October 2021 – Page 2 – Stephanie Bri

Goldfish on the Mountain: Chapter three

Chapter three

George stood against the wall at the funeral home that sleepy afternoon. It was the day of Linda’s funeral. He wasn’t prepare for this. As he looked down the empty, silent hall towards the casket that held his sister-in-law he felt nothing. He watched as his daughter and wife made their way through the crowd, hugging the sobbing family members gathered around the deceased woman. George was never any good at funerals.

He was reminded of the first funeral he had to attend. His best friend from grade school was killed in a freak accident at the age of twelve. The sight of that young boy dressed up in his Sunday best never to wake again stuck with George.

The room began to shrink; he stood there wondering how his own daughter was dealing with the tragedy. That moment was the first time he could remember ever having any interest in the young girls feelings. He started to contemplate his entire relationship with the poor child.

“How are you holding up sweaty?”

It was the voice of his mother. George looked up from his silent trance only to realize he hadn’t budged from the wall. All he could muster was a half shrug. He wasn’t crying that much he was sure of. He was just sort of in a daze. He stared blankly at his mother, the woman who gave him life. The same woman that dictated how his life was to play out. The same woman who arranged his own marriage had arranged the union between his brother Drake and the now dead Linda.

He couldn’t help but wonder if Drake felt the same way about Linda as George felt about his own wife. He never even considered for a single moment that this person who slept in his bed, living in his house might actually be someone worth sharing his life with. He didn’t even know how much time had passed before he realized his mom was still talking to him as somehow he continued to tune her out entirely. Finally after God knows how long, he managed to mumbled.

“I don’t know…”

It was all he could muster. He gently brushed his mother out of the way, ignoring every word she spoke. It was time to begin his slow trek down the aisle towards his now gone sister-in-law. The woman who left his beloved brother a widower.

It took something like forever to get down the aisle. There he was laying in his casket, dressed in his nicest Sunday clothes, pants perfectly pressed, hair combed back and his tiny tie folded gently down his chest. It was not fair, how could Brandon be in that box? It was just a few days ago they were running around at the park as Jennifer Hambly was chasing them around spreading her cooties.

“How you holding up kiddo?” his dad asked him, hand on his shoulder. George wasn’t sure how to respond. All he could do was place his hand on his friends casket.

Suddenly cooties didn’t seem so bad. George would have traded all the cooties in the world if his friend would just wake up and get out of that box. It was the Fourth of July when his friend met his demise. It had been the hottest summer in decades. The grass was dry from the summer heat. Brandon had been playing near a box of fireworks that were to be used in the town display.

George’s dad had been the deputy mayor so it made sense he would befriend the son of the fire chief. Brandon should have known better and somehow he didn’t see it coming, the explosive that would have lit up the sky would be the object if his demise.

As George made his way down the aisle to say good bye to his best and only friend in this world he realized right then and there life was going to devolve into a nightmare from here on out. He learned that you can’t count on anyone, not even the son of a fire chief. He felt like all he could count on was loss.

George looked up at the final bed his sister-in-law would ever sleep in.

“It hardly seems right wouldn’t you say?” a voice said to George.

He looked over and saw one of his aunts.

“She was so young, so beautiful. What a waste, so sad,” she said.

“I hardly knew her,” George said.

“How can you say that, George, this was your sister how could you say such a thing?” the woman asked.

He shook his head.

“I don’t know. We never talked much. I guess I missed out on my chance to get to know her,” he said.

“All the more tragic if you ask me. I don’t know how your poor brother is ever going to recover. Even if he gets out of that hospital there’s little chance he’s going to put his life back together so soon. Such a tragedy,” she said.

Here he was saying goodbye to a loved one yet his mind began to wonder elsewhere. He glanced over at his own wife, why couldn’t it be you? he thought to himself. He couldn’t even remember why he hated her so, just that he did.

He knew he did not only hate his wife for not being dead, he was blaming God for being so ironic. Suddenly a smile began to appear on his face. He nearly let it get the better of him before he realized where he was.. He knelt down beside the woman in the box and said a soft prayer.

“I’ll fix this you just wait and see.”

If you like my writing please consider helping me survive. You can support me directly by giving money to my paypal: thetransformerscollector@yahoo.com. If you prefer CashApp my handle is @Stephaniebri22. Also feel free to donate to my Patreon. I know it’s largely podcast-centric but every little bit helps. Find it by going to www.patreon.com/stephaniebri, Thank you.

Goldfish on the Mountain: Chapter 2

Chapter two

“George would you get off that damn computer and come bed!”

It was the usual nagging of a wife tired of drifting apart from her husband. He shrugged it off as usual. He sat there playing with his computer game trying desperately to get through the dungeon he was currently entrenched within. George often sat on his computer for hours a day ignoring his family, his chores, even his pets. His entire identity was tied to that computer. It was his escape from the life his parents thrust him into against his will.

His wife, Molly was lying in bed in her pajamas knowing there was no point in sexing it up tonight. That man of hers was only going to come to bed, turn on his desk lamp and bury his nose in another book neglecting to even notice this woman who slept in his bed next to him. Drifting apart was probably the nice way of putting it.

How had she fallen in love with a man so distant? Lying in her bed, Molly was staring up at the ceiling fan looking at the flicker of the broken light trying to remember if there ever was any romance in this relationship. She couldn’t even think back to a single moment in time when she could honestly say she did love this man.

She checked the clock. Fifteen minutes had passed since she called to her neglectful husband. This time he inserted some anger into her voice.

“George if you don’t get off that stupid machine and come to right now you can forget about going on that retreat with your friends!”

George was accustomed to the nagging of his bitter hag of a wife. Her anger did not motivate him to do her bidding. He soaked it up. It gave him a rush of power knowing she would fall asleep bitter and angry while he’d happily drift to another word as he read a book.

This hag, this wretched woman who his parents basically set him up with and given him no say at all was the very thing that defined his discontent with his life. His parents had somehow found a way to control every aspect of his life from birth, to what school he would attend to what nasty woman he was to start a family with. He hated her with a fiery passion, and swore every day of his life he was going to do everything in his power to drive her insane.

Both his and her parents had arranged this awful union as a way to merge the families into one. They gave no consideration to the feelings or thoughts of the parties involved, as such they saw to it to make sure if the blissful marriage were to end in divorce, the parents would get everything as the benefactors of their tormented existence.

The unhappy couple had no choice but to build a life together that satisfied those parents. It resulted in them bearing a child they both had no desire to raise. George new Melody was not the daughter he intended to have. He had no love, no affection, and no desire to care for this child that was born of a wife he hated. Especially considering how much his devil daughter looked like the demon wife whom he despised with every ounce of energy. He blamed her for squashing is dreams. He blamed her for every miserable moment of his existence that wasn’t spent pursuing his own endeavors.

George and Molly would put on a show for the elders in their lives that ran the show. Once those visits ended the couple would return to ignoring the child they brought into the world.

Melody herself sat in her room listening to her parents yell back and forth. She knew neither of them loved each other, nor her. She simply got caught up in something before her time. It was not her fault, she didn’t ask to be born into this twisted family. She wanted desperately to love both of her parents yet she knew neither one of them would ever return that love. She could sense how cold they were not only to each other, but to her as well. Some days Melody would get the feeling her parents hated her not because they hated each other, but merely because she had the others blood in her veins.

George finally decided it was time to shut down the computer program he had been using and slowly began drifting towards the bathroom to brush his teeth. There he would begin the long ritual of preparing for bed. He knew his wife was angry by now so he had this routine down to a science. He would maximize his time to get the most anger he could rise in her blood.

George loved it when the women in his life were angry, it gave him joy, pleasure he could not put into words. He spent the next half an hour flossing every tooth meticulously. Then he combed his hair before moving onto shaving. First, his face, then his arm pits. He took his sweet time getting ready for bed, even changing into his bed clothes was something he could make into an art form. He knew he would never please his retched bitch of a wife. He had given up trying after the honeymoon. His job was to get the bitch pregnant which he succeeded. From that moment on he had no further desire to interact with her outside of those outings where both their parents would be watching.

George has barely gotten into bed, reaching for his desk lamp when the phone rang His wife shot him a glaring look that told him it would be the death of him if he made her answer that phone. He picked it up expecting it to be his mother calling to bitch him out for something his wife said, or worse, to schedule some family get together where he would have to pretend to be nice to these bitches living in his house mooching off his hard-earned money.

The voice on the phone was hysterical.

“Oh my god it’s terrible! Drake was in a car accident! You got to get down to the hospital right now! Your father’s already on his way! Hurry up! Linda was found dead on the scene! Drake is in critical condition! Hurry up and get down there to say good bye to your older brother!”

Time stopped for George. He just stood there with the phone in his hands unable to move. He as trying to process the reality he had just been thrust into. As he dropped the receiver he fell to his knees in tears. The voice of his mother could still be heard coming from the tiny speaker now lying on the floor. Molly slumped down beside her husband, placed an arm on his shoulder as she picked up the phone he had dropped.

George had expected that he was running to get his pants on as he ran down the hall to wake up his daughter to tell her the news that her aunt had been killed and her uncle was dying. He knew that by now he would be down the stairs and starting up the car where he would be heading down the highway like a maniac racing against time hoping to reach his brother before it was too late.

It felt like an eternity before George realized none of that took place. He never moved from beside his bed. He sat in that position by his bed, his wife screaming bloody murder as she had to wake up the girl herself and drag her down the stairs. He thought he made it to the hospital and said his good-byes to his oldest brother. He was wrong, he never moved from his bedside. George wasn’t able to face life in that moment.

Goldfish on the Mountain: Chapter One

A crime thriller by Stephanie Bri

Chapter One

A man sat on a log on the side of a mountain a late winter day. A gentle breeze touched the back of his neck. A squirrel sat in a tree eating a nut. Aa young bird was singing lullabies to her mate. The sounds of nature filled his ears as the cool winter air touched his lungs. Off in the distance the sun was slowly setting behind a mountain. Time was on vacation now and summer went with it. As he stood there surrounded by nature a single thought crept into his mind, she was gone and there was no turning back.

Elsewhere on that same mountain a goldfish swam nervously in it’s bowl. The clicking that came from the sky had shaken the waters in it’s bowl nine times today. Nine times the waters would shake and then the food was lowered into the bowl and his hunger pains would go away. The clicker in the sky had already clicked nine times and there was no food, where was the food? Where was the hairy beast thing that brought the food?

Outside as the man sat on a fallen tree observing the tranquility of the nature that kept him company he began to ponder. There had been a time when he lived in a crowded city, among other members of his species. He would awaken daily as the drudgery of his monotonous routine would continue to drag him down. He had the so-called normal life. He did what you were supposed to do; went to school, met a girl and found a fulfilling career. And yet here in the emptiness of nature in the cool mountain air he discovered he felt no remorse. He lived alone, yet he was not lonely. It was beginning to get late. He knew he’d have to go in soon. He still had some thinking to do up here on the mountain this late winter day.

Life, so very long ago, had been so complex right from the start for this man. His parents were very active in the community and so their lives were always busy. His mother had been a school teacher. She was chaperone on numerous school outings of which he was to participate. His father was the deputy mayor for the longest time. The both of them sat on the school board, PTA, Chamber of Commerce, and had other little book clubs and bowling leagues, etc., to occupy their time.

The man had two brothers, one on the older side and the other was just on the younger side. The three of them had a single sister. She was the baby of the family who came along much later in life. She required all the attention of everyone around her. His early days were filled with school even outside of school was basically more school; Latin, piano, choir, civic club, FBLA, and student council activities among others were the norm for him.

The ma recalled how his parents wanted to make sure he had as busy a life as they had. It was his destiny to enter the world of economics and politics as his father had done. He was then to start a proper family as it was meant to be. His brothers had it entirely different. The oldest was the jock who played every. He had to devote every waking minute of every day of his life to becoming a world class athlete, it was his destiny supposedly. He brought home the trophies to make dad proud and mom would brag about her sports star.

The man’s younger brother was the dreamer. He was the one who took painting classes, learned cello, and generally preferred to dabble in the arts. He was the one who spent his time pursuing a future in that arena only a select few ever succeed. The man’s Dad cared nothing for his so-called fantasies, calling him nothing more than a lazy bum unwilling to face reality.

As the man sat on the long looking back on his life he pondered how he had gotten to where he was in life. His early days were filled with chaos, confusion, and corruption. He spent his youth doing things he hated; chasing a career he would regret followed by falling in love with the perfect woman despite himself. Life never seemed to make any sense back in those days.

The man grew tired as his life unfolded before his eyes in rusty memories. He sat there on a tree stump overlooking the wildlife that was coming out of hibernation despite the spring weather refusing to come on schedule. Over his should he spotted his trusty dog, Sandy, fishing in the icy cold river. Sandy was filled to the brim with life trying to get one fish in her teethe. He sat there and he looked back at his life wondering why it was never this simple before? He wondered why life was so complicated.

Looking back he realized there was nothing he could have done differently to avoid his destiny. Life chose the path he was to walk even before he was conceived. He missed nothing of his old life; not his parents, his friends, family, or colleagues; none of them meant anything to him now. This was his life here in the mountains cut off from the rest of the world. He looked down at his pocket watch noting he had stayed out longer than usual.

“I bet ‘ol Goldie is getting worried right about now, pacing his bowl back and forth wondering where the food is” he said to Sandy.

The man stood up stretching his legs as he called to his trusty dog Sandy. He gathered his game, then began his trek up the hill towards the cabin he now called home. Life was simple, but it was about to get complicated all over again.

It is time to release my first thriller novel

I can’t believe this day has arrived. Nine years of my life have been devoted to this work of fiction. Nine years I have opened up a series of Word documents pouring over every detail as I agonize trying to get this story to a satisfying conclusion. It has taken quite a toll on my psyche. Much of it was written before my egg cracked, so you can sense the despair in my inner woman’s desire to be set free.

I have worked tirelessly to get this done. It started out as a whim. Like all my projects before it this was born out of a single idea. I wanted to shoot a horror movie. I had no idea what I was doing so I set out to write a script. As I was plotting the film I wanted to make, all while watching one of my then-favorite crime dramas on TV, Bones, a new story idea began to emerge. I mixed ideas from several sources. I was largely inspired by thrillers of the early 90s, largely Silence of the Lambs, People Under the Stairs and Fargo. Each contributed something that helped this story form.

I also borrowed heavily from plotlines, settings and characters from Bones. I kept only surface level inspiration while fleshing it out in my own mind. As the story developed my level of excitement intensified with it. I had a book I knew I could finish. This was the one of all the dozens I began, walked away from never to revisit again, this was the one I knew I could complete.

Here it is, finally finished. I wrapped up the first draft in the summer of 2020. The same Pride Month I came out to the world. The same time I was beginning my own transformation into Stephanie, the woman I am today, this novel was taking on a new shape as well. The new form it was taking on was that of a completed story. A plot with twists and turns. Characters you cared about getting into precarious situations. Death all around. It’s not a horror story necessarily. I envisioned it more akin to those crime thrillers I mentioned above. Sort of a gateway to later, darker horror stories brewing inside my mind.

As life has twisted the knife it plunged into my back this year I felt the need to finish this project. I have bled over this. I have lost sleep over this. I have shunned chores, friends and responsibility over this. I have even quit more than one job to buy me extra time to work on this novel. I am thrilled beyond relief it is finally done. It is ready to be enjoyed by the rest of the world.

Inspired by a fellow trans writer I decided not to seek a book publisher at this time. I want to get this story out to the world where it belongs. I’d love to send off my manuscript to an agent, have them tell me it’s fantastic and set me up a book deal with Del Rey but that’s all not they way my life has gone. I go it alone. I do things myself. I am self publishing my baby because I do not want a single hand touching it other than that of the readers who will appreciate it for the work of art it is.

This book near perfectly captures the internal agony of a transwoman forcing herself to live life as a male in a male-centric world that treats women like lesser beings. The women in this story go through some hell. All three main female characters are each a representation of the woman he was hiding all those years.

The men are the monsters by design. It is an allegory to having to live a life that isn’t quite right. The men are each flawed. None of them are able to succeed other than inflicting harm upon the women in their lives, whether intentional or not.

I am very excited to announce not only am I self publishing this book, it’s coming TODAY, right now in fact after I finish this blog post. In mere minutes you will be able to read the book I have worked so hard on for so long. In my heart of hearts I know it’s time. This story is ready to be read by curious eyes. It will be arriving shortly in the coming days. As I post each chapter I will make final edits, finishing touches that will polish it up just in time for publication. I hope you find it as much of an experience reading it as I had writing it. This is the culmination of my entire life’s work. This is everything I have been working towards since my parents gave me an old rust typewriter when I was a mere 12 years old. Enjoy.

I stole this from a friend~

“…those are also the formative experiences that many trans folks miss out on, at least as their true selves,” Sarah @ImSarahNotSarah

I just read this line smack dab in the middle of a fantastic blog post about friends, written by an amazing trans writer I follow. If you’d like to read her article please find it HERE. No seriously go read her article and come back to this one. I will wait. Open a second tab I am not going anywhere. Done? Good.

Let’s move on. I recently wrote about my circle of friends from age 12 recently. You can find that right over here if you want refresher.

That was my “Stand By Me” group. As I grew up trans also seeking my own identity I faced something slightly different than Sarah describes. Mostly because I moved so much I never found another circle quite like those in Miltonvale. I also realized over the years all the lost experiences I missed out on. That’s what I want to focus on today.

The first time I recognized I missed something other kids constantly talked about was all the way back in grade school. It was somewhere around 1st or 2nd grade when I asked my parents if I could join the Boy Scouts. I am pretty sure my sisters all did Girl Scouts so it was something I figured I would settle on. As it turns out for whatever reason, be it money or something else, the answer was a firm no. I never got to be a part of that group dynamic after school program. Not for a while at least.

I also missed out on sports. Because I had a fear of bullies, exercise and being hit with or hitting a ball I avoided sports at all costs. This isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy playing the games, I loved playing baseball or basketball quite frankly to be honest, but I never could bring myself to join a team. My sisters all did and I had tremendous fun eating a hot dog or snacking some popcorn watching them play their games. But this was an experience I missed out on.

The sports thing carried over into high school. I tried out for basketball but didn’t stick with it. I say tried out for, it was a small school if you signed up you made the team. Our final roster was like 11 kids if I remember correctly. There were games they didn’t have enough to play. But I still would attend the games and cheer my school mates on. I never lacked in school spirit mind you. I just never could get involved in any groups.

I tried a few over the years. I signed up for 4H when I was 16. Can you guess what prompted me to pursue that? If you guessed a girl I liked you win a prize. I did get involved in band but I was a drummer so even though I was a part of the band, I was the silent soloist in the back nobody paid attention to. I don’t know why, drummers are cooler then everyone else. That’s a know fact.

What about politics? Or specifically high school popularity? Well my high school exists in a warp reality that makes the Twilight Zone jealous so Ill say even as an introverted freak not only was a popular, I was student council president. That’s a long story that involves fists and threats and criminal activity. I dare not dive into it here. What I will say is this, even that, a presumably common experience of being ON the student council, was not the usual path. There was no election. I signed up, nobody else did, they just gave it to me. Also I attended meetings but didn’t do the job I signed up for. I used it strictly as something to tell people I did. It furthered my own agenda nothing else. Oh sure I gave a speech, I signed documents, I counted the money, etc., but I hardly led that student body. In fact I mostly deferred that to my VP. She was a person I’ll certainly write about someday.

Then there was dating. I never dated. I “went out” with girls as in I’d ask a girl to be my girlfriend, she’s say yes, we’d hold hands for a day then “break up” and never speak again. I didn’t go on dates much with partners. I did kind of date a girl that was into me but it was my parents doing. They kept trying to set us up because they thought we were a “cute couple” but I wanted nothing to do with it.

What about prom, school dances, etc.? This was where I shined. Not only did I often DJ these events, and was requested because I was the best DJ that school ever had and I have references to prove it. I also was sorta good at getting dates for dances. I wasn’t a bad looking guy then. I was energetic, athletic-ish (I was in track and a breakdancer) but I was also the cool kid who had their own DJ equipment, including turntables, mics, mixers, keyboards, etc., so I had people mesmerized by my flashy ways. Even though I could get dates, and danced with a lot of girls, I never did prom right.

The first prom I went to was with that girl my parents set me up with, her name was Melissa Gilbert. She paid for my ticket in, my parents bought the clothes and her and I danced with other people we both would have preferred had taken us. I spent most of the night eating cake and drinking soda. Oh I was weird all right, I brought my own bottle of soda to prom.

Second prom I attended I went with a girl that was very complicated to say the least. I was mostly “in love” with her sister, while her and I hated one another. We ended up going because she was in 8th grade and needed a high schooler to take her and she also paid my way in. Likewise her and I never danced either. She went off to be with her friends, I danced with the girls I knew would dance with me.

Third prom, yes I went to three ha! This was a dirty move right out of a TV sitcom. I won’t tell the story but short version I had TWO dates to this one, ditch the lesser one and it didn’t end well for her. As for me, I had a blast and actually DID dance with my date and we dated the whole night, even dinner afterwards. That was one experience I did get to have, save the ya know after prom.

The list of experiences I missed out on keeps piling up. I dropped out of high school so I missed graduation. I dropped out of college so missed the cap and gown there too. I dropped out before finishing my track season so I failed to letter. I was on a sports team and missed getting the signature thing sports teams are known for. I remain a virgin to this day so I’ve missed out on sex. I never married so I’ve missed out on having a wedding. I never smoked weed so I missed out on getting high and doing something stupid. I’ve never skinny dipped, skydived or gone swimming in the ocean.

This is not to say I haven’t had my fair share of adventures, trust me I have, this is more like me recognizing the so-called “normal” stuff I never got to do.

As I look back on it yeah I have regrets. I regret not discovering I as trans sooner. I regret not burying my suffering and just doing fun things with my peers. I regret being in band and not taking that seriously. I especially regret dropping out of college when I was on the Deans list and had a 3.2 GPA.

Every life is different. That’s what I learned. As a writer, a.k.a story-teller, I’ve discovered every story is different. Every story is worth telling. My story has a lot of things I missed out on, but it includes a lot of exceptional stuff the “normal” people miss out on so I’d call it overall a fair trade. I have one more regret, not taking more time to be a better friend to those people who do let me into their lives. That’s why I wanted to write this article today. To show someone I know only slightly that while our lives are very different, we’re similar in other ways. I hope she will read this and appreciate my taking time to make a friendly gesture. In the meantime keep this in mind, ever story is worth telling. You’re in control how you tell your story. Make it worth telling.

Friends

Why I quit my job to pursue freelance full time

I am about to take one of the biggest gambles of my life. Or at least I am toying with it.

I have been writing professionally for seven years. I have had over 2500 articles published in more than a dozen publications, print and digital. I maintain this blog, and it’s former iterations, regularly. I write for a living. Or, as least I used to.

Since moving to Dallas I have not taken a single writing job. In fact I haven’t had all that many writing opportunities. I have been feeling the intense pressure from settling into a suffocating corporate office job that has drained all life from my soul.

That changed last night. I attended my first shift as a studio photographer for the first time. That brief two-and-a-half hour shift injected more life into my soul than anything I have done in the last several months, meeting my wonderful girlfriend aside, and I felt the pain of getting up and going to the soul-sucking corporate job today. So I didn’t go. At first I called in to by me some time. And to that end I might have to force myself to go back. But as of this morning my mindset is I won’t go back instead I will do the photo stuff as much as they will let me and then pursue freelance projects on the side.

The difference this time is I am not saying I will send proposals or spend time on indeed applying for jobs I won’t get. My strategy here is to consider my time when I am away from the photo studio as my second job. I set myself a work schedule, I gave myself an hour for lunch and I set up my workspace. I even punched the time clock to keep track of my hours. I am treating this like a job. I am spending 6 hours a day devoted to networking, pitching, preparing, writing and submitting articles to as many publications as I can find the time in that span.

I am taking a gamble here. I have been unemployed before, dependent on freelance opportunities. I haven’t been all that successful in the past. I am understandably afraid of what is to come. My podcast barely generates $11 dollars a month after fees. While I appreciate every donor I get, that doesn’t even put gas in my car really. Today I decided to pool all my resources towards this project. I am going to rely on my connections I made in the news business, my knowledge of pitching stories, my social media skills and combine all that with a desperation to not be homeless ever again.

I called in sick. I have the option to return to work until they determine I am no longer fit for service. I am not likely to take that option. I gave myself the weekend to see if I can muster enough confidence to pull this off. I am not betting confidence alone, that doesn’t pay the bills. I am devoting six hours today to my goal of treating this like a proper job. I will make contacts, send emails, submit proposals, apply for freelance opportunities and network as if my life depends on it.

I could plead with my supporters who can offer me some solace by supporting my patreon campaign, you can find that by going to http://www.patreon.com/stephaniebri but I don’t want to depend on that. I have a couple of other options up my sleeve that could potentially make me some money too. If things work out I am making the smart move. If not, I will double down on finding another soul-sucking corporate job to pay the bills until I can’t stand that any longer either.

Profile on the deities I selected for my practice part one: The Triple god Yahweh, Joshua and the Holy Spirit

YHWY has gone by many names. In the Nazarene faith, my replacement for the name of the religion I recently left, is seen as the Creator God, the Almighty. According to tradition he created the entire universe, or at least the solar system, in the span of 7 days. He is primarily the God of the Hebrew people, Jews today or Israelites in centuries past.

I chose to profile him first as he took top billing in the core of beliefs I intend to follow.

He can be seen as a culmination or an extension of El or Elohim, an older God worshiped by the Israelites before the coming of his Son, Joshua, translated as Jesus in English speaking countries.

I chose Yahweh because of familiarity. I am not going to honor his church, study his book or live according to the tenants his followers have handed down over generations. I will revere him as my supreme God but with the understanding I will see him mostly on Sundays and his Holidays, which are Christmas, Easter and Pentecost. The remainder of the year I will keep him close in my heart but not exclusively.

I will incorporate His teachings into my witchcraft through certain prayers and rituals conducted by pre-Nazarene Hebrews, and older traditions that have not been passed down into modern Nazarene faith. I refuse to call him, or his following, by their modern English name. I make this distinction as a reminder to myself that I keep him in my heart and life but that I do not respect his hateful followers who twist his teachings to cause harm.

I was always very spiritual as a kid. I was originally drawn to the Nazarene faith when I was studying the different mythologies. I felt a calling to this particular deity and I answered that call. I currently believe the Word of God is contained in the Bible, I don’t believe the bible is the whole truth. It is not entirely complete. The truth, I believe, goes beyond the scripture. Yes it says not to go beyond what is written, but there is a lot of wiggle room in the teachings and unfortunately his followers hardly agree on two things.

What I seek from maintaining my relationship with this first deity of mine is to keep an open dialogue. I choose to honor him on his days, mostly Sunday and a handful of holidays around the year, but I have made it clear he is my first God, but not my only god.

I won’t be using his book for divination or moral guidance. I will reference Joshua’s teachings, especially those from the Sermon on the Mound. Beyond that I am not going to attend Mass or other church services, I am not going to give credence to those who quote his words to me nor am I going to limit my experiences to seeking power from just his will alone.

All in all I have no ill will towards the Holy Trinity. I have the utmost respect and reverence for the God himself in his triple form, I merely won’t limit by beliefs to exclusively his teachings unhindered.

The REAL reason for the rise of the trans cult in recent years

You might be wondering why there are so many more trans people or nonbinary folks today than ever before. Some have accused us of being a cult. Others call it a trend. Well there is actually a much simpler explanation that doesn’t require conspiracy theories. To put it bluntly it’s just safer for us to come out now than it was before.

What happened? For starters in June 2020 the Supreme Court of the United States of America granted us equal rights for the first time in this nations history. Let that sink in. Before June last year it was STILL legal to discriminate against trans people at a federal level. Even if a state had protections one could argue before a court the trans persons didn’t have rights.

What this meant was if you took the chance of coming out as trans to begin the long process of becoming your authentic self, you could face being fired from your job, evicted from your home, denied services including food stamps and denied access to homeless shelters. It was a difficult life for trans people. It still is. But we didn’t even have legal protections until just over a year ago. And they’ve been fighting to strip us of our rights ever since.

When I decided to come out was directly a result of this decision. I live in Texas, one of the many states that didn’t offer legal protections. I was also living in a very Republican controlled, confederate supporting county at the time. I was not only afraid for the reasons I stated above, but also for my own life. Coming out, transitioning did cost me a job in a way, would have cost me another and put me in a bind seeking replacement opportunities.

What you are seeing among older trans folks is since we now feel safer, and the anguish hiding in the closet causes us, we are finally starting to come out later in life, in droves. This isn’t a trend or a cult or something they put in the water to turn us gay, it is in fact how we always were but you never saw it, we were that good at hiding. The fact is society FORCED us to become deceivers. We had no choice but to blend in to survive. That meant using fake names, wrong genders and following societal tropes that emphasized our conformity all to deflect from ourselves. This is why so many of us were jerks as men, bitches as women, especially our nonbinary friends. Lying on a daily basis wears down your soul. Eventually you get to a point where you’ve had enough and have to make a change, consequences be damned.

So before you run off at the mouth claiming trans is a cult or nonbinary people are just following a trend keep in mind we literally had to live in fear until a year ago. Those who did transition earlier had a hard as hell time and those people are tough as nails yet buried under decades of trauma as a result. Society is not kind to gender nonconforming folks. At the very least you could be kinder to us and help spread that kindness around, after all we only got put on equal footing with you smack dab in the middle of a global pandemic. We’re exhausted from all the constant assaults. If you consider yourself an ally or even a friend to a trans, nonbinary or genderfluid person please remember to show us even more kindness than you give your aging grandmother, because we’ve live through hell to get where we are and we’re damn tired of the barrage of attacks on our very existence.

I am starting to understand love now

Last night my girlfriend and I shared a very special date night. It was our one month anniversary of when we went public. We both marked our first date on our calendar as a special day but I marked a different day to celebrate on mine; the anniversary of the first time It old her I loved her.

When I told her I knew she wasn’t ready to say it back. Not because she didn’t feel it, I could tell by our conversation the night before she had feelings but didn’t have the words yet. I myself took longer to get the words than I expected. Considering the only other woman I ever said those words to was a failed engagement I felt really confident knowing I was giving her more than words, I was giving her my heart.

Love has always eluded me. Even in my own family those who claim to love me hardly show it. My parents do their best but they limit their expressions to things they know. I do the same. I show people I love them in subtle ways. Usually with regular hellos.

Last night was the first time I watched my beautiful love cry. It wasn’t because she had a rough day and needed to vent. It wasn’t because the romantic movie she picked for date night was sorta sad. It wasn’t because she was in a bad place or overly emotional. She cried because I did something thoughtful for her she didn’t expect. I wrote her a poem straight from my heart.

This was the first time I ever wrote a poem about someone I love. The first poem I wrote her, a few weeks ago, was more about my journey walking a lonely road to discover her. She was the end result of a long, desolate trek through the wilderness in it. In this latest poem she was the focus of my love. I wrote all the nice things I could think of her using what imagery I knew would resonate with her.

I haven’t written many poems to be fair. I was assigned a poetry writing class in college I never took because it would have been the semester following my expulsion. I have a book of poems written by Emily Dickenson but I hardly find the time to read through them. I do with my poetry what I do in all my writing, I simply write from the heart.

It has taken me this long to start to get an idea of what true love really is. The more time I spend with my love the more exciting life becomes. I keep finding new ways to express my love for her as well as finding new things for us to do together. It’s difficult because the distance between us is so great, the obstacles in our way are also challenging. Despite all that I believe our love is true and will continue to grow. I know that we’re going to have our ups and downs. We had both last night.

I spent a portion of the evening trying to cheer her up. She was having a rough day and needed me to try to relieve her stress. I did my best which she confided was just what she needed. I am also enjoying watching our friendship bloom as well. That friendship is where this all started. I said the first day I spoke to her I was just so grateful to have her as a friend. Even in that moment I told myself if that was all she let me have I’d cherish it until the end of time. I am beyond blessed she saw fit to let me into her heart because it’s such a warm and comfortable place to be. I love her so much I, a college educated professional writer do not have the words to express how deeply I’d do anything for her. All I can do is seek new ways to remind her how important she is to me as often as I can. It took me this long to understand what love is. Now that I have it, I am in awe at how wonderful two people can make each other feel. If she is feeling what I am feeling, I am super happy for her too!