Survivor Diary: Robin Zee - Reflecting on Reflections | Part 1
It takes me 3 or 4 days, sometimes longer, before knowingly attempting to write on this topic on a monthly basis, my life then and the impact it’s had on me, even to this day. During those days prior to putting pen to paper, my mood quiets, my breathing shifts and my sleep is fragmented and I feel pulled down through the discomforting static. The day of writing arrives, I barrel through the task at hand. Then the aftermath, the winding down, the exhaustion strikes from the broken sleep, the tension, the whole emotional ride.
I need to put a spin on this, shift the focus because when I share about my experiences as a survivor it bring me back to coming from a victim stance, it sparks and sets fire to the flashbacks, they come enough at times on their own, without my encouragement. I’ve come to far to go back there emotionally because doing so doesn’t equate good self care, that’s just my 2 cents.
My hopes is to contribute every two or three months as oppose to monthly, I do hope that you all understand, some will and for the others who are learning more about the impact of human trafficking on victims may realize this in itself is part of the learning, that awareness as my limitations are a result of my trauma.
The control I lost, the control I truly never really had. It was easy to groom, to control someone like me, as it was plain to see I was already broken and hurting. But grooming can happen to any age; teen or pre teen, even grown ups still get caught up in the woven web of deceit.
Like a knight in shining armor, the pedophile and/or trafficker sweeps in. Often we don’t see it coming, because it looks so damn normal, courtship you see, it’s the deceit that lays waiting in the darkness until it pounces and you find yourself caught into deep. He or she pulled at your heart strings, made you feel as if you were their everything, they gained your trust, made you feel safe, a part of something, all the things you perceived were missing, you told them all your secrets, they know your weaknesses they know exactly what they are doing, and they do not care about your shame, your well being, you are a commodity and now it is to late.
Taking into consideration that everything is related and we, as the human race try to box things in seperateley, neatly.
Leave it to Beaver, Walt Disney, know your place
It is clear that media portrayals influence children’s developing beliefs and values.
I grew up in the fifties on television, from Leave it to Beaver with no pun intended, to Walt Disney where every Princess did something that resulted in having to depend on Prince fucking charming to swoop in and save the day because, well girls are just incapable, a reality deeply ingrained.
Every female character was portrayed with a sense of sexuality and unless you were blonde, blue eyed with a teeny tiny waist and a decent size breast, you were less than, women were there to serve, period. That is what I internalized and interpreted as a message received.
I was in my view homely, dark eyes, dark hair, long face and flat chested but it wasn’t just my view it was reinforced by the media and those around me and the man being the counter at the variety store would always say, young boy, with each time I shrank a little further.
I grew up with the message that a women’s role was to cater to men. And someone like me, had less options because I was less appealing. So when a groomer smelled that I was prime meat. Our sole purpose was to appease men and bring home the money, everything rotated around that even from a young young age. I had this feeling that we were nothing without a man present. I also had the feeling that even though this was all I knew somehow, somewhere deep inside I knew, this was wrong, my poor tormented soul screamed in pain, I didn’t know how to help myself then and my soul’s screams landed on deaf ears.
I grew up with the message that a women’s role was to cater to men. And someone like me, had less options because I was less appealing. So when a groomer smelled that I was prime meat. Our sole purpose was to appease men and bring home the money, everything rotated around that even from a young young age. I had this feeling that we were nothing without a man present. I also had the feeling that even though this was all I knew somehow, somewhere deep inside I knew, this was wrong, my poor tormented soul screamed in pain, I didn’t know how to help myself then and my soul’s screams landed on deaf ears.
Our worth was based on the fella we caught in our net while fishing for the best catch. With my options seemed limited, I didn’t even bother to fetch me a husband, after all who would have a gal like me. I wasn’t what you’d call a natural beauty or at least thats the way I perceived myself. On one hand I wanted to be considered one of the pretty ones and on the other hand due to the sexual abuse I also wanted to be invisible in order to keep safe. In my mind if I was pretty all my pain would dissipate could be solved, remembering that this was from the thinking of a child, a sad state of affairs. But there is some truth to that, as we are all very well aware that how you are treated by the world at large greatly depends on how one looks.
I remember my mother telling me that in her day she went to college not to learn but to find a husband and apparently back then that was the norm. It’s as if we are sub human, almost as if we are expected to just do and fulfil the worlds expectation.
I was told that when I was three, my parents argued about being to young or not to young to go out for Halloween, whoever was saying I’m not to young wasn’t prepared but must have won the argument. A last minute costume put me in a fancy dress with a plastic telephone. Knock, knock and I’d say “trick or treat” all for the sake of free candy or maybe it was suppose to be for fun, I don’t know, I don’t remember fun.
Now I doubt the fancy dress and play telephone was intended to represent a call girl, or maybe it was. Isn’t it ironic how things unfolded because thats pretty much what unfolded in my life. Even before my parents argument I had already been sexually exploited but certainly didn’t have the ability to voice any of it and when you can’t voice it is turns into behavioural issues but this was certainly laying the foundation, for me the foundation was dense, cracked, shattered mostly, I went silent, frozen in time, trying to so hard to blend into the wallpaper and as the years unfolded the wall of protection I was building was high and lonely.
I was know as the gal who made a Line for the worse bugger in the room, the lowest of low, and history repeats itself. I jumped from one abusive exploitative relationship to another.
As a victim of human trafficking you are very controlled, the reigns are short, not much wiggle room. I learned that I could get a little leeway as a compliant, I was the girl that didn’t make external waves, I kept everything inside and released my pain but inflicting self abuse and toying wit death through addiction as well, pushing the limits. The only time I really felt as if I had any control was when I was on a date, I set the rules, I set the price, I was on top, though I am aware that the feeling of control I had was illusionary to say the least, that reality becomes apparent after ones first bad date, meaning violent as it comes with the turf, from your owner and from your customers at times.
As I’ve stated before I did escape, I did go through a metamorphosis for the longest time the label of survivor of human trafficking hadn’t reached the surface of my consciousness, at least not one I was ready to admit. Then there’s the accepting ones own reality. Thought he years I spent peeling back the layers, which each layer peeled back, came a sense of accomplishment, a sense of strength, as it’s not easy work. But with that as one peels the layers back, the skin, the layer of protection becomes raw but its part of the healing and there was just no way around it but through. What now?
What do you do with all you’ve lived and worked through. How do I take my experience and use it to give back, to live more moments not tangled by my horrendous past.
More to come
I just need to take a break and would like feedback on what’s been written here so far.
Thank you.
