Looking After My Health, First (May 1, 2019)

Before me

Looking through

A double set of doors

Of the local Service Ontario

Strip mall outlet.

Long serpentine

Line-up has formed

Awaiting the acquaintance

And renewal

Of health cards driver licences

And other official documents

From the province of Ontario.

Shudders

Runs through my body

Noticing the banking hours

Of Monday to Friday:

9am to 5pm.

For myself

I see

Early warning signs

Of severe anxiety triggers

With the possibility

Of a full blown panic attack.

Standing on

The sidewalk

Outside of the doors.

Premier Ford

Talks about Ontario

Being open for business.

Seeing nothing

That backs up

His campaign rhetoric.

Rather

A system stretched

To it limits.

Where profits

(Read taxes and user fees)

Are placed ahead

Of the consumers’ need

(I.E: citizens of this province)

In paying down

The provincial debt.

Forcing people

To decide

Whether or not

To lose working hours

Or take vacation time.

(If they have a job

Or self-employed.)

Especially

When they need

A driver’s licence

For work.

Or the health card

Covering their medication cost

By the Ontario Drug Program

For welfare recipients

(Ontario Works and ODSP1).

I turn away

To doing start

Another stressful activity.

Grocery shopping.

Knowing

I’ll be back

At a later time

For my provincial id card.

Just not today.

1 ODSP: Ontario Disability Support Program

Therisa © 2019

Author’s note: Yesterday, April 30, 2019, is the last banking day for the month, along with, being the date that all direct deposit funds are placed into the bank accounts, of those ODSP recipients, who have signed up for this. As for today, I slept in, until 10:30 am, which means, I was too late, given the Service Ontario offices were already open for business. Tomorrow, maybe.

And yes, I am prepared to walk away, if I feel my anxiety levels are getting too high, from the Service Ontario line-up. Even if, this means that I’m next to be serviced, by the contracted out staff.

Gathering Of The Clan (April 19, 2017)

Don't know

When life changed

For me.

As the holidays

Became 

A chore to endure

And not enjoy.

Of the fights

Both physical

And verbal.

I lost

With my dad

Via a spanking.

In visiting

Oma and opa

For the high holiday feasts

At their small rural bungalow

In Dunneville, Ontario.

Packed 

To the gills

With dad's family

Far and wide.

Solitude

Only a scream away

From shattering

As children run around

Bubbling with excitement.

Seeking refuge

Wherever possible

In my constant companion

A book.

Unable to explain

Why I felt

So uncomfortable

With my extended family.

Not yet

Did I have

The proper words

To do so.

Only now

Do I know

It was anxiety

I was experiencing.

In my family

You only missed 

These gatherings.

If you were 

Physically sick

Lived out of province

Or dead.

To my dad

I was

None of the above.

But 

A spoiled brat

Acting out.

Further hiding

My true emotions.

As I suffered

In silence

By avoiding

Any future punishment.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: I think, but not sure, I was 12 years old, when I started acting out. Can remember, I hate my dad, during this time, wanting nothing to do, with the family gatherings. Especially, the religious overtones of these days, I have never felt comfortable with, given the conservative nature, of some of my family members. 

For the record, I do not consider myself, a Christian, although I was baptized, as an infant. To be a Christian, I have to accept, that Jesus is, the Son of God, and not a mere mortal, who was killed for political reasons, by the ruling elite, in Judea, for challenging their religious and social hold, over Jewish society, back then.

Voice Of Darkness (September 30, 2016)

I can hear them

As if

It was yesterday.

And not 

Thirty-five years

Ago.

Their 10 year old voices

Calling me:

"A f--king wuss."

"No!"

"A f--king sissy

Who loves 

To s--k cocks."

Laughing

As their blows

Landed

Upon my body.

Not caring

Bloody mucus flows

From my nose.

Or

My clothes are

A muddy wreck.

Before

Growing tired

Of their little amusement

That I present

To them.

Leaving me

To drag myself

Back home

From the elementary school.

All three of us

Went to.

Having learnt

To hide any evidence

Of abusive bullying

Before my parents

Got home.

So

None

The wiser

For my parents.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Not sure, which one is worse, having auditory or visual flashbacks, but given the frequency and duration of my auditory flashbacks, I would have to say, they are. Often, finding myself, trapped, within a viscous loop that can last for several hours,  as they destroy, whatever sense of worth, I have. Leaving me, feeling like, I'm trapped, in that dark time, of my life, again. 

For today, is one such day, for me, as my anxiety levels are spiking upwards, and I need to stop them, before they paralyze me, within this toxic loop.

Mt. Melancholy (Janaury 18, 2016)

www.emaze.com

Today

I find myself

Walking

Under the shadow

Of darkness.

As old memories

Spring forth

Like an avalanche.

Cascading down

The snow covered

Mountainside.

As if

I have taken

The wrong trail

Into a forbidden area

With my ignorance.

Burying me

So deep

In the memories

Of a darker time.

Each passing second

The burden grows heavier

Upon my soul.

Am struggling

To find up

From down

With little avail.

Feeling

My inner spark

Growing dimmer

As the tears fall

Down my face.

Knowing

How easy

It would be

To surrender myself

And let everything

Go.

In my wanting

To remain

In the foetal position.

Until

My oxygen runs out

Fading out

Into the night

Forever.

But

I know

These feeling

Shall pass.

As I dig

My way out

Into the light

Once more.


Therisa © 2016




Author's note: Not exactly sure, what triggered the events of last Monday, January 18, 2016, when I found myself, buried, under a sudden wave of dark memories. Almost 36 hours later, am still struggling with the aftermath of this, as emotionally, I feel numb, and have lost all contact, with my poetic muse. If I was, to describe this, it feels like a PTSD flashback, without any of the visible images, normally, would have experienced, with one. In being, a total sensory overload of my emotions, in a three hour period, on Monday. Much like the type, I would associate, around my electrical burn, to my mouth, as a four year old.