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I feel that within the last couple years these two words, that once use to be synonymous to me, are now anything but. I never use to view the word victim with a negative connotation until I became one (well, a survivor that is). Then I couldn't help but hear the difference between these two, very opposing, words. Many years ago I had been in a dangerously tumultuous relationship in which I was sexually assaulted countless times over the course of one year. But because this assault was brought on by someone who supposedly loved me,and this wasn't the stereotypical picture of assault (or at least not what I had fashioned in my mind as assault), the boundaries became blurred. Love was also part of this destructive mix, and it was hard to wrap my mind around the idea that people who love you could be the ones to hurt you. After months of coming to terms with what happened, I found the inner strength to move away from this relationship and start to rebuild myself mentally, spiritually, and emotionally. It was a roller coaster of emotions and still to this day there isn't a day that goes by that I don't get flashbacks. But I have learned to control how I feel about these certain negative blasts from the past. I no longer hide in my apartment in fear that other men may do the same thing (because if someone who loves you can hurt you, then anything is possible, right? At least that was my logic back then). I no longer avoid music that easily arouses my anxiety and reminds me of him. I no longer see the car he drove rush by me on the highway and instantly break down. I can sleep through the night now without visions of assault dancing in my head. I live life day by day, and as with anyone, I have my good days and bad days. Some days I feel like the old me, and it is amazingly refreshing, and other days it is hard not to feel that a part of me has been stolen. Something I didn't want to share with someone, that wasn't given freely, was taken from me, and I want desperately to have it back. I am reminded of the Shel Silverstein book, "The Missing Piece" where a pac-man shaped character goes on a journey to find his missing piece so that he can become whole again; his complete self. I often walked around feeling much the way this Silverstein character did. At times I felt as if everyone around me could see that I wasn't whole; like a phantom limb. I sometimes felt its presence but I new it wasn't there anymore.

But a part of me longed to be the person I was before

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