Tuesday, May 25, 2010
I never reported it. Everyone I talk to says, "REALLY??! YOU NEED TO REPORT IT." "WHAT IF HE DOES IT AGAIN?"
I am left with a residue of shame: why didn't I report it? The attack. Because that's what it was an attack. It took the caring voice of reason of the medical assistant at my doctor's office to drive this point home. And when she shared her own story of being attacked, it made me finally cry about mine.
I respect the police. And I dread contact with that monotone, "well, ma'am, why didn't you report it on Saturday?"
Why? Why, indeed.
At work, if this happened to a client, I would quickly respond: report it, right now; I will help you. If a friend told me this, I would say report it. report it now.
So, I learn. That just because "things like this happen." Just because "he was mentally ill." "Just because it's life in the city." I deserve to tell someone.