The worst part about all of this is that I can’t remember his face. I know he was older and he had curly (or maybe wavy?) black hair. He might have had glasses, but I’m not too sure about that. I know he had nice headphones, and I was jealous that he wouldn’t have to deal with the constant noise of the bus running along the road.
That’s all I remember about him. I don’t know if it’s better that way or not. In some ways, yes, because it doesn’t give me anything to focus on when the attack spontaneously pops back into my head. But in a lot of ways, no, because he could be anyone. Anybody who looks at me on the subway or at the mall could be him.
I get frustrated when I think about it, why does my memory fail me when I really need it to work? When I can’t think about his face, I get more mad at myself for not looking hard enough, not paying enough attention. I should have his portrait burned onto the back of my retinas after what he did to me, but I can’t remember him. I get mad at myself for not doing anything to stop it, for freezing when all I needed to do was move.
I wish there was some way for me to remember.
1 comment
I think another part of you really wishes to forget. That’s understandable. I’m very sorry for what must have been an awfully traumatic experience for you.