Cold
That pierces
One's soul
To the core.
Draws me
Ever deeper
Into darkness.
Tears cascading
Downwards
From my red eyes.
As the words
Dry up
One letter
At a time.
Leaving behind
A shivered
And burnt out
Soul.
Struggling
To describe
In words.
The emotional
Roller coaster
Am stuck on
With no release.
Moods swing
From one extreme
To another.
Covering me
In a literal black cloud
That never lifts.
Even after
The latest bout
Of depression does.
From a lifetime
Of self-suppression
And self-hatred
From an abusive past.
Told
To keep quiet
About this
By mom
Did so
As a dutiful child
'til my mid-30.
When
My psychic walls
Collapsed
To mental dust.
During
A 26 hour
Panic attack.
Thus
The past 9 years
Been crawling out
Of my own personal Hell.
As wave
After wave
Of repressed memories
Are reawaken
In me.
Therisa © 2016
Author's note: Since November 1974, I have been dealing with PTSD symptoms, after I was electrically burnt, around my mouth, on both sides. Having endured numerous surgeries, to repair the damage done, over the years. Every time, I look, into a mirror, I see traces of the scar tissue, on my right side of my mouth, and have to be, very careful, when eating food, otherwise, I will/have bitten into the scar tissue that lines, both sides of my mouth, with live nerve endings. Even now, almost 42 years later, I still have flashbacks (visual and sensory) of that night, which I have trouble, using a lighter, as the flame, is a trigger, for me.
The following year, I started kindergarten, and my life, when to Hell, literally, as my decade + of schoolyard bullying, began. Ending, at the end of grade 10, when I transferred, to another local high school, in Brampton, Ontario. Still have trouble talking or writing, about this period, in my life. It was, during this period, before the age of 12, I attempted my first suicide. By my twelve birthday, I would make 2 more attempts, on my life, all of them failing, for various reasons, which I won't talk about, right now.
As for my family life, I wish I could erase almost all of my memories, especially those, which revolve around my younger brother. For my earliest memory of him, is the two of us, fighting, at his integration. Wish, I could say, he grew out of this need to hurt me, but I would be lying, to myself and those, who are reading this. As I written, in previous posting, like my "Letters Never Sent" blogs, which are letters, written to my younger self, about a particular time, in my life. My only enter, so far, deals with the summer of 1985, and the Hell, he created for my mom and I. Must warn any who read it, about the graphic violence and abuse, I describe, in it. And yes, Timothy, is my birth name (an Anglicized version of it), given to me, by my parents, in honour, of one of dad's brothers, who choked to death, during an asthmatic attack, in my aunt's arms.
