VICTIM

Victim


“You’re asking for it.”

I want to write this down so bad, I want to share it, I want to talk about it, I want to scream at the top of my lungs from every rooftop and street corner.

I want to say “Stop, baby, think before you talk”.


Shit happens, you know. It happens to you, it happens to me. It happens to our friends, our families, our enemies, to strangers and acquaintances. It happens to everyone. Shit happens; one kind of BS or the other. You can’t compare the traumatic experiences one person has had with something someone else experienced. You can’t label them and color code them according to intensity, pain level, brokenness, unfairness, etc. You just can’t.

Or at least, you’re not supposed to.

You tell your friends, those who manage to break through those walls and shields of yours, you tell them everything. And once you do, something weird happens. Where a comment or a word or an action from a stranger would be something you could easily brush off, coming from the person you confided in, it destroys you. And in that moment, you’re not thinking “they’re human too, they make mistakes as well, you’ve done so much worse than that, they probably never even intended it that way”.

You try to tell yourself those things. But you fail miserably. You try to go back to being a normal, wholesome and rational adult around that person. But you fail at that as well. Because you let them in. So now, in your twisted brain, it is impossible to go back to a state where one isn’t hyperaware of triggering another. Why would you single out this person if they were going to be just like everyone else? Why would you let them see all the dirt inside you, only to have them throw it in your face when things go south?

And then it comes down to this:

They say

Don’t victimize yourself. Don’t play the victim. Don’t ask for it. Don’t make it ALL about you, about your pain, about your past, about those horrible ugly things that happened to you. Don’t use that as a green card out of every difficult situation. Pull yourself together. You will regret sorely that when you finally do, the person you want the most to witness your success will just not be around anymore. Pull yourself together, everybody is suffering. Pull yourself together, everyone is depressed. Stop whining man, stop making it all such a big deal. Don’t be selfish. Don’t be whiny. Don’t be moody. Don’t be depressed. Don’t let it out all the time. Don’t give in to it. Don’t stew in it. Don’t make excuses. Don’t. Just don’t.

And then they say

But hey, I’m your best friend/mother/brother. You needn’t hide anything from me.

Well then, people. Stop it. Don’t use that word. Don’t imply, directly or indirectly, that someone is playing the victim. They might be throwing a fit, they might be being selfish, they might just be trying at normalcy with you by being crude and gruff and laughing it off, they might be snapping at you like they would at anybody they consider precious enough to rely on when everything else is falling apart. Sometimes, they just might not be strong enough or brave enough to pull themselves out of the pit they’re in. So call them out on all that, if you must.

But don’t say those things. Don’t point at someone who has been a victim and accuse them, even lightly, no matter what the context, of playing the victim. This is someone who has been there, down on the floor with everything disgusting and evil towering over them, and who has managed to somehow with the years crawl away from that spot, inch by inch. No matter what state of peace or tranquility, or even trigger-unrelated anger and sorrow that person is going through, that word, that accusation, it’s always going to break something.

Maybe forever.

Yes, it’s a big deal for us. Yes, you will NEVER truly understand unless you’ve been in these shoes. Yes, it overwhelms us and often makes us the most pathetic human beings ever, those constantly in need of attention and understanding and care. The very essence of our beings was once steeped in disgust, guilt, fear, self-hatred, distrust, anger, mortification and pure sickly-shame. And we never want to revisit that. Which is a hard enough ongoing battle, even without external triggers. So when you promise us your trust, and your understanding, that’s a bed you’re gonna have to sleep in forever. Do not lie there, next to a bleeding, broken, mess and say “stop playing the victim”. Instead, if it’s not something you can take, which is perfectly okay, by the way – sometimes, you can’t take another person’s endless shit, you get broken in the process as well – so, it’s okay, if you can’t do it, then push those sheets aside and walk away. And don’t look back. And you will not have to be subject to a universe where you constantly feel someone is playing the victim.

And you, yourself, will NOT be playing the victim anymore.

And nobody will think any the less of you, or of that mess you left bleeding all over the sheets. Shit happens. To everybody.

Either you play by the rules that absolutely cannot be broken, or you walk away.

Both are okay. And there is neither any shame, nor any glory, in choosing one over the either.


 

Random Snippets from the Consummate Traveler’s Personal Logs

Am I destined for my destination?

I’ve been travelling my whole life – for 26.5 years now. And only a few days of that time did I spend physically moving from one place to another. But I’ve traveled. I’ve traveled through books and words, through movies and music, through ideas and people, through every possible and impossible thing I’ve encountered.  Whatever I see or touch or taste, I stick a pair of wings to and make my next mode of transportation.

And, oh how I do fly…

I fly from one place to the next thing and then elsewhere and then next door and then wherever next. There’s always another place I have to see; someone else I have to be.

But it’s in moments like this that I travel back home. It’s in the quiet light of my room that I start undressing. It’s in the tired remains of my day that I think back to who I am. And if I’m anything at all, it’s who I am to you; it’s what I mean to you.

And so, in the quiet tired moments when I’m undeniably wide awake and yet so close to falling asleep, that’s when I travel to you. That’s when I use 26 years worth travelling experience to dissolve into an insubstantial, invisible, formless idea that is my final mode of waking transportation. I travel different in my dreams. But this gossamer idea that I embrace, so completely that it’s pressed into my skin, lifts me away to where you are. I have access to the possibility of you. And because I have a traveler’s soul, I fear I will never truly feel the despair of not actually, physically reaching you. You are my destination. But the journey itself, that is my destiny.

And I do it well.

Conversations & Conflicts I

This is old writing. I’m picking random things that I wrote a long time ago (but can still read without retching…much)

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“I can’t get to sleep…”

“Why?”

“I don’t know…afraid to, I suppose…”

“What do you have to fear?? It’s not like you’re six and you fear the demons in the dark. Even if you did, there are none…”

“There are, if I close my eyes…”

“You’re afraid of being caught unawares…HAH! but seriously, who do you think will get you here, in your own home, on your own bed!? No one can touch you…”

“I’M NOT AFRAID OF THAT!!”

“So you will say…”

“I’M NOT!! I don’t have to prove it to you, of all the people…I’m afraid of what I see and hear and feel when I’m asleep…as simple as that…”

“Ah..I see..perhaps because you dream of THAT?? Is that why you can’t bear to lose yourself to sleep? Afraid that your sleeping mind will overthrow the illusions in your waking one??”

“No…I don’t care what you say…you know, you’ve been in my head…you know…I can’t forever run from something that never even happened, to begin with…”

“Then why run?? Why the drama, the pretense of the chase??”

“Because I can’t bring myself to believe that it’s over…that it’ll never surface again…”

“So now you live in fear of reliving something that never happened?”

“As long as these images keep playing in my mind, I’ll always feel hunted…”

“You’re pathetic…too weak to face the past and cut it down once and for all, too weak to chuck it and move on…”

“I don’t wanna chuck what has made me me…I want it to be acknowledged first, then de-mythified…then destroyed…is that too much to ask for??”

“Some would say so…”

“I know and I’m my own proof…and that keeps me…but sometimes it’s not enough, not nearly…”

Sometimes, when you’re combing your hair or when you’re typing a report, you think of what you were thought to be, what you still might be thought as…and you crumble into a thousand, dirty, ugly pieces…It lasts for a few minutes, for hours at times…then, sometimes, like now, it lasts for days and weeks and you shrink within yourself…shrink till there is little that identifies you as human save for your outwardly appearance…

If there was a devil and a hell, it must be a weak, sinful, un-moving lump, crouched in a corner of a surgically-sharp imagination, awake, scared, angry, in pain and waiting for a doom that will never come, but is ever anticipated…