Showing posts with label intersex. Show all posts
Showing posts with label intersex. Show all posts

Wednesday, 25 January 2012

I Have A Dream

Old Hermy’s Never Die

They Simply Smile That Way ……

A monthly blog about ‘stuff’ your grandmother could or would never tell you!

I Have A Dream

Like many hermaphrodites of a certain age and from an earlier generation, life for me was at best a spectator sport. Something that as with sexuality from before the trauma of puberty, turned a thousand cracked and broken cog wheels making life an unending, slow motion, motorway smash in thickening fog.

With incompetent Doctor’s turning what was already traumatic enough, into a medical nightmare seemingly without hope or end. Because even if the uncaring members of the medical profession knew that an individual had one of the three principle forms of hermaphroditism; 46 XY/XX ‘true hermaphrodites’ born with ovaries and testes, female pseudo-hermaphroditism or male pseudo-hermaphroditism. They would intentionally keep it secret from both the patient (even if old enough to understand) and their family, though God knows why?

But that is how it was during the ‘dark ages’ of diagnosis and treatment for those born different to the two sex tyranny imposed by religion, legal and medical proffessionals in the name of normality. Though things have improved over the last half a century, especially regarding the diagnosis of 46 XX/XY ‘true hermaphrodites’ born with ovaries and perfectly formed male genitalia, which does not then develop normally; thanks to modern technology and CT scanning techniques.

Unfortunately, the centuries old persecution and global genocide against hermaphrodites in all their forms continues without debate or question. While of all minority groups in modern western society at the start of the 21st century, hermaphrodites continue to be the only ones denied legal recognition and rights unless surgically modified to become male or female. Despite the incontrovertible scientific and medical evidence that there are five sexes chromosomally, not two, not just male and female.

Ever was it that genocide against the ‘other’ had been perpetrated upon a scientific falsehood told repeatedly as incontrovertible, unquestionable truth, reinforced by man’s religious delusions and lies as exemplified in the Vatican Codex, shame upon you all. This is not rock and roll, this is genocide!

Is it simply because we are such a small group of people (sic), one here, one there that no one notices the ethnic cleansing of all born different, imperfect and deformed? Is this why global genocide against hermaphrodites continues unquestioned, because it is in the best interest of all born different to be surgically made the same, made into male or female physically? Regardless of the psychological consequences of surgical procedures performed non-consensually against children.

Whose parents, already sick with worry and self guilt are pressured into consenting to irreversible surgical procedures, performed to give the patient a normal life – even though the Doctors will never let you forget what you were, or fully accept you for what you are. To these people we remain freaks, medical curiosity’s to talk about at this year’s international conference on this or that ism/ology, or laboratory specimens to dissect and experiment upon in the name of scientific perfection and normality.

The only people who are going to speak out and stop the continuing ethnic cleansing and genocide against countless generations of hermaphrodites, are us, other hermaphrodites. Alone we are just silent victims of the medical professions unremitting war against imperfection and difference, by coming together with a single voice and purpose; we have a collective strength greater than the numerically small group of people we are.

Alone we are apathetic and accepting of the medical professions fundamental weapon of destruction, divide and conquer. Ethnically cleansing the word hermaphrodite and its connotations from the collective consciousness and social reality of western civilisation; they made us into something resembling an after thought. ‘Intersex patients’, things that are neither fish nor fowl, creatures existing between the bipolar reality of male and female when Biblically, anything else must be the work of the Devil and Satan’s spawn.

Personally I refuse to use the term ‘intersex’ because I am not somehow physically between the dominate two sex tyranny, technological totalitarianism imposes at the moment of birth – pink or blue, girl or boy, female or male. The consequences of which, are inescapable and for some as devastating as a nuclear explosion.

It is generally Doctors or medical professionals, who control and run the majority of ‘intersex’ associations and organisations, especially in the west. But as everyone intuitively knows, hermaphrodites are incapable of making decisions for themselves, especially about something as fundamental as which sex to become. We need Doctors and medical professionals to perform non consensual surgery upon young hermaphrodites, only Doctors are capable of caring for us by thoughtfully establishing, running and completely controlling the medical imposition of genocide and ethnic cleansing upon hermaphrodites, by creating ‘intersex’ associations for us.

Usually part funded by a multinational drugs company looking for an endless supply of intersex patients to experiment upon in the name of science and year on year share dividend increases, for those who long ago had their humanity and conscience surgically removed. The Doctors who continue to control most intersex associations give their time free, just to be able to oppress and help (if help it be) those born different, to become almost normal.

Clearly we, hermaphrodites, are not capable of talking or thinking for ourselves. With many denied the fundamental right to choose their own sex, even when we try to come together through national or international self help groups. In order to learn from each other’s experiences, to create a collective history (long refused to hermaphrodites) and personal identity.

The Doctors and medical professionals insist upon creating and running such organisations for us, by depending upon that gold standard of totalitarianism, divide and conquer (a fundamental of social control). Already a small group of people, hermaphrodites are divided into specialist support groups with limited individual interests and agenda’s.

Numerically isolated, invisibility and the enduring delusion that it is in our best interest, are used to justify the unjustifiable oppression of hermaphrodites and silent genocide of countless generations of Holy Innocents, inside the sterile operating theatres and sound-proof consulting rooms of concentration camp Europe, the new Fourth Reich.

Like many born different, I have a dream that somehow I might leave this world a better place to be born a hermaphrodite, than I found it sixty years ago during the dark ages medically, socially and culturally. For decades I though that I had at least done a little something to help those with specific forms of hermaphroditism, who like me had insufficient genital tissue for successful assignment as female, by becoming a faceless laboratory rodent to experiment upon.

At least the procedure worked, personally traumatic though it was being the first ‘sigmoid’ in the United Kingdom. Though from what I currently understand, the procedure remains essentially unchanged and has been performed only sixteen times upon the National Health Service, since.

The thing is, I would really like to do more to help hermaphrodites around the world, because we are such a small group of people it falls to us to help each other and ourselves regardless of the particular form of hermaphroditism we live with. In the United Kingdom the legal structure and law certainly has not since the 18th century, when deciding for ourselves the sex we wished to live our lives as, was taken away by the Priests of hate and the growing influence of the medical profession.

I have a dream, not of a charity and the pity they feed upon, but of a non profit making Private Limited Company run by and for all hermaphrodites.

HELP – Hermaphrodites Entering Life Project
In my dream HELP would work towards making this world more accepting of hermaphrotitism in all its forms, through a three-prong approach:

Campaigning:

International Bill of Rights- is it not time that the United Nations spoke out against the global ethnic cleansing and genocide of the 'normals' against hermaphrodites and held an International Year Of The Hermaphrodite?
National Bill of Rights
Legal Recognition and Rights
An End to the two sex tyranny of the 'normals'
Celebrating difference
Empowering:

Personal - offering Peer Support from individuals with the same form of hermaphrodirtism

Social - helping parents resist the medical hysteria for treatment and allowing children to decide for themselves if they want surgical intervention, providing practical support to family, friends and in a wider social context, school/work/religion/society.

Medical – providing financial assistance to individuals, who decide to have surgical intervention, especially those in third world countries with little or no hope of treatment and support throughout their lives.

Legal – changing birth certificates, recognition and rights.

Informing:

Personal –
help with basic education were necessary.

Legal Rights

Social
– giving hermaphrodites a social and personal history, so long denied through ethnic cleansing and the systematic genocide of the ‘normals’.

Cultural – implications of the two sex tyranny when medically and scientifically there are five.

Medical – educating the medical profession and working together in order to empower hermaphrodites to take control of their lives and any treatment they may choose to have.

The following extract is from The Five Sexes: Why Male and Female Are Not Enough, By Anne Fausto-Sterling. Published in The Sciences March/April 1993, p. 20-24. Anne Fausto-Sterling is Professor of Biology and Women's Studies in the Department of Molecular and Cell Biology and Biochemistry at Brown University. Professor Fausto-Sterling's book, entitled Sexing the Body: Gender Politics and the Construction of Sexuality, appeared in February, 2000.

‘But what if things were altogether different? Imagine a world in which the same knowledge that has enabled medicine to intervene in the management of intersexual patients has been placed at the service of multiple sexualities. Imagine that the sexes have multiplied beyond currently imaginable limits. It would have to be a world of shared powers. Patient and physician, parent and child, male and female, heterosexual and homosexual all those oppositions and others would have to be dissolved as sources of division. A new ethic of medical treatment would arise, one that would permit ambiguity in a culture that had overcome sexual division. The central mission of medical treatment would be to preserve life. Thus hermaphrodites would be concerned primarily not about whether they can conform to society but about whether they might develop potentially life-threatening conditions hernias, gonadal tumors, salt imbalance caused by adrenal malfunction that sometimes accompany hermaphroditic development. In my ideal world medical intervention for intersexuals would take place only rarely before the age of reason; subsequent treatment would be a cooperative venture between physician, patient and other advisers trained in issues of gender multiplicity.

I do not pretend that the transition to my utopia would be smooth. Sex, even the supposedly "normal," heterosexual kind, continues to cause untold anxieties in Western society. And certainly a culture that has yet to come to grips religiously and, in some states, legally with the ancient and relatively uncomplicated reality of homosexual love will not readily embrace intersexuality. No doubt the most troublesome arena by far would be the rearing of children. Parents, at least since the Victorian era, have fretted, sometimes to the point of outright denial, over the fact that their children are sexual beings.

All that and more amply explains why intersexual children are generally squeezed into one of the two prevailing sexual categories. But what would be the psychological consequences of taking the alternative road raising children as unabashed intersexuals? On the surface that tack seems fraught with peril. What, for example, would happen to the intersexual child amid the unrelenting cruelty of the school yard? When the time came to shower in gym class, what horrors and humiliations would await the intersexual as his/her anatomy was displayed in all its nontraditional glory? In whose gym class would s/he register to begin with? What bathroom would s/he use? And how on earth would Mom and Dad help shepherd him/her through the mine field of puberty?

In the past thirty years those questions have been ignored, as the scientific community has, with remarkable unanimity, avoided contemplating the alternative route of unimpeded intersexuality. But modem investigators tend to overlook a substantial body of case histories, most of them compiled between 1930 and 1960, before surgical intervention became rampant. Almost without exception, those reports describe children who grew up knowing they were intersexual (though they did not advertise it) and adjusted to their unusual status. Some of the studies are richly detailed described at the level of gym-class showering (which most intersexuals avoided without incident); in any event, there is not a psychotic or a suicide in the lot.

Still, the nuances of socialization among intersexuals cry out for more sophisticated analysis. Clearly, before my vision of sexual multiplicity can be realized, the first openly intersexual children and their parents will have to be brave pioneers who will bear the brunt of society's growing pains. But in the long view though it could take generations to achieve the prize might be a society in which sexuality is something to be celebrated for its subtleties; and not something to be feared or ridiculed.’

I have a dream that one day this will be a better world to be born different, to be born a hermaphrodite. I have been to the top of the mountain and seen the promise land beyond, I may not get there with you (with apologies to Dr King), I have a dream ….

Gestapo HQ – Room C202, Smedley Hydro, Southport

Gestapo HQ, in particular the occupants of Room C202 and the harassment, the suffering endemic within the blood stained walls at Smedley Hydro, Southport. Remain ever vigilant in the unending war against difference, against those unfortunate enough to be born partly male and partly female but wholly neither. Those neither fish nor fowl who centuries ago were ethnically cleansed from the Western collective consciousness by an unquestionable, unforgiving religion of hate. Created for men by like-minded men, still in love with global conquest and unending empire.

Damned, denied and personally destroyed this was unspoken, unreported genocide against countless generations of hermaphrodites whose only crime was to be born different, members of a third, fourth and fifth sex chromosomally. Many who would be damaged, scarred for life by non-consensual surgery, performed for cosmetic reasons shortly after birth, to make them either male or female.

To force square pegs into round holes through a conspiracy of consensus that would deny hermaphrodites a collective history, legal recognition and rights unless surgically altered, they lived lives of quite desperation. Pretending to be something they, we are not and never will be, normal males and females.

To long have the west’s contemporary concentration camps exterminated all hermaphrodites, unseen, uncriticised by those who for convenience, collectively looked the other way and turned up the sound on their televisions to drowned out the muffled cries and screams from the operating theatres and consulting rooms.

After all, it is in our own best interest to live life pretending to be something we are not, worrying about talking in our sleep and feeling like a deleted message; a species who, for hundreds of years. Have been ethnically cleansed from society through the tribal fury of genocide, against countless generations of hermaphrodites but what does it matter? We are such a small group of individuals and imminently expendable, while excess was ever the destroyer of over enthusiastic genocide against the ‘other’, that which is different, alien to the collective consciousness and shared delusions of contemporary society.

Which is why systematic genocide for hundreds of years against hermaphrodites has gone unquestioned, unnoticed by the ‘normals’, by those condemned and controlled by fear of anything different, anything that questioned or contradicted organised religions established, historic Fibonacci Lie Sequence (Prime). Because we are such a small group of people, what does it matter that we continue to be denied legal recognition and rights for what we are, different. While what should be a fundamental right of all hermaphrodites, the right to choose our own sex was abolished in the 18th Century.

That we, hermaphrodites can be systematically exterminated, ethnically cleansed from all but mythology, where we remain but fantastic creatures, contradiction given form and flesh as ‘freak of the week’. With the medical profession increasingly becoming guardians of religions two-sex tyranny in a man’s world.

Like pinning a tail on the donkey, they assigned a sex based upon the physiology of an alien race comprised of only male or female. While ethnically cleansing hermaphrodites from society and its collective history by denying a personal identity, a collective history, a possibility of life as anything but either male or female to those born different.

Those destined to be surgically altered in order to conform, or be gassed, exterminated in order to protect the illusions of a society created to limit individual potential and human sexuality to the either/or certainty of the 'normals’. Who are but male and female in a rainbow world of possibility and evolutionary adaptation.

The General Registry of the Home Office Identity & Passport Service (Gestapo HQ) and those in freshly polished ‘Jack Boots’ goose-stepping round the interrogation and torture suits, happily humming the ‘water boarding’ man’s mournful song: ‘Splish, splash, splosh, tell us what you know tosh? Before we immerse your head under water and almost drowned you again’. Sung to a ‘bunga bunga’ Latin beat.

Lived up to all I had been warned to expect from some of its previous victims, those who had already learnt that help was a relative term inside Gestapo HQ. Where with cattle prod, tasser, discrimination, and social exclusion, they used positive discrimination against all older hermaphrodites, to liven up another terminally boring bureaucratic working day.

Making anew the wax figures, the Voodoo dolls into which they would push and work the hand crafted silver pins, while talking in tongues of gas chambers, ethnic cleansing and unbridled genocide against any born hermaphrodites, who expected help and support from the Home Office.

Even had I not been warned what to expect from the faceless ‘Stormtroopers’ inside Gestapo HQ, with their inherent belief in discrimination against older hermaphrodites. By those above the law, those untouchable and unaccountable inside the interrogation and torture suits deep under the Home Office Identity & Passport Service building at Smedley Hydro (plenty of the basic requirements for ‘water boarding then?), Southport.

That first telephone contact with those controlling Room 202, through which you will be mercilessly discriminated against, should have warned me about their intent and organisational discrimination against older hermaphrodites. When I was told in no uncertain terms there was nothing the Gestapo could do, other than take my name and address, in order to have my front door kicked in and life completely destroyed at a later date.

According to the script perfect initial contact, I could always apply to a Gender Identity Panel for a birth certificate, only I would have to pretend to be a transsexual. Because such panels were established under government statute, in order to give limited rights to transsexuals whose name and address would be held in ‘Gender Recognition Register’, in order to have their front door kicked in, and life completely destroyed at a later date. When the ‘concentration camp’ furnaces in the crematoria again glow white hot, to dispose of the remains of all ‘life unworthy of life’ within the borders of the Fourth Reich.

Such was the Gestapo HQ’s determination not to help older hermaphrodites; even contact staff were trained from induction to believe the organisational discrimination and bias. Spread, preached by those with ‘cattle prod’ and electrode in hand, stamping upon older hermaphrodites as if annoying insects. To be squashed flat and lifeless without a second thought, more a sacred duty than training manual exercise in neo-classical genocide against old hermaphrodites, those born decades ago during the ‘dark ages’.

Before scans and accurate diagnosis was anything more than throwing a bundle of bones upon the consulting room floor and crossing your fingers. Why only last year announced the woman at Gestapo HQ proudly, we had an intersex lady awarded a birth certificate through the Gender Recognition Panel.

Most of us born hermaphrodites but denied legal recognition and rights because of incompetent, lying Doctors, who just made what was already a nightmare a thousand times worse. Further compounding the trauma of inaccurate diagnosis, by failing to mention that hermaphrodites had at least the illusion of a life and could change their birth certificates, already know about systemic discrimination against old hermaphrodites and specific forms of hermaphroditism in children.

Having duly read the ‘Gender Recognition Act’ and related appendices, I wrote to the relevant parties complaining about older hermaphrodites being forced to go before Gender Recognition Panels in order to correct an original birth certificate entry. Panels established to sit in judgement upon transsexuals as no where does it mention hermaphroditism in any of its forms, or even intersex patients.

Consequently the use of Gender Recognition Panels to sit in judgement over hermaphrodites is a clear and flagrant breach of the Gender Recognition Act. Because transsexuals and hermaphrodites are not the same physically or psychologically, nor are the forms of consensual medical intervention some require the same.

Hermaphrodites are born partly male and partly female (he/she) but wholly neither male nor female, rather members of a third, fourth and fifth sex chromosomally. Referred to as herms, merms and ferms in The Five Sexes: Why Male and Female Are Not Enough, By Anne Fausto-Sterling. Published in The Sciences March/April 1993, p. 20-24. Anne Fausto-Sterling is Professor of Biology and Women's Studies in the Department of Molecular and Cell Biology and Biochemistry at Brown University. Professor Fausto-Sterling's book, entitled Sexing the Body: Gender Politics and the Construction of Sexuality, appeared in February 2000.

To become victims all to the centuries old genocide against hermaphroditism in all its forms by the ‘normals’, who at the start of the 21st Century continue to deny fundamental human rights and legal recognition to hermaphrodites. Unless surgically altered, adapted to become something resembling the dominant two sex tyranny imposed by the Priests of hate and policed by the eager but deluded Doctors. Willing to scare their patients for life with the illusion of normality for hermaphrodites born to be bullied and excluded, proud to be different to the ‘normals’ (boring) with their two sex tyranny. The cradle to grave ‘sameness’ of expectation and experience, for what might as well be two fundamentally different species

Initial responses to my complaint about older hermaphrodites having to use ‘Gender Recognition Panels’ to change their birth certificates. Indicated that the principle driving force behind this flagrant abuse of European Human Rights would appear to be the Home Office, Identity & Passport Service at Gestapo HQ, Room C202, Smedley Hydro, Southport.

Shame upon you all for the distress, anxiety and suffering you intentionally, callously inflict upon older hermaphrodites regardless of case and circumstance. By people who, if forced to consider changing the birth certificate of older hermaphrodites, rather than that of a cuddly little hermaphrodite baby, traumatised and scarred for life by non consensual surgery to make them appear genitally more male or female. Experience a complete brain short circuit and relying upon training, go into personal denial about the organisational discrimination and criminal activity of the Home Office, Identity, & Passport Service.

When no matter what older hermaphrodites do in order to change their birth certificate it will not be satisfactory, with the case being intentionally drawn out for years until they either give in, lose the will to continue and die, or go to a Gender Recognition Panel.

In reply to my letter of complaint dated 18th November (see last blog), Gestapo HQ replied (see last blog), stating that there were now actually two ways for individuals to change their birth certificates. Either through the corrections department in Room 202 based upon biological reasons, i.e. external genitalia, gonadal and chromosomal; or through one of the Gender Recognition Panels.

Where could I get evidence of biological abnormality? Given that I had surgery decades ago (the surgeon Mr Eastwood having retired), while according to the local Health Authority. I continued to be diagnosed as a transsexual, thirty-six years after being refused treatment at the first and only Gender Identity Unit in the country. Because the Doctor in charge did not think I was a transsexual, thirty years after surgery and becoming the first hermaphrodite in the UK, to have what is now known as a ‘sigmoid colon’.



Unfortunately Saint James, where the first ‘sigmoid colon’ procedure was performed upon a hermaphrodite in the UK, usually only kept medical records for eight years before they were destroyed.

Fortunately, this being the first time what was called a ‘colonic resection’ at the time had been performed upon a hermaphrodite. It was extensively publicised in the specialist medical press as being the radical new treatment for hermaphrodites being surgically reassigned as female, but having insufficient genital tissue for surgery to work successfully.

Becoming over the years an acknowledged case study (with photographs) for medical specialists and students, the treatment remains essentially unchanged and for many, their last best hope of a life, if life it be at the hands of a society determined to committee genocide against countless generations of hermaphrodites. Who through no fault of their own are born different.

Consequently the hospital still had copies of Mr Eastwood's surgical notes, documenting the treatment I knowingly became a human guinea pig for. Not that I had much choice because at the time career prospects for eunuchs were little better than zero. Having explained about recently discovering that hermaphrodites were allowed to change their birth certificates and how I needed the case notes for evidence of physical abnormality and anomaly to present to the Home Office, Identity and Passport Service (Gestapo HQ).

Despite the fact that Mr Eastwood had retired, Saint James had no objection to medically qualified staff accessing my surgical file. Most had already been in the public domain for decades, with my identity changed to that of a hairdresser (sexist – tut, tut) from Barnsley. With a thick black bar across my eyes in all the photographs taken just before surgery, when I still remained blissfully unaware of the nightmare into which, I would awake as a hermaphrodite. Without the balls for successful assignment as female and was in medical terms fucked, completely fucked if I was ever to be anything but a eunuch with the weak and feeble body of a hermaphrodite.

Hundreds, if not thousands of medical proffessionals had accessed this surgical file and seen the photographs of a thirty year old untreated hermaphrodite, another ‘freak of the week’. A living nightmare compounded by repeated misdiagnosis, I would hope no other hermaphrodite should ever have to go through again. Thanks to modern diagnostic tools and the fact that at the time, there was no successful surgical intervention for individuals with this form of hermaphroditism.

There being, so I am reliable informed, only four cases of this form of hermaphroditism surgically treat by the British National Health Service, with sixteen ‘sigmoid colon’ procedures having been performed since I became the first. The last best hope of a minority so small, we did not have our own support group outside ‘intersex associations’ and freak sites upon the web.

Just so long as I included written agreement for the General Registry to access my surgical file, Saint James had no problems with confidentiality. It is not like it was a current case and I still being treat it all happened decades ago. When the world was a different place and I still optimistic of a life of sorts, before fates inconsiderate workings set with the rigidity of death all around my hopes and dreams.

In the form of the unconvicted criminals Tony (God is telling me to invade Iraq) Bear and John (bullyboy) Presscoat, a man with all the charisma and personality of a rusty ball bearing. A brain the size of a horseshoe bat with premature senility and a ‘bing, bang, bung, bonus’ mentality that transcended conscience and morality.

I give the relevant details of the surgical file and included from myself a confidentiality waver. Having posted the application for a birth certificate correction based upon biological reasons to the General Registry. Fully expecting anything and everything to be done in order to delay or refuse on a technicality my application.

This was just too good an opportunity for Tony (God is talking to me and telling me to invade Iraq) Bear and his Master of Inquisition, Pope Adolph the Persecutor. Not to do anything and everything they could to ensure I continued to be refused legal recognition and rights as a hermaphrodite, ‘life unworthy of life’ damned in the moment of birth to the pits of Hell.

Not for nothing has the criminal bully and Liebour Minister for religious persecution and hate crime, the Right Horrible John (BullyBoy) Presscoat and his criminal fiends in the Nazi Lying Liebour. Ensured that after two and a half years I am no closer now to getting medical treatment than when I first asked for help. For thirty-six years after I was refused treatment at the countries first and only Gender Identity Unit because the Doctor in charge did not think I was a transsexual. Thirty years after surgery when it finally became clear I was a hermaphrodite, Bear and Presscoat continued to lie to assorted mad and bad of religious fundamentalism that I was a transsexual.

A crime they felt merited constant torture, harassment, wall to wall bullying at the ‘heart of darkness’ that was John Presscoats old east Hull Parliamentary Constituency. His own feudal, robber Baron Fiefdom to corrupt and abuse by proxy syndrome with lies, lies and razor blade encrusted spin. That was without taking into account the organisational discrimination against old hermaphrodites I had been warned to expect from Gestapo HQ and those who do the persecution and discrimination mostly for money. Because all it ever takes for evil to thrive and prosper, is that men and woman remain silent. Shame upon you all!

I received the following reply from Gestapo HQ:

‘Dear Ms …

Thank you for your letter dated 21st November, regarding your application for correction to your birth entry, and enclosing a copy of your authority letter to Saint James’ University Hospital.

As I explained in my previous letter any application for a correction to the sex of a child, as recorded in the birth entry, needs to be accompanied by specific medical evidence to show that at the time of the birth the child concerned was not of the sex recorded in the entry. Furthermore the criteria used by the Register general for determining sex are biological i.e. external genitalia, gonadal and chromosomal. Unfortunately due to the onus of producing evidence falling upping the applicant we feel that it would be inappropriate for us to approach Saint James’ for this information.

However I would suggest that if you advise your medical practitioner or Consultant as to the requirements for such a correction as explained above they may be able to provide the necessary medical evidence, or identify the supporting evidence from your records.

I am sorry that we are unable to help in respect of gathering the necessary evidence but once you have obtained it we will be in a position to consider the matter further.

If you or your medical practitioner/Consultant requires anything further from us please don’t hesitate to come back to me!’

I don’t think so!

Because whatever I do will not be good enough for these people, Nazi Lying Liebour and their criminal conspiracy at the heart of British politics will make sure of that. Just as they have consistently denied me medical treatment, or that after thirty six years they have been able to lie and lie again about me being a transsexual, which I was not and never have been, along with all the other delusion, lies, slander and liable they are free to make up as they go on and on and on and on and on ...

To be honest, I am ashamed I even applied to Gestapo HQ for a birth certificate correction, it is after all, the temple of society’s two sex tyranny – male/female – in complete disregard of the fact that medically, scientifically there are five sexes chromosomally; male, female, herms, ferms and merms.

This is not rock and roll, this is genocide against all born different to the numerically dominant sexes of male and female. With hermaphrodites denied legal recognition and rights from the 18th century onwards. The two sex tyranny imposed by the ‘normals’ remains the only game in town, or be refused legal recognition, the right to a family life, the right to any form of employment beyond working in the sex industry, or existing in poverty on state benefits.

Denied acknowledgement and rights as a hermaphrodite, a member of a third, fourth and fifth sex. Refused a personal identity, a collective history and human rights unless surgically modified to become male or female. Why? Because we are such a small group of people, it does not matter and the genocide continues in our best interest, one here, one there. Play the two-sex tyranny game with Gestapo HQ, I don’t think so! I will see you in court.

This is not rock and roll, this is genocide. The unrelenting ethnic cleansing of countless generations of hermaphrodites, for the unforgivable crime of being born different to the ‘normals’. Who deny medical and scientific evidence that chromosomally there are five sexes not two. Who continue to deny any born hermaphrodites legal rights and recognition as anything but male and female. Who continue to scare all diagnosed at or shortly after birth, with the life long trauma and personal doubts following irreversible, non-consensual surgery. Who even after irreversible surgery, never let you forget what you were, are, different, a hermaphrodite.

A species that for hundreds of years has been ethnically cleansed from societies collective consciousness, unless as mythical creatures existing only in the pre-history of humanity – hermaphrodites – whose existence, personal identity, collective history, legal recognition and rights, have been denied to countless generations.

For whom life would be made into a lie, a deception, a shame whose name could not be spoken by good, God fearing men and women, if life it be. When the Doctors and Priests have finished lying, altering, adapting and removing all traces of hermaphrodites from contemporary western society because as everyone knows, God created only male and female. RUBBISH!

‘Sigmoids’ - A Thirty Year Retrospective - The Final Word

What a refreshing change after two and a half years of trying to get treatment from the local Health Authority, to speak with someone who actually knew what they were talking about. If only the clinical nurse of a man regarded as the countries most experienced surgeon involved with the treatment of hermaphroditism in all its forms.

Because after a brief telephone conversation during which, I explained the difficulties I was experiencing with my ‘sigmoid colon’, this proved to be a Eureka moment when all the pieces of the puzzle finally began to make sense. I did not need one, two, three or four ‘z plasty’, I simply needed stretching. Not an altogether unknown problem for ‘sigmoids’ who were sexually active and living their ‘penis envy’ to the full, especially as they get older.

For reasons that I do not yet fully understand, the ‘sigmoid’ becomes bent or kinked, which is why when you try to insert something (penis/vibrator) it feels as if it is constricted and will then try to push the out the object being inserted. Which is the part that I personally find to be painful, extremely painful and all I now do rather than force the object past the ‘pusher’, is attempt to stop it being forced out.

At least I now understand why the whole thing was like some Esher stairway. When at one point I can be in five inches then, without the object being withdrawn but actually pushed deeper, it is in only three inches. Because the ‘sigmoid’ has become bent or kinked, not constricted through repeated penetration but bent or kinked because of the physical pounding it takes during intercourse. Combined with a loss of elasticity through age and a tendency for sections of the colon to fold, bend, or kink naturally, without being used surgically for purposes it was not intended for.

Perhaps that is why the average ‘normal’ only has a five-inch vagina, according to the clinical nurse I spoke with. Something to feel superior about as a ‘sigmoid’, because thanks to the genius of the surgeons. I like many ‘sigmoids’, was able to indulge my penis envy to the full, as it were. Five inches!

Personally I always like deep penetration and of the two principle phenotypes amongst ‘cocks’ (penis), I preferred the long thin ones (the throat ticklers) to the short fat ones. Due to ongoing difficulties with the ‘join’ and the inability of scare tissue to stretch, the long thin ones provide more pleasure and less pain. Five inches!

Poor things, they just do not know what they are missing, only they did not have to go through what the average ‘sigmoid’ did for those extra inches, or live with unresolved penis envy many hermaphrodites are born with and to. When the medical profession gave either sex drive (male) or libido (female), where once there was only a living death, a numbness, an emptiness inhabited by those born Holy Innocents without the sin of sex, to be the alone with the Alone. Those who did not naturally virilise with the onset of puberty, whose apparently normally formed male genitalia did not develop beyond that of a five-year-old child’s, for a variety of biological reasons.

At least I now have a clearer understanding of why intercourse started to become increasingly painful and unsatisfactory, as I began to slowly fill with sperm (use a condom) and be penetrated less deeply. In particular why getting anything thicker than a pencil up the ‘sigmoid’ (which sounds like a Carry On film – Up The ‘Sigmoid’) is currently so painful, difficult and time consuming.

I just wish I had known this ten years ago when I first started having difficulties. Because at the time I though that is it, fucked, it was after all experimental surgery and at the time no one, not even the surgeons knew if it would work, or what the long-term consequences might be. Would I end up having to shit in a bag (stoma)? Could I successfully have intercourse with a man and most important of all, could I orgasm?

At least I had twenty good years, when sex was an addiction and orgasm the drug of choice, after love, lust and masturbation. And before you ask, yes I do orgasm, I was fortunate enough to orgasm the second time that I went to bed with a man. ‘Sigmoids’ orgasm exactly the same as ‘normals’, at least according to friends I spoke with at the time. Having by this point had my brain melt and gone terminally fluffy, kitten soft and weak at the knees in the presence of male beauty.

Praise the Lord and pass the HRT, the treatment worked for me as I hope it worked for you. That you to were freed from the living death that is hermaphroditism, or as is usually the case, being buried alive for someone else’s crime. When most people know that the average hermaphrodite is infertile and if supposedly male, probably impotent.

How the surgeon would stretch my ‘sigmoid’ I did not ask at the time, has anyone had a stretch and how do they do it? Partly because I had this image in my mind of a medieval torture machine called a ‘rack’ and a poor woman, screaming in agony as stretching her, they pulled her arms and legs from there sockets.

Being a particle person, the real reason for not asking how it would be stretched, was because I had long ago given up any hope of treatment, having received non in the past two and a half years. In fact I have received no treatment or an accurate diagnosis in sixty years from the local Health Authority.

With me having to again apply to the local Health Authority’s ‘exceptional treatments’ request panel, in an attempt just to get the funding for an initial consultation with a surgeon. Something no woman would have to do, and they continue to bullshit and lie that intersex patients have the same rights and treatment as the ‘normals’, shame upon you all.

A process that was supposed to take a month for them to make a decision, only when I first applied, now over a year and a half ago, it took over six months because letters supposedly sent, requesting more information, magically went missing in the post.

Same old, same old crimes and criminals at the heart of darkness that is Nazi Lying Liebour’s own private fiefdom, the only difference this time around is that I no longer expect to get any medical treatment. Have in truth had non from the local Health Authority in sixty years as a hermaphrodite and I do not see them starting now. Not with Presscoat and son, still pulling the almost invisible strings that bind and blind, the politically and personally useful.

For months I have known that either I sort this problem with my ‘sigmoid’ myself, or I am well and truly fucked. Because Tony Bear, his company ‘Torturing Tyrants International’ and El Douche Presscoat will continue to ensure that I get not medical treatment through fare means or fowl. Just as they will continue to ensure I am targeted and will never get legal rights and recognition for being the hermaphrodite I unfortunately was and am.

It is just so much easier to bully, persecute, target and torture someone if you can continue to lie about them being a transsexual to the religious fundamentalists. When as my surgical records and accompanying photographs clearly show, I did not even have the balls for successful assignment as female, at least on the plus side, I never needed breast implants.



The Shame of Shame …

The shame of shame, repeated misdiagnosis, and systemic incompetence by Doctors, medical and administrative staff working for the local Health Authority, effectively, repeatedly destroyed whatever chance of a life I might have had.

Shame because that is what I was mostly made to feel from the age of ten by those around and an unforgiving, uncaring society when it came to physical and psychological differences. Shame that my supposedly male genitalia did not develop as and when it should.

Leaving me forever a victim of penis envy and only to personally aware of my inadequacy and difference, regarding the two sex tyranny religion and its new high Priests, the Doctors, ruthlessly imposed upon the post-industrial revolution waste land, contemporary western societies degenerated into.

As they increasingly used fear to control, define and limit human potential and personal possibility for the dancing puppets. The lever pullers and button pushers of conformity and quality control, over the normals.

Shame that I did not understand what all that boy/man/male stuff was about but had to muddle through, increasingly depending upon secrecy and concealment as I desperately mimicked what others did instinctively, intuitively. Because for reasons I did not yet understand, their instinct's, intuition and physiology was not the same as mine.

Their wants and needs were not mine as a living death slowly stifled and suffocated all I might be, even the hope that I was just physically a late developer, gave way to the many and varied forms of shame, personal failure and physical inadequacy.

Now it was personal and decades ago my only hope came from denial, from hiding the truth to both myself and the world. But that is the way society made you feel decades ago, if born supposedly male with perfectly formed genitalia, you did not virilise along with all the other testosterone, size matters obsessives, sweating steroids as they pumped iron and hit on the girls.

Having but the body of a weak and feeble hermaphrodite, condemned to live the life of another of God’s Holy Innocents, dead, without a sex drive or libido in a vaguely familiar parallel reality, trying to understand, to imagine what life, love and lust were all about. It felt like being cheated, denied a life that bore even the faintest resemblance and recognition to that shared by the ‘normals’ and their secret conspiracies of hormones.

Shame that society, especially over half a century ago, rigidly imposed a two sex tyranny upon western culture, limiting the evolutionary potential of the human condition to transcend the limitations of a single sex; as technological totalitarianism constructed its impenetrable walls around the collective consciousness of western society.

Subjected from the moment of birth to the constrains of production line ‘quality control’, there was no place for imperfection or difference, no acknowledgement that chromosomally there are five sexes, more if you include related physical and psychological differences.

Shame that when I was forced to race against the ‘normals’, I always came last. Shame I had but the weak and feeble body of a hermaphrodite, a thing that crawled imperfect from the primal slime of creation, neither fish nor fowl, wholly male or female.

Inferiority and inadequacy were my ‘birth right’ when compared to the ‘normals’ with their arrogant hormone smiles and ‘used car salesman’ handshakes, as they journeyed effortlessly along the cradle to grave production line of existence. Shame that secrecy and personal denial were my only defence against being born forever different, forever apart from those around me, forever alone with the Alone.

It was the shame of shame that having gone into hospital believing myself to be a transsexual about to undergo reassignment as female, I discovered that not only did I not have enough genital tissue for a successful surgery, I was actually what the Doctors called a hermaphrodite.

It was shame that made me resolve to take this secret to my grave, to tell no one why I returned home as if one dead and without hope. Other than the operation had not been successful and I would need further surgery. Once I recovered sufficiently from the physical traumas of surgery and psychological horror of being a eunuch, a hermaphrodite whose only hope of life, if life it be, lay with the considerable personal trauma of ‘skin grafts’. Well and truly up shit creek without a paddle, or anything firm and substantial to build anew upon.

For me, secrecy had long ago become my only defence against the social and personal shame of being born different to the two sex tyranny of religious fundamentalism. It felt more like been dead than being dead as I frantically tried to join the dots, and glimpse what life for the ‘normals’ was all about in their alien world. Their vaguely familiar parallel reality that reach for as I might, I could never touch, never understand or ever experience as anything but a bemused spectator, a Holy Innocent born without sex drive or libido.

It was the shame of shame and a medical nightmare seemingly without end or hope, which forced me to spent half my life not knowing what I was and why. Then the other half to ashamed and embarrassed to admit to myself and the world, what I was. A weak and feeble hermaphrodite, without even the balls for a successful sex change operation.

Though being a hermaphrodite I was not so much changing my sex because I was born partly male and partly female but wholly neither, more modifying abnormality and contradiction to become my chosen sex. Because unlike many hermaphrodites diagnosed at or shortly after birth, I was fortunate enough to escape the life long scarring and trauma of non-consensual surgery, performed upon young children for cosmetic reasons, or the forced imposition of medicines two sex tyranny.

When clinically, chromosomally there are five distinct and fundamentally different sexes, not two, not just male and female. There are the 46XX/XY true hermaphrodites born with ovaries and testes, the 47/48 XXY/XXXY female and male pseudo-hermaphrodites. All who since the 18th Century have been ethnically cleansed from humanities collective consciousness, denied legal recognition and rights as like square pegs, we are forced into round holes.

This is not rock and roll. This is genocide against difference, against any born members of a third, fourth and fifth sex into the two sex tyranny of the ‘normals’ and the Gestapo Doctors who policed perfection and physical difference. After all what toilet would such a child use, what showers would they go in after games?

Let me give you a clue, I like the majority of hermaphrodites hated games and as for a toilet. I would rather pee in a bucket than have society continue to deny what should be a fundamental right of all hermaphrodites in the 21st Century, the right to choose our own sex. To live in a society where difference is celebrated, not hidden away along with all the freaks, those physically/psychologically damaged, imperfect or disabled.

The systematic genocide against us by the medical profession and a complicate legal structure, launched centuries ago by scientific rationalism and man’s hand-crafted lies, delusions write large and unquestionable in the Vatican Codex, must be stopped now!

Victims all, damaged and in many cases scarred for life by the treatments imposed by deluded but well meaning parents, pressured by well meaning but deluded Doctors into consenting to irreversible surgical procedures in the name of normality. The one thing those born different, born hermaphrodites can never have beyond being ‘freak of the week’.

Buried alive by the two sex tyranny of the Voodoo pin stickers, snake kissers and all born talking in tongues out of their arses about the fundamentals of religious fundamentalism, or the military and industrial complexes favourite revolutionary revelation – Armageddon. When the earth will run with rivers of blood and bla … bla … bla … nutters! Dangerous, deluded nutters, who should not be in charge of a public toilet, let alone a country with the nuclear power to completely destroy the earth several times over. The fate of all ‘mankind’ I fear, is in the hands of liars, control freaks and fools.

It was the shame of shame and determination of corrupt, lying, delusional, control freak, criminal politicians like Tony Bear and the Right Horrible John Presscoat, AKA Baron Von Munchhousen by proxy syndrome, to cover over the truth. To sell promises and lies like ‘cut and shut’ wrecks to an eager, unsuspecting electorate. Protected by their Teflon coating, just to ensure non-of the shit they constantly threw should stick to them and the truth out.

I was, am a transsexual, I could do this, they could stop me working … bla … bla … bla … bla … nutters! Dangerous, deluded, demented criminal nutters who would sell you lies as truth, ‘cut and shut’ policies as safe, reliable, family car’s amidst an endless, unavoidable stream of razor-blade encrusted spin. As they crawled through another sewer full of rancid shit, only to emerge smelling of roses, decomposing democracy and freedom, essence of sleaze and au de toilet of technological totalitarianism. Even despots and elected dictators fall if pushed hard enough.

To long have hermaphrodites been denied a history, a culture, a personal identity, legal rights and the chance to simply be what we are beyond the two sex tyranny and ethnic cleansing of the medical profession. To long have we existed like freaks, medical curiosities in a fair-ground ‘hall of cracked, distorting mirrors’ wanting only what we can never have, normality, personal acceptance and forgiveness for the unforgivable crime of being born hermaphrodites, of being born different.

To long have we gone silent and accepting into the operating theatres and consulting rooms, suffering mutilation, pain, and personal trauma in search of social acceptance. To long have hermaphrodites been marginalized and regarded as things to be denied, damned and destroyed by the ‘normals’ for the convenience of a two sex reality.

To long have hermaphrodites been refused legal and social rights in contravention of national and international laws, to long have hermaphrodites, many born ‘Holy Innocents’ without the sin of sex drive or libido, been damned by the Priests of hate. To long have hermaphrodites been ethnically cleansed from this world and it’s collective consciousness, its shared reality, and social structures. To long …

Next Blog: Department of Health Briefing 11 and why hermaphrodites (refered to as intersex people) remain a reluctant after thought in the Governments ‘Transgender Action Plan’:

Blogging about the military and industrial complex at:
http://ser101.wordpress.com/

 

































































Thursday, 4 August 2011

Old Hermy's Never Die ... They Simply Smile That Way

Old Hermy’s Never Die
They Simply Smile That Way ……

A monthly blog about ‘stuff’ your grandmother could or would never tell you!
Do Hermaphrodites Care About Birth Certificates?

To be born into modern society’s monochromatic world of male and female, may be correct and acceptable for the majority of live births. But this is a tyranny of conformity imposed by man’s religion, policed by well meaning but deluded Doctors thinking themselves like unto God’s. Able to impose a sex upon those born with ambiguous or abnormal genitalia, without the child’s knowledge or consent, often shortly after birth.

A belief reinforced by the hypercritic oath and ‘medical model of disability’, when from the start of their training. Doctors are taught to believe that the patient is the problem, whose abnormality, or disability needs curing. While all patients are incapable of making decisions about their own lives and need qualified medical professionals to look after them. Because ultimately they can never be as equal socially and personally as a non-disabled person.

At least those born with the closed or hidden form of hermaphrodism, escape the social condemnation of difference and medical conformity at or shortly after birth. Only to be imprisoned by the sexual monochrome of male and female based upon assumed genital sex at birth, while often possessing undeveloped internal organs and the characteristics of a different sex.

In a world where nature is constantly more powerful than all the learnt consequences of nurture. Where sex is not bound by the laws of either/or, the monochromatic possibility of a species possessing only two sexes but a mix and match of genetic, hormonal and physical possibility. Beyond the limiting, consistent definitions of chromosomal, hormonal, psychological and physical sex used to define, to deny, to limit human potential and possibility from the very moment of birth as being either male or female.

For hermaphrodites born with either the open (easy to diagnose) or closed (more difficult to diagnose, especially sixty years ago) form. No matter what sex is assigned at birth it will not be true or accurate, because we are part male and part female, yet wholly neither sex.
Beyond the single sex potentials and possibilities society, in particular the medical profession, imposes upon those gifted or cursed (dependent upon your personal opinion) with being something more. A proto human, a hermaphrodite born to this world without the sins of sex.

Destined to live without sex drive (male) or libido (female) inside society’s inescapable prison, chained to the expectations, the conformity of being either male or female, while possessing the ability to be something more. Something greater than the various elements comprising male and female, something that transcends the human limitations of being born only one sex.
In a world were men and women, because of social patterning and expectations, might as well be completely different species, from different but parallel realties, in different universes of the ever-expanding multiverse.

Speaking personally, knowing that whatever it says upon my birth certificate will not be true. Just a medical imposition and social conformity to the limited, limiting two sex world of those not gifted, blessed with the diversity and difference of the human condition in all its potential forms and sexuality’s.

I do not care whether it says male or female because in totality I was born neither, yet both and ultimately something more than the either/or the Priests and medical profession continue to impose upon their parishioners and patients.

After decades of hiding this, the final taboo, I am proud to have been born different. Privileged to have lived the first third of my life being raised as male, when my perfectly formed genitalia failed to develop any larger than those of a five-year-old. Without the compulsions and confusions of sex drive or libido I became as nothing, the alone with the alone.

Lost to the contradictions and anomalies of becoming, I am eternally grateful to Derek Eastwood and his colleagues for giving me a libido, sex life, and the wonder, the possibility of love. Despite the social injustices, inequalities and inferiority’s, living the next two thirds of my life as a woman brought. Chained to Frauds penis envy by personal inadequacy for the rest of my life, just for wanting to have babies and be a mummy.

Though forever resentful and disappointed by the repeated misdiagnosis and treatment of Doctors, who literally put me through a medical nightmare seemingly without end. Having first missed a chance to diagnose my condition aged eight, when during an outpatient visit to the local children’s hospital, now recovering from an almost fatal bout of pneumonia and pleurisy.

My mother first voiced her concerns about my behaviour and penis to a Doctor, who having asked me to drop my trousers told her that everything was fine and there was nothing to worry about. Which I remember to this day because usually at an outpatient’s appointment they would tap my chest, listen to my lungs and ask me to breathe deeply. This was the first and only time one asked me to drop my trousers and examined my genitalia.

What her concerns about my penis were, I do not know to this day but that all-important first opportunity to diagnose correctly my condition, had been missed after a cursory examination by a chest specialist.

Well, it was not all right and there was actually lots to worry about, given the pathological secrecy of the medical profession regarding hermaphrodism and the inconsistency of its diagnosis and treatment around the country, especially with the closed or hidden form.

At least I was only forced to live twenty-four years as a sex I did not want to be, some people, especially those born with the open form, are compelled to live all their lives being a sex chosen for them by interfering, over enthusiastic Doctors. When they should have been allowed to develop and explore the possibilities. Deciding for themselves the sex they wished to spend their adult lives as, having explored all the options and spoken to others suffering from their particular form of hermaphrodism.

What is a birth certificate but a piece of paper and a whole world, a whole life of socio/sexual expectation? Limiting further the potential for human development, the evolutions of form because it is not being born a hermaphrodite that is sad, negative, a medical nightmare seemingly without end. But the way that the medical profession, religion and society limit through conformity and denial. Those born both partly male and partly female, those free from the sins of sex, filled with the wonder and possibility of human form and experience in all its variations and evolutions.

Doctors, leave those kids alone, if they can urinate and have functioning kidneys it is not a medial emergency. Let them, let us explore the possibility and decide for ourselves the sex we wish to be, if anyone is happy as an untreated hermaphrodite, that is fine to.

It is forced medical intervention and repeated misdiagnosis that makes us sad, depressed, resentful of the medical nightmare seemingly without end, into which misguided, well meaning but incompetent Doctors cast hermaphrodites.

Birth certificates! I used mine as toilet paper, what did you do with yours?

Why All The Medical Secrecy And Deception About Hermaphrodism?

What is it about the word hermaphrodite that makes the average Doctors brain short circuit and over-load? Leaving apparently sane, decent human beings to believe themselves like unto Gods. Able to chose a child’s sex shortly after birth, without consultation or consideration to the possible consequences in later life.

Eager to make perfect all physical imperfections and sexual anomalies in the image of a species comprised of only two sexes; an either/or tyranny and conformity, imposed, limiting from birth to death the human condition and possibility in all its possible forms and variations.

If your are a Doctor or medical student, try saying the word slowly, while breaking it down into its constituent parts – her-maph-rodite. There! The world has not changed, civilisation has not crumbled back into a primal chaos, and there is absolutely no reason to start panicking, or trying to justify the unjustifiable. Your patient’s heads have not exploded, nor have they become semi-divine psychotic, inhuman monsters.

So why all the secrecy and subterfuge when it comes to treating hermaphrodites, especially the open form. Who inevitably fall victim to over-enthusiastic, well meaning but misguided Doctors. Despite the fact that in the majority of cases this is not a medical emergency but should be a personal choice when the time is right.

At least those born with the closed or hidden form of hermaphrodism were spared this untimely imposition of sex by the followers of the medical model of disability. Only for our perfectly formed external genitalia not to develop as and when it should.

Like a slow motion multiple road smash, it just goes on getting worse and worse, a nightmare seemingly without end, especially sixty years ago during the ‘dark ages’ of treatment for intersex patients by the British National Health Service. When diagnosis of those with the closed or hidden form before puberty was non-existent and not that good afterwards.

My mother first mentioned her concerns that there was something wrong with me or my genitalia, to a Doctor at the local children’s hospital when I was eight years old. After a cursory examination the Doctor, a chest consultant, said everything was fine and that there was nothing to worry about. Wrong!

Personally it took me until the age of ten, before I knew what sex I felt happiest being. When I started wanting to have babies and be a mummy. Aged twelve or thirteen I heard through the more vicarious elements of the media, about men who had changed their sex. Being young and stupid I thought that if I could change my sex, I would be able to have babies but of course you can’t.

Let’s try saying that word one more time, shall we? That is it – her-maph-rodite. Because like it or not nature is not perfect, some people are born imperfect, some part male and part female. Though when it comes to determining the sex of those with the open form. They and they alone should discover for themselves, which sex they wish to become, if indeed any.

While for those with the closed or hidden form, constant misdiagnosis from an early age and not understanding what is happening or why, just compounds the medical nightmare seemingly without end of those born with perfectly formed genitalia that failed to develop as and how they should, especially decades ago. Because they to should be allowed to discover for themselves, which if any sex they may wish to live their adult lives as, while there may be those happy to
remain as untreated hermaphrodites, just so long as they make this choice for themselves.

If only the medical profession and its social expectation that sex is an either/or possibility of male and female, could acknowledge that in the real world that is not always true. Either physically in the case of hermaphrodites or psychologically as with transsexuals.

This is the most personal of all journeys and self-discovery, only the medical profession and social expectations of sex and sexuality, make what is a privileged, learning experience. Into a medical nightmare seemingly without end for those sad freaks, scared and traumatised because of unnecessary surgery or repeated misdiagnosis from an early age.

Once hermaphrodites were worshiped and revered, no one is asking for that. Just that the medical profession and society accept not all people are born wholly male or female. While allowing hermaphrodites to discover their chosen sex for themselves, having touched their own soul or spirit, because like it or not, none of us are ever going to be normal males or females, much as this may upset the God-like tendencies of Doctors.

Explore the infinite possibility of the human condition, become yourself, yourself. It is a privileged journey fate has cast us all on, learn, grow, become, explore, and above all, accept. Be proud to be different, to transcend the limitations of human possibility and experience, becoming all you possibly can in this short life.

Why is the average Doctor more than willing to tell a patient that they are a diagnosed schizophrenic, transvestite, and transsexual. But when it came to the top expert at the countries only gender identity unit in the country, refusing to treat me because he did not think that I was a transsexual. Though as for why and what he thought I was other than the Easter Bunny. Doctor Randell would never say, why?

Did he think I would rush out and throw myself under the first train to pull into Charring Cross tube station? I almost did that anyway, it was only the fact that I managed to convince myself it was part of a test they put everyone through, which actually stopped me.

Of course it was not a test and as this realisation slowly dawned, I resolved to become the perfect transsexual, because if I ever got a second chance at surgery, I was not going to blow it again. Six years I spent supporting people who, having done their year were going down to Charring Cross for surgery. When I was not a transsexual but a hermaphrodite, without even the balls for a successful sex change operation.

Being a hermaphrodite with either the open or closed form is personally traumatic enough, without Doctors turning it into a medical nightmare without end. They certainly know how to help people!

The National Health Service Complaints Procedure – Not Fit For Purpose!

Life for a hermaphrodite born with the hidden or closed form sixty years ago was to be condemned to a living hell. Death by degrees made into a medical nightmare seemingly without end, when aged eight I was first examined by a Doctor at the local children’s hospital.
That was the first chance the medical profession had to correctly diagnose and help with my condition. Because by the age of ten or eleven I was barking mad, wanting to have babies and become a mummy. Having heard about men changing sex I thought if I did that, I could be a mummy, not that aged twelve I knew what sex even was.

At least I thought I now knew what I was, a transsexual and wanted in life, a sex change operation. Only to discover from a psychiatrist aged fifteen that I was, according to him, a schizophrenic, who with the correct medication and support should be able to lead a full and productive life. Wrong!

Eight years of being treat as a schizophrenic before being incorrectly diagnosed by other psychiatrists as a manic-depressive, transvestite, and transsexual. Wrong! Which is what I thought I was aged around twelve – at least for the first time the medical profession started to encourage me to live as a woman. Even though at this point in time there were absolutely no treatment facilities on the British National Health Service.

I was in the process of transitioning from living as male to female, when Doctor Randell started the country’s first ‘gender identity unit’ at Charring Cross Hospital in London. How lucky was that? Having received an appointment to see him I thought completion, do my year and surgery at last. Only to be refused treatment from the country’s leading expert, because he did not think that I was a transsexual. Right!

Unfortunately, despite writing to him every year around the date of that first and only appointment, to say I had just lived another year as a women. He would never help, or even tell me why he thought I was not a transsexual. Six years I spent learning to become the perfect transsexual, thinking if I ever get a second chance at surgery, I am not going to blow it again. Wrong!

Having eventually found a surgeon at Saint James University hospital in Leeds who said he could help me, I then go into hospital only to learn that I do not have the balls for a successful sex change operation and am apparently, what they called a hermaphrodite. Right!

Assuming that the Hull National Health Service would have been informed by Doctor Randell, he would not treat me as in his professional opinion I was not a transsexual, or that the surgeons at Saint James. Would have written to someone in the local health authority, if only my GP, to explain what surgical procedures they had performed and why.

It came as a complete shock to learn that according to my medical records, I was a transsexual. All be it the only one I have encountered that did not have the balls for a sex change, did not need breast implants and had all the other anomalies and abnormalities I did.

Having finally recovered from the shock, confusion, and personal anger, especially after the hell, the medical nightmare seemingly without end, Doctors and the medical profession put me through from the age of eight with their incompetence and repeated misdiagnosis. I naturally complained to the local Health Authority, only to have my complaint blocked and dismissed in a most amateurish, shameful and insensitive manner, by bureaucrats and Doctors with pound signs in eyes and possible litigation in mind.

If only someone had examined my complaint, acknowledging me for what I was, providing consistency of treatment and said sorry for repeated misdiagnosis from the age of eight, that would have been fine, I would have been happy but oh no! They became defensive, confrontational and about as helpful and supportive as a squashed hedgehog in the middle of a motorway, middle of the summer bank holiday get away for the lemmings.

All I wanted was acknowledgement of what I actually was, along with some consistency of diagnosis and treatment. Instead and despite the support of the Independent Complaints and Conciliation Service (ICAS) who were excellent, very helpful. The local Health Authority came on like ostriches with heads firmly in buckets of sand, hoping that thanks to freshly polished bullshit and the usual medical flimflam, I would give up and go away.

Grateful and obedient to them for putting me through the personal hell of a medical nightmare, seemingly without end, of taking what chance of a life that I might have had due to incompetence, repeated misdiagnosis and systematic administrative failures, as forming their wagons into a circle. They continued to protect each other’s backs, in accordance with their Hippocratic oath and God-like professional infallibility.

Leaving me with two courses of action, either take my complaint to the Health Service Independent Ombudsman, or find a solicitor willing to take my case on a no win, no fee basis. Out of growing cynicism, especially after my recent experience of the Health Service ‘complaints procedure’, which if my personal experiences are anything to go by, is NOT FIT FOR PURPOSE!

Of having various Doctors compound the considerable personal hell of being born a hermaphrodite with the closed or hidden form, for the past sixty years. Giving Hatcher, Ratsinger, Bear, Clintin, Presscoat, Brush, O’Barmy, religious fundamentalists et al, the opportunity to persecute me for the past twenty-eight years for being something that I was, am not, a transsexual; based upon nothing but a pack of lies from beginning to end.

I have decided to go the solicitor route in the hope of getting justice against the medical Mafia’s repeated injustice and insensitivity. Not for the money but in the hope of getting an accurate, consistent diagnosis and treatment for the first time in my life from the Hull National Health Service, along with whatever legal rights I may have as a hermaphrodite.

Not that I expect to find a solicitor locally willing to take my case against the Health Authority, which is either cynicism or more than likely, a decade spent as an officer of the Humberside Law Centre. Knowing intimately how the profession operates locally and who pulls the almost invisible strings that bind professionally and personally. Within Labours fortress Hull and Baron Von Munchhousen (by proxy) syndrome’s own personal fiefdom, at the heart of the Kingdom of the Living Dead.

Hermaphrodism – Curse Or Blessing?

Having no personal experience of being born with the open form, when I refer to hermaphrodism – curse or blessing? I can only speak from the perspective of an individual born with the closed or hidden form of hermaphrodism. Which though essentially individual forms of the same condition, have radically different life experiences due to the ease, or difficulty of diagnosis, especially decades ago.

When you could still smell the smoke from the recent witch burnings and antibiotics were the new magic bullet, saving humanity from the ravages of infections in a hospital close to you.

At least those of us born with the closed or hidden form, escaped the over enthusiasm of well meaning but deluded Doctors pretending to be God. Only to go through our own particular medical nightmare, seemingly without end, when our genitalia failed to develop as and when they should.

By which point age ten or eleven, I knew for certain the sex I wanted to be for the rest of my life, though not the reasons I felt the way that I did. At least my own particular journey between the sexes had finally begun, even if it was to take decades of repeated misdiagnosis and treatment. Before I finally understood why my genitalia had not developed and what I actually was, a hermaphrodite without even the balls for a successful sex change operation.

Escaping the early attentions of the medical profession proved to be a blessing, in that I got the chance to discover for myself the sex I wanted to spend my adult life as. Only for the blessing to became the curse of repeated misdiagnosis and a medical nightmare, seemingly without end. Because if men were from Mar’s and women from Venus, then I was from Alpha Century – freaky!

I am assuming that most hermaphrodites that did not know what sex they wished to be, the sex of their spirit and soul regardless of genitalia and the hormonal trauma. Of being partly male and partly female but wholly neither, by the age of ten, having displayed strange or aberrant behaviour for most of their lives.

Would certainly know that something was radically wrong, other than always having a smaller penis than other's in their age group, when puberty like a car with a flat battery failed to start the motor. To turn the damaged cogs and gears that became either sex drive or libido.

While to be born different was to be born to be bullied, to be an outsider stood alone in the most distant corner of the playground. This was the curse that society and everyday social interaction made life into, for those born with the closed or hidden form of hermaphrodism. Those as yet denied knowledge or understanding of why they felt and thought as they did.

Puberty is a traumatic time, even for those fortunate enough to be born with the sexual characteristics of only one sex. But for an undiagnosed hermaphrodite it is a complete nightmare, a personal horror, a growing feeling of shame and awareness of the inherent inferiority and difference, which inevitable results in secrecy and personal denial.

It is not size that matters but what you do with it; well the truth is that the average hermaphrodite has not got a clue what to do with their undeveloped genitalia. Other than have it reconstructed because of being both blessed and cursed by not having either sex drive or libido. Sexually it is like being nothing and completely dead below the waist, with a perfectly formed penis that did not develop much larger than that of the average five-year-old.

Little wonder those with the closed or hidden form, especially while it remains undiagnosed; develop massive inferiority complexes, feelings of personal inadequacy over this, the final taboo. Along with a growing sense of personal responsibility and failure, of being forever an outsider, a creature that is neither fish nor fowl but life unworthy of life!

It is the limitations of a two sex species, which makes hermaphrodism into a curse for there are few crueller than children to difference. While the ‘peer group’ security of puberty and its unfolding expectations was denied to me, to most hermaphrodites when like a car with a flat battery, the motor failed to start as it should and when everyone else’s did.

Making me into a bemused spectator to the collective though immature madness of their sexual awakening, all I saw were the increasingly complex interactions and consequences of something, something strange and alien beyond my personal understanding, or experience.

A secret world that I could not find a way into, inhabited by aliens and monsters whose secrets, those of all born with the biological sins of sex, I could not even begin to understand or share. Even before the Doctors cast me into a medical nightmare seemingly without end. Along with all the other damaged or unwanted individuals, thrown onto the steaming rubbish heaps bounding decent, God fearing societies and the shared hopes, the dreams of the button pushers and lever pullers. Whose two sex reality imprisoned the possibility, the evolution of humanity.

Cast out onto lives scrape-heap before it had even begun for me, by the first of many misdiagnoses. Schizophrenic! In reality it meant that my chances of getting a job, let alone have a career were no better than zero. Little wonder that I increasingly turned to drink and drugs, especially LSD, as a form of personal escape from in effect being dead, paralysed from the waist down; blessed as one of God’s holy innocents, free from the sins of sex at birth and until my mid-twenties.

Blessed with the opportunity to explore, to search for understanding and knowledge, to discover the infinite complexities of personal possibility, far from the familiar, secure shores of normal sexuality. Where are washed the driftwood, the flotsam and jetsam of sexual need, want, lust but above all, the familiarity. The security of sexual experience and expectations of those born only one of two possible sexes, those fortunate to have been born normal.

Because like all born a hermaphrodite, despite the best efforts of the surgeons I was never going to be normal and the sooner I accepted that, the better. Though it may have taken decades, I did finally learn to be proud to be born different, rather than feeling constantly inferior and personally ashamed. Grateful for the blessings of hermaphrodism that allowed me to remain innocent and beyond sexual sin, until my mid-twenty’s.

Privileged to have explored the spaces between the sexes, the unmapped worlds of possibility and personal potential, to transcend the physical limitations of sex and become something more than the sum total of its parts. A proto human in which the forces of nature are ever stronger than those of nurture, where imitation, incorporation and compliance are the invisible prisons holding the human spirit.

Limiting through expectation and anticipation the transcendent aspect of being, the possibility of form and function beyond the invisible walls all are imprisoned by from birth. When wrapped in pink or blue blanket, the possibilities of life are mapped, the expectations set forever like concrete by birth sex and the economic worth of male and female in contemporary society. Leaving only the fossilised footsteps of those travelling the path least travelled, as witness to their passing.

On a good day it is a blessing and I feel privileged to have been born forever different, without even the balls for a successful sex change operation. What a ride! Blessed to have been treat by brilliant surgeons, thanks to whom I not only developed a libido and knew for the first time in my life the destructive power of love and personal corruption’s of lust.

Blessed to finally experience the joys of orgasm thanks to the thousands of pounds spend on treating me by Saint James University Hospital and Leeds (NHS), thank you for the exceptional treatment. Blessed to have lived a third of my life as a boy, though in all honesty I do not to this day have a single clue what all that boy stuff was about. And two thirds of my life as a woman, paid less for doing the same job as a man and with less worth than a healthy camel, or donkey in some societies.

A thing in a world of things created for man’s pleasure according to their command and inherent social superiority. Blessed that I got to burn my bra and received a good feminist education. Blessed to become a ‘Female Eunuch’ whose life is forever blighted by penis envy and a love of big cocks.

Blessed to live in a society and time when hermaphrodites with the closed or hidden form, despite repeated misdiagnosis, can be freed from the sexual nothingness of being and know the comforts of libido and sexual intercourse. Blessed not to have suffered the indignity of extensive skin grafts, previously the only treatment for intersex patients with insufficient penile tissue for successful reassignment as women.

Blessed to be the first to have a Sigmoid colon in the UK, this at the time was being publicised as a new, effective treatment for intersex patients. Blessed that it worked for me as I hope it worked for you without to many long-term complications. Blessed that someone had my best interest at heart and were willing to treat me for what I was, a rebel without a cause and hermaphrodite without the balls for successful surgery.

Blessed that I lived long enough to finally feel pride about being a hermaphrodite, a ‘thing’, and an ‘it’ with life long penis envy and constant vaginal discharge. Blessed to have found personal contentment and happiness, despite exiting stage left in my thirty’s mumbling ‘vanity, vanity, all is vanity’ and going east in search of something more satisfying than the overt materialism of the west.

Blessed to have found myself, amidst the personal confusions of being born partly male and partly female – as it said above the entrance to the temple at Delphi – know they self. Blessed to have been born to be bullied because what does not destroy me only makes me stronger.

Every journey begins with a single step, every life a single cell. Become all you are capable of becoming and forget the bad days, when it feels like a curse, a medical nightmare seemingly without end. Be proud to have been born different, you are blessed with experiencing sexual transcendence and the possibility of becoming something more, a proto human and the first of your kind to be seen upon the earth.


The Final Taboo – The Final Word

Admittedly, after all the surgery I was at first a little promiscuous but hey, I was making up for lost time and is that not what all second year students did, have lots of sex and party? Especially after the final occasion when I had gone to bed with a man before surgery, who the second I took my clothes off, had an asthma attack and I mean a bad attack. So bad we slept with the lights on so I could wake up every hour just to make sure he was still breathing, needless to say, nothing remotely sexual happened.

While for obvious reasons I did not relish the idea of having to explain to the police what a person of mixed gender such as myself, was doing with a dead man in their bed. At the time he completely freaked me out and I hope I did not scare him for life. We should have kept to the bird watching because he was never the same with me again; at least I can laugh about it all now.

Life goes on. Eventually I became more selective, while trying to repay my debt to society and the Health Service in particular, for literally saving my life – what a ride! Only to become caught up in the First Gulf War, having by this point converted to Islam, become a Sufi, a follower of Ibn Arabia and learnt classical Arabic. What can I say that has not already been said better? Other than I came out of the six-week air campaign well ‘wobbly’, feeling like a criminal and mass murderer.

Though the full consequences of this death and destruction upon an industrial scale, would not wake from the silences of memory for years, where they lay suppressed, forgotten and festering under thickening layers of relative normality. If you can call spending twenty years involved in the forensic profiling of child murderers, serial killings, and terrorist attacks normal.

Because eventually it made me sexually frigid and was to drive me mad on the afternoon that a double murderer was found guilty of crimes I, as a small part of the many teams within a team that is a modern criminal investigation, helped to profile eighteen months earlier. When I burst into tears and subsequently cried my heart out for thirty or forty minutes, before I could begin to compose myself, every time it was mentioned.

So bad did this become, I was no use to myself let alone another investigation. I took a year out to deal with all the post traumatic stress, only to never go back to profiling with the exception of one final case. While the best I was ever to become, having built a growing reputation locally, then nationally and internationally.

Nazi lying Labour was already involved in a long-term act of targeting and revenge against the only gazelle in a lion’s enclosure. When as part of my responsibilities as an officer of a law centre, I informed a ‘local government audit officer’ about allegations, along with reports of criminal activities and abuse of office. That would result in the local Labour Council being put on special measures and having to lose the next local election, or be taken to court on mass.

The only other person, who knew what I was about to say, the centre’s co-ordinator would receive the customary pieces of Judas silver and a job with the local council for life. Upon that fateful day when I learnt that he already knew and given the questions he asked me, when I went into our conference room and asked: "Do you know, really know what is going on in this city?" I was already a dead thing walking shaky and hesitant from the moment of impact.

He already knew so there was no need for me to sacrifice my professional and personal reputation and eventually, the Law Centre out of a misguided sense of civic duty and personal morality. The rest as they say, is history with the Vatican and a mad, bad collection of those talking in tongues the language of Christian fundamentalism. Going on to persecute and harass me for thirty years for being something I was not, a transsexual, shame on you all!

But most of what Margaret Hatcher and Cardinal Ratsinger (soon to become Pope Adolph The Persecutor), Brush, Clintin, Brush, Bear, Presscoat, Brawn and O’Barmy et al peddled as truth, was nothing but a complete pack of lies from beginning to end. In that they could make me work or not work, without even knowing how I worked, or the fact I was what the medical profession call an hermaphrodite and not a transsexual.

Not that I would expect any different from Bear and Presscoat, they were just being their usual incompetent, lying, demented selves as laughing insanely, they turned their cardboard kaleidoscopes and made it up as they went along.

Frigid, mad and suffering from the effects of multiple post traumatic shock it would take seven years of personal Hell and the writing of four books. Before the various marsh gasses eventually bubbled and blopped through memories brackish, stagnant water. Seven long and lonely years before I could regain my trust in men, enough to even think about having sexual intercourse again.

Seven years of existential nausea, when I withdrew from the world and even myself, not trusting nor daring to open myself to another living being, least of all a man. When all I ever profiled was the sadist and sickest that men could do. Mostly but not always to women and children, non of the many forensic profiles that I helped to work, involved a woman and the phenomena of the female suicide bomber was something I had yet to encounter. But get through the swirling vapours and poisonous gases I eventually did.

Seven years before I got my libido back and sex became a potential for pleasure, only to discover that my own body had again become traitor to my hopes and desires, at the very moment I emerged from the caves darkness. Blinking, confused, dazed into the clear light of a new day. It was impossible to get a penis beyond the point where all those years ago, they had joined together two pieces of my Heath Robinson insides and I was again proper fucked. Or would have been, had it not been for the join, which became traitor to my sexual needs and desires.

Baron Von Munchhousen (by proxy syndrome) of Presscoat & Son’s Poisoners Paradise and his ageing criminal conspiracy of silence, must have thought all their Christmases had come at once. Because to date I have been trying for almost two years to get what is relatively minor surgery, a ‘z’ plaste that would make such a difference to my life. So far without any success or progress, while the initial frustration has given way to depression.

With the Christian hordes and followers of the anti-Christ, the enduring fantasy God of men more intent upon saving wealth and power than souls. Sensing blood, have gone for the kill – sod not being able to have a television because some pratt keeps cutting the aerial cable - sod not being able to grow anything in my garden without it being pulled up or poisoned – sod the fact that most of my post goes missing - sod the demented and dangerous rodents in the rats palace who are about as useful as a bag of melted ice cubes – sod the white noise, drugging, poisoning, harassment, physical assaults and criminal damage – sod the giant ‘bung beetles’ pushing another lying sleazeball politician around Westminster’s gold paved streets – sod the neighbours from hell, the harpy constantly screeching: ‘Give me, give me, give me – sod Nazi lying Labours gangs of feral children and compliant Council Officials – sod the lot of you, because all it takes for evil to prosper is for good men and women to remain silent

Now it is personal and would get even more personal once the local Heath Authority, one of the nineteen worse performing and from my experience the most homophobic, transphobic, hermaphobic in the country. Finally got my medical records from Saint James, I would be immediately ‘outed’ for being even stranger than a transsexual, because when it came to gender reassignment, I did not even have the balls for successful, routine, sex change surgery.

Not that life in Brawns ‘broken Britain’ under those ConDem (ed) by convenience and connivance, was to be any better for me than under Nazi lying New Labour. In many respects it is worse, especially the sleep depravation and white noise, because it is like going instantly back in time to the worse days of Margaret Hatcher. With breeze-block in handbag, her attentive Chingford Suede Heads and Cardinal Ratsinger on hand, as they started this aspect of what is called ‘targeting’.

When Hatcher asked the Chancellor of a local university. If they could find some way to stop me working without having to resort to murder, a way that had the added advantage of being used to discredit me, if I made the fundamental mistake of telling anyone else about what was happening and why.

Which I did not for over two decades, at least until just before the start of the Second Gulf War, when having refused to go to war based upon nothing but lies and deception. In that Iraq had weapons and stockpiles of weapons of mass destruction, ready to launch against British bases upon the Island of Cyprus within thirty minutes of the order being given.

Because after my experiences of the First Gulf War, I knew what I was talking about and this was nothing more than Saddam Hussun being hoisted by his own patard. During the military and industrial complexes next profitable ‘pretext’ war against oil rich country’s and the CIA’s old friend and puppet, the Sunnis champion against the spread of Shi dominance.

Having worked with a colleague for over ten years, I finally made the fundamental mistake of telling them about the ‘targeting’ and how bad it had been, since I refused to support or take part in a Second Gulf War. With person or persons unknown coming into my home and smashing things when I was out, the neighbours from Hell blocking off taxi’s and standing outside my home shouting threats and abuse, the constant drugging and white noise. By the end of the next day, it was all around the charity sector that I had gone mad and did not know what I was doing – bing, bang, bung, bonus.

The years of persistent ‘targeting’ had finally paid off when I eventually discredited myself – detain, discredit and destroy being the long term game plan for the Catholics, Christian fundamentalists, Jews and certain Arabs. All that now remained was to destroy me, having firstly ‘outed’ me as being a hermaphrodite, a thing neither fish nor fowl, both partly male and partly female but wholly neither.

Following which, the level of ‘targeting’ went into the party foam politics of those demented, desperate and determined to spin again lies into truth, lead into gold and enduring freedom and democracy into elected despotism. All spin without substance, from mad men and maniacs with one eye larger then the other. Who believed they heard the voice of God talking to them inside their heads, saying invade Iraq and destroy the homosexuals, transsexuals and hermaphrodites, all damned to the flames of Hell whose fuel are stones and men.

Not until I had been raped, subjected to domestic violence and the insidious way male bullies destroy your self-confidence and create an imaginary dependence, based upon the fact that it would never ever happen again. Treat with considerably less respect and with fewer rights than a camel, subjected to the sexual controls, exploitation, and expectation men have put upon women from the dawn of history. Not until I lived with the inequality and patronising garbage that came from having more balls than brains. Did I fully understand for the first time the liberation theology of ‘The Female Eunuch’?

Because for me, normality was just a dream that I would never know in this world. Little wonder at the time I used to think that if there was indeed a God, he (sic) must really have had it in for me and was just a bastard, a complete bastard who was probably nothing but a frustrated Freudian empiricists. As for penis envy, I admit to that, which is why I probably like the ‘silver backs’ and men with big ones, the real throat ticklers.

While thanks to Nazi lying Labour and its concentration camp Doctors, I have just waited over three months for a decision on whether the Trust will give me the funding to see a surgeon, with experience of the procedure I need. Over three months when I was told it would take a month for them to consider my application for funding and I am no closer to getting treatment on the health service than when I started, now almost two years ago – bing, bang, bung, bonus.

Life is not getting better for me, under Cameraroom101 it is getting worse and worse. But all it ever takes for evil to thrive and prosper is that good men and women remain silent. A silence that over the past thirty years has been deafening, especially from the demented and dangerous rodents in the rats palace (Westminster), where there are clearly no good men or women, just steaming sleazeballs and those living off the fat of a system firmly rooted in the seventeenth century.

Though started all those years ago by Hatcher and Ratsinger, nothing could have prepared me for the malevolence, hatred, criminality, and pack of lies from beginning to end. That came from Nazi lying Labour, in particular Tony Bear (evil incarnate) and John Presscoat (playground bully), lies they are still selling to the stupid and gullible, crimes they and their friends are still committing in the name of national security. Lies that allowed them to persecute me for thirty years for being something I am not, a transsexual. Because had I been, then I would not be having the problems I now have.

Having kept this secret for decades because of a misguided sense of shame, inferiority, shock, confusion and embarrassment, at least I can now hold my head high and say with pride, I did not even have the balls for a sex change operation. So sod the lot of you, there is not one good man or woman amongst you who will tell the truth, not one. For something very rotten in the woodpile hides.

To read further extracts from a profiler’s casebook, ‘The Distressing Case Of The Missing Girls’

click on the following link: https://ser101@wordpress.com/