Author's note: Many thanks to those of you who read. More thanks to those who signed up for alerts so you could read more. Thank you for the PMs and, Born2be: Thank you, sweet, for your review.

Dear Journal.

So this is my third entry, and it's going to be an annoyed one. But hey, my therapist said when I was feeling a high of any emotion to write it out (if I could). So I guess that is what I am going to do, because right now... I could scream.

I think that my least favorite thing to hear as "the new me" is the phrase: "It gets better". Usually because it is said by someone who has no fucking clue about 'it' or what 'it' feels like. I know that people say it because that is all they can offer. I know that they usually feel awkward and stuck when the subject gets brought up so it is all they can think of as a form of support, so I shouldn't get mad at them for that... but I can't help it. One of the things "the new me" has acquired? A short fused temper. For no reason other than the fact that I am mad. I am mad as hell and it's been nearly three years.

My boyfriend's cousin, bless her heart, I've lost it with her plenty of times over the past couple years. Something as minute as her locking her car as I walk by it will set me off. The loud beep it emits to signify that it is now locked makes me nearly jump out of my skin. Rachel will do it on purpose to see me jump. She'll laugh and laugh about how 'silly' it is... until she looks at my face. She immediately sees the anger that covers it. Before I told her my secret, she would get defensive back and tell me that I'm being a baby, and get annoyed with my sudden outburst of anger that I unleash on her. She would yell back about how it was just a stupid car horn and that it wasn't a big deal. Now; however, that she knows my secret... she will laugh at me jumping out of my skin but then see my face and see the anger... but she'll also see the fear that hides behind that anger. She'll immediately cower down and repeat how she "always forgets that I scare easily now". (Whatever that means). I don't know which is worse: Rachel calling me a baby and telling me to calm down or her cowering down from my anger. Both sucks. I'd like to not jump in the first place. I mean, it's a freaking car horn. Why does that make me jump? It's not like there was loud noises during my attack, nor did it happen in a car... I didn't even hear his car honk or anything of that nature... so what's the point of my jumpiness?

It get's better. That's hilarious really. Sure, the nightmares become less frequent but sometimes I'm not sure that is even a good thing. Because when they DO come... they sure hit you. You could be having a good week or even two...with some great solid sleep, maybe even a good dream or two. But then out of no where, for no reason in particular it'll hit you like a semi truck. Then it's effects will leave you feeling crippled for a few days. The aftershock of it will linger and in that timespan it's back to sleepless nights. Sure, you might not see his face everywhere you go with the more time that passes but this doesn't mean you don't stop looking over your shoulder every couple of minutes. This doesn't mean that when someone comes up from behind you without you expecting that you don't have a miniature heart attack. It simply means that instead of seeing him, you know see everyone else and automatically assume the worst. The man standing in the corner? The man walking to his car that is parked three spots down from mine? The cashier who smiled just a little too long at the check out line? The man walking his dog past your apartment? They are all out to get you. They all know.

Now rationally, I am aware that these random men are just doing their daily functions for their own lives, not even minding my existence in the least. I am aware that they could be amazing men, model citizens, even advocates themselves... but tell that to my brain. The part of my brain that, no matter how much time has past, is still stuck in that bedroom of that old apartment in pain staring at the doorknob begging God, Mother Nature, the aliens, the universe...begging all of it that he won't return. That part of my brain doesn't give two shits about what those men could be in reality... all that part of my brain knows is that it is capable of being hurt. Especially when you least expect it.

If I ever am in the position where I am talking to another survivor, if that survivor looks at me and asks me if I'm "better" than I was three years ago? I'd tell them straight. There is no such thing as better. Not when it comes to this topic. Realistically the saying "it gets better" should really be "things change but it will always be a constant". Sure, that is a hell of a lot less positive sounding as the alternative... but it's real. Like I've said before, I'm a different person than I was before May 9, 2011. This new me? She isn't changing. What happened to me isn't something that "gets better". It isn't a broken bone that heals and goes back to the original state... there is no going back for me. Because this is me now. I can't ever be the "old me" again.

-Quinn

Author's note: Thank you again. If you have thoughts, questions, ideas, if you are moved at all or not please let me know either way. Ciao