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Various - Tara

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"

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