Dear Cousin (A Poetic Letter (April 11, 2019)

Dear Cousin;

My belated condolences

For Uncle J’s death (your dad)

In December 2018.

I know

A lot has changed

Since our last meeting

Celebrating 50 years

As a Canadian family

In June 2002.

Many of our cousins

Have either married

Had children

And/Or divorced.

In my case

I’ve learned things

Radically changing

My existence

As a person.

Through many pain filled

And harsh brutal nights

With PTSD flashback dreams

Of repressed memories.

I realize

I’m an abuse/bullying survivor.

And no

These memories weren’t

The by-product

Of a therapist induced creation.

Rather

My mental dykes collapsed

After a brutal 26 hour long

Panic attack

In August 2007.

Remember

How you and other cousins

Were ribbing me

About my dramatic weight gain

At the reunion?

One of the side-effects

From my chronic battle

With depression.

Intertwined

With anxiety disorders

Agoraphobia PTSD

And gender dysphoria.

I am transitioning

From male to female.

Don’t know

If my mom has shared

With the rest of family

As we’re not talking

To each other.

There is

So much more

That I want to share

With you.

But realize

I need to stop here

And let you digest

This information dump

I’ve given you.

Sadden

I understand

If I never hear back

From you.

Sincerely, your cousin,

Therisa (formerly T------)

Therisa © 2019

Author’s note: Last month, during a random search on my family, I discovered one of my
uncles had past away, on December 30, 2018. I spent the 1985 Canada Day long weekend
with him and his family, when dad had his first known heart attack. The remainder of the
1985 summer, was a trip through Hell, for me. As my younger brother attacked physically,
emotionally, and mentally, my mom and I. Just have to close my eyes, I can physically hear
and feel him, attacking us.

I want to send this poem to my cousin, the eldest son of my late uncle, but am scared of
him, rejecting me, as well.

The Dreaded Talk (December 22, 2018)

Stand before you

Trying to read

Your body language

And failing.

Having shared

My deepest truth

Who I am.

Many would label me

Mentally ill.

Doing nothing

Is killing me

Each passing day.

It's not a fad

Or sexual fetish

Just whom I am.

With or without

Your approval

And support

I must go forward.

Living my life

As meant to

Regardless

Of our relationship.

Knowing

You'll blame yourself

In my need for change

Please understand

Nothing you have done

Or didn't do

Has cause this.

I'll always love you

No matter

Your answer.

Therisa © 2018

Author’s note: Whether we label ourselves; as gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgendered.

The hardest thing is coming out of the closet to our love ones and friends. I say this, from

very personal experience of outing myself to my mom, on July 1, 2006 (Canada Day). I

wasn’t prepared for her sudden arrival at my apartment, having promising me that she

would leave alone on for the holiday long weekend. I tried to explain, her eldest “son”

was her “daughter” that nature had denied her, so cruelly with a stillborn birth, before me.

Being depressed, in my default emotional state. In the past decade, I have been depressed,

even though, I have taken several different types of antidepressant. At one time, it was a

cocktail of 4 different drugs. Sadly, my body reacted strongly against most of these

medications.

Her outright rejection, fueled by ignorance and fear, tipped me, into a month long suicidal

depression that almost ended my life, on July 3rd and 4th, as I reached out to a friend. Who

spent several hours over the phone, talking. Walking me back, from the ledge that I was

going to end my life, with a sharp object, in the bathtub.

My Emotional Days (November 20, 2018)

It's November 20th

Is possibly

Third hardest emotional day

On the calendar

After July 1st

And November 15th.

July 1, 2006 (Canada Day)

Accidentally

Outed myself

To mom.

Let's just say

My apartment was

Slightly warmer

Than Antarctica winter storm

From her reaction.

As I tailspinned

Into month long bout

Of suicidal depression

That almost cost me

Everything.

And November 15th

Symbolic day

For death and rebirth

Spiritually and physically.

November 15, 1998

Around 9:50 pm

Dad was declared dead

Surviving almost 36 hours

Without life support.

Two days prior

He suffered

A fatal heart attack.

Although

Revived by paramedics

He was brain dead.

Seven years later

Unseasonably warm

November day.

Standing over dad's grave

Broke down and cried

In admitting my true self

A transgender woman

Therisa was reborn.

Sigh.

And now

Day of Transgender

Remembrance.

Scared

I'll hear names

Of people

That I know.

Recalling

My own brushes

With death

By other people.

Therisa © 2018

The Doll...Part 6 (January 22, 2011)

Stacey had decided

To dress up

For her 13th birthday

Wearing the new dress

Mom had given her

As a birthday present.

Running her hands

Down the side of

The pale blue dress

As they waited

For Jane to exit the car.

Scared

Yet excited

By being in public

For the first time

As a young girl.

Stacey's hands were sweating

From her nervousness

But it was too late

To back out now.

Linking her right arm

Around mom’s left arm

As the three of them

Entered the restaurant

Where they always

Went for birthday celebrations.

Dad was already there

And had been seated

By one of the serving staff.

At first

He didn’t recognize

His youngest child
Stuart/Stacey.

As Jane had taken the time

To show her

How to properly apply make-up

Another gift from mom.

“Jack

Before you get angry

And do something extremely stupid

You need to know

We have two daughters now.”

Mom laid the law

In an icy voice

Brooking no argument

From dad.

“Not in my home

Will I allow my son

To be turned into a sissy

By you and Jane!”

He bitterly retorted

Walking out of the restaurant.

“Am sorry

You had to experience this

Stacey”.

Mom placed her arms

Around a sobbing Stacey

Trying to consolidate

Her youngest daughter.

Unknown to Stacey and mom

Jane had brought

A long box
Wrapped
In feminine birthday paper

Into the restaurant.

“Here you go
Sis.”

A huge smile
Was painted
On Jane’s face
Matching Stacey’s.

As she handed Stacey

Her birthday present

One of her porcelain dolls

From her collection.

Knowing full well

The impact her words

And gift

Would have Stacey

And the rest of the family.

But she did not care

As long as Stacey

Was happy.

Being
Who she is:

A young woman

Blossoming
Into her own.

Therisa © 2011

Author's note: The sixth part of six, from a poem taken from my poetic morgue.