Stigma Of Surviving (February 24, 2014)

Silence

The chain

That binds truth

In lies.

Of the horrors

Committed

In the name of love

And punishment.

Twisting the light

Into a dark parody

Where reality loses

All meaning

Except for pain.

Molding one's soul

Like clay

On a potter's wheel

With deft hands.

As the banshee wails

Outside
The bedroom window

Heralding the death

Of another innocent.

Which

No one hears

Or cares

Until too late.

Therisa © 2014

Author's note: I'm a survivor of child abuse, by a family member, who was, a child, themselves. The abuse was dismissed, as sibling rivalry, by my parents. In recent years, researchers have come forward, in saying, what was thought, as sibling rivalry, in some case, is really abuse/bullying of one sibling, over the other(s). For many years, in my life, I have experienced suicidal thoughts, low self-esteem, and low self-confidence.

I know, not all of this, is strictly related, to my brother's actions, against me, but also includes the bullying, I had to endure, on and off of the schoolyard, by other children, around my age, starting when I started kindergarten, in 1975. Only, to end, when I transferred to another high school, at the end of grade 10, in 1987. Still, for the next 3 school years, almost constantly depressed, to the point, I was attempting to take my life, by pushing a knife, into my ribcage, hoping to puncture my heart or lungs. Only stopped, due to the lack of arm strength to push the knife, into me. 

Releasing Dark Fears (March 17, 2017)

Out of sync

Body dysfunctional

With reality.

As if

I don't belong

Here.

Like an Internet troll

Who's pretending

To be

Someone else.

Scared

Someone will call me

An imposture

Or worse.

Telling me

My experiences

Of abuse and hate

Are imaginary.

From the pages

Of a horror story

One can buy

On-line.

Tossed away

When done.

Found unbelievable

Even for

Fiction.

Into the delete bin

Of your computer

Or smartphone.

     *   *   *

You call me

Justifiably paranoid.

Never once

Did you acknowledge

My attempts

To share my past.

Rather

You sought

To exercise 

Your fear.

Repeatedly

Asking the same question

Session 

After session.

As if

You don't believe

My answers.

If you're trying

To anger me

It won't work.

Given

My high threshold

Before I will react

To you.

And yes

I do know

You're transphobic

By the manner

You interact

With me.

As witnessed

By my housing worker

During our last session

Together.

Handing over

The psychological assessment

For my application

To Ontario Disability Support Program.

An assessment

With many glaring errors

By you.

     *   *   *

So

Tell me

Doc.

Are all abuse survivors

Justifiably paranoid

By our inability

To make direct eye contact?

In blaming ourselves

For the actions

Of others?

In the destruction

Of our innocence.

Internalization

Of our abusers' words

By our inner voice

That repeatedly call us

Rude and shameful names.

Like a record

That's constantly 

Skipping?

Or

The anxiety/panic attacks

We experience

In crowded situations

Due to past abuse/bullying.

In which

The crowds

Re-enforces

These abusive actions.

Catching us

In an endless loop

On our personal PVR

Available on demand

24/7.

A struggle

That often ends

In a graveside service.

As the private

Become public.

For those

Who surrender

To the pain.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: On Wednesday, March 15, 2017, I had an appointment, with my therapist, and the above poems, are some of the topics that we talked about, during that session. Before anyone thinks, it was all grim, I had the therapist laughing, at my puns, play on words, and one-liners. 

Like many of my therapy poems, I need to explore my feeling, in a manner, I couldn't or didn't have the time, in the session, last Wednesday. And yes, there were several times, I found myself, on the edge of outright crying, as I opened up, about this part of my life.

Naivety's Price (November 26, 2016)

Society talks

About love. 

As if

It was a hyperbole

Of our souls.

In telling children

We will always 

Love them.

No matter 

What.

And yet

For many children

They have nothing left.

But 

This flimsy claim

To hang onto. 

As they're tortured

And abused

At the hands

Of their parents.

Only guilty 

Of being born

Different.

Whether

The wrong gender

Or sexuality.

All the while

Being told

Their punishment is

A sign of love.

Blaming themselves

For not being 

Good enough.

Or should have

Done things

Only differently

The first time.

When

The real fault lies

With the adults.

Leaving the child

To pay

The most horrible price

Their life.

Therisa © 2016