It’s like my life is stuck on replay.This nightmare that I keep having. Only it’s not a nightmare because I’m not asleep and the douche bags are actual men.
Douche Numero Uno
Almost a year ago today I was sexually assaulted by someone I trusted. Someone I valued as a friend and fellow scholar. The first person I wanted to call was Mr. International but I didn’t. I cried, asked why, put my uniform on and went to work. My boss was a 24-year-old douche bag with a stuttering problem that made him sound like he was always deep throating something. He didn’t like me because I would tell him no instead of doing exactly what the little prick said.
My ability to say no is the same reason my ex said he assaulted me. Because to him, like the 24-year-old deep throating manager, being a female meant that you should do as you’re told.
So, I sent a message to Mr. International once I got to work. I worked a double that day to avoid reality.
When I left for work that morning, the ex was exhausted and sleeping like a baby; being a narcissistic, chauvinist asshole coupled with being a rapist can take a lot out of someone…
Fast forward a year later, I have met some really great people, a couple to be exactly. They are genuinely good people and absolutely perfect in my eyes because of the similarities. I also think they are a little crazy because they think the same about me but that doesn’t keep the smiles at bay.
Things have been getting better. I have even been sleeping better at night if I don’t stay up talking to him all night, she goes to bed earlier than us. I’m usually not much for talking on the phone but can talk to him for hours. We talk a lot about how insanely adorable she is, I’m getting off track, point is things have been better, finally.
Today, three days before the year mark of what my shit bag ex considers a life lesson, I had a stranger open the door to my bathroom as I was getting in the shower. Not a complete stranger in the sense that he works for the state as a housing inspector and has a key to all of the apartments. So, again, there was a certain level of trust because his job is to check the condition of the apartment, the foundation itself and check for needed repairs. His job involves a levels of trust when given the role and a key to numerous apartments.
Douche Numero Dos
His job requirements don’t involve him to go in unannounced and cause the tenant physical and emotional harm, helping himself to her body. I mean, the state of Tennessee has determined him fit for entering a tenant’s residence to inspect and ensure safe living conditions. No one wants to feel unsafe in their home.
I had just started the shower to get the water hot and was brushing my teeth when the door started moving. There is not a lock on my bathroom door but there is one on the front door of my apartment. I didn’t give him permission to come in and never invited him in. To him, he didn’t need permission to enter and to both of us, I was home alone.
The way he was trying to creep his head in the doorway told me this was not the first time he did something like this. The douche fully expected me to be in the shower. I should have slammed his demented head in the door. But, that would “technically” be me causing physical harm.
So here it is, again. My life stuck on replay. All these emotions coming back I had a year ago. Mostly anger over the lack of justice.
Stuck On Replay
Just like my ex, he entered uninvited. I called housing authority immediately. They replied like my old employer saying they would “see what they could do for me”. Basically telling me be a good girl and stay quiet while they figure out what their story will be. But they didn’t mention doing something about him and what he had done.
I also called the cops and thanks to our justice system’s extremely poor case handling when it comes to shit like this, crimes against women and their vagina, he did not even know what to tell me because there wasn’t any physical harm done. His hands were up in the air, go figure. The cop could not even tell me what law had been broken since “he didn’t actually touch me”. I am not even comfortable enough to let the person I date see me fully naked and since the State of Tennessee deems this perv bastard fit enough to have a key he “technically did not break in”.
There is always a reason they get away with it, a person that cranks or twists a law or two in favor of the perverted, a way to justify the lack of justice, a reason to continue treating women like weaker, inferior beings by completely disregarding a woman’s right to say who sees, touches, or enters her own body. But there is never anything done to him.
Brian was the first person I called. Then, just like a year ago I text Mr. International crying about what had happened. But what would have happened if I was in the shower, if I didn’t see him opening the door, then what?