Through The Heart Of Darkness (April 24, 2019)

Warning: The following poem contains mentioning of suicidal thoughts/attempt, depression and death. Please stop, if this triggers you.

There are times

I lay in bed

Staring at

My soul’s darkest places.

Pill bottles

All lined up

Ready to open

For that blackest moment.

As wave

After wave of despair

Pulls me

Ever deeper

Into the abyss

Of no return.

Like a forgotten lover

Asking for

One last dance

Rekindling a lost love

For the final time.

As I refuse

Your need/want.

Nine years

Since our last embrace

Around the yuletide log ablaze

Upon the computer screen.

Having since dealt

With 2 prolong bouts

Of agoraphobia.

Which held me

A virtual prisoner

Within my apartment walls

For several months

At a time.

Even

My most recent

Transphobic scare

Won’t deter me

From continuing

My healing journey.

Surrendering means

You win

With your brutist nature

And hate.

Like I did

Almost 42 years ago

In the rural village

Of Erin, Ontario.

Hiding away

Within myself

Until November 15, 2005.

When I emerged

As my true self

Standing over

My dad’s grave.

On the anniversary date

Of his physical release

From mortal pain and suffering

Seven years previously.

So Death

You’ve no hold

Over me.

Having watched

My Oma (cancer)

And dad (heart attack-brain dead)

Fight you

With dignity.

Rather

It is life

I struggle with.

Therisa © 2019

Author’s note: I started writing this poem, on Easter Sunday, the first dry day of the Easter long weekend, in Toronto. Needing a way, to vent the darkness that was building up, within me. Hopefully, my last suicide attempt, occurred during the holiday season of 2010-11, when I did have several containers filled with prescription drugs, to OD on. For some reason, I couldn’t do it.

Although, should the need arise, I would choose to end my life, with the dignity of assisted death.

The Call (July 11, 2016)

A soul drowning

In psychic tears

Threatening

To consume all

Body and soul.

Outside

Desperate wail

Of a fire engine's siren

Scream by.

Barely

Able to keep afloat

As "arms" grow weaker

By the second.

Rushing off

To an emergency call

That's life and death

For someone.

Thoughts 

Of surrendering

Grow stronger

To the tears.

Trucks weaves

In and out

Of the holiday traffic.

Gathering darkness

Closes in

One last time

Before

The final silence.

Practiced precision

They stormed up

The apartment stairs

In their mercy quest.

Distance voices

Are heard

Before

They fade away

Slowly.

Loud crash

Announces

The door's opening.

Greeting

The Angel of Death

As She claims

Her latest companion.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: The wail of fire engine's siren, past the cyber-cafe, on July 1st, was the inspiration for this dark poem. By the time, I had walked home, the first two stanza were already written, in my head. The rest of the poem would take 10 days, to complete. 

It's true, I suffer from chronic depression that claims me, for several months, throughout the year, I'm not actively suicidal, in seeking my death. Although, i do entertain thoughts of not awaking up, from the previous night sleep. Each morning that I do wake up, a sense of sadness, fills me, in having survived another night, and to having to face another day, as a result.

The Black Death (June 25, 2016)

Silence.

Do you understand

What this word means

To me?

Beyond

The standard

Dictionary definition.

You'll find

In a book

Or on-line.

In having

The creative part

Of your soul

Amputated.

 

Without warning.

Leaving behind

Those dark

And destructive voices

Of the past.

Rattling around

In your mind.

Undermining

Whatever self-confidence

And self-esteem

You started life

As a child.

Giving greater volume

And clarity

To suicidal ideation.

Normally

Out of tune

And static filled.

As everything

Becomes

A deadly weapon

In your eyes.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: How my black depressions are like, in experiencing them.

When Darkness Breeds (April 12, 2016)

Here

I stand

As a witness

To the systemic discrimination

That plagues

Canada's Aboriginal people.

Even though

I want to turn away

As my own dark memories

Come to the forth.

In having

Your very soul

Stripped away

And told:

"You're worthless".

Over and over

Again.

To the point

You start believing it

As the light is

Snuffed out.

And hope is

Another 4 letter word

To curse you.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: I wrote this, this morning, on my way, upon the streetcar, to visit the lab, to have my quarterly blood work to check my A1C.