A couple of weeks ago I was almost mugged.
Almost.
Long story short, two guys pointed a gun at me and started making demands. When I refused, the one without the gun started yelling “Shoot him, kill him, fucking shoot him, he’s a snitch!”
I still remember how he said the word “snitch”. He said it as though I lacked the moral fiber. As though telling the police about it made me a bad person and therefore I was just asking to be shot. Yeah, I’m the bad guy here.
I wish I could say I tackled them and wrestled the gun away. That I had held them at bay while the police arrived but I didn’t. I was actually caught between fight or flight, I couldn’t decide what to do. Eventually they realized they wouldn’t be getting anything from me and rode off.
Of course I called the police and the NYPD and I spent the next hour looking for them. That part was pretty exciting actually.
I was on adrenaline for the next few hours. I had shrugged it off and was even joking about it that night among friends.
The next morning was a different story. I woke up in a panic. I was afraid. The scene kept running in my mind over and over again. It would play out in different ways. Sometimes they’d shoot me, other times I’d fight back, other times I’d run. I couldn’t control it.
What if they had shot me? What if Sade was with me? What if they attack her next?
I found myself laying in the shower, sick to my stomach, vomiting, holding back tears and feeling dizzy.
Sade had me contact a friend of mine who’s a kink friendly therapist and we talked for a bit. I was relieved to know that this was a normal reaction.
Eventually it subsided and I was fine until I tried to sleep the next night. I could’t sleep. I was overwhelmed with guilt. I know it sounds silly but I felt guilty because I didn’t stop them. What if they hurt someone in the future? I felt it was my fault that I had the opportunity to stop them but I didn’t. Maybe I read too many Spider-man comics as a kid.
I didn’t get any sleep that night. I managed to doze off for a bit after 7:30AM.
Slowly the nightmares got better, I could start blocking it out of my mind but I was still afraid every time I walked in our neighborhood. I was suspicious of everyone.
Everyone was a threat in my mind. Everyone had a gun. Everyone was dangerous.
Then, something started to help.
Sade would hurt me.
It wasn’t the hardest she’s ever beaten me. But it was more than enough to put me into subspace pretty deeply, to make me feel more control and more pain than normal.
The mornings after she would hurt me, I would walk through the streets feeling stronger, less suspicious, less afraid….stronger.
The intimacy of the pain and loving touch helped me feel safer.
Now I’m walking home less worried about getting jumped on the street and more eager to get jumped at home.
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