I started to write a post about why I curled up and died for a few weeks, but it was coming out way too long for how fast the experience was.
The shorter story is I saw a guy trying to force a woman into his truck when she was breaking up with him and I intervened. I got in his face and shouted at him until he let her go and she got away. I dread that anyone thinks I’m bragging here, because my consciousness was basically just along for the ride, my body was doing its own thing, and if the control had been reversed and I had listened to my thoughts, I would have cowered and done nothing.
Afterwards I got in my car, balled up, and just started sobbing. Because it could have gone so much worse than it did. Because I didn’t know if I was going to be able to get myself to take off my shoes that night (I did after about a few hours, so good ending there I guess?). Because I was so incredibly angry and had nowhere to go with it. And worst for me was crying because I was so fucking jealous. What if that’s all it would have taken for someone to help me? Why didn’t someone help me? I’ve intervened like this before, I know most of the time all you have to do is get in between them and the women, so why did no one stop it when it was me? I hate myself for thinking like that, I know what it’s like to be too scared to move, but that’s all that would go through my head.