My Problems Part 2

So I did finish this post last time, but I forgot about this, so I thought that I would just continue. As do my problems :/ So this ‘problem’ is my phobia of having things stolen (intentional or joking) as well as my panic attacks.

...

A few years ago, when I was about 14 or so, something happened that would affect me in quite a big way. I’m sure you can all guess what it is, but I’ma tell you the story anyway. So at the time I was just at that age where I wanted a part time job, and there was this shooting range where they hired minors (and adults) to mark down the score the shooters got. You got quite good pay, but it was a bit difficult to get to and you had to do a day’s training: but you could get trained by anyone, and if they were nice they would pay you half of their wages. Anyway, I had been there before and trained, but I forgot it, so I decided to get trained again by me friend, neighbour and ex gf. I popped into town a few hours before to mosey around the shops and got the bus home so that I would be there for 3 (when we were leaving for the ‘Ranges’). I got outside my street when I needed to call my friend to let her know I would be ready in about 30 mins, so I got out my phone, called her and hung up. Then two guys called me over from across the road (still literally just outside my street) and so I tried to ignore them but in the end I gave up and walked over there. So they asked if they could borrow my phone to call their friend “Trophy” to tell them where they are; so being the niaive idiot that I am, I agreed, thinking that there is no wrong in the world and people are nice human beings. I was wrong. They called their friend a couple of times, but he didn’t answer, so they asked (begged) me to let them walk up the road towards the main road to see if their friend was there. No problem I thought, I am close to home, they seem friendly and if they are going to steal my phone, they would have by now. So I walk with them, not entirely trusting them, but going along with it. They got to the end of the road and called him again ... no answer. They persuaded me to let them borrow my phone while walking down the local alleyway ...

They got to the local school and they still had my phone and by now I was a little worried. They continued to walk down towards the local shops, making idle conversation, but I mainly kept to myself. By the time that they walked past the shops and continued towards the ‘rough part of town’ I got really worried. I asked for my phone back. They ignored me. I got increasingly worried.

They continued walking through an estate of terraced houses, each interlinking to form a labyrinth, by the time I was getting lost. At this point, I was doing my best to make sure that they heard me asking for my phone back. I was tempted to leave and go home – I was already late to my friends house and for the training, but I didn’t want to just ‘give up’ on my phone – so I asked again. Eventually, I tapped him on the shoulder and said

“I want my phone back”, to which he replied

“touch me again and I’ll break your nose” ... not the most threatening thing, but I think it was way more believable than ‘I’ll kill you’

I was terrified, and asked again (a little less sure about myself) for my phone. I knew that I was being mugged, but its one of those things that you just cant think and keep going: straight over the cliff. So at this point I lied and said that I had no idea where I was or how to get home, so could I just have my phone and I wished them luck in finding “Trophy”. This backfired, where at this point they took off running. I was not a particularly healthy kid and was relatively obese which meant that not only did I find it hard to keep up with them, but it was amusing watching me try to, to them. I hated it. They ran almost the way back to town, with me behind. I somehow managed to keep up with them, although I was behind them. Eventually they turned around in another alleyway and waited for me. They hit me. It wasn’t to hard or anything, but it hurt and left me fearing for my life, because it was at this point they threatened to kill me and ran off. I thought it would be best to return home. I cried the entire journey home (about 40 mins). No one stopped and asked if I was ok. No one checked to see if I was hurt. No one cared. I felt so alone surrounded by people and I hated it; and do you know what happened as soon as I got in? My mum yelled at me for being so late home and making her waste her afternoon. Needless to say I broke down again and ran up to my room. I told her what had happened, and although sympathetic, she blamed me (as do I) and since then I haven’t been able to deal with this very well.

About a year after ... none of my friends really knew this ... and Jake stole some pieces of paper from my pocket containing some lyrics I had scribbled. I followed him around school for about 30 mins begging to have them back, before we ran into a teacher. He told her that they were his and didn’t know what I was on about. This was too similar for my liking, which was when I walked/ran off crying and went home. Fortunately it was the end of the day, or else I don’t know what I would have done. It only took him until last week to understand my reaction, when he took my phone and refused to give it back. Normally I just panic a bit and cry or something, but when its my phone, I go into full break down mode. I started hyperventilating and had a panic attack. I don’t get them often, but I hate it when I do, and this is one of the only things that trigger me.

So what is the thing that reminded me of this, you ask? Well today in Sociology class we watched a film where a man got mugged (phone) and he followed a seemingly nice guy who claimed to know the thief. 40 mins after they met and a distance away, he drew out a knife and stole the guys laptop. It was a bit too close for comfort, and I had a panic attack. But as it was a lesson and I couldn’t afford to miss MORE of the class, I had to stay, but fortunately no one noticed as I was sat in the corner tears streaming down my face. Afterwards I had to go and see my teacher to organise a meeting, when he wondered why my breathing was strange, and I told her why. She was really sympathetic, and admitted she forgot to ask if this would hurt anyone. Figures.

So to this day I hate my things being ‘stolen’ from me, even if it is a joke, and especially if it is my phone. I can’t help but break down and have panic attacks, each and every time. I never went to the police in the end and they were never caught: but the name “Trophy” still haunts me.

Jack xx