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Healing through the lens of survivors:
A PhotoVoice Project

A SURVIVOR'S POEM 
by Charlene

I was a young tender age when your sexual sin filled me with shame.

You groomed me to carry your shameful secret. Fear of you, forcing me to submit.

Your filthy penetration of my body and soul ended before puberty. Your sin left me feeling nothing but confused and dirty.

That is all your fault.

At the vulnerable age of thirteen I was raped by so called mates. The damage was done, it was too late.

Another shameful secret I carried and kept, while inwardly my traumatised little girl wept.

Boundaries. Consent. What are they? It was easier to let men have their way.

That is all your fault.

I met a young man fresh out of prison. I see now I was only his possession.

Through him, at seventeen, I was introduced to what I once called my friend, heroin.

Hidden in plain sight.  Be aware that drug addiction, is one of the many sexual abuse symptoms.

It numbed my pain, shame and self blame yet endless trauma was the name of that game.

That is all your fault.

For twenty years I battled heroin and methadone. Pregnant with my second child, I courageously chose to raise my children on my own.

Domestic violence had become my norm. My heart simply wanted to raise my babies in a safe home.

All too common, it didn’t end there, even with police aware. Stalking, threats, surgery for broken bones. Is there help anywhere?

That is all your fault.

So, I carried on numbing the pain, shame and self blame, quietly contemplating taking my life, again.

Oh, the heinous heartbreaking stories I could tell, of my life that was a living hell.

That is all your fault.

In yet another attempt to get clean, overcoming addiction was my one and only dream.

The tattooist covered my track marks with vines. That is when I heard a voice say, “I am the true vine.”

In that moment my eyes flooded with tears. Understand this, crying hadn’t occurred in countless years.

Imagine my shock when I found those words in scripture. John 15 paints the whole picture.

“You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you.” Who? Me? Seriously? Could Jesus possibly be true.

From that encounter my life was transformed. I embarked on the healing journey of being restored.

I struggle to trust people, places and things, I even struggled to trust my newfound King.

As my cold heart began to thaw, the warrior woman in me began to roar.

Toxic men, enough of your crap, stay away, leave me in peace, you can’t cause me to trip.

This is where I learned what love is, in chapter 13, 1 Corinthians.

Determined, for my children, to practice what I preach, I tried my darndest to keep myself out of men’s reach.

I shared the stories of my mistakes, hoping to protect my girls from unhealthy choices they’d make.

The numbers are higher than what the statistics say. Two of my daughters are survivors in their own way.

For so long I walked alone, holding their hands through terror and pain, it was tremendously hard with my own hands bound.

Then recently I opened my heart to be married. Important he wait for me, claiming he would tarry.

Clear boundaries from the start were put in place, after sharing with him all the battles I’d faced.

It wasn’t long before he showed me, he is a liar. His actions and words were not in alignment.

He wormed his way in when I was in dissociation, after being in the line of fire from the Christmas tornado.

Toxic men, enough of your crap, stay away, leave us in peace, you can’t cause us to trip.

Weak pathetic excuses of men, didn’t you learn N O spells no and that no means no. I pity them all. One day.

They will reap what they sow.

Forgive myself, really? Yes, it is the key. I walk this healing journey, head held high, knowing now I am free.

Flashbacks still cause me to feel the rage. I’ve learned to let go, steering clear from that poisonous cage.

Our voices matter and it’s time you see, to shout it from the roof tops what you all did to my daughters and me.

With hand on heart, to my little girl within, this is incredibly long overdue. The pain, shame and self blame, “oh precious one, the fault was never on you.”

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