WillyKat
Diamond Member
I’m sorry that seeing me about to cross your path this morning frightened you. The unusually dense fog and the darkness of 6am didn’t help. I meant you no harm. I was just out for my morning walk, something I try to do every day. It helps me heal. But there was no way for you to know that.
I’m especially sorry that while our paths then appeared to go in different directions, the destination was still nearly the same. I crossed the street and turned right; you walked down the street and turned left to cross it. You were heading to your car and I was heading right past it, by different routes. Seeing me--and I know in that soup I probably appeared like a sasquatch compared to you--on an intersecting course again brought you to panic, or close to enough.
It took me a second to sense your fear was because of me. It took me another second to think about calling out to you that it was OK. But by then, your door had already chirped unlocked and after a bit of shuffling, the door closed and locked. Too late. And what could I say? Really, what could I possibly say and what reason would you have to believe me. Nothing.
Every thief, rapist, and murderer will say that you can trust them. How many victims heard that shortly before being victimized? I know I did and perhaps you did too, which brought us to this morning. We live in a world where women, for their own safety, have to assume that any man they meet on a dark street or parking garage may harm them. We live in a world where men that would never do such a thing feel unfairly suspected. And for those of us that know the pain of sexual abuse, that can really sting.
I’ve felt that sting probably half a dozen times in my life. Every single time I wanted to say or scream that I’m not like that. There was only one occasion when I actually said something. I frightened a young woman in a parking garage. She jumped, screamed, and then giggled as we nearly collided on the stairwell. “Sorry, it’s OK” I said, or something like that. After we passed I turned and said something like, “hey, don’t ever show fear like that. Even if you are afraid, don’t let it show. And carry your keys like this [with the pointy end sticking between the fingers], like a weapon. Look like you won’t take any shit from anyone.”
What brought us to this? We should be allies if not friends. Just imagine what could happen if there were something where safe people could know each other. A secret code, or something. But if there were, how long would it be before the abusers figured it out and do what they do best, deceive?
It’s OK. I’ve learned to not take it personally. In fact, if you were my daughter I would advise you to do exactly as you did. Run to your car, get in, lock to the door. I just wish this world was different.
I’m especially sorry that while our paths then appeared to go in different directions, the destination was still nearly the same. I crossed the street and turned right; you walked down the street and turned left to cross it. You were heading to your car and I was heading right past it, by different routes. Seeing me--and I know in that soup I probably appeared like a sasquatch compared to you--on an intersecting course again brought you to panic, or close to enough.
It took me a second to sense your fear was because of me. It took me another second to think about calling out to you that it was OK. But by then, your door had already chirped unlocked and after a bit of shuffling, the door closed and locked. Too late. And what could I say? Really, what could I possibly say and what reason would you have to believe me. Nothing.
Every thief, rapist, and murderer will say that you can trust them. How many victims heard that shortly before being victimized? I know I did and perhaps you did too, which brought us to this morning. We live in a world where women, for their own safety, have to assume that any man they meet on a dark street or parking garage may harm them. We live in a world where men that would never do such a thing feel unfairly suspected. And for those of us that know the pain of sexual abuse, that can really sting.
I’ve felt that sting probably half a dozen times in my life. Every single time I wanted to say or scream that I’m not like that. There was only one occasion when I actually said something. I frightened a young woman in a parking garage. She jumped, screamed, and then giggled as we nearly collided on the stairwell. “Sorry, it’s OK” I said, or something like that. After we passed I turned and said something like, “hey, don’t ever show fear like that. Even if you are afraid, don’t let it show. And carry your keys like this [with the pointy end sticking between the fingers], like a weapon. Look like you won’t take any shit from anyone.”
What brought us to this? We should be allies if not friends. Just imagine what could happen if there were something where safe people could know each other. A secret code, or something. But if there were, how long would it be before the abusers figured it out and do what they do best, deceive?
It’s OK. I’ve learned to not take it personally. In fact, if you were my daughter I would advise you to do exactly as you did. Run to your car, get in, lock to the door. I just wish this world was different.
