Six effing years.

Well. Today is the six year anniversary of the rape.

Seriously, where the hell did this past year go? It feels like I was doing the exact same thing only yesterday, not a full year ago.

I have already cracked open a bottle. There's a bowl with my name on it. I never do very well with this day. I know that six years is a long time, and I wish I could handle it better, but I can't. This what I do on this day, always. I'm afraid it'll be like this forever.

I feel like a bag of nervous breakdown.

Tonight, one of my girlfriends is taking me out drinking. She's one of very few people who knows what happened, and she sat at the bar with me for ten hours last year. The hardest part is coming home alone, drunk and a mess. I'm staying at my mom's instead of my new apartment. She's going away, so I told her I'd take care of our dog. That dog might just be my saving grace tonight. I don't care what anybody says, dogs are capable of healing just as well (if not better than) people. Our dog is more of a person to us than anything else, and I'm glad I get to be with her.

So everybody keep your fingers crossed for me today. I'll let you know how everything turns out.