Tag: Victim

It’s Time the Victim Say Something

Everyone, in their life, must have at least once experienced a downfall. Not just a typical downfall, really, it was to the point where everything in the world means nothing compared to the ache that consumes your heart, your life, and envelops you in a total darkness.

Some people get through it, which is why the world looks like a bearable place to live in. But some people, they’re not so lucky as to the point where they had to focus that pain elsewhere to get on with life, like an addiction, or cutting, anything to kiss the pain goodbye.

When I said everyone must have had it in some points of their life, I really did mean everyone, and today, I got reminded of mine when I was watching Switched at Birth online.

I don’t know how much I’m allowed to write about it, especially since this is not an anonymous blog, but I really do want to let it out, just like how I deal with everything else in life. So, here it goes.

I was a victim of something that happened four to five years ago. Does that makes me still one? I don’t know. The experience was right down traumatic, heart-breaking, and it will always leave a scar that will only heal with time. When it happened at first, I couldn’t talk about it to anybody. I was afraid of what people would say, afraid of being accused a liar, especially since I was just in the verge of teenage hood back then, and so I kept it all in and let life be.

While this all happened, I took my choice of addiction. I had to find a way to cope with the pain, and I found the tamest thing in the world. While some people took up cutting, smoking cigars, or other extreme addiction, I took up writing. Writing helped me with expressing the feelings that I was too afraid to say, and when I write things down, it was like as if the pain stays with the words that got posted online.

Things got worse eventually, to the point where I was considering running out, hide in a cousin’s house, whatever it took to not stay at home, until one day I decided things needed to stop, that I had enough, and I needed to talk about it before it got too far. I remember writing about it in my computer for my mother to read because I couldn’t let the words out. I remember feeling so nervous as I waited for her to read it outside my room.

It was the most life-changing night in my life, and here I am today.

If I wanted to stay that gloomy, dark-lover Queen my entire life, I could have, but I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to use my victim card forever and allow people to pity me for it. Sometimes, no matter how old you are, you are going to have to stand up and take responsibility for yourself, and that’s exactly what I did. I don’t pretend it never happened, I don’t pretend I’m not a piece of broken glass glued back into one, but I am here, and I’m still standing. What happened to me will always remain a history, and just like the rear-view mirror, I’m going to have to take a glance every once in a while to make sure the road is as safe as it can get.


Things do get better, and I was lucky to have the courtesy of talking about it. Not everyone in this world has the same opportunity of talking to a relative, and I was fortunate enough to have such understanding figures in my life, which is why at times it hurts to see other victims who are still struggling. Sometimes they make me wonder, why didn’t they speak up? Why didn’t they treat themselves to get better? What’s holding them back from a better life ahead?

Today, the internet provides us with many options that could help. Me too, at one point, wrote a letter in a forum about my case, and there are people out there who are really supportive and could offer some advise. No one deserves to go through this alone, and if anything, I don’t think anybody should ever feel like being in pain is okay. Addiction is never the answer, and as hard as it is to tell the truth, we should be able to fight our own demon if we want to have peace in life.

Remember, it’s always darkest before the dawn, but when the sun rises up, it will all be worth it.

To all victims, survivors, and everyone in between, here’s to us.

You start noticing at eight.

Your friends start to speak mean words and throw looks you never thought you’ll see in places that are not in dramas. Your friends cry and their parents show up the next morning to speak with your teacher. That’s when you see that perhaps some people are being raised differently. It makes you wonder what makes it different, but your little brain couldn’t understand that much. So you shrug and think that maybe things are different all around.

At twelve, you start to understand.

Your start to hear what happens in most of your friend’s house. The mother, the father, the sister, and even the brother. You hear about them all and you exhale the breath you didn’t notice you’ve been holding. It’s all movies and novels, you try to reassure yourself. It doesn’t happen in real life. Parents don’t hit their children. Abuse happens only in Cinderellas and Snow Whites.

Eventually one day a friend shows up, tears and all, and you find it hard to swallow. It does happen. The thought is horrifying and you embrace said friend. You whisper how it’s going to be okay. You’re convincing nobody, but you say it anyway. You need the assurance, and only you can give it to yourself.

At fourteen, the effect of said abuse is visible in society. You try to understand the actions of the victims and you realize the way they cause tears to others can easily be interpreted as their own way of asking for help. It hurts you in a way, and you think authorities should be involved, but you understand teachers talking to parents only cause more pain to the victims.

You stop typing. You sigh and slump back into your couch as you think how it is the same with every abuse, be it physical, emotional, or sexual. As an ex-victim (while not physical), you know all the pattern. You know for fact that no one—absolutely no one—in this world will be able to interfere and create rainbows to a solution as long as victims are not brave enough, strong enough, to admit that they actually do need a helping hand.

So you smile bitterly. You observe the game from afar and analyze on who will give up to the match first. As your logic place its bet on the weakening, human body, you carefully restudy the game board and let your heart place its bet on the deflating, stubborn ego.

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