Trauma series chapter 1 - From victim to survivor
Before the essay
On May 11th, I became a victim of attempted murder and robbery in Cartagena, Colombia. I was drugged against my will, rendered unconscious for two days, and it took almost a week for me to regain consciousness and walk on my own. My memory of that week is blurred. I have never blacked out from alcohol or anything else before, so this was a first. They stole my phone, watch, ring, some other belongings, and $95k USD from my crypto wallet. They nearly stole my life.
The next part is something I wrote to process my negative feelings into something more tolerable.
Thank you to all the people I know who helped me throughout this process. There's way too many of you to list all your names, but it helps a lot, really.
From victim to survivor
The doctor asked me to sign under a label that said "Victim Jaehurn Nam." The report was titled "hurto y tentativa de homicidio" (robbery and attempted murder). I was confused. I have never been a victim. I have been a student, a software engineer, a sergeant, a friend, and more, but never a victim. I never expected to be one. Becoming a victim is strange and difficult because it happens overnight. There's no preparation, no mentorship, no onboarding, and most importantly, no reward. How do you become a good victim? There's no "best victim" award. Victims are simply people who went through something bad and people feel sorry for. We rarely get awards. No one says, "This person has set the bar for how an ideal victim should be." There's no GOAT victim. You might tell me you saw a TED talk by a victim of a horrible experience, but that's impressive because they're giving a TED talk, not because they're a victim. Whatever makes them impressive is post-victim. While playing the role of a victim, we are weak and lost.
I had a week to rest back at my London flat and realized how lucky I am in some ways. It sounds ironic for a guy who just lost almost $100k USD, but I came back in one piece. I am reading the Fiscalia report that states I am a victim of attempted murder and robbery. Not everyone has this blessing. I got to come home. Many of us never have the opportunity to hold and read a document stating you are a victim. So I am a survivor. And by definition, I survived, which means I have the choice and gift to live on. The question changes to, "How do I live a good life?" This is also a difficult question, but a less daunting one. There's tons of literature around this topic, and most importantly, there is hope in this question.
It's still hard. In 2021, I completed a nine-month military deployment in Lebanon. In 2023, within a month, I was laid off, and my grandfather passed away while I was in a country with no friends. These events made me stronger. It was hard, but I enjoyed the process in some ways. Becoming a victim of attempted homicide is different. My friend told me back when I was laid off that this would make me a tougher person. I said yes, I can see that, but why would I want to be a tougher person? I want to be a happy person, not a tough person. Being tough gives you insurance that when something bad happens, you will get through it better. I want good things to happen in my life. I don't want to be tough; I want to be happy. I understand the point. In everyone's life, difficult things will happen, and being tough will help you get through. But if someone lives a life where they are constantly getting tougher, I would respect them immensely, but I wouldn't envy that life. I envy a life of happiness, not toughness.
Not everyone gets tougher through difficulty. There is a threshold. I met an experienced operator during my deployment in Lebanon who had served in Iraq and Afghanistan before being shipped to Lebanon. He told us Lebanon is a walk in the park compared to those previous two. He mentioned how many people he knew came back home broken. Some came back stronger, but many came back with lives revolving around PTSD or severe injuries. And some never came back. He told me about a guy he used to gym with who came back in two pieces after an RPG blow. I'm not saying any of these people did a bad job or should have done better. Even if you've been in a combat-less deployment like I have, you have some idea of how insanely tough war is. War broke many tough veterans. I don't think a life with PTSD is a net positive. At that point, I'm not sure if you even got tougher or just broke apart.
Have you seen "Interstellar," where they have this planet with waves the size of mountains? When I wake up, I feel an enormous wave of negative emotions streaming into my consciousness and seeping into every cell of my body. There's nothing I can do about it. And I just stay in bed wondering if this is beyond my threshold. I don't have complete confidence that things will get better. Some days I see myself in a few months, maybe a year, being fine. But some mornings I wake up with a panic attack and wonder if this is how I break. Maybe this is beyond growing as a person, but rather oscillating towards a less happy version of my life. People tell me everything will be alright, but everything was far from alright for those men who came back home with PTSD. I'm not blaming those who told me that. It's empathetic, kind, and lovely. But that doesn't guarantee it's true.
A simple task like changing a light bulb could go wrong in many ways. Everything you do after an attempted murder follows the same path. It took me three days to regain access to my bank. It took another day to get a new SIM card. All the anger, frustration, sadness, and other negative emotions turn into one big storm inside you and break you apart. The idea that these criminals had the courage to overdose me to the point I could die, took photos of me while I was unconscious like a trophy, and even stole my cosmetics drives me insane. The fact that I want to get better, but some nights I can't sleep and some days I can't eat without throwing up brings me down. Realizing how much this impacts my life, even short term, brings me to tears. I've never been in this spot before. So I'm lost. I tried to imagine if I could make a clone of myself right before the incident, what I would tell myself. Surely that clone knows everything about me. I wrote, "Fuck I'm sorry," and that's where the essay stopped.
I remember a friend from deployment saying that the best medal anyone ever gets is safely returning home. And I got that medal. Plus a wake-up call that life can end when you least expect it. I don't know the Colombian judicial system well enough to know how many years in prison these people deserve. But I know they don't deserve to make my life worse. There are many things they didn't steal. I still have people I love, the will to live a good life, and intellectual curiosity.
I'm alive. I'm a victim. I'm a survivor.