I’m 24. A trans student, musician, and survivor.
At 17, I left home. Not because I was brave—but because I had no choice. I wasn’t loved like the rest. I was the “odd one out”—queer, neurodivergent, born of a different dad. So my mother let me go. We lied to social services, said I was staying with grandparents. I just needed out.
I moved across the country and into the home of a man 40+ years older from a dating site. He was abusive too—but it was the only kind of “love” I’d known.
I started to fight back.
Therapy helped me see it for what it was.
Somehow, without A-levels, I got into university.
Music I’d written during lockdown became my voice.
Modelling. Fashion. Art. I created a life I was proud of.
For 6 years, I built something beautiful.
Then, 10 months ago, at 23—I lost it all.
My home, my sanctuary, was destroyed during a botched asbestos removal.
I have video and audio proof: workers mocking me, calling me slurs, entering unprotected, using faulty equipment.
My air purifier maxed out at 500+ PM2.5—the most dangerous reading possible. I was told my health wasn’t in danger. But I had to evacuate under emergency advice. I left everything behind.
I moved into holiday lets for a month. Now I’m renting again—but I’m still in survival mode. I’m not homeless, but I’m unstable. I’m exhausted. Traumatized. Medicated. Flashing back.
And it didn’t end there.
I took a job. My employer sexually harassed me.
When I rejected him, he fired me and turned others against me.
Before all this, I was supporting a close friend who became psychotic and homeless.
Not long after, I overdosed. In the ambulance, while slipping in and out of consciousness, I was mocked by paramedics.
“Is it autistic?” one of them asked, laughing while I vomited.
As a trans person, that level of dehumanization has become routine.
But it still breaks something in you.
I reached out for help.
The HSE? Nothing.
Police? Said it wasn’t “life or death.”
My MP, Josh Babarinde? Offered support before election—then passed me off once in office.
Now, I’m alone in this. And I need help.
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What I Need Help With:
• Rent & emergency living costs
• Therapy, trauma recovery, and medical care
• Legal fees to hold the asbestos company accountable
• Replacing my belongings, clothes, art, and music tools
• Stability—a chance to heal and breathe again
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If you’ve ever been dismissed, overlooked, or told you were “too much”—this is for you, too.
I’ve done everything I can to survive.
But now I need help to live.
Please share, support, or give what you can.
Thank you for reading. Thank you for believing me
