Upon The Front Lines (December 7, 2016)

My soul

Is the battleground

Upon which

A war is 

Being waged.

Fought

Among multiple fronts

Simultaneously

For control.

Every exploding shell

Renders my soulscape

Into a thousand 

Jagged piercing shards.

Each front

A different element

Of my universe

Bursting forth

Into thick acrid smoke.

Threatening

To choke

My existence

Out.

Like

A battle weary soldier

My soul seeks

A permanent ceasefire

Ending all hostilities.

Knowing

An unilateral surrender

Is tantamount to

A death sentence

For me.

One

I'm not prepare

To face

Just yet.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: A metaphor for how I am feeling right now.

Falling Downwards (November 1, 2016)

My eyes are 

Becoming bleary

As the tears

Roll down.

Feelings 

Of guilt and shame

Wrack my soul.

As memories

Stream forth

Of another time

And place.

Where 

I found myself

Praying for death.

Despising myself

For being 

A freak.

Thoughts of death

Flood my mind

As everything

Become a weapon

To me.

Just wanting

The pain

To end.

By any means

Possible.

Even now

Should Death 

Embrace my body

I won't fight Her.

Rather

Just want my pain

To be over.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Before the age of 12 years old, I have attempted suicide, several times, but failed, for various reasons. I haven't felt this down, hopeless and depressed, since the 2010/11 holiday season, when I made my last attempt. November, next to July (my second hardest), is the hardest month, emotionally, for me. Right now, I wish, I had my dad, to cry in his broad shoulders, and have him. give me, the emotional support, unconditionally. Something, my mom has never been able to do,

October's Tears (October 21, 2016)

That time

Of the year

Is fast approaching

For me.

When

Personal

And season darkness

Claims me.

As I sink

Into a downward spiral

Of pain and sadness.

Marking

The beginning

Of my SAD season

Until January.

Before

It clears up

Slowly.

Wish

I could say

Death doesn't play

A huge part

In my life.

But

It does.

As the raindrops

From a mid-October storm

Bathe my face

In wetness.

Hiding

The tears

From everyone's

Sight.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: It's 10 days, before Halloween, and the fall rains have started, in part of the Great Lakes basin, stopping, only when the rain turns to snow, some time, in November/December. The 10 days from November 11th (Remembrance Day) to 20th (Day Of Trans-Remembrance), are about the darkness days, of the calendar, for me. With November 15th, being the anniversary date of my dad's death, in 1998. Also, the anniversary date of my self-acceptance of who I am, Therisa, in 2005, As I stood over, my dad's grave, crying, on a very mid-November day, when I realized, an inner true that I have been suppressing, since August 1977, I am female.

Final Fateful Wish (July 18, 2016)

My earliest memory

Is more than 

Thirty years old

Dating back

To my teenage years.

In wishing

My death

The previous night

As I sleep.

Instead of

Waking up

The coming morn.

Just wanting

The violence

In my life

To end.

Like the seasons

It cycles

Between passive

And active 

Suicide thoughts.

Once more

Am waiting for

The nightly wish

To come

And end this.

Therisa © 2016

The Endless War (June 22, 2016)

On a daily basis

I face

This monster

That threatens

To consume me.

Like a psychic Vampyre

Draining my soul

Of energy and words.

Until

A dry out husk

Remains.

So easy

To surrender.

Accepting

My bitter doom

And "Death".

As I drown

In the flash floods

Of tears

Cascading down

My face.

And yet

Somewhere

Within me.

A part

Refuses

To roll over

And accept this.

Semi-annual cycling

Of light and dark

In my soul.

Its claws dug in

For every single cm²

An all out war

With my emotions

The battleground.

As the decades

Take their toll

Upon me.

I cling to

My inner light

And life

In this furious war.

Where

One wrong move

Is death.

In the truest sense.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Right now, am struggling, to keep my head above the "emotional" waters, as my Summertime depression. is digging its claws, into me. One of my consequences, of my semi-annual depressions, is the sharp drop off, in my ability to write anything. Don't be surprise, if you see one or two poems, in a given month, as a result. And, a lack of visitations, by me, as my concentration levels, tank.

Not A Victimless Crime (May 18, 2016)

Bullying

A word

That's forever etched

In my mind.

For

I don't need anyone

To tell me

What it means

To be bullied.

As I struggle

With my recovery

After decades

Of bullying.

From chronic depression

Various anxiety disorders

Suicidal thoughts

Agoraphobia

And PTSD.

Which

Is worsen

By being trans.

In doubling

My odds

Over the general population.

For suffering

Depression anxiety

Compulsive behaviour

(like self-harming)

And PTSD.

Would give anything

To never have experience

Night terrors

Or PTSD flashbacks

In my sleep.

As I'm plagued

By chronic insomnia

To the point.

A good night is

Having five hours

Of  uninterrupted

Sleep.

Welcome

To my world.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Whether, or not, people realize this, but bullying (A form of abuse) is, a crime of power, which won't go away, as long as, there two or more people, in a given locale . The best, we can hope, is to limit the damage that's done, to the victims, by the aggressor.

A Pipedream? (April 12, 2016)

As I sit

Before this computer

Attempting

To type out

This poem.

My mind is

Wandering

All over.

Into areas

I rather not go

As the tears

Threaten to flow.

Is it

A fantasy

To think?

Maybe

One day

I'll be free

Of my lifelong depression?

One

So deep

A cocktail

Of anti-depressants

Had little affect.

Beyond

Triggering massive

Side-effects

In my body.

Worsening

How I view myself

And my self-hatred

To my body.

Never mind

The crying bouts

And the hidden tears

I shed

Behind closed doors.

Would settle

For just one day

Of feeling

What everyone else

Takes for granted.

Equilibrium.

Therisa © 2016

Through The Looking Glass (March 21, 2016)

www.fggam.org

Am

At the 519

Looking at their board

Of help programs

And finding myself

Lost.

In that

There are no programs

Which match

My specific needs.

Oh

There's programs

For depression

Abuse survivors

And PTSD.

But

Geared for those

Who are male

(Or identify

As male).

In having

A substance abuse

Or alcohol

Problem.

Honestly

Never felt

This need

To ever inject

Or snort drugs.

And alcohol

Can't stand

Its taste

Or how

My body reacts

To it.

So why

Do I feel like

Am being punished

For avoiding

These pitfalls?

As I slip

Through the cracks

Landing in

"No-man's land"

(Pun intended).

Scrambling

To create

A patchwork network

Of support.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: The 519, is  a community centre that operates, in Toronto's Gay Village, while supporting local needs, it serves, as an outlet, for the LGBT+ community, in the greater Toronto area. Its actual address is, 519 Church Street, hence, its name.

Throwing Away The Key (February 20, 2016)

www.express.co.uk

Been told

I have travelled far

In this healing journey

Of mine.

And yet

Find myself

Clawing

At the walls

Trying to maintain

My equilibrium.

In being triggered

By the slightest thing

These past few weeks.

Questioning

My grasp

Upon sanity.

In my struggle

With PTSD

And chronic depression.

As if

They're imaginary friends

I have invented

As hold overs

From my childhood.

Wondering.

Is this

The new me

That I have

The pleasure of

Looking forward

To?

Of being

A virtual prisoner

Within my mind.

Never

To experience

What parole means.

Or

Able to remove

These burdensome shackles

Of my hyper-vigilant senses

That bind me

To this plane of existence.

Isn't

A lifetime

Long enough

To punished?

Even

The most dangerous

Of prisoners 

Who are serving

Life sentences

Have a faint hope

Of parole.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: My first exposure to PTSD, occurred, after my electrical burn, to my mouth, in November 1974. Have been told, I was lucky, to have survived, with my mouth being blown out, and not being buried, as a result of this event. Even now, over four decades later, I still experience sensory flashbacks, to that November night. Never had any formal therapy, for this traumatic injury, over the years. Unlike, the visual and auditory flashbacks, I have experienced, from my abusive past, as a child and an adult.

Over the past 9 years, I have had some counselling, but it has been focused, primarily, upon my chronic depression and various anxiety problems. And pharmacological therapy is, a "no go", for me, given my chemical sensitivity, and the side-effects that it generates, in my body.