Trained not to Look
Closing my eyes when the doctor touches me
I’m so filled with shame
Going to the hospital because my abdomen was tender
And I’d been doubled over in pain
Its childhood training, I suppose,
As a nurse prodded, she asked ‘why are you shutting your eyes?’
I didn’t want to see
And on both beds a part of me died
It hadn’t occurred to me that others didn’t do that
Yes, I was uncomfortable being touched
But it was a cross between passively dissociating
Submitting, And feeling scared when it was too much
I felt a flash of fear in my eyes going to the dentist
Just wanted to shut them and zone out
Thought we all have to endure
Denying panic was what life’s been about
Sensations I feel in my body..
Is it really my body or just a shell?
Clenching in the pit of my stomach
Nausea, trouble swallowing…violent invasions
And dirty sickness, I’ll never tell
Putting my hand up to my own throat
Watching my skin go white
Colour draining, guts drop to the floor
Painful intensity of the fright
What exactly happened?
And that lurching feeling, thinking you already know
Weird around medical professionals, not defining flashbacks
Disguising my secret, ashamed to let it show
You did this, it’s not my fault
Feeling faint with tender bruises to the soul
A yellowy brown, the icky repelling loneliness
Captures all control
Help Me, Don’t Put Your Hands on Me
Ashamed to let my GP touch me
because she knows ‘where I’ve been’
She’d be repulsed at my violated body
And inside I want to scream
I wear baggy clothes, I’m contaminated
And I just want to cover up
Not just my body but my feelings
The vessel that no one can touch
The frustrated screams, shut them down
Supress them, do anything to contain and keep them in
Even if you articulate who would care
The tantrum is a hassle, a child crying within
If I cry who comes to soothe me
Comfort me and smother me with love
Asking too much wanting cuddles
Instead I disconnect and fly up above
The filthy, naughty little body
learning to soothe, you only have yourself
My soul is just an instrument
There for anyone but this self
But I developed an imagination
Had hopes, desires and dreams
My achievements were no thanks to you
And nothing was as it seemed
"Not trusting my own judgement and living a life of self - doubt, these are my abuse - led tears and tantrums - uncovering what they were really about. The shame of my behaviour and intensity never fully expressed. My feelings were never validated and mould grows when it is left"