Becoming A Survivor (September 29, 2018)

Bed of dirt

My soul lies

None see

But me.

No matter

Baths/showers taken

Never comes clean.

Past-want erased

Permanently.

Gaping hole

Yearning

For closure.

Self-doubting

Second guessing

Every decision.

Wondering

If I did this

Or that

Things be different.

Internalizing anger

And shame

Physically violated.

F--king bastard!

Want to rake

Nails deep

Across your face.

Scarring you

As you’ve done

To me.

Momentary satisfaction

Never restoring

Innocence lost.

Blessed

I'm not you

Letting rage

Consume me.

Holistically

Healing myself

At own pace.

Having learned

The hard way

No rushing healing.

Crossing Hell

Traversing valleys

Of tortured souls

Reaching this point.

Knowing this

Whatever relationship

Forever dead

By your actions.

As your excuses

Ring bitterly hollow

To this battered

But healing soul.

Therisa © 2018

Author's note: In August 2007, I broke all contact with my younger brother, as I told him that he was dead to me. For the previous 3+ decades, he made my life, a living Hell. Various times, he physically, emotionally and verbally attacked mom and I. To the point, he is part of the reason that I have PTSD, depression, and anxiety disorders.

My Story (September 27, 2018)

July 1, 2018

Twelfth anniversary

Healing process started

Mom rejecting me

As her daughter.

Decades

Previously lived

Life of denial

About abusive/bullied past

And who I am.

Internalizing

Pain and shame

Associated with abuse/bullying

Behind porous mental walls.

Suffering

Abject silence

Mental health crisis.

Paralyzing flashbacks

Tsunamis of uncontrollable rage

Crippling body and soul

Reliving brutal memories

Thought forgotten.

People ask

“Why didn't you tell someone?”

I did

Damn it!

Told

Stand up

Defend myself

Punished-doing so.

Or

Warned to silence

By a parent.

Else

Ignored

When help sought.

Any wonder

Most cases of abuse/bullying

Never get reported

Given these reactions.

As if

Collateral damage

On life's highway

Like roadkill

Pushed to the shoulder.

Viewed

Never observed

By passing drivers.

Not wanting retraumatization

In a hostile environment

A court case/civil suit

Would involve.

Attacking every aspect

Of my life

By the legal system

In its adversarial nature.

Regardless

Statute of limitation

Have expired.

Never shall

These memories

I have lived

Ever be denied

Again.

Therisa © 2018

Author's note: As I write this poem, the U.S. Senate is holding a Judiciary Committee hearing into allegations that Supreme Court justice nominee Judge Brett Kavanaugh had sexually abuse a woman, while in high school, at a house party. Before recommending his candidacy be voted on, by the Senate, in an up and down manner.

Personally, I believe Dr Blasey Ford and the other women, who have come forward with their experiences, regarding Judge Kavanaugh. Facing personal attacks from total strangers that amount to abuse and criminal harassment. Something, I don't have the internal courage to do so.

Some will argue that the events of high school and university, shouldn't dictate, how we view Judge Kavanaugh’s appointment to the U.S. Supreme Court. Problem is, it does. There is too much at stake, to let this be dismissed, as boys being boys. For we're responsible for our actions, regardless, of our age, when they happened. There is no excuse for any type of abuse.

Should Judge Kavanaugh win the nomination to the U.S. Supreme Court, it'll mark a huge step backwards for the United States. If so, I hope the Republicans lose control of the Senate and House of Representatives. Trump needs a counterbalance to his destructive policies.

FYI: I have chosen Tori Amos’ Crucify (1992), as she sings about her own rape experience. I know, I have experienced similar feelings about my own abusive/bullying past. Thank you, Tori, for so elegantly expressing the pain that many abuse survivors live with.

Waves Of Healing (June 2, 2017)

Bittersweet tears

Steam down

My face.

As the soundtrack

Of my teenage years

Plays full blast

In my mind.

Building

A wall of sound

That surrounds

My soul.

In keeping

The darkness

Away.

Trying to restore

That innocent stolen

From me

By fear and hate.

Singing

Of empowerment

And healing

For all.

Bleeding away

One note

At a time

My sorrows.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: I know, some people call the music of the 1980s, a wasteland, but for me, it was the soundtrack of my coming of age, as a person, and what I stand for, politically, spiritually,  emotionally, and how I define myself.