This weekend, I’m “celebrating” (?) five years since my last sexual assault.
Five years since I’ve had to sneak around the house, hiding as many guns as I could find from my blacked-out abuser (never could get them all).
Five years since I’ve had to lock myself in the spare room with my dogs and sleep on the floor.
Five years since I’ve worried about catching something from the women he was cheating with.
Five years since I’ve had to feel complicit in excuses about his extreme drinking problems; glossing over what was happening to me behind closed doors.
Five years since I’ve wondered if tonight would be the night the gun would go off again.
I can’t believe I get to wonder: what will the next five years bring?
