The Potential for Danger


I will say up front that this post is very very long, but it is definitely worth reading.  It is a description of the night that I thought I was going to be raped, tortured, and killed.  There is also more cussing than usual.  I want to say that now so that no one will be offended.  You have been warned.

I am not usually social with people.  Especially with people that I work with.  I do not go out.  I don’t go to “friends’” houses.  I pretty much stay in the hotel, unless I’m working.  I was invited to a “Girl’s Night” that was to take place this past Saturday with some ladies in the office.  I drove another woman (to be referred to as A) to the party who has anxiety issues.  We both talked on the way over about being hesitant to even go in the first place.  We both feel very awkward and uncomfortable in social situations.  Maybe it was just the alcohol and “party favors”, but we actually found ourselves having fun.  We laughed, talked, and drank wine.  Then, around 9:00 or 9:30, there was a knock at the door.

I guess I should set the scene, just a little.  There were three other women there besides myself.  Two were married (the already mentioned A, along with J).  One was not.  The single gal (to be referred to as C) was the one hosting the party.  It was in her apartment, located in an apartment complex that is difficult to find.  In order to enter the building, one must be buzzed in.  The hostess had already been informed that strippers were out of the question, along with any male presence.

A knock on the door…

“Who is it?” – C

“It’s the police, ma’am.  Please open the door” – unknown male

“Let me see your badge.” – C

“Ma’am, you need to open the door.” – unknown male

“I’m not opening the door until I see your badge.” – C

After a couple tense seconds pass, C backs away from the door and starts laughing.  Then says, “I don’t know who you are, but you have a nice ass!”  Yes, this “police officer” had just mooned her.  Now, at this point, we are all thinking that the mooner at the door is really a guy or two that we all know from work who live around the corner from C.

C starts going back and forth with this guy again, asking for ID, or at the very least a name.  I mean, there are four pretty drunk ladies alone in this apartment.  I haven’t heard a SOUND from any other neighbors, so I don’t even know if the other apartments are occupied.

So, C is giggling, thinking that we know this person, but she still says she’s not answering the door.  J is joking around, saying that she should open the door.  I am standing off to the side, AWAY from the door, saying, “Don’t open that fucking door until you see some ID.”  A is standing beside me.  She hasn’t been saying anything that I can remember, but she is obviously freaked out (as was I!).  Then, for some completely dumbass reason that I will NEVER understand, J decides to open the door.  C even said, “I’M not going to open the door, but someone else can!”  I kept saying “Don’t open the door!” and “I’m not opening that door.”

In walks a youngish (which really could have been anywhere from late teens to late thirties – some guys you just can’t tell) dude with his pants undone.  As soon as I see this, I think, “That fucking bitch C ordered a striper.”  I said C had already been informed strippers were out, but she is also the unattached one, so I thought she may have thought it would make a good joke.

Behind this guy walks a very petite girl with a dark bob around her face.  After she opens her mouth to speak, we realize she is Czech or something.  Her dress looked more like a slip, and it was impossibly short.

I cannot remember an exact play-by-play after this.  I was going back and forth in my head between RAGE that C would order a stripper, and confusion as to what was actually happening.

The dude started buttoning up his pants right after he walked in the door, and C offered them a drink.  As they guy walks over to a wing chair like he owns the place, C says, “What was your name again?”

I heard that and I was like, “WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!  She doesn’t know him?”  My next thought was again that he was a stripper, and he and C had arranged this in advance, over the phone or something, which is why she asked what his name was AGAIN, meaning she had heard it before.  That’s what I thought.  No, apparently it was just a more polite way of asking a person you don’t know what their name is.

At this point, I thought it may be necessary to arm myself.  Crazy Jay may be paranoid, but at least he taught me that anything can be used as a weapon.  I picked up the wine opener; the kind with the hard metal screw.  I arranged it in my hand so that the sharp metal screw was sticking out between my ring and middle finger, and made a fist.

So, the dude sits down in the wing chair, and the little Czech girl sat on the arm.  Her skirt rode up so high, I was sure anyone across from her could see right up it.  Then, the guy started asking us questions.

“So where are you all from?  Do you live here?  Do you ALL live here?  What do you do?”  That kind of thing.  For some stupid reason, C kept answering his questions from the kitchen (she was making the two drinks).  She was actually giving him personal information about herself.  I was frozen on the couch, looking at the dude and his chick, but not saying ONE WORD.  It was starting to dawn on me that this was a VERY dangerous situation.  The way C was talking to him, I realized that she really DIDN’T know these people, and that this guy was NOT a stripper.  He was just some random dude who heard women laughing in an apartment, and thought he would insert himself in the fun.

C brings the dude and chick their drinks.

“Thanks, baby.” – freaky dude

THAT sent up more red flags.  Why is he so personal with someone he doesn’t know?  Why is he calling C “baby”?

C goes back to the kitchen (where J ran to right after the pair sat down.  Funny, she had the balls to let them in, but couldn’t stay in the same room as them?).  Now, it’s a small apartment, so you could look right over the counter in the kitchen into the living where I was sitting on the couch, A was in a wing chair directly to my right, and the freak couple were off to my left, but with a big glass table in between us.  That’s when shit got freaky.  Well, MUCH freakier.

Dude looks around the room.  “Who’s going to show me some titties?”

Ummm…EXCUSE ME?????  I was frozen.  Then C says, “Let’s see yours, first.”  Dude stood up, walked to the center of the room, and pulled his shirt up high.  I can’t tell you how he looked.  I looked away.

Then, he glanced around and said, “OK, your turn.  Let’s see some titties.”  And his Czech chick said, “Yes, some titties would be nice.  I would like to see some titties.”

At that point I looked at A.  “Are you ready to go?”  I asked her.  She JUMPED up.  We both stroked it out to the closet to grab our coats and put them on FAST.  As A made her way to the door, I walked over to C, still with the wine opener in my hand.  I told her that we were going to leave.  THAT is finally the time that she said to these strangers who wanted to see our breasts, “Ok, you have to go.  You’re making my friends uncomfortable.”

They got up to go, but the dude was bitching about it the entire time.  “Fine, I guess we’ll NEVER come back here again.  We were just trying to join the party.  So sorry to have OFFENDED you.”  On and on.  The freaky part was that his rant was loaded with sarcasm and anger.  Why is he MAD that he is being kicked out?  I would think any normal person would understand.

The freak show walked out the door, and I ran up to it and bolted it in both places.  No fucking way were they coming back in.

Jay told me later that I should have left, even though the freaks were gone.  He’s probably right.  I’m not sure what I was thinking, besides relief that the danger was gone.  It didn’t occur to me at the time that they may come back.  It didn’t occur to me until I was leaving that maybe they would be waiting for us in the parking lot.  Then again, as A and I were trying to leave and I was telling C we were going, the dude was talking to A, asking where she lived and where she was going.  A told him that she lived right across the hall, and that hers and my husband were in there waiting for us.

I went into the bathroom to try and compose myself.  I was practically hyperventilating.  Trying not to cry.  Trying to swallow it all.  Who knows what could have happened?  I mean, the guy was pissed that he had to leave, what if he hadn’t gone so easily?  I was trying to squash the visions I had in my head of him pulling a gun and making us all do freaky sex stuff.  Trying to squash the visions of him trying us up and cutting off body parts, one by one.  Of writing, “I killed these crazy bitches!” on the wall with our blood.  Yeah, there were all kinds of things going through my mind.

You know what still gets me?  That this guy tried to pretend to be a cop to gain access to the apartment.  That right there says he was up to no good.  He even had a patch on the arm of his coat that could be mistaken for a cop badge.  When that didn’t work, he changed tactics.

As I’m typing this out, I’m really trying not to freak out again.  The entire experience was so fucked up and crazy.  So scary.  I haven’t really had a chance to talk to Jay about it.  This will be the first time he has heard/read the entire story.  I really wanted to text him after it happened, but I waited because I wanted him to hear the story in its entirety.  I had thought (and I told the other ladies) that he would have been proud of me for grabbing that wine opener.  Nobody else thought to grab a weapon.  I may not have gotten away, but at least I could have poked out the fucker’s eyeball.  When I got home that night, Jay and I fought about something entirely different, so I didn’t tell him.  Then, we were having issues again Sunday morning.  When we finally straightened things out on Sunday, he seemed so exhausted, so I didn’t want to heap my story on him then.  I know that he is going through a lot emotionally, and it just didn’t seem to be the right time.  I know the entire thing was freaky and scary, but I was really just BURSTING to tell him about it.  I just kept thinking he would be proud of me.

I finally started to tell Jay on Sunday evening, but then we went to hang with A and her husband.  I was at least able to start the story for Jay before we left.  When we got to A and her husband’s place, I told both of them that I hadn’t told Jay what happened yet, but that I wanted to be the one to tell him.  The husband said ok.  So did A, but as the evening wore on and she drank more, I guess she forgot.  She said something about a guy at the party lifting up his shirt, and Jay lost it.

I tried to tell Jay what had happened then, but A kept jumping in with details that were not in order, just causing confusion in Jay’s mind.  It wasn’t pretty.  That monkey was going full blast in his ear, and Jay couldn’t hear anything I said.  I suppose that’s a whole nother story, though.  All I wanted to tell here was that freaky experience.

I am not going back to C’s place.  I probably would have come to this conclusion on my own if I had had a chance to relive the story when I told Jay.  I would have remembered the fear, and feeling of helplessness.  I would have remembered the confusion and wondering if I would live through the experience.  Jay made me promise not to go back.  I wasn’t happy at the time to agree, but it was what the monkey needed to be quieted a bit.  At this point, after writing this all out and REMEMBERING, I have no desire to go back to that place.  I wouldn’t feel safe in that apartment.  And I wouldn’t feel safe with a woman who thought it was a good idea to allow her door to be opened to strangers.  Now I’m remembering why I don’t leave the house very much.

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Categories: Anxiety, Borderline Personality Disorder, BPD, Mental Illness, Panic Attack | 17 Comments

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17 thoughts on “The Potential for Danger

  1. I’m proud of you for grabbing the corkscrew! But, thumbs in the eyes, heal of your hand into the nose, anything you can stab with, into the neck or chest if it’s longer. But good for you for staying calm! That had to be horrible! Good job!

  2. If it took you writing it and reliving it for you to SEE that C’s place is a barbershop from hell, then I am glad you rewrote it. Now that I hear the whole thing, with the guy SAYING he was a cop AND having some kind of badge you should have called the REAL police.

    I am very proud of the way that you conducted yourself. I guess I can even understand why you stayed. The Let-Down anticlimax after an adrenaline rush. A told me she was COMPLETELY impressed with how cool you were about that corkscrew. She said she felt as safe as she possibly could in that environment with YOU standing beside her

    Just remember though with a corkscrew you want to think FACE and NECK. Don’t go “”for the body” with that, wasting time with clothes and ribs. Another REALLY good one for that, if the positioning allows would be to drive that corkscrew strainght down into the op of his foot but not if he is wearing leather.

    • Amen Jay! Calling the cops is best, if it can be done safely. You can’t recover from dead, that’s what we always told girls.

    • I doubt I would have gone for the body. FACE all the way!! LMFAO

      How fucked up is it that not ONE of us thought to call the police. Well, it didn’t occur to me and I know no one else said it out loud. We really should have, though. Oh well, I guess vigilante justice still works.

  3. And, just for the edification of the audience, if Meg punches someone it will be serious. If she did it with a corkscrew there is a good chance they might not walk away. Not only did I teach Meg proper form as far as the “corkscrew” motion of your body, how “chambering” increases impact and the importance of the positioning of one’s hand so the impact of the punch is absorbed through the forearm, not breaking the hand, but also I MADE a “makiwara”for her. I mounted it on a tree with four 4′ long and 1/2′ diameter screws and 4 4 inch long spikes. After Meg “practiced” on it (resulting in zero bones broken which means she did it correctly, when I tried to take it down, it almost fell apart in my hands.

    LOL… I am QUITE certain that Meg’s has the ability to “break someone’s face.” THAT’s my girl!

  4. Pingback: Sometimes ya Feel Like a Nut….. « Crazy Jay – The Ultimate Chameleon! Mental Illness from a Perspective of GRACE. Unmedicated and Unrestrained! Ravishing Rick Rude meets Fozzie Bear

  5. Wow, this sounds like the kinda crap that has happened to ME lol. Scary..I’m glad ya got out alright but yeah, your friend totally wasn’t thinking. Not cool. I totally relate to the last sentence though lol…that kinda crap is why I don’t leave the house much either lol

    • I know you’ve been through so much, I’ve been reading your posts. 😦 Yeah, there is so much out there that scares the crap outta me. Its amazing I’m able to leave the house to go to work!

  6. Pingback: Lack of Oxygen to the Brain = Lack of Assertiveness | Struggling with BPD

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