The police scared the bejesus out of me
today. They issued a warning about sucker punches. (Press
report here.) There have been ten in the past year—three of them fatal
and two leaving the victims alive but forever severely altered.
All of these attacks have been in our “entertainment
district,” two blocks from where I live and on a street I regularly walk.
The attackers are usually drunk, from out
of town and involved in an altercation at the time of the attack. All the
attacks have been on innocent bystanders and all the attacks have occurred at
night. Two of the victims have been seniors.
Thirty years ago, I was held up and forced
to drive at knifepoint to a hidden location by a madman. For twenty-two
minutes, I felt nothing but terror then, when a garbage truck came by, I took
my chance.
With blood and tears streaming down my
face, I screamed at the garbage men for H-E-L-P and they did not stop. They
called out to me, “Call the police.” And they drove away.
To this day, I feel nothing about my
attacker. He was crazy; I excuse him. The police charged him with kidnapping
(minimum: 25 years). I never went to therapy and I should have to process the
deep, passionate loathing I have for the garbage men.
After the event, I went to work. I was
explaining my state in a good mental space. I can remember everything about the
room I was in. But when my friend David arrived and called out Hello from the
hallway, as soon as I heard his voice I exited this world.
I went somewhere. I remember nothing. My
coworkers called the police and they brought me back to a state wherein I could
see and speak. They wanted to know things about what had happened obviously.
They were faultlessly kind and compassionate and I felt nothing but love. One
of them had been a student of mine in junior high.
I returned their kindness in my tone and I
remember I kept touching one of them, but I was still a wreck. I recognized
that they were doing the right thing as they asked me questions about the man
and all he had said and done, but I explained to them that I really had no
interest in catching them.
I explained that punishing him would do
nothing for me. Instead, I explained that I wanted to go to the Vancouver Rape
Centre where I felt women would understand my terror and comfort me. I still
wish I had done that. I wanted comfort, not retribution.
The police were concerned about other
people, not me. Keeping the crazy man away from more people but I was concerned
about myself I am ashamed to say. I needed help first before I helped others.
But I persevered.
I could not go to court. But if I didn’t I
would be charged with contempt. It still seems unfair to me that you are forced
to face your attacker. Can you imagine my empathy with victims of rape? It is
deeper than deep.
It felt scary on the street last night. And
I only went half a block to the 711.
My condo is my heaven. I live less than a
block from the hospital where I had my tonsils out at age four and I am a
30-minute walk from the hospital in which I was born.
These idiots are coming in from out of
town. They have seen this sucker-punch craze reported on TV. They are copy-cat
criminals and some of them are killers. It scares me.
My father used to beat me—not too often, but with an uncontrollable anger and spewing venom—and I grew up in fear of men who might discover I was gay. Gay bashing and bullying was big back then. So it is hard to be tough. It is hard to overcome fear. I am an introvert. But
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