Tali’s World

  *I am safe, I am ok I promise.  This is how I stay safe   My back against the wall Knees pulled up Hands by my side I listen Silence at first The drowning of the music helps The music stops A figure walks up This time different Tall, long arms, red all over I barely see his skin I look him over Marks on the wrist Dried over I see I don’t move and I stare He has no face like the others The arms are streaked With red and brown He kneels at me feet Stares at me Hand out We make eye contact  No movement  Just waiting Who will move I want to take his hand I can’t  I no longer want that path He gets angry As I sit on my hands His face near mine Breath smells of iron and death I turn my head Hissing sounds I can’t breath The smell is too strong Intoxicating really I fight Not today Not today

 *I am ok, I am safe Darkness creeps in The numbness follows No feeling left The screams begin Hands over my ears Trying to silence them Only to get louder Scratching on the walls Yelling to escape  Wanting to play Only for a bit The walls stained red Nails and arms scabbed Screaming at me Telling me just for a bit Music begins to blare Ahh silence  They are quiet  Just for a moment  Knowing they will start Once the music decides to stop I can see them scratching Wanting to escape I look at the gate Press my head on it I see the brick building  I can hear them from here They yell for me to open Scratching of the walls continue As red begins to show I can smell it from here I bang the gate of frustration  Calling my name Luring me in I walk away this time For how long I don’t know

  tapping of my fingers in the air  as if I was playing a piano  No music playing in my head Yet, there is tapping Both hands begin to tapping Tap Tap Tap The world looks at me Wonders what am I doing I have no clue I am doing it My chest is tight My mind is full I pace back and forth The tapping continues I finally look down and twist my fingers That doesn’t work It just made it worse My fingers are getting knitted My breathing becomes faster And I STOP I look at my hands before the tap again I look all around me ”Where is it” I say to myself Looking for something Anything  To just put in my hands To make it stop Playing the piano  Until I find it with music in my head Just the noise and the static  My head ready to pop How much fuller can it get How much more can I take? I’m going to break, if I don’t stop A sigh of relief  I pick it up Fiddle with it between my fingers Focused on the item in hand Tap Tap  Tapping I start again I hear tapping this time It’s my feet The movement trave

  My fingers tapping in the air as if I am playing a piano. My mind is racing. I can see the sirens, the person on the ground. tap tap tapping in the air the flashback continues to when I hit someone. The rush of anxiety and PTSD rushes over me like a wave. An unstoppable wave crashing. Unable to stop the waves. tapping continues I wonder if this will ever stop, this tick I have developed.  The year was 2016.  When I hit a 75 year old lady named Bonnie (name changed for identification purposes). I remember the blaring of the sirens that came flooding down the streets. Her lying on the ground. Me yelling at people not to move her.  This day has been engraved in my head. This day is when I developed my first tick.  As the years progressed I learned how to control it. I learned what worked and what didn’t. I learned some meds helped.  Even some fidgets worked. I had this down. Occasionally, I’d have a moment of flashback and my tapping would start. It would look like I was playing the key

 Yesterday I got accused being something I am not. Due to a blog I wrote on here. Which I have now taken down. In that blog I stated about an event that took place just a day prior. Was explaining, or trying to explain how people could hate a race on those factors.  The problem is, I don’t hate any race. The night of the event I had a hard time not blaming the race. I wanted to hate them. I knew deep down it wasn’t the race that caused me to feel threatened. It was the person who just happened to be a person of color.  As I was trying to explain this I had talking about how the neighborhood in question had gotten more violent, had more robberies, etc since the BLM movement. A lot of the surrounding stores were broken into. Some stores didn’t open up for days afterwards. Just a few months ago a place got robbed. How can you not explain how an environment is without stating certain things? When the event happened, it was one of the most scariest things that happened. Honestly, I didn’t k

  As I grow in therapy I start to connect dots and start to question everything about my life. Should I? Probably not.  I am trying to understand so much of what I thought was normal for me. I am learning it’s not normal.  The summer between my 7th and 8th grade years my life would change. I was 12 turning 13 that fall. That summer my step grandparents had come over like they did many times. This wasn’t new for me. They had been around my whole life. I mean their son legally changed my last name to theirs. I was 8 when that happened.  My step grandma was downstairs visiting with my dad. Her husband was upstairs with me. Again, nothing out of the ordinary for me. I was excited because this is when the box book bags came out. OMG they were the bomb in my book. They fit so nicely in my locker. As I’m going through that year's school supplies, my life would change. I would be molested right there, in my living room.  I won’t go into details. I lived with this for a couple of months. It

  My whole life I was bullied. As long as I can remember I was bullied. My earliest memory was in 2nd grade. When I was supposed to kiss a boy at recess. That the boy never showed up. I learned he was never going to. It was a joke that was being played on me. I was devastated.  As I was old enough to walk home from school the bullying got worse. At one the houses had these hard little cherries that the kids would pick. They would throw them at me for about a ½ mile. Once I got close to my house and theirs, they would stop. This was a daily thing throughout elementary school.  When we were old enough to watch Stand by Me, things got worse. The kids made fun of me like they did the kid in the movie. I was also called whale, pig, so much more. I just tried to blow it off. It always hurts.  When jr high rolled around things got worse. My mom thought it would be cute to write letters to me. Act like a boy liked me. She thought it was helping. It would boost my self esteem. Instead, it made

  I am the first one to tell a victim of domestic violence or sexual assault it’s not their fault. I do believe that it wasn’t their fault. It was the abusers/attackers fault. They choose to act in a manner that was not right. They choose to hurt the other person.   This therapy session I was asked by therapist to start to come to terms with my own abuse. Realize it’s not my fault. My question is like so many is this “ how isn’t it my fault?” How isn’t my fault when I put myself in that situation? From ages 13-15 I was assaulted in various forms. I ended up with the reputation of tease. Everything that happened to me was my fault. Right?!? I was touched inappropriately by my boyfriend and his friends at 13, to being raped R 14&-15. I made out with them and I said no. Is it my fault? I mean, I put myself in that situation. No matter how many times I pushed their hands away, the continued.  Let’s say it’s not my fault. It was my abusers fault. How about the guy who laid his hands on

As I sit there quiet this week in therapy I hear my therapist say “I see you shutting down”. For the first time I realized I was this doing in a long time. I was showing him a side of me very few see, or care to see. I just chuckled and blew it off. I proceeded to tell him I just didn’t want to talk about it.  He of course goes straight into my best friend. Ask me if they know what’s going on. I told my therapist for the first time they don’t. I don’t even know how to make sense of what I’m thinking. How could I? With everything I have been through, how can I make sense of it. Then they asked me about my writings. Of course I haven’t written. I found that funny, since a friend just asked me about that. So, here I am writing.. more depressing shit.  I have had two flashbacks this week. One when I was 13 and one I was 14&15. Both some serious things. I have been easily triggered lately, not meaning too. My therapist asked me about my stresses. They were fine. Then we talked about my

Have you seen 13 Reasons Why? Yes, you have. Good, because this is about that. If you haven’t, there is spoilers. If you don’t care to watch it and read on, please note this is full of triggers.   I’m the fall of 2016, I picked up the book 13 Reasons Why. I read the back and I didn’t think much about it. I had been free from self harm for 12 years now and I was in a good place. Well, so I thought. I read the book in two days, which I do not recommend. That is the fastest I ever have read a book. Even to this day.  As I read the story of Hannah I was feeling her pain. I knew her pain all too well, and I couldn’t help her or save her. That pain I felt was just as real to me as it was to her. Hannah’s story was my story.  13 – 15 years old I had made out with two guys at this point. One of them was my ex boyfriend and one was supposed to be my best friend. My boyfriend when I was 13 years old sexually assaulted me and I had no clue until later in life. At 14 & 15 my best friend raped