Ataraxic Warrior

Through all the trouble, I was so blind. My skewed thoughts "self destruct", "you're nothing but failure"-my "stupid" body a casket, carrying a dead soul. Life was my funeral, it should've been long buried. But it occured, for being so close- but ever so far; my poor, blessed body did the most beautiful thing. Most powerful, strong, wondrous thing: it kept on going. If a beaten, broken body can withstand so much; recover so well... Perhaps a bruised mind can too?

I used to think I could only smile in photos, that if I smiled everything (and every one) would be okay, because a frozen false reality was something safe others could take solace in. I used to think, that a happy lie could cover the pain. The fear. The numbness." I'm okay" would mean others were too. I used to think, it was easier to smile than to frown. Easier to laugh than cry. Better even. In the last few months, I've come to realise that this was all wrong. I've realised photos are there to capture moments. Moments of laughter and strength, and moments of fear and confusion. And the times in between. Time goes by quickly, days become months become seasons, and then the year is at a close. Before you know it, you've forgotten the moments. You've forgotten the number of times you smiled, the number of times you cried yourself to sleep. Then you look at photos, and things come flooding back. The little changes, the big ones. The time you danced to the sound of birds at 4am, the times you met up with a friend, that one time you felt beautiful. But when you adhere to the rules I had set, you forget the time you screamed at a person you loved, you forget the times you felt hopeless. And memories of pain slowly fade. You could argue that's a good thing. But I don't think it is, because without the bad, you can't appreciate the good. You don't appreciate the smiles, if you don't remember the times you simply couldn't smile. We live in a world where we take the simple for granted. We forget that we are, in fact, allowed to feel like utter shit. We are allowed to feel hopeless. Because this is what teaches us strength. And I've gained a lot of that this year. I wish I'd taken more photos of the bad times, so I could appreciate the good ones more clearly. I've changed. I think we all have, in most ways for the better. I don't regret anything. I doubt it was right sometimes, but I don't regret it. Because without those moments I wouldn't be where I am. So I am grateful. For the good, but especially for the bad, because it taught me strength, power, independence, and appreciation. It has been a matter of months, but so many moments. And I am proud to say, I made it.

My name is Grace. I am 16. People call me beautiful, my sister thinks I'm perfect. My life has been short so far, I guess, I am only 16, but what you can fit into so few years is incredible. But let's start with what I fit into 10 of them. I was 6 the first time I was raped. A year later I wondered about my body, about how to make it invisible. I was 8 the first time I had a panic attack. I was 9 the first time I went to a counsellor for anxiety. I was 10 the first time I skipped school because I was scared of people. I was also 10 the first time I cut myself. That year I went to I went on a diet before going to Australia with my grandparents. I was 12 when I said "no". The rape stopped. I was 13 when I moved to my Aunty's to get away from the memory of it. It was also then suicidal ideation became commonplace in my thought pattern, around that time I began sticking my fingers down my throat. At 14 I was no longer purging, instead I ate as little as I possibly could. I went to china with my high school that year, it was amazing. I just wish I could have enjoyed it more. I remember I went 14 days 5 hours and 32 minutes without eating shortly after I got home. I didn't really go to school after that. In the August of my 14th year, I was admitted to hospital because I had starved myself close to death, and I had a tube unceremoniously shoved up my nose. 2 weeks later I was transferred to a specialist ward where I met some of the strongest people I will ever know. I started correspondence there, but when I was discharged 3 months later I was still very sick. 2 weeks after my medically stable discharge, I had lost 7kg and was once again on deaths door. I spent 3 weeks, including Christmas and New Years in the paediatric ward. That Christmas I went to my nanas with my family for the day, and sat face to face with my brother. My rapist. I wasn't well when I got back to hospital. And that's the main clear time I remember my mother crying, pleading for me to stay alive. In the next year I was deemed medically stable and transferred back to the specialist unit, where I was more determined to recover. To get out of the hell my head was caged in. I met, still more, amazingly incredibly strong people there. I learned that 5 of the people I met on my journey had died from medical causes, or from suicide. Perhaps you could argue one or the other was both. I spent my 15th birthday there. It was one of the few times I saw my father cry. You must understand the only consistencies he ever upheld was drunkenness and laughter. A couple of months later I was discharged. I moved into a supported accommodation, and attended day programme ruefully. I guess I didn't really want to recover. I met one of my closest friends there. But after 2 months I was made to leave because I wasn't ready for recovery. I was at home for a short while, but quickly moved up to my nanas house. It was here recovery truly began. For the first time in years, I went to normal school. I loved feeling like I had accomplished something, but at the same time I felt so different. I still feel different. From years of isolation from "normal", I simply don't understand the concept. That summer I celebrated my 16th birthday with 3 of my closest friends, my Aunty and my cousins with a breakfast celebratory picnic next to the beach. This, my 16th year, I have attended high school full time as a year 12, and I am possibly looking at a merit endorsement for NCEA level 2. Fingers crossed. I went to the police about the rape, and I am currently working through a court Case against him with the police on my side. I have more than doubled my weight. But that doesn't matter, because I'm in a better place than I ever thought imaginable. I have a girlfriend who is amazing. I have a family and friends who I can't thank enough for everything they have done for me. This summer I plan on going to Auckland to be with one of my closest friends. I have my 17th coming up, and I welcome the idea of a 17th year with pure delight. Another chance to make my mark. I want to help people. I want to enjoy life, as it is the longest walk I will take. The hardest challenge I will face. And my only chance I have, to help the future and learn from my past. I did not find a God, but I'm working on finding myself. Faith, for me, is not what you do or don't believe, it's what you trust in your heart. But before you can trust anything, you have to trust yourself. We are all human. We are all worthy. We should all have faith. In each other and ourselves, because what we have right now, it's all we know for certain. My name is grace. I am 16. People call me beautiful, my sister thinks I'm perfect. When I look at myself, I see someone who has fought very hard and for a very long time. I see all of the scars, I see the shadows of tears and the echo of fear in the eyes that now smile. I see not a survivor, but a warrior. When I think about what describes me, I think hardworking, and caring. But I also think strong, and brave. And silently, a little nudge in my heart is open to the possibility that maybe, others are right.