Chaos is a compound in which reality is written.
This morning, 2:08am: Laughing &joking &unloading groceries with two of my roommates.
2:15am: One of said roommates is red with anger &threatening me &screaming in my face. I felt my body tremble with fear even while my mind &common sense told me there was nothing to fear.
This is nothing. A misunderstanding. He would never act this way. Especially towards me. We've been through too much. I have faith in him. I trust him to call this off. He's my friend &co-worker &roommate. He'll come to his senses. As long as he doesn't touch me, then I don't mind. No harm, no foul.
His face is twisted in anger, inches from mine. My back is against the closed door of my room. There is nowhere to run if I wanted to and I don't want to leave my dog alone. His words vibrate my skull &his spittle flies in my face.
I imagined a camera behind me with a short, fat director flailing his arms and shouting in a megaphone, "you're overdoing it! this is not acting class! I want real anger! I want the audience to believe the part! You look like an actor trying to play the part! NO! BE the part!"
Back to reality. No. This can't be real. No one acts this way. No one. Oh, wait, my dad did. His diatribe reached a crescendo and his hand shot forward. I clamped my teeth together to prevent biting my tongue and images flashed in my head of pictures I had seen over the years of people that have been in fights. Broken noses, broken faces, broken eye sockets. His open hand landed on my chest. No punch. A shove. I slammed up against my door. Wood splintered and cracked. The doorknob dug into my back.
I thought back to stories he told me of previous fights he had been in. Usually there was a shove followed by a punch &another &another until the sight of blood calmed him down. If he wanted my blood, it was his for the taking. I stood back up, shaking with fear. Not fear of imminent pain. Fear for my dog, fear for my future. If this was real and I had to walk away, I had to simultaneously lose a good friend, good job &my place to live. On top of that, maybe I was about to get my face broken.
Depression overtook my fear. I stared at his face, wondering what he was thinking, looking for a scrap of shame, an iota of remorse, or even a hint of humanity. I saw nothing but the wrinkled red face with cold, unwavering, uncaring eyes fixated on me like a cat watching a mouse, ready to strike. He shook his head slightly, and sternly stated, "If you were anyone else..." I wondered to myself what exactly he would do to "anyone else" and who would be the next person to bear his wrath? Someone at work? Maybe his next girlfriend?
I felt I owed it to whomever would be next, to do everything I can to make him realize that this was wrong. I wanted to speak. I wanted to yell back, "No! No one treats a friend this way especially not anyone I would call a friend and therefore I reject any and all help, special privileges, or favors. If you would injure someone else then I want you to injure me! To do anything less is insulting to me! I will never call one who harms a passive, nonthreatening target, woman, dog, cat, baby... I will never call someone like that a friend!" But I was silent. Insulted, hurt, confused, and silent.
He took a step back &allowed me to leave the corner. I went back to work, taking the trash outside. After throwing out the trash I sat on a curb outside and started to cry. Everything I thought I knew about interacting with people was in question. Why did I think I had to have roommates? I thought I was making progress in being able to make and keep friends and talk to and relate to people. I thought I was earning respect and had a happy place to live in and a nice job and there were a lot of problems in my life but now I was lost and unsure of the future. One of the most respected figures in my life turned out to be an enemy in 5 short minutes? What was I going to do?
2:15am: One of said roommates is red with anger &threatening me &screaming in my face. I felt my body tremble with fear even while my mind &common sense told me there was nothing to fear.
This is nothing. A misunderstanding. He would never act this way. Especially towards me. We've been through too much. I have faith in him. I trust him to call this off. He's my friend &co-worker &roommate. He'll come to his senses. As long as he doesn't touch me, then I don't mind. No harm, no foul.
His face is twisted in anger, inches from mine. My back is against the closed door of my room. There is nowhere to run if I wanted to and I don't want to leave my dog alone. His words vibrate my skull &his spittle flies in my face.
I imagined a camera behind me with a short, fat director flailing his arms and shouting in a megaphone, "you're overdoing it! this is not acting class! I want real anger! I want the audience to believe the part! You look like an actor trying to play the part! NO! BE the part!"
Back to reality. No. This can't be real. No one acts this way. No one. Oh, wait, my dad did. His diatribe reached a crescendo and his hand shot forward. I clamped my teeth together to prevent biting my tongue and images flashed in my head of pictures I had seen over the years of people that have been in fights. Broken noses, broken faces, broken eye sockets. His open hand landed on my chest. No punch. A shove. I slammed up against my door. Wood splintered and cracked. The doorknob dug into my back.
I thought back to stories he told me of previous fights he had been in. Usually there was a shove followed by a punch &another &another until the sight of blood calmed him down. If he wanted my blood, it was his for the taking. I stood back up, shaking with fear. Not fear of imminent pain. Fear for my dog, fear for my future. If this was real and I had to walk away, I had to simultaneously lose a good friend, good job &my place to live. On top of that, maybe I was about to get my face broken.
Depression overtook my fear. I stared at his face, wondering what he was thinking, looking for a scrap of shame, an iota of remorse, or even a hint of humanity. I saw nothing but the wrinkled red face with cold, unwavering, uncaring eyes fixated on me like a cat watching a mouse, ready to strike. He shook his head slightly, and sternly stated, "If you were anyone else..." I wondered to myself what exactly he would do to "anyone else" and who would be the next person to bear his wrath? Someone at work? Maybe his next girlfriend?
I felt I owed it to whomever would be next, to do everything I can to make him realize that this was wrong. I wanted to speak. I wanted to yell back, "No! No one treats a friend this way especially not anyone I would call a friend and therefore I reject any and all help, special privileges, or favors. If you would injure someone else then I want you to injure me! To do anything less is insulting to me! I will never call one who harms a passive, nonthreatening target, woman, dog, cat, baby... I will never call someone like that a friend!" But I was silent. Insulted, hurt, confused, and silent.
He took a step back &allowed me to leave the corner. I went back to work, taking the trash outside. After throwing out the trash I sat on a curb outside and started to cry. Everything I thought I knew about interacting with people was in question. Why did I think I had to have roommates? I thought I was making progress in being able to make and keep friends and talk to and relate to people. I thought I was earning respect and had a happy place to live in and a nice job and there were a lot of problems in my life but now I was lost and unsure of the future. One of the most respected figures in my life turned out to be an enemy in 5 short minutes? What was I going to do?