Anniversaries

7:41 a.m.

I was thinking yesterday how it's been seven years since the first signs of panic disorder and depression, seven years since a boyfriend hit me in the face, six years since I tried to end my life a few times, five years since the rape, five years since I've cut myself, three years since I started to realize I had to not be in abusive/unhealthy relationships anymore, about three years since I graduated college and was divorced, two years since I realized I really really really had to get my life back on track, over two years since I would throw up after I ate, about two years since I quit antidepressants and sedatives, a year and a half since I realized I sort of liked myself, about a month of not thinking I'm fat or ugly.

And you know what?

Things are good.

I didn't know things could be steadily good for two years in a row.

I can't form words for this feeling, this looking back and bewilderment and relief and overall contentment and hope for the future.

Seven years, five years. Especially the five year mark. I never thought I'd get here.

Five years.

black sheep