At around 2:30 AM on March 22, 2007, it happened. I just wanted to leave the library and go to bed. I just wanted to go to sleep and finish a project that I knew wasn't going to work. I didn't want to have a gun pointed at me in an attempted armed robbery. I didn't want to run away in the direction the gun was pointing in. I didn't want to fear that I was going to get shot, or die. It's funny how we get what we don't want sometimes.

The next morning, I was still a bit shaken, but I felt better later that day. People kept asking me if I was alright, and I told them I was. Frankly, I got tired of being asked that question. However, I remembered this one episode of "Grey's Anatomy" where Cristina thought she was fine after having a miscarriage; she was a crying mess at the end. I felt like that all the baggage I wasn't feeling was gonna catch up with me, and about a week later, it did. I had flashbacks that popped up at random times, that some times provoke anxiety attacks. Everyone that asked if I was fine seemed to have moved on; ironically, that's when I needed them to ask me that. A huge wave of sadness came in that Tuesday, and didn't leave until that Friday.

So, how am I now? I'm fine. Okay, let me elaborate. I'm in the process of accepting what happened. I still think about that night and am amazed at how vivid the memories are. I've just started crossing the street at that intersection, and going to the library at night again. Honestly, I'm not sure how long it should take for me to move on, but it's okay. I'm taking as long as I need to.