I should call the police. I know this. What just happened… I wish it would rain. I wish it would thunder and blow and come down in wet cold sheets. I wish it would make the streets unwelcome. Instead it is cool and breezy and clear and lovely out tonight. I’d go sit outside even, if I could. I can’t.
I remember how my gut used to clench up when my ex husband started to get violent. I’m not talking about the beginning of our marriage. That clench was one of fear and dread – fear of him and dread of what he was going to do. I’m talking about the gut reaction I would have at the end of our marriage, when I was no longer afraid of him. It was still fear and dread, but fear of myself and dread of what I was becoming.
I have that clench now. My stomach is in so many knots I don’t know how I’ll sleep. I’m going to start by loading my shotgun. Of course Dog is staying inside tonight. I’m going to set the alarm too. And I’ll still probably lay awake most of the night.
I should have gotten the restraining order. Before, when my stalker neighbor decided to expose himself and masturbate in front of the windows of his house that face mine – he put on quite a show and made sure I was in front of my window so I might see what he was up to – I called the police and they told me to get a restraining order. He has felonies. Violent felonies. I was going to follow through and get the restraining order. But I was so busy. I was working so much. I was so overwhelmed. Depressed. Behind on everything. Blah Blah Blah – excuses. It was a pain in the ass, and I thought he was done. I really thought he was done.
He wasn’t done.
20 minutes ago he was screaming on my front porch. Beating on my door, and yelling at me through my mail slot. He threatened my dog. He threatened to sexually assault me. He made crude sexual comments – loudly. He was obviously high on something. Really high.
I told him to leave before I called the cops. And he left. Just like that.
And now I’m trying to decide whether or not I should actually call the cops. I’m trying to decide if I should pack Dog up in the car and go sleep somewhere else tonight. I’m trying to decide if it would be worth it to deal with the cops on this again. I didn’t take their advice last time. I didn’t get the restraining order.
I thought it would just go away. I don’t make eye contact. I don’t talk to him. I go out of my way to avoid him – don’t drive by his house when he is outside, don’t go out into my yard when he is at my neighbor’s or across the street at the vacant lot. I don’t do anything to encourage this. I just didn’t get the restraining order.
He has been hanging around the neighborhood kids a lot lately. He has a portable basketball hoop that he sets in the street and they all play. And they help him wash his car and he helps the grandmother across the street maintain her yard. He keeps his yard the tidiest on the street. And he cleans things up around the neighborhood. I respect this.
But I can’t have him threatening rape at the top of his lungs on my front porch. That part is completely uncool.
Clench in the gut.
I made a promise to myself that I would do everything necessary to keep this from turning violent. I will not back away from violence. My ex husband taught me how to tolerate violence. My martial arts instructors taught me how to protect myself. I’m not afraid for myself. I’m afraid that when, if the time comes that I need to defend myself, I will. To whatever degree necessary.
I really don’t understand this. I don’t get the logic. I go out of my way to stay away from people – to stay off the radar. I don’t go to bars anymore. I don’t go out walking at night alone. I don’t troll craigslist or any of the other relationship/sex sites. I don’t date. I don’t try to talk to people. I haven’t been this isolated in years. And this is what happens. My fucking neighbor looses his shit and felony strikes be damned, he’s going full on psycho stalker. I could understand this if I was out trolling for sex or partners or whatever. I could understand this if I was a serial dater or someone who spent a lot of time trying to hook up with men. I don’t.
I’m letting my hair go gray, for fuck’s sake. Intentionally. Because it makes me look 15 years older – especially with the constantly exhausted look I’m sporting most days. Bags and wrinkles for all. You’d think that would be enough. That would scream “leave me alone”.
I’m not going to call the cops. If I do, then I will have to press charges and he will go to jail tonight. And then he will be dealing with another felony charge – the one that may put him in prison for a very long time. I don’t want to be the one that ruins his life when he spends so much of it trying to do good. If that stupid 3 strikes law was different – if I could press charges knowing that he wouldn’t necessarily be charged with a felony or knowing that, since he was not violent against me, that his actions wouldn’t constitute a strike, then I would already be on the phone. But the legal here is sideways. No balance to it.
Plus, if the cops come here now, it will be an hour before they leave – at least. And they will say I told you so. They will. They should. I deserve it.
So tomorrow I will take some time off work to go to the courthouse and file a restraining order. I need to round up all of my paperwork. I’ll need to run by the office and pick up my last police report. I’ll need to stand in line and deal with someone else’s shit. This is not my shit. This is the result of someone else’s shit. And there are a million other things I could do with the time. A thousand of those actually need to be done – and soon. I have deadlines…
I’m rattled, but I’m also ok. I know I didn’t sound frightened when I told him to leave. I sounded pissed. And I am. I really am. Actually, I’m more pissed than anything. But I’m also tired. Exhausted. And overwhelmed. And behind on everything. No different than back in January when this was a problem before. Except this time I’m going to do what I should have done then.
I’m going to take the time off.
And then I’m going to start looking for a new place to live. We’re not safe here anymore.
SecondHand Saint 