Please Tell Me I'm Not the Only One...

Monday, I went to the center that houses my doctor and counselor, and talked to the guy who handles assistance for people who can't afford to go anywhere else. He coordinates things like vocational rehab, food bank assistance, prescription drug assistance, and other things like that.

This appointment went as well as could be expected. I told him the most traumatic of my experiences, which I haven't quite gotten the nerve to express here yet. (But just you wait... it'll be worth it, I promise.) It was in due course of our conversation that it would come out; and it's something I need to air, over and over again, until the reality of it is no longer so terrifying.

Maybe I was a little sensitive after telling him part of my story, and the sheer compassion in his eyes was so touching. Maybe I really just needed to come home and cry my eyes out because of the retelling. I know my anxiety was just looking for any excuse to be paranoid, but it struck me as I drove home that this has been my entire life...

There was a man standing outside the center waiting on his ride. Maybe it was a friend coming to pick him up, maybe it was the public transportation, maybe it was a cab. All I know is that immediately alarm bells started ringing so loudly in my head as soon as I made eye contact with this character.

My immediate reaction upon making eye contact with anyone is to smile at them, to acknowledge their presence. Everyone appreciates someone acknowledging that they exist, and I can't help that smile any more than I can help that my heart beats without me thinking about it. This man smiled back, but that creepy, leery smile that really sets every hair on my head and body on edge.

As I was walking away, it was like a staccato drumbeat:
Oh my God, he's thinking about what he's going to do to my body.
He's watching me walk away and looking at me like a piece of meat.
He's thinking about ways to hurt me.
Hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt.
Pain, pain, pain.
He's going to hurt me and there will be nothing anyone can do to stop it.
Can I scream?
Will I be able to scream?
What will people think if I scream?
He's going to come to my car door and he's going to try to grab me.
Lock it, lock it, lock the damn door.
Key in the ignition, drive away,
Drive away fast. Get home, get safe.
Safe, safe, safe... need safety.
Need to be safe. Feel safe. 

My teeth were chattering when I got home and not because it's springtime and the shade is a little cool. I was terrified that this man was somehow going to know where I live and was going to find me.

Ludicrous, right? Absolutely ridiculous that this or something like it will drum through my brain a million miles an hour, faster than I can catch it happening. Even more ridiculous is that ever since I was small, I can remember being afraid that someone was going to hurt me.

He looks like he's mean. He looks like he's going to hurt me. He's got a beard. Beards mean bad men. Bad men have hair on their face.
She looks like she's mad at me for some reason. She's got that look on her face, she's just inches away from me now... I didn't do anything, why is she mad at me? 
Run, run, run away. Block it out, block them out, don't talk, don't draw attention to yourself, don't don't don't... don't hurt me, please don't say something that'll make me cry. Don't hurt me.

All this because an absolute stranger might have a stormcloud over their head that day.

Or in the case of the man waiting for his ride under the tree, he might have had a disorder that meant he couldn't help staring at me. Or, since there was no one out there but him and me, he might have just been staring because I was the only thing moving and a pretty woman smiled at him kindly.