Letters From The Edge Of Blogspace:

Published September 30, 2015 by Christine

I really don’t know what to call this. I got my referral. I’ve been promoted. I have a pay rise. How much could I ask for? I just want to dance. I just want to jump and scream and shout. To think, four years ago I was a wreck. I couldn’t get out of bed. I spent most of my time drunk. I had no ambition or direction and I was scared to death of what and who I was. I was a mess and I know it. I knew what I had to do.

In 2011 I came out. A scared little mouse who thought that she would never amount to anything, despite her bravado. Over the intervening four years, she slowly built herself up. Friends who laughed at her in the beginning began to realise she was serious. They noticed a change in her and, over time, saw the she, not the he. People who knew her and interacted with her on a daily basis became used to the woman they saw, realising that the man they knew had never really been there. He had simply been a holding pattern, a temporary image while she sorted herself out. After a time, he faded, from life, from memory and only she remained. She who should have been there at the beginning, she who had always been there, hiding, afraid to come out, like a scared little mouse. She, who now roared like a lioness and took the world by storm.

And now? I’m the Ops Manager of the single largest IT community project in the area. I have my own place. I’m financialy secure and I’m married to an absolutely gorgeous woman.

Watch out for this lioness. She bites.

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Letters From The Edge of Blogspace: Thinking Of Tomorrow….

Published August 23, 2015 by Christine

Thinking of tomorrow
With the sunset in my eyes.
I feel everything in sorrow,
Tomorrow, just more lies.

Thinking of tomorrow,
Nothing left to feel.
I can but do just stand there,
Nerves of wire and steel.

Thinking of tomorrow,
Hatred comes my way.
The only thing I can do,
Is think of the next day.

Thinking of tomorrow,
It gets better every day.
Why am I pretending?
I’m not alive, they say.

Thinking of tomorrow.
Thinking of today
There’s nothing left inside me.
No reason left to stay.

Thinking of tomorrow.

The Sunday Sermon; Power, victimhood and Christianity

Published July 5, 2015 by Christine

A fantastic, thought-provoking post on what it means to be a Christian…

Sometimes, it's just a cigar

Increasingly the Christian right is trying to make itself out to be “the real victims here“. This week a new low was reached as one group tried to pretend being a small-minded bigot somehow carries the same weight of stigma and risks as being LGBT. Newsflash, it doesn’t, and until there is a queer equivalent of Fox run by a megalomanic billionaire, it wont. Whilst its common for us to mock this as an American affliction its pretty prevalent in the UK too. Both in the UK and the US these groups seem to be confusing being a part of the capitalist hegemony with being Christian. We used to be a Christian country they cry. Oddly enough Christian doesn’t mean looking after the outcast, the weak, the sick. No, a Christian country apparently means a slave-owning one, a one which started wars, colonized other countries, turned a blind eye…

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Letters From The Edge Of Blogspace: Rollercoaster…

Published July 4, 2015 by Christine

It’s a rollercoaster that we ride.
Something that we swear we’d never touch.
Yet, the feeling’s the same.
Or somesuch.

We get in the car.
Trepidation is what we feel.
Knowing the ride ahead,
Will take all our steel.

The guards come down,
Shutting us off from the world.
No matter why we reach out,
Those who love us, frown.

We look ahead. All we see is space.
The ‘coaster jerks. Putting us into place.
The clanking engine starts, pulling the cars.
And we know the journey starts.

Slowly up the hill.
The chain pulls us.
Changes already happening.
Our lives have fooled us.

Nearly to the top, one mountain we have climbed,
Aided by the chain, of maleness left behind.
Of lives we lived before us
And triumphs not unkind.

As the chain pulls us forward, and loved ones far behind,
We stare straight ahead lest we leap back, love in kind.
All we wanted, all we need.
Is peaked and at our fore,
And all we need to say, is “Nevermore”.

We’ve reached the top, it stretches far in front.
That lonely coaster, that lonely place.
The wheels are on, the lugs are tight,
The belt is on, the straps are tight.

I’m ready.
I’m right.
Take me from here.
Into the night.
Bring me back
Into the light.
Feeling wonderful.
Feeling right.

Judging A Book By Its Cover

Published June 27, 2015 by Christine

Another awesome post from Alex Forshaw.

My Autistic Dance

I’m lucky, I guess. When I am out and about I usually get gendered correctly. Shop staff call me madam, a dad called “Mind out for that lady” to his young children who were running about as I walked past, colleagues at work use the correct pronouns to refer to me. I still feel happy when I hear it although the degree of pleasure has diminished as it has become my normal experience.

I realize this experience is not typical for a trans woman. A big factor in my favor is that I don’t pay much attention to people around me: I have no idea if people are looking at me and rarely will I notice if they are talking about me. It’s a facet of my autism; I’ve never been particularly aware of other people unless I’m interacting with them and I can hardly begin to guess at how…

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Letters From The Edge Of Blogspace: A Quiet Moment of Reflection….

Published June 7, 2015 by Christine

Janice Raymond, Sheila Jeffries, Cathy Brennan, et al. I would ask a quiet moment of reflection.

You do not understand trans women. You deny we exist. Yet, here I am. A trans woman.

I have never claimed to feel “like a woman”.

I have never claimed to know what a woman feels like.

I have never denied your womanhood.

I have never denied anything you have felt.

Yet I am not male.

Everything I know points to me being a woman.

Everything I feel points to me being a woman.

I have felt this way since as far back as I can remember.

Yet you still deny how I feel.

This isn’t erasure.

This is destruction.

I will fight this.

47 Years.

Not One More.

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