Why I'm Not A Survivor
If something is defined by its purpose, its activity, what does it say about me when I define myself in the negative? When I become nothing but an action done to me and the actor becomes nothing but that action? At best as a “survivor”, I become “She that was touched”, “She that did not die.” What I do is irrelevant to my identity; my reward is my continuance, my not-death.
I have survived some terrible things, most of them Eagles games. But the hardest thing to survive has been the stories in my own brain. The only thing worse than what the little boy did to me in the basement is what my brain does to me in the dark too many nights: it tells me that that’s all that I am, all that I’ll ever be.
I created the stories of both little girls, but I get to choose which one is me. The first story is what happened. The second story is the one I made.
Here’s the second. ....
Go read the whole thing as they say.