Victim, Survivor? I am neither I am strong!

Every day I turn on the news, open Facebook or just hear of yet another act of violence. These acts not only hurt my heart but I scream inside. I scream for the sorrow I scream for loss of life I scream because of all the survivors.

After the shooting took place I hated the word victim. Victim implied that I was broken and needed to be handled with care. That is the last thing I wanted, I wanted to have my life go back to normal, well as normal as life be. That word means that I have been through something so horrible that I needed to be tip-toed around. That I am a ticking bomb and just one thing could set me off. But that wasn’t I wanted to know for.

Survivor implies that I am strong as strong can be. I have taken the worst event and made the best of it and I was “healed”. That I was okay with everything and life was great. I wasn’t healed I wasn’t all better. I was yet to be a force to be reckoned with.  

So what is the right the right word to describe me?

I have pondered with this for years. I wondered why it did bother me so much and what did I really think of myself. I had been through things at not your average teenager stuff. I had been abused. I had my school shot at. I had buried and mourned more than I should have.  But I still couldn’t look at myself as a survivor and did not want to a weak victim.

Once I got into treatment I felt safe and protected. I felt as though no one could hurt me and that I was hidden away for all the evils in my world. But I never allowed myself to share my story with anyone other than staff. And even there I was limited to. I didn’t want my secret to being known. I think that this was because of those looks the look of pity and sorrow the hugs and words of strength. I did not want those things; even though I knew that they were out of love.

One day I pushed myself to open up. I opened old wounds that never healed. I spoke about things from my childhood things that happened not so long ago. The other women in my group embraced my words and allowed me to mourn the way I never allowed myself to do. I cry in their arms. It was as though my hidden butterflies emerged and were able to fly.

Now two years later I feel as though I have shut cage again. I put on the front that everything is ok although there are days where all I want to do is read and hide from my world. I am struggling to find the courage to confront someone yet I do not let go of the issue. I have opened about my past and history and I get compassion but then I get those comments and questions that the inquisitive ask to understand yet they do not. I feel as though the people in my daily life do not understand my pain and fear.

I still hate being a victim. I still have not come to the understanding that some days it is ok not to be ok. It is ok to hurt.

I cannot call myself a survivor because I feel as though I am not strong enough for the title. Yes, I have overcome a lot. Yet a lot is not enough for me. To me, a survivor preserves and emerges for the dark place and their lives go back to normal. As though nothing ever happened. I try to move on and let go my demons and embrace the beautiful. Some days I can see the beauty I can hear the birds sing and the flowers bloom. Other days all I see is a storm. A dark ugly cloud over my head following me around my daily life and lighting crashes out of the sky and the rolling thunder booms.