Life Of A Depressive Cycle (July 20, 2018)

Over the horizon

Darkening clouds gather

Thin black line forms

Ominous signs of trouble.

Past storms heralded

Sudden dramatic plummeting

Emotional barometer

Dangerously low levels

Threatening life.

First stormridge hits

Like an unmarked riptide

Abruptly overpowering.

Written poems fall

Covering soulscape

In emotionally laden words

Like sleet of ice.

Finished

Months may past

Before another poem.

Intermixed

Second stormridge arrives

Black rain clouds

Unburdened themselves

With tear stain streaks.

Unnatural

Eerie silence descends

Locked on emotional

And physical drained soul.

Hidden war

Viciously fought

Outright control of soul

Any misstep-Death.

Not all fronts

Visibly seen campaigns

War of attrition.

Internalized anger grows

Self-punishing

Appetite-ebbs and flows

With the waistline.

Interlocking walls built

Brick upon brick

Kiln fired by isolation

Mentally and physically

Fatigued soul.

Craving all levels-sleep

Unfulfilled need

Debt grows.

Bedside clock/radio

Signals time

Not days passage

In hypnotic light/dark dance.

Concept of time

Nothing more

Last meal/bathroom break

In physical world.

Praying

Ideation stays passive

Not active.

Upon active stage

Suicidal plans decoded

Static-free reception

Properly aligning

Mental receiving dish.

Everything

Becomes a weapon

Wanting pain gone.

Code Delta

Pain over.

Otherwise

Long slow recovery

Rebuilding mental bridges

Collateral from the war.

Despite this

Never reaching

True mental equilibrium

Falling just short

In recovery.

Therisa © 2018

Author’s note: How some of bouts of depressions are like, for me.

A Sad Reality (May 19, 2016)

Silence

Cut the soul

Like a hot knife

Through butter.

As it weeps

Bitter salty tears

That corrodes everything

They touch.

Turning

A confident young child

Into a cowering baby.

Scared

Of its own shadow

And loud noises.

The punches

Fall like

A steady rainstorm

Upon the body.

The runoff collects

In red pools

Staining everything

In a shade of rust.

That comes

Into contact

With it.

People

Gather around

To watch

The latest

Afterschool fight.

Letting loose

Their blood thirsty

Savage side

In a circle of hate.

Where

All rules of war

Don't exist.

Except

Just win.

"Forget

That poor excuse

Who got pommelled

Within inches

Of their life.

"Join the crowd

In celebrating
The glorious victory

Over that wimp."

Never mind

The victor is

Most despite bully

In the school.

Or that

The vanquished

Will go home

And attempt suicide

Tonight.

Only failing

Because

The knot came

Loose.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: There are elements of my own life, interweaved, within the above poem. As for those people, who think, things will get better, are totally out to lunch, in believing a simplex slogan, will change a person's life. Sorry, honey that only works, in Hollywood. What is really needed, is a strong supporting network that breaks through the sense of isolation, which is compounded by a feeling of helplessness and hopelessness, that this type of oppression will ever end.

I think, if this type of support had existed, for me, during the 1970s and 1980s, I wouldn't be so traumatized and suffering severely, from mental illness, like I am. I know, only speculation, on my part, but leading thought is proving that measures that support and break through isolation, will reduce occurrence of mental illness and suicide attempts. Something, the current health system has been short, in delivering.

Why Can't I Be You? (January 26, 2016)

www.motherjones.com

Courage:

[kur-ij, kuhr-]

noun

1.

the quality of mind or spirit that enables a person to face difficulty, danger, pain, etc., without fear; bravery.

2.

Obsolete. the heart as the source of emotion.

Idioms

3.

have the courage of one's convictions, to act in accordance with one's beliefs, especially in spite of criticism.

source: www.dictionary.com

A gentle

But sad sigh

Escapes my lips

As tears roll down

My face.

In trying

To find

That inner strength.

That you say

Shines like a beacon

Through the darkness

I have walked

In my journey

To here.

Having lost

Everything of value

To my body and soul.

For this need

Of mine.

Correcting

A genetic birth defect

Being born

Within the wrong body

Of a male.

Which

Society views

As normal.

Despite

Viewing myself

As a woman trapped

Within a male shell

Of a body.

Won't burden you

With the years

Of abuse and bullying

That has marked my life.

Since

I realized

This inner truth

At the tender age

Of four.

Within my head

The voices

Of my abusers

Ringing out.

Cursing me

With such crude

And hurtful language.

No child should

Ever know.

Fuelling their need

For power

And control.

By expressing

Their fear

At that

Which

Is different.

Sadly

As adults

These children

Haven't learnt their lessons.

As the fire

Of transphobia

And homophobia

Burns brightly

In their souls.

Consuming

Whatever remains

Of their logic centre

In a Gray hateful ash.

And yes

There times

I have felt

My life

At risk.

In spite

Of this fact

I move forward

In my healing pilgrimage.

Uniting my body

With the feminine soul

I was born

Within.

Thus

Completing

This cycle.


Therisa © 2016

Author's note: By the age of twelve, I had attempted, at least 3 different times, to end my life, which I have never told my parents, about. My last 3 years of high school, was marked, by a nightly visit to the kitchen, where I tried to pierce my chest, with one of the meat knives, but I lack the strength to push it, into my chest cavity.


After coming out, accidently, to my mom, over the 2006 Canada Day long weekend, she told me:


"Hell would have to freeze over, and I would have to, come crawling on my hands and knees, begging her, for forgiveness, before she would think about it."


Needless, to say, I was thrown for a dark suicidal depression that lasted, the entire month of July. Nearly costing my job, as a result. With the help and support of a very special friend, I wouldn't be here, to share this, with the world. Thank you, Z.


The title of this poem, is a reference to the British Goth group, The Cure, who's dark and melodic tunes have helped me, during my bout of dark depression. Also, refers to my needing to live my life, as a woman, who is...simply elegance.

The Long Run (January 4, 2016)

You think

I would be

Jumping

Over the moon.

Upon achieving

This milestone

Of five years.

Since

My last suicide attempt.

And yet

A sense of sadness

Fills me.

As the tears stream

Silently

Down my face.

Dreading

The coming month

That January is

For me.

Marking

The coldest month

Of the year

Leaving the soul

Bitterly fragile

To the touch.

Each black "X"

Upon the calendar page

Symbolizes

One less day.

Until

The end

Of this race.

And

February's arrival

With its coming thaws.


Therisa © 2016

Author's Note: The month of January, marks the end, of my annual Fall/Winter depression, which has traditionally, seen an increase, in my suicidal feelings, with the two dark periods of November 11th-20th, and December 24th-January 2nd. January 3, 2016, marked the fifth anniversary, of my last suicide attempt, since the holiday season of 2010-11. Also, the first time, since then, I have found myself, on the edge between passively and actively suicidal, with my suicide index, at 5, out of 10. Where 10 means, I have committed suicide, and someone else is writing about my death to you.