Today is the anniversary of the night I got raped. Let's celebrate. Eight years. What? Does that sound not right to you? Why should we only celebrate wedding anniversaries, birthdays, and "the day we first met"? (Oh wait, it was the day we first met). Why should I be taught to not remember when and how I was assaulted? Just because these moments aren't real enough to be validated by the justice and the legal system, why should I sweep it under the rug? Why can't I keep indulging, in my naive mind: push towards the wall, there's no escape, hits and smashes and pushes you down, rips you open and enjoys himself, and tells you not to make a sound- and I didn't; I couldn't? I don't know. Millions of people walking the earth and you're asked to play dead. Why shouldn't I go through with remembering that? Eight years, three degrees, relationships, money, independence, travelling, heartaches, conquering fears but still, I don't understand why that night and what followed brings heavy tears. I don't trust, never hold onto anyone close, run away as soon as I sense "comfort"- thousand emotions and voices in my head keep telling me to look for some other world. Well, I'm standing before myself today, it is my anniversary, and I am happy to say it is because I allowed myself to feel and cry and be angry, and learn from it that I'm here today. I don't look at that self and pity her. No, I am not a forever- victim. No, I decided to save myself. I'm standing, looking straight in the mirror, and I'm saying to the woman I see, I'm saying happy anniversary.