Survivor Stories (pt. 8)

TW: Sexual violence

Every survivor has their own story, yet not every survivor feels heard. For a multitude of reasons, survivors fear speaking out. And even if they do speak out, that doesn’t mean someone will listen… or believe them. 

From the start of my work with PAVE, I emphasized my desire to highlight survivor stories. I desired to create a space for survivors to share their voices, one that perseveres even after my time at PAVE. 

The pieces below were submitted by survivors, some requesting to remain anonymous. Thank you to these survivors for your strength and vulnerability. We hear you. We believe you. We support you.

Compiled by Jessica Katz

Three years have passed. by anonymous

Three years have passed, and I still think about the incident at least ten times a day. Sometimes, it’s a quick thought, but others, it sits with me throughout the day.

Three years have passed, and I still feel uncomfortable around men I don’t know. Even when I’m at the gym or running errands, I’m on high alert of my surroundings.

Three years have passed, and I still often feel as if everyone’s eyes are glued to my body. what else could they see but my body?

Three years have passed, and although I’m in an entirely healthy and trusting relationship, I still have a complicated relationship with intimacy.

Three years have passed and I still get vivid flashbacks. My entire body freezes, my breath halts, and my heart beats rapidly.

Three years have passed, and I still fear what my perpetrator could do to hurt me. Although he is far removed from my life, I often wonder if I need a restraining order.

Three years have passed, and I still have to remind myself that I’m safe now. Even when I'm alone at home, laying in my own home, I often worry about my safety.

Three years have passed, and I still feel dramatic for being so vocal about what happened to me.

Three years have passed, and for three years I’ve healed, but I still live with my assault. Every single fucking day.

Was I lucky? by anonymous

I was still a child,

11 years old,

when a man,

a stranger,

did not let me go.

It was at the beach,

near the sea,

on a calm, warm evening,

a seemingly peaceful place.

He grabbed me,

and tried to hold me down,

while I tried everything to escape.

I was fighting for my life,

I screamed.

I looked around,

and saw other men nearby.

Men who were just watching,

not interfering,

just watching.

Fortunately,

I escaped.

I don't know how,

but I managed to free myself from his grip.

I ran for my life.

I was lucky to escape.