Living with PTSD: Context and The Attack

When I chose to accept my admission to UC Davis after 7 years of working multiple jobs while attending community college, it was one of the happiest moments of my life. Having an insatiable appetite for knowledge, I had always wanted to attend a university, but getting there proved difficult since there was no way to pay for it right out of high school. Finishing my AA in Environmental Studies gave me that opportunity through a special program that guaranteed my transfer entry to at least one UC or CSU, as long as I maintained a certain GPA and completed a few other requirements, and because of my age, I also qualified for a grant that would help me with most of my tuition. While considering potential majors, I found a subject I could be passionate about, Sustainable Agriculture and Food Systems. It was so new that it was only offered at two universities in CA at the time - CSU San Luis Obispo and UC Davis. I was incredibly excited to build upon my existing knowledge of people and the environment and try to make a difference in our world by studying this field, but I wasn't sure where I would feel most at home - SLO or Davis? As I toured the two campuses and towns in early spring with my then-boyfriend, I envisioned my life post-graduation as a children's garden educator with joyful anticipation. Davis had a specific garden education program I felt called to experience, and so ultimately I chose Davis over SLO.

In the fall, I packed up my things and my dad rented a U-haul and we caravanned up together. It was my second time moving out on my own, and I was excited to have my own space again as an adult and be on a path to financial independence and personal success. Unfortunately, University classes were much more demanding than I had expected, and while I excelled in community college classes with ease and received A's with very little effort on my part, Davis professors were handing me C's, regularly. The long distance relationship I was keeping on was suffering too, and after my first quarter the relationship felt doomed and my enthusiasm for learning had been pretty much squashed. I was also financially broke, the loans I qualified for turned out to only cover my rent for each quarter. I discovered that if I were to eat, or buy books, or need anything else, it was clear I would have to get a job and find more affordable housing.

It was on Valentine's Day of 2015 that my ex and I split. He had sent me flowers in lieu of coming up for the only 3 day weekend we would have together until Summer break, as he had chosen to play a hockey tournament that weekend instead. I had also just lost my 7 year old rabbit, Liam, unexpectedly in January, and was in definite need of some physical comfort. In the message box on the invoice for the flowers, he wrote "Happy Valentine's Day. Hope this makes up for some things. :) " While the gesture was sweet, it totally failed to make me feel any better about him choosing his hobby over investing time in me and our relationship, over being there for me in a time of great stress and grief. It showed me that he didn't really love me... I mean, a smiley emoji? Not even a heart? No "I love you", no "can't wait to see you again"... It felt like a bouquet from a friend who had done something not-that-bad but still felt like making up for it, not a bouquet from a boyfriend of 2 years, the longest relationship I personally had ever been in. So I called him and let him know that it wasn't working out for me anymore, that he clearly had other priorities that were more important and that I didn't feel truly loved or appreciated by him. We parted without a fight, just understanding that we had reached our limit as a couple and it was time to move on.

Out of all the negativity in my life at this time, I felt incredibly good about this decision. It certainly didn't feel great to be second best to a hobby, but I felt like I was answering a higher calling by setting myself free of a relationship that was so unsatisfying on so many levels. I rode this confidence as I applied for a job at a local cafe, nailed the interview, and started working while attending classes in Spring Quarter. My grades stabilized (although it was still a struggle to keep up), I found a room in an affordable cooperative housing community for the following year, and I had time for developing friendships with my coworkers and peers. It seemed as though things could be looking up for me...

Then I started to fall in love with a chef at my work. He was tall, handsome, charming, beardy, a little rough around the edges - and he made me completely weak at the knees - literally. When I went to talk to him about anything, I would start shaking uncontrollably. This 'crush' was so clearly bad for me, but at the age of 26, no one had ever had this effect on me before and I was convinced it must be true love. I envisioned our future together, running the cafe, little babes toddling about, the vibrant community we would share. It was clear that he was attracted to me as well, but for some reason he held back in asking me out. I decided to take a risk, and I asked him out near the end of October 2015, he first said yes, but then he kept rain checking, once even cancelling 5 minutes after the date was supposed to start. We inevitably ended up hooking up once in early December, at the company holiday party. I spent the next morning at his place, and when he went to drive me home so I could go into work that afternoon and prep for Monday, I remember holding my heels in hand, walking over the cool dewy front lawn in my charcoal grey 1950s vintage wool dress, and for the first time since I broke up with my ex 9 months prior, I felt pure joy, hope, elation, like everything was finally falling into place.

This feeling quickly turned to a deep depression as he refused to return my texts or calls over the next few weeks, and avoided me whenever I was due at work. I had no idea what was going on with him - I know for me it had been some of the best sex I'd ever had, and all I wanted was more time with him, an opportunity for us to get to know each other, to date seriously. I was also two weeks late on my period that month, I wanted to tell him in person and went into sheer panic mode over the fact that he wasn't getting back to me about anything, even the mundane work questions I had as a prep cook for the chef - he would simply tell me to ask someone else. I ended up getting my period and then going home for the holidays. I decided to tell my parents that I identified as queer, and that I might not bring home a guy the next time I date someone seriously. It was the only way I could make peace with my broken heart, promising myself that I would find my partner by being finally and completely truthful about my whole self with my family. I didn't want to have to put any potential partner through an intro/coming out with the fam, so I decided to nip it in the bud. Unfortunately, my mom especially didn't take it well, and went so far as to accuse me of partaking in orgies - (to which I replied: "if I did, it would be none of your business.") Feeling disowned by my family, totally rejected by the person I loved, and going into the new quarter and back to work in January felt entirely overwhelming. I was heavy hearted and began seriously struggling with depression and anxiety for the first time since I was 20.

I decided to take some control of my life and booked an appointment mid-quarter with an on-campus counselor to talk about what was going on with me. I was working three jobs at this point, as a Prep-Cook 24 hours a week in town, and on-campus as a Data Entry Assistant for the Agricultural Sustainability Institute and as the Community Events Organizer for the Student Farm, which took up another 25 hours a week. I was also scheduled full time as a student, ticking off the lengthy requirements to earn my Bachelor of Science degree in Sustainable Agriculture and Food Systems. Without the personal disappointments, this alone was a ludicrous schedule to balance, but necessary to survival, it was so important to me to get my mental health taken care of. Then something really major and unexpected happened, and my whole life turned upside down.

It was a Tuesday in February 2016, the 16th to be exact, two days after the anniversary of me parting ways with my ex, and of course, Valentine's day. The days singles love to hate. I was walking from my first class that morning to my counseling appointment, held on the second floor of the Women's Resources and Research Center on campus. I stopped in the gender neutral restroom on the bottom floor to pee before checking in to my session. I noticed a pair of shoes that could belong to someone of male-identifying gender in the stall next to mine, but paid it little mind. This was the future, this was a safe space. We were both using that restroom for the sense of safety and convenience it provided, or so I thought. While I was peeing I distinctly saw a black iPhone camera pointing up into my stall. The creep was clearly trying to take a video or picture of me peeing. I stopped peeing midstream, and now, I don't know if you've ever done this before, but as someone with a vulva, it is extremely painful and difficult to do. My adrenaline soared and took over. I was completely enraged at the violation of my personal privacy, and that of the safe space we were occupying. I banged my hand on the stall divider, I yelled "I know what you are doing! Come out right now and face me!" He refused to come out of the stall, denied any wrong doing. I yelled again, "I saw your phone! You have no right!" He claimed he didn't have a cell phone. And so I turned to leave the bathroom and told him I was calling the police, that he would answer for what he'd done. As I opened the bathroom door, I heard his stall click open. I turned around to see a tall, thin, pale, middle-aged man with wire-framed glasses and short, wavy dark hair. For some reason I thought it would be a young person, a student who would be so audacious as to violate someone that way... I may have been shocked, but he looked incredibly guilty and entirely scared shitless. He tried to run past me, and I grabbed on to him. Not once did I punch or kick him, I simply tried to restrain him. There was no way I was letting him get away with recording my business and keeping it for perverted purposes... except he used a stun gun on me, and I went down, and he ran out of the bathroom. My adrenaline was running so high that my brain mentally blocked this part out until later, and I was able to quickly get up and follow him into the hallway and tackle him. I'm pretty sure I used every verbal expletive I know in the process. People came out of their offices into the hall, attracted by the sounds of the scuffle, but no one helped me. No one tried to stop him. He managed to get up and get to the exit door at the end of the hallway, I pulled him by the arms from behind, using all of my 115 lbs to try and pull him back through the doorway. He lifted up his arms over his head and escaped down the stairs, I was left holding his overshirt while screaming at the students on the quad to follow him, to not let him get away, as the people in the hall started yelling at me "that's enough!"

I proceeded to crumble into a sobbing puddle on the floor of the hallway... I chokingly told them what he had done... they asked if I wanted them to call the cops... I couldn't believe they hadn't already.