What Is Normal Like? (March 11, 2016)

Often

I find myself

Asking this question

Without a ready answer

To it.

Never gave it

A second thought

About the toxic relationship

Between my brother and I.

Even though

My grandma did remark

She has never seen

Two siblings go at it

So furiously.

Or

How different things were

From my many cousins

In comparison

To my situation.

Until

I entered

 A Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) program

At a nearby hospital

About four years ago.

Where

The therapist told me

It's not unusual

For a family

To be dysfunctional.

 Gee

Thanks.

As if

My childhood years

Weren't brutal

Enough.

Even now

Thirty-five years later

I can still hear him

And his friend

Calling me:

" A f--king

Cocksucker"

Or

"A f--king fairy"

Who needed

To be taught

Her proper place.

As they pounded

The living daylights

Out of my body.

While

Laughing.

Welcome

To my grade 5 year.

Wish

I could say

My previous school years

Were less violent

(Physically

And verbally).

Sadly

No.

This would continue

Until I transferred

To another high school

At the end

Of grade 10.

Leaving

This abusive environment

Behind me.

But

The memories

Still haunt me.

So

I ask you.

What does it

Feel like

To live

A normal life?

Without constant echoes

Of destructive voices

Or PTSD flashbacks

To haunt

Every moment

Of ones life.

If possible

For just one minute

I would love

To experience this moment

In my live.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: There times, which I find myself, cursing my long term memory, for its ability to hold past events, in my live, as if, they have happened, just yesterday. While, my short memory has more holes, in it, than an unpasteurized piece of Swiss cheese. There is more, that I could have detailed, here, but, even a masochist, would be crying, begging, for no more. Sigh, am so tired of this weird roller coaster, which we call life. Can I, finally, be able,to get off, please?

The Good-bye (March 1, 2016)

www.brands-list.com

A flower was
Offered to me
With a "Dear Joan" letter.

The flower
A single white rose.

Laying

Beside it

On the kitchen table.

You may think

I'm being selfish

For writing these words

To you.

But

I don't care

Anymore.

For I have

Given you

My best years.

Without

A second thought.

Only

To have you

Repay me

In this way.

Why

Didn't you tell me

About your struggles?

Did you think

I couldn't handle this?

Given

The Hell

We have walked

Through

Together.

Oh

My love.

You know

I would never

Shower you

In pity.

But

Offer you

A shoulder or two

To cry upon

When needed.

Now

Only memories

Are left.

As I see

Your solution

To your problem

Before me.

Needing

To call

911.

Good bye

My love.


Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Yeah, I know, this poem is a downer, but right now, am feeling very depressed. And is, reflective of my mood.


Am sorry, if I have caused any concerns about me, in regards, to this fictional poem. I have never found myself, in such, a situation.

This Is Me (February 2, 2016)

www.quotesgram.com

Identity

noun, plural identities.

1. the state or fact of remaining the same one or ones, as under varying aspects or conditions:

The identity of the fingerprints on the gun with those on file provided evidence that he was the killer.

2. the condition of being oneself or itself, and not another:

He began to doubt his own identity.

3. condition or character as to who a person or what a thing is; the qualities, beliefs, etc., that distinguish or identify a person or thing:

a case of mistaken identity; a male gender identity; immigrants with strong ethnic identities.

4. the state or fact of being the same one as described.

5. the sense of self, providing sameness and continuity in personality over time and sometimes disturbed in mental illnesses, as schizophrenia.

6. exact likeness in nature or qualities:

an identity of interests.

7. an instance or point of sameness or likeness:

to mistake resemblances for identities.

source: www.dictionary.com

November 15, 2016

Will mark

My 11th anniversary

Of my acceptance

For whom

I am.

Having spent

Over 28 years

In hiding.

Filled with shame

Fear and self-loathing

Since August 1977.

(As my family live

In a small rural

Ontario village

At the time.)

A vain attempt

To protect myself

From the other kids

Who sought

To attack me.

Both verbally

And physically.

Turning

Their negative energy

Inwards

In a corrosive manner.

Where

Life has no meaning

Beyond death

And release.

Until

One day

In early 2005

I stopped suppressing

Myself.

Letting out

This timid child

Into the light.

Offering her

A chance to grow

And heal.

In realizing

After a few months

Of cross dressing

This wasn't me.

I need more

In my life.

To fill

This huge hole

In my soul.

Standing over

My dad's grave

On November 15, 2005.

I found myself

Able to release

This 10 tonne elephant

From my shoulders.

As tears of relief

Streaked my face

In  the late morning mist

On an unusually mild

Mid-November day.

As I shared

With my dad's ashes

My true self.

By taking 

The first steps

In my journey

Of real healing

As a woman.

With small steps

Towards the ending

Of my abusive

And destructive past.

In the rebirth

Of myself

As Therisa.

Regardless

What others think

Whom I am.

I'm

A

Woman.


Therisa © 2016

Author's note: The hardest journey, one will ever undertake, is to look deeply, into ones soul and make the necessary changes, for true healing to occur. Even if, this means, you must go against the flow that Society views, as normal. Knowing, you'll face fierce opposition, based upon, fear fuelled ignorance around anything that's different.