I Don’t Like the Word Survivor

I fuckin’ hate when people say “I am an incest survivor”.   Or “I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse”.  The word is like nails to the chalkboard of my mind.

Survivor is so….it’s like getting a C on your report card.  It implies the bare minimum, or at least to my ears it does.

Granted, I get that sometimes surviving is the best you can hope for.  Yes Siree, I sure  ’nuff can put my mental paws on that critter.

But when the word is used, it most generally always is used to refer to something that has occurred in the past.    And a phrase like…

I am in incest survivor…

if you really listen to it, the balance of power in that sentence belongs to the word incest.  The word survivor seems pretty neutral in comparison to the ‘taboo’ word.

And that, boys and girls, is why I don’t like it.  I’d rather people say that they are a victim of, rather than they survived.

Survival is like….I dunno…you are here, you exist…but nothing else…like a world of vapid blandness and some mushy food like oatmeal, except that I like oatmeal.  So let’s say grits.

It’s bland and it’s grits and it’s that white paste used in elementary schools and it is the smell of wet newspapers.

It is a word that

trivializes

what happened.

I think the word “triumph” is much more apt.

Because if you lived through incest or another form of childhood sexual abuse, and you are around to tell the tale today, then you, my friend, have triumphed.  I don’t care how fucked up in the head you may be, I don’t care if you’ve got 23 Sybil personalities, I don’t care if you have such a skewed view of your own self that a cockroach has more value in your eyes, I don’t care if you are unable to trust, love…anything…

it doesn’t matter.

The simple facts are that something in you so very strongly wanted to overcome your reality.  Something in you wanted desperately to live.  If not, you’d have found a way out.  Suicide is an equal opportunity employer, after all.

But you didn’t.  Whatever coping mechanism you developed, you played the cards you were dealt.

So fuck a whole semi load full of being a “survivor”.

The fact that you are here today means you triumphed.

Disclaimer:  If you have grown up and become a molester, then none of the above applies to you.  You did not triumph or survive.  You became the monster that consumed you.  I’d like to be able to have pity for you, but I can’t, so fuck you.  There are always choices, and you made the wrong one.

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