The Aftermath

Oh yes, she's cute. But a little crazy.

For me, it was the third day of walking my sister’s dog at her home in suburbia, that I realized my life was no longer something I recognized. I had gone from a vibrant, New York work-and-play life, to sitting on a couch, healing my wounds and getting up only to walk this crazy (but snuggly) cockapoo. I was scared of being found by one of Marco’s associates. As far as I knew, he was well-known in Italy and so was his father, and well, I had seen the Sopranos. Maybe that’s not fair, but I won’t apologize for feeling what I felt at the time, and I did not like being home alone.

I wasn’t working (I had tried the day after I returned from Italy, but my boss was having NONE of it). So, I placed all of my effort into recalling and recording every possible detail I could. Colors. Numbers. Little things Marco had said to me. Objects I recalled seeing in his home. I wrote them all down the minute each thought occurred. It was my “Rain Man” moment, for sure. One of the security staff at my company had called me upon my return to the States and told me to write everything down as soon as I remembered it, the sooner the better. Best. Advice. Ever. I cannot tell you how clutch that advice wound up being except that it didn’t only serve me well down the road as my case took shape, but it was an important exercise in me regaining control over what was happening to me. For me, there was power and purpose in remembering everything I could possibly remember. I highly recommend it if you are able to – and only if you are able to (I understand if some of you cannot and that’s ok too).

During the time I was “sequestered” at my sister’s, the only time I left the house was to make trips to a psychologist (more on that in next post). For the most part though, I worked on remembering details as I could, resting my body, and reaching out to my friends so they were aware of what happened. Through this, I realized that the more I told the story, the less sting it had for me; I considered that a good thing.

My parents drove out from Colorado to come see me. I really needed them, so they came as quickly as they could. All in all, I stayed there for a week, and then returned home and to work because I needed the comfort of familiar things, a routine and to think about something other than the attack. I realize that is not right for everyone, but that’s what I did.

QUOTE:  “Self-pity in its early stages is as snug as a feather mattress. Only when it hardens does it become uncomfortable.” – Maya Angelou (Women’s Wit and Wisdom; Runner’s Press)

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