Poem - Next Time

 

I’m out of words

My jar of vocabulary is empty

Hollow

Void

Like my heart

 

If only my mind would join the party

Switch off and allow the thoughts to drain away

The feelings I don’t want to feel

The memories that make me want to

Scrub away at myself

So hard that my skin disintegrates

And I am nothing left

 

The blood, circling the drain

Like a crimson tornado

Round and round

My very essence

Being drained away

Giving life to others

 

My body is not my own

After so long I was foolish

Naïve

I thought I finally owned my self

But I don’t

I never have

I’m just an object

A prized possession

Kept hidden away

Until I’m needed

And used

And put away again

Until next time

 

There’s always a next time.

Poem - Gaslighting Me

 

Do you believe me now?

Can you see the truth?

You deserve this life

Wretched

Wicked

Prison

 

It’s all your fault

Don’t look anywhere else

There is no other blame

But you

 

You put yourself in these positions

Where there is only one

Possible outcome

And then you play the victim

And feign surprise and pain when it comes

The inevitable

 

You deserve this

Nobody cares

You bring it on yourself

Every single time

Every single person

They just want to

Use you

Hurt you

Kill you

 

And you let them

Because you’re weak

And they can

You let them

 

You’re not a survivor

You’re not a victim

You bring this to yourself

And you allow it to happen

 

They all hurt you

They all abuse you

They all hate you

 

Why can’t you see it?

Why don’t you hate yourself yet?

Poem - Window

 

There's a girl in the corner

Sitting across from where I am.

I see her through the window.

She looks broken

She looks devoid of colour;

Of sentiment; of feeling.

 

She looks up.

Her eyes bore into mine

Black

Nothing in those eyes but

Black sorrow

She looks away

Flushed

with Embarrassment

and perhaps,

Envy?

 

Her eyes examine the room

Girls are chatting

Comparing their outfits, accessories,

UGG boots.

They go about their lives

Without the slightest idea of anyone else's

Problems.

 

She looks on at them,

Yearning.

Desperate for a slice of their lives.

Perfection.

 

She picks up a pen

And looks back into my eyes

She holds my stare with her coal-like gaze

And I feel 

Uncomfortable.

 

She presses the pen into her hand;

Piercing the skin

Mixing ink with blood.

 

I am startled and yet I cannot look away.

 

Her eyes, still trained on mine

I feel a prick in my own hand

I look down and see the crimson blood.

 

I stand.

I try to find the girl sitting in the next room

She has gone.

 

I am against the wall

I look back through the window;

My eyes searching the room

Through the sheet of glass

 

At last,

My eyes rest upon the familiar

Coal-black circles

And I realise

 

The window is a mirror.

A Past Life Regression

 I'm testing out a new theory...

I think my therapist was right when she suggested that a lot of my trauma comes from my early childhood experiences, and we'll get to that, but I believe that the majority comes from the time I spent in an abusive relationship between ages 15-20. (You can read a little bit about that here)

These years were so crucial in my adolescent development. "Adolescence is a particularly dynamic period of brain development, second only to infancy in the extent and significance of the neural changes that occur." and due to those changes, and what is known as " developmental plasticity" there is a higher risk of vulnerability and malleability (see article here for more information.)

The five years I spent in this relationship, as well as the years closely following my leaving, should have been a precious period in my life where I made friends and learned how to socialise and navigate grown-up relationships. Where I discovered who I am, apart from my family, and where I started to form my own opinions about the world around me. I should have felt safe to explore and experiment and find myself.

Instead, I was stunted and had my beautiful wings clipped just as they had started to grow. As a result, I have absolutely no idea who I am, and I struggle with social things like making friends and maintaining relationships. 

So now, eighteen years later, I'm going back. I've identified the starting point of my transition as the beginning of my relationship with Andrew so I'm starting there. Who was I before then? What did I enjoy? Who did I enjoy spending time with? What did I like to eat, drink, listen to, read, wear?

As C.S. Lewis wrote in his 1942 novel, The Screwtape Letters, "The deepest likings and impulses of any man are the raw material, the starting point". So if you see me dancing around my kitchen to Yellowcard or NOFX, or scribbling away furiously with Evanescence belting out in the background, just go about your business, because I'm working on a theory!

Still from Drop Dead Fred, 1991
(Polygram Working Title Films)

There's every chance that I'd have changed anyway in these past eighteen years, but it's a starting point. 

It sounds silly, but there's a scene in the film, Drop Dead Fred, where Elizabeth goes into her subconscious and sees herself as a child, bound to her bed by her controlling mother. She unties her, saying, "We don't have to be afraid anymore", and they hold each other for a moment before the child Elizabeth disappears and grown-up Elizabeth is sitting there alone, obviously in a state of daydreaming. 

This scene has always resonated with me and I so wish that I could do this. That I could go and find myself as a young child, and promise her that things will be okay, that I'm here, and that we can get through anything together.

In order to find out who I was back then, I need to go there. Back to where life was simpler. Back to where I was safe (strangely, even after a history as traumatic as mine, I felt safe). I desperately hope that she's there and we can start healing together.