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 Middle Child (June 18, 2016)

An abandoned orphan

No one wants

Neither straights

Nor gays.

Left alone

To fend for themselves

Travelling a road

Most perilous.

Is

The trans child.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Most people don't realize, but the trans-community is, the only part of the LGBT community that doesn't deal, with sexuality. Rather, the expression of one's true gender. For this reason, I will never understand, why we're lumped into this gathering. True, a trans-person, fits across the sexual expression spectrum, unlike any other groups does.


In Toronto's downtown, where most of the teaching hospitals are local, there are no dedicate program that teaching interning doctors about transgender medical issues, unless, they have to treat a trans-patient, for the first. My doctor's office, is a satellite clinic, for one of the major Toronto teaching hospitals, and I have lost track, how many times,  I had to educate the intern, about trans medicine, before they can treat my needs.


The title, for this poem, was inspired, by the Parachute Club's song, "Middle Child", which is found on their CD/Album release,  At The Feet Of The Moon (1984). As they were politically active, in the Canadian fight for LGBT+ rights, during the early 1980s.

A True Warrior Princess (April 8, 2016)

www.biography.com

You call me

A fighter

But I know

I'm not.

For a real fighter

Is Christine Jorgensen.

Who

Pioneered a revolution

In the understanding

Of how gender is viewed.

Also

How post-op transwomen are

Treated medically

In our HRT programme.

By being herself

In championing

Trans rights

As her life work.

You must realize

The 1950s and 1960s

Being an open LGBT+ person

Was to blacklist yourself.

Given

The misguided association

With communism

And the "Red" scare

Throughout

The west.

A fact

Ms Jorgensen discovered

To her horror.

When

Her wedding licence request

Was rejected

(in 1959).

As her birth certificate

Listed her

As male.

A fight

Grateful

I don't have
To face.

For I can have

My gender change

On my birth certificate

Without undergoing

The surgeon's scalpel.

And yet

So much

Hate and ignorance

From her time

Remains.

To be fought

By mine

And future generations

To make Ms Jorgensen's dream

A reality.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: For more information, about Ms Jorgensen's life, please click on the following linking: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christine_Jorgensen

In Canada, the provinces of Ontario and British Columbia, are the only two provinces, which allows a transperson, to change their gender, on their birth certificate. without having to undergo, any type of surgery that may be viewed, as a form of SRS.

Poetic Letter To Dad (January 15, 2016)

www.affairscloud.com

Dad

I know

You have taught me

To suppress my emotions.

As you felt

I wasn't behaving

Like a six

Or seven year old boy.

And not

The real me

Who I viewed

As a girl.

A lesson

I have learnt

All too well.

But now

Dad

We need to

Part company

On this

For my continuing healing.

True

In the past

I have used

My pent-up anger

As an energy source

On steroids.

As

I waged war

Against the systematic barriers

Society has placed

Before me.

In regarding

My various learning disabilities

Abuse survivor

Constant struggle

With mental illness

And being

A transsexual.

I promise you

Dad

This doesn't mean

Mom's and M's actions

Are forgotten

By me.

Doing so

Would be saying:

"The Nazis didn't kill

Over 6 million Jews

Or used death camps

To so."

But

Am scared

By releasing

These suppressed emotions.

I'll experience

More bouts

Of PTSD rage.

Like the ones

I have experienced

In the past.

Which

A murderous rage

Consume my soul

Leaving nothing behind.

Only reason

I am not rotting

In a federal jail cell

Psychiatric hospital

For the criminally insane

Or six feet under.

Is pure luck

Of being isolated

From this person

Who sparked this rage.

Alas 

They don't know

Of this

And hope

They never do.

Soft sigh

Escapes my lips

As I hope

My worse fears

Are totally groundless.


Therisa © 2016




Author's note: Occasionally, I write these poetic notes, to my love ones, like this, to my dad (who died November 15, 1998), as a way of expressing those thoughts that I have trouble speaking, out loud. Only wish, I could have told him, the truth, about myself, being transsexual, before his untimely death.