As it was said by the judge yesterday, “You’re not a victim.” It’s the very first thing that well-meaning friends will say. It’s often been said by those in law enforcement as well. I should know; it’s been said to me before.
One of my friends was more than happy to try and silence me about the abuse my mother put me through years ago; when I posted about my mother, I was in the middle of my angry stage. The thing about mourning is this: there are stages to the grief. Some days, you feel angry. Other days, you feel sad. Still others, you feel a sense of relief, especially when you’re out of that situation. But on those days, you also feel guilty, too. How can you enjoy things when you were told that you shouldn’t, couldn’t? Even if you survived it all, walked away from it with minimal scars, why should you celebrate? Your immortal soul is at stake! Don’t you know that you are making god sad and angry?
It’s all about keeping up those appearances, about making things look better than they truly were. If you don’t, there are well-meaning people out there who will “correct” you for that mistake.
But we still see it, see the abuse. We admit that what was done to us was wrong. We speak about it, even when no one wants to hear it.
The stories aren’t very pretty at all. A lot of people don’t like hearing them. But they are ours to tell. And we will tell them, whether those well-meaning friends like it or not. We will speak because we must.