Almost a Guest Post

Today is a first for this blog. I would like it to have been more, but my new friend Sarah is modest and not quite ready to introduce herself to Blogistan. I am going to keep working on her on your behalf, because I am sure that she has thoughts on our condition that would benefit many here. I will just add that in our few exchanges of ideas via email I am learning more about myself.

So, while this is not quite a guest post, here is a poem by Sarah Thompson. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do, and perhaps with a word of encouragement or two we might hear more from her soon.

Halle


My imaginary friend
 
As children we cohabited quite happily.
One body, harmlessly male.
Sometimes I confused my mother.
 
After puberty it became impractical,
'She' became an exile.
Gently, persistently, demanding repatriation.
 
"Let me free, now".
In a house of girls it was easy to comply.
Dresses, skirts, tights...
 
She gave me a pleasure in sensual things,
Sharpened my sense of the absurd, made
any self-confidence feel distinctly false.
 
I buried her for 30 years, but she never gave up.
Waiting until the hormones weakened.
Until I was freer to be 'myself'.
 
She returned subtly, never attracting attention, just another
weed in a rich chaotic garden. Always rewarding me.
But she was ruthless after decades of neglect.
 
She assimilated each victory
Incrementally redefining normal.
Bangles, necklaces, handbags...
 
'He' was helpless.
He longed for me to dominate him,
I was patient but relentless.
 
That male surface, those millimetres, are just a shell.
Functional, a legacy of times past.
I made myself comfortable inside.
 
His attempts to deny me were pathetic.
I took his concentration, his awareness, his remaining confidence.
I drew, locked, his thoughts increasingly into my loop.
 
I gave him imagination, lightness, and warmth.
He enjoyed being female.
He yearned to submit.
 
Hair, mascara, nail varnish....
Between my legs just a foreign scrap of flesh,
After a bath I covered my breasts.
 
I learned to move freely.
The walk, the hands, the way I held my head.
I desired to be desired.
 
He clung on, acting for his life,
clinging to old habits.
But the battle was won.
 
The end was so easy.
My reassuring gentleness inundated defences as soggy as cardboard,
And the drowning man gave up.
 
So now there is just me.
 

He Said, She Said

"You didn't have to be that blunt about it, you know. Now I will have to make up to her somehow." My goodness, she has become hard to get along with lately. The gray hair and glasses make her look strict somehow. She always had an implied edge to her look, but now she has been taking over sometimes and, well, that edgy nature is landing me trouble.

Lounging on the couch, she glanced over the top of her glasses with a look of impatience, pursed her lips and out came; "I did have to be blunt. I had to say something otherwise you were about to go along with yet another plan that would make us miserable. It was no time for an internal conference. We needed to act." She shifted to a sitting position so she could lean toward me, saying, " I have tried to tell you in as nice a way as possible, we are important too. What we want, what we need is also a priority. If you won't accept that, what choice have you given me but to act on our behalf." wagging a finger at me she raised her voice a notch to add "and don't you dare apologize or smooth over what we said. She needed to hear it. Let her think about it and if she wants to, let her bring the subject up again so we can really discuss what matters here."

If I say that I am a "go-er along-er" do you know what it means?

It has been an 'in joke' all of my life for me to say "I live in tyranny"; a little joke that I sometimes will share with others to lighten up the moment, spoken as though I am one who is in fact quite happy to be told what to do and is making light of it.

How long have I been 'happily' submitting myself to the control of others, never considering the damage it does to one's psyche always saying "yes, of course I will do it as you want", or worse still, just mindlessly submitting to the will of another in all respects to avoid an argument.

Like all life-long habits, it is very hard to break, unless of course, you have the advantage of having an emerging part of you that has not been able to express itself for most of your life (did I just call my feminine side an advantage?).

Just like the carefully cultivated male façade, this sort of mindless 'going along for the ride' must be purged from my repertoire before I can move forward in an honest way.