Fight or Flight

Dear You,

I am sitting on my bed, writing this to you, because I can't talk to anyone else... and believe me, I tried. It's interesting (and not in a good way) to have something terrifying happen to you, and to then feel as though you've been reduced to minutia and dramatics by a man who is supposed to be your friend.

I was always under the impression that men were supposed to respect women. In terms of traditional gender roles, women are supposed to be the more delicate of the two sexes -- the "weaker" sex. To that end, I was pretty sure that, except for the mentally unstable ones, all men were brought up from a very young age to be careful with and to protect women -- their sisters, mothers, cousins, friends... even strangers.

I have, for the most part, felt like a very strong and independent woman. Admittedly not as physically strong as the vast majority of the men in my life, but I can compete on a mental level with the best of them. I can take care of myself, and to this point, have felt like I was pretty good at it, too.

Tonight, that changed.

I have never felt so weak. So attacked. So helpless.

Tonight, I had a date (this is a super good thing!). Things went well. We decided to go for a late dinner. After dinner, I walked my date to the corner where we usually split up, and go home separately. I have walked that walk home a million times. Nothing has ever happened. As usual, I pulled my headphones out of my bag as a crossed the street. I had my leftover dinner in my hands.

This time, as I crossed the street, I was followed. Not by my date. By a stranger. A stranger who smelled very strongly of beer. He asked if I was going to wait for the bus. It seemed innocent enough, so I answered -- I said "No."

Unfortunately, the beer-scented man did not stop at the bus stop. He followed me. He kept half-shouting questions at me -- demanding to know where I was going, how far I was walking, why I had chosen to walk. I didn't answer. The more questions I let go by without responding, the angrier he got. He changed tones, from drunk half-shouting to full-on shouting. I still ignored him. I walked a little faster. He quickened his pace and kept right up with me. He kept on shouting.

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At this point, he shouted "Why you mad, baby?" and tried to touch my arm. I twisted myself out of his grasp, and darted down a side street. No streetlights. I could still hear his footsteps behind me. I walked a few paces more into the darkness and ducked into a tall hedge. Thankfully, I was dressed almost entirely in black. The perfect camouflage under cover of darkness. I have a hole in my dress from where it caught on the hedge. I am convinced that the hedge and my black dress saved me from something terrible.

I waited in my hedge until he had gone past, muttering all the way. I counted to fifty... slowly. Agonizingly slowly. I walked home quicker than I have ever walked home before, when I was sure he had gone. My heart pounded in my ears all the way. I still feel like I am going to vomit. I have never been so happy to see my roommate sitting on the staircase to our apartment in all my life. At that point, I was even glad to see her boyfriend was standing in the stairway, too.

I have finished shaking. My heart rate has slowed. The nausea is still present, and I am getting a headache... but I even managed to cry out what happened. I feel a little bit more steely. A little bit harder-hearted. I will think twice before I answer a question that seems so innocent again.

At the same time, I will think again before I send a panicked text to my so-called guy friend. This person is decidedly not the person I thought he was. (Again, not my date.) To my own detriment, I did send him the message whilst still in the throws of my almost-panic-attack. Still, I expected more support than I got. I expected him to ask if I was sure I was okay, or if there was anything I needed. Instead, I got told to forget what had happened. To "chalk it up to some drunken idiot."

Further proof to my theory that I have nobody in this life to rely on to care about me other than just me.

Yes, I realize that sounds jaded, and cruel, and harsh... but it's how I feel right now. I am grateful for the true friends that I have... but an instance like this? It shows me a lot about the people I call my friends by how they react. Sure, this reaction was not what I expected... but to be that cold? I don't know. How can people do that? I don't understand.

I guess my lack of understanding why people behave the way that they do is the subject of yet another letter.

Yours in Exasperation,

- A.

PS: This song was just released today, as part of a larger album, and it really helped me tonight. Please give it a listen if you are feeling weak, or like you need some extra motivation.