Just Raven

From an email yesterday:

You don’t accept victimhood, but I read your story, and you were a victim. You are the one exception I know of Raven, and you have never played the victim…….you are one of the strongest people I have ever met…

This was from Kender, who had just posted a rant about drug addicts and how his state, Cali, is seeking to mandate rehab vs. prison time for any crimes an addict commits. Kender feels that addicts by default are responsible for their actions. He mentioned that many of these people play the victim and use this status to walk away from any true punishment.

About being a victim.

When I was young and took off to the destiny of my youth, I made some choices then, that led me down a road of a very hard, very illegal and very dangerous life. I took chances and trusted certain people, and learned quickly how evil even relatives can be.

When I CHOSE to leave my parents home, my home, to go live with an Uncle in a far away state, I was an innocent,wide eyed
young girl who was full of wonder and amazement at this world of ours. I wanted to SEE all the things to see; I wanted to travel and be worldly. I wanted to meet rock stars and go to malls and spend lots of money on the cool things every teenage girl wants. I was bribed with these things, and I recall my very first inner turmoil, that inner feeling that something wasn’t quite right…my first woman’s instinct happened. Being the young kid though, who thought she was so tough, I ignored those feelings and continued on my path to self destruction.

As time moved forward back then, I had several opportunities to get out of what was becoming more and more clear, to me, a life destined for failure. Deep down I knew what I was doing wasn’t right. The endless nights spent, parading myself in front of much older men, at parties where rock stars were in attendance; the very riskee dress code I eagerly attired upon myself; the make up and push up bras and high heels…the tender age of 13 at the time, a very naive but totally starry eyed ME fell for the glamour and money of those who were seeking to sell my soul. And I knew it wasn’t right. I remember calling home and telling my sick mother that I was fine; that camp was fun and we we’re learning to live in the wilderness. I lied. I could have been honest. I could have told her how scared I was but, I was too in awe of the superficial things being offered.

After my first experience with men, I had a chance to get out. A week after that awful and frightful and very dark night, I again called home to talk with my Mom. I almost broke down too and almost told her what had happened. Almost. I hoped, beyond hope, that she would sense something in my voice that would cause her to feel my fear. She was very sick and didn’t pick up on my subtle hints. She died many years later begging me to truly forgive her for the missed signals of that call. Of course I forgave her. I still could have been more to the point. I could have just told her the truth. But I didn’t. I chose, instead, to turn to drugs to heal my pain. I didn’t know it at the time, but the drug of choice offered to me was a deliberate set up- to transform me into an addict. It didn’t take long.

Months later, as I became a full fledged heroin addict, I quickly lost any sense of my own being. I became a ghost of a human, a living person whose soul had died. That’s what heroin does to a person. You live for your next dose and nothing else. You count the hours…minutes…you lose your self respect and courage. You don’t care about what you look like or when you’re last bath was. You don’t even care if you eat or drink. I never had to resort to criminal activity to get my next hit. Nope…my habit was sustained by my ability to stay alert long enough to entertain men who had bought my services through my beloved (not) uncle. As long as I performed well, I got my next hit. If I didn’t provide good service I was cut off. It was a pretty basic arrangement. I will say, at this point, I was not in control of my actions. The heroin was.

After those days ended, I could have played the victim. I could have used my experiences to garner sympathy from so many people. In every area of my life I could have capitalized on my story. With my education I could have received special funds for disadvantaged women which would have paid 100% of my tuition. My work, career- I could claim a disability simply by being a former drug addict…ADA rules apply to people like me. I could have been offered jobs above other more qualified people just because of this status I hold over them. I could have gotten away with so much at work too- hell, I could have called out three days out of five without any concern of getting into trouble. I’ve had people offer to sell my story via a book and a movie- I said NO THANKS. Every time I have messed up in my life, made the mistakes we all make I could have cried my foul tale as an excuse.

Being a victim is not an honorable thing. It’s a heavy label to wear, one that weighs you down and causes others to treat you differently.

A victim, to me, is someone who isn’t alive anymore. Someone who has been killed. Other senseless acts, like rape and burning people- create victims too. But the living have a choice to make. We can move on and take personal responsibility for our actions, and have some self respect and pride in being who we are…or we can dwell on the past and let it get in the way of our future. We can let it come between being a honest player in this world, and let it define our every thought, at home, at work, wherever.

Who the hell wants to be known as “The victim of…”
I prefer “I’m a survivor”…

I chose to call myself a survivor because I am exactly that. I made it out of that life. Barely so…and it was a hard, difficult fight.
A fight that took a lot of determination, self respect, and a strong will to want to LIVE. It takes goals and a plan to reach them. It takes a lot of will power. And sacrifice. It took me a few years to figure this all out too…but I wanted to live. I tried to kill myself,- not the real me, but that person who took me over back then. It didn’t work…the real me kicked in and came back to life. And the real me made a choice.

Being a survivor is much better than being a victim, anyday. The difference between a victim and a survivor is pretty easy to speak of: A victim goes through life feeling sorry for themselves and placing blame on others; a victim never accepts any responsibility for their part of wrongdoings. A victim never does anything wrong, period.

A survivor goes through life never forgetting, but forgiving those who committed terrible sins against them. A survivor dwells on the future and all life has to offer. A survivor learns how to get by with just being themselves and nothing more, or less. A survivor learns from their mistakes and passes the wisdom along.

Call me a victim if you want…but I’m not. I never have been and never will be. I’m a survivor and I always will be. I say this with pride and shame at the same time. We all make choices, even in our wonder years where deep down, we know right from wrong, good from bad. So long as we learn from our mistakes, we’re all good people.