You and Your Stupid Shadows
Dear Sexual Violence,
I remember you once told me to be quiet. Not just quiet, but silent. You did this not by speaking directly to me, but the way you would stare at me unblinkingly, imperceptibly twining your shadows on the edges of my mind, shrouding my better judgment. I mistook those shadows for real power, mistook threats for harm, fear for caution. And you fed off of me—your cloak would extend and spread, muffling my cries and forcing me into a small, dark cell from which I could not see who I used to be. You gave me water to drink, food to eat, but you fed me lies with this as well—you made me believe that I was ok, that I was recovered and my apathy was a normal part of college procrastination.
It wasn’t.
I face you now, with some anger. But no, I will not let it overcome me, because it would mean that on a greater level, you still control me. You are not the one that dictates my life; you are not the one that will tell me that I cannot do something. I’m sure that you remember the day that I reached out to myself and banished you. I screamed and screamed and swore that I would never be silenced again. I cursed you. I cursed myself.
Suddenly, I saw your shadows for what they were—shadows. Insubstantial darkened “threats”. Irrationality.
I am happy now, that much I want you to know. I want you to know that I was capable of rising so much further than you had ever whispered to me, younger than you have ever tried to aged me, bolder than your attempts at frightening me have ever predicted, brighter than your attempts at darkening my mind would ever know.
I am louder than your pathetic attempts at silencing me.
I am not your victim. I am a survivor. You are not me, you are a part of me. You are something that I control, that I rise from, that I grow and become a better person from.
The boundaries you drew for me in every aspect of my life are a starting point, not an ending. I am, always will, and always have been beyond you.
Farewell,
A Survivor.