Tangled Web

Deceptions of a transgender guy



To Hades and back – return tickets

Twice the woman I tried to settle down and make a life with, had me scurreling in utter panic to mental health care providers in our 28 years together.

Once she just stopped drinking her anti-depressants and mood stabilizers cold turkey. I did not realize it till she went catatonic on me. Suffice to say I turned into a regular visitor at psychiatrists and mental hospitals – where she once threw me out bodily for telling the admittance clerk that we were in a civil union relationship. She had not forgiven me to this day for the patients then calling her a “lezzie” after that. 

Then, a few years later, she OD’ed on her anti-depressants. Just calmly phoned me at work to tell me. I had to beg a lift home – not knowing what I would find there – luckily you apparently cannot commit suicide on the kind of meds she was on. 

We have been from pillar to post with psychiatrists and psychologists since then. She is adament, she is NOT gay. But she loves me somehow – as a friend without benefits? Who the fuck knows?

What I do know, is that she had been raped by a teenaged boy and an adult man repeatedly  – how, I do not know, but I suspect there was penetration and oral sex involved. This was during her teenage years at holiday parents helping out a children’s home. I suspect this is why she is so revolted by the idea that I am non-binary.

During later years when she could get access to her childhood records from the children’s haven, she learnt what she suspected – and more. Her mother was addicted to nicotine and over the counter pain killers, as well as alcohol. When there was no welfare money, she prostituted herself for alcohol. No wonder the two middel children were born with FAS and the oldest one drank himself to death a few years ago.

There is no way on this earth that madam can cope without her happy pills, but no, since the beginning of this year she decided that she could and would. She weaned herself from them and ended up a Cruella de Ville. I was nothing in her eyes, just a constant irritation of whom she wanted to get rid of. We fought like cat and dog. In despair, I threatened to leave her and commit suicide. Something kicked in and she went back to her psychiatrist and started taking the happy pills again. Things are now almost back to what they were before: a trans person living with a straight person,  just linked via a civil union relationship for financial and estate purposes and security.

But, and it is a very big but, I cannot live like this forever: as friends who are gay in the eyes of the world, but mere friends without benefits to ourselves. I want to be able to take testosterone to become the real Kris, no matter how hard she will kick and scream against it. Every day I grow stronger in my resolve and my need increases. Even if I have to leave the world without a single friend and alone, (and God knows I have but one or two), I need to do this for myself. If I have to live as an outcast after that, so be it. There is always the final curtain awaiting. I have never been happy in my whole 59 years. If I can be happy for six months or even a year, I will not have lived in vain.



Two people clinging to a thread

Once we’d wake up every day
And smiled remembering
How we loved the night away
Now we look for small talk
When it’s time to dim the light
Then we both pretend we’re tired
We can always love some other night

So we wake up in the morning
And we go our separate ways
Present in our silence
As the music softly plays
Each day like the day before
We tell ourselves
We’ll try once more
Till once again we lie here
Barely touching in our bed
We’re just two people
Clinging to a thread

And so we just pretend a bit
And we never say the words
That spell the end of it
Still we go on trying
To fan the dying spark

And sometimes

Even reach out

For each other in the dark

Written by Harry Lloyd Gloria Sklerov 


You’ve got to know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em

For a long time I’ve had this niggling little voice in my mind, “Life is passing you by.” The more I thought about it, the more I agreed. I am almost 60 and the last 28 years madam and I have been together, I have worked full-time. That means I was away from home for almost 10 hours on a working day. And I am tired of office politics after 35 working years.

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Mouth sewn shut


That of which we do not speak

Trigger warning: self harm.

Back story: For a large part of my life, a companion has been appearing in my mind, guiding me through stressful times. I could describe him, for it is unmistakably a male figure, as an angel, as he has wings of a kind. But an angel, he made clear, he definitely is not.  Continue reading