From victim to survivor to thriver
Wednesday, August 18, 2010 at 10:16PM 
If I could draw a straight line and say I traveled it from one point to another, I’d be lying. I started backwards. I thought I was a thriver. 2 years ago. My whole life. It turns out, I was not. I was a victim, I didn’t know it, I forgot. But my body didn’t. My body yelled - hey, look, I hurt! I ignored it. It knocked the pink glasses off my face with three months of resistance to strongest antibiotics. No matter what I took against my bladder infections, nothing worked. I got the message. I was mistaken. I was a victim. It was a blow. Nobody likes being called a victim, we like to be first, to be right, to be happy, to be whole, to be perfect. Except, we are not. It’s painful to look the truth in the eye, and sometimes your body has to do it for you.
When I got the message, I plunged into victimhood. It was dark, cold, painful, and foreboding. Every movement whispered – you’re stuck inside an iron maiden! Every thought made me bleed through my pores. Clothes didn’t fit, sleep didn’t come, sun didn’t shine. People pointed fingers and everything they did, EVERYTHING, was an attack, aimed at the wound, multiple wounds. They ripped them open, I cried out. More misery came out, when the moment came – called flood. If until now I could hold myself together, eat, pretend to sleep, force to work – now, I couldn’t. I was submerged, I couldn’t breathe, and, frankly, I was glad. I didn’t want to make it out, I wanted to die – right here, right now. To leave this wreck of a body, to let it be one with earth, to soar away from the pain. I stood with a knife in the kitchen, tracing it on my stomach, hoping nobody would come downstairs to stop me. Only the knife was not very sharp, only I heard my husband’s steps from the bedroom, only I thought of my kids, and it was over. I put the knife away. I wanted to live. I was done being the victim. I spat my imaginary father in the face – I said: “Fuck you! You’re not worth my life. It’s not yours anymore. It’s mine!”
I survived, and survived, and survived more for weeks. Panic attacks, therapy sessions, writing about it – every single time I did something, a neatly packaged piece of the past came out. It didn’t ooze out uncontrollably like it did when I was a victim. Victimhood is all about being controlled by something/someone else. Surviving is all about controlling it yourself. But it’s still pain, tons of pain. Processing. Believing. Taking out another box, putting I carefully away, flushing it don the toilet, running out of your house and smashing it against the wall, screaming. Out. It comes out. I wondered, is there an end to this torture? Do I want to continue? Do I really believe it? This is where the straight line doesn’t work anymore – it’s easy to pretend to be a thriver again, pushing the rest of surviving into a dark locked closet. Done, don’t want it, go away! But to be a true thriver, I had to keep going. I had to stop asking myself – when is this going to end? I had to start asking myself – what else can I do, to keep going? Maybe only look at the road ahead, one foot, concentrating on making one step, then another, even if it takes weeks, or months, or years. Never looking back. Leaving the garbage on the side of the road, and moving forward, moving forward, trusting my body, trusting the process. Knowing I will arrive.
Because guess what thriving is about – it’s about not having to control anything anymore. It’s all gone. Poof! Into the ether. It’s being free from it, it’s about stroking scars – pink, fresh scars, but healed, not opened, grown together into solid flesh, bullet proof. I know I have scars, they will never go away, but they are closed, the flesh is clean, it’s over. Am I there yet? Not quite. How do I know what it’s like? I’ve had glimpses of it. Every step along the way, I’m closer. I don’t go in the straight line, some moments I pull myself out of victimhood, others I take out pain as a survivor. Reminding myself – if I go through hell, I need to keep going. I chose to do this, this is my road to travel. Other can help me, cheer me up, hand me towels from the side of the road, but they are spectators. I’m the gladiator. I have to make it myself. It is my road to travel, mine and mine alone. When I reach the finish, I will thrive for life. I will look back at the road, and know I did it. It will give me power.
From victim to survivor to thriver. There is one more – helper. Once I thrive, I will give it all away, to others. I’ll be standing by the road, giving them water, wiping their lips, encouraging them to go on. That’s life worth living.
P.S.: This is a continuation of a collaborative project between several survivor bloggers. Each post is written to a quote, chosen by one of the bloggers. This post's quote was "from victim to survivor to thriver". Here are the other posts - 1. Scarred Seeker; 2. Sister, Survivor.
Photo by Ricardo Motti.
Reader Comments (5)
Such a beautiful picture you have painted of the journey we all must face. How we all must learn that we must take personal responsibility if we are to heal. How we sometimes don't want to go on - but we finally understand that we must. A very lovely piece... Thank you.
Ksenia--How well you have described your struggle and in such an honest way. Some of it sounded awful familiar to me, even though I am a male. I will respond to your questionaire as soon as I can. Been dealing with several people problems today. Plus, I have not thought about how abuse effected my body. This is a whole new area for me to explore and work on. I thought of Alice Miller's book, The Body Does Not Lie. If you have found it, do. Its a great book on the area you are working in right now.
Boshie, Milton - thank you! I think I have heard of the book The Body Does Not Lie - will definitely get it and read it. Thanks again!
Hi Knesia
I'm a 43 year old male who was molested by a priest over a period at age 13.
I was really lost for a long time. Usual, drugs, alcohol, anger, shame, isolation, risk taking, lost in activity, basically fucked up. I wore a great mask and really achieved a lot, a real lot. People looked at me and thought I had it together. It was a coping mechanism, inside I wanted to kill myself every day.
Anyhow, I had an awakening thanks to some amazing people here in Australia formerly called Mayumarri, now called heal for life.
My offering to you is this, I realise now, I was surviving, doing what I had to to survive, like a victim of a ship wreck clinging to some flotsam in the middle of the ocean. When these incredible people helped me to shore, I stood up and started living again, I became a survivor.
Peace, love and empathy for your journey.
John
http://www.michaelppowers.com/wisdom/awakening2.html
John, thank you for your comment - and I'm so happy you woke up from this nightmare! Hang in there - it gets better with time. Peace and love to you too!