I'm just not sure if I should post this to facebook or not. My roommates and I got robbed while we went home for christmas break, and we came back to broken doors and a lot of empty spaces where our TV's and games were. The reason why I'm not sure if I should post this to facebook is because I truthfully don't know if the person who did it knew me or my roommates, or was someone who just knew we are college students who went home for christmas. any advice at all, even if it would just be your own experience with something like this would be amazingly fantastic!
This is something to whoever out there robbed my place.
Iím very afraid right now. Iíd rather you not know my insecurities, but Iím almost certain that you donít follow me on here or would ever read this. If you do, now you know not to come in the middle of the night because thereís a high chance that I will still be up, since I canít sleep now.
You didnít just take my TV. You didnít just take my Wii games and controllers. You didnít just take my favorite pair of underwear(Ok but really did you have to take away my favorite pair of Calvin Klien underwear?!). You did, however, take away my peace of mind.
Iíve never had things stolen from me. Well, at least that I donít know of. I do remember back in 2nd grade someone stole my Pokemon Red walkthrough guide from my desk, and my friend Steven Dinanno admitted to it when we were in High School. There also was some discrepancies of my brother taking money from me when we were younger, but heís paid off that debt and more by giving me lifts around and his incredibly useful ďlifeĒ tips.
I feel helpless, that nobody tried to help and that there was nothing I could have done to stop it, even if I was home. I also have felt revenge, because at the time it seemed like making them feel this irrational pain would help me feel better. I also felt angry, at the jerks who did it, the cops who couldnít find any clues or fingerprints, or about anyone that lives around and didnít pique their interests when they hear someone kick a front door in multiple times. Iíve also been angry at myself, because ďwhy didnít I hide my TVísĒ, or ďwhy didnít I even bring them back home for christmas breakĒ.
My regular life has now been radically changed. When I heard the boiler clank downstairs, sweat started to drip down my face that someone was inside. I started to freak out in front of my roommate when the lightbulb burnt out, and when we both turned to see what happened, I expected a guy in a ski-mask standing next to the lamp. It is 3:47AM currently writing this, and I find the most outrageous of solace knowing that I can see the downstairs light on and that there are no shadows crossing through it.
I would never want to live like this. This paralyzing fear of someone breaking in and making sure all the lights are on have taken such a toll on me that I feel sick. I feel like my stomach is sometimes up in my throat and that Iím going to suffocate worrying if someone is going to break in. I donít want this to become an incessant thought that I have to grow my life around. I donít want to be 30, or 40, or 50 waking up in the middle of the night, wondering if someone is going to break in.
To whoever it is that robbed my place, what you did caused me an incredible amount of pain. What I do have to say to you is that there is a day that I will see you. It may be on campus, or in WalMart, or in Martins down the bread aisle. But I do know that I will never see you in my house. Even if you do have the absolute, most outrageous audacity to step in my house, I will know who you are. I will face you one day, but not you exactly. I will face the fear of you. It may not be today, or the next day, but it will be one day. I would have to face you, since you broke my door enough that I couldnít close it on you anyway.