I hate that word… Survivor.

Decades have passed, but all that happened still lives in me. I can still feel the fear and shame as though it is still happening to me. Sometimes, my anger surfaces. I am angry that it happened to me. I was sexually abused as a young girl, for quite some time.

By the time I told my parents, it had stopped years ago. I was told not to ever tell anyone else about it because it will ruin the abuser's life. That damaged me in ways that I can’t forgive my parents. I walk the line of love and resentment… I love my parents, but it is impossible not to resent them. Sometimes, I show that resentment with indifference.

I hate that word… Survivor. Simply, I haven’t survived it. It has been nearly three decades since first suicide attempt. My parents ensured that I would not receive psychiatric treatment at that time. It has been nearly two decades since second suicide attempt, diagnosed with severe depression at the time. Numerous suicide attempts, Intensive Care Units and hospitalizations followed. They feared that I would share the secret.

Photo by Paul Kapischka on Unsplash

For a very long time, I gave all of myself to keep the secret. It shattered me in the process with depression, post traumatic stress disorder, and anxiety. I lived each day as though being chased by a monster. I would be caught and punished for not being good enough. It was more than that… I am wrong. I defined myself as wrong. The fear of being found out and then abandoned. 

Oddly, an abusive relationship during the pandemic put me on the path to heal. I am no longer that little girl. The abuse still lives within me, but I have learned to accept that I am not defined by the abuse. As I have been putting together shattered pieces of me, I have learned that it is okay to be angry and even hate. Not everyone can be loved. Certainly, not everything can be forgiven. It isn’t a grudge, but accepting that there are damages that can’t be undone. It is okay to have negative emotions. Being healthy is about what I do with these emotions rather than not having these emotions.

I’ve been letting out anger and slowly moving away from it as I pick up the shattered pieces of me. At times, it has been challenging to let out the anger because I can see the shame that I felt as a child. It was never my shame.

It took decades for me to acknowledge that it was never my shame. That self acknowledgement has released so much anger while holding myself accountable for my reactions. There have been setbacks with self sabotage, but I’ve been forgiving myself.

I’ve been slowly replacing anger with comfort. Not confidence, but being comfortable with myself. It has been surreal at times when I find myself with utter serenity while breaking down situations to de-escalate from anxiety. I’m not a survivor yet because I am still finding and putting together the shattered pieces of me. While there are a handful of pieces that are missing, some have been challenging to find its place. I am a jigsaw puzzle in progress and I am comfortable with that for now.

When I find all the pieces of me, then I may be able to embrace that word… Survivor.