Pain / Pleasure poem. Friendships / relationships after trauma TW metaphors that may be triggering
Updated: Aug 1
TW: Metaphors that could be triggering relating to sex. The poem is also not about physical self harm, but may sound like it is.
Disclaimer: I, at times, appear to be very hard on myself. I do not feel this way about anyone else who is like me or relates in anyway. You / we are awesome! Do not recommend being hard on yourself as a good course of action.
PAIN/ PLEASURE POEM
I have an addiction and it hurts more than you will ever know Not chocolate, alcohol, sex It’s feeling I’ve helped others That gives me the glow It makes me feel sick writing about it Hurts me to my core I’m not a person, I don’t exist as I pick myself up off the floor You see I’ve always felt I have to ‘look after’ people Or be empathetic or understand Even though it hurts me It s (painfully) awesome to see others lifted sadness to validated, empowered ... grand Of course I can’t do all these things Perhaps false arrogance, false hope but in my weak attempts to ‘help’ others I willingly take my remnants and choke You see, I’ll see a person Friendly, someone bubbly, loads in common Just like me I’ll be cheeky, naughty, funny one on one A side after that they won’t see I’ll notice their pain, things we have in common I’ll want to listen and understand At first they’ll see I have pain too But then we go for the re - brand They have a problem in their relationship Or they need a ‘you can do it. You’re great’ I tell them what they need to hear I mean it, but soon it’s too late Once I do it at the beginning I martyr myself and let them take I encourage them to, come on take me Otherwise I’ll start to grate No one truly knows me I don’t know me or know who I am No one could ever love me for being me Or just be there With or without me holding their hand I won’t let anyone, even if they tried But most of the time I start encouraging it No, don’t worry about me, don t worry about that now Unknowingly, watch me collapse and die By that time I’ve convinced myself that they are not real friends Because they don t listen or care
It wouldn’t matter whether they did or didn’t I’ve reached - no me, no honest feelings, nowt to share The friendship then gets awkward I care but get off the phone exhausted I call them, despise myself
... nothing I say will ever sort it I can't help with their problem I say all the wrong things My mind’s shifting, despondent, hazy reinforced my beliefs and settled to quiet stillness where once there was a child’s swing You see no one loves me, cares for me or ever could Unless I have something to offer And it’d better be something fake and something good If phone calls don’t make me hate and punish myself Then whatever are they for? That circles back to the self loathing (that’s extra good) and picking myself up off the floor A lovely friend once said to me ‘Tara you’re so caring, you always say the right thing’ She meant it as a massive compliment but it hurt then persistent bells said ‘look at me’ as I ,uncomfortably,
awkwardly, hear them ring Have no life and weird, dysfunctional relationships The kind that bug you and you can’t sleep I need my fix of helping others and sacrificing myself The pain makes it quite sick really like nothing else...
It cuts deep I’m just not a person Don’t exist,
A ghost sharpening pencils as you walk right through The funny thing is you’d never know it I’m really too good to be true You could be friends with one of us Have a strange relationship and always want to walk away You may pop back every now and again because I listen icky, unsettled feelings Friends that drift apart as I go astray More vulnerable than you realise And wanting so much more than you could ever give Sometimes it spills out, essay messages of damaged feelings
I want you to... I don’t know what I want Then the inevitable discussion on ending the friendship That I assume you don’t care enough to have I reinforce why you want to avoid me Sad, but necessary you were the best friend I ever had But you were just another Not the first and not the last I’ll need to jump on more punishing hot coals Unless next time I can do it Scare myself into letting it last
(If anyone has ever felt this way I hope this, in some way, helps you to feel less alone.)
My patterns just feel painful.