A mindset really is the only thing that separates being a victim from being a survivor. I, for one, am choosing the second option.
I couldn’t tell you when it started. I’m scared to admit I don’t remember any “before.” It just always “was.”
I often find myself constantly scanning my environment. Checking. Looking. Seeking for danger or a threat or someone who could do bodily harm to me.
One of my best friends in the entire world is a Rwandan genocide survivor.
She would not tell the stories, for this would be to lose herself in anguish so deep as to not return to this well-ornamented dream. As a very young boy I was determined to do the crying for her.
An elderly contestant dies during a particularly heated immunity challenge. His tribe members unanimously attempt to vote him off during the next tribal council, but they can’t write his name down because no one remembers it. “Perhaps death is the greatest immunity idol of all…” whispers an unusually cryptic Jeff Probst, who has begun to suspect that all of the players are just figures of his imagination, anyway.
You experience a brief fugue: Picture one of the “eliminated” contestants returning home to their job as [something], meeting friends somewhere for a meal or coffee/tea beverage, picture them far away from a world that manicured them and plucked their brows, picture them exactly like you again, like… having had to go from being a Person on TV to being exactly like you except maybe a little more gorgeous, and that they have all these friends who were not chosen to go on TV.