Letter to a Friend

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This rambling little thingie inspired by various 'conversations', readings and general musings over recent months.
The letter? Oh yeah, that's in there somewhere.

This is a work of adult fiction. No resemblance to reality should be inferred or expected. Sort of.
Copyright KLS 2007.

Letter to a Friend

By Kristina.L.S.

So what's all this then? Well it's sort of a rambling monologue stream of consciousness thing. I wrote it some months back... well actually I wrote this right now over an hour at 8 o'clock on a Saturday morning, but the letter, well I'll get to that.

It's a funny ol' world innit? I mean who are all these ODD people that come here and read and maybe comment or God forbid write something, having just that pinch of ego enough to say, ' well here it is', and expect to be taken even remotely seriously.

Now, I can see those that see my name on something and roll their eyes muttering, 'Oh Christ... not her again. It's probably some middle-aged bloke with an identity complex anyway'... Ah, fair enough, each to their own thoughts and welcome to them.

So, where's the letter? Oh... I'll get to that. It's sort of a ramble. Yeah I know I said that already.

I chat at various times to people far and wide, sort of the reason for it all in the first place and friendships can and do result. Some might be regular correspondents and others infrequent... and maybe some of it's in my mind and they're indifferent, but hey I can dream.

So even if it's not a regular thing it's still there, at least I like to think so, so leave me to my dreams already.

So here I am taking myself waaay tooo seriously but someone will prick my balloon for me I'm sure. All sorts that come here will at times wonder about who and what these 'others' are, truth and fiction meld quite readily. Sometime a bit of truth might filter through, perhaps depending on how open said writer is... or maybe how clever.

Clever?? Me?? Oh do be serious. I'm a semi-literate, uneducated fool at the best of times. Open? Well maybe, sometimes. In a sort of self exploration, demon wrestling sorta way. Ok, crap sentences... I did say I was semi-literate.

Oh get on with it.

Hmm parts of this have been inspired as I said by various 'conversations'. Some might even recognise bits, others, perhaps not. But there's all sorts in here, so even if you don't see yourself( there's that ego thing — assuming someone will actually read this) rest assured you're here somewhere. Even those I've never 'spoken' to. Those readers and writers that come and go. The stories that sit forlornly begging comment or response, but sadly at times may not get it... or what was wanted maybe. I feel bad at times, but then there's too much sometimes and it might not be my thing and so...

But then that's the point of it all isn't it. To give that space where anyone (almost) can try their hand and hope to be well received, which mostly they will be. Each to their own and all that, space to breathe and grow. It's nice to see the gradual ease and confidence that comes as people get comfortable and think... 'hey maybe I'...

So?... the Letter?... exasperated sigh in the background. Oh yeah, sorry.

Well it was inspired by a 'gal' friend that seemed rather down at the time. I may have over-interpreted a little but she seemed to be edging too close. So I wrote this as a sort of... 'well I know at times it's hard, but it beats the alternative'...

Now she will probably read this and blush and or go cold thinking...' how could you put that up there?'... (and what's with all this little 3 dot things?!) But then maybe she'll accept why. Sort of the same reason I wrote it to her in the first place.

Now the events loosely described herein happened some time ago, so need not be a source of fear or worry. And of course it's a personal thing... (so what the hell are you doing putting it up here then?)

Ah, good question.

Well there's been all sorts of discussions about motivations and life and philosophy and self and this vs that and...
It's, I guess, an affirmation. That no matter if the world stomps on you at times it's the only one we got. Not taking into account various beliefs on the afterlife and what that may or may not be. You have to live for now. So if that insensitive jerk calls you names and hurts you, or that guy or girl smiles and nodds as if to say, 'hey... that's cool, just be you'... or that batty little old lady that pats your cheek and calls you a loverly boy even though you're standing there in a skirt and top, made up and looking simply wonderful.

Ya gotta laugh.

Not always easy though is it? But still, it's all there is, maybe.

So you wander along 'doin' the best ya can' to paraphrase a song and even though things might get you down at other times there is beauty and joy, so it evens out mostly.

The LETTER?!?! Oh ok. Sorry, got carried away.

Here...

Let me tell you a story.....

Many years ago there was a young man. He was smart enough but uneducated and perhaps a little chip on shoulder conceited or arrogant. He fell in love. A lovely young girl that seemed to love him in return...but he had a secret.

One night she went on a girls night out and came home late and confused as to why she wanted to go with the rock star that propositioned her…
even when she said she had her period... he still wanted her. She was upset and confused… but he knew… she didn't love him. She thought she did, but…

And so he drank and wrung hands and listened to Jim Croce (a lot) and then broke down and told her. He loved her, but...
He was really a girl... or sort of...

And she cried… 'I've lost you' ... 'No, only if you want to…'

Which of course, in the light of day...she did. So some months later she began to see a hairdresser that needed a model for an 'expo' and so... she came home very late… and so... he knew for certain... could they be friends? .. he tried ... but no... that didn't work

It was his 22nd BDay and he got home after a day of flat hunting and job seeking to find a card on 'his' bed in the second room of their flat. He did not open the card. He sat and cried and the loss of family and now love (or something like it and...) He dropped his keys on the bed and left the flat. No goin' back, ya know. Bought a bottle (Sthn Comfort.. his first drunk at 15 (that's another story), can't stand the stuff now… funny that) …and walked the 10k to the beach.. a small island attached by a little bridge and a view to the heads and the ocean beyond. Sat on said island and DRANK. Many thoughts and a few hours later he wobbled to his feet and waded to his knees while looking at the ocean. He stood there crying and looking at the wavy silky sea... waiting…for what? And if he swam for moments before sinking...what then? What does he miss? Does anyone miss him?

Needless to say he returned to the island. People can be thoughtless and unkind. Sometimes even cruel. But we are who we are and so we must be.

I have found the result of 2 that could not continue. I will never forget the people that were. I do not yell at them, nor anyone else, it just is. I do not ever want to be there again. Nor will I ever put someone else in that position.....I think. But.......

People see what they see and feel what they feel. I am 36, but I have lived for near 30 years as a male, sort of, and that cannot be re-written. And then even if I was to have surgery I would still not be a woman, not really. And yet....

Now here's the bit I could regale you with humorous tales of having to break in through the boarded up doggie door, but…
Oh the lady in question never knew. She came home briefly on the Monday, but…

'Ooh yeah, life goes onnn, long after the thrill of livin' is gone' ,
apologies to John Mellencamp.

****
I have a pretty bad record in taking in or accepting or maybe being accepted by groups of various sorts in the TG/CD world. Almost all my experiences of the group or institutionalised type setting have been very negative. That scene in 'Silk Purse' of the group session was in a renowned charity/half way/ help whoever place in Kings Cross Sydney. It was as I described it an unbelievably negative and off-putting experience. It scared me enough to try and muddle through for another 5 years. Had I been less together I might have given up and done something rather desperate and final. I think because I had already fought that one I held it together and kept going. God knows what happened to some others that wandered in as I did. I saw a bit of it some years later and that is more than enough for my lifetime thank you very much.

(Oh... this bit was actually written to someone else, but it sorta fits, so...)

I'll have to have a look at Tri Ess...I suspect it's similar to The Seahorse club that operates here. It was suggested to me way back by my Shrink that I connect with them. He saw a little resistance and dislike on my face and said it is only as a means to become more comfortable or acceptable as a female, not a statement of who you are. I accepted that...but still never looked them up. In retrospect it was probably not a bad idea. It would have helped with the public acceptance thing.... and that is a BIG one to get through. You said you have gone out dressed once or twice…so you know just how terrifying it can be. And just when you start to get comfortable or at ease something happens to dump a bucket in your lap. Unless you've been there you can never quite understand how scary it can be.

****

So there it is and what's the point you may ask and why post it un-proofed and rambling and you’re a crap writer and that bit's wrong and doesn't make sense and you spelt...

Sorry, self-indulgent crap. But I'm allowed and maybe someone will get something from it.

I mean hey, this is BC the home of all sorts of nutters and loners and would be 'writers' and why not. Because that's what it's all about.

Acceptance. Difference. Take your pick, dip and weave, lurk or join. It's all good in it's own way.
Just be true to you, OK.

Respectfully yours

Kristina

Any thoughts or comments I can be contacted - [email protected]
Anything short of abuse welcome.

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Comments

Self indulgent?

Hi Kristina,

It may be a bit self indulgent, but sometimes you need to vent your spleen a wee bit. You've had me do it to you occasionally.

So from me to you, feel free to vent. Maybe others like myself can get something from the venting.

Hugs,

Arwen's Tears

Being True

Dear Kristina.

No more of this 'I can't write.' You can and very well too. You bring to whatever you do the gifts of immediacy and honesty. of clarity and old fashioned heart.

They come through loud and touchingly clear.

Many who have shared your pain, or enough of it to have touched their own lives, must surely find comfort in your sharing. I personally I have not known those depths so further comment from me would be unseemly and impertinent. I can only salute your strength.

I was introduced the other day to a labyrinth a friend had constructed in their garden. The difference between it and a maze was explained to me. The latter is designed to confuse those who enter in it with multiple choices of path. The former has but one clear, albeit often tortuous path, and apparently is designed to confuse not you but the devil who might follow.

If I may with due humility suggest it, it seems to me that you have hopefully emerged from your maze, or perhaps by your own efforts and courage transformed it into a labyrinth with a clear unambiguous path in front of you.

Hugs,

Fleurie

Fleurie

Letter?

kristina l s's picture

Well no it was actually an email, I mean who actually writes letters anymore. The only 'real' mail these days is Bills or offers to sell you stuff, thus resulting in more Bills. At least the recycle companies get something out of it.
Two comments, wow, actually more than I expected for this, thank you guys.
Self indulgent Arwen? No, surely not...oh, Ok ya got me, guilty. Labrynthine, I thought that was your mind Fleurie, mines just a little crooked, I nearly said twisted, but that might give the wrong impression.
For the couple of hundred 'reads' assuming two thirds(ish) of those are actual, roughly... thanks, I hope you got something from it, even if just a laugh. The rest of the world can carry on totally oblivious, nuthin' new under the sun.
Oh no... I wasn't drunk. It WAS 8 o'clock in the morning, had to have a coffee first.
The music, Jim Croce, well he just happened to be the singer guitar player I'd discovered at the time. Suitably sad eyed and maudlin. It could have been Enya, then I'd have had to slash my wrists and drink three bottles of scotch and take 400 sleeping pills. Or you could have locked me in a room and made me listen to Italian Opera, or even worse German, same end result.
And if I should come over all serious like, well just blow a raspberry, though I admit that's a little hard to do in comment form. Might be worth tryin' though.
Kristina
ps .. there were a couple of PM's too, but they're like, Private ya know.

Enya Has That Effect On Me

joannebarbarella's picture

I suppose it's talent but that's a matter of taste, innit? Reminds me of the legendary conversation between Lady Astor and Winston Churchill;

"Winston, if you were my husband I'd give you poison."

"Madam, if you were my wife I'd drink it!"

Jim Croce doesn't have that effect on me.

Ramble on anytime you like, Kris. Even your rambles are worth reading,

Joanne

Ah yes...and the apocryphal accompanying tale?

Andrea Lena's picture

Madame, you are ugly!
Mr. Churchill, you are drunk.
Yes, but in the morning I shall be sober, whereas you madam shall still be ugly!
Hi Joanne :D


She was born for all the wrong reasons but grew up for all the right ones.
Dio benedica la mia bella amici

  

To be alive is to be vulnerable. Madeleine L'Engle
Love, Andrea Lena

Not Apocryphal

joannebarbarella's picture

Bloody Hell! How do you spell that?

'Drea, the encounter actually took place. The lady concerned was Bessie Braddock, a Labour member of the House of Commons. Poor Bessie could most kindly be described as "homely" and believe me, that was kind.

In fact, Winston apparently did not initiate the exchange. He lurched into her in one of the corridors and she was the instigator of the verbals. It is one of my all-time favourites in the insult stakes.

The recorded version is;

"Winston you are drunk."

"Madam, you are ugly and in the morning I shall be sober."

Joanne