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janradderI was held up at gunpoint on Sunday night right in front of my own fucking house and I can't stop thinking about it. I just got out of the shower where I kept going over and over what happened and what I could have done or what might have happened and my heart is beating too fast like I'm having a panic attack.
I'd just come home from Target (after buying some stocking stuffers for my sons). I pulled up in front of the house at 8:15 p.m. and as I pulled on to our street I saw a man walking right down the middle of the street further down. I got this kind of funny feeling about him but I didn't think too much about it because for some bizarre reason people in this city insist on walking down the middle of the street quite often. I sat in the car for a few extra seconds listening to "This American Life" on the radio and then thought I should get out and get in the house because this guy was in the street and I didn't want to be sitting there when he walked past. He'd been walking very slowly up to this point, almost lingering fifty yards away. I got out of the car, Target bag in hand, leapt over a snow bank and started towards my front door which was only about twenty feet away. From the street I heard a whistle and a "Hey," and I looked over, thinking this guy was going to ask for a cigarette or something, to see a gun pointing at me.
"Give me your fucking money," he says as he walks up to me. I tell him I don't have any money, really. "You're going to give me your fucking wallet," is his response. This whole time he's pointing the gun at me. "Ok," I say. Before I could get my wallet he grabs the front of my pants looking for my wallet and says, "Give me your fucking wallet." At this point, he is right in front of me holding the gun which is aimed at my head. It is sticking out the end of his jacket, a small 9mm semi-automatic. I have my hands up, palms open and I tell him my wallet isn't there, it's in my jacket. I slowly move my hand to my jacket and tell him that my wallet is right here inside my jacket and all I'm doing is getting it out. This is when he put s the gun right into my face only a few inches away and says, "I'm going to shoot you in the fucking head." I again tell him that I'm getting my wallet for him and I pull it out and hand it to him. As soon as he has it, he turns and runs down the street, his back to me. I watch him and think how easy it would be to just shoot him in the back if I had a gun as he runs away.
I keep thinking this. I keep thinking, what if I'd had a gun, or what if I'd gotten into my car, chased after him and ran him down. Of course I've also jokingly said to Haddayr that I should have just been like Bogart in The Maltese Falcon and grabbed the gun out of his hand then slapped him across the face. But I also keep seeing that gun pointing at me and I keep hearing him tell me he's going to shoot me in the fucking head. One of the things I said after I'd called the police was that I hope someone shoots him in the fucking head. I meant it, too. I think I still do. I just can't stop thinking about that fucker and his gun and going over in my head what happened and then what would have happened if he had shot me. I think about what he's done with my i. .d. and the cancelled credit cards. I'm worried that there's going to be some big unpleasant surprise with our finances. I just can't stop thinking about that gun.
Last night I had to take Arie to his therapy session and it was dark outside. The car was in front of the house and Arie, blissfully unaware of the previous night ran out happily to the sidewalk. "Wait, Arie," I told him. "Wait for me." I kept both boys close to me as I scanned the street looking for anyone suspicious. There were two people walking down the sidewalk who scared me because maybe they were muggers (it turned out they were friends of Haddayr's who were bringing us soup). On the other side of the street was a dark figure walking in our direction who terrified me. "Hi, Jan," the figure called out. It was our neighbor form across the street. Later that night, the dog had to be taken out. I told Haddayr I'd like to do it because I thought I'd feel less scared with the dog. I get out to the boulevard, looking around to see if anyone is approaching and what do I see but a dark figure walking towards us down the middle of the street. I told myself that it couldn't be a mugger but I was absol8utely terrified. My heart was racing and I was certain the person was going to pull a gun on me. The mugger was Somali and everywhere I see a brown Somali face that looks even vaguely similar to the mugger's, I think, "That's him."
I just can't stop thinking about this and I feel sick and scared and panicked and really sad and depressed. This really sucks.
I'd just come home from Target (after buying some stocking stuffers for my sons). I pulled up in front of the house at 8:15 p.m. and as I pulled on to our street I saw a man walking right down the middle of the street further down. I got this kind of funny feeling about him but I didn't think too much about it because for some bizarre reason people in this city insist on walking down the middle of the street quite often. I sat in the car for a few extra seconds listening to "This American Life" on the radio and then thought I should get out and get in the house because this guy was in the street and I didn't want to be sitting there when he walked past. He'd been walking very slowly up to this point, almost lingering fifty yards away. I got out of the car, Target bag in hand, leapt over a snow bank and started towards my front door which was only about twenty feet away. From the street I heard a whistle and a "Hey," and I looked over, thinking this guy was going to ask for a cigarette or something, to see a gun pointing at me.
"Give me your fucking money," he says as he walks up to me. I tell him I don't have any money, really. "You're going to give me your fucking wallet," is his response. This whole time he's pointing the gun at me. "Ok," I say. Before I could get my wallet he grabs the front of my pants looking for my wallet and says, "Give me your fucking wallet." At this point, he is right in front of me holding the gun which is aimed at my head. It is sticking out the end of his jacket, a small 9mm semi-automatic. I have my hands up, palms open and I tell him my wallet isn't there, it's in my jacket. I slowly move my hand to my jacket and tell him that my wallet is right here inside my jacket and all I'm doing is getting it out. This is when he put s the gun right into my face only a few inches away and says, "I'm going to shoot you in the fucking head." I again tell him that I'm getting my wallet for him and I pull it out and hand it to him. As soon as he has it, he turns and runs down the street, his back to me. I watch him and think how easy it would be to just shoot him in the back if I had a gun as he runs away.
I keep thinking this. I keep thinking, what if I'd had a gun, or what if I'd gotten into my car, chased after him and ran him down. Of course I've also jokingly said to Haddayr that I should have just been like Bogart in The Maltese Falcon and grabbed the gun out of his hand then slapped him across the face. But I also keep seeing that gun pointing at me and I keep hearing him tell me he's going to shoot me in the fucking head. One of the things I said after I'd called the police was that I hope someone shoots him in the fucking head. I meant it, too. I think I still do. I just can't stop thinking about that fucker and his gun and going over in my head what happened and then what would have happened if he had shot me. I think about what he's done with my i. .d. and the cancelled credit cards. I'm worried that there's going to be some big unpleasant surprise with our finances. I just can't stop thinking about that gun.
Last night I had to take Arie to his therapy session and it was dark outside. The car was in front of the house and Arie, blissfully unaware of the previous night ran out happily to the sidewalk. "Wait, Arie," I told him. "Wait for me." I kept both boys close to me as I scanned the street looking for anyone suspicious. There were two people walking down the sidewalk who scared me because maybe they were muggers (it turned out they were friends of Haddayr's who were bringing us soup). On the other side of the street was a dark figure walking in our direction who terrified me. "Hi, Jan," the figure called out. It was our neighbor form across the street. Later that night, the dog had to be taken out. I told Haddayr I'd like to do it because I thought I'd feel less scared with the dog. I get out to the boulevard, looking around to see if anyone is approaching and what do I see but a dark figure walking towards us down the middle of the street. I told myself that it couldn't be a mugger but I was absol8utely terrified. My heart was racing and I was certain the person was going to pull a gun on me. The mugger was Somali and everywhere I see a brown Somali face that looks even vaguely similar to the mugger's, I think, "That's him."
I just can't stop thinking about this and I feel sick and scared and panicked and really sad and depressed. This really sucks.
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Date: 2007-12-11 10:43 pm (UTC)Past the fear that kept me awake and unable to sleep well for a few weeks, the worst thing was that I regretted what I did when it happened. Which was that I hid under the sheet and let someone else take care of the problem for me.
Before that moment, I never really thought of myself as a coward. And after that I did. I think that when something life-changing happens so fast, it's really hard to come to grips with our role in the event.
You're really mad that he made you feel scared in your own home, made you feel like your wife and children's lives were/are in danger, made you afraid to do your daily routine, made you afraid of how this will affect you in the future after you've dealt with these emotions, made you mad at yourself for not following your first instinct about him, and mad that he makes you notice race.
What you need to do now is have a plan for if it happens again. You will feel more in control and it will give you something concrete to do. When you walk outside and have that moment of panic, figure out what you would do if it was real and you were really in danger.
Now, I'm not asking you to feel sorry for your attacker, but you and I both know that even if you shot and killed him you would not feel one bit safer. Because it wasn't the person, it was the act and what it did to how you see your home and loved ones. And wasting your time in revenge fantasies may make you feel better but it's also heightening your sense of vulnerability.
Also, did you see this episode? Third quote block down?
http://www.quotesfromtheoffice.com/episodes/season_3/the_convict.htm