It's been eight years since it all began. This time of year has me remembering anniversaries of things I will never forget or wanted to happen; two of them.

After my assault, I moved to a new state, was looking for work and wanted more than anything to start over. I was still pretending that things hadn't happened and wondering if, or how, I should address it.

To be fair, I was on my way.

I had secured a part-time job, a decent place to live and it seemed like I was headed to restoration. The distance helped me not to breathe, in such, immediate fear of my attacker, although, I was petrified of what he might do if I opened up.

Nightmares came in spades and, at first, I woke up screaming. Finding work was another, gigantic challenge. I had a job when I relocated, with the help of some locals, until one day, the man I worked for, grabbed my shirt collar and started yanking me around. When he did that, I went into a defenseless place, shut down and was unable to keep it.

Then, a second calamity struck.

In September of 2011, I ingested bath salts without my knowledge. I’ve written about this episode before, where some insignificant info was changed for privacy reasons but, the vital facts remained.

I found myself in a hazy state that I could not explain, which coincidentally, erupted into a monumental trigger.

When I miraculously stumbled upon my neighbor and he saved my life, he told me that I had been given bath salts.

A week later, he indicated that he knew about the assault. Finally, I had someone else who knew and it broke the surface, allowing me to accept. A little time after, he said:

"You’ve been drugged before. You were at a party and left your drink unattended. A man wanted to have his way with you.”

At this, I felt horribly shocked and violated, for a second time.

My teacher is a telepath. While I grew up in Louisiana, going to the French Quarter, having my tarot cards read for $20, I've seen many, supposed professionals working their magic or quasi-abilities.

I am just as skeptical as the rest, but I'd always return, wanting to believe that this time I might meet one who is truly gifted. This meant I never gave up, as I’ve always believed that there are people out there with extraordinary capabilities.

When I met my teacher, I wasn't looking for a palm reading. I didn't have any money to pay him to rescue me, yet, he knew things that no one could know and did what was required anyway.

A few months ago, I lost my wallet and asked him where it was. He told me I'd left it at the store, even though, I was sure I hadn't. Alas, when I called them, they had my wallet.

When he mentioned a party, I wasn’t in a place to ask specifics, though I understood that he likely meant the assault. I had met a man, for a date, but those words made me face the horror of a trap.

He would urge me, “Write your story down." I've done what he has instructed, having faith that it was what needed to transpire.

The clarity he gave me in trusting that I had been a victim of a drug-facilitated sexual assault was awful, but required. It was a comfort to know that I hadn't imagined the experience and that someone was with me, through the trenches.

Although he couldn't undo the past, he frequently comments that he wished he had been there, in order to prevent it, which makes my heart bleed. I crave it too, more than anything.

In the fall of 2011, I came to the awareness of two, incidental poisonings, in less than one month, by a mysterious man, I hardly knew.

The fact that he saved my life gave me every conviction to believe in him. I was, understandably, an absolute mess; a shell of a person. I'd never been so low or broken in my entire life; left wondering why I had risked life and limb to exit an abusive relationship, only to nearly perish once I'd made it to land.

The heartache that came from rapidly accepting, in a matter of days, that I had practically perished from a senseless act of violence was excruciating.

I had to consciously take my assault and shelve it while all the fears and issues I had been dealing with snowballed into newer ones.

When I recognized that someone had put bath salts into my food, deliberately, and because I am a person who consciously does not use drugs, I was outraged. It was another circumstance of someone putting something toxic into my body, surreptitiously, in order, to attack me.

I can see how this person saw me as a nobody. My downtrodden status was their ticket to act on a crime, with little concern, since it guaranteed that no one would believe me.

How were they to know that I’d be saved by a telepath which would then, blow their cover?

I said to my teacher, “But, I am good to others. I would never hurt another human being.” As I was unable to make sense of why such treachery would impale someone who is good, he replied, “Just because you are good, does not make you safe from the free will of others.”

Knowing it wasn’t my choice and being tricked flooded my mind with ease and similarity. I then, tried not to make the same mistake as I had with the assault and went for help, while the police just brushed me aside.

I had no way to prove what happened which was an awful thing to accept and I carried on in a state that I would never wish upon another.

It ached me to walk about the city knowing that the person who did this was out there. They could be standing right in front of me and I wouldn't have known it.

What's more is that my condition made them happy. Nearly ending my life, brought them satisfaction.

I established that there was nothing I could do but, try not to let the effects of what happened wreck me more than it already had and write about it.

I am grateful that I had one person to count on, because if it weren’t for him, I never would have been discovered or saved.