What Five Years Looks Like

To follow-up on my previous post Five Years Ago Tonight, I wanted to share a few images that make me smile, and hopefully, you too.

First, I give you yours truly as a woman with straight hair even if it lasted all of 48 hours before hygiene dictated I finally wash it. I felt luxurious and saucy – words I would never use to describe me. That hair was EARNED for four hours at the hairdresser’s and it was PAID. But I loved it and I did it to celebrate my five-year anniversary. I did it because I deserve it and because I should treat myself better than I do in these matters.

Your AFightBackWoman, all gussied up to celebrate. Notice the HAIR.
Your AFightBackWoman, all gussied up to celebrate. Notice the HAIR. And that godforsaken chandelier.

And I found, I couldn’t really stop myself from posing. For two whole days, it was … obnoxious.

I took my first SELFIE and sent it to everyone I know or care about. Because that is what you are supposed to do with your selfie, I've read.
I took my first SELFIE and sent it to everyone I know or care about. Because that is what you are supposed to do with your selfie, I’ve read.

Like, really, it was an issue. I was considering giving myself an alter-ego name – “Salt” – you know, from the movie and all…

Nothing was safe from my posing. Not even this big fan I found at the Georgia Dome.
Nothing was safe from my posing. Not even this big fan I found at the Georgia Dome.

The night of my five-year, my fabulous hair and I were at dinner with a friend who hasn’t known me all that long and who was thankfully spared the brunt of my suffering. This person has seen more smiles and laughing from me than most who’ve known me far longer. But after a toast to my milestone, I caught myself trying to convey my thoughts about what I felt five years ago and how the experience changed me, made me better. And how it still stings. I got a little choked up at one point, but gathered myself, and was reminded how I only started doing that after the attack – the choking up on cue. It’s a stupid holdover I despise and I love. I hate the weakness it conveys yet I love the fact I am no longer so thick or so hard a person that I can’t let myself feel things as they hit me. It tells the world that I am completely unable to bullshit what I am feeling or thinking. And that I am the last person you’d ever pick for your group poker team.

My ridiculously awesome hair and I came home and sat up most of the night looking at old documents, journal writings and Bible passages (hellooo Psalm 59) that I would chant to myself during the worst times when I was so strangled by fear that I understood why people want a way out. And I promised myself that I’m going to finally let loose on the reins I pulled so tight to reassemble my life. Straight hair is just the start of it, and three boxes of amazing shoes, and two pairs of jeans that do things like lift some parts and slim others. I’ve got trips and concerts in my sights. And house parties I am going to host with guests I will force my mediocre cooking upon. I shall double book my weekends with new friends and old friends and catch-up phone calls. I might even purchase a DOG. And I am going to dream BIG right after I figure out what my new dreams actually look like.

Because after one’s five-year anniversary of the day she almost died, she absolutely fucking deserves it.

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