I have to admit, it's getting better, a little better all the time

That title is from one of my favorite Beatles songs, and I think it best sums up my life now. It has been almost a year since the traumatic event occurred, and although I still have far to go before I am completely healed and whole, I think I'm doing a hell of a lot better than I was before.

The most important thing is that I've completely lost my sense of shame regarding it. Before, I was scared that people would hear about the event and judge me, even though I know I had nothing to do with it and I had no way of seeing it coming. You know, the whole blame-the-victim/survivor issue. I didn't want people to judge me. My sense of shame was impacting the way I lived my life. I feared that I was physically contaminated, and I wore clothes that covered every inch of my body to hide the slime and scars that only I could see. The exfoliant pump was my best friend. There was really no slime and scarring, but that's what I saw whenever I looked in the mirror, someone who was covered in someone else's contamination. It was awful. Nothing I could do would ever clean the slime or make it go away. I feared being a danger to others. But worst of all, I blamed myself. I thought that I should have seen it coming, and I created a fortress around my heart and mind. I didn't expresss emotion. Showing emotion is a sign of weakness, and I am not weak in any sense of the word. No one knew exactly what was bothering me because I wouldn't tell them. I was disgusting to myself--contaminated and low and ugly and dirty.

I don't think that anymore. I am out of fear. I am through with feeling ashamed of something that I couldn't control. I have reclaimed my life--and it doesn't include a sense of shame. I don't have any room in my life for that. I know I am not dirty or contaminated. While I do need some more time before I'm completely healed, I think I see a light at the end of the tunnel, and the tunnel is beginning to look a little more manageable. My life doesn't include shame. It is too short to include being ashamed. I can only take responsibility for what I have done or will do. I can't control what happened to me in the past or its aftershocks, but I can control my responses and the healing process. The process isn't complete yet, but it's beginning to look more manageable.

The thing is, I don't think I'm a survivor. Survivor implies that I just lived through it and was able to rebuild my life. While those are admirable qualities, I think the correct term for me is a fighter. You are probably wondering, "But you're a pacifist--how can you be calling yourself a fighter?" Good question. I am a pacifist, that's not going to change. A fighter implies that I have not only survived but have emerged stronger. I am even more vocal AND active in helping others who have been through events like this. I am now even more active in my feministic and crisis-related services, such as my working with the therapeutic art and the crisis hotline. I want to help others, and I have become even stronger and bolder. I have become more comfortable in telling my story to others because most people won't be judgmental and because it's important for them to know. I've gotten some really nice responses too, which made me wonder why I didn't tell them before. The rumor mill is of no concern to me anymore. I'm a fighter. I have always been able to adapt and succeed. I'll come out of this stronger and better than I have ever been before, and I'll try to help others do the same.