Last night, I posted the following message in a note on Facebook:
This note is for the young men of San Antonio that for some reason have decided it's appropriate to use me as their personal ATM machine or their free electonics store. They have decided that I am an easy mark, and they want to steal from me. In the process, they don't care if they take away my children's mother or if they take my children from me. Today, one of these young men decided once again to use a weapon to attempt to take what is mine and use it as theirs. It angers me beyond belief. It also terrifies me because it happened down the street from my house next to my car while I was checking the mail with two of my children strapped "safely" into their car seats.
These young men anger me. Three of them have taken advantage of me since we moved to San Antonio. And they look so much alike they could have been brothers. Young adult Hispanic men dressed like thugs. Neck tattoos. Hoodies with the hood on, sunglasses in the two occasions where the crime involved violence. On one occasion I was lucky enough not to be present when the crime occurred and was only shown the young man's picture after the fact.
So you guys, listen up. You've been using me far too much. I'm pissed off, and I'm about to learn how to use a gun with much better accuracy and I'm going to get a license to carry it concealed. So kiss my ass. I'm sick and tired of your BS.
For the rest of you, here's a synopsis of what I've been through in this lovely city:
The first occasion was when I was working at the Papa John's on Culebra Road just outside of Loop 410 six years ago or so. Somewhere between five and six years ago. I'd just earned my degree and we'd just moved to SA, but I coudln't find a job using my degree, so I stayed in food service, which was really all I'd ever done except for working at my college paper and doing some freelancing. I'd just been given a management position but was also still picking up driving shifts for the extra money. Delivery drivers make good money, or did back when I did it. With the cost of gas now, I can't imagine they're making much unless the corporations and franchisees have ponied up the extra cash for gas... I'm off topic. Anyway, I was the closing driver that night, and there was a manager there doing inventory in the walk-in cooler. We had a side door the drivers came in and out of that had a magnet lock on it that engaged at 9 p.m. It was almost 10 when this happened. I saw a man dart in the side door. My immediate thought was, "I'm going to die." It seemed like no time elapsed between the time the guy ran in the side door and the time he was in the office where I was sitting when I saw him standing in the doorway with the gun pointing at me. He said, "Open the fucking safe!" I instinctively stuck my hands up and backed up. He said, "Don't move, bitch!" He scooted closer and closer to me until he had the barrel of the gun touching my face. He told me to open the safe or I was dead. I told him I didn't know the combination to the safe, which was true. It was changed frequently to prevent theft. I might get my brains splattered all over the walls of the office, but Papa John's wouldn't lose their precious money. Oh, and there was a handy time delay on the safe. I think it was a 10-minute time delay. Maybe 15. Long enough to deter theft. I must have screamed when the guy came in because the manager who was there with me came out to check on me after about five minutes. The walk-in cooler door was directly opposite the office door, so when he came out, the guy whipped around quickly. I'm surprised I didn't poop my pants. THe gun was touching my face. And then it wasn't. He marched the manager to the front, and I could see them talking. After five minutes or so, the guy ran out. Victor (manager) stood there for about 30 seconds and then he ran back to where I was. I just collapsed onto him and cried. He just held me and let me cry for a bit before we called 911 and upper-level management. I hadn't really smoked in years and wasn't drinking much at that stage in my life but I think I went through a pack of cigarettes and a pint of whiskey that night.
The second crime happened when I was pregnant with the twins. I got a phone call from a detective in Helotes. At the time I was working for the San Antonio Express-News as a communities reporter for the Northwest area, covering Helotes, Leon Valley and Grey Forest. The detective asked me if I was missing a laptop. I said I wasn't missing one that I knew of, thinking only of the pink Dell laptop I used in my home. I knew the detective because of my job with the newspaper, so he described the laptop to me. It was the netbook I used at city council and other official meetings to take notes. I always leave it in my car so I have it in case a meeting comes up on the fly that I need to attend. I asked him where he found it, and he said he'd been contacted because his name was in a document in the laptop. I'd worked with him on a feature story a few weeks back, and his name was the name I'd used for the title of the document, so I'd know what the notes were. They called him asking if he recognized any of the names on the laptop. When mine came up, he said to check and see if my name was the name on the log-in screen. When it was, he offered to call me. He even offered to bring it to me because I was working from home on bed rest while I was pregnant with the twins. What happened was the Castle Hills Police Department noticed a car driving erratically. When they ran the plates, the car came back stolen. When they tried to pull the car over, the driver gave chase. When he did, he ran into a concrete wall, smashing up his car. Inside, the officers found thousands in stolen goods. Including my netbook. There were two men in the car. One talked. He divulged their group's operating procedure. They would go out in a group of four and hit up a neighborhood. The driver would drop each of the three (thugs?) off in a separate part of the neighborhood. Each thug would walk his part of the neighborhood and look for both unlocked cars and cars that are easy to break into to steal valuable items. The thug would carry the items in a backpack he carried. Un-freaking-believable. Then the driver came back around and picked them back up. I told the detective it was entirely possible my car had been left unlocked, as I was busy gestating two babies, and that took up a LOT of my brain power.
Time for the last. Sad to say, it happened just this morning, around 10 a.m. The kids were restless. They didn't like Dad going back to work and brother going back to school, so I decided to change my schedule around and go to the grocery stores before digging into the work I had to do for the day. They like to go to the store. I decided to stop and get the mail to see if there were any coupons in there. BIG MISTAKE. I may never look at coupons the same way again. As I was pullig out the mail (which, tonight, I still haven't even opened or looked through), I saw a guy (looking like the one I described earlier) coming around the corner with his hand closed around something bulky in his pocket. Immediately, adrenaline, fear, something kicked in. He approached me quickly, pulling out the gun, at first trying to act normally, saying, "Excuse me," and then, when I ran for the car (I'd left the door open, thank God, or something bad would have happened. I wouldn't have made it in time.) he said, "Bitch," in a really ugly tone of voice, but I made it to the car before he could get me and slammed the door closed and slammed the locks down. I just kept my eyes straightforward and jammed the key in the ignition and peeled out of there. I was shaking so hard I was surprised I had the ability to drive. I got a couple of blocks away and got stuck at a stop sign. I was scared this kid was somehow going to catch up to me on foot. Or someone would pick him up in a car and he would come after me that way.
My friend Lisa called me after I texted her and told her I thought I had almost gotten carjacked. She talked me down and told me that the incident was probably something similar to when my laptop was stolen, and the guy was more likely after my wallet and wedding rings than my car, but I was still terrified. I was sitting in the Country Home Day Care parking lot that sits at the entrance to our subdivision, and I was convinced this dude was going to come up and shoot me and my kids. The logical side of my brain knew I didn't matter to him. It probably irritated him that I got away because I probably had some valuable stuff on me he could have stolen. Other than that, I meant nothing to him. Anyway, Lisa got me the info about how to call in to the Sheriff's office, so I did just that. Three deputies came out. Two cruised the neighborhood while the third took my report, went to the area where it happened and then searched my house to ensure it was safe and all the doors were locked and deadbolts were engaged.
Our trips to the store were necessary. Basic items were needed for our household, and the boys and I needed distraction, so we went to the store anyway. We didn't make it home until almost 3. I put them straight to bed. They slept for roughly an hour. We were all beat. We need a break.
I think these three should be forced to work and pay for a vacation for me and my family. And a nanny to go along with us. They have put me under so much stress in the time that I've lived here that it's affected me physically. I'm so unbelievably outraged by the fact that these men are able to continue to victimize women and children. I'm sure they don't just do it when they're attempting to steal money and property. I'm sure they probably beat their wives, girlfriends and children, too, because people who choose to steal by means of violence are lower than scum, lower than crap, lower than, well, scum crap. Get an effin' job already. McDonald's hires people with neck tattoos. I've seen them working there. You're not too good for it. I did it for seven years, so you can do it for a while instead of threatening me with your gun. Next time you pull your gun on me, I'll have one right back in your face.
Assholes.
Last night I felt okay. My husband was home, it was night and the ordeal was over. Overnight, however, I tossed and turned. I had trouble sleeping and I had nightmares. It was a terrible night. I sneaked in and checked in on my babies a bunch of times because I was scared something would have happened to them with the nightmares. It was awful. I slept roughly half an hour later than normal this morning, and now my eyes are all droopy. The boys are down for their nap, but I can't nap because I'm waiting on a call from my psychiatrist, who I hope will call in a prescription for either Valium or Xanax for me to calm me down a bit.
After Super Husband left this morning (he's done a good job with his no-good, mess of a wife so far), the anxiety set in and very quickly turned into full-blown panic. I started checking the doors every five minutes. And in our house, that's no small task. We have five doors to the outside. And it really was every five minutes. OCD style.
The panic attacks just kept getting worse and worse on top of one another until I got hold of my mom. I stayed on the phone with her for more than an hour, off and on, and she helped talk me down from them. They kind of come in waves. It's taken me forever to type up both this blog post and a private message on Facebook I'm writing to a friend who's asking my advice on a financial matter.
I knew this morning that I'd need to place a call to my psychiatrist. I waited until 8:30 this morning and I called. She has the sweetest receptionist who ALWAYS answers the phone. If she doesn’t (I know I just contradicted myself there.), she returns voicemails ASAP. She’s great. She told me she would try to get my doc to call me back as soon as possible.
I waited an hour. Nothing. I waited another hour and then called back. The receptionist told me they were just overwhelmed after the holidays with patients (I suppose people are probably trying to recover from family issues that cropped up over the holidays? No other explanation for that many work-ins.) needing to be worked in, so they didn’t have time to return my call.
“Look, I got mugged yesterday,” I said. “Well, almost mugged. The guy had a gun in his pocket and was in the middle of taking it out when I dove back in my car and peeled out with my kids still safely in their car seats. I was checking my mail when it happened, which is why my car door was opened and why I had my car with me. I was on my way to the store and running errands for the day. I’m having multiple panic attacks, and I need her to tell me if she can call in any kind of meds that will help me with the panic attacks in the short-term, while I wait for my next appointment with her, where we can talk about getting me some counseling about dealing with both of the violent crimes I’ve endured.”
I said that, but I said it while crying, shaking and coughing. The receptionist said she felt awful for me, but there was seriously nothing she could do. She said she had room in the schedule at 2 if I could come in. I asked her if I sounded like I was capable of driving. She said no. She asked if I had a friend or family member that could bring me, and I said no, I have no family in the area, and all my friends work. I asked her if I could do a phone session with her at 2. She said that would be fine. It made me feel so much better I was able to get a bit of reprieve from the panic attacks, which is when I wrote most of this.
Unfortunately, she never called. I called back twice and got the answering machine both times. I think if she doesn’t take time out to call me at least at some point today, she’s being neglectful in her duties as my doctor, and I’m going to have to talk to her about it at a later date and consider changing doctors. Then again, as I so astutely pointed out to my mother earlier, if I were to change doctors every time one of them messed up, I’d run out of doctors fairly quickly.
Right now, the only reason I’m able to keep the panic at bay is that I took a bunch of muscle relaxers. It’s probably not safe, but I’m not driving, so that’s ok at least. I’m incredibly sleepy. Mitch is here to help with the babies. I’m going to feed them on the coffee table in the living room. I’m not bathing them. Too worried about them being in the bathtub with me in this condition.
So far for me, 2012 has started off hard, but I hope it gets better from here. I’ve tried to maintain my commitment to being healthier in this new year, even though yesterday sucked so hard. I broke my diet yesterday, but today I’ve been keeping track of my diet and exercise. Today, I did some light fitness workout on the Wii fit, just to start out, and I ended up working off a little of the panic that was seizing me. That was nice. One of my favorite Christmas gifts was a carriage that hooks onto my bicycle for the babies, so I can pull them behind my back. Now I’m too afraid to go outside. That bums me out big time. I need some counseling – stat – to get to where I can get outside to exercise because only indoor exercise doesn’t work for me, and I want to look good in a swimsuit by summer. There are positive things to look forward to.
Earlier today, my mom told me to take it day by day, or even minute by minute if I had to. I’m trying to think that way, but it’s hard. I’m in a lot of pain right now. If you’ve ever had a real panic attack, you know they hurt. Physically. Your muscles are strained, so you’re very sore afterward, and if your heart rate is up for a significant amount of time and you’re hyperventilating, your chest hurts a lot. My face also hurts from hours and hours of crying. I kind of want to curl up with a good book and take some feel-good medicine and drift away. And then when I wake up, everything will have righted itself. In a perfect world, right?
As I finished typing this, my doctor called me back and had a conversation with me about what happened. She told me she suspected there was some trauma involved in this as well as some stress from the previous crime. She called in a prescription for a benzodiazepine for me. If you don’t know, it’s a class of medications that is used as a sedative hypnotic. It basically calms you down. A little like alcohol without the bad parts. Except it can cause headaches in some people. It can be addictive, and benzo withdrawal is harsh, so I tend to stay away from them, but I’d have used them if I could the last time this happened. I’m going to make an exception for my no benzo rule this time. I’ve used them a handful of times over my life. I’ll write about some of those experiences some day. Some of those weeks and months of my life have been nuts.
Ro is on his way home now, bringing ice cream (my treat for making it through the day, I made room for it in my calorie bank) and my meds. I’m ready for Harry to stop screaming in his bed and for Ro to get here. Those two things may happen around the same time.
Thanks to all of you who have helped in various ways over the last couple of days, even if it’s just been a little prayer here and there. Keep praying. This is going to be a long road for me.
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