I'm Not Ready Yet Do you remember it?
so the hell begins all over again
she brings up a past I do not wish to speak of
in hopes that my sour outlook will turn a different tune
is it too much to ask for some peace?
Not much.
replying is risky
too much said and it will rip the bandaid off without a warning
too much anger and you’ll dig into the healing flesh
too many tears and you’ll collapse when you get home
again
What do you remember?
i do not know if she is brave or stupid
such questions would not be tolerated in my world
does she not know that by now?
i know she wants a reply
i know that i’m holding too much on my plate
that i’m balancing on a wire too high to fall from safely
but how can i remain calm as she
when my tears flow too quickly
when my coughs turn into dry heaving
when my soul feels too flat to get up
from that fucking uncomfortable chair when the session time is over
what happens then?
I don’t want to remember it, though.
i settle for those words
they don’t leave too many wounds
and for once it’s the truth
she makes a softened face
i almost want to believe she feels sympathy towards me
i want to believe that it’s anything other than pity
i know pity much too well
do i trust her or do i not?
I want to forget everything that he did to me.
oh no
it’s about to all pour out
All of the sweet nothings he whispered after it was done.
it’s vomit
it’s all verbal vomit
i can smell the taste collecting in the back of my throat
Like I wasn’t disgusted with what just happened. Like I wasn’t shaking from terror.
is this only verbal vomit
or am i actually going to puke?
Oh god, why couldn’t he see the pain? He was supposed to care for me. Not fucking use me! I wasn’t a rag doll!
the dam broke
the tears are flowing
i need a bucket or bag
this isn’t going anywhere helpful
the rest of the session draws a blank in my mind
i can’t remember
and even if i could
why would i want to why would I want to remember
what came after the tears
what came after the hyperventilating
what came after the drive home that had to be tasked to my mother
all because i couldn’t handle this pain
why would i even bother to remember?
It happened nine years ago. We all need time to process. It’s time that you give yourself the chance to grieve properly. It’s time for you to let yourself feel all of the emotions you’ve bottled up all this time.
Tiny Tanaka is a poetry and prose writer, recovering addict, Hafu-sprinkled with Korean heritage, lesbian, who happens to have borderline personality disorder. They fight for intersectional feminism, LGBT+ rights, and to end the stigma of mental illnesses.
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