What Doesn’t Serve You, Let It Go

KA survivor has asked us to share this poem, it poignantly reflects how painful the impact of sexual trauma and sexual abuse can be, and how having a safe space to share these feelings can help to let them go. Huge thanks and gratitude to the survivor for allowing us to share this powerful piece.

 

*Please take care when reading this poem as part of the content (in particular the 4th paragraph after the first picture) may be a trigger for some survivors. *

 

 

Thoughts swirling around, creating chaos in my mind- no direction, no way out

What purpose do they serve?

But to destroy the present or awake the senses of that were the past?

 

 

Let them go.

Let them go where?

Into the abyss of the emptiness of the mind or to pen and paper to be dealt with later?

Let go and learn to live again

To deal with a trauma, not forgetting yet recalling

Not reliving it yet remembering it all for what it was

I was not responsible

I was not responsible

 

To be able to respond to questions, not being ashamed of who I am, what I am, what I was and what I did

I was not responsible

 

I understand not only with a child’s mind yet now with an opened mind

To keep recalling and reflecting is not serving a purpose, but occupying the present

I was not responsible

 

However I feel that I was, however I know that I felt and recall those feelings, they were not my choice

This can be my choice now.

It can be my choice- not his words, his breath, his body, him in me… this can be just me

A long journey now approaching a crossroads

Not turning back yet looking ahead to the path in front

Whatever does not serve my mind needs to go another way.

I hold the map in my hands,

My own compass to direct me,

To guide me and point me back to where I need to belong

I know my bricks are within reach

I was not responsible,

Even when I feel I was and I deserved every bit of it for being me

I was not responsible,

Even though I still view a fractured image of self as a mirrored reflection

 

Wise words spoken, mind shaping a different pattern

My ship, it will be repaired

Sheltered waters await me if I let them embrace me

Clutching tight and yet holding on to images of the past

Locked into feelings, not the best way forward-

As venturing into a sea of desperate waves crashing mindlessly on a stricken deck

 

It will not serve a purpose, it will not heal, just harm

Thoughts swirling around, creating chaos in my mind- no direction, no way out

What purpose do they serve?

But to destroy the present or awake the senses of that were the past?

Let them go.

Let them go where?

Let them be processed, understood for what they were

For how they unfolded, yet did not take over

Let them go, into the ears of a listener

Into arms that can wrap around security and reassurance

They do serve a purpose, for they are part of who I am

Yet will not dictate who I am

These feeling do not serve me, they seek to destroy me

I will, slowly and surely let them go.

 

 

I am ok.

This is a poem by a survivor (who wants to remain anonymous) about moving from being “not ok” to starting to feel that they “are ok”.  We think that many survivors will be able to relate to and connect with this journey.

 I am ok

 

i.

I am not ok

What is outside is not inside

It’s someone else’s life on show

And I like that life, I wish it was mine

But the inside me is tainted, it’s wrong

And it’s so tiring keeping that part secret

It’s got so cold.

 

ii.

I think I might be ok

I spoke today, I said the words

And I was listened to, I was heard

And she believed. Me.

I performed my show life

But she said, “No. That is not you”

“It’s the inside you that matters”

“Show me”

 

iii.

My words and my truth are making light

That is starting to puncture the darkness

The shame is not mine to own

And the world that is me can be bigger

Oh, God- the journey is long

But I am travelling it, in skips and jumps and tiny scared steps

I am travelling it

And I am ok

I am ok.

Two of me

 

There is two of me.
One the confident professional, who is passionate about my job, described by colleagues as conscientious and dedicated to work
Then there is me on the inside, in the quiet times when there is no one else there.
Me that remembers the past, not wanting to believe what I recall.

There is however two of most of us.
Everyone wears some sort of mask.
Everyone may be hiding a phobia, a fear, a memory.
Everyone will at some stage put on an act, a show to those around them.

Yet, we are not everyone.
We are not ones who can forever hide behind a mask.
Our mask is surviving.
Looking back through adult eyes yet a child’s body-feeling it, seeing it in our mind’s eye.
Our mask cannot hide the triggers of our heightened senses.
It cannot dismiss the reality of seeing that someone in the corner of our eye or hearing words once said to us.

Our masks are survival mechanisms.
Built and moulded to block out pain, hurt and shame.
Carefully crafted to fool the preying eyes of the world around us.

My fear is family and friends discovering who all of me really is, my experiences
Discovering the fears and terrors that have been hidden well by the years
Tidied away into neat parcels and wrapped tightly then put away…. until now.

Now I’ve started talking about it.
Now the reality of the years is forefront in my mind.
Now the triggers occur where once they were all pushed aside, once forgotten

Now it’s real.
My mask is being slowly and carefully removed.
My fears are understood, believed.
The tightly wrapped memories in my mind are gently being unwrapped.
The inner me feels frightened,  alone and in a strange environment,  unfamiliar territory.

Yet my mask will come away.
I am unlearning the strategies once held tight that kept me safe and kept me in some control of my situation.
I am learning to forgive myself for holding myself responsible
With support I now have, and an ever present listening ear I can be reassured,
I now realise my fears, reactions and emotions are all okay- part of a healing process

We all wear a mask.
What our mask unearths is the real us.
Our mask is part of us.
Part of our survival. Part of our story.

Yet, these can be removed,
There can be just one of us, not two
The inner me can be exposed in the safety of a listening ear.
My deepest fears can be realised and I can move forward with new strategies not to hide yet to thrive.

To realise my potential without a mask
To see a future without hiding,  without clinging on the memories.
This is now possible. This is within reach.

We all wear a mask at some point
But do we all know what our masks are protecting us from?

Created not to be used

Created not to be used, abused yet to be me

Placed in a family of love and expectation. Free

Misguided choices from others led me into a situation no one else knew about

A secret harboured, kept close for too many years- I kept it quiet- I didn’t shout it out

 

Aiming to please, to be told how great I was I learnt new ways to please

Experienced strange sensations and could blank some of them out with ease

What started off as having fun was part of his game plan

He got me to think it was normal, as if he was like every other uncle- every man

 

Yet other men don’t prey on girls that are just 4 years old

And little girls just want to please and do as they are told

My normal became distorted and my view of the world changed

He should have looked after me not used me as if it was a game

 

I didn’t like it when he had his friends come round to play

They watched me please him, gave me sweets and then had their own way

I still don’t know what happened to the photos that they took

It’s like the memories come flooding back if I look in our family photo book

 

My nightmare ended when I was twelve -I still do not know why

A family argument they said- He’s no longer that nice guy.

 

I often wonder if someone knew what had happened to me

I was too scared to tell my family, to let my experiences be freed

I’m still afraid of them finding out, It would hurt their feelings hard

I am so glad that a colleague I told gave me an RSVP contact card.

My story now it is believed and nothing’s too bad to say

I can talk and write about how I feel any time of night and day

I know it wasn’t my fault it happened- they’ve helped me believe that in my heart

And slowly but surely with listening ears I’m being restored,

re-empowered, made whole- not just in part.

 

Hope

Hope

A change of tide comes about each day-
a mood of the sea, drifting with gravity
Sailing the waves, my heart rises and falls
Memories gone by, some wanting to be left alone.
some crashing , breaking on the sandy shores of my mind

 

The power of the force of water, of memory knocks me back
Takes me to places under – I don’t like it
Yet also lifts me further on, to a new place-
one of leaving the old behind
New shores, new rocks to scramble over
new beginnings for old experiences

The seasons change. The pattern of the tides change
Time changes me.
From in the depths of the harrowing winter storm season of my trauma emerges the spring tide-
some swells, some lows yet all the time moving forward

 

Healing is also for a season. The tides of my life
Time to have heart ache, feel enormous pain
To re-live the nightmares of the past that emerge as a storm into my present

 

Times of feeling dragged under water, unable to keep my head afloat, to breathe alone

 

Yet times of letting it go- letting the waves rise and fall and know i will not perish into the depths of my mind- into the total abyss of feeling the hurt, lonely, worthless, used rag that I will not continue to be

 

Knowing that as a wave takes me I am no longer alone.
I no longer become dragged down by secrets needing to be kept out of fear
I can look forward- to new shores
Remembering my past yet not being held captive by it
Swimming, not drowning, being able to stay afloat

Seasons of the sea mean that I can be healed, set free
Free to sail in a repaired and restored safe boat.
Safe to ask questions and for some to know my past
Not always waiting for high tide to crash, destroy and engulf

Living in the now- without looking over my shoulder for the ‘has beens’

I acknowledge the perils of the sea, the forces that will always be there in my mind
Yet I am learning to deal with them, not be a prisoner of them

To let it go. Let my self be okay to rise and fall to acknowledge this as normal

One day I may understand the tides of my life
Know the reasons why I ended up on this horrific path I once walked, I swam, I barely kept on.

One day is closer than yesterday, closer than when my storm came, when I barely kept afloat

One day I will no longer fear the open water of what could have been and what was.

Yet for now…. I need to stay on my boat, believe in the safety of it and know I can ride the waves.

Poem by a survivor

A survivor has kindly asked us to share the following piece of poetry.  Writing poetry can help survivors find their voices during difficult and stormy times.  We are very grateful to the survivor for sharing their poetry and we hope it can help other survivors too.

Feeling in Turmoil

Feeling in turmoil, like a boat tossed around in turbulent swells.
Remembering, like watching a 3d film, looking on. Watching. Listening. Feeling.
Distant yet there.
Removed. Not reacting. Submitting. Conforming. Letting it happen. Confused.

 

Acknowledging my responsibilities as a child were not as an adult’s.
I was there. It was happening to me yet….
It was not my fault.
It was not my fault, just as I am not responsible for the storms at sea.
It was not my fault, for I was the child in his care.
It was not my fault, even though my adult mind may creep in thoughts that it was.

 

 

Heading into calmer waters and seeing things through clearer glass.
Talking to someone who is not shocked, who listens and has the patience to hear what I don’t say.
Attempting to let go from trying to process myself
Memories stirred up, triggered by normal events of life.
My mind dealing with a torrent of emotion, feelings so real, inside so deep.

 

There is a light at the end of the tunnel.
Boats are not designed to stay in harbours yet sail free.
My life, my boat, it’s resting in calm safe shores.
Being repaired of the unseen damage not spoken of from years gone by.
Rotten wood being gently unearthed and exposed to see the true beauty that lies beneath.
A hull being restored-stronger without blemish or scarring from its past.
That’s my boat. It will be.
Heading out into the oceans of life, not looking back.

A Poem by Emma

Emma is a survivor who has started to write poetry to help healing, expression and coping. We hope her words might help you too. Thank you Emma for sharing.

~~~

A long time coming

 

Rape lasts longer than a moment,

Rape burns an imprint into the self.

 

Rape strips more than the outside

It thieves the words from your frightened mouth.

It makes you think you are different,

Like you’re deserving of this sin.

It cripples up the body

It freezes up the skin.

 

Should you ever meet a person,

Who has survived this evil act.

They’ve discovered the gift of healing.

Found blessing in attack.

 

The breadth of their compassion,

The depth within their soul,

The challenges they’ve faced,

Just to learn they’re more than whole.

 

Rape can last a lifetime,

Even if just a moment it may last,

Yet the power, with own permission can be restored,

The pain, the silence, the past.

Spirit of Strength

Spirit of strength

At RSVP we salute the strength, courage and resilience of the people that we support.  This inspiring and beautiful poem written by Zoe celebrates these qualities and describes her journey to re-discover her voice and use its power to speak out for justice.

 

 

You took my dance and you took my song

You took so much while I was so young

You stole my smile and you stole my laugh

The girl I was, you tore her apart

 

With your cruel words and your violent deeds

Your only thought – to fulfill your needs

You took my trust and you took my care

You made me wish that I wasn’t there

 

Made me believe for so many years

That what you did was what I deserved

The words I’d carved deep into my skin,

They spoke the truth of who lay within

 

These words, I now see of who they speak

Of those so cold, disgusting and weak

You’re many faces and many names

But underneath you’re all the same

 

Cowards and bullies, men with no souls

To hurt and shame – your pathetic goals!

But with all the things you took away

You failed to see what it was you gave

 

My strength of spirit is thanks to you

My courage and resilience too

And now I can speak of what you’ve done

To you, I will make sure justice comes!

 

 

 

Picture credit – Strength by Colleen McMahon used under a Creative Commons licence.

 

Purple Flowers.

Purple is the color for survivors and for campaigns to increase awareness about sexual violence and abuse.

With its origins tied to royalty, purple flowers symbolise dignity, pride and success, and  represent accomplishment and admiration. These themes beautifully describe Chloe’s journey from fear and loss to victory and celebration after sexual trauma.

Purple Flowers

By Chloe.

 

Purple flowers,

Stand to the hours

Of the “No”s ­

And the fear.

 

Purple flowers

Acknowledge the loss,

From the unexpected

Battle of nightmares.

 

Purple flowers

Speak in colour,

Out of the silence

In monochrome.

 

They do not apologise

For falling

Where no place to fall

Should have been.

 

Purple flowers

Rise in celebration

Of my victory

Within this story.

 

They lay unashamed

Of vulnerability,

With both ability

To break

And to heal.

 

Purple flowers speak

Of the scars that remain,

And the path that has led

To the person I became.

 

Purple flowers

Stand to the day,

When I realised

This was not the end.