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2013 is our year

*Trigger warning*

At the end of every year, I think over all that went right, but a lot more about everything that went wrong. I think over the tests that I could have studied more for, or the papers that deserved more than a one night stand. I think about all the conversations that ended badly, and all the folks that I should have had a coffee date with. Grades are released, Holiday cards were not sent in time, and the high of a new year approaching is coupled with the remorse of another year left behind. Failure:  it’s an inevitable cold sore during the Holidays, and unfortunately, it takes a bit more than ointment to carry on with it.

When I think back at 2012, I think of a page-turner you pick up on a plane ride: difficult to remember when it started, but I sure can remember every chapter. This year, I welcomed my 20s, but like any book, I could only anticipate what was in store.  Yet, I would never have expected what became of my story after this year.

In March 2012, a little less than a month after my 20th birthday,  I was raped at an off campus party, blocks away from the main campus of UNC Chapel Hill. My memory of that night is cracked, shattered by the blow to my head just five minutes into my nightmare. I have no name, no face, no voice – nothing but the recollection of the warm ...

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