Baggage

Prompt 3: Describe a time you were afraid

Check out this week's other participants here.

We all have baggage. Some people make theirs obvious. Others keep it bottled up and hidden, afraid of the ghosts of their past. I generally fall into the later category. But this is my blog and I've done enough talking around the stubject. So today I'll lay all the cards out on the table.

Freshman year of college I fell for my lab partner. He was a bad boy and that was part of the appeal. My parents hated him. My sister hated him. Even the family dog hated him. My friends all told me I was too good for him. It only made me want him more.

One day the lightbulb finally came on. I opened my eyes and finally saw him and our relationship for what it was. He was abusive, an alcoholic and a complete asshole. Tears flooded my eyes with this realization and I knew I had to end things.

It took me weeks to psych up the courage. I ended things. He didn't.

He wouldn't leave me alone. He called 50 times a day. If I didn't answer, he'd show up at my house. Most days, I'd come home from class and find him in my room. When he wasn't hiding in my room, he'd lay in wait along the pathways between my classes. As a finance major, he had no business being on my side of campus...

I was terrified. I couldn't sleep. Couldn't eat. I was afraid to leave my room because I was sure he'd jump out from behind my car or some bush or be lurking in the hallways outside my classroom. I couldn't stay in my room - fearful that he'd talk one of my sisters into letting him in the house.

I couldn't go to class. I was in danger of failing most of my classes. I couldn't do anything. And I really couldn't tell anyone what was going on.

"Stalking" was not a label I could put on this. The police did.

One horrible night when he came to the house, waking me up by pounding his fists into my pillow, just grazing my nose. His screams filled the house as he called me a bitch, a whore, accused me of ruining his life. Then screams became wails of hysterical tears because he missed me. And if he couldn't have me, he didn't want anyone to have me. His arms reached out toward me in a gesture that will always haunt me. Because I'm still not sure whether his intent to place those hands around my neck and strangle me.

I screamed for help, which mercifully came in the form of my neighbor's boyfriend. It took 3 guys to drag him outside. After that night, I completely fell apart.

And I finally had to come clean about what was happening to me. I had to tell my family, my sorority sisters, my professors, my employers. It was torture every time I had to say the word "stalking." Harder still was when I had to deal with their concerned looks and expressions of support. But the hardest part, almost too much to bear, was when "friends" didn't believe me. "He's just doing this because he loves you and wants you back." The words were a knife through the heart.

I spent a straight week in my bed. If I drifted too close to conscious thought, I popped another pill and zoned out again. The fear was too much. Anger, betrayal and hurt were there too. But the fear was all consuming and paralzying.

The only way to deal with it was to feel nothing. If I didn't feel anything, if I didn't trust anyone, didn't let anyone in, I wouldn't be hurt like this again.

It's now many years later. This guy rarely crosses my mind. Neither do the "friends" who claimed stalking was some bizzare expression of love. I write this post amazed that for the first time the tears didn't come fast and furious - it's almost like writing about something that happened to someone else.

But it's still hard for me to trust. Hard for me to be open and be myself with others.

So there you have it. My baggage. And one of the scariest times of my life...