Survivor Stories (pt. 3)

TW: Sexual violence

Every survivor has their own story, yet not every survivor feels heard. For a multitude of reasons, survivors fear speaking out. And even if they do speak out, that doesn’t mean someone will listen… or believe them.

From the start of my work with PAVE, I emphasized my desire to highlight survivor stories. I desired to create a space for survivors to share their voices, one that perseveres even after my time at PAVE.

The pieces below were submitted by survivors, some requesting to remain anonymous. Thank you to these survivors for your strength and vulnerability. We hear you. We believe you. We support you.

Compiled by Jessica Katz

A Cure by A.A.

I have swallowed chaos for sixteen years, and I have desperately searched for a cure.

I have swum in the depths of the sea, within the walls of the ocean’s caves.

I have travailed a thousand miles, through valleys and pastures.

I have been scorched by the tormenting heat of the beaming sun in the middle of the desert.

I have climbed every mountain in the harshest of winters.

I have journeyed through a lifetime of terrain, and yet, it appears that the cup of peace will never be in my grasp.

This chaos, the one that was latched to my lips, was not by my own volition. It was by force.

He grabbed the cup and forced me to swallow the chaos that which still dwells inside me.

He spoke so peaceably to me stating that it was okay to drink something so bitter, as long as I could keep it a secret.

“To share its contents, its ingredients, would only make the taste worse on your palette,” he said.

I believed him.

The chaos silenced me.

I have swallowed chaos for sixteen years, and I have desperately searched for a cure.

I have felt the pang of violence, and all its associated helplessness.

The mourning of my innocence, and the destruction of my childhood.

The cycle continued, ever repeating itself.

I believed this was my only way to heal.

I believed that the repeating patterns of pain would save me.

“To be harmed is to be loved,” I thought.

I believed that the only way to heal was to live with and in the chaos.

To be one with chaos.

Anything that was not chaos was unfamiliar.

And anything unfamiliar was dangerous.

“To be harmed was to be healed.”

I have swallowed chaos for sixteen years, and I have found its cure.

Although I have drank chaos,

Although I have been told to be silent,

Although I have been a victim of patterns,

I have found the peace I so desperately wanted to grasp during my youth.

It is now in my hands.

I have found the cure to my misery.

And the cure is to be heard.

Twisted Reality: Reflecting on Trauma and Dissociation by anonymous

In the process of creating this piece of art, I reflected on trauma and dissociation, and what it means to me. Trauma creates a separation, a before and after, and in between the twist of a distinct experience.