(I must inform you before you delve into this. Trigger Warning. - ed.)
This story begins with me and a few college freshman friends in a tiny backwoods town in Chichester. I was in art school and frequently hung out with two wonderfully gay men, their lesbian cohort, her brother, and my best friend at the time. They were all very into Wiccan and Kempo Karate and liked to party out in the woods on their property called the "love shack" a rundown old concrete room with a beat up mattress and chair with one light giving off any sort of ambiance. This was home for many a weekend I sometimes cannot remember. One night, they decided to walk the 2 miles in the dark during the late summer months to the local baseball field to get high and look at the stars. I was completely and uderly drunk at this point and decided - after everyone got done smoking pot, and aggressively making out/having alleged sex, and testing out their mad karate skills- to try and walk myself the 2 miles back to "love shack" by myself. Bad Idea.
This was a small town full of rednecks and wild animals, not to mention police who would most likely not take kindly to a drunk and nearly naked (as I had my bathing suit top on with a pair of cutoff jeans) 17 year old teenager stumbling around without any ID. But I decided to hoof it without the aide of my friends. So there I stumbled, completely alone, in glorified underwear, an open container, and no sense of direction.
The first thing I remember is it getting really cold really quickly. I had left my shirt back at the sack and was determined to get back and wrap myself in it and pass out in my car. The second thing I remember is the car's headlights suddenly appearing behind me.....
It started to slow to a crawl, then I heard the granddaddy of all bad horror movie beginnings - the wolf whistle. I kept staring ahead, but I could make out 2 older men in a beat up old pickup truck beside my peripherals. They started to catcall.
"Hey baby, where you goin'?"
"You need a ride somewhere, sexy?"
"HEY BITCH, WE'RE TALKING TO YOU! ARE YOU DEAF OR SOMETHING?"
They would not stop harassing me, at this point, I could feel the slime cover me over like so many bad decisions. But I was unfettered, and continued on. They revved the engine, trying to scare me (it worked.) But I flipped them off (bad idea #2) The men proceeded to get out of their trunk and run towards me.
There comes a point in your drunken haze when you become completely and totally sober. If you are lucky, that is usually the nanoseconds before something terrible happens to you. Unfortunately for me, I come from a line of bad decision making and alcoholism. I didn't sober up until I felt the man's grubby hand on my hair.
His hand felt like oil, grit, and dead ends. I wanted to be anyplace else other than there. I thought of my mom, how disappointed she would be if I were raped or dead. How devastated my only blood brother would be if I left him in this world alone because of my own dumb mistake. I felt like a fool.
I wish I could cut off my own forearm to stop the phantom feeling from coming back. I still freeze up whenever someone forcefully grabs my right forearm. I go blank, I go into my own head and think "This is how I die." This is what I believe PTSD must feel like.
I panicked. So I started to scream. the other man tried to get a hold of my feet, but my brain decided to go into survival mode and started to flail around in a manic attempt to escape. I held them off long enough for my friends to catch up and start yelling at them about calling the police or their parents. I guess they panicked too, as I felt the back of my head bounce on the pavement and before I almost lost consciousness, could hear the thump of heavy footsteps and the roar hum of the Ford take off down the road.
I never told my mom what happened, and have only told a handful of people this story. I do not care if those men ever got caught, I do not care if I had the opportunity to stop them. I want to be rid of this memory forever, and I know I will never be.
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