Yay, home-made assault
I was a bit hesitant to share this at all (since whenever I write something too personal, I delete it immediately after), but I was assaulted two days ago in the elevatorās building where I live, and I want to talk about it.
The assault was unprovoked, out of the blue, and completely surreal. The guy punched and kicked me for no reason (he may have been ātriggeredā by my earphones falling, because he tried to take them, or by the fact that I wouldnāt give them to him, I donāt know, the lunatic was already wearing airpods like... bitch tf?). He didnāt utter a single word during the 5/10 minutes we were together and looked... odd is an understatement. I can only assume he had been injecting plaster and frog venom into his veins.
I received around fifteen punches on the side of the head and a few kicks on the stomach while we were stuck on the elevator basement floor, because he stayed between the open doors (I had entered the code to the basement since I had trash bags to get rid of). Being stuck in a cave with a maniac isnāt the funniest thing, trust me, the possible outcomes ran wild in my head. I fought back (there was blood on the wall, and it was not mine), and managed to get to the first floor. There was a man there I used as shield. My assailant didnāt try to touch him, but tried to go around to keep punching me (still not saying a word, which might be the craziest thing).
When the paramedics and cops got there (the guy had fled, taking the elevator back to his floor), we learned that they had intervened on the morning of the same day (on our building) to hospitalize him at the request of a third party. Heās apparently mentally ill and violent (no shit), but the clinic he should have been sent to didnāt have enough room, so they let him go back home.
Yesterday, I learned that two hours before our āfightā, he assaulted his floorās neighbors (who didnāt call the cops and locked themselves in their apartment; Iām not judging what they thought was necessary at the moment, and I donāt know how they were attacked, if it was as brutal as for me, but in doubt, please call the fucking cops). Two assaults in the same day just after he got out of the psychiatric hospital, I need to chat with the doctor who judged him sane enough to roam free.
In the end, Iām fine, I āonlyā have bruises that are surfacing 48 hours after (the most painful ones being on my knuckles āØ) and every muscle ache.
Still, the guy lives where I live and wasnāt arrested. I know I was extremely lucky that he didnāt have a knife or that he wasnāt stronger. My lil sister is ten centimeters shorter than me and fifteen kilos lighter, what if it had been her? I hate the fact that we wonāt be able to take the trash out, get the mail or simply fucking walk in or out of our building without going by two or being paranoid. We picked this building because there are digicodes everywhere and surveillance cameras (which were fucking turned OFF when it happened), itās supposed to be safe, what the fuck should we do when the danger comes from inside?
Whatās more frustrating is that even if I were assaulted, my injuries being āminorā, the cops canāt do much (I filed a claim, but the guy wasnāt in their records, so it wasnāt possible to clearly identify him ā now, that could be solved since his neighbors know him, but only if they agree to file a claim too, which is unsure) and the repercussions will be small. Heāll still live here, and Iāll still have to make sure neither my boyfriend, my mom and, I see you @kallynkaa, try to make him disappear. I prefer them out of jail you know.
I donāt really know why I am sharing this, maybe in case anyone needs a reminder to not let your guards down even in āsafeā spaces. Iām super vigilant all the time, but I always expected a fight to get started by somethingĀ ālogicalā (for someone relatively sane I mean). I donāt even know why he punched me. He didnāt try to rip my clothes (as a passing-by lady nicely suggested at least three times; please donāt tell a victim that āmaybe he was trying to rape youā i donāt need that, Iām busy hyperventilating), didnāt try to take my bag or phone, he just punched me. Repeatedly. Maybe he had hallucinations, maybe not. I will never know.
Also, donāt call for help. Call for fire. People donāt hear when you call for help.
Finally, I doubt heāll come across this (especially written in English), but there was a really nice (Moroccan I think?) man who stayed with me waiting for my mom and the cops and who was really reassuring. I lost an important father figure this year (who was an ex-boxer, and thankfully had taught me a few moves, I might just have a nice right hook thanks to him), which fucked me up, and I canāt call my father to get his support, so even for a bit, you sir, helped a lot.
