The reality of being a survivor is something that strikes me a lot.
The honest fact is that ‘survivor’ means something different to everyone makes that sentence bring something different to every readers mind.
The basic definition of the word is simple.
A person who survived, especially a person remaining alive after an event in which others have died.
The remainder of a group of people or things
A person who copes well with difficulties in life
Definition’s in the dictionary are great but it always feels different. They never seem to be able to describe what to expect the feelings to be.
That said I can’t even begin to explain how it feels different depending which thing I am feeling like I am a survivor from that day. That sounds crazy even to me.
But when it comes down to it, I am a survivor of a whole list of different things. As is every person alive.
That list can seem daunting but that needs to be something I chose to focus on in the near future to make sure that any of my past damage does not creep up to affect my future.
The biggest thing about being a survivor however is learning to move past it. Past the trauma. Past the events. Past the guilt. Past the feelings. Past the judgement. Past the pity. Past the expectation of what it should have been. Past the expectation of what could have been.
I think that is the hardest part. It doesn’t matter what type of ‘event’ happened. It’s the idea of forgiving yourself for letting it happen. Forgiving yourself for expectations. Forgiving yourself for not seeing it coming. Forgiving yourself for not getting over it as fast as people think you should. Or even as fast as you think you should.
Be kind to yourself. Accept the reality of it. It is your domain. It is your safe space. It will always be overwhelming. Break it down into peices. Handle the peices in the best way possible… for YOU.
There is this a time in your life when it suddenly becomes obvious that the big circle that you have surrounded yourself with has disappeared.
Instead there is gaping holes that you work to fill.
Somewhere over the next handful of years you realize that you would rather your squad be small because at least you know that they are true friends. Honest. Real. The kind of people that you want to have around you.
So when being an adult forces you to have long distant friendships with these inner squad members, you find yourself spiraling again.
Why do I always feel as if I am in a constant spiral?
I used to swear that adults had there shit together.
Growing up every Saturday afternoon I knew I could find my father in his bedroom playing records on an old record player. As I got a little older he advanced to big speakers attached to whatever the newest computer model he could afford to have. The one constant however was the music.
The man taught me the love of sound.
The feel of the bass coming through the floorboard and pounding a distinct rythm into my soul.
The sound of the harmonies had an absolute calming effect on whatever stresses my childhood overthinking had caused over the last seven days.
He would pull out a chess set sometimes for us to spar without words. Shifting little wooden pieces around the board attempting to out -think each other.
I’ve managed to fall in love with music just the way he does. Every sort of music has heart and soul, even if its not my taste.
I envy those that can close their eyes and play their feelings on an instrument. I dawdled and gave feeble attempts but was never able to truly make magic happen. Not even the type of magic originally spun by someone else.
I’ve come to accept my place in the musical world is simply through someone else’s imagination.
Instead I dedicate every emotion I feel, and every Saturday afternoon, to loud speakers attached to a music playing device like my daddy taught me.