One week ago today I hit my head hard enough to suffer a concussion. Being my mom’s most stubborn child I resumed my daily activities because I figured the circumstances surrounding my injury could be ignored. I was wrong. One week ago today I began my nights of insomnia, incredibly lucid nightmares, and a feeling of guilt and loneliness. I stood alone not because I wanted to, not because I didn’t have anyone, but because those circumstances caught me in my past and rendered me immobile. 

I can’t tell you that in a week things have gotten better. I can’t tell you in a week the feelings of fear, helplessness and domination from my past have suddenly dissipated. I listen to every sound in my home and my office. I listen to footsteps in front and behind me. I look at the faces of people passing by as I arm myself with whatever I have in my hand just in case. I can’t tell you I’m not living in fear. Every phone call, every email, every knock on the door sends me in a tailspin of so many what ifs. It’s been a while since I’ve “lived” like this.

I spoke to a friend about these feelings. She talked me through them and I was reminded that I can’t let the past control me. It may be easier said than done but I needed to be reminded I am not the same person I was 15 years ago. Even if I feel like I am. Even if all I see is a girl broken I am still not that same person. I was told I was  obviously looking with the wrong eyes. I was challenged and asked what does God and my husband see. Thousands of words bounced through my brain but the one word that resonated was: survivor.

Here’s the thing, I really don’t know what I’m saying. After Ke$ha’s legal battle, after Lady Gaga’s Grammy performance, and after my “heat of the moment” experience I wanted to say something. Anything. Maybe it’s just to make me feel better. Maybe it’s to hope that the things I’ve lived through allows me to tell my story and hopefully help others going through similar tragedy. I don’t know. The only thing I do know is I am a survivor. And so are you.

I talked to my mom yesterday and pushed off my concussion like it was no big thing. My way of protecting my heart, my soul. But I’ve come to realize that being able to survive this doesn’t mean that what happened to me was okay. What happened to you wasn’t okay. None of it was okay. This was not our fault. We didn’t choose this. Someone chose to hurt us, to bully us, to overwhelm every part of who we were for their selfish desires. We didn’t ask for this. This isn’t our fault. We shouldn’t own up to a horrific action that we had no part of. And it’s about time we tell our story. Tell our story to bring hope, to bring healing, to bring justice. Our survivors’ story.

While I rest my weary body today I’m gonna hold on, I’m gonna tell my story, I’m going to survive. I’m going to stand with my brothers and sisters who share a similar story because together we can make a change. I’m sorry you share this story with me. But remember to hold on because this pain, this pain will end. -xoxo

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