GUEST ESSAY: Against all odds, I survived

Editor's note: The Star will publish selected Common Application essays from this year's senior class every Thursday. This is the second in the series.

What is a survivor? According to Oxford Languages, a survivor is a person who survives, especially a person remaining alive after an event in which others have died. For a long time I hated that word. I hated the feeling of it next to my name, I hated the way it meant that I made it. It felt like a mask, like a title I did not deserve to claim. I felt like I had not suffered enough to be a survivor, that I deserved to be a victim that failed to make it out on the other side. I did not like that being a survivor would be the defining component of my pain, that the actions of my abuser would never be separate from who I was. That eight letter word held so much weight for me, and I let its weight cripple me as it rested on my shoulders for years. But as time passed I slowly began to realize I did not have to hold myself prisoner to my experience. I realized that that word was not shameful, and that being a survivor was in fact a bittersweet burden that not only strengthened me but empowered me.

Ever since I was little I felt a sense of displacement with my surroundings. I was never really typical, and never quite the person people wanted me to be. As I grew into my older years life became more burdensome. I was forced to withstand the burden of growing up as an outlier, never quite fitting in, not with family or with friends. I grew to be critical of myself, failing to understand why I could not pick up on the skill that was living life. This criticism quickly morphed into self hate along with an extreme standard of perfection for myself that I always failed to meet, leaving me in a constant state of frustration.

Initially I went through life believing that this inner hate and pain was what I deserved. I was never taught about self love, nor was I really given love by the world around me. I internalized that lack of good treatment and believed it was a representation of my worth. Because of this thought process I let myself bend to the will of others, never standing up for myself, never putting myself first. I felt that I could always do better, that I was never enough for anyone. Then one day I met someone who noticed my vulnerability and used it as a crutch to make me believe I was cared for, to make me believe for once I was enough for someone.

Quickly I fell into his trap and let him mold me into someone unrecognizable. I believed I was in love, that I was loved. But, I came to realize later on in my time together with him that I was far from loved. I became victimized by his mind games, stuck in a constant loop of favors and forced touch. The feeling of suffocating closeness became my daily and every night I cried. I cried at the sight of myself, feeling as though the girl reflected on the surface of the mirror was to blame for all my pain. I never blamed him, because I felt I deserved the mistreatment. I was unwilling to let go of him because I truly believed the love I received from him was the best I could get. I began to become just as desperate as he was, never allowing myself an opportunity to be freed from his tight loving grip, never allowing myself to acknowledge the hidden scars he left me with.

I had no one to help me, no friends that saw the signs, no teachers who reached out, no family to guide me through it all. As time went by I broke even more. I lost weight, I lost sleep, and I lost sanity. Everyday became insufferable and the weight of his touch started to become all I could feel. I grew so miserable that I felt I could not survive, and I believed that the way the world around me responded to my silent suffering reflected how little I mattered. I felt like he would kill me, like he would be the force that finally pushed me to go through with the inner battle I had suffered with all my life. Until one day I decided to create separation between us, to choose myself instead of him. For a long time I felt guilty for cutting ties, like I did not deserve to set myself free of that pain. I had grown to believe that that suffering was my punishment, that I was handed that burden as a way to pay for my incompetence as a young child. But eventually I allowed myself to provide what nobody else ever gave me whilst I suffered through my abusive relationship, and that thing was love.

The journey as a survivor has been draining. Somedays I find myself feeling angry, angry that my pain went unnoticed, angry that I had to be the victim as opposed to the spectator, angry that I have to live with the forever permanent changes assault and abuse created for me. Somedays I would wish he had killed me, so that I would not have been subjected to the title of “victim,” so that I would not have to hold resentment for feeling like I simply made it out with scratches. I would often struggle to come back to reality as I fell into fragmented memories due to triggers, never knowing what word or smell could reopen my wounds; and at times I would find myself struggling to foresee a long life ahead of me. The uncertainty of my emotions made it hard for me to believe in a future in which I made it, and I began to feel that I would forever remain trapped in the insufferable fate of being his victim.

But, now I am able to say I did survive and that I was the one and only person who made it possible for me to make it to where I am today. I have nobody to thank but myself for how far I have come. I am grateful for the work I have put in and continue to put in to prove not only to myself but to everyone that I am enough, and that I am far from unlovable. I am no longer a victim nor a survivor, instead I am a fighter. Against all odds I have managed to push through and allow the suffering I went through to now be a guideline for how to begin to love myself. I am not afraid to speak up, I want people to hear me. Through my journey I have allowed my story to become a part of not only what I do as an artist but who I am as a person. So with that being said; I am proud to say that rather than letting my assault kill me I have allowed it to not only empower me, but keep me alive.

Tishunti Poon is a senior in the Visual Arts department.