Language

The word survivor still feels clunky on my tongue but I’ve learned the truth is rarely sweet.

For me truth tastes like stomach bile and day old water from the glass on the nightstand. Truth gets stuck to the back of my teeth and swallowed with the blood in my mouth

The word survivor still feels like I’m speaking about someone else. The way the word is ascribed to me still catches me off guard and causes me to look around to see who the speaker could possibly be referring to. I can’t fathom it could be directed to me.

Because what does it even mean- to survive? It sounds like a great feat, far more grandiose than the reality.

Because how the hell do you survive a mountain lion with a pair of chubby toddler arms and socked feet. There’s no war hero here. Only a child under her baby blanket.