I’m Just Like You

A letter to the community by a SAFE Survivor

I’m just like you. I stress over bills and wonder what I’m going to cook for dinner.

I’m just like you. Not the best at self care, but I’m trying.

I’m just like you. I have hobbies and don’t mind having more chocolate than I should, especially after those tough days at work.

But everyday I’m reminded by the world to be more like you, than who I really am and everyday I suffer from it. And I play the game of pretend, for you. So you don’t feel uncomfortable by the evil I survived, all thanks to me and not to you.

Will you ever know the depths of my flashbacks and how my body joins in unity to remind me that being sold as an object was real?

How I smile and nod, listening to your childhood stories, while hating myself instead of my parents. That I never feel the same joy talking about what was supposed to be the most innocent time of my life.

Will you ever accept me with my emotional and physical scars?

I dab my perfume on my wrists only to be reminded of the marks of when my body was supposed to be a blood sacrifice and yet here I am.

Do you understand how suffocating it feels to pretend to enjoy your world while everyday I wake up and know I was never supposed to have this freedom?

Going through family pictures but not being able to hang in them in pretty picture frames because mom and dad don’t deserve a place in my life. But I don’t have the guts to let them go.

Have you ever thought mom and dad to me were the ones who decided if I didn’t fight the customers off of me then I’d be fed that day?

Do you know what it feels like to be smiling at a party and screaming on the inside because you still feel the guilt of surviving; because you remember seeing girls in dog cages next to you get shot for crying too much?

Do you know I overthink everything I do because I want to be kinder than how I was treated and I know I’m valuable enough to have boundaries.

You. You. You.

You are not my enemy, but I wish, oh I wish! I could be you, non survivor.

But I’m not. And I’ll stay lonely for now, hoping for a future where I don’t hear my seller’s words in my ears every time I cry.

I am good enough and brave enough even if I’m not you. And maybe one day you’ll celebrate my voice instead of muting it.

Sincerely,

Your Friendly Familial Sex Trafficking Survivor