I wear this extra baggage.
It has become as thick as my skin.
"Fatty and skinny went to bed. Fatty rolled over and skinny was dead."
I was being taunted by this fucking asshole but I didn't even care. I had finally snapped out of my walking coma. What the fuck was happening to my mind. I had not been right in the head since that thing had happened a few weeks back.
I had a this guy try to rape me by overamping me on speed. I was tired and he caught me in weak moment. Once I agreed to go inside with him, I knew I was trapped. I was trapped in a sex trap he had maneuvered before. I found this out years later in recovery. As a symbolic gesture, I had decided to make a statement against this man. I made a statement to the sex crimes unit. I easily picked him out of a photo line up. The statue of limitations against rape in California at the time was only two years. I knew that face as the pic looked back at me. It was so easy to identify.
I was always taught that you never go to the authorities. But I felt it was important to have it in the public record. I wrote out those pieces of paper. I described in great detail about how the man lured me to an empty apartment, directed me into the bathroom. He pulled my neck to the side and hit me in the neck with so much speed my hands were shaking. Then he turned out the lights. As My heart was racing and I felt I might die, he took all my clothes and tried to do his thing. Except I didn't pass out. I didn't do all the things he wanted. I would not, I could not as I knew the guy was HIV positive. And so, he gave up. I was not toy enough for him. I had to much life. He let me go. He had retrieved a new set of clothes for me.
When I walked out of the apartment of Leavenworth street, that was just the begining of the story. I was tramautized and I was tweaking. I was out of my mind. I walked to a hotel on lombard street and climbed up on the roof. Someone had taken me up there once. I have no idea how I ended up back in that same place. I spent time up there staring at another building, imagining the people up there could see me. No one saw me. No one heard me. I asked the people at the hotel if I had a room there. I was so confused they tried to call the police.
By the second night, I had opened up the door to someone's camper mounted on the back of their truck. i curled up next to the person. I suppose they were in shock to be next to a stranger. There were people there. I wanted to be with people. They called the cops too but of course I left. I wandered off and I honestly do not remember how I ended up getting stopped for the psych evaluation. The police took me to the site and I began trying to kick out the metal plate of the police car. Get me the fuck out of there.
The last thing I remember was the male nurse putting a blanket over me because I was cold as he handed me a little cup and a tray. He said to take the pills and I would sleep. I was locked in there for three days making collages. I was watching tv in the day room when they called me in to see the Dr. I told them this man had tried to rape me. They discharged me to a social model detox center. I got out of the van. When I saw the people smoking outside, I left and walked back to my belongings which were now gone.
He grabbed my arm "where the fuck have you been?"
When he saw my face, he softened a bit. This was my sort of boyfriend, the one who broke my nose, the one who says he protects me. He wasn't there that night. This was four full days I was gone. All my belongings were scattered among all the neighborhood homeless who had picked through my things after I did not hastily return that night. Crystal was willing to wrap me in my blanket as I reached for my discharge papers. She also gave me back my sweat shirt. I put that one on. The next day another. I started pilling on shirts and pants until I looked like a human sleeping bag. I was wrapping myself in a cocoon. There was no place to recover so I went inside myself.
"Fatty rolled over and skinny was dead." And then I woke up. What had happened to me. I had one so many layers of clothes I could barely move. I was making it so no one could get to me. I was a fat kid. I got fatter and fatter. And no one got to me. I was safe. Then the drugs sucked the weight off of me. And now I was a target. I was wrapping myself in clothes because I never felt safe. I got tired of my feelings back then so I returned to heroin. I changed out of all my layers of clothes and I slid into heroin. It was there that I was always comfortable. I got clean a few years later.
And I saw this man. Again. Again. Again. He applied for a job with me as the motherfucking supervisor. Isn't that a bitch. As if nothing ever happened. I got clean and started feeling my feelings again. When the layer of ice melted, underneath was a sandy beach and a jagged shore. The memory tore at me until I put my finger on that picture. Yes society. I was worth something. HE did this to me and it mattered.