Holy goodness.
Bahahahahahahahahahahahahaha It’s almost so absurd, it’s funny.
Last week, just out and about, I saw him.
I’ve talked a pretty fair amount on here about how I kind of hermited up in my room and didn’t do much New York stuff after it happened. I deferred school. I often stopped hanging out with my friends. I picked a project (Project 882) that would take me out of town nearly every weekend.
I sometimes talked about how it felt like I “left without leaving,” when it came to whether I’d stay in New York.
And then, after a lot of therapy, I was like, “I gotta get back into the world. The world’s not that scary.
A) Probably nothing will happen to you if you do see him somewhere.
B) Come on. New York has what? A trajillion people? Get real. You’re not gonna run into him, right?
And then, a mere 2 weeks(!) before it happened, I went to Hillary Clinton’s book signing. I was like, “I’m normal. I’m back. I’m spending all night outside in New York. This isn’t scary. Everything is fine. (It felt kind of like maybe an official “turning point” into good.) Then, over the course of those two weeks (between the turning point and sexual assault dude), I started a new job that’s fantastic (on a show for VH1). I re-started school (that’s also fantastic). The whole ‘re-start to my life’ thing is in progress and beautiful. Oh, sexual assault guy? Who’s that! He’s nowhere to be found. I’m free.
AND THEN I TURNED A CORNER WALKING HOME FROM WORK AND THERE HE WAS. (What on earth?!) And poof, my soul left my body.
He was on the other side of the street. And I felt a crushing wave of emotions all at once. What. do. I. do now.
I’m gonna walk the other way as fast as I can. That’s what I’m gonna do. Wait. That’s not what I’m gonna do, ’cause I’m not gonna change what I’m doing just to accommodate him in any way. I’m gonna head that way. Wait. I don’t wanna be uncomfortable just to prove a point. Wait. Where am I even going? Because tbh, I’m kinda lost in the midst of downtown. This is a weird street anyway, and I’m just wandering toward uptown. I could take a number of streets to get there.
Oh my goodness. Also, I was like, “Is that him? I most definitely know it’s him. No one’s face has been burned in my brain like his has. That’s absolutely him. And look…if I still had any unsure-ness, he’s carrying his bag. He has a semi-distinctive bag that he sort of carries in a certain way. And he’s doing that. He’s walking how he walks. He’s the height he is. I’m not having a crazy fever dream/hallucination. It’s him”
Then I had a moment of “do I take a picture? Because this is nearly literally unbelievable. And we all know the ol’ adage, “pics or it didn’t happen.” A camera wouldn’t lie to me. (But my eyes aren’t lying to me either. They should be enough!) Also, what weirdo would be taking pictures of him on the street? That doesn’t feel right. Plus, even if we just zoom right pass it feeling creepy to me, I don’t want a picture of him in my camera roll! I go out of my way all the time to avoid his face.
And also, I am not gonna get close enough to him to get a good picture. I’m trying to stay away from him, not get closer. (And what do I need a “good picture” for anyway? To convince my therapist or friends I saw him? They trust me. I might have issues not trusting myself all the time/feeling a little “crazy” after everything that’s happened, but I’d feel even crazier hiding in the metaphorical bushes when nobody should need a picture. (It’s super weird to take pictures of people on the street when they don’t know you’re taking their photo.) So, I felt way too weird about picture taking. And I dropped that fleeting thought.
My heart beat SO sos so so so so so so fast. I didn’t realize I was gonna feel as though I was running a marathon today. Geeeeeeeez.
And I’ll pick up here tomorrow.
[This is a post from the sexual assault series.]