modified mechanic jumpsuit, various worn garments, felt, yarn              

Trigger Warning

sev·er·ance  

noun

:the action of ending a connection or relationship.

:the state of being separated or cut off.

Sexual assault is one of the most horrifying situations that one can find themselves in. A loss of control, autonomy, sense of self, self worth, and countless other things may be felt after such a scarring experience. These scars of the past weigh on one’s mind and body, and manifest through various forms of anxiety, depression, headaches, sleep disorders, weight loss or gain, nausea, lowered self-esteem and sexual dysfunction. On top of this, a majority of survivors will live with intense post traumatic stress disorder for the rest of their lives, along with constant feelings of shame, guilt, and embarrassment. Especially at a young age, this can lead to extreme feelings of body dysmorphia, and exacerbate the previously mentioned lifelong-symptoms of living through such a mind altering experience.

This piece attempts to bring these internal experiences outward, and serve as an expression of the emotional turmoil felt after living through being taken advantage of at such a young age. The loss of innocence, those feelings of guilt and shame brought upon me through my Catholic upbringing,  as well as my endless search to find my own identity, and to define what truly makes me, well, me. A constant internal battle of allowing this experience to alter how I think about everything I encounter in life. Does it define my personality, my body? Should it define my personality and my body? Or do I embrace the dreamlike reality of a world where such an event never existed? Ultimately numbing myself, to achieve an alternative world where such a thing never happened.

Before I began to plan anything out, I decided to write down a list of words to describe how I felt about the experience I lived through. I wrote as follows: angry, intolerable, torn, shattered, empty, terrible, gross, stained, broken, dirty, scarred, shredded, and finally, horrible. Throughout the fabrication process, I tried to keep these words in mind, and how they could be applied to the jumpsuit. I started collecting old shirts, jeans, and underwear, worn from a time when I didn’t fully comprehend both the severity and complexity of the situation of what I had gone through. However, these garments are simultaneously from my lowest, most miserable state. A horrifying reality of feeling overly disconnected from family, friends, classmates, as well as my own body and sexuality.