A part of the Complex PTSD Survivor Voices Series. This strives to be a safe place for Complex PTSD survivors to write about their experiences. Our stories are as different as our journeys.
Fierce independence and self-reliance are survival skills. We don’t see the rage or pain behind it, we don’t hear the primal screams of an abandoned child or see the unshed tears, the shattered pieces of her soul. We see someone strong, capable, courageous, a miracle…
The world is so busy praising her survival, the miracle she is alive that they are blind to the scars, the tattered brokenness of her. They all forget how fragile she really is, maybe it is her fault, after all, she never forced them to see her, she allowed them to live in the happy oblivion of her survival miracle.
They said she was strong she sighed, shook her, kept silent while the world prattled on the praise..”No, you are, you’re so strong!! I can’t imagine living through all that…blah blah blah” Do we really think she wanted to? That it was a choice? She tried a hundred times to die… by the way she didn’t hear anything said after all that, the noise in her head just got too loud.
Everyone is so sure that she is so strong and capable, brave and resilient, such a fucking miracle how dare she shed a tear…they see strong, capable, brave…they can’t see the girl, they don’t accept her truth, if perhaps by chance a silent tear falls from her eye, she wipes it away quickly, the world ignores it, and the bullshit continues…just once perhaps if we could shut the fuck up long enough and look at her, see her, accept her, we could actually be helpful beyond platitudes that perpetuate the facade of strength, survival, and miracles, maybe just maybe we could hold her hand, offer a shoulder, or just shut up and hold space, then maybe just maybe the tears of her wounded broken shattered soul could fall and she would begin to heal…until then she must for our sake, for our comfort, for our selfishness continue to be strong, capable, courageous, a fucking miracle.