Pinned.

*Trigger Warning: This is a personal narrative about a physical assault on August 25, 2017, at the home I was staying at in Colorado Springs while homeless & disabled, having just received a diagnosis of DID, dissociative identity disorder. This is for my own trauma processing purposes, to raise awareness about trauma, & to allow my parts of consciousness to express pain & know that we are no longer alone or required to suffer in silence.

Part 1 ~ Friday Morning

After months of devastating disappointments with my housemate, who I’d been close friends with for eight months, I’d spoken with him that morning & established a clear boundary, which he more than agreed to.

Going above & beyond my one simple request, he stepped up & promised, profusely & repeatedly, that he would go downstairs to smoke, rather than using the balcony & consequentially flooding the two-bedroom condo with his toxic fumes & smelly smoke.

I expressed my gratitude over-the-top & allowed that positive energy & soothing promise to empower my day forward.

Part 2 ~ Friday Evening

That evening, I attended ComicCon for the first time with my roommate, who I’d been friends with for two years.

ComicCon was a rough experience. I braved the unknown in the name of New Experience, yet the only experiences I gathered were infinite anxiety & endless triggers that made little to no sense to me. Existence was far too overwhelming to know of “fun.”

As I now understand it, Kingsley was fronting that night. My heart aches for him as we work towards processing such an unexpected & devastating experience.

I tried to keep to myself that night, knowing I wasn’t in a good headspace & simply needed to be alone & refresh my aching spirit.

But the housemate entered our bedroom.

Part 3 ~ Friday Night

He was the type of friend who rudely ignores your attempts at communication yet obnoxiously intrudes when you seek solitude.

He is also the gaslighting sort.

This man in his early 30’s entered the bedroom that I shared with my roommate, the friend who had originally introduced us.

I demanded his departure, craving solitary solace.

He refused to leave the room, so I tried walking around him. If I can’t relax in my bedroom, I can at least not be around a triggering human being.

I tried to walk away.

He body blocked me so I could not leave the room.

I was unable to remove myself or the problem from the situation.

Feeling trapped, my sympathetic nervous system became alert. {Briefly, dramatically, poetically add details about what happens in my brain when triggered, from a neurobiological perspective.}

His casual disrespect caused me to rise up & refuse to take his abuse any longer.

I verbally defended myself.

Yet his disrespectful presence lingered.

He stepped onto the balcony & began to light a cigarette without shutting the door.

My fury compounded as he broke his promise from this morning, which I had longed to receive from him for months.

I felt trapped, panicked, & desperate — & now angry, hurt, & betrayed on top of it all.

Still standing inside of my bedroom, I slapped him, demanding in a more firm voice than before that he leave me alone & for once be a man of his word.

This confidence triggered him into action, his wounded ego leading the charge full-speed ahead.

Part 4 ~ Pinned

His later claim, as he twisted the details to my roommate before I had an opportunity to explain, was that he was worried about me & tried to calm me down.

As if physical suppression is ever an appropriate response of concern.

As if he is never required to take responsibility for his own actions.

As if I deserved to have pain mercilessly inflicted upon me simply because I am who I am.

Now stepped onto the balcony, my housemate defended his ego, lunging at me. I had slapped him after his ree[eated rejections of my verbal attempts at communication: in his mind, physical contact was now permissible.

His arms wrapped around my entire body from behind.

His hands wrapped around mine & clamped down.

My body began to fold.

I screamed.

I shouted.

I sobbed.

I demanded to be released.

Anger slipped towards desperation.

I begged for my freedom.

He continued to tighten his grip on me.

I continued screaming.

This condominium buildling is in an excellent neighbourhood with plenty of compassionate souls & concerned young families I had casually interacted with. It was 10 PM on a Friday night, so I was confident they were home & that someone would soon hear my cries & intervene.

I could feel my voice growing hoarse. What happens when I lose the ability to shout & scream & beg for help? What happens when I lose the will to fight off my attacker? Will he rape me like the other men did when I finally gave up fighting them off?

How is no one able to hear me? I thought in raging terror.

I felt something in my right wrist give way under his pressure.

I crumbled further beneath him as he cowered over me.

Part 5 ~ Pinned & Played

Eventually he tired of his nonsensical power play & released his grasp.

Like a wounded animal, I quickly scurried back into my bedroom, screaming pleas of a terrified truce & “Stay the fuck away from me!” between sobs.

I grip my wrist, doubling over in pain & trembling with raging sobs of traumatized terror.

Even as I write this, my wrist goes numb. Still, as I type this later on, I feel the bones themselves ache within this courageous hand of relentless perseverance.

I crumbled onto my bed in tears & began to assess the damage, taking deep breaths in a desperate attempt to calm the terror still coursing through my body.

Everything is swelling & turning a slightly different colour, & I can’t move my right wrist… or any fingers on my right hand… I can barely even move my right arm…

Knowing our housemate was deeply busy & distracted util after ComicCon, I resisted the urge to immediately tattle-tale on his friend. Surely he would be on my side of the argument if I clung to a mature response despite the fresh trauma.

Maturely responding to an immature man’s attack was a terribly grave mistake.

Never try to play fair with a monster. (That lesson came in handy when I was assaulted again, by a different man in a different city, six months later.)

My attacker phoned our mutual friend immediately, explaining a flabbergastingly wild tale about my insanity & emotional meltdown & how he was there to comfort me while our friend was away & busy that night; about how he kindly stepped in to calm me down when I was triggered & upset.

Manipulated & deceived, my closest friend in the world at the time shrugged off my story & went to bed upon returning home, irrited that I would try & start drama when he’d had a long day & had already done so much to be there for me (which he truly had).

I laid awake next to him all night, staring at the wall, more dissociated than I could comprehend. Nowhere to go… What was I do to? Without this friend, I’m left homeless, barely even desiring to live… That sounds more dangerous than living with someone who just assaulted me…

What is worth more: home or safety?

A bed to sleep on or the sanity to shut my eyes & sleep?

Do I not deserve both?

My thoughts spun.

I felt sick to my stomach.

My wrist hurt yet my heart throbbed with far worse aching pains.

(Stay tuned for the second chapter of this tale.)