An eventful year
I had thought 2017 was bad. Oh no, 2018 has probably proved itself to be the most pivotal one so far. It hasn’t been all bad, far from it. In some cases, I have experienced things which I never thought I would. I’ve had people around me, people who care and love me hold my hand. I really and truly have found out who my friends are. It’s a year I lost everything and found my soul. I know now what it is that I need to do with my life. It’s scary but it’s awesome.
In March this year, I tried to commit suicide. I was extremely lucky in that not only did I not succeed, it didn’t harm me. The shock to my psyche though was profound. For weeks I could not believe it had happened but slowly I began to recover. I could waffle on at this point about events that subsequently happened but the upshot is, I ran away to live with the travellers. Travellers, both Irish and Rom, settled or unsettled get a bad press. A really bad press. Some of it is deserved and largely comes from the ones that are not settled. My lot are lovely. They are polite, funny, courteous and hard-working. They probably have too many dogs but that’s their business. I even once witnessed a proper traveller bare knuckle fight. The shirts came off and everything. The entire site came out to watch these two youths go toe to toe. I even witnessed the shirt coming off moment. But I never feel unsafe around them. This could not be said of the Polish workers that also inhabit the site.
Largely they are OK. A few of them have chanced their arm with me but a polite ‘no thank you’ usually does the trick. This is because they are not daft.
Except for one man. He’s called Albert. Albert has become obsessed with me. I knew he was going to be trouble from the off. I had been moving stuff in and one day it clashed with the Poles returning home. It took approximately five minutes before he came bounding over. I could see it in his eyes; trouble.
A few weeks later he knocks on my door. He can’t really speak much English but he understands enough. I answer the door. He makes the international sign of the curvy woman. His words are all I, I, I. He tells me I am his ideal woman. I idly muse in my head that may be true but are you my ideal man? No.
But he is still not getting it. I then feel moved (after being doorstepped one day) to say very clearly and to his face; I’m not interested and in any case, I am seeing someone (true). He backs away. This is maybe the fourth time he has approached me.
All is quiet for a few weeks.
But last Friday evening, he rocks up again at my door. Drunk as a fucking skunk. I begin to lose my rag. Fortunately, I was on the phone to a dear friend and he witnessed what I said to the ever lovely Albert. ‘You’ve been told. I’m not interested. Go away!’. Surely now that would be enough? Ha fucking ha!
Saturday lunchtime and as ill-luck would have it, as I am returning from the shops, he is leaving with a pal. It is fortunate that what happened next was witnessed. I’m in the car, he approaches the car. Now, some people say that when they are about to seriously lose it; a red mist comes down. Nah. I looked at him and a blackness was there, inside of me. This is termed the Super-Empathic Supernova. And now he REALLY gets it. Both barrels. But there are many ways to skin a cat and I was rapidly going through all of the options in my head. I doubt Albert can keep a single track in his mind unless it’s about his cock. I know self-aware Sociopaths who can triple track. That is, have three separate thought streams running simultaneously through their heads at any one time. Sometimes but not all the time, I can triple track too. And I was triple tracking at that point.
There is a danger in stepping it up (or representing as the youth of today say) because you never quite know how the other person will react. Indeed, if there hadn’t been a third party there, I probably would just have told him to fuck off and got in the van.
He moves towards me. I walk towards him. I’ve seen this behaviour in males before. He’s peacocking and he expects that he is going to try to physically intimidate me. Every move he makes towards me, (and he tries to touch me several times) I tell him to fuck off and I get RIGHT in his face. He backs away to my utter delight and dances around me, like a sub-standard Barry McGuigan. I note, in utter disgust, how he clutches his little micro penis like a precious jewel which must at all costs be protected from The Harridan. A micro penis that I dare say he wants to shove somewhere warm and wet. Bud – just try it. This vagina has teeth.
I can see it in his eyes, he is simply not used to a woman standing up to him. He’s scared. His usual tactics are not working. I’m not screaming at him, yelling, or out of control or indeed trying to hit him. None of that nonsense. No, The Dragon had been woken and now She needed to feed. And what She needed was fear. His fear.
It was now time for the triangulation. I appeal to his friend and issue the warning. If this man touches my door again, I will see to it that I will make everyone’s lives on here so fucking untenable, he (Albert) will wish he hadn’t been born. The friend who I do perceive to be honest and decent nods his head and assures me that all will be OK. I see the fear in his wide eyes. Fear for his own future. I see the fear now in Albert’s eyes and She welcomed it. I thank the friend. With that, I turn my back on them both and walk away.
Whether that has been enough, time will only tell. I recounted this story to my landlady and friend. She is half Rom. She was very clear. Just whisper the name of his boss to them and not only will the boss come down on him, he will in all likelihood receive a severe beating from the rest of them. This is course, I suspected but it was nice to receive that assurance.
I do not agree with violence, it rarely solves anything. I received enough violence against my person growing up to know this. But it did teach me how conflicts arise and how to deal with them and for that, I do thank PatriNarc. His lessons, so many over so many years formed part of my toolkit. Other men have come along and added to it. Special (beloved) men have come along and gave me more tools and how to wield them in an utterly effective manner. I thank them too.
Fury, extreme anger, is a funny old thing. I do not posses fury, I do posses anger. And I am angry. That this man will not take no for an answer. A man who repeatedly tries to force himself on me. I feel disgust, that in his own mind, he has me already but yet, I’m still saying no. So, let’s just keep on battering her down and at some point she will say yes and open her legs for me. Yeah, good luck with that one!
Why do these cave men keep going on and on? What is going through his tiny, embryonic mind that when a woman (or person) says no, they do actually mean, no? Granted the case of Albert is an extreme one but it’s stuff I see all the time on the internet. It’s stuff I experience all the time.
The point of coming to the traveler site was so I could have peace and quiet and so I could heal from the events of this year and also to write. Largely, it has been a positive step. In the immortal words of Garbo, I want to be left alone. Maybe that was naive on my part?
But I’ll ask the question, why is it that the rest of this group can take no for an answer but this man, Albert, cannot?