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You can't be categorized, Michelle. You don't even try to be yourself, you just Are. 

That was the best compliment I had ever received. And in one moment, a moment I have no memory of, I was put into a category. For a second. It took me that long to run away from it.

The volunteers try to make it easier by providing literature. The main goal is to let you know that you aren't going insane and the myriad of emotions are normal after trauma. So, being the knowledge seeking person that I am, I sat down to read it. For a second. That's how long it took me to get angry. 

VICTIM

   VICTIM

         VICTIM.

Over and over again. 

The Victim may feel . . . .

    The victim may act . . . . 

     The victim needs . . . . 

TO NOT BE CALLED A VICTIM.

The word implies weakness, helplessness, lack of ability. At least to me it does.

I am NONE of those things. I choose to be none of those things.

I have no better word to put in its place. Survivor means someone who got over being a Victim. But I refuse to see myself as a victim at all.

Instead, I am a woman, I am Michelle. I am still those things, just with more knowledge . . . .

. . . .and appreciation. So odd, really, how something SO soul crushing could WAKE UP my soul in such a new way.

I run more now. I box. I write. I play. I believe in WHO I AM with a vengenance. 

Laying on the ground sobbing, angry, lost, completely petrified at who I would emerge as through all of this made me take a harder look at myself. And it made me connect with that core strength that defines ME and latch onto it in a way that brought me back to my feet, head taller, with an iron core.

There is a new underlying sadness that I have not quite adjusted to yet. So right now, I embrace it. I feel my humanness. I accept that I can be slightly crushed and live through it. NO!!! NO!!! Excel through it. 

His violation made me more aware of EVERYTHING. And through this awareness, I saw the world again. I saw my children, my friends, myself . . . and LOVE. 

Bad things happen, daily. But so do good things, by the second. 

He tried to destroy me. Instead, he made me BETTER. 

Last night, I sat outside, unafraid, and listened to music. My momentary refuge. I reclaimed my space. I reclaimed by independence. I reclaimed MYSELF. 

The Kid is Doing Alright . . . I figured out how to fill in the gaps he left. And I had everything I needed to do so all along.