[true story -- from a number of years ago]
A noise at the window. I look over to see the curtain shuddering from the wind. It is raw outside. On my next trip to the bathroom I must remember to shut the window.
It is 3am. I am planted before some old black and white movie on TV that must have slipped on after Law & Order while I was crying. Much of the paperwork that was overflowing my mail bin is in my lap or all over the coffee table.
I reach for a Kleenex on the night stand. I need to fight these blues. What is wrong with me? I just had a lovely dinner with my friend Anna six or so hours ago.
It is Thanksgiving holiday weekend. I miss my family. I am emotionally and physically exhausted.
Still, I am resolved to exercise before getting into bed in prep for a self-defense course starting up in a few weeks.
Maybe exercising will lift my mood.
I got inspired this week by my friend Nanci’s Model Mugging graduation four days ago. It was awesome. My quiet and reserved friend, Nanci, knocked my socks off. Well, not my socks off, but literally someone else’s! In only ten days 15 women of varying ages and sizes learned how to knock out a would-be attacker. Those guys waddling around in their padded space suits looked funny until they took turns barreling at the women like freight trains. Then WHAM, WHAM WHAM! The guy was laid out on the mat, the woman standing over him with fists raised, chest high, stomping out the word “NO!” on the floor beside him.
I fill out a check for the Con Edison bill in my lap and wonder if I’ll really have the nerve to take the course.
Suddenly, the little blackboard next to the kitchen window clatters to the floor. “Oh Jane,” I sigh, not needing to look up. My cat periodically sends such items crashing in her explorations of the wilderness of my tiny studio. I can’t help but appreciate her demure, backward glances of innocence and casual interest, as if she were never the originator of such mischief. I slide in the check and am licking the envelope when my eyes fasten on Jane on the other side of the room. I hold my breath but my heart is pounding. Jane’s sleek, black body is taut. Her interest in the window is not casual.
The curtain moves and there is a violent shoving noise. “A storm,” my mind supplies, but the pounding in my ears suggests otherwise. Then, an OH-MY-GOD beige, sneakered leg comes through the small rectangle of window opening. I am on my feet screaming. I ram the coffee table with my shins, sending papers and coffee cup sailing.
An unknown being is half-in, half-out of my home, my haven. I am impressed by the siren filling the apartment, originating somewhere between my stomach and my throat, but am unwilling to engage with the stranger. I prefer to search my mind for some benign and legitimate reason for someone to be entering my apartment through this, as incredible as it seems, non-fire escape window at this hour.
This cannot be real. It is some bizarre extension of the Model Muggingpsychodramas. After eight years in New York, why would it happen this week? This is what happens to other people, and not even the people one knows, but the people they know of.
I continue to scream and he is in. Evil-eyed with jaw clenched, bearing some kind of knife —— a box cutter. That stubby razor with a handle. He tells me to shut up, but he is obviously as certain no one will react to my screams as I am they will.
I can’t imagine there's not ONE friggin’ neighbor in this whole Goddamn building to hear me this holiday weekend? He indicates no hesitation from such a possibility.
Within seconds I surrender hope of being rescued by outside help.
But a miracle happens. I watch myself turn into my own rescuer. I raise my fists, harden my eyes back into his, and command him to leave. There is urine trickling down my leg but my mind is filled with images from the graduation. Then I was an awed but fierce cheerleader. Now it is my turn.
‘‘I WANT YOU TO LEAVE NOW!” I keep repeating at the top of my voice.
And he keeps repeating back, “SHUT UP!” He is Hispanic, about 5’2” with a narrow moustache and a yellowish cast to his skin. He is slight but wiry —— and the label “cat burglar” slips through my mind. His eyes are slitted —— no flicker of life. 30, maybe?
“Why did I let him get all the way in?” I mourn.
I had been paralyzed. There were some seconds there in which I might have had enough time to run to that window and push him back into the night and downward two stories’ worth of air to the sidewalk below. But that might have killed him. I could not fathom let alone perform such an action.
But now does he intend to kill me?
I remember Nanci’s comment during our last phone conversation before her graduation. “They tell us not to focus on what’s gone before or what might happen. Just stay in the NOW.”
He comes toward me. I tighten my fists and picture the blond-haired coach, Sarah, with her full voice and invincible stance. Somehow we’ve gotten deep into the room and I drop onto the couch on my side and kick toward his groin, just missing it as he jumps back. I continue to kick into the air, glaring into his eyes. The lower half of a woman’s body is comparable in strength to a man’s they’d said. KICK, KICK, KICK! I hear the chanting of Sunday’s audience. I kick outward and upward, powerfully and mechanically, mimicking the women, conveying that I will have the discipline and heart to keep kicking forever.
Suddenly from this kicking my plaid flannel nightshirt flaps back onto my stomach revealing my (OH-MY-GOD) pubic area. Our eyes meet in acknowledgment over this ironic side effect of my own measure of defense. For a millisecond his eyes flash with malevolent victory. I waver for less than a heartbeat, then GROWL. I resume the kicking even more fiercely, despite the exposure, and bare my teeth. I am an animal facing down a predator. Sunday’s role modeling has given me such permission.
It is his turn for decisions. He is back at the window next to the kitchen area and I slip into watchfulness and relief —— but I must not lose my leverage. “My pocketbook,” I direct, rising and returning to my clenched-fist stance. “TAKE THE MONEY AND LEAVE.”
He goes into my bag on the table and removes the bills from my wallet. There aren’t many. Then on to the bureau drawers.
‘‘I WANT YOU TO LEAVE NOW!” I command.
He tells me to sit down or he’ll “keel” me.
I gulp but continue to hover, keeping my eyes on the knife. He keeps the knife in his tight-gloved left hand and with his right rummages through my clothes, looking for some hidden cache that doesn’t exist. His words about killing me horrify, but he delivers them in a weasely, preoccupied voice. He flicks his non—knife hand at me periodically like I am a pesky mosquito. But I wonder how he really perceives me. I suspect he wants me to perceive him as perceiving me as a little nothing. But I am fresh from the Model Mugging indoctrination. I will dedicate myself to the active, not reactive. I picture again the blond—haired coach with the spine of iron.
“PLEASE LEAVE. I HAVE NOTHING!”
He gives me no argument about the "nothing". He says a word I can’t understand with his thick accent. He repeats it several times. Finally I get it.
“JEWELRY?”
He removes a gold chain from an open tray on my bureau. I watch it streaming out of his gloved hand. Rage rises in my throat. I have so little serious jewelry, but what I have is precious to me.
“I HAVE NOTHING,” I insist, willing him to deny the reality of the blue box in the back center of my bureau. What I can’t seem to say is that I don’t have very much or very expensive jewelry, but the bare-boned dialogue of crisis prevents this.
I don’t like that chain in his fist. I don’t want him going through my jewelry.
“I WANT YOU OUT OF THIS APARTMENT NOW!”
Suddenly my right fist shoots out and grazes his neck. It is a pulled punch —— provocative at best. I am shocked by my impulse, as shocked as he clearly is, but I square my jaw and glare at him as menacingly as I can. We are poised again, awaiting his decision. I am over half a foot taller than he but he must have massive body strength to have climbed through that window.
The slitted eyes widen and suddenly I am looking into a face ten years younger. Less demonic. He looks toward the door and my heart screams, “YES, YES!” He scrambles down the short hallway and I can taste the safety. As he fumbles with the two locks ineffectively I am crazed. I encourage in a now dissonantly calming voice, “Slide it to the left! Just slide it to the left!”
I hear it finally slide. He is out. He turns to the left not right. I don't bother to correct him.
I slam the door and lock it.
The 9-1-1 woman has trouble transcribing my address and I shout it at her.
I call my friend, Edna, and we talk until two policemen arrive. They are not as comforting as I’d like, but neither are they callous. I tell them about the Model Mugging class I witnessed. How I am so grateful to it and that it maybe saved my life or saved me from getting raped. One of the men admits to having heard of it. The other is very detached and impatient for just the facts. He picks up a spiral notebook from the now paper—strewn carpet and I shiver at having another uninvited hand touching my property. He begins writing on the top blank sheet of the opened notebook and I notice it is rippled. From droplets of my urine I surmise, but I cannot bring myself to tell him that. A strange combination of shame and vengeance.
They leave and I seek out my cat. I find her at the bottom of my closet. Then I call a couple other friends until the sun rises. They listen and comfort. I want to take a hot bath, my “feel better” ritual, but I am oppressed by the superstition that every thug in New York will now find his evil way through that window, now closed and locked, and I cannot take my eyes off of it.
For two days my cat sits in the dark on the floor of my closet where I periodically visit her. When she does venture out, it is to shadow me so closely that I keep stepping on her, whereupon she shrieks and then I shriek back in surprise. We are quite an hysterical, hypervigilant pair.
While at a pay phone on Madison Avenue going to work one day I catch the movement of a tall blond man whirling around to cross the street in another direction. I scream. He looks over inquiringly. I mutter, “Sorry” and shrug. I will continue to grossly over-react every time I am startled for the next several weeks.
I work like a demon for money for window gates, sleep not being a safe idea, anyway. They are installed within the week. I speak to detectives, peruse hundreds of mug shots at a police station on the West Side and suspect every short Hispanic man I pass on the street of being the perpetrator. I treat every subway ride with seated passengers across from me as an informal “line up.” My bodily and mental engines are perpetually racing. I know it will take the passage of serious time to settle down after such trauma.
I find particular comfort in my talks with Nanci and Diane, my two Model Mugging graduate friends, along with Laine, the director of the New York school whom I called to express my gratitude. I had met her at the graduation. She spends over an hour on the phone with me, a manicky stranger, validating my reality and acknowledging my power. She tells me that I am great advertising for her course. She gets what the cops couldn’t savvy. Witnessing the Model Mugging psychodrama undoubtedly saved me from a far more dire fate. How synchronistic, these two events so close together. I have no doubt if the burglary/robbery had occurred a week earlier I would have been looking to the burglar for cues as to appropriate behavior. I would have behaved as an entirely different person -- reactive and dependent. How differently the burglar might have behaved in that case.
I marvel at my unique position of testing out and testifying to the strength of attitude alone in defending oneself. Model Mugging, even before any formal physical training in it, inspired me to fend off the “victim mentality” —- the premature surrendering to which we women have been conditioned.
There is one recurring ambush of paranoia, however, that has refused to diminish. For one instant a curtain moved and I thought it was the wind. For the rest of my life when a curtain moves, must my body gird itself for a burglar, window gates and eventual Model Mugging training notwithstanding?
* * *
Very moving and dramatic essay - I tried to rate it, but the button refuses to respond.
The most gripping account of a home invasion I have ever read, Libby, taking us with you inside your head as you incrementally worked thru the rationalizations and denials until you came to the NOW and began responding. Found myself starting to kick my feet under the desk - probly broke something under there. This is damned good writing, and it's the best kind of advertisingModel Mugging or any self-defense class could hope to have. They should pay you for it. You handled yourself perfectly. I've a hunch the kid will never forget that morning either.
How absolutely terrifying. More so because it could happen to any of us at any time, I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't know I was prey. There's no doubt in my mind that given the opportunity I'd have knocked him out the window to his death without a second thought, that state of mind changed in me decades ago when I got tired of being prey.
Incredibly well told, I was right there with you. So glad that you'd observed that graduation, I'm so glad you're here.
Incredibly well told, I was right there with you. So glad that you'd observed that graduation, I'm so glad you're here.
You're lucky Libby... it could have been a lot worse.
A very scary story told with great skill and style. It's a lucky thing you had least had some grounding in self-defense. R
This had me at the edge of my seat jaws clenched as well as my fists. This needs to be an editor's pick. I am sending a linkg to "reader's Pick" and a link on FB
This is writing at its very best, Libby.
It is the kind of thing most of us hope will happen when we type that first word of a commentary or essay.
Thanks for sharing it with such strength and honesty…for allowing us to feel the fear, violation, and anguish without actually facing the danger as you did.
And thanks for allowing the cat, Jane, to play such an important role in the story. I suspect the lines, “I hold my breath but my heart is pounding. Jane’s sleek, black body is taut. Her interest in the window is not casual” will stay with me for some time.
It is the kind of thing most of us hope will happen when we type that first word of a commentary or essay.
Thanks for sharing it with such strength and honesty…for allowing us to feel the fear, violation, and anguish without actually facing the danger as you did.
And thanks for allowing the cat, Jane, to play such an important role in the story. I suspect the lines, “I hold my breath but my heart is pounding. Jane’s sleek, black body is taut. Her interest in the window is not casual” will stay with me for some time.
Stuart, thanks so much for your comment. When something this provocative happens to one it makes one remember every second and makes one want to communicate the experience for the sake of one's own emotional catharsis. It is as honest an account of what was happening and what I was thinking as I could manage. I appreciate the opportunity to share it here, so many years later. best, libby xxxx
Chicken Maaan, thanks once again for your strong empathy and support. I had written this up just after it happened for my own catharsis and writing experience and while it was still pretty fresh. I touched it up only a bit before publishing it here. Maybe with the Colorado tragedy I began to think about my own less fatal but terrifying brush with the criminal mindset. If the ambush was to happen to me, thank God it happened after that self-defense exposure. It made me fight the victim paralysis. So much bluffing or acting, but as they say "act as if" sometimes and it makes one stronger. I took the 10 days of self-defense which I may have copped out of if this experience had not happened. It was powerful and gave me a physical experience as a participant to re-inforce my shift in attitude as to not help a dangerous assailant by shutting down my wits and body and surrender to "helpless" "numb" mode.
It took me a long time to process that trauma, despite my bravado that early morning. After experiencing such trauma I was so hyper-reactive. Girded for the worse. I was spared so much, but a certain innocent trust in day to day living was eroded. I also has to face down the "it would never happen to me" or procrastination mindset. I live facing a busy New York City street, with traffic even through the night. I assumed that kept me safe from invasion. I had considered and "intended to" get window gates, but did not make it a priority. Then I got whammied. I was living in my own bubble of denial. Also, I know my screams must have been heard by someone in the building. It awed me. The one thing you figure living in an apartment building is that you have other people around in case you get ambushed by someone or something happening. That sobered me.
During the week after, one neighbor I did not know but who had heard about my experience cornered me in the lobby to scream at me to let such a thing happen to me. I was stunned by his misdirected rage and malice coming at me. Here i was limping out of that experience having someone pop off at me for being the messenger of the danger that lurks in the world, now a little too close for comfort.
I also learned that week that most of my neighbors did not have window gates themselves and some primitive ways to feel safe but were in my mind not all that substantial. It has made me all the more empathetic to potential crises with other human beings. When I hear something happening out on the street and once from the lobby while in my apartment, no one calls 9-1-1 faster than me.
I called it once hearing one female half-scream but I recognized that kind of scream having emanated it myself from the lobby below. A guy had tried to rob a neighbor with a gun, forced here into the foyer (believe me, I don't live in a tough NYC neighborhood and this is not commonplace, but still) and the perpetrator ended up running out the door after taking her pocketbook but the cops got there so fast that she jumped in their patrol car and they actually found the guy running down a nearby avenue within 10 blocks. The cops came fast, the neighbor wanted to help them. She was proactive, too. And timing was everything. (I remember after it happened my tremendous will to try to find this guy, a needle in a haystack, to evenge the trauma he had inflicted).
Come to find out the same guy from the lobby incident had SHOT AND KILLED a woman about 9 blocks away from my building earlier in the day. THEY CAUGHT HIM AND PROSECUTED HIM! I guess that was passing it forward, such empathy from having been victimized myself!
Thanks again for listening, Chicken Maaan, and so hard. It means so much! :-)
best, libby xxxx
Bleue, thanks so much for your comment and your honesty. My hardwiring from childhood trauma sends me I know so very readily into freeze mode (out of fight, flight (not possible in this case) or freeze mode). The self defense indoctrination made me seek out a proactive fight mode thank God. That one evening of preparation, of watching people willingly embrace the psychodramatic opportunity to break out of a "role" they drift around in. We see so much violations of people on our crime shows. Stuck in the horror of what is happening to them. Especially women!
Feeling too ladylike in my conditioning to fight dirty when someone may be intending to rape or kill me. To fight the good girl conditioning and to think fast and strongly enough to go for the groin area to fight a man, or the eyes or nose. To signal that one may get killed but one is willing to HURT back. I wasn't sure how willing I was at that point to hurt back but I was willing to posture as convincingly as I could that I would. I remember reading about how a woman should never travel with someone kidnapping her if she could help it. To fight like hell not to go because the chances of getting killed increase.
After this happened to me and I shared it with friends and acquaintances people began to open up to me about their own brushes with violence, some with sadder endings than mine. People seemed grateful to talk about it, since it is not encouraged by people, to have to break through their bubble of denial that they are guaranteed safe in this world.
I don't know if I would read this blog based on the title if I hadn't written it. I would want to avoid reading about scary situations other people have had that thanks to the grace of God so far I haven't had to endure myself. But I realize the experiences of and sharings of others gives us deeper insights into coping.
best, libby
xxxx
Chicken Maaan, thanks once again for your strong empathy and support. I had written this up just after it happened for my own catharsis and writing experience and while it was still pretty fresh. I touched it up only a bit before publishing it here. Maybe with the Colorado tragedy I began to think about my own less fatal but terrifying brush with the criminal mindset. If the ambush was to happen to me, thank God it happened after that self-defense exposure. It made me fight the victim paralysis. So much bluffing or acting, but as they say "act as if" sometimes and it makes one stronger. I took the 10 days of self-defense which I may have copped out of if this experience had not happened. It was powerful and gave me a physical experience as a participant to re-inforce my shift in attitude as to not help a dangerous assailant by shutting down my wits and body and surrender to "helpless" "numb" mode.
It took me a long time to process that trauma, despite my bravado that early morning. After experiencing such trauma I was so hyper-reactive. Girded for the worse. I was spared so much, but a certain innocent trust in day to day living was eroded. I also has to face down the "it would never happen to me" or procrastination mindset. I live facing a busy New York City street, with traffic even through the night. I assumed that kept me safe from invasion. I had considered and "intended to" get window gates, but did not make it a priority. Then I got whammied. I was living in my own bubble of denial. Also, I know my screams must have been heard by someone in the building. It awed me. The one thing you figure living in an apartment building is that you have other people around in case you get ambushed by someone or something happening. That sobered me.
During the week after, one neighbor I did not know but who had heard about my experience cornered me in the lobby to scream at me to let such a thing happen to me. I was stunned by his misdirected rage and malice coming at me. Here i was limping out of that experience having someone pop off at me for being the messenger of the danger that lurks in the world, now a little too close for comfort.
I also learned that week that most of my neighbors did not have window gates themselves and some primitive ways to feel safe but were in my mind not all that substantial. It has made me all the more empathetic to potential crises with other human beings. When I hear something happening out on the street and once from the lobby while in my apartment, no one calls 9-1-1 faster than me.
I called it once hearing one female half-scream but I recognized that kind of scream having emanated it myself from the lobby below. A guy had tried to rob a neighbor with a gun, forced here into the foyer (believe me, I don't live in a tough NYC neighborhood and this is not commonplace, but still) and the perpetrator ended up running out the door after taking her pocketbook but the cops got there so fast that she jumped in their patrol car and they actually found the guy running down a nearby avenue within 10 blocks. The cops came fast, the neighbor wanted to help them. She was proactive, too. And timing was everything. (I remember after it happened my tremendous will to try to find this guy, a needle in a haystack, to evenge the trauma he had inflicted).
Come to find out the same guy from the lobby incident had SHOT AND KILLED a woman about 9 blocks away from my building earlier in the day. THEY CAUGHT HIM AND PROSECUTED HIM! I guess that was passing it forward, such empathy from having been victimized myself!
Thanks again for listening, Chicken Maaan, and so hard. It means so much! :-)
best, libby xxxx
Bleue, thanks so much for your comment and your honesty. My hardwiring from childhood trauma sends me I know so very readily into freeze mode (out of fight, flight (not possible in this case) or freeze mode). The self defense indoctrination made me seek out a proactive fight mode thank God. That one evening of preparation, of watching people willingly embrace the psychodramatic opportunity to break out of a "role" they drift around in. We see so much violations of people on our crime shows. Stuck in the horror of what is happening to them. Especially women!
Feeling too ladylike in my conditioning to fight dirty when someone may be intending to rape or kill me. To fight the good girl conditioning and to think fast and strongly enough to go for the groin area to fight a man, or the eyes or nose. To signal that one may get killed but one is willing to HURT back. I wasn't sure how willing I was at that point to hurt back but I was willing to posture as convincingly as I could that I would. I remember reading about how a woman should never travel with someone kidnapping her if she could help it. To fight like hell not to go because the chances of getting killed increase.
After this happened to me and I shared it with friends and acquaintances people began to open up to me about their own brushes with violence, some with sadder endings than mine. People seemed grateful to talk about it, since it is not encouraged by people, to have to break through their bubble of denial that they are guaranteed safe in this world.
I don't know if I would read this blog based on the title if I hadn't written it. I would want to avoid reading about scary situations other people have had that thanks to the grace of God so far I haven't had to endure myself. But I realize the experiences of and sharings of others gives us deeper insights into coping.
best, libby
xxxx
jmac, thanks for reading and sharing. yes, don't I know it, it could have been a lot worse. I kept fighting not speculating on that while it was happening and tried hard not to let that dread overwhelm me. I was lucky he ran for the door and shocked since I hadn't read him as ready to let go of it. I guess I convinced him I was willing to fight to the death.
I got such different readings of the incident later from the cops. Some said he was probably a rapist, since he sounded like a bad burglar and since there were empty apartments from the holiday why did he pick on one with a resident at home with lights on. A woman sitting on a couch crying might have looked like a really easy mark for robbery or rape.
Some said he was after drug money, I wondered from the yellow tint of his skin and his eyes if he were an addict. He wielded a box cutter which could have been a more terrifying weapon, but when it is threatening one, you give it credit for serious harm, nonetheless.
Later on as I said above, more and more women who heard about my incident began to tell me their horror stories and I heard about rapes and other nightmares from women and it sobered me all the more. Such disclosures are not encouraged in our day to day life, but as I learned from the psychodrama it really helps to be prepared!
Thanks for reading once again, jmac!
best, libby
I got such different readings of the incident later from the cops. Some said he was probably a rapist, since he sounded like a bad burglar and since there were empty apartments from the holiday why did he pick on one with a resident at home with lights on. A woman sitting on a couch crying might have looked like a really easy mark for robbery or rape.
Some said he was after drug money, I wondered from the yellow tint of his skin and his eyes if he were an addict. He wielded a box cutter which could have been a more terrifying weapon, but when it is threatening one, you give it credit for serious harm, nonetheless.
Later on as I said above, more and more women who heard about my incident began to tell me their horror stories and I heard about rapes and other nightmares from women and it sobered me all the more. Such disclosures are not encouraged in our day to day life, but as I learned from the psychodrama it really helps to be prepared!
Thanks for reading once again, jmac!
best, libby
Gerald, thanks so much for your visit! Yes, after all these years I am still enormously grateful and awed that if it had to happen it was timed right after the fresh self-defense indoctrination from a friend's courage to take that course and my wanting to support her! (I had read vzn's thoughts on synchronicity recently and I think this story applies to Jung's and vzn's theory!)
I often have trouble with sensory description in my writing, but when you are going through something at such a high level of adrenalin you really do feel your feelings and your senses. Heightened awareness then and enhanced memory later. it was an experience begging to be told. I have tried to incorporate the experience into a short story or novel, but I think the above essay is more straightforward and compelling as a non-fiction essay in my attempts to write it out. I may still try to do something with it in fiction.
best, libby
I often have trouble with sensory description in my writing, but when you are going through something at such a high level of adrenalin you really do feel your feelings and your senses. Heightened awareness then and enhanced memory later. it was an experience begging to be told. I have tried to incorporate the experience into a short story or novel, but I think the above essay is more straightforward and compelling as a non-fiction essay in my attempts to write it out. I may still try to do something with it in fiction.
best, libby
Dianne, thanks so much for your validation and empathy on this! I was trying to go through the roller coaster experience as honestly as I could. It was certainly a reckoning for me. A very harsh growth experience that sobers one in a sense permanently for both the better and in a way the worst. Irrational malice is so hard to fathom. Also facing down possible or actual desensitization from fellow humans who carry on -- as long as it is not happening to them -- and stay out of it, despite the obvious anguish and screaming (I am certain that my screams must have been heard by someone still, sigh)!
As I said above I was dumbfounded to hear about horrifying crises to people I knew who had never disclosed them. As I also wrote, as an open saloner I would probably skip over this blog cuz of its title (ick), because I wouldn't want to endure a story about such a trauma and have to relate to it.
Good for you for not skipping by, my friend!
best, libby
xxxx
As I said above I was dumbfounded to hear about horrifying crises to people I knew who had never disclosed them. As I also wrote, as an open saloner I would probably skip over this blog cuz of its title (ick), because I wouldn't want to endure a story about such a trauma and have to relate to it.
Good for you for not skipping by, my friend!
best, libby
xxxx
Frank, how nice to hear from you! Thank you for the emotional support and the literary validation!
Yes, Frank, I wanted to be as honest as I could about the many levels of the emotional rollercoaster. Even about the ironic and droll moments -- so many milliseconds. I was shrieking at the guy to leave but then in a different voice I am teaching him how to turn the lock to leave as if we are two people with a common goal suddenly. I was afraid to get close to him physically to do it for him but wanted desperately to help him get out before he changed his mind since I could not believe the horror was almost over.
Of course, then there was the aftermath when the adrenalin is gone that helps you weather it and you feel very fragile and burned out and must process the shock. How long that takes and some of it might never go away.
When I wrote this long ago I think I minimized the role of my dear cat, Lady Jane (now deceased), but how comforting she was and also how mutually traumatized she was when it happened. I know you share my profound appreciation of our feline friends!!!! As I type this to you, in fact, my little pal Weeks, orange short hair, is pressed up against me. He is pretty advanced in years (I lost his sister the beginning of the year) but seems pretty feisty and vital.
Take care, Frank!!! Thanks so much for reading and commenting!
best, libby
Yes, Frank, I wanted to be as honest as I could about the many levels of the emotional rollercoaster. Even about the ironic and droll moments -- so many milliseconds. I was shrieking at the guy to leave but then in a different voice I am teaching him how to turn the lock to leave as if we are two people with a common goal suddenly. I was afraid to get close to him physically to do it for him but wanted desperately to help him get out before he changed his mind since I could not believe the horror was almost over.
Of course, then there was the aftermath when the adrenalin is gone that helps you weather it and you feel very fragile and burned out and must process the shock. How long that takes and some of it might never go away.
When I wrote this long ago I think I minimized the role of my dear cat, Lady Jane (now deceased), but how comforting she was and also how mutually traumatized she was when it happened. I know you share my profound appreciation of our feline friends!!!! As I type this to you, in fact, my little pal Weeks, orange short hair, is pressed up against me. He is pretty advanced in years (I lost his sister the beginning of the year) but seems pretty feisty and vital.
Take care, Frank!!! Thanks so much for reading and commenting!
best, libby
Libby
It was the title that brought me here, very clever.
It was the title that brought me here, very clever.
Wow just freaking wow, you are amazing and I am so happy you were led to that class!
It really annoys me that I can remember so vividly, everytime a fellow human being has attacked me or stolen from me. In retrospect, just their persistence within, and invasion of my memory, seems much more than they should ever be worthy of, and a kind of punishment to me, the victim. The slow, confusing, inevitable, lifelong sullying of the soul... every soul that yearns for good... this is like bacteria eating away at clean flesh, oxidation, rust on steel... sangria sucking mosquitoes..... Why?
At least those uglier files stored away, between the volumes of precious memories, may help me to act more decisively (and prudently) the next time this persistent ugliness, in its myriad of forms, comes creeping through the curtains at 3am.
Saludos ~
At least those uglier files stored away, between the volumes of precious memories, may help me to act more decisively (and prudently) the next time this persistent ugliness, in its myriad of forms, comes creeping through the curtains at 3am.
Saludos ~
Dianne! Thanks for revisit! Yeah, the title was pretty in your face, eh? I can't believe I actually stood there and prayed for a reasonable explanation from this home invader. The alternative was too terrifying. I would have stayed locked in fright I know cowed by the situation if not for watching the pscyhodramas from four days earlier. Kind of a good news/bad news scenario. :-) best, libby
Lunchlady,
so grateful for your fortitude in re-living this experience with me! It's been a bunch of years but it certainly comes back to me moment by moment as I reread my account. When he scrambled down the hallway I was stunned that it could possibly end so soon and without engagement. His being stymied by the locks at the end was such a cruel moment but he figured them out thank God. I had been staying away from that box cutter and didn't want to have to put my back to him to open the door!
I then had to go through those stages of grief after something so shocking. I really wanted to find this guy, I guess the anger stage, my inner being was so outraged and I had so much will and adrenalin. And I so earnestly studied so many faces in my neighborhood as if he would show up and then what would I do? I felt rather crazed for a bit.
When I went to the police station and saw the thousands and thousands of mug shots for New York criminals and they were all determined by height and maybe age too and I had no idea his EXACT height or age range but when I estimated they put all the others back in the drawer to my dismay and I spent a whole afternoon looking through the 5'2" ones wondering if I had even been close. What a crap shoot. One guy I said looked like him they said was still in prison so I was wrong.
They even called me one morning at 3am or so (again) the cops, to jump in an unmarked police car and go see a lineup. He was not there and the detective got mad at me cuz I forgot to lock his unmarked police car when I went into the station. I was in a daze. He scolded that it was a good thing no one stole it! You see, I remember so much still.
The burglar/robber when he released his slit-eyed demon face also looked so much younger and human at the end. So even then I had two different images of him. The demonic and the one at the end who suddenly looked way younger suddenly and more human. I was wearing the meanest face I could muster thru the whole thing!
One detective I met at one point called me a few times really late at night to talk about my experience and that felt a tad titillating and inappropriate. Maybe exciting to find someone official out of detached mode and me being a "damsel" I admit. I felt like I had dropped into a different dimension of reality for a while or surreality. The writer in me was curious but the human being and woman was traumatized and fighting to come out of it. The new gates on the windows helped. But people at work began remarking on my "startle response."
And then people more and more began to disclose their own horror stories and I felt some survivor guilt that I had been a relatively lucky one. I recognize that for sure. Also, that prepping I had before the ambush was so important.
Thanks for your interest, lunchlady! appreciate it!!!
best, libby
so grateful for your fortitude in re-living this experience with me! It's been a bunch of years but it certainly comes back to me moment by moment as I reread my account. When he scrambled down the hallway I was stunned that it could possibly end so soon and without engagement. His being stymied by the locks at the end was such a cruel moment but he figured them out thank God. I had been staying away from that box cutter and didn't want to have to put my back to him to open the door!
I then had to go through those stages of grief after something so shocking. I really wanted to find this guy, I guess the anger stage, my inner being was so outraged and I had so much will and adrenalin. And I so earnestly studied so many faces in my neighborhood as if he would show up and then what would I do? I felt rather crazed for a bit.
When I went to the police station and saw the thousands and thousands of mug shots for New York criminals and they were all determined by height and maybe age too and I had no idea his EXACT height or age range but when I estimated they put all the others back in the drawer to my dismay and I spent a whole afternoon looking through the 5'2" ones wondering if I had even been close. What a crap shoot. One guy I said looked like him they said was still in prison so I was wrong.
They even called me one morning at 3am or so (again) the cops, to jump in an unmarked police car and go see a lineup. He was not there and the detective got mad at me cuz I forgot to lock his unmarked police car when I went into the station. I was in a daze. He scolded that it was a good thing no one stole it! You see, I remember so much still.
The burglar/robber when he released his slit-eyed demon face also looked so much younger and human at the end. So even then I had two different images of him. The demonic and the one at the end who suddenly looked way younger suddenly and more human. I was wearing the meanest face I could muster thru the whole thing!
One detective I met at one point called me a few times really late at night to talk about my experience and that felt a tad titillating and inappropriate. Maybe exciting to find someone official out of detached mode and me being a "damsel" I admit. I felt like I had dropped into a different dimension of reality for a while or surreality. The writer in me was curious but the human being and woman was traumatized and fighting to come out of it. The new gates on the windows helped. But people at work began remarking on my "startle response."
And then people more and more began to disclose their own horror stories and I felt some survivor guilt that I had been a relatively lucky one. I recognize that for sure. Also, that prepping I had before the ambush was so important.
Thanks for your interest, lunchlady! appreciate it!!!
best, libby
Inverted,
So nice to see you.
This is such an interesting and eloquent take on it all:
"It really annoys me that I can remember so vividly, everytime a fellow human being has attacked me or stolen from me. In retrospect, just their persistence within, and invasion of my memory, seems much more than they should ever be worthy of, and a kind of punishment to me, the victim. The slow, confusing, inevitable, lifelong sullying of the soul... every soul that yearns for good... this is like bacteria eating away at clean flesh, oxidation, rust on steel... sangria sucking mosquitoes..... Why?"
And a positive appreciation for some benefit of such erosion of innocence:
"At least those uglier files stored away, between the volumes of precious memories, may help me to act more decisively (and prudently) the next time this persistent ugliness, in its myriad of forms, comes creeping through the curtains at 3am."
How insightful.
Those "uglier files" are life lessons for sure. I heard a character on a tv mystery the other night speak of the line between good and evil as a "razor's age" but then there are those who sociopathically parachute off that razor's age fully to the dark side, its not a sudden moment of weakness it is full throttle commitment. Victims are objectified as marks and trying to touch base for the humanity in someone violating your dignity and safety is nearly impossible. A role is being played out. I am so glad I had a new script as survivor not victim so freshly after the self-defense powerful and emotional indoctrination!
Thanks!
best, libby
So nice to see you.
This is such an interesting and eloquent take on it all:
"It really annoys me that I can remember so vividly, everytime a fellow human being has attacked me or stolen from me. In retrospect, just their persistence within, and invasion of my memory, seems much more than they should ever be worthy of, and a kind of punishment to me, the victim. The slow, confusing, inevitable, lifelong sullying of the soul... every soul that yearns for good... this is like bacteria eating away at clean flesh, oxidation, rust on steel... sangria sucking mosquitoes..... Why?"
And a positive appreciation for some benefit of such erosion of innocence:
"At least those uglier files stored away, between the volumes of precious memories, may help me to act more decisively (and prudently) the next time this persistent ugliness, in its myriad of forms, comes creeping through the curtains at 3am."
How insightful.
Those "uglier files" are life lessons for sure. I heard a character on a tv mystery the other night speak of the line between good and evil as a "razor's age" but then there are those who sociopathically parachute off that razor's age fully to the dark side, its not a sudden moment of weakness it is full throttle commitment. Victims are objectified as marks and trying to touch base for the humanity in someone violating your dignity and safety is nearly impossible. A role is being played out. I am so glad I had a new script as survivor not victim so freshly after the self-defense powerful and emotional indoctrination!
Thanks!
best, libby
Libby, you are my hero! I have never had the experience of having to confront a burglar head-on like that, although I have been burglarized. I second what L'Heure says--good you were at the graduation. Your poor kitty too! xo
Another strong example of serendipity, one of my favorite phenomena. I have a feeling you might have been okay even without your exposure to the Model Mugging concepts. You seem to me to be a fighter -- like me. I get angry when someone violates my space, not scared. That anger has been known to frighten off someone who may have had plans to do me harm. Your style for this essay was super effective.
Lezlie
Lezlie
L --
thanks for visiting and slogging through this terrible adventure. I can lapse into "flight" or "freeze" mode still from my complex-PTSD residue if not more, or I will fight but often the bravado is short-lived. Thanks for that vote of confidence even without the exposure to Model Mugging. Thanks to the Model Mugging my fight back was more systematized and formulaic. I kept hearing the advice and picturing the sturdily postured women in my head.
I saw from the Model Mugging prepping that I had "resistance" role-modelling strongly and freshly in my mind so that I was prepared. Preparation is so vital.
When I hear people talk about the dangers of communicating say about sexuality to kids I am appalled or even about drug use or whatever. The danger is not introducing the subject to them. It is in not! Yes, I know it is not easy to bring up these issues and be candid across the generational divide but if they are not addressed children are innocents to be preyed upon without making up their own minds about appropriate behavior and their values pre real life ambushes. They are susceptible to peer pressure and others enthralled to their peers. Doing what is they are signaled "cool" and blocking out consequences like AIDs or pregnancy or lifelong addiction.
As I said above, I don't think I would have kicked at the guy's groin if I hadn't been told that that is smart thing to do. Or that woman should consider getting on the ground and using their legs since their legs are so strong at fighting back. And to actually see it done before and it working on the padded guy volunteers who didn't declare a knockout until women really used a lot of force they actually have.
And just not acting predictably was an advantage with this guy. I thank God he wasn't an even bigger psycho but as some of the cops said, they thought his choosing an inhabited apartment was suspicious and maybe was looking to rape rather than rob.
To deal with a human being willing to cross such a line to home invade and threaten death or rape is something we don't prepare ourselves for or even think about or want to. The fact that I was compelled to do that so much four days earlier was a serendipitous Godsend, you are right!
I still had to do a lot of recovery work to get re-grounded, lucky as I was to get him out without getting physically violated.
Take care! best, libby
thanks for visiting and slogging through this terrible adventure. I can lapse into "flight" or "freeze" mode still from my complex-PTSD residue if not more, or I will fight but often the bravado is short-lived. Thanks for that vote of confidence even without the exposure to Model Mugging. Thanks to the Model Mugging my fight back was more systematized and formulaic. I kept hearing the advice and picturing the sturdily postured women in my head.
I saw from the Model Mugging prepping that I had "resistance" role-modelling strongly and freshly in my mind so that I was prepared. Preparation is so vital.
When I hear people talk about the dangers of communicating say about sexuality to kids I am appalled or even about drug use or whatever. The danger is not introducing the subject to them. It is in not! Yes, I know it is not easy to bring up these issues and be candid across the generational divide but if they are not addressed children are innocents to be preyed upon without making up their own minds about appropriate behavior and their values pre real life ambushes. They are susceptible to peer pressure and others enthralled to their peers. Doing what is they are signaled "cool" and blocking out consequences like AIDs or pregnancy or lifelong addiction.
As I said above, I don't think I would have kicked at the guy's groin if I hadn't been told that that is smart thing to do. Or that woman should consider getting on the ground and using their legs since their legs are so strong at fighting back. And to actually see it done before and it working on the padded guy volunteers who didn't declare a knockout until women really used a lot of force they actually have.
And just not acting predictably was an advantage with this guy. I thank God he wasn't an even bigger psycho but as some of the cops said, they thought his choosing an inhabited apartment was suspicious and maybe was looking to rape rather than rob.
To deal with a human being willing to cross such a line to home invade and threaten death or rape is something we don't prepare ourselves for or even think about or want to. The fact that I was compelled to do that so much four days earlier was a serendipitous Godsend, you are right!
I still had to do a lot of recovery work to get re-grounded, lucky as I was to get him out without getting physically violated.
Take care! best, libby
THIS POST HAS RECEIVED A READERS’ PICK AWARD
Thank God you made it! This was scary. I was hoping you would close the window on him! Bastard! I've got a similar story, your's made me remember. I'll save it for later. All my best and thanks for sharing this L.:D
I missed this somehow. Glad the Readers Picks led me here. Really well told. It could have been much worse. You should give yourself much credit for your courage-- it wasn't just the models class.
I read this earlier, Libby, and I'm not sure how I missed commenting. Someone must have come into the store. Anyway, it was and is excellent. You had me on the edge of my seat, but rooting for you. I've often wondered how I would react--now I have a model.
A strong grip on this reader, Libby ~ harrowing & intense ~ thank you.
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