Thursday, October 19, 2017

Why am I a "survivor"? Why can't I just be me?

I had a conversation with an acquaintance not so long ago.  This conversation went down a road that I often am very uncomfortable to travel despite knowing every crack, crevice, bump, curve, hill and valley of this horrifying path of past tragedy I can't seem to get away from no matter how hard I try. 

It isn't as though I'm terribly uncomfortable reminding myself of what it is that has made me who I am today, what I, apparently, "endured" to become myself.  It's the endless heartfelt sympathy and empathy that pours off of people when I tell them about my sordid past and everything it is I am supposedly so very brave and strong to have come through and become, in spite of it all.

I don't see it as enduring. I don't see it as being a survivor?  I mean, yes, in the sense of the definition of the word "survivor" I would probably be a poster child for anyone wanting or needing to learn that word.  My picture mine as well be put right next to it in the dictionary.

But that isn't how I feel.  Survive, yes, you do what you have to do to survive when you're forced into situations that are less than ideal for your sanity and well being growing up and developing into an adult.  There are things that no child or young adult/teen/preteen should ever have to be a part of or be involved in but when you are that child, that young adult and you are forced into such a situation you either learn to survive and eventually thrive or you die.  And I don't mean that figuratively.  Adults who were children of dysfunctional families have an increased risk of suicidal tendencies than those of rather normal social standard upbringings.  And yes, it really is that simple.  You either learn to live through that kind of daily and routine mental and or physical and or emotional trauma or you end up dead, on the inside or entirely ceasing to exist.  It's that simple.  And to be honest, if you have a will to live, be it from an outside source or your own internal drive from dreams and aspirations you have, you learn to survive so you eventually can thrive.

You learn to cope and to live.  No, the coping mechanisms are NOT always healthy and yes, sometimes we can be led astray and get caught up in illicit drugs or illegal dealings but given the right guidance, the right hand to hold...we can find a healthy and productive path in life to become what we really truly are and not just be a survivor.

Don't get me wrong.  I am proud to be known as a survivor given my long frustrating, abusive and often mentally detrimental family history but I wouldn't change any of it for the world.  Everything I went through made me into the person I am today.  The beautifully strong and capable, independent, loving and slightly crazy person I am today.

There have been times where I didn't want to have to deal with the memories. I had wished for a different past, wished and wanted and prayed for a different background, a different upbringing, a better start to life but thinking back now, as an adult, where would that have gotten me?  Where would I have ended up if I had been given so much more than what I had been given as a child and young adult growing up?

I know for certain I wouldn't be the strong and mostly confident woman I am today.  I wouldn't be the gentle mother who is doing everything she can to nurture her children and help them grow in positive and productive ways.  I wouldn't be the woman who is trying her damndest to make her marriage work despite all the rough and tumultuous times we have already been through in our only six years of being together.

I wouldn't be me!

I guess, the thing I'm trying to get people to understand is, don't show me the significant amount of empathy and sympathy you have for me when you find out who I am and what made me who I am.  Don't remind me of how terrible it really was.  Show me how PROUD you are of me for going through it and still being here. Be proud that I haven't turned to murder or addictive drug abuse.  Show me that, not the sadness you feel as soon as you hear my tale.

All that does is make me cry inside, it makes it hurt inside in places I don't want to hurt again.  Reopening wounds is never fun and when someone you're talking to shows you such sympathy and sadness and true regret that anyone could treat such a soft and gentle person as me with such outright hate and anger and meanness show me how happy you are that I am happy. 

Seeing you cry, makes me cry and sadness brings me nothing when I'm trying to show you how brave and strong I really am.  Show me happiness and don't be wowed by the amount I've survived...don't show me that.  The shock doesn't help me any.

Just show me love and pride and happiness.  I know I'm a survivor already.  I know it sucked and was hell to go through...I was there remember? 

Show me love.  And I'll show you how I learned to love with every ounce of my being...yes, in spite of it all.

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