By Therisa Godwaldt
© 2014 and 2017 Therisa Godwaldt
All rights Reserved
Stigma Of Survival
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.
July 1, 2018
Toronto, Ontario
A sad and bitter sigh escapes, from my raw bitten lips, with this growing level of internal anger. Fighting against, these brutal flashbacks, and childhood memories, of being beaten; physically, verbally, and psychologically; I took, from the other boys and my younger brother; on the schoolyard, and at home. On top, of the chronic psychological abuse, from my mom, destroying, whatever boundaries, I have tried to establish, over the years, growing up. Leaving me, with destructively low levels of self-confidence, self-esteem, and self-worth.
Struggling to keep my bile from rushing forth and flooding my mouth, with the rising tide of nausea, at those hateful words, they spat out, at me, with venom. While the physical bruises and cuts have healed, the mental ones are, still, very toxic to my soul, where I just want the pain to end, regardless, of the method to do so.
It had gotten to the point, I was read, the mental health riot act, by my doctor, after one of my suicide attempts, in November 2013. Warning me, my next attempt would land me, in the psychiatric ward, of Saint Gabriel Hospital, for a period of 72 hours observation. Determining, whether I'm committed, for some type of "treatment", by the attending psychiatrists, there. In the form, of a pharmacological or talk therapy, by the doctors there. Or be released, outright.
Having kept quiet, about another failed attempt, for several days, before telling anyone about it. You see, the clinic, I go to, is one of those satellite offices, operated, by the hospital. Scattered, throughout the downtown core.
Never mind, some members of its psychiatric staff, are blatantly transphobic, as I discovered, during a psychological assessment, which I used to apply, for a disability support program, due to my chronic bouts of depression and suicide attempts. Never realizing, I was struggling with various anxiety disorders, PTSD, and agoraphobia. Ironically, during the assessment, I had one of my suicide attempts, and she writes; I am not clinically depressed. Go figure.
Trust me, when I say, I was royally pissed at the psychiatrist, in the manner, which she handled my assessment. Bleeping b*tch. Throughout the assessment, she tried to trip me up, by constantly, asking her questions, repetitively, hoping to get an angry response, but none come. You would think, after the second hourlong session, of failing to get a response, she would change her tactics, in her assessing me, but no. Grrr! Worse, she never let me, totally explain my experiences to her, and why I had trouble looking her, in the eye. As she constantly cut me off, when I tried to mention my abusive past and violence, I lived through, both verbally and physically.
Wish, I could say, that was my last suicide attempt, but had 2 more attempts, before my last one, on January 2, 2015, having everything lined up, for overdose, in the bathtub. Except, I couldn't follow through on it. Something was stopping me, for acting, upon my intentions, that night.
Before you ask, my earliest memories, of an attempting suicide, is about the age of 9, or thereabouts. Since then, I have lost count of the number of times, I have tried to embrace the void of Death's embrace.Walking away, feeling angry, at myself, for not having the needed drive, to complete this task, of mine. In calling, myself, a fucking coward, for these failed suicide attempts.
I know, we have all heard about the suicide stats, for the trans-community, where 1/3 of us, will attempt suicide, by the age of twenty. Guess, I'm an overachiever, with my head start, at the age of 9. Lucky me.
Oops. Pardon my rudeness, for not introducing myself, to you. My name is or used to be, Timothy Anthony Godwin. As Timothy, being the anglicized version, of my dad's brother Dutch name, Timeon. In honouring my late uncle, who choked to death, before my birth, on a piece of phlegm, during an asthma attack, as his wife, my aunt held him. Think, the Goddess must be laughing, Herself, silly, at the irony of this. Like my deceased uncle, I suffer, from asthma, too.
Nowadays, since my transformation, it's been Therisa Anne Godwin. Yeah, I know my parents "tag"ged, with my birth name. Know, this may sound bizarre, but I was taught, as a child, that family comes first, and my new name is, a way of honouring them. Given they would have named me, Theresa, had I been born female, instead of, male.
They fall
From the heights
Of Mt Olympus
Down our face.
Overburdened
With the toxic slurry
Of our lives.
Those times
We've been told
By others.
We're bleeping useless
Pieces of waste.
Never stopping
To realize
These words were
Never meant for us.
Rather
The outward expression
Of those speaking
Their own inner hate.
Scared and envious
Of us
In our boldness
To be true.
By being
The ultimate person
We can.
In saying
I love myself
Despite the hate
Tossed at us.
So wipe away
That bio-hazardous flood.
And remember
Their words can
Only have power
When we give it
To them.
A hard thing
To remember
As our soul crumbles
Under this weight
But necessary.
For Rome
Wasn't built
In a single day.
Neither
Shall our healing be
Until that day arrives
Please be gentle
And compassionate
To ourselves.
For we shall have
Our good and bad day
On this journey
To wholeness.
© 2017 Therisa Godwaldt
Author's note: For Dorthy Colleen and others (like myself), who have endure the abuse and bullying from other people, because we're different.
Hello
Old friend
Been awhile
Since our last meeting.
Not sure
Why I'm calling you
A friend.
Given
Our very destructive
Relationship
Over the years.
Which
More often
Then not
Have seen me
Trying to end
My life.
You realize
I am so tired
Of your presence
In my life.
Turning
My life
Upside down.
May surprise you
And accept your offer.
Just
To shut you
Up.
Silencing
Your seductive voice
Inside my head
Once and for all.
© 2011 Therisa Godwaldt
A small patchwork doll
Placed with love and care
Upon the top shelf.
Easily overlooked
By most people.
What chance does
A stuffed cloth doll
With red yarn hair
Have against
A fine porcelain doll
With real human hair.
Dressed
In the latest
Haute cloture fashion
In sharp contrast
To her plain cotton shift.
So easy
To picture
A small girl clutching
This patchwork doll
Everywhere she went.
Sharing
Her joys and sorrows
More importantly
Her heart's dreams.
A younger sister
She never had
Though wished for.
Just her
And a younger brother
Polar opposites.
Unlike
The porcelain dolls.
Her mom
Only permitted her
To touch
On special occasions.
Fearing
She would break
Them.
Not
She didn't like them.
Rather
In her mind's eye
They were too pretty
To play with.
Relieved
When placed
Onto the shelves
Again.
© 2008 Therisa Godwaldt
Reaching up
I grasp the patchwork doll
Within my hand.
Noticing
For the first time
As I turn it over
Various repair jobs.
From her mom's strong
And confident stitching
To Ellie's loose
And inexperienced stitching.
Tears
Run down my cheeks
Streaks of black mascara
Marring my face
Before landing on the doll.
Remembering
Your final hours
How you needed
Everything to be
Your way.
Your refusal
Of my urgent pleads
To leave the nightclub
Before it's closing.
Only
This once
I wish you
Had listened.
But
As the old saying goes
Hindsight is
Always perfect.
In my mind
Can still picture
The accident.
As if
Shot on an HD camera
In crystal clear detail.
Like
It was yesterday
Not eight years
Of haunted sleep.
Begging
One more song
Ellie you know
I could never turn down
Your puppy dog eyes
Able to melt
The hardest of hearts.
Knew better
To admit defeat
Heading back
To the dance floor.
One song
Turn into another
Before the last song
Was announced.
A quick glance at my cell
Show an hour later
Then I like
But worth
Your blissful look.
Stepping out
The September night air
Slams us
Like a sledgehammer.
Shivering
In our sweaty clothes
As goose bumps
Upon goose bumps
Covered our bodies.
With chattering teeth
I tried to hail a cab.
Why
Did Fate have
To take you
Ellie?
Gladly
I would have
Traded places with you
Just ten paces away
From me.
More
An earwitness
Then an eyewitness
To the accident.
Screeching
Of brakes locking up
Thump of a body
Hitting a car
People screaming.
Driver tries to flee
Your body trapped
Underneath.
Could not look away
As it unfolded
A surrealistic nightmare
Come to life.
© 2008 Therisa Godwaldt
By Therisa Godwaldt
© 2008 Therisa Godwaldt
All rights Reserved
An angry feminine voice
Jars me
Back to the present.
My eyes
Bleary from crying
Realizing
It was your mom.
Hastily
Wiping my eyes dry
Turn to face her.
Knew
She was talking
But didn't understand
Her.
Slowly
Her words penetrated
My mental fog.
Judging
From her voice's pitch
She has been yelling at me
For a while.
"James Robert McLeod!"
Wincing
As I heard
My birth name.
"What the fuck
Do you think
You are doing here?"
Her angry words
Washed over me
Like fast moving
White water through rapids
Scouring my soul.
Slowly
The attack petered out
Producing an angry red mask
Upon your mom's face
Impossible to reason with.
Dimly
I heard
"Get the fucking hell
Out of my house!!!"
Coat and boots
In hand
Am left wondering
Where did I
Go wrong?
Quietly
I stepped out
As a cold December
Wind and rain
Greets me.
Shivering
Under the porch
From anger and the weather
Hoping to reach you
My love.
Defender
Of my Light
In this land of darkness.
Figures
The porch is a dead zone
Either wait and hope
You are early.
Or
Stand out
In the rain
And make the call.
Stepping out
Damn it
Wish I had brought
My umbrella.
No point
Crying over spilt milk
Rain dripping down my back
Sending icy shivers
Throughout my body
Darkening my foul mood.
Two steps away
Cell phone starts to ring.
Quick glance
Showed your number
My saviour.
In a single breathe:
"HiJanice
Imstandingoutside
Waitingforyou
Itwasadisaster."
Rich sound
Of your voice
Greets my words
Comforting me
Like a warm blanket
On a cold night.
Next breathe
I hear you say
Five more minutes
Brightening my mood.
Only
Five more minutes
Repeated over and over
To myself.
Longest five minutes
In my life
Never liked waiting
Even as a child
Pacing back and forth.
Constantly
Looking at the cell phone
Willing it
To move faster.
Remembering a line
From an old Love and Rocket's song
"And the minutes dragged..."
Forgetting the rest of the song.
So frustrated
It loops around
In my mind.
Hurry up
Janice.
Falling
Into the kid's game
Asking myself
"Is it time yet"
Driving myself batty
Stopping to look
For your approaching car.
Seriously
Thought of phoning you
When your car appeared
Two blocks away
Lifting my dark mood.
How
I wish you were
Standing beside me
Leaving this bad Karma behind
Moving forward.
Wish
I had a camera
To show you
Your Mona Lisa smile
Which you deny having
Smile of a sweet mystery.
Only if
I could give back it
To you
Janice.
© 2008 Therisa Godwaldt
A few false steps
In finding Ellie's grave
Appreciating the personal space
Of a few moments alone
Before joining me.
Placing your hands
On my shoulders
In support and love.
Silently
We stand.
My mind
Reruns that fateful night
Tears running down
My cheeks.
Taking the patchwork doll
Holding it
Against my lips.
Tenderly
Kissing it goodbye
Placing the doll
On the grave.
Overwhelmed
By guilt and sadness
I bolt towards the car
Just missing
Several gravestones.
Your warning
Fell upon deaf ears
As I trip
On the uneven ground.
Stumbling back to the car
Covered in mud
No memory of falling
Or how the mud
Got into my ears
Remains a mystery.
Can imagine
The look of disgust
Upon your face
Seeing your clean interior
Covered in mud.
Think
I smiled that thought
As your eyes shoot daggers.
Sighing
Softly to myself.
Wondering
If it was too late
To go back to bed
Without set off
Any more landmines.
Or least
Minimize the damage.
Daring
A sly glance
You reward me
With your brilliant smile
Filling the car
With love.
Will
I ever be
Able to read you?
As
I shake my head
In mock despair.
Giggling
You push me
Against the door.
Wiping
Your finger
Down my muddy nose
Dabbing the tip.
Before
Withdrawing
Leaving a streak
Down the middle
Of my face.
Feeling
Like a bird
Trapped as
A cat's plaything.
Unsure
If the next swipe
Will be the last.
Never
Seen you
This playful
Scared to ask.
Could not handle
Losing you
Janice.
Like removing
A blind person's sight
Only after
Having discovered it.
"Everything is fine
Jacqui."
Attempting
To reassure me
But felt like
I was standing
In quicksand.
Sinking fast
Without hope.
Planning
My exit strategy
Should you leave me
Whatever method
It would be
Quick and painless.
"Jacqui
Stop this
I am not dying
Or planning to leave
You hear me.
"Oh Jacqui
You are my love
My inspiration
My soulmate."
Tenderly
Caressing my face
Kissing my forehead
Our tears mixing
Wanted to believe
But can not.
My hands in yours
Resting on the car console
Relaxing
Under your loving touch.
Uncertain
How to take
The next step
Wait or ask the question
What is bothering you.
Silently
I waited.
"Uhm Jacqui
Not sure
How to tell you
But we are going
To be parents.
"Am hoping
For a daughter
Who'll be named
In honour of Ellie."
Felt like someone
Had kicked
The reality out of me
Cast adrift
In Never Neverland.
Slowly
Your words cut
Through the fog.
Me
A parent
Wanted to laugh
At this absurd thought.
Except
It was true.
Saw your lips moved
Yet heard no sound
Repeatedly
Asking a question
Before I understood.
An easy question
Almost embarrassing
Simple answer
Blushing
At the thought.
Had trouble pronouncing
My "h" and "n"
When young.
Thus
Helen became Ellie.
World knew her
As Helen
To me
She is forever
Ellie.
Your laughter broke up
The emotional scar tissue
From her death
Easing the guilt
I carry.
Deft hands
Measuring out the thread
In preparation
Of mending a tear.
Skill honed
By long practice
Lovingly stitch
The ripped edges
Repairing my torn heart.
© 2008 Therisa Godwaldt
Forty years ago
A child was born
Into this world.
Perfect
In all ways
With ten fingers
And toes.
No visible signs
Of a birth defect
Except one.
Only known
To the child.
Not a defect
As society understands
But a greater truth.
That burns
With the intensity
Of a white-hot flame.
Removing all doubt
In the child's mind.
She takes small steps
Within the safety
And privacy
Of the bathroom.
Dipping a cautious toe
Into the waters of femininity
Testing the temperature
Before plunging head-first
Into the pool of life.
Filling herself
With the confidence
Only a young child has.
In expressing
Her desire
To be Wonder Woman.
Looking back
A brave
But
Very risky move
In a small rural Ontario village.
You know
The type of place
Everyone knows
Your name and life history
And cows outnumber people.
Gossip and bad news
Compete against each other
Like two drivers
Spoiling for a race.
Testing their speed
Spreading the news
On the local phone company's
'Party-line'.
Hostile and angry glares
Greet the child
Instead of
Open arms
And warm smiles.
If looks could....
Dimming the flame
From white-hot
To a dull yellow hue.
As the child sought shelter
By burying
This part of themselves
In a hidden corner
Of their soul.
Still
The flame burns.
Standing
Like a beacon
Lighting the trail
Throughout
The hostile wilderness
Society has become.
Enduring chronic bouts
Of depression
And anxiety.
Shed
Not a tear
For that child is
I.
Now an adult
Walking the path now
So long
Brighten
By the dim flame.
Once more burning
White-hot
Having found herself.
© 2010 Therisa Godwaldt
By Therisa Godwaldt
© 2011 Therisa Godwaldt
All rights Reserved
Stacey stood
Before the glass shelves
Barely moving a muscle.
Where Jane
Her older sister
Kept her valuable collection
Of porcelain dolls.
She had been warned
Numerous times
To never touch them.
But
Temptation kept her
Coming back
For one more touch.
“It’s not fair
Jane gets dolls
And I don’t”
Stacey thought to herself.
The Grandfather clock
Started to chime 4 pm
In the living room.
A panicky Stacey
Raced from Jane’s room
Into her own.
Changing back
Into her “male” self
Before she outed herself
To the family.
Stacey is
A 12 years old boy
Named Stuart.
Who'd been dressing up
For the past 3 years
Before realizing
He's a girl trapped
Inside a boy’s body.
Although
He hasn't tried Jane’s
Or his mom’s make-up
Yet.
Only
A matter of time
Before he does.
Normally
He put away
All his feminine clothing
Without any visible signs
To be seen.
Bought
Last summer
At a local thrift shop
On a friend's dare.
In his mad dash
To change back
A stray pair
Of navy blue nylons
Poked out
From the highboy dresser.
As Jane poked her head
Into his room
To see
Where he was
And doing what.
Since the house
Was totally quiet
Quite unusual for Stuart
Since he played
The Cure
24/7.
A quick scan of his room
Showed Stuart
Sitting on his bed.
Trying to understand
But growing frustrated
With the assigned math homework
Which he could not grasp
The principles behind
The trig questions.
As her eyes roam over
The rest of the bedroom
She saw the telltale nylons
But choose not to mention them
Yet.
Not quite sure
What to make of them
Wondering
If they had been taken
From her nylon drawer.
But wanted solid proof
First before a confrontation
As she left him
Alone.
Catching Jane’s disappearing head
Stuart let out
A sigh of relief.
Only to see
The toe of the nylons
Sticking out
Of their hiding spot.
“Oh God
Please pretty please
Don’t let Jane see
Those navy blue nylons”.
Silently
He pleaded.
Hoping for the best
Fearing the worse.
Knowing
Jane will use this
Against him
Like she always does.
Dejectedly
He replaced the nylons
Back into their hiding spot
Gently shutting
The dresser drawer.
By Therisa Godwaldt
© 2011 Therisa Godwaldt
All rights Reserved
Two weeks
Since the last time
Stacey had dressed up.
Freely walking
Around the house
As herself
And not
The hated Stuart.
Promising herself
To be more careful
In tidying up
And putting away
Her clothes.
Before someone saw her
Specifically Jane.
Unbeknown to Stacey
Jane has installed
A small camera
Among her doll collection.
Hoping to catch Stuart
Touching them
Without permission.
Except
Jane wasn't expecting
What she saw
On her monitor
When she got home
Tired from work.
She saw her baby brother
Dressed completely
As a young girl
Wearing a light blue
Polka dotted calico dress
With navy blue leotards
And black patent
Mary Jane's shoes.
The face was completely free
Of any make-up
Except for
The black nail polish
On her fingernails.
Her long glossy dark brown hair
Was divided into pigtails
Two golden hoop earrings
Hung from each ear.
“Holy shit”
Escaped her mouth
Before she realized it.
Hoping
No one heard her.
Playing back several times
The image of Stacey
Longing to hold
One of Jane’s dolls
In her arms.
Her hands straying
Just inches away
From totally disobeying
Jane’s command.
“What am I
Going to do with him
And his desire
For my dolls”.
Jane thought to herself
Not knowing
Where he got his outfit from
Except it was not
From her’s
Or mom’s closet.
Should I tell mom
About his cross-dressing
Hoping to put an end
To his desire to hold
One of her dolls.
Or keep quiet
And see
Where this leads to
Before she blows the whistle
On him?
By Therisa Godwaldt
© 2011 Therisa Godwaldt
All rights Reserved
A month had since
That fateful afternoon
And Jane still did not know
How to handle this situation
With Stuart.
If she went to mom
There would be trouble
For all of them
Should dad find out
About Stuart’s crossdressing.
The divorce
Was painful enough
Without additional pain
For all involved.
For several weeks
Stuart refused
Any contact with dad.
Feeling
He was responsible
For the divorce.
Thus
Punishing himself
As a result.
No matter
What mom and dad
Tried to explain
To him.
Sighing to herself
As she grew
More frustrated
Over how to handle it.
Jane knew
She had to talk
With mom
Regarding this problem
Before dad found out.
But
When would it be
A good time and place
To do so.
This
Jane did not know
And was afraid
To ask.
Should she use
A hypothetical situation
Which she would describe
The dilemma facing her
Concerning Stuart.
Or just go full force
With her information
Letting the chips lay
Wherever
They may lie.
Damn the consequences
To the family
In telling mom
About Stuart’s
Secret crossdressing.
Jane wrestled
With her conscience
Concerning her decision.
As she grew
More withdrawn
And moodier.
Snapping
At everyone
Who disturbed her.
By Therisa Godwaldt
© 2011 Therisa Godwaldt
All rights Reserved
“Mom
What would you do
If you knew someone
And had secretly caught them
In female clothes?"
“Why do you ask
Jane?”
Her interest
Now peaked
By Jane’s question.
Wondering if
This had anything
To do with Stuart.
Which she had know
For years
About his need to express
His feminine side.
“One of the girls
At school
Has a brother
Who she has caught
Doing so.”
"And she does not know
How to tell her parents
So I wondering
If you could help me
And I would give her
Some advice”.
Hearing Jane describing
This dilemma
Her mom smiled
And shook her head.
“Jane
If you mean Stuart
I have known
About this need
To express
Her feminine side.
"Two years ago
She shared this
With me”.
A stunned Jane
Stared at her mom
Not entirely sure
She heard right.
Mom knew about it
And didn't stop him.
“She requested
I call her Stacey
When she is wearing
Feminine clothing”.
Stopping
To see how
Jane was handling this
Before she continued onwards
With Stacey’s future plans
For herself.
“You knew about him”
Jane squeaked
At her mom
As the information
Sunk into her conscience.
“Yes dear”
Again she smiled.
“Why was not I told
About this mom?”
A look of hurt
Spread across Jane’s face.
“Honey
It wasn't my decision
To make.
"Rather
It’s Stacey’s
And she wasn't ready
To share."
“Oh”
Jane said.
“Would Stacey mind
If I let her know
I know now
Too?”
“Let’s go ask Stacey
And see.”
By Therisa Godwaldt
© 2011 Therisa Godwaldt
All rights Reserved
A quick knock
On Stacey/Stuart’s bedroom door
Was greeted by
A hurried
“Just one moment please”.
“It’s ok Stacey
You do not have hide
Anymore”
Jane told her
Through the closed door.
Slowly
The door open
A half dressed Stacey
Looked out.
Not sure
If she had heard right
From her big sister.
“You heard right Stacey
From me.”
Jane rushed forward
Crushing Stacey
In a fierce hug.
“If it's ok with mom
You can dress up
Anytime you feel the need
To do so.”
Huge beaming smile
Lit up Jane’s face
As she spoke those words.
“But
You can't touch
Any of my dolls
That you so
Want to.”
Reminding Stacey
Of the prohibition against
Touching the dolls.
“But things
Have known
To change around here".
By Therisa Godwaldt
© 2011 Therisa Godwaldt
All rights Reserved
Stacey had decided
To dress up
For her 13th birthday
Wearing the new dress
Mom had given her
As a birthday present.
Running her hands
Down the side of
The pale blue dress
As they waited
For Jane to exit the car.
Scared
Yet excited
By being in public
For the first time
As a young girl.
Stacey's hands were sweating
From her nervousness
But it was too late
To back out now.
Linking her right arm
Around mom’s left arm
As the three of them
Entered the restaurant
Where they always
Went for birthday celebrations.
Dad was already there
And had been seated
By one of the serving staff.
At first
He didn’t recognize
His youngest child
Stuart/Stacey.
As Jane had taken the time
To show her
How to properly apply make-up
Another gift from mom.
“Jack
Before you get angry
And do something extremely stupid
You need to know
We have two daughters now.”
Mom laid the law
In an icy voice
Brooking no argument
From dad.
“Not in my home
Will I allow my son
To be turned into a sissy
By you and Jane!”
He bitterly retorted
Walking out of the restaurant.
“Am sorry
You had to experience this
Stacey”.
Mom placed her arms
Around a sobbing Stacey
Trying to consolidate
Her youngest daughter.
Unknown to Stacey and mom
Jane had brought
A long box
Wrapped
In feminine birthday paper
Into the restaurant.
“Here you go
Sis.”
A huge smile
Was painted
On Jane’s face
Matching Stacey’s.
As she handed Stacey
Her birthday present
One of her porcelain dolls
From her collection.
Knowing full well
The impact her words
And gift
Would have Stacey
And the rest of the family.
But she did not care
As long as Stacey
Was happy.
Being
Who she is:
A young woman
Blossoming
Into her own.