For 2015 I had kept a journal. On New Years Eve I had managed to finish the journal and look back through it all. This past year was my year of recovery. While I had been long out of my abusive relationship, it took some time for me to realize the extent of its impact on my life. By the beginning of the year, I had broken down. The high that I felt immediately after the break had worn off. The energy I had gained from the freedom waned. Everything slowed down and I started to see things within myself that I was otherwise distracted from by all external possibilities. My Fall 2014 semester at NYU was my worst semester by far. I had so many things interfering with my newfound zeal for life that I gained that previous spring. Worsening illness and family problems put me in a state of chronic stress that led to my crash at the end of the semester. Once that semester ended, I felt so numb and empty. The zeal I had before had no stable foundation to latch onto. Hopelessness and aggravated depression filled its place. I made a bed in that dark hole I was in and I cried for day. I felt robbed.