Showing posts with label Shame. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shame. Show all posts

Monday, 13 March 2017

Chance Encounter (March 13, 2017)


July 21, 2006.

A date
Forever etched
Into my memory.

As if
Done by
A laser.

By mistake
And pure chance.

I enter
The support group meeting 
For trans-men
At the 519*.

A decision
That forever
Changed my life.

As George Harold
And Alex** 
Accepted me
Into their meeting.

Won't bore you
With details
Of what 
Was spoken.

Except
My soul was
Laid bare
Before them.

As tears
Of anger
And shame 
Flowed down my face
Like the Mississippi River
During flood season.

Releasing
The septic toxins
From my mom's
Caustic rejection of me.

For the first time
I shared this
To total strangers
With frank openness.

As I found myself
Neither judged
Nor pitied.

But
Accepted
As a person
Of value. 

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: Without the help of these three men, I wouldn't be here, today, to share my experiences of that fateful night. I entered their meeting, as a stranger and left, as friends, whose kindness was the first step, I took, in the healing of myself and uniting it, with my body, which had been detached, from birth.

For I stood, on the brink, of another suicide attempt, for that month, making it, my 3rd and possibly, the final attempt, to take my life. And yes, I do have, a very long history, for this.

*The 519, is the name of the community centre, in the local area, and for the LGBT+ community, in Toronto, which offers programs that serve Toronto and surrounding communities, in the Greater Toronto Area. It's located at 519 Church Street, in the heart of Toronto's Gay Village. Hence, the name.

The trans-men meet every 1st and 3rd Friday of every month, and trans-women meet every 2nd and 4th Friday, except for December, when the meetings are suspended for the holidays. A Christmas dinner is held, that invites all members of the trans community and their allies, to attend.

**Not their real names, as I value their rights to privacy, so am using an alias, for them.

Saturday, 9 July 2016

Not All Victims, Are Black (July 9, 2016)

It's times
Like this
That I wish
I was less empathic.

As the pain
Sears my soul
Like a red hot poker.

Dragging me
Ever deeper
Into a land of sorrow
And constant tears.

Reliving
My own memories
Of police harassment.

With
The resulting feelings
Of anger and hopelessness
From it.

Knowing
The cops had
No valid reasons
In carding me
Both times.

Especially
The first time.

Stopping me
Just minutes away
From my basement apartment
In Brampton.

For the next 10 minutes
I experienced
A level of verbal abuse
With a hint of physical violence.

Unlike
Anything before
Or since.

Explaining
I looked suspicious
To him .

And that
There have been
A rash of break-ins
Locally.

A B.S. story
As no one was talking
About this
In the neighbourhood.

Yet
I stood there
Quietly
Taking this abuse.

Scared.
More 
Was to come.

In reality
Just wanting
To go home
And get some food.

Before collapsing
For the night
In bed.

Sadly
Having a driver license
And taking transit
To and from work.

Because
I couldn't afford
The expenses
Of the maintenance
For a car.

Ticked him
Off.

So
As the news
Of the deliberate killings
By the American police officers
On patrol.

Brought back
These dark memories
Of mine.

Damn them
To whatever Hell
They came from.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: These are memories that I have kept locked away, for the most part, rarely, talking about them, to anyone. I know, these reactions, by me, are wrong, but the feeling of shame, anger, and frustration, were greater. After this past week, I need to release these memories, in a safe and constructive, thus, ending their corrosive hold, over me.

Featured post

Chance Encounter (March 13, 2017)

July 21, 2006. A date Forever etched Into my memory. As if Done by A laser. By mistake And pure chance. I enter...