The Narcissist
I stomp my feet and throw my fist in the air, "be quiet" my husband tells me. We have this fight at least once a week, and were both tired of. He asks me "what's wrong honey? why wont you talk to me?" I tell him "you're not a licensed therapist, I don't want to talk to you about my day. If I have a bad one you'll just tell me that 'all you have to think of is the positives. I rolled my eyes, crossed my arms over my chest, and I turn my back to the window. I wait for his answer and it went like this "I told you, you're thinking about everything the wrong way. I'm not trying to control you're answer, I'm trying to help you."
But I have told him OVER and OVER that I don't want his help, but he won't listen to me and he wont shut the hell up. I sit down in the chair next to me "I'm sorry if me having a bad day offends you, maybe you should try opening up to real emotions, you know? the ones that revolve around the universe, not just trying to get me to be happy all of the time"
"But I just want what's best for you" I roll my eyes again
"you don't want that, you won't let me answer my own questions, not even in the doctors office."
"you didn't know what you were saying, you're pretty stupid"
I'm in under grad studying advanced leadership skills, passing with a 4.0. I knew that he hated me for going to school and finishing my degree. He thought that he was smarter then I was, and that he was the king of the world.
"Stop calling me stupid and maybe I would actually be attracted to you. But right now? I see you only as a pathetic lazy narcissist, with no work ethic, and what else? oh, a grumpy old man who dies alone." I huffed, grabbed my book, got up from the chair and went into the family bed room where I read until I finally fell asleep. Thinking about the days where I would finally be free from this monster but for now, I was living in a life sucking nightmare, that would never seem to stop. The end.
Trigger Warnings
We live in a world where my poems must be prefaced with:
"Trigger warning: contains Something."
Suddenly the agony that forms Substance is to be treated
like broken glass,
a sign marking the landmine underneath,
in the hopes that will alleviate its danger.
But Poetry is built upon Pain,
like the shock of being immersed in cold water.
If I tell you the ending,
will you still want to stick around
for the Journey?
I have depression.
I have anxiety.
I am neurodiverse.
I am queer.
These are all things society has told me
to hide, to censor, in the name
of preserving the peace.
I have been told not to talk about my experiences
with suicide, with self harm, with addiction.
It could hurt someone.
It could scare someone.
Poetry is my way of sharing my experiences,
a guidance, a light shone down into
the black hold of my mind
in the hopes of someone casting down a rope.
Now, even among my art,
even among like-minded friends,
I am expected to censor myself.
I am expected to predict and anticipate
the reactions of others,
and then prevent them.
But those reactions are what makes my feelings Real.
I want to share what I feel,
even in my darkest moments.
I want people to see my life as it is,
with shock value that jumps out from
behind street corners
and leaves you shaken.
Just like it left me shaken.
I want to be able to share my opinions.
I want to be able to live.
I want to shove the research in their faces that proves
Trigger Warnings are ineffective.
They do not protect us.
They do not prepare us.
They only prevent us
from authenticity.
But I cannot say that.
It would make waves.
It would be disturbing.
So I guess I should preface my research with:
Trigger Warning: contains facts
that might prove you wrong.
Contains facts that might
scare you.
Because Trigger Warnings will not stop the flashbacks.
They will not lessen the anxiety.
They will not stop the self-destructive thoughts
that run rampant in your brain.
You must do that yourself.
With work, with therapy, with time.
And that's hard;
that's scary;
that's dangerous.
We are all searching for a Quick Fix,
and many have latched on
to Trigger Warnings as The Solution.
But alas,
healing is long and slow.
It is not as simple as a warning.
If it was, wouldn't we have recovered already?
Trigger Warnings are an easier solution.
They prevent us from looking inward,
from asking
the hard question.
If Trigger Warnings don't work,
what will?