“It’s Good to Talk …”

Tags

awareness, compassion, counselling, counsellor, creativity, emotion, fears, healing, journey, Julius caesar, letting go, mental health, mind, opportunity, pain, self-knowledge, therapy

Image: Courtesy of TheCrazyBagLady

HEALING HURT
(Talking Therapy)

In moments of pure fantasy
And wild imagination
I fancy that Karen could be
Just distantly
Related to Julius!

But I’m rudely awakened
And snap back to reality
As beaming, in black she beckons me
To her small but cosy surgery

Karen Caesar sees me as
Her work in progress
She’s dedicated to releasing
And decreasing the pressure

That calls me religiously
Each fortnight on a Friday
To discuss with some intensity
The demons that bind me

For Karen Caesar
Explained her calling
At the end of a session
Which begged me to question

The degree of her ability
To address the responsibility
Of dealing with healing
The complexity of the human psyche

Karen Caesar tells me
That caring seized her
From a very young age
And at the stage

Where she felt that
She was able to lend her
Tender, and compassionate bearing
To caring for victims
Whose minds were so painfully hurting

It’s a splendid opportunity
This talking therapy
To engage with a professional
As dedicated as Karen
Caesar, who certainly aspires

To deliver with some certainty
A tireless and dedicated approach
And unstinting efficacy

To help her patient,
Speak, cry or remain silent
In her surmountable journey
Of feeling, healing and self discovery!

Dedicated to Dr Karen Caesar

This poem was written eight years ago, but I thought it tied in nicely with my posts on agoraphobia which having spanned 17 years of my life to date has had an enormous impact on my life and the way I live. My counsellor encouraged my creative side which emerged in the form of poetry as I started my healing journey. She said very kindly when we parted after a year in counselling that she would be the first to buy my poems if they were ever published.

I also want to thank TheCrazyBagLady for allowing me to use her sketch in this post. I saw it months ago before I even decided I was going to write about agoraphobia, but I felt at the time that it was such a beautiful sketch that I would one day use it. The opportunity came today and I took it, just as TheCrazyBagLady says on her sketch: “Every day another door opens”.

And to close, in the words of British Telecom (in their sales initiative some years ago): “It’s good to talk…”

~ Marie Williams 2017

copyright Marie Williams – 2009

Florence

Tags

abuse, broken, control, cruelty, domestic vioence, escape, fears, Florence, husband, Italy, pain, physical scars, tears, therapy, wedding vows

Florence not the place in Italy. A real person, an essentially good person but flawed nonetheless. I cannot say what prompted me to write today of Florence although I had been thinking about her for a while and I wanted to share with all the beauty of a soul who suffered more than words can say, and who dwelt each day in turmoil. You see Florence was a victim of domestic violence. And Florence came to believe that that was all she deserved. She did not know how, could not know how, was unable to show the scars, the tears, her fears, instead wearing these garments like a beautiful gown thrown carefully about her person. She paid attention to this outward show: the fashion show of the broken.

Others looked but could not see her pain for she wore those garments well. Tears like a brooch pinned to her heart, covering the sorrow. Fears, a multi-coloured scarf tossed about her neck so those finger-marks a cruel necklace, red and raw were concealed a good deal of the time, even when it was not cold. Florence’s smile beguiled even those of a perspicacious nature. Even they were fooled by that smile, a smile which said all is well, but belied the sadness coiled tightly, so unsightly for the world to see.

Misfortune was the realm in which she lived, a place which foiled her every plan to escape the brutality of domestic violence. Attacks were the nature of the cruel game played out in this particular domain. Florence played the game but the rules were skewed. Skewed in favour of her husband. Her husband who she had taken for better or for worse, but it would have been better had the worse been better, but the worse was worse and featured strongly in this union if you could call it that.

Personally, I would not call it a union, but for Florence her wedding vows were sacred and she had promised and promises were not made to be broken. But her bones could be. Surely she had not promised that?

~ MEW

The Past

Tags

compass, emotion, healing, journey, memory, pain, past, philosophy, poem, poetry, present, self-knowledge, signpost, therapy

How philosophical the past has become. Everyone seems to have a view on it and it appears to be fashionable to voice it forcibly whether the situation calls for it or not. If you’re feeling blue and you don’t know what to do, some kind soul will undoubtedly advise you to “forget the past and focus on the present”. But I say, remember the past. The past: that vast territory which comes without a map, a compass, signposts and requires spatial awareness of the emotional kind. The kind that binds you to a memory, and drags you to that place, even if that is not where you intended to go. And when you get there, the constantly changing vista is never as you remember it: the pain was always more palpable, the joy jarred gently, words were welts on the prominent pathways of your psyche.

But I say remember the past: The past: that vast territory which needs preparation before you set out on it. So I say: equip yourself with sturdy walking shoes, shoes with a firm grip to keep you grounded, mentally make a map meandering mindfully through tough terrain, view the vista with new eyes, make pain a signpost to avoid and see it covered partially with weed. Strengthen your spatial awareness and eke out exits along the way. Present your passport if required and ensure it is stamped and that your visit has been recorded, so that you know that you have been there and that you can go there again. Be mindful of the knowledge that your journey has been a choice and that there are no boundaries concerning the past. It is a place that will always exist. It may not be sunshine, inky moon-lit nights, leisurely lapping sea on sand, it maybe storm-filled days, biting frost and thoughts of time to throw-the-towel-in, but the past is yours and mine. After all, we have all been there. Haven’t we?

~ MEW

Secrets

Tags

awareness, child abuse, communication, healing, hurt, metaphor, pain, peace, poem, poetry, self-knowledge, therapy

Are secrets really secrets?  How long can a secret remain a secret?  Doesn’t everything come to light at some point?

 

Secrets

Long before I knew my mind, you took away my right to know my mind, and in so doing took the very essence of me, that part of me which struggles now to know who I am; the real me.  You came and with your honeyed words drew me into a maelstrom of deceit.  I felt confused, but could not fight you because you were bigger than me in every sense of the word.  Physically, you were bigger.  Mentally you were bigger.  Emotionally you were bigger.  You were simply too big for me and I was too small.  What did you see that day you came to me, smiling, with evil in your heart, evil on your mind, evil guiding your hands?

You believed your secret was safe with me.  But you could not be more wrong.  Oh how you gloried in your misdeeds and how you luxuriated in the wrongs of someone with a secret.  You laughed mockingly at the small soul who kept your secret safe within her heart, never fearing that she could one day part with the sorrow that secret held for her.  That secret which tore her dreams to shreds, prevented the seeds of miracles to unfold.  The secret which stopped her from being bold and taking hold of all that was rightfully hers.

Ah but time has passed and with that passing has come the desire to cast aside the mire in which she passed her time, for she could not call it living.  It was a poor substitute.  The secret explodes and each dirty shard is tossed into the air, it is there for all to see.  You seek to deny it, you question the reliability and demand evidence to support the claim. Surely you are not the one to blame?

Your secret was not safe with me.

~MEW 

 

 

Every Picture Tells a Story

Tags

autobiograhy, blogging, journey, joy, pain, picture, poem, poetry, reflections, story, travel

Every picture tells a story

Pain and Joy
Planes and boats
Stormy seas
Strange food
Strange people

Pain and Joy
Bumpy landings
Dark rooms
Dark thoughts
Darkness

Pain and Joy
Acceptance and denial
Love and hate
Big and small
Shrinking
Growing

Pain and Joy
Every picture tells
A Story

~ Marie E. Williams

In The Valley

Tags

blog, blogging, depression, friendship, hope, karenzai, light, mental health, mental illness, pain, poems, poetry, re-blog, sadness, shining, valley

I have not reblogged the whole post, but have taken this paragraph from Karenzai’s blog to illustrate my poem’s message which is to be there for those who are depressed, sad, call it what you will. Be there if you possibly can. It really helps.

“Under Reconstruction”
“Musings on mental health, urban education, the sanctity of life, and other things I may come to care about.” http://karenwriteshere.com

“You don’t need empathy to support a depressed person”
“And yes, I wished I had people in my life who fit the above descriptions, and I was indeed blessed with at least one such individual, but it didn’t erase the deep pain of being “left behind”. And one thing I’ve come to realize over a few cycles of depression is this: depressed people don’t need you to empathize; they just need you. A depressed person would rather have you say all the worst possible things, rather than not have you at all.”
~ karenzai

In The Valley

Where the cold winds blow
Down in the valley
That’s where she lay
for a night and a day

She hoped that someone would
come looking in the valley
where alone and lost she lay
for a night and a day

It was hard for her
to communicate sadness
Lost in the valley
all alone in the valley

For those in the valley
All hope can seem fleeting
Shine your light on them today
Be the beacon to light their way

Down in the valley
Empathy is not needed
Sympathy is superfluous
You are all that’s needed
down in the valley

~ Marie Williams

Damaged People

Tags

blogging, cruelty, damaged, healing, imagery, metaphor, pain, peace, poetry, tranquility, trauma

Aren’t we all damaged in some way or another?  We all have baggage.  Not one of us can go through life completely unscathed.  Sometimes we do not know what to do with our pain: we hide it, we disguise it, we pretend it didn’t happen.  But no matter how much we try to leave it behind it follows us, manifesting itself in anger, depression, withdrawal.  Let’s care for our damaged brothers and sisters in whatever way we can by recognising their pain and offering love and understanding.

Damaged People

“Damaged people are dangerous”*
Are they really, I reflect
Can this be so, how do you know?
On this bright morning in a country far away
Such sorrow permeates my soul
Does that make me dangerous to know?

A morning of tears, remembered fears
Withering looks from the past
Cut the heart, tear me apart
Pain racked soul heaves my body
Causing me to tremble and shudder

Cruel words spoken with loathing
With no care for the innocent soul
Who listens carefully
And believes this to be truly
The way things could be

No! Damaged people are not dangerous
That simply is a fallacy
And one to be
Disregarded and buried
With past memories in a hurried
And impermeable coffin

Damaged people are to be loved
Taken to your bosom
Allowed to rest there
To be provided with a shady cove
A haven of peace and tranquility

Spoken to as if re-born
Gentle whispers in their ear
Reassuring them there’s no need to fear
That which hurt and broke them
Can no longer stoke the fires of pain

The embers glow now
Softly speaking of
The peace within
That poker no longer
Rakes the healing scars
It is powerless
My tortured soul’s at rest.

*Ouote from the film Damaged

© Marie Williams April 2009

Letting Go

Tags

abuse, compassion, forgiveness, hurt, letting go, moving on, pain, prison, release

Why is it so hard to let go of past hurts?  Do you know, I’ve struggled with this and try as I may, I cannot come up with the answer.  But I have tried hard to do this – saying “I forgive you”, and at the point of saying it, there is a feeling of release.  But oh how easy it is to slip back into unforgiveness!  It’s as if I am in a wrestling match, trying to overcome my opponent.  I think I have him pinned down, but then he frees himself from my hold and grips me in another hold, where I struggle to free myself from that hold in my quest to become the victor.  My conclusion is that it’s not possible to completely let go, it’s an on-going process and if you can get to a place in your heart where you feel the grip is loosening, then you will feel better.  Perhaps for some of us it is more healing to say that “I am forgiving”, rather than “I forgive” realising that it is a process and a journey (for want of a better word) and that by looking forward to that place of forgiveness, each step taken, takes you closer to your goal.  I found that trying to release my pain through this poem was a step on my way to forgiveness and letting go.  I’m guessing we all have a poem to write …

Forgiving You, For Giving Me Hell

In this beautiful place

On this beautiful balcony

Overlooking the beautiful sea

I see

My father in a different light

I begin to view his plight

 

This morning it’s not about me

This morning it’s got to be

A gradual awareness of how blessed

He is, that God has made me see

How broken and wounded this man has been.

So now I reach out

 

And without a doubt

Release him, I free him

From the prison of my heart

I say: “get off your bed, you’re free to go”

I open wide the prison door

And stand aside

 

That he might slide past me

And fly outside

That he might soar

With wings of love

Into the sky above

So long I’ve held him prisoner

 

Watched him through the window of my soul

Refused to give him parole

Screamed that he in prison would die

But now I see that he must fly

His tormented soul begs my forgiveness

And so I release him

 

I can no longer his judge and jailer be

I’d like to say, with one fell swoop I set him free

But that would be a lie

My qualifications for this job did not come easily

The tears I shed, my wounds they bled

I flirted painfully with death

 

So you see, I earned this position

‘Twas not given me

I could not relinquish without a fight

A lifetime of immeasurable hurt

But now I choose to set him free

Go on, go quickly: I will not change my mind about this clemency

 

You don’t deserve it

You misfit

You don’t deserve it

You’re so unfit

But because I choose to let you go

To lose my sorrow and my woe

 

You’re a free man

Free to leave your prison cell

Free now to dwell

Wherever you wish.

Copyright Marie Williams July 2009

Who Am I?

Tags

hurt, pain, poetry, self-knowledge, soul-searching, therapy

I’d like to think of myself as an individual with my own identity, thoughts, feelings, ideas.  But I think my very essence is made up of the people who created me and I am the sum of all of their identities, thoughts, feelings and ideas.  Whether I like it or not, the very core of me reflects my parents.  How can it be otherwise?  Is it not the same for everyone?  Although this might be the case, how I choose to be and to live my life is down to me.  I have the choice to reject or to accept those parts of me which validate who I really am.  I HAVE THE CHOICE AND SO DO YOU!

Who am I?

I am my mother’s smile

I am my father’s anger

I am my mother’s calm

I am my father’s rage

 

I speak my mother’s pain

I speak my father’s loss

I speak of what remains

I speak of plenty and of dross

 

I lived my mother’s happiness

It wasn’t hard to do,

I also lived her real distress

It was my undoing too

 

I lived my father’s struggle

I lived my mother’s peace

I lived for harmony: sweet release,

I lived ‘twixt heaven and hell

 

Who am I, then?

That’s the question:

Smile, anger, calm, rage

Pain, loss, happiness,

Struggle, peace, sweet release,

I am the sum of all of these.

That’s who I am.

 

Copyright Marie Williams – August 2009

 

Hurt

Tags

awareness, child abuse, children, healing, hurts, Kendall Person, key, monster, pain, poetry, princess, sex, violence

This amazing poem at the end of this post:  “A Princess on Every Street” by Kendall F. Person has made me focus on the real problems faced today by children.  What insight!  How very well articulated and more to the point how very true.  So many of us are the product of such a sometimes cruel world.  The third verse particularly resonates with me.  So many small girls (“princesses”) and boys (princes) walk among us feeling the pain of abuse, childhoods stolen, unable to speak of their pain because they are children.  Many can only articulate their pain well into old age or perhaps never at all.  Stolen lives – what an absolute tragedy!  Today let us think about those princes and “princesses” and allow our thoughts to heal their wounds.    A Question often asked by the abused are “Why (Did you hurt me)? They struggle with the pain for years “When Pain Came to Stay”.  They don’t understand how to deal with the “monster” – their abuser.  I hope that my poems will touch the hearts of many of you today.

Five Stroke Fourteen (or Look what you’ve made me do to you)

 The monster sits beside me

He has a caring expression on his face

“Look what you’ve made me do to you”, he says

But I shrink from his imminent embrace

 

Because I know

Deep within my spirit

He seeks to control me

 

The monster touches my bruised and battered face

He did it

In a fit

Of rage!

His hunger for control to assuage

 

Because I know

Deep within my spirit

He seeks to control me

 

And control me he does

Because he knows

That I won’t tell

And I won’t yell

“Monster!”

 

Because I know

Deep within my spirit

He seeks to control me

 

Slowly, slowly I come to realise

I am nothing, but a punch-bag in his eyes

A thing of beauty to despise

But now I bravely rise

 

Casting off the fears

Releasing uncontrollable tears

Standing tall and proud

No longer wearing sorrow as a shroud

I am free, free to be Me

Copyright Marie Williams – July 2009

 

When Pain Came to Stay

I am old and grey, and wiser now,

But does the pain go away?

No it stays another day.

Why does it stay for another day

When I want this pain to go away?

 

This pain has been my friend

He moved in with me many years ago

I don’t remember asking him to stay

In fact I barely knew his name

But he took the best room in the house

 

I was only 5, when Pain knocked on the door

“Who are you”, I said, no screamed!

A kick, then a punch, and my body flew

Through the air, Pain was not happy

To leave it there, He needed to leave his mark

 

Seemed like hours and hours

The hurt and the struggle

Knocking me, knocking me

Hurting me, the tears and the fears

Were born that day

 

And how that child pain grew

From strength to strength

And day to day, what could I do

To make pain pack his bags and leave

So that I could be so happy and free

 

I’ll never know why Pain chose me

I guess that will always be a mystery

All I know is that it fed off me

And almost brought me to death’s door

The day pain came to stay with me

 

At last Pain has decided to go

And will I miss Him? Oh gosh no!

But am I stronger for his stay; did I triumph after all?

Put it this way, the locks to that door have been changed

And Pain no longer holds a key

Copyright  Marie Williams – March 2009

 

 

WHY (Did you hurt me)?

What is the question?

Why do you ask the question?

I ask because I want to know

The answer means that I can go

 

To a place, a place of peace

A place where I’ll be able to rest

Safe in the knowledge that at last I

Can say I know the reason why

 

Is it important to ask?

You will say

Or is it better to know the why

How will it improve your day?

You say

 

Do you think the hurts will dissolve?

At last will you gain some resolve

Will the problem go away?

Or will it be the same anyway?

 

Now you confuse me

It’s as if you abuse me

By appearing to challenge

The extent of the damage

 

Why do you not see?

That the innermost core

Of my tortured soul

Seeks only to know why it pains me

 

Seems best not to ask the reason why

Best to let the problem die

Best to move forward

And that will be your reward!

 

 

 

A Princess on Every Street
by Kendall F. Person

There is a princess on every street.
We know who they are by their smiling faces,
and silver braces.
We see the pretty dresses that they wear,
and the adorable ponytails arranged of their hair.
We see them skipping down the walk,
headed off to school,
and ready for the world
because they are daddy’s little girl.

There is a princess on every street.
In the broken down apartment buildings,
and in the houses that blot the streets.
We know who they are,
even if they rarely come outdoors
by the songs they sing,
like The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow,
and other wishful things.

There is a princess on every street. Living with abusers
intent on robbing them of a childhood and a future.
We know who they are from the sadness in their eyes
and the bruises on their faces,
that hide the truth in memorized excuses.
We watch them fail their classes
lost concentration, partly to blame.
We feel them close down, isolating themselves
blocking out the world, but still living with the pain.

Clean and dirty, homeless and rich.
Every color of the rainbow,
in every country on earth.
There is a princess on every street.
And the little girls that do not know this,
please deliver to them this message
and let them know…. they are a Princess too.

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