Five hours. That’s the duration of time that I spent sitting in a cold, unadorned court house, impatiently waiting for my name to finally be called. My life has been continuously inconvenienced, while a selfish man carries on with his pestering, miserable day as I properly proceed with the next step of the tedious process that ultimately constructs a restraining order.
I do not know this man. He is nothing more than a deranged individual who roams the downtown streets and has chosen to distastefully latch onto me, introducing me to the world of apprehension. His incessant blathering that ensues from the moment he recognizes me in a crowd screams insanity and madness, ultimately creating an internal conflict for the girl who was always encouraged to sympathize with mental instability and psychosis. But when this man has the audacity to grab me and incessantly stalk me, often lurking and lingering outside my place of work, that sympathy is reverted to pure fear and unease.
How dare you continuously make me feel as if leaving my building without an escort will only encourage you to approach and shadow me. You pursued me for approximately four blocks while I frantically attempted to call for help, following my blatant effort to take your photograph while you carelessly trailed behind me, cutting through passing cars to ensure that you would not lose sight of me. Yesterday, I was unable to walk half a block from my building before you were able to swoop in like a vulture and continue to trail after me while I completely circled that said block until I was able to be reunited with the building’s black, iron gate that are supposed to keep me safe and people like you out. And, again, amidst my frantic phone calls for help and fearful nature, you continued to pursue me.
You know what are doing. Although I am continuously told that you are nothing more than an extremely disturbed man, I am not fooled by your facade. You are avidly on social media, continuously delving into your politically driven postings. Upon being informed by an officer of your lengthy criminal past, both with law enforcement and the women and children that you also preyed on, I firmly believe that you are conscious of your sinister behaviors and actions. This is your game, and you’ve unlawfully chosen me to be your participant.
So, now I am expected to cast all of my faith into a mere piece of paper that is supposed to ensure me that I will be safe; safe from a poor excuse of a man who so clearly has nothing to lose from harassing a women like me. You are unphased by the idea of punishment. And that mere piece of paper that is supposed to be my ticket out of this God forsaken nightmare will allow you to know my name. Those three simple words, that identify who I am, will give you the power to know what you want about me. I am giving you, an undeserving piece of shit, the opportunity to know me; an opportunity you sure as hell don’t deserve.
While you trek the streets that are equally as grungy as you are, with your schizoid smirk and your shameless sense of self worth, I am expected my modify my routines and lifestyle to avoid any conflict that could very possibly turn ugly. You’ve reduced what was left of my confidence to a measly amount, robbing me of my power to want to defend myself. I am embarrassed.
And as I anxiously sat in this court house, already anticipating another frightening encounter with this relentless man, I was asked, “Miss Kash, would you consider yourself afraid?”
Ma’am, afraid doesn’t cover it.