The last post didn’t really establish how badly this Steubenville case has gotten to me.
I’m mad at myself for that, but I can’t seem to break free.
It isn’t really the case itself. I’m not going to bore you with more talk about the media’s portrayal.
No, I have a more personal issue.
The victim’s mother stated, “This does not define who my daughter is. She will perservere, grow, and move on.”
But I worry. I worry about the label of “victim”. I worry whether that is truly ever able to fall away. To be something of the past.
Because right now I only feel like a victim. I feel like I’ve never shaken that label. I’ve never relaxed the iron grip of it, the gnashing teeth and rancid breath.
I still feel powerless, lost, hopeless. These feelings sometimes dwindle down a bit, but they never seem to truly fall away. I can manage a strong front. I can fake it like a pro.
But inside I still just feel like a scared girl who doesn’t want to walk down the street without at least some pepper spray, most likely my dog, and even possibly a gun (I never said I was a Democrat).
I don’t want to be that scared person. I don’t want to be a victim. But anytime I get into a personal situation that narrows itself down into that test of power, of control- I fumble. I cave. I fold into myself and allow myself to be the powerless.
I don’t understand it because I do not give up control at work to my clients. I am not rude or mean, but I am in control. I think the less I know a person, the more likely I am to remain in control and not allow that feeling of uncertainty to creep in.
But when someone starts digging into my skin, breaking beneath the surface…then I let the reins fall.
I hate that about myself.
The past couple days I’ve lapsed so bad back into my eating disorder because I need to know I have control, I need to know this body is mine to do with what I want. I don’t know why I can’t get that feeling treating it healthily. I wish so hard that I could. I know I’m broken and I need help.
Why can’t I just reach out?
Why is the grip of this label so crippling? Why do I think of myself as the victim or the villain of a story instead of the hero?
On one level, I’m so sure that I can just keep wading through my own muck without that extra push, that extra lift.
But on another level…..I know I can’t handle it. I can’t keep going like this. Not for much longer.