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"Iím SICK! (please donít tell anyone)" by Pat

Iím SICK of being brave,
of being told ďYouíre coping really wellĒ,
and of the memories I hadnít faced,
until now.

Iím SICK of the word ďabuseĒ,
in every paper,
on every radio,
on the telly,
even at mass and in every bar-stool conversation.

Iím SICK of pretending to be strong,
And of people getting their strength from Ďmineí,
sapping my weakness still further.

Iím SICK of my loss of innocence as a child,
and my loss of innocence as a man.
(I worry about touching my daughter,
in case Iím just like him.)

Iím SICK of feeling guilty,
about what I did,
before facing up to how my abuse affected me,
about what Iíve done since,
using my abuse as an excuse,
about what I let him do to me,
and about wanting to dance on the bastards grave.

But, to go back to the way I was,
with all the comfort
of self-deceit,
of secret hurting,
and of the delusions,
that I was well, okay and well-adjusted?

I tried it once, it didnít work,
before I grew up,
and faced my past square-on,
and my future with hope,
for the first time ever.

Yeah,
if I did go back
to the way I was before,
then I guess
I really would be
sick.

 
 

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