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someone may have just tried to break into my apt. heard someone. thought it was a neighbour with their own keys at their own door. My front door opened. I shouted. By the time I got to the door, I didn't see anyone. But door was unlocked. I check door everytime I go to pee. Called police.
They said it could have been an attempted robbery. They're sending someone over.
Tried calling security downstairs first. There was no answer.
FUCK FUCK FUCK.
Of all the shit that's happened already in this place.
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Police were here in 5 mins. Met them downstairs. Told me to call 911 not 311 if someone tries it again. They're gonna wait and talk to the missing security guard. Came upstairs with me to make sure no one tried to sneak in while I went to meet them. Felt a bit ashamed I've been sick. Haven't taken out the garbage house smells funky.
Told me to demand a new lock with new keys on Monday. I will.
Shaking.
Should call landlord leave msg on his voicemail but shaking and don't want to talk to him and shaking and so angry and scared and shaking and freaked out.
Want to call my mom. But I KNOW it'd be such a bad idea.
Moving cleaver into computer room.
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Knows.
She always knows.
ALWAYS.
And people wonder why I thought she was g-d. First thing out of her mouth after I'd said hello to the phone was "What's wrong?"
I have distracted her from how freaked I am about the apt, with my health.
At least there's no urine. But lots of Ayurvedic herbs. All she needs to tell me next is to burn incense and say my Ohms. This is my Indian mother, as opposed to my New Age Mother as opposed to my Born Again Christian Mother.
Truth is though, all my Moms like to control what I (and my siblings) are eating.
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No, I am not calm.
No, I have not heard from landlord.
No, whomever the young sounding, irresponsible sounding jackass holding court at the security desk is, he doesn't have an emergency number for anyone on staff. But he apparently knows my roof drips.
No, I did not have restful sleep. I woke up with my cleaver in my hand and deeply paranoid. I have not checked mail. I do not want to leave the building until I have a new lock.
No, this is not helping my stress, my physical health, my mental health or my perception of pain.
Yes, I do feel like I want to kill a bitch and may wash a knife that fits more comfortably into my hand.
Yes, I am worried that my cat is ill, because if she slept through it all, including the officers checking out my apt then she's been playing with the dirty dripping water from the ceiling behind my back or something.
And I am unhappy that I'll be dipping into reserves needed for something important, in order to deal most appropriately with what's gone on.
12 days into 2008.
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Called me this afternoon before I slept and helped me feel better and poked me to say that my reactions of; need deadbolt lock assistance, need renter's insurance, are in fact sane and rational.
I remind myself of this even though I am unhappy and feel like a failure, that someone believes that I can in fact take care of myself and move forward in logical ways in response to something that shakes up my world.
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Why is it that no matter how I think about it - my current reactions, my plans; something extra for the door, make sure I have writer's renter's insurance.
And no matter that I've read of other people having a similar enough experience; they come in, realize someone's home and beat feet....
I still feel so... SOMETHING.
I'm shaken. I'm uneasy. I don't want to talk. I barely want to think.
When I do think, I remind myself over and over again that my mother's not an option and that I can call and perhaps even talk to my therapist on Monday if I can't wait till our regular session.
But I can't seem to settle.
I should be relieved maybe that the landlord is offering the extra door security, and that I won't have to pay for it. And yet - given his track record... I don't know.
When I don't feel like I want to cry, I feel like I want to hack through human joints with something sharp.
Why is it so easy to blame myself for something I didn't do?
Why does it feel somehow that it's my fault?
Being overwhelmed with landlord vs apt etc and forgetting to send in my renter's insurance, ok that's on me. But everything else?
The landlord says that security is claiming it was a member of the cleaning crew - at midnight. < insert my rolled eyes here >
The landlord also wants to insure I did keep calling for security downstairs and got no response - no answer. I told him I may not have been consistent calling every hour, but how is it whenever I called no one was there?
Landlord claims he's going to check the security tapes.
See, security desk, security cameras, deadbolts on the doors - it's not as if I didn't look for these things and factor these things as 'is this place going to be safe' and yet...
It feels like my fault.
If I wasn't so shaken-terrified-freaked, I'd almost think it was so my fault that anything happening to me is something I deserve.
How does my brain do that??
It's like I'm two steps from that mental place of 'go back home and live with mother or kill yourself'. It's kind of freaky Norman Bates.
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