Today I ran into a friend in the dining hall who I haven’t seen for over a month. After some shop talk, he asked me how I was doing and I responded, “Pretty peachy save for naked photos of me on the Internet and everything.” He was like, “Yeahhh … I don’t know how you’re handling that. I would seriously have a nervous breakdown.” I laughed it off, launched into a light-hearted explanation of how I actually did have a mini-nervous breakdown, reassured him that I was doing fantastic despite it all, and then I suddenly thought: dude, I am amazing.

Amazing for having survived this. Amazing because my peers who I live and work with are passing around these photos and yet I’m not going into hiding (though my initial reaction was to move into Tara and Tiff’s). Amazing because even though I’m coming out of this with a lot of issues, I’m also really determined to not think all men are shit. Amazing because I’m getting out of bed and living life and not looking back. It never really occurred to me until today, but even getting out of bed everyday and showing my face in public is a small triumph considering the huge humiliation involved in all of this.

Here’s something I didn’t mention about Switzerland: I almost had a panic attack. When Tara, Ned, and I made it all the way up to the Faulhorn (one of the alpine peaks), I got hurt wiping out on the sledge run. We then got lost and hit a main road that I couldn’t walk down. After the sun set and the sky darkened, we stopped to discuss options. My left leg hurt every time I put pressure on it. It was cold and my boots were wet. It was hardly a life or death situation but god was this the last thing I needed. As I looked down the middle of the dark, tree-covered path, my breath got shorter and the darkness creeped closer. Five minutes later, I had my gloves over my face and was freaking out every time Tara or Ned touched me. After some lamaze-style deep breathing, I finally calmed the fuck down.

This was the last straw. It’s one thing for this whole fiasco to make me anxious at school, it’s another to make my anxiety levels skyrocket so much that any additional stress induces total paranoia and fear. I told myself on that mountain, “What the hell, Lena? You’re in SWITZERLAND! How can this be impacting you while you’re in the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen in your life?” I was not like this earlier in the semester. I was so happy this autumn. I had finally reached this point of normality, found my footing at Harvard. And I went from happy to … experiencing the first panic attacks of my life and having them interrupt my fantastic vacation.

I hate him for doing this to me. I hate that he turned me into everything I’m not. I hate that I was a bitch throughout the holidays. I hate that I wouldn’t initially kiss the last guy I slept with. I hate that sometimes, the world feels like it’s caving in and I can’t breathe and I am inexplicably terrified and I think I’m going to die. I hate that he made me so angry with the world, so fed up with the unfairness of it all, so utterly unable to see the point in doing good when it seemed like all I ever received in return was bullshit. I hate all of that — because it’s not me. I’m not one to “hate” anything or anyone. I don’t want to hate the world’s insensitivity or even hate him. I want to forgive him, and hell, I think I do. I want to forgive the peers who don’t know any better than to forward my photos to each other. I don’t want to hold a grudge. I’m bigger than that.

It’s been a little over a month now and quite honestly, I’m fine. Even if I didn’t go through all of the aforementioned, I’m better than fine. I’m happy and my life is … fantastic. That’s why I blog so often on tumblr and post photos of my friends and write snippets about my utterly mundane day. I’m so grateful for my boring ass life and my great, reliable friends. I like flipping through the pages of my tumblr because it reminds me of the people and places and events that make life worth it. This is the life I love. I really write this thing for myself (which is why it’s all scrapbook, no titillation) and after all that I was put through, I think that I need to be a little selfish with my blogging nowadays. Instead of being others’ entertainment, I need to use it in a way that makes me feel good about me.

I’m sure the panic attacks will go away with time. I’m sure I won’t be this wary of men forever. I’m sure that my current good mood will only continue, maybe even grow. I am really happy right now and even if it gets harder to breathe sometimes, that’s something that he can’t take away from me. Everything’s okay. I’m okay. If I can survive this, I can survive anything. I’m a resilient motherfucker. I’m getting up in the morning.