Friday, 17 March 2017

Releasing Dark Fears (March 17, 2017)

Out of sync
Body dysfunctional
With reality.

As if
I don't belong
Here.

Like an Internet troll
Who's pretending
To be
Someone else.

Scared
Someone will call me
An imposture
Or worse.

Telling me
My experiences
Of abuse and hate
Are imaginary.

From the pages
Of a horror story
One can buy
On-line.

Tossed away
When done.

Found unbelievable
Even for
Fiction.

Into the delete bin
Of your computer
Or smartphone.

     *   *   *

You call me
Justifiably paranoid.

Never once
Did you acknowledge
My attempts
To share my past.

Rather
You sought
To exercise 
Your fear.

Repeatedly
Asking the same question
Session 
After session.

As if
You don't believe
My answers.

If you're trying
To anger me
It won't work.

Given
My high threshold
Before I will react
To you.

And yes
I do know
You're transphobic
By the manner
You interact
With me.

As witnessed
By my housing worker
During our last session
Together.

Handing over
The psychological assessment
For my application
To Ontario Disability Support Program.

An assessment
With many glaring errors
By you.

     *   *   *

So
Tell me
Doc.

Are all abuse survivors
Justifiably paranoid
By our inability
To make direct eye contact?

In blaming ourselves
For the actions
Of others?

In the destruction
Of our innocence.

Internalization
Of our abusers' words
By our inner voice
That repeatedly call us
Rude and shameful names.

Like a record
That's constantly 
Skipping?

Or
The anxiety/panic attacks
We experience
In crowded situations
Due to past abuse/bullying.

In which
The crowds
Re-enforces
These abusive actions.

Catching us
In an endless loop
On our personal PVR
Available on demand
24/7.

A struggle
That often ends
In a graveside service.

As the private
Become public.

For those
Who surrender
To the pain.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: On Wednesday, March 15, 2017, I had an appointment, with my therapist, and the above poems, are some of the topics that we talked about, during that session. Before anyone thinks, it was all grim, I had the therapist laughing, at my puns, play on words, and one-liners. 

Like many of my therapy poems, I need to explore my feeling, in a manner, I couldn't or didn't have the time, in the session, last Wednesday. And yes, there were several times, I found myself, on the edge of outright crying, as I opened up, about this part of my life.

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