It has not been good this past week. I went to a show in the city. I walked back to my car afterwards about a mile. It was after midnight. I did not feel safe but I told myself to walk with my head high, walk swift, and confident.
I got about half way when a young man passed me, he turned his head, and we made eye contact. I immediately felt threatened. I continued to walk. I had my hood up. He walked ahead of me and then turned into a stairwell. I assumed he went into a building.
As I passed, I looked toward the stairs, he stood on the second or third stair with his ear buds in, wet ragged hair, the stairs went nowhere. At the time I wanted to scream, "what the fuck are you looking at".
However, I know my inclination toward rudeness, I knew I was in the city and you should not confront. I continued to walk quicker. I felt unsafe but I also criticized myself for feeling that way. "Why am I always such a bitch?".
I came to a bridge that was very well lit beneath. I could hear someone approaching my from behind. I told myself, " you are in the city, do not look, walk."
Then it was like lightning those steps and almost breathing in my ear. I turned, he was standing less than arms length from me. He had completely exposed his disgusting limp dick and was trying to get an erection.
Time stood still, it was all slow motion. I stared him in the face. I can describe his hair, the tiny speck of a mole beneath his right eye, his almond like eyes, the dark shoulder length hair, the baggy black clothes, his height, his stale empty look, his hand rubbing him self fiercely, his white ear buds, his flat nose.
I was stunned. Then I started insulting and cursing at him. He turned and walked away as if he had been satisfied. As if he had just bought food from a street vendor. I started screaming to call the cops, get a picture of his face, something.
He eventually ran in those brown untied work boots, clopping along, until he turned out of sight. I called 911, I barely knew where I was to give a location. I was angry, I was furious, I wished I had try to hurt him. All I did was curse and confront. That means nothing to someone like him. Why didn't I swing? Why didn't I jab his eyes?
I watched him stroll away with that black backpack with the Bulls patch placed perfectly. The police came. They took a report. They looked. They said he is unlikely to be caught. An unknown offender report was taken which is basically a waste of their and mine time.
I stood in the rain waiting while they searched. I hated myself for not attacking. I hated myself for not sneaking my pepper spray into the show, shit people smuggle drugs, why didn't I? I will next time and forever.
Now, I am terrified. I do not like being in my car alone. I do not want to be in my home alone. I am scared of public bathrooms. I am scared of all of the adventures I love to partake alone. I broke my 16 month sobriety. I am anxious. My heart is racing. I feel unsafe. I feel everyone (male) is out to get me. I do not want a man to hold the door for me. I do not want a man to talk to me. I feel they are all predators. I cannot trust them.
I am fighting with my best friend that is also in my home. I am shaking. If someone gives me a friendly tap I jump through the ceiling. I literally cannot cope and I feel so alone. I called a crisis line three times today. They kept giving me different numbers. When I finally go through they said everyone is off for the holidays and call back after the first week of January. I did not get an "are you ok", "are you in crisis" or "call here for immediate help". She actually just hung up and did not even say goodbye.
So, I am doing the only thing I know what to do. When I am in severe crisis and I do not know where to turn. That face, that disgusting dick is burning, screaming in my head. I am not thinking about it, it is being relived over and over like a sick tape.
No, I was not raped, but I have have dealt with years of sexual, physical, and emotional abuse. I think I am over it, but then this, and its like a god damn flood I just beg to be drowned in.
