Chapter 11: Trauma Plastered
For those that are not aware, April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month and some of what i'm going to talk about in this post pertains to that. If this topic is heavy, or makes you uncomfortable please stop reading. - Jade
It's just a lullaby.
There are many days I wake up unsure. My place in the world has felt so brittle. Social media has a way of pulling me away from myself, but often it pushes me back into moments of regression. I'm doing a lot better, at least I like to think so. Less hiding in my room, away from the world and turning down all socialization. Its been good for me to disengage from sorrow through socialization. However, it's not without its risks.
The truth is, not everyone is open about the bad experiences, or the traumas they have survived. Sure, I might write a little and express my internal agonies in the poetic angst that is me but that's not all there is to that part of my past. There is a messiness that I've yet to unpack, address, and fix. It is still there, and like I've said some sheet masks and yoga aren't gonna cure it all. Writing does help when I take the time to sit and grieve.
I haven't truly shared what happened to me, and the succession of events after with anyone. Not with my family, or my closest friends. Honestly, I can't imagine how I would feel to truly share it all. Would I collapse or rise? It is the type of inquiry about my future that I make often. However, there is one aspect of going through horrible experiences I didn't expect to have. It was the manic influences social media would have in my healing process. For one, the kinship was an odd balm to my experience. I was equally saddened to see friends and followers post for the #metoo movement but also encouraged because I wasn't alone. There was a dark undertone to the movement, one i didn't feel people realized. There was a social pressure to spill all about my trauma and experiences. At one point it was so overwhelming, I didn't know what to do. I posted as politely as I could so other survivors could see they didn't have to post for the movement, didn't have to share if they weren't ready. I understood that feeling. The feeling of not being ready to open up, or share.
Its been over a year and a half, things should be brushed aside and forgotten by now? At least that's what many would assume. It's not that easy. One thing I've come to learn is you never know what someone is going through or how they process it. Some people might post a lot on FB, others might tweet away from the public eye, or maybe just re-post memes. In all cases, I've seen judgment from large social spaces for acting in a way that brings public discomfort. I understand that sometimes facing the ugly of the world, or experiences you aren't familiar with can be unsettling. I get that, I really do. Still, it doesn't excuse treating those people badly. Victim blaming is one of the most disgusting things I've encountered since my first bad experience. That and the countless number of memes circulating that make fun of victims, or those actively trying to enact social change.
As someone surviving not only my experiences but the horrors that whisper in my mind, I'm tired of being invalidated. Whether it be because I post too much, or not at all. There is a time and place, and it is up to me when to share. Don't dismiss another because they don't post everything that happened to them, or because they post about it all the time. Please, don't demand that they share either. Nothing hurts more than the backlash of sharing to the wrong person and then see them react poorly. Nothing hurts more than close friends and family making fun of those experiences so nonchalantly.
It's not fair to exist and still be dismissed because you don't shout enough, Empress Jade
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