Part II - Post Adoption To Release On Murder Charges (1981 - 2000)

Updated August 23, 2006

I was formally removed from the adoption on September 28, 1981, and sent to Craigwood, a youth 'treatment centre', located near the village of Ailsa Craig (about 30 km northwest of the city of London).

Within four months of my arrival there, I was raped three times by older boys (separate events). This is what precipitated my gender identity crisis.

I lived there for nearly three years. One positive thing that I can still remember about living there is the teacher that I had; he was cool! I was also introduced to the wonders of cooking while I was a resident there.

On June 22, 1984, I was transferred to another group home, Risen Son Ministries, in Stratford, Ontario, run by a man named Anthony David Gardiner. The group home was located at the corner of Douro and Wells Sts. I lived there for about one year. Then I got into trouble (I set a chair on fire, accidentally, while smoking) and was placed in a foster home (again!) for about three months or so.

From there, I moved to the Nurses' Residence near the hospital, where I lived for about three months. I was kicked out of there because I lit a fire in a wastepaper basket when my girlfriend, whom I had met in February of that year, was emotionally forced, by her parents, to break up with me. I was helping Donna (my girlfriend) to become too independent by giving her tutoring in math, English, etc. (Donna was what is known now as developmentally handicapped); her parents refused her right to associate with me because of Donna's growing desire for personal independence. Their desire was that Donna be their stay-at-home girl, forever.

While I was living in the Residence, I portrayed myself as a female, in public, for the very first time.

After leaving the Residence, I was placed in another foster home; this one was run by a kindly but strict grandmotherly woman named Mary. I lived there for about a year.

I was forced to quit school because I couldn't stay in class due to my eyesight. I attempted to obtain approval from my Children's Aid Society worker (I was still a ward of the Crown) for vision correction, but was told that he was out of town at a major conference and would not be available for at least three weeks.

This happened right before mid-term exams (November, 1986). The principal, himself, expelled me. I was so angry at the school for their lack of concern about my health that I threw my math textbook at him! It missed. Darn it!

When I was expelled, as mentioned above, I was still a ward of the Crown. That ended immediately after my expulsion from school. I ended up on welfare (I had no formal job training) for about six months.

Then I committed a crime (which I have no memory of having committed) and was convicted on a count of mischief over ($1,000? $5,000? I can't remember) and sentenced to eleven months.

I spent a little over nine months in jail, before and after my conviction. When I was released, I moved to Toronto, where I have lived for almost eighteen years.

During my first two years here in Toronto, I worked constantly, doing general labour, for up to twenty hours a day. Eventually, I strained my back and had to stop working.

I was also beginning to experience constant, unidentifiable pain. Every doctor that I saw about the pain told me that it was all in my head. Those bastards! Just because they don't know something, they imply that you're crazy!

Between my arrival in Toronto on February 18, 1988, and the end of January, 1992, when I was finally approved for disability under the then Family Benefits Act of Ontario, I fought constantly with welfare workers. I did finally get approved, thanks, in large part, to a worker named Bill Dwyer; I ran into Bill at the ONDP convention in Hamilton, Ontario, in November of 2004.

In September of 1992, I began my transition. I first used the name Tiffany eight months later. I did not change the spelling of my name to Tiffani until 1995.

I remained on FBA until September 30, 1998, shortly after my arrest on two counts of second degree murder and one count of arson endangering life (see below for more details). Until the above-mentioned date, I moved around, from place to place in the city, on a nearly yearly basis.

I was arrested because I had told the police about the incident at the Nurses' Residence in Stratford in 1985 and, also, because they forced me to confess. I was in no emotional or physical shape to resist their tactics for very long, although I tried my very best to do so (see below for more details).

On September 16, 1998, the building that I was living in was set on fire. Two women died as a result of the fire. When I talked to the police on the 20th, what I told them caused them to make me their primary suspect.

It also led to my trip to police headquarters on the evening of September 28, 1998. While I was there, I was asked if I would be willing to participate in a polygraph test. I had no reason to believe that I was, at any time, at risk of being arrested by doing the polygraph, so I agreed. Subsequently, the polygraph officers accused me of committing the crime, even though I had a substantiated alibi (one of the real fire-setters helped with that) and there was no conclusive evidence of my having started the fire.

At the time of my arrest, I was a psychiatric patient on the following medications: Zoloft - 50mg/day; Perphenazine - 4 mg/day; Chlorpromazine - 100 mg three times/day; Clonazepam - 1 mg prn; Epival - 250 mg twice/day; Conjugated Estrogens - 1.25 mg/day and Androcur - 50mg/day.

I had also, on the day after the fire occurred, been physically assaulted. The right side of my jaw was broken and my right eye would not function at all as a result of the assault.

The jaw was not properly diagnosed until Monday, September 21, when the swelling had finally receded. My jaw was operated on at 8:30 pm on Wednesday, September 23; at the same time, my right eye was placed back in its proper position.

Between the end of the operation and 3:00 pm on Friday, September 25, the time of my release from the hospital, I was given 10 mg of morphine every six hours. Due to my having Fibromyalgia, this was a complete waste of very expensive medication; the morphine had little to no effect on the pain resulting from the operation. Shortly before being released, I was given a prescription for Tylenol 3s.

On Saturday morning, I went to a drop-in nearby that was offering a free breakfast to anyone and everyone. While I was there, my backpack, containing my meager belongings, which included $20 and all of my medications, was stolen. Nothing was ever found.

I was able to replace all my medications, except for the Tylenol 3, because there was no refill for that medication. So, for all intents and purposes, I was running around with a severely swollen jaw and no painkillers to treat the pain that I was experiencing as a result of the operation to repair my jaw.

Put all these things together, then add in that I was a transsexual, a bisexual and a poor person living on a disability income and you will realize that, in the eyes of the police, I was the perfect scapegoat for the crime.

I spent just under two years in the Metro Toronto West Detention Centre (all dead time) and came within a whisker's breadth of being sentenced to 25 years to life in prison for a crime that I did not commit. While I was there, I experienced constant harassment from both guards and inmates, mostly because, to most of them, I was a freak and could therefore be abused at everyone's convenience. I was physically assaulted once. Three men attempted to rape me; none succeeded. I also gained seventy pounds while sitting behind bars, due to the high starch content of the foods served there.

While I was in the West Detention Centre, I was forced to see a staff psychiatrist. He decided that my medications should be quickly raised to the maximum levels; this ensured that I would be a nearly literal zombie at all times.

One morning, in late April or early May of 1999, the guards could not wake me up at all, so one of them filled a pitcher with freezing cold water and threw it in my face. I woke up so fast that I almost, without thinking, attempted to assault the officer. Luckily, I realized what had happened and managed to restrain myself.

As a result of this event, I arranged to see the psychiatrist at the earliest possible time. I told him, in no uncertain terms, that he would either start lowering my medication levels or I would stop taking them, cold turkey. He decided that lowering the levels was the wiser thing to do. On September 12,1999, I took my last dose of a psychiatric medication. I have been clean from psychiatric drugs from that day forward and will never use those medications again.

I was released on September 26, 2000.

Part III - Onward And Upward: The Rebuilding Of My Life (2000- 2005)