands. My entire head was wrapped in bandages, with thin tubes going into my face underneath, either side of my jaw. I felt the tubes and began to follow them slowly with my eyes. They were leading to two bags filled with blood, hanging on a stand at the side of my bed. Originally, I thought I might be having a blood transfusion, but turns out they were actually draining blood. Brief panic over. 

Being asleep for eight hours, meant I was bursting for the toilet when I woke up. Now I could move my limbs again, I decided I was bursting. I waited for a nurse to come, to help me up safely, so I could go to the toilet. I had a nice private little room, with its own en suite. The nurse came, so I murmured with all my strength, "Toilet". She told me that she needed to go get another nurse to help. I figured it was to help me to the bathroom, I was wired up to lots of medical equipment, someone would have to wheel that alongside with me. When she retuned, she was with another nurse, who was clutching a female bedpan. I took a deep breath, and reached within for the strength I needed to talk. "Toilet" I said again, slightly more confrontational than before. She told me in no uncertain terms, the toilet was off limits. I stared at them blankly, short of energy because I'd used it all on saying toilet. A few minutes passed, they stood there, looking at me like idiots, waiting on me to go pee. It was an awkward moment, they'd brought a female bed pan, I still had a cock. I figured a good plan, is wait for them to fuck off, then go to the toilet on my own. But they never left, they just kept staring at me. Finally I caved in, and dug even deeper for my next sentence. "I'm transgender pre op", I said aggressively. "We wasn't sure" The nurse replied. Seriously, how the fuck, at a hospital which does transgender surgeries, are they not aware of this. Instead of going getting me a male option to piss in, they continued to stare at me, waiting for me to go piss in this female bedpan. Even if I had a male bedpan, I didn't want to take a piss with two strange women watching me. In the end I flipped my lid. "I guess I'll just have to fucking piss myself in the bed then won't I" I slurred at them. They saw their arses and left. 

Perfect, I thought to myself. Now I can go to the toilet ! I waited a good few minutes to make sure the coast was clear, and began to fight myself out of bed. Saying basic sentences was a challenge, this wasn't going to be easy at all. It took me a good ten minutes, to move from being lay down, to sat up with my feet hanging over the side of the bed. I grabbed the stand carrying my trusty blood bags, and began to put weight on my feet. Instantly, I felt the ground go from underneath me. Fortunately, instead of falling all the way over, the wall in front of me stopped me, so I could support myself with my hands. It could have been real messy, head split open on the hard, unforgiving hospital floor. I was leaning against the wall a good half hour, before I began to make steps. I felt exhausted just standing up. In total, it took an hour to walk five metres to the bathroom. I was bursting to pee. I sat there, on my well deserved throne, sweating with exhaustion and pain, trollies round my ankles, ready to do the business  ... And nothing. Not even a drip. I was bursting to go, but the anaesthetic was preventing me from going. I shit you not, I cried. I sat on that toilet, and sobbed my heart out. After a good sob, I figured I best get back in bed. It wasn't as difficult getting back, because my body was waking up more and more by the minute. 

I'd had a hell of a lot of work done. The process before I got to face surgery took a while. Yet because I was so afraid of it all, time flew me right by. My mind flicked back to my first consultation. Private surgery isn't cheap at all. It cost two hundred and fifty pounds, just for the initial meeting with the surgeon. I didn't really know what work I needed at the time, I have gender dysphoria. I don't see my reflection, the way I actually look. Friends weren't reliable sources. Your friends are kind, and don't want to hurt your feelings. Mr Musgrove wasn't considerate of my feelings though. Not that he was rude, but it's his job to be honest, I was never going to take it personally. He asked me at the start, what I wanted and thought I needed. The truth was, I simply didn't know, so I asked him what HE thought I needed. I was not prepared for his honesty. 

"Well, obviously your nose is big", I burst out laughing !!

He quizzed me why I was laughing. I'd paid two hundred and fifty quid, to be told I had a big nose. It slightly amused him when I explained, but Mr Musgrove was quite a serious dude. He had the appearance of former UK Foreign Secretary, Jack Straw. His formal appearance was quite intimidating, but he was a lovely guy. He's helped hundreds of trans women look more convincing. I recommended him to a friend recently, but I think he's retired now.

I ended up having quite a lot of surgery all at once. The shape of the male skull, differs quite a lot from the female one. Men, generally have a brow bone that overhangs quite significantly. Men, generally have squarer jaws. And of course men, have Adam's Apples. This was the work I had done, along with my big nose !! I had to go for a scan on the bone density in my skull, because Mr Musgrove wanted to know if my bones were thick enough to shave. If he was able to shave my brow bone, instead of removing it, it would have made the process easier and cheaper. So I spend another few hundred quid on a scan. I never felt anything other than pessimistic, that the bones were going to be too thin to shave down. I'm not the luckiest of people, I expect the worst, that way, anything positive's a bonus. Turns out after the scan, my brow bone was too thin. What a shocker !! So now he couldn't shave my brow bone, he'd have to remove it completely. Meaning, he'd have to take the top of my head off, to then remove the brow bone. THE TOP OF MY HEAD !! AND, having thin bones, meant my bill just went up another four grand !! Another four grand for a shit load more pain. Think of it like a child's ring stacker. The top of the skull comes off, the brow bones come off, then the top of the skull goes back on, which they then screw back into place.

This sounds the most gruesome of the work I had done. It's not every day you have your face peeled back, and the top of your skull removed. The real bad boy, was the rounding off of my jaw. It was the most painful procedure I had, by some distance. You don't want scars on your face where they've gone in. I already have a little scar, where they shaved down my very predominant Adam's Apple. There's a scar a few inches long on my neck, where they made the incision. I actually thought, I'd have a sore throat after my Adams Apple being done, but it was painless. It's shaved down gradually with a surgical blade, until it's completely flat. Poor Mr Musgrove must have been there for ages, because mine was huge. The jaw's done differently, to avoid leaving scars on your face. The solution is, to cut the inside of the lip away from the gums, and go inside under the skin in your mouth. Then, they round off your jaw, and suck out the bone shavings. They then STITCH, the lip back to the gums. Mr Musgrove pulled no punches in the consultation, he told me I was going to be miserable when I woke up, and I'd be on smoothies a good while. Thing is, I'm quite a tough person when it comes to all this kind of stuff. Couldn't fight my way out of a paper bag, but I'm very resilient, when it comes to pain and things standing in my way. I figured my boob job was so easy, this was going to be easy too. I'd signed myself out of the hospital a few hours after breast surgery, because I hate waiting around in hospitals. Back then, the nurses told me I had to stay longer, but I insisted I was going home. Mr Musgrove told me I'd be in hospital for a week, recovering from the surgery. We'll soon see about that, I thought to myself. My mouth was in agony, I had to talk with a stiff jaw, because it was just too painful when I moved it.

The nose job speaks for itself, it's a more commonly known procedure compared to the other stuff I had done. If you've ever seen a nose job, they're not for the squeamish. I had a big strong nose before surgery. I'd took my share of punches to it over the years, and it never even so much as bled. Now it would be more pleasing on the eye, but probably not a good idea to be thumped in it anymore. My nose was painful to the touch, but not causing pain. It was however, very uncomfortable. Mr Musgrove had filled my nostrils with a dissolvable filler, to help the shaping ,and stop the bleeding. You don't realise how much you breathe through your nose, until you can't breathe through your nose anymore. The filler wasn't doing its thing anyway. My nose was dripping a lot of blood. It told tales on me for getting out of bed and going to the toilet. A red speckled trail on the floor, from bed to the bathroom. Drip, drip, drip, drip. I lost a lot of blood after waking up from surgery, it probably contributed to why I felt so tired.

A nurse came to my room about half an hour after my little adventure to the toilet, and noticed the blood on the floor. She left momentarily, and returned with a bandage that looked like a roll up sock. Edging towards me with her good intentions. I knew what she was planning on doing the bitch. She wanted to tape it under my nose to catch all the bleeding. I turned my head and tried resisting her, while saying no through my stiff jaw. She got her own way in the end, taping it right underneath my nose. I couldn't fight her off, I was too weak from the whole process.

I lay back in bed looking out the window, sulking at my new nose accessory. It was already bunged up, now I was overheating with my own breath. Great, just fucking great, I thought to myself. You think you're sleeping, with your nose being smothered with a giant bandage ? It's not the pain that keeps you awake, it's all the discomfort and inconvenience.

I lay back, wrapped up like a mummy, giant bandage under my nose, t shirt covered in blood, and turned my attention to the television. I had Sky TV in my room, one of the few positives from the whole situation. Other than having a more feminine face I mean. I hadn't seen myself at the time though, because I was all wrapped up. Spurs had played Brighton, so I figured I'd watch the highlights from the match. A dull, lifeless game in the end, think they drew 1-1. I don't particularly care for either side. I care for them even less after the night I was about to have. I must have seen Spurs vs Brighton, extended highlights, repeated a good three or four times that night. I was never getting to sleep.

They'd put my legs in a machine that moves them around every few minutes, to help prevent blood clots after surgery. So my nose is blocked, my jaws killing, and now I've got my legs being faffed around with by a machine. It gets worse. The machine was temperamental. It stopped working every hour or so, and then started beeping. So if there WAS moments I may have been drifting off, you can forget about it.

It marks the second longest night I've ever had in my life, trapped in a body, that I could hardly move. I was forced to confront my past, and live with my thoughts. My brain began to wander right back to the start of it all. I found myself thinking of the child I was in the eighties. All the wins, all the losses, and all the sacrifices that brought me to this point. A lot of laughter, and a lot of tears. The start of my story, where it all began !! 

Which I'll be getting into, in Part II of Butterfly next week.

See you next week, but for now, Goo Goo Ga Ga x

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Knowledge of Self

Knowledge of Self

Writer and Model - Lexus Bradbury

Hey guys, and welcome to another new blog. Originally, I wanted to begin my transition story this week. But while I was writing it, I got bogged down with explaining gender, and what it all really means. I didn't really want to cover that in my transition story, so you'll be getting part one of that next week.

There's a lot of misinformation floating round the internet these days, about gender and trans people. One moron, takes in the opinion of another moron. They go tell another moron, who tells another moron, and very soon, that opinion becomes fact.

I'm only writing this piece, so I don't ever have to explain anything like this again. I want to be able to share my stories, and write my blogs confident, that I've already addressed something before I go into it. My transition and career's been an incredible journey, full of highs and lows. I'd rather not have to explain something clinical like gender, in the middle of the story I'm telling. Unfortunately, there are certain things that cross over the topics, that I need to address and give you my take on. Consider this blog me doing that. In future, I'll just reference this blog, and won't actually be speaking on it again. I'm not here to change your opinion if you're anti trans, I fully understand, you are committed to misunderstanding trans people. I'm here to talk about lived experience and facts. I've been living full time as a woman now for fourteen years. I've argued and debated with some of the most staunch anti trans from across the globe. What I quickly learned, was they aren't interested in the facts. They're not interested in actually hearing from trans people at all. I've tried explaining my lived experience, and people still lock in on their narrative. People will believe, what they WANT, to believe. People CHOOSE what they believe, and more often than not, the choice is made based on what best suits their narrative. NOT the actual facts.

This is the biggest threat to our society really evolving. There's a narcissistic element at play, which prevents people from backing down, and admitting they're wrong. Subjective matter is up for debate, but when you present someone with the facts to prove otherwise, and the person you're debating remains locked in, that's very dangerous for us collectively. It holds us back, and prevents us from moving forward together.

I totally get why it is that way. We commit to something for so long, that it causes us emotional pain to admit we've wasted our time on something. The last thing people want to be is wrong. You must understand this ? You see it every single day. It's literally everywhere you look. How often do you see people brave enough to hold their hands up, and admit they're wrong ?

What I'm going to say today, is not open for debate. Not with me anyway. You can debate amongst yourselves, but I have zero interest in debating anything I'm going to say. These are my words, this is my take on things. I'm done hearing everyone else's.

I'd like to go into gender first, and what it all really means, then later, at the end of the blog, I'll dispel some ridiculous myths.

So what is gender, and what does it all really mean ? 

Your gender is who you go to bed as. Your sexuality is who you go to bed with. You can't work out your sexuality, until you've worked out your gender. Trans isn't a sexuality thing, it's a gender thing. 

Lesbian - Who you sleep with

Gay - Who you sleep with 

Bi - Who you sleep with 

Trans - Who you sleep as

There's no sexual element in transgenderism. 

It's 2025 at the time of writing this. It astonishes me, that people still don't know the difference between gender and sexuality. Many of these people, still feel that despite being clueless, they're entitled to an opinion on things. There's the old saying "Everyone's entitled to an opinion". I don't agree with this at all, and it's up to us to police ourselves on it. To know ourselves, and recognise when we're out of our depth on something. To not be arrogant. To know when to be quiet and listen. The sentence begins "Everyone's Entitled". We can just stop there, because everyone's entitled.

The argument is pathetic. So I'm entitled to an opinion on mixed martial arts and how to apply them ? I'm entitled to an opinion on the pain of child birth ? I'm entitled to an opinion on what it's like being sent to war ? You're fooling yourself, if you think your opinion matters. Todays society has normalised people having opinions on things they don't understand. Today's society, doesn't just allow space for it, it often promotes you giving your opinion, pushing clickbait headlines on social media. You've become so desperate to give out your opinions on things. Instead of worrying about which celebrity is sleeping around and doing drugs, why not look at yourselves ? Sure there's room for a ton of self improvement.

A recent headline that stuck out to me, was Kelly Osbourne was mad at a WWE wrestler, for saying some shit about her Dad on the weekly TV Show. You should have seen the people in the comments. Ozzy would be ok with it apparently, like they knew the dude. Judging Kelly, saying Ozzy would be ok with it, and making out Kelly was highly strung. Could it be, that she's just lost her Dad ? And she didn't need a wrestler cutting a promo on him, just after they've buried him ? What do they mean when they say, Ozzy would be okay with it ? How the fuck do you know ? Society has well and truly crossed the line, and what's scary, is how normal this shit's become. Go and find that story on any social, and read the comments. Who the fuck do these people honestly think they are ? Did these people know her Dad ? Because I'm certain, that she knew him better than anyone in the comments section. How out of touch with reality do you need to be, to lecture a grieving daughter, about what her Father would have been ok with, when you never knew them personally ? Knowledge of self is so important, know yourselves.

I've had people try to tell me what happens at the gender clinics. People who've never even been inside one. People who aren't trans. People who've consumed too much biased internet, that's caused them to form an opinion, which they're now trying to pass off as fact. How deluded do you have to be, to tell someone who's been through the process, what happens during the process.

So, I don't care about peoples opinions generally on trans people. They have no idea what it feels like for us. But yet, still entitled enough to feel they have the right to an opinion on us. How about, normalising minding your own business, and staying in your lane. There's so much more to be gained looking inwards, than there ever will be looking outwards. Of course, this scares us, because we don't like what we see when we do that. Other peoples issues are far more interesting to us than our own.

So back to gender. What is gender ? 

Well most of the anti trans brigade, seem to think our gender/sex is based on our chromosomes. I hate to break it to you, but this is simply not the case. Chromosomes weren't discovered until 1861, and even then, they didn't know what it all meant. Man and woman have existed much longer than 1861. We were split into two much earlier than 1861. In fact, man and woman are mentioned in the earliest parts of the bible. 

Gender is a dated religious concept, that existed long before we discovered chromosomes.

If you think about it, in many ways, gender is very similar to the concept of time. We know moments exist, and we know once a moment has gone, there's no way to get it back. We know there will be moments ahead of us in the future. We invented a way to measure these moments, called time. Time is as man made, as the concept of gender. Really, there's no such thing. It's only 10pm, because WE, say it is. The reality is, it's just night time.

At some point in history, we've decided okay, you have this between your legs, this is the pathway we will put you on in life. These are the expectations we put upon you on this pathway, and these will be your roles. This happened long before science.

Regarding chromosomes we have to ask ourselves, what is science ? 

Science is merely the discovery of a pre existing design. There's nothing we can find, that doesn't already exist. If tomorrow, we discovered, that combining an egg with some cider, is the cure for cancer. That doesn't mean that it exists from the moment of discovery. That combination is already there, we just haven't discovered it yet. So, its the job of science, to understand how things work, on an already pre existing design. This isn't our design. The labels we put on things, and how we interpret the design, can only be confirmed by the designer. And seen as they don't pick up the phone, we are guessing with a lot of the structure we've created.

Now it's either a random self made design, with no rhyme or reason. Or, it's someone's/something's design, you may call them God. I don't care whatever way you feel about it.

So I'm not here to deny the existence of chromosomes. Science did its job and discovered them. What science then does, is assign labels to them. Words !! Sounds we make using our mouth. Man made written structure, that forms words based on our sounds. XX Woman, XY Man. 

What if man was called Ug and woman was called Ug Ug ? The same people would be putting themselves out there, saying it's always been Ug and Ug Ug, so why change it now right ? Bless them, they can't handle change.

What science can never do, is prove that we should have been split into two, and sent down these man made structural pathways, based on such differences. This isn't our design, so we aren't the ones to be saying, this is what we should be divided on. Most of our structure is based on guesswork, established long before we discovered Chromosomes.

What if we say, people with brown and blue eyes are women, and green eyes and anything in between, are men ? And it's always been that way. So like being divided on our genitals, there's obvious visible differences in eye colour. But also, there's scientific differences in melanin. So like the differences in chromosomes, we now have visible differences, and scientific ones to back it up. 

So I ask, should we then divide people into groups, based on the visible differences in eyes and the science to back it up ? Of course not, that would be ridiculous right ? This is exactly the same with chromosomes, and visible differences in our bits. If it'd always been that way, people would be saying, there's scientific differences between eye colours. The science proves it, so this proves their gender. Nobody would be any wiser.

Science can show many differences between people. What science cannot do, is prove it was the right thing, to divide us on such differences. I hope this makes sense. If it doesn't, go back to the start, slow down, and read again. There really is no fucking with what I'm saying. When you put everything I've said together, gender is an outdated religious concept.

There are not two genders, there are not fifty, there are not a million. There are none !!

I often see trans people put on the spot by right wingers, who love to ask, what is a woman ?

Allow me to answer that, and remember this answer the next time a clever dick puts you on the spot.

A woman, is an idea that came from religion. It's a man made role, society handed out, based on what's between our legs. A woman has nothing to do with science, the concept existed long before.

Gender doesn't exist. Biology does. But biology doesn't prove that gender exists. Biology proves that we have differences..

We're clinging to outdated ideas, thinking it's based on science, when actually, it's based on man made religious structure. The bible. The same bible that has talking snakes, and people rising from the dead. 

It's not like this structure's serving us well anyway. Men are suffering with mental health issues in silence. While women are thinking way too highly of themselves. The balance is well off. It's not working. I've lived a long period of time in both gender roles. I can conclude, that the world is harder for men, than it ever will be for women. Maybe I'll go into detail on this on its own blog, because it's quite interesting.

The structures already firmly in place, we aren't going to abandon the concept of gender any time soon. I accept this. I'm willing to play the game. We've all heard the cliché, that labels don't define us. Well actually, in this society, they do. That doesn't mean it's right, I'm just saying, these are the cards we have to work with. There isn't going to be some magic reset, where we all get on board and make changes. Labels aren't a fact of life, they're a fact of society. We're obsessed with them. Beans, Cola, Bread, Soup. They're largely here to help us. But that doesn't mean they're overly important. Had spiders been called Landcrawlers, would we know any different ? The word spider, never uttered from anyone's lips until now. Would it not sound as crazy as Landcrawler, if that's what we'd already committed to ? 

The wheels are firmly in motion. There's a lot wrong with our system, but this is the system now, it's here to stay. Personally, I live with it, but I don't pay too much attention to words, sounds and labels. We give far too much respect to things. You ever want to see disgust, use the word (Cunt) around somebody prudish. It's an unpleasant sound to them. But when they hear the sound, (I, will, give, you, money). You watch that same persons eyes light up. We've been conditioned by the system around us, to feel certain ways about certain words.

All science has effectively done, is apply labels, words and sounds, to their discoveries.

Shoutout to the people that now understand, you wonderful, amazing people !!

There will be two other types of people who don't get it. There will be people who genuinely can't keep up with what I'm saying. And then there will be people who get it, but stay locked in. It's ok. Coming down off your high horse is very painful for you. It's hard to admit when we're wrong. Understand that the emotional pain it causes when you're wrong, will not kill you. And actually, that pain is there to help you grow and evolve. I see you.

There's a variety of people who hate on trans people for different reasons.

Some misunderstand us out of ignorance, so lump us in with the nonces. Some have nothing going on in their lives, and nothing special about them, so this trans thing becomes their whole identity. When these people stop talking about trans people, there's nothing left for them to say. They're distinctly average, have no personality, not particularly good looking, no life outside of hating on trans people. They create their social media, and share a post about their life, they get no likes. They share a picture of their poor cat, that has to suffer and endure them as owners, still no likes. Can't get a partner because they're lacking in every sense. Then they see trans people getting attention and love. Men throwing themselves at them. They begin to feel bitter towards them, and question, why not them ? This works for both men and women by the way. I'll get onto gay men in a moment. 

The tops and bottoms of it, particularly from women who don't like transsexuals, GENERALLY is. Why are they getting all my attention. I was born with this God given right, and along comes a man in a dress, and kills me at my own thing. A lot of it's jealousy with them. Trans people are the reason they can't get laid. Trans people are turning straight men Gay. You may laugh, but I've seen transsexuals blamed for just about everything you can imagine. All because of jealousy. You can deny it, you can come up with all your lies to rationalise it, but it's the truth. You usually find, that women who are comfortable in their womanhood, generally support trans people, they aren't threatened by us at all. Then there are women gatekeeping womanhood, who feel threatened by trans women being in the same pool. So they begin to obsess about trans women, and it becomes a bit of a habit. They moan about them on social media, and suddenly, they begin to get the likes. Each like releases a little dopamine hit in the body, which they become addicted to, because they've craved that elusive validation for such a long time. So they post more, and get more likes. Likes by likeminded people, who also have nothing special about them, And what we create there, is a little echo chamber. Where every day, people say the same tired old crap about trans people, and they all nod and agree. Everyone feeding off each other and validating one another. Validation's a hell of a drug in todays society. 

I feel so sorry for these people. Because they NEED, to talk about trans people. If they stop, them likes go away, and they go back to being irrelevant. These are the exact people, that are going to ignore everything I've said, and double down. Rather than admit they're jealous, they'll come up with every excuse in the book. They're a danger to kids, they're rapists, they're a threat to me. Accusing us of wild shit, despite nearly all of them never being hurt by a trans person. They make these overly complicated scenarios up in their head, scenarios that only happened in their mind. Never once, has a woman come out and admitted her problem with trans women is jealousy. Not one. Are you seriously trying to tell me, that there isn't one woman out there, who's being transphobic out of jealousy ? Not a single one ? The very nature of women is jealousy, there's a lot more than one.

There's no point, finding the worst case scenario trans people, and using that to justify why you aren't jealous. I have a football page on social media. It's got my picture in the profile picture, with no mention of me being trans. I'm often told, "women shouldn't talk about football". They can't tell. Sort of shits all over the, "You can always tell" narrative. There are attractive people, and not so attractive people, from all walks of life. Finding the worst case scenario, won't make you any less jealous. Like somehow, there aren't any attractive trans people. There are millions. Some will be so attractive, and so convincing, you won't even know they're trans.

Which brings me to the anti trans gays. The type of men, who's sexuality is their whole identity. It's so fucking cringe. I'm Paul, an adult homosexual male. Yes ... thanks for oversharing Paul. But that's not enough for Paul, everything revolves around Pauls sexuality. This type of gay, is particularly awful to trans women, and it's 100% jealousy. Paul used to be the special one and get all the attention. But the last decade, Pauls had to see the rise of a new community, deemed braver and more compelling. Being Gay isn't big anymore, because they got accepted. Gays can go food shopping, and not tell anyone they're gay. Paul still tells everyone though, don't you Paul ? It just won't stop oozing out of you will it "I'm Gay". It's usually in the bio. Adult, Male homosexual. Trans people don't have that luxury, Trans people have to brave it on the front line, every place they go. Suddenly, like the dried up miserable old bitch, hating on Trans people because she can't get laid, Pauls jealous. Pauls are the new Karens, don't be a Paul okay !!

There are people out there, making a living out of bashing trans people. Getting paid to bash trans people. It's their job, to make fun of trans people and discredit them. They have their agenda, and it's money. These people will disguise themselves, as journalists.

Then we have the closeted types. People who either are trans, or are turned on by us. You can spot these ones a mile away, because they protest well too much.

I'm not saying there aren't people out there with genuine concerns. I think the trans community has to get its shit together, and start rejecting some of the bad apples. Not every trans person was born to be a speaker either. I recognise, there are greater girls than me, to speak for the trans community. That's why today, I'm speaking for myself. If I can realise that, after fourteen years of being full time. Then there's a lot of girls, who need to shut the fuck up. Everyone wants to be the Jesus of the trans community, people who haven't even been full time a year, speaking on behalf of girls like me. People desperate for their moment, pulling the community in a million different directions all at once. People who aren't even full time. Had no surgery, shown no level of full time commitment, speaking on behalf of the community. Hate to say this, but chances are, you aren't the one to be speaking. Why don't you concentrate on settling into your new role, and learning things, before you start "educating" people. I despise these people as much as I despise my oppressors. These people, have done untold damage to my community. You don't come into an already established house, and then start rearranging the furniture.

Non-Binary, is not the same as transgender. Doing drag, is not the same as transgender. They are their own things, in their own category. Transgender, is commitment to the role. I'm not here to educate people on Non-Binary, because I cant relate to the experience. I'd appreciate Non-Binary, and Drag Queens, knowing themselves, and not speaking on behalf of us. Hiding behind the trans label. Wankers like Jeffrey Marsh, do not represent Transgender people. Just like I, don't represent wankers, like Jeffrey Marsh. I've seen Drag Queens on the news being interviewed, "educating" people on gender, and why things are so hard for them. What the fuck would they know ? Their makeup comes off at the end of their shift, I don't have that luxury.

When Drag Queens were asked to go into schools to talk about gender. They should have turned down the opportunity, and passed it to Trans people. They should have sat down with whoever asked them, and explained and educated them, on why they weren't the ones to be doing it. But their egos would never allow that, would they ? 

I have no problem with Non-Binary people by the way, I want to be clear about that. I'd just like them to have a bit of self awareness, when a microphones in front of them. The opportunity to have their moment's just too tempting. It tickles that narcissism, and they just can't help themselves. Suddenly, the floodgates open up, and they're venturing into the trans subject. You aren't trans, you are Non-Binary. Have the decency when presented with moments, to just say "I'm Non-Binary, if you want to know about trans people, ask someone who's transitioned and committed to the role".

Non-Binary people are actually the closest to what I was talking about earlier. Gender doesn't actually exist, so they don't have one. Trans people have actually acknowledged the systems in place, and have committed to their preferred role.

I'm with women who have genuine concerns, I've heard loads out. I even agree with some of them. Women being ignored, is what got the trans community the push back it experienced in the first place. The gender debate, isn't going to be solved on social media. If all you do all day, is chat shit on social media, whatever the cause, you are not an activist, you're just somebody with an opinion.

Another myth I'd like to address, is that cisgender, is a slur. This is very easily accessible, via a quick Google search on what cisgender means, and where it came from. 

Cisgender - A person who's gender identity, aligns with the sex they were assigned at birth. It stems from the Latin prefix "Cis-," meaning, on the same side as. Trans people do not say this as a slur. It means you aren't trans. This is a good thing, congratulations.

I find it unbelievable, in a world I'm called a predator, and a danger to women and kids, without any reason at all. Like it's ok to accuse me of that, just because I'm trans. That there's people, playing the violin, acting like they're offended by this term. It's my house on fire. And instead of helping me, you want yours to be on fire too. Grow up, not everything's about you. It's a lie, born out of DELIBERATE misinformation. A quick Google will show you this. The information's there for you to access. Of course, some people aren't interested in the facts, it doesn't suit the narrative they're trying to paint.

While I'm here, the final thing I want to talk about, is the myth that children are being drugged up irreversibly, and talked into transitioning.

I have no doubt, that someone somewhere, has forced their child to transition. It's a giant world, full of strange people. There's lots possible outcomes. Now that's said, lets get into the trans children myth.

Adult trans people are told by idiots, that it's nothing more than a perversion. But that can't be the case generally, because we have kids saying it. Kids who don't even know what sex is yet. Even for adults, transitioning is a slow gruelling process that takes years. And rightly so, this isn't the sort of shit you want to be taking lightly. If all you like to do, is wear a dress and knock out a quick wank, you are going to massively regret having your cock and balls off. Staff are trained how to recognise this, they aren't fools. And you don't have to convince just one person either.

First you have to convince your doctor. Then you have to convince a sexual psychiatrist. Then you have to convince your key worker AND a doctor at the gender clinic. And then finally, you have to convince a panel of people, who will make a decision on the final outcome. This process takes years, and includes many interviews between patient and a number of specialist. If a kid goes through this process up until the age of consent, it's highly likely, that if anything doesn't sit right, they wont be recommended for transition. 

Nobody, and I mean nobody, just walks into a clinic, and gets a sex change. There's a criteria you have to pass, before you even get considered for hormones. You have to live full time for two years, before you'll even be considered for genuine help. The question isn't always, is this person trans ? Sometimes the question and dealbreaker is, does this person have what it takes to be trans ?

So, if they're that strict on adults, what do you think it's like for children ? Again, not saying it hasn't happened in the history of time. But all in all, 99.9% of the time, no child is ever operated on, until age of consent. This means, that before trans children had their healthcare stripped away, kids weren't being operated on anyway. 

I take two types of medication. I take one to lower my testosterone, and I take oestrogen. This tricks my body into feminising its shape and appearance. This also alters my emotions and feelings. If I take the medicine for twelve months, and stop for three months. My body will revert to its natural default setting, and everything will resume as it once was. If you stop taking hormones, your body goes back to normal.

Trans kids don't take hormones, they take puberty blockers. Why don't they take hormones if they're trans ? They can't consent yet, and their identity can't completely be trusted. Children are capable of changing their minds. So are adults, but the presence of adult detransitioners, doesn't discredit trans people. It only discredits the individuals in question, for thinking they're trans. So kids aren't being pumped full of hormones. They take puberty blockers. It's key that we block puberty, if we want a successful transition for the individual. We need them to have every benefit available to them. Kids who've started early and gone on blockers, you literally can't tell. The earlier you catch it, the better the transition for the child, and that means less, major, painful invasive surgery to face, further down the road.

So what if the kid goes on the blockers and then changes their mind ? 

They come off the blockers, puberty kicks in almost instantly, and they resume a normal life. This is completely reversable. The fact that government took this away from trans children, is a disgrace. You are raising a generation of trans babies, that are going to have to have major surgery, to correct the FORCED developments.

As a result of going through puberty, I've had surgeries to correct what could have been prevented. What about the female to males, that don't want to develop breasts ? You're literally going to force them down a path, of having their breasts cut off, because of some myth, that trans kids are being pumped full of hormones ? It's much easier to come off the medication, and your body to go back to normal, than it is to have major surgery. You're FORCING them into a body horror experience. Trans youth, are going to take their own lives over this. I've seen it already, and the sick bastards in the comments, celebrating the suicide of a trans child, saying one less. It may not be important to you, but some of you will have trans children, and just not know yet. I wonder, how important it's going to be for the same people, when it's on their doorstep.

I've been to the gender clinic, been through the process. Seen trans kids and what they have to go through in their process. I was a trans child, I'd just not transitioned yet. Unless you have the same experience, your opinion is irrelevant. I'm sure being told that bothers some people, tough shit. I don't care what your mate told you at the anti trans rally. I don't care what you read on the internet. I'm coming at this with actual lived experience. You wouldn't dream of telling Cristiano Ronaldo how to take a free kick. So don't tell me how gender and biological sex works. Don't insult me, by telling me, there are kids being groomed to be transgender, because they like to play with dolls. It doesn't work like that. A medical professional isn't going to look at that situation, and be like "Right, Billy likes to play with dolls, off with his cock and balls". These things are narratives, that only happen in your poisoned and deluded little minds.

If kids stop taking puberty blockers, their body goes back to normal. No long term damage done. This is a fact. The only reason, puberty blockers were taken from Trans children, was because the government was being advised, by a right wing anti trans group. They were taking in biased misinformation and lies, and they got drawn in by sensational bullshit and scare tactics.

It's always the people picking on these kids, that spout the line "Let kids be kids". That's what we are doing. Well, that's what people with lives of their own are doing. Nobody was bothering them until you came along. Making your sick unfounded accusations, that the parents are child abusers, for letting their kid live in their preferred gender role. People aren't telling kids they're trans, kids are telling their parents. When you turn your phone off at night and go to sleep, that's where it ends for you. The trans child, you constantly debate and obsess over, and the parents, have to live and deal with this, every waking minute. Forgive them, for not taking into consideration what @Anon4822100534692, has to say on the internet. 

Granted, not every kid who says they're trans, is going to be trans. That's why they're heavily investigated over many years. It's the people with no dog in the fight, that's not letting kids be kids. Some kids are Transgender, let them be kids. Stop telling them what to wear and how to feel. Stop telling them how to act. And if it doesn't concern you, mind your fucking business. Being a parent to a trans child, is already a tough enough task. Last thing a loving and accepting parent needs, is some helmet, who doesn't know what they're talking about, accusing them of child abuse. You don't care about women or kids, you care about bashing trans people, and women and kids are the excuses you use, to push your narratives.

Writing this has been a most unpleasant experience. I hate saying it, because I turned my back on all this a long time ago. I needed to explain it, because elements of it were bleeding into my transition story, and I didn't want my transition story to be about all of this shit. I'll not be talking about it again, and this is not up for debate with me. If I hear anything back, it can only be because you're a moron, and you've completely missed the point of what I'm saying. It took a week to write this blog, I'm not going to waste more of my time, debating with someone who's head it's gone over. Tell you what I will do, I may reply with a sunglasses emoji. If you see that, you're missing the point of what I've said. And I can't be arsed, wasting more time, arguing with people, committed to misunderstanding trans people. 

Go do your Googles. 😎

See you next week, but for now, Goo Goo Ga Ga x

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Hey Joe

Hey Joe

Writer and Model - Lexus Bradbury

Hey Joe, my name's Miss Lexus Alison Bradbury, lovely to meet you. You don't realise it yet, but we are going to be good friends, why don't you just call me Lexy. You're probably thinking, wow, my Mummy's called Alison. And now you're thinking, how does Lexy know that ? I know a lot about you Joe. Did you know ? That your Mummy's last name before she changed it to her girlfriends last name, used to be Bradbury too ? You can change your name to Bradbury one day too if you like.

I'm writing to you today, because I think you could do with a friend right now. You're probably up in your room, sat on the window, looking out at the farmland all around you. Watching the cars pass by over the hills, dreaming of all the wonderful things you want to be when you grow up. I used to be exactly the same. We have a lot in common Joe, more than you realise right now. We both dream big !! 

A lot of children have silly dreams when they're little. Some dream of being footballers, some dream of being superheroes. Very few of the boys and girls you're friends with, will achieve their dreams. In a way, you are going to be that superhero. You're going to help and inspire a lot of people in your life !!

You have to lie about your dreams don't you Joe ? It's okay, I already know what you want to be when you get big. You're so afraid to admit it, you daren't say it out loud. You don't have to, it's fine. You're not ready, and you don't understand what it all really means. I promise you that one day it will all make sense.

Your Mummy's got a hangover again hasn't she ? Best to stay up here out of the way. I know everything you're going through at home Joe. I know you have to hide the bruises. I know your Mummy came in your room and ripped up your Kylie Minogue poster. I know she felt bad and replaced it with a lesser poster. And I also know she ripped up that one too. Eventually she will just stop replacing the stuff she's damaged. I like Kylie too !! Your favourite songs Especially for You right ? My favourite Kylie songs called, I Believe in You. You won't have heard it yet, it will come out when you're older.

You've made your bedroom nice again after Mummy trashed it. Joe, you aren't the problem in the house. I know your Mummy says you are, but you are a child and have done nothing wrong. This is not going to be easy to hear, but Mummy isn't a nice person. I know you will be angry with me for saying this, because you love your Mummy. But Mummy's not your friend really Joe. Your Mummy doesn't even love Mummy, so Mummy can't really love you. Please don't be angry with me for saying that, I know you're defensive of her. The truth is Joe, it's not really Mummy's fault, she is what she is.

Don't feel bad about what happened last week. You were being backed into a corner by a big mean bully, prodding you in your chest, hoping you would react. Karen's even more a not nice person Joe. She tells your Mummy she loves her, and I suppose in her own little way she does. But she doesn't really love her like you love a person, she loves her like something you own. When you said to her, if she kept pushing you against the wall, you would cut her with a knife, it's a normal reaction for a kid who's being abused. As the adults, your Mummy should never have gone and got a knife, and given it to Karen to put it in your hand in the first place. How many times did you tell her Joe ? You didn't want to, before you ran that knife over the top of her arm ? She pushed and pushed until you just snapped. You don't realise this yet, but that was a regular cutlery knife. Running that over the top of her arm would create a little scratch, it won't really hurt her.

When Karen fell on the floor and died, she was pretending. She wanted to scare you even more than you already were. And when your Mummy said she needed to go phone the police, because you killed her, she was pretending too !! They were messing with your head Joe. You're going to feel bad about it for some time, but none of that was your fault. Grown ups will think they're sick, because that's what they are.

Karen's a piece of shit Joe. You are not her child, and because of the way she is, she can't love you as her child. I know Karen smacked you for getting out of bed and going to the toilet that night. I've got a great idea !! There's an old yellow plastic cup in the kitchen cupboard. It's yours from when you were really little. Take that, and put it under your bed. That way, when you need a wee at night, you can go in the cup without getting hassle. Saves you tiptoeing on the creaky floorboards. But Joe, please please remember, to empty the cup in the morning. To wash it out, and put it back under your bed. If your Mummy finds it, she will give you two options. To go into care, or drink the pee you left in the cup, because Karen is going to deny smacking you. Trust me Joe, you don't want to have to do that, so please don't get sloppy and remember okay !!

At least you've got your dreams, please hold onto them, they're going to get you through this whole thing. Don't become too attached to Mummy Joe. One day she's not going to be there, and you're going to have to look after yourself. 

Here's some things about the future that I know you're probably not ready to hear. At fourteen you will be forced out the house. It will be the day you realise Mummy picked her relationship over you. At fifteen you will have your own place, and drop out of school because no ones taking care of you anymore. Don't worry too much about that, because you have big dreams, and school won't get you there anyway.

You're going to waste much of your youth waiting for your dreams to come true. Perhaps if this letter gets to you, you can realise that dreams don't just come true. You're going to have to make them happen all by yourself Joe. Nothing is going to be handed to you. Dreams don't just come true on their own. Lots of grown ups are still sat waiting for things to happen, that are never going to happen, because they haven't realised we make our own luck.

At some point whether you listen to me or you don't, all your dreams are going to come true. You're special Joe, and gifted. All the abuse you're going through right now, is going to both screw you up, and also give you the edge over everybody else.

People are going to admire and look up to you. They're going to copy you and try to replicate who you are. Don't be offended by any of this, imitation is flattery. You're going to be a role model for many people Joe. So in a way, everything your Mummy and Karen is putting you through, is going to give you the shoulders big enough, to handle all the expectations. 

With success comes a lot of resentment Joe. People are going to come after you. Remember when Mummy said, "if wit was shit you'd be constipated" ? Well, that couldn't be further from the truth. Everything you're going to experience, will prepare you for all the hate coming your way. Nobody, and I mean nobody, is going to be able to cope with your tongue Joe. Along with your wonderful mind, it's your most powerful weapon. You're not built for fighting. I know you wish you were, but you're just not. You're not going to get the best of people fighting them. It's your mind and mouth that's going to hurt them. You have a wonderful brain, don't feel bad about dismantling somebody who's trying to hurt you. They did it to themselves when they set out to hurt you. Just know when to do it, and make sure you use it on the right people. Last thing you want to do is hurt people you love, it's very hard to live with, trust me. You are the truth Joe, as long as you stick to being the truth, no weapon against you will ever prosper. 

You're going to be angry for many years about what can only be described, as having your childhood robbed from you. This isn't really a bad thing. Use that anger Joe, channel it to motivate you. There's going to be days when you feel like giving up, when staying in bed feels the best option. Think of how good you're going to feel, when you get out of that bed, and become so much more, than any of them people who've hurt you, could ever imagine.

They're all wanting to see you fail Joe. If you fail, they can sit on their fat arses and say, Joe ain't shit. You must disappoint those people Joe. If you work hard, some of them people will go to the grave without seeing you fail. There are people who already hate you, that will wait the rest of their lives, wanting to see you fail, then they will die. Many of your enemies will die Joe, you don't have to do much, just focus on you. When the news breaks of what you intend on doing, they're going to have expectations of how it's going to be and look. You're going to give them nothing to hold onto. Nothing to laugh about. You're going to be great Joe. One of the greatest of all time.

The world's going to open up to you in so many ways, and one day, people are going to be nice to you because of who you are. All your dreams are going to come true Joe !! You're going to have the world eating out the palm of your hand. You're going to be an icon, but understand, when this all comes to fruition. It's just going to lead to you setting new dreams and goals, and achieving them too. This isn't going to lead to happiness. 

All of this isn't going to make the pain of what you're currently experiencing go away. I'd love to sit there and say, that your life's going to get better. But despite all the success you're going to experience, you're still going to just feel like you.

People are going to surround you, and pretend to be your friend, just to get a piece of you. Be mindful of these people Joe, they're not really your friends, they want to use you. They're going to give you all kinds of drugs and alcohol. I know your Mummy smokes and drinks, just like Karen does. And I know how much you hate that. If you don't be careful, you're going to end up doing all the same things she does. You don't have the lungs for it, and you're going to end up unwell when you get to my age. Please look after your body Joe. People are going to have all kinds of opinions on it, but it's amazing, and it's the only one you've got and will ever have. Please look after yourself.

Look at me Joe, take a long look at my picture, do you see anything familiar ? You probably don't, because I've had a fair bit of face surgery. I look a lot like Mummy right ? Could I be an Auntie that Mummy never told you about ? No it's not that. Think harder for a minute. Why am I even calling you Joe ? Joe's your middle name right ? Only your Nan called you that. Little Joe 90 with the big glasses. How do I know, you pinched a picture of your nan from your Mummy's photo album ? And how do I know at night, you pull it out from the bottom of your toy box and cry ? I know everything about you Joe.

It doesn't really matter who I am at the moment. What does matter, is I want you to know, that I'm always here for you if you need me. When you realise, all the pain you're going to have to go through in order to be happy, it might not seem like it, and you might feel alone and afraid. But I am right there with you, listening to everything you're going through.

One day, you're going to be sat writing the same letter that I am now, because you know that little Joe is alone and afraid. I promise you Joe, then, you will know who I am. 

Now dry our eyes and be brave, you've got work to do !!

Love 

Lexus xxx

Missing Jigsaw Pieces

  Missing Jigsaw Pieces

Writer and Model - Lexus Bradbury

Hey ya big smelly bums, and welcome back to another brand new blog. Been a busy bee again this week sorting out my house move. I haven't started the move yet because the property is having some work done to it, but fingers crossed I'll be moved soon.

I wanted to do something a little different this week following on from my regression story, I hope you enjoyed that. This week I wanted to talk about the why of the whole situation. Why am I ABDL, and what makes an ABDL. To understand this we are going to have to go right back to the start of my story. So hop in my time machine with me, and lets go back. (VSHOOM VSHOOM VSHOOM VSHOOM VSHOOM) 

Is that the noise a time machine makes ? 

Before we question the why, first I want to explain that I am two things. I am Transsexual, and I'm ABDL, they are not the same thing. I also want to be clear that this is my own individual opinion, based on my own experiences. You've got to say that these days with people desperate to be outraged by things.

My Transition from male to female is nothing to do with being an ABDL. That being said, even though they're not the same, there are similarities. You can remain in the closet about it, or you can go full time and come out with it. Both will make you feel happy if you give in to it, instead of fighting it constantly. A sense of relief and comfort in your own skin, an overwhelming sense of wellbeing and happiness that money just can't buy. Both are misunderstood and demonised on the surface level of things. I could go on and on with the comparisons, there are so many.

I'll speak about being Trans first, so we can understand what that means to me, and while we're here, we will ask the question why ?

I knew I was trans from a very early age. I may not have known what it all meant, but the tell tales were there very early. As a toddler, my Mother used to remove my diaper and let me have a run around and breathe, most kids relish this opportunity. You've no doubt been in a home somewhere, where there's been a little Nudey Mgrudey running amok causing havoc round the house. For me it was an instant moment of shame seeing my cock. I'd go and hide under the dining room table until my Mother covered me up. Even as a toddler I sensed shame.  

By eight year old I knew I wanted to be a girl. I felt so much conflict and defeat, because I didn't think a transition was possible at the time. I didn't think I could do anything about the dysphoria. I thought that was my lot, I was going to be a man, and this is what society expected from me.

As puberty hit, I started to realise that maybe a transition would be possible. But then I had the heartache of realising that I was going to be surrounded by stigma, demonised, assaulted, possibly murdered, and going to have major invasive painful surgery in order to get there. 

Sunday night would come before school, and I'd be up in bed with my face in my pillow crying, just saying why over and over again. I didn't really know why I was saying that at the time. But you can bet I knew why I was crying when I was being wheeled into theatre to have face reconstruction, before you wonder, yes it hurts.

I'd gone from being ashamed to see my cock, to reluctant defeat I'm trapped as a man, to the heavy burden of the cross I had to carry in order to live my dreams. All worth it, and if I had to go through it all again, I certainly would.

So I was showing signs of dysphoria as young as three years old. There was no internet, I'd not been online reading sissy porn. I'd not seen anyone else doing it and decided I'd jump on board. I was a child that already knew before I was exposed to anything. We're talking about the mid eighties, a totally different time for the world. This alone, flies in the face of most arguments against Trans people. If you know me well, then you'll know one of the things I was known for, was taking on right wing nutbags obsessed with Trans people. They were so locked into their beliefs, that in the end, I decided to stop debating with them. It's too painful for us to admit, that we've committed ourselves to a belief system that fails us. So we lock in, kicking and screaming despite all the facts, fingers in our ears. Anything BUT actually admitting that perhaps we got it wrong.  I see you, its alright.

The answer why I'm trans could be a million different things, but what I've just told you eliminates so many of the possible explanations. My Father blames himself, he says it's because he left me to be raised by two women, (my Mother and her girlfriend). Yet I knew before my father even left, so it's not that. 

The fact that I knew so young, suggests that I was just born this way. Could it really be that ? That perhaps some people are born with a brain that doesn't quite match up with the biological body ? I don't think this is the case for everybody. I think there are people out there hiding behind genuine Transsexuals, doing it for all the wrong reasons. I already mentioned this briefly in my second blog (Why I'm Choosing Regression). 

I'm happy I'm Trans, I wouldn't change it for all the money in the world. If you offered me a million in cash and said you had to dress male for the rest of your life, and present as one. As heartbreaking as it would be for me to turn down all that money, the cost to my wellbeing would eventually result in my death.

So now we've established I was born this way, lets get to the ABDL stuff.

If you've been reading my blogs, you'll realise this is a very sexy lifestyle. That being said, there's other elements at work as to why I've gone full time with it. It's only recently I finally understood it completely. It's my nature to question things, everything you see around you, and everything you don't. It's part and parcel of my disorders. 

So why am I ABDL ? Well if you're ABDL, I don't know why you are, but here's why I am.

My upbringing was awful and my adult life was very stressful, its really that simple. In fact, my life has been one tragedy after another. I'm not suggesting I've had it worse than anyone, that's not for me to decide. But what I am saying is I've had it rough. 

I've spent over a third of my life homeless, I've suffered more bereavements than most of the people I know, I was abused as a child, and my adult life came with the stigma of transitioning and lots of other issues.

My Mother was awful to me and had real issues keeping her hands to herself. She died back in 2008, it's only the last few years I've been able to talk about it all. I'd want to talk about it, and go to talk about it, but then my throat would swell up, and I'd be holding back the tears and emotion. I don't feel that today, I feel very little emotion when I address it all now.

I didn't have to be naughty to get smacked, I didn't get smacked, she would literally kick the fuck out of me whenever she felt like it. I can see now looking back, she couldn't regulate her emotions. I should have been taken from her, because she'd to do things to me, that today would 100% result in her going to jail. I don't condone what she did to me, but I understand it, I understand her. I am now the adult in the situation, and if she was here today, she would be the child. 

Small issues very quickly escalated into big issues, she simply could not regulate herself. I found out several years ago, that my Grandparents took me off her for a while, because I was at risk from her. I still haven't forgiven her, yet as I reminisce, I feel sorry for her. I can remember being about twelve years old, sat in my room thinking, FUCK !! I've outgrown this woman, I'm already wiser in so many ways. She never got to live her life, and experience the levels of freedom and liberation I've been fortunate enough to experience. That being said, I didn't try playing it safe, clinging to a toxic relationship that was never going to love me back. I took risks and earned everything positive I've experienced. I worked hard.

She was with my Father for the first five years of my life, and he treated her like shit. Kicking her in the stomach while she was pregnant with me, because, "He didn't want any more fucking kids". Maybe it was that kick that screwed me up, or maybe it was hearing about it. Maybe that's why my heads been such a mess for so many years. Guess it could be my fathers fault after all. My Mum began losing a lot of blood and was told she was losing me, in the end, I hung on. He split in the end like he always does, and My mum ended up in a lesbian relationship. Some butch woman who was female at the core, but had most of the attributes of a man. Although drunk she would often ask would I support her if she transitioned, maybe that's why she hates men so much.

Very soon, I began to see that I was only an extension of my Mother to this new woman. I was tolerated so she could get her claws into my Mum. She used to be a proper cunt to me when my Mum wasn't around, and just say mean things for the sake of saying them. Bullying me out of an opinion on anything, all disguised as discipline. She soon felt comfortable putting her hands on me too. Someone else's child. She did a lot of bad shit in the end. All while disguising herself as this great saviour to me and my Mum from my big mean father. She was just as bad.

My Mum, very eager to be loved and wanted, fell for this woman hard. Within a few years she only had eyes for this woman, and I found myself on the outside looking in. The woman began abusing and manipulating my Mum, the shit slid down, and my Mum would take it all out on me. Her very own little punch bag that she grew inside of herself. I was the focal point for all my Mums pain and anger.

I'm talking knees, elbows, punches, she thought she was in the octagon. She's lucky she didn't kill me, I was only frail, and she would go well overboard with "Discipline". This isn't a focused story on my abuse and what I went through, but I have to go there because we are questioning why I'm ABDL. 

Well to cut a long story short, I was kicked out of the house at the ripe old age of fourteen. I did nothing wrong and nothing to deserve losing the house I grew up in. Before it was my Mums and her Girlfriends house, it was my Nan and Grandads house, they signed it to my Mum and her brother. He found himself kicked out the house when my Mums girlfriend came along. Few month later he was found dead in his new property, alone. My closest Uncle, I wish I was an adult at the time, so I could have stood up for him and said, hey hang on, this is his parents house, why should he go because you got a new girlfriend.

Before my Mums girlfriend came along, lets for the sake of things call my Mums girlfriend Debbie. I don't want to keep saying my Mums girlfriend. Before Debbie came along, me and my Mum lived in that house with my Uncle Chris. It was a dark day for me when he left that house, and even darker when Debbie got put on the tenancy, I knew this bitch didn't fly straight.

Uncle Chris was a full blown alcoholic, but he never let that stop him being a good Uncle to me. Hearing how he was found dead when I would have been about seven, literally destroyed what was left of my childhood. Knowing he died alone with nobody around him, feeling unwanted in a shitty council flat. I will never forgive my Mum for that. I should have seen the writing on the wall. If your brothers leaving the house over your girlfriend, what does that mean for me down the line ? He's the one relative I still speak with in my meditation moments. He doesn't say much, but he listens, and I get to tell him about my life now and all the cool shit I got to do.

Eventually my Mum ended up losing every relative over this woman, nobody came round to see us anymore, other than Debbie's family. She consumed everything, and broke my Mum over time with narcissistic behaviour patterns. She would blank my Mum for weeks after one of their drunken arguments. Debbie loved a drink, seven nights a week to be exact, and not just a bit of drink either, she liked a lot of drink. This rubbed off on my Mum, and now she was dragging my Mum down with her. I said my Mum was abusive, can you imagine how abusive an abusive person is, when they're constantly on the comedown from alcohol with a hangover ? 

Debbie would abuse my Mum while drunk, it would wake me up when I should be fast asleep for school in the morning. The next day it would be my Mum apologising and begging for Debbie's forgiveness, while Debbie made threats to leave she had no intentions of ever seeing through. I wish she would have kept her word and fucked off, maybe my Mum would still be here today ? Who else was going to pay for Debbie's alcoholism. The only money at the time was my child benefit, which was now split between three of us. So, if you're reading bitch, don't you ever think I owe you for anything you ever did. I remember when you was a dosser sat on your arse, living off my Mother and her child.

The house had become a warzone, no place for a child to grow up. The same house that once belonged to my Nan and Grandad. They'd be mortified to realise what that loving atmosphere they created became. They'd be fighting all night, every night. Involving me in their petty little squabbles. Pulling me out of bed to ask which one of them I wanted to live with. None of them to be honest, I should have been taken from that house by the authorities. I was getting in trouble at school for falling asleep in class, it was a different time. Today, teachers would be all over that asking questions. Back then the solution was to give me detention while I recite the lords prayer. I can't help but feel bitter about it all. Then there's the regular Sunday afternoon bedroom checks for bruises. I didn't realise what was happening at the time, but my Mum would make me strip down, put my arms in a T shape, and slowly spin round. She knew exactly what she was doing the sick bitch. So often I'd hear the words "You aren't in school this week". Hiding the painful truth from the world, robbing me of my education.

I was glad to be kicked out at fourteen truth be told, they were awful to one another, and to me, I was sick of the pair of them. 

I can't help but chuckle to myself when the lesbian anti trans brigade start telling me, how I'm a danger to them. I was abused by lesbians, and decades later, I'm told by lesbians, that I'm the problem. You could not make this shit up !! You might want to look in house a bit before you point your finger at me. Have you forgotten about Liam Fee ? Star Hobson ? Me ? I'm lucky to be alive for fucks sake, them kids weren't so lucky. It's that runaway train, reckless behaviour pattern that concerns me about it all. So caught up in your hate campaign, that you now lack the self awareness to realise, you're pointing your fingers, at an abuse survivor, caused by the hands, of two people from your own community. I await your apologies.

So I was abused every way you can imagine. I was also rejected by the people who made me. My Father split, not that it mattered much about him anyway, he gets allocated so little headspace these days. And now my Mum was siding with her abusive, alcoholic girlfriend over protecting her child. Debbie made our lives hell, she controlled everything about that home, even the little things like atmosphere. Things got so bad my Mum would barely even speak to me anymore when Debbie was around. What sort of Mother, sees her fourteen year old child walk, from a family home of three generations, before she gets up and tells her partner on your bike.

So coming back to the ABDL stuff is it any wonder ? My life didn't somehow magically get better, that just set the tone for misery after misery. Being an adult was difficult, my Mum died as I said in 2008, I was only twenty-three. I had a family of my own by this point with one on the way. We planned our second because we loved the first so much. What we didn't account for, was my Mum snuffing it two week after the baby was born. I was crushed.

I always had this dream, that one day I'd transition and be a successful model. Use the money to get surgery to fix my body, and with what's left, go and rescue my Mum from the mess she got herself into. She didn't deserve that, and a child like that, but she was my Mum, the only one I've got. You're probably thinking, why would you do that for an abusive parent ?  Because I loved her. Despite what she did to me, I loved her. I can be angry with her and still love her. I wouldn't be doing it out of respect, I'd be doing it because she's my Mum.

Actually achieving my goals with her gone, felt like a hollow victory. I think the best word to summarise it, is bittersweet. I've been robbed by fate, the joy of going rescuing my Mum, it's so tough to live with. 

I blew up !! At one point it felt like I held the world in the palm of my hands. I was Lexus Bradbury, one of the greatest TS Models of a generation. Not the prettiest, not the sexiest, but the realist. It's my heart that established me, nothing else. I had big shoes to fill as Lexus Bradbury. People looked up to me, idolised me and wanted to be just like me. Thousands of trans people I've helped since coming out. Despite all that, my Mum didn't get to see who her child grew up to be.

People had high expectations for me, I had high expectations of myself. I had ambitions I needed to see through, and they were going to require unlimited amounts of courage. The worry over impending surgeries constantly, will it all go well, will I ever even get surgery because it's expensive.

Then there's all the bereavements I've experienced. I never hung with people my own age, I always preferred the company of older people. I felt I could learn a lot from them and their experiences. When it comes to life and philosophy, I am a teachers wet dream, a student of the game. I've paid the price that comes with having older friends greatly as the years begin to add up.

ABDL is my escape from everything I've experienced , I feel safe as an ABDL. My mental health has improved massively since taking the plunge. It's not just relief from my life, it's relief from the world. People have the nerve to suggest I'm strange ?? How strange does the world look to someone with a wise old head on their shoulders ? Wisdom obviously comes with stress, because you're so self aware, so you know all your imperfections. To me, this man made society we have to suffer, is the strangest thing on the planet. Try and imagine what life looks like to a creator, humour me. 

Imagine a creator looking in on football and thinking, wow they've made this game, and apparently it's very important. How insulting is it, to ask a creator of infinite worlds and life, to help you win a game of football ? You see the players walking out on the pitch doing the cross. I'm like, mate, seriously, whatever God it is out there you're praying to, doesn't care in the slightest about football. We are talking about a God that lets entire countries starve to death, honestly think he cares if Villa beat Spurs ?

I see all the killing, whether it's ourselves, or whether it's animals. I see the way we treat animals in general, so I want you to humour me again. If you were indeed God, and you saw your creation doing all these terrible corrupt things, would you honestly pick up the phone ? 

I am done with society, if the world ended tomorrow as we know it, and the lot of us got wiped out, good for the world. Good for nature, good for wildlife. 

Your religion, your politics, your narcissism, your self entitlement, your self importance, your excuses, your inability to accept constructive criticism. ABDL is my response to that.

Really hold that thought and take a moment to understand what I've just said ...

Stop and think, how strange it all is ...

How people just willingly play a part in it ...

So in summary, I was born Trans, but society collectively made me ABDL. 

Is it so hard to understand, that instead of worrying about politics or the next war, I may wake up and want to get my paints out and paint a picture ?

That I don't watch the news, I watch cartoons ? 

That violence is the last thing I want to see or experience again after my upbringing ? 

You can accuse me of hiding if you like, but I faced your world plenty. What am I achieving facing it again ? I lived my dreams and achieved my wildest ambitions, read that back. I completed your game of life on hard mode. I'd only be adulting because it's expected as part of the social construct you all designed. Do people even grow up anyway ? There's a few adults with us, but not many. Growing up is a myth. Adults every single day show the same levels of self entitlement children do. It would be earth shattering for them if they ever realised how unimportant they are in the grand scheme of things. 

What if the world wasn't initially intended to be the way we made it ? What if we were meant to have fun, and well ... be happy really ? Inventions never made we never missed. I'm sure some of you will cling to what you know, your structure is important to you. I get that.

If I can make it the rest of my life in this ABDL bubble, which also protects you from me and my cynicism. Without hurting anyone, just playing and being happy in a loving, meaningful relationship with a caregiver, I will be happy.

At the end of the day, it's you, who made me. 

ABDL is my safe space from a world I reject.

Don't get me wrong, this isn't a woe is me story, I'm so happy you wouldn't believe. I'm being myself and don't care one bit about the societal expectations put on me anymore. If I can be happy and find peace despite all the above, maybe you can too, whatever that may require.

Finally I get to be front and centre of someone's world. Loved for who I am, by someone for whom, an ABDL girl is exactly their type. Someone with tons of love to give, and in return they get a very happy girlfriend, and a very special bond and relationship. 

Protected and sheltered from the world. Does it make sense now ? The abuse, abandonment, and all the pain, simply does not matter anymore. Can't you see I've had enough ?

Here's a final question to leave you with. This one's for the caregivers. The fans of ABDLs, who want to nurture, love and be in a relationship with an ABDL. 

Why ? What's your reasons ? I'd be most interested to know. Maybe you could write your reasons in the comments, or get in touch with me on social media to discuss it. I want to know all about it. If you're genuine, I'd be happy to interview you for my blog, you don't have to tell the world who you are, I'm in the business of uplifting people, not destroying lives. So yeah, don't be shy, do get in touch.

That's enough for this week. If you agree with what I've said, or you want to tell me your experience and how it differs, feel free to get in touch. You can either comment underneath this blog, or hit me up on social media, the links are below.

Next week I'm going to discuss the sacred relationship between ABDL and Caregiver, and explain why it's more special than any other adult relationship dynamic.

If you enjoyed this weeks read, please don't forget to follow the blog. You'll notice a small space saying followers on the right hand side of this page towards the top, be a love and smash the follow button.

See you next week, but for now, Goo Goo Ga Ga x

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