Give Me A Reason…

My second threat happened within then last two years. I went to see my therapist who is “stationed” in a “BAD NEIGHBORHOOD” — some bullshit label I fucking hate to use in the first place. People are circumstances of their surroundings — so fucking whatever.

Anyway. I was walking as usual from my car through the alley to the front door where I get buzzed in. You see, it’s locked due to the “BAD NEIGHBORHOOD.”

By way of background, I usually only have to wait five long seconds, at most, to be buzzed in by the receptionist, who I consider a friend, at this point.

But not this day.

My safety was compromised this day.

I walked with my pepper spray out, quickly, walking “with purpose” as my Middle School Chorus teacher used to say, eyes pealed for predators. I knew by that time not to trust anyone. Not someone I knew, (had been raped the first time already), and not someone I didn’t (I had learned enough from the Rape Crisis Center I volunteered at by then).

As I approached the building, and thus, door, to be buzzed in, I saw two men across the street from me. I said to myself, “don’t make rash judgments based on bullshit, you’re paranoid.”

Then they crossed the street.

They had no discernible reason to cross the fucking street.

“Fucking fuck,” I thought. “Don’t lose your shit,” I thought.

They regarded me in a way that I can only describe as unnerving.

I pushed my button to be buzzed in. I waited.

Nothing happened.

Next, I heard, “we can take this bitch.” Then, “yeah man.”

Great. pepper spray out, I was ready to throw my bag one way, spray one of the guys with that, then jump into self-defense mode with the other. I knew I might have to run to my car to avoid being hurt — or —- raped — or worse.

I prepared myself. I knew I had to be ready to fight then flight.

And I was buzzed in.

It’s not okay.

I’M NOT OKAY. I won’t be. Maybe ever. Thanks, exes.

This isn’t a “happy ending” to my “story,” okay?

Sure, I avoided a situation and maybe a tragedy I didn’t want to deal with. Thank God, right? But the fact that it happened at all is a problem.

There are women you know who don’t have pepper spray, who don’t have self-defense training, who aren’t paranoid because they haven’t been attacked before.

And if no one was there to buzz me in, I might not be here right now writing this shit.

Feminists want equality, definitely. But we also want fucking safety when we go outside.

Women don’t do to men the shit men do to them. We just DON’T.

So I’m not the shoulder to cry on to complain about inequality between feminists and men who think “equality” means allowing a woman to get raped.

Grow up.

Fucking whatever.


Totally new thing.

How do YOU deal with missing someone you don’t even really know?

Can you tell me how I’m supposed to deal with it?

Because I just can’t stop crying. So. That’s really [not] fucking helpful.

This guy — who I really admired and liked and appreciated and thought was attractive and looked at beyond “the whatever friend etc. zone,” died this past summer. It was not a suicide; a freak accident — health related.

When I went to his Wake with my Mom, I tried to be strong — my Mom knew the Mother of the deceased since High School — but I saw one picture of him in Uniform (Iraq) standing between his Mother and Father and it was over.

“Sobbing.” doesn’t do what happened to me then, justice. I was one person away from giving my condolences to his Mother.

There was NOTHING I could do.

I grabbed her, hugged her, and said through sobs of gasps, “I am so sorry,” and eventually, “he was such an amazing person.”

She replied, “he always wanted to ask you out, and I told him you had a boyfriend.”

I said, “I would have gone out with him anyway. I wish he had asked me.”

We held onto each other like we were holding on for life, literally.

Have you ever hugged someone like your life depended on it? THAT’S what this was. And we’ve been very close ever since.


He deserves better than this lame ass written bullshit here.

There’s a song — on all of my playlists now — all of them — and I’m decorating a Christmas tree tonight. So important, right? And this song comes on. And at an important part of the song, something in my vicinity moves.

So I start talking to HIM. The “dead guy.”

Because why the fuck not?

And all of a sudden I break down and can’t stop crying.

Maybe for the life he should have lived.

Maybe for the life we could have had together.

Maybe for what I missed out on.

Maybe because I’ll never be able to talk to him again — maybe hoping he just hears me and regards me.

Maybe because I’ll never ever ever ever ever ever know that love.

Maybe because this season fucking sucks for broken families.

Maybe because I’m completely unstable.

But I talked to him for MINUTES through tears until I gave up decorating my tree and came here to write, for you.

I’m so depressed I don’t believe in anything good right now.

If you care, you have my contact info.

Give me a reason to care.

Give me a reason to keep writing.

Give me any reason if you want me to be here.

Author’s Note: I am not suicidal.

I appreciate everyone who has reached out to me. I didn’t mean to scare everyone, and I apologize and feel very bad about that.

I’m clearly having a very difficult time with the season. I know it is a difficult time for a lot of other people. I will be okay. I was writing perhaps a little too honestly.

I promise I won’t give up on myself.

Sorry for scaring you. Thank you to those who reached out to me. It is everything.


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