25 years ago, as a schoolkid, I received Puberty Blockers - one of the first few GIDS kids to do so. It was a tough time to be a trans kid in an age when barely anyone knew we could exist. It's even harder now we are a culture war battleground. Listen to us. Not to the lies.

It's horrifying that we have reached this point - where a cabal of salaried hate activists are literally paid to spend all day finding new ways to dehumanise and monster people like me, simply for the crime of having been born a certain way.

A new Sex Matters hire makes more money in a year than I do, while doing a job solely revolving around destroying my ability to receive healthcare, have gainful employment and take part in society.

This is really becoming a PR apocalypse for the British anti-trans hate circuit. Sobbing children banned from clubs with their friends while the orgs make it clear their hands were forced. Middle aged women challenged and ejected from toilets for the crime of looking clocky.

Your names will be known. Your names and your complicity. Even if you were just following orders. I promise you.

History will not be kind to you. We wouldn't dream of letting you erase yourself from it. You will be called to account. Every one of you who allowed and assisted the enaction of this generational atrocity. Every single one of you.

...then that's not an insult. That's a declaration of war. A war you will lose. Because truth is on my side. And hope, and humanity - and this country's future.

You're murdering children. That's already unforgivable, grotesque humanity at its most inhumane. You already made it personal. When you murder children and not only claim it's an act of kindness, but try to present my salvation as evidence supporting your murderous actions...

I'll never stop fighting. Never. You've already murdered me in the historical record of my own life; deleted me from my own history for being too successful at achieving the exact goals of the treatment I was given. You'll have to kill me for real to silence me, though.

When they came for children When they tore away their hope When they demonised their parents When they monstered those working to keep a lifeline open I had to fight.

When they started using the triumph of my childhood's defining event to claim that I never even existed, I realised that there were more important things than living my childhood dream and keeping the promise I made to Bernadette Wren - to take the golden ticket and live safe.

They used the staggering completeness of my spectacular success - in escaping their hate - as ammunition to claim that it didn't work. The bitter irony of realising you've become a wrongly interpreted data-point in an assassination effort against your entire historical record..

I didn't just die. I was erased from ever having lived at all. Everything I had been through. The joy I had known at liberation from direct transphobia. The bliss of achieving the impossible; the unspeakable whisper of getting to live; truly LIVE the life you barely dared dream

I had shielded myself so effectively from the canonical narrative of my own life history that I was a ghost wearing my own skin. A person who did not exist. Hannah Barnes murdered me; deleted me from my own life history. Erased me from the defining events of my own childhood.

They lied and they lied and they demonised and they monstered and it was so obvious and transparent and this was my entire fucking childhood they were assassinating before my eyes and I just wanted to scream. And I could say nothing. I had no voice. Because I did not exist.

I watched in despair as the agonies of my childhood became front page news. As entryist saboteurs dismantled my childhood salvation from within. As Hannah Barnes and her lies were catapulted into mainstream prominence with Newsnight specials.

The nightmare is always there, and back it eventually comes with front page stories and hate screeds and manipulative strategies to say something shocking while following it up with something more reasonable until the shocking thing and the reasonable thing have swapped places.

It's never over. That's the game. You play it until the day you die. You might think you stopped playing. But you didn't. You can't.

Everything grew a little greyer; a little less safe, day after day. Another hit-piece. Another newspaper stand I couldn't bear to look at. Screaming propaganda on each headline. What a fool I'd been, to think we'd actually made it. What a fool I had been, to think it was over.

And how our population had just catapulted ourselves into ignorant self-annihilation over xenophobic propaganda and economic lies on the side of buses. And I realised. It could happen here. And it's already started.

And then I remembered what we were standing against, and why we were actually standing against it back then. And how close we actually came to falling for it. Succumbing to the lure of myth of the Easy Enemy Without And Within.