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This is a very traumatic and disturbing story to tell. I want to imagine that you, dear reader, are with me and supportive of me as I tell this. This chapter is only the beginning of a terrifying event in my life.
The date was October 1, 2004. My life had already become incredibly dark. I had built a successful career as a psychotherapist - a Licensed Clinical Social Worker. This accomplishment was nothing short of miraculous and had been a cause for celebration of some amazing accomplishments.
At one point in June or July of 2000, I had earned about two thousand five hundred dollars in one week. If that had been my income for the entire year, I would have earned around two hundred thousand dollars. In reality, as a psychotherapist in private practice, I didn't earn the same amount each and every week. But I was very successful both financially and as a professional member of my field.
Sadly, that had come to a crashing end beginning in late July of 2000. I will describe those events later.
I had always been shy and suffered from social phobia. A phobia is something that we avoid. For example, I have a phobia of snakes and I deal with that by avoiding snakes. Growing up and for many years as a young adult, I had avoided certain social situations. That prevented me from facing my fears.
I had overcome my fears by asking myself questions like "what's the worst thing that could happen?" I kept telling myself that I had nothing to fear. The world is a safe place. Nothing bad was going to happen to me. That kind of reasoning helped me overcome the challenges.
I was about to find out about the most surreal and nightmarish, unbelievably brtual, cruel and wicked things that could happen... worse than my wildest nightmares could ever imagine... on a day I was minding my own business at home, waiting for a friend. The person who would show up was most definitely not my friend.
Here I was on Friday, October 1, 2004. I had been taken to court on eviction papers by Jimmy (James Vecchione), the landlord. I appealed the decision saying that I was looking into ways to get the funds that I needed to catch up on the rent.
I was on the brink of homelessness. I had nowhere to put all my belongings. I had been homeless and had stayed in the shelter and it is hard to hold onto one's belongings, including those items that are irreplaceable in that situation.
It is not uncommon for people to find themselves in situations like this and there are resources in the community for helping persons in situations like this.
Also, back then all my photographs and videos were not backed up in the cloud where memories can be safely stored. I had a lifetime of memories that I didn't want to lose.
I had moved to a boarding house at 721 Holloway Street in Durham, North Carolina. I was about to start a business as a web designer and developer with the support of the Division of Vocational Rehabilitation (VR) which had funded my training where I received a certificate from NC State University in Web Design.
In retrospect, the choice to work in Web Design was not wise. I had learned long ago that my true calling, my passion, my skills, as well as my confidence was in helping others who are dealing with emotional and psychological issues. Web design just wasn't a good match.
It's important to understand my passions, my compassion, and my empathy to understand my story. I have dedicated my life to helping others deal with emotional and psychological issues.
I had been in a very dark place for some time, so I went along with the suggestions of the counselor that I had at VR, Eric Peters.
Anyway, I was also discussing my situation with Eric Peters at VR and he had indicated that VR might be able to help me with the rent for a while. Eric had indicated that VR did have concerns about me locating a home-based business in a drug-infested crime-ridden part of Durham. They had concerns about the safety of the computer equipment they would buy and about customers/clients coming in person to that location.
It had been hard to get pizza delivered there at that address.
It was late in the afternoon on this October 1, 2004. I was expecting someone to show up this afternoon... someone I met at the homeless shelter where they provide meals for free. I suggested a yard sale and said to my new friend that I would share some of the funds that I made at the yard sale with her.
If only she had shown up instead. But I would get a phone call from her that night.
I had been thinking that I needed to try anything and everything possible to raise funds. Previously I had been doing work for the landlord - Jimmy. I was working on an adult dating site in exchange for the cost of the rent. Jimmy didn't think the site was coming together fast enough and so he suddenly dropped all interest in the project and demanded the rent. This put me in a bad situation where I was scrambling to come up with rent as soon as possible.
This location in Durham is indeed a drug-infested crime-ridden part of town. I had been mugged there and I often felt fearful walking home from work. I hadn't had a car and so walking and/or using the bus were the only ways for me to get around.
The place where I was living was described as an all-male boarding house. I had chosen to live here initially because of the low move-in cost. I only had to pay the first week's rent to move in and I didn't have to pay a large security deposit when I had first moved into the location.
Sometime after I moved into the place I started going dumpster diving on many occasions to collect books from the library up the street, not far away. I thought I could sell books dirt cheap and make a few dollars tomorrow Saturday.
Granted this wasn't the best location for a yard sale. But who knows, I had some luck in the past selling books and other items. People might just stop tomorrow as they drive down the street. It's not as dangerous on Holloway Street during the day... Maybe? Hopefully, people might think that. I had to try anything to get some funds. I was desperate.
I had books in piles all over the room. My apartment was a room in the house.
The room is about 18 feet wide by 18 feet from the front door to the back of the room. A wall is set back about eight or nine feet from the door to the apartment room. The wall has an opening on the right and the left as you look into the room from the door. Behind the wall, I have a mattress on the floor where I slept.
There was barely enough room in the apartment room today. My computer was set up on a desk to the right against the wall.
About six feet from the door, there is a couch.
I was trying to arrange the books and other items that I would bring out the next morning, Saturday, for the yard sale. I could hardly move around the room with books piled up everywhere. There are a few bookcases that I would take outside the next day, Saturday, for the yard sale.
I was waiting for my friend to arrive and so I had the door open into the hallway.
Let me describe the apartment building better before I describe what is about to happen. When you look at the house from the street, there is a front door and to the left is a driveway. Around the back, there is an apartment. Scott stays there. I think he got a discount on rent just like I was getting free rent for working on Jimmy's website. We paid our rent weekly to Scott and he gives us a receipt.
There is a door on the side of the building that leads inside from the driveway. If you come in that door, you would see the kitchen area, a common area for cooking meals. Moving past the kitchen area there is the bathroom with a shower. An apartment was down that hallway as well.
Then turning to the right, you would come to the vending machines that Jimmy kept stocked with sodas and snacks. There was an apartment on the right and another two apartments on the left before you come to my apartment room.
Across from my room was the stairway that leads to four apartments upstairs. Next to the foot of the stairs was another apartment.
I have had experiences of seeing females there who were selling their bodies for roughly $10 or $15. Yes, I have had the experience of being offered these services more than once. I would be too afraid to accept these services even if I was into that kind of thing. I imagine that they live a very high-risk lifestyle and I wouldn't want to take the chance of getting AIDS.
Six feet from the foot of the stairs leading to the upstairs apartments was the front door. There was a small porch area, then steps that lead to a small front yard and more steps down to the sidewalk. Out front was where I planned to have the yard sale tomorrow.
Returning to the inside of the building... My door was open a bit as I was expecting my new friend to arrive.
There's a phenomenon that I learned about years ago when you hear your name. It's called the "cocktail party phenomenon." We can hear our name if it is called out even in a busy and somewhat loud room full of people talking. There's something that causes us to immediately turn in the direction of where we have heard our name called out. Hearing our own name called out can penetrate the cacophony of other sounds.
I had noticed this instant attention-grabbing effect years ago after I first learned about it. I was walking to class and deep in thought and heard "Bruce" and immediately my attention was caught and my head turned in the direction of where someone had called out my name. The person must have been a couple of football field's distance from me.
I state this to put into context what happens now. With my door partially open, I heard the words "where's Bruce."
Without thinking, I open my door and step into the hallway and said "I'm Bruce."
A woman was standing a few steps up the stairway. She was NOT the person I was expecting.
She turned in my direction and started walking down the stairs toward me.
I had noticed the woman had walked partly up the stairs and was looking at Danny, one of the tenants. I had no idea who this woman was. She was white and about my height, perhaps in her mid-twenties.
This detail about her being white is relevant because I was expecting an African-American woman - my new friend. So, this was definitely not the person I was expecting.
Immediately after she heard me say "I'm Bruce," she moved without pausing and entered my apartment room. This happened so fast that I had no time to react and say, "who are you?" or to think to myself that I should not let this person enter my home.
More than once after the fact, someone has asked why the heck would you let someone you don't even know enter your home. I offered that information about the "cocktail party effect" as a potential explanation for the worst possible decision in my life.
I stepped into the room with her but slightly behind her. I then saw her close the door and lock it. This happened in a few split seconds. She then turned around and punched me in the face before I knew what was happening. This was followed by a few more punches to my face.
I was dazed and shocked. I imagine that this is how a boxer feels before being knocked unconscious. I staggered backward. There wasn't much room between the door and the couch where I fell.
She shouted, "why do you keep calling me?"
I answered, "who are you?" with genuine shock in my voice. I was wondering who the heck was attacking me. And why was this happening? I didn't have a clue as to who it was that was attacking me.
I was hurt badly. Blood was pouring out of my nose and across my face almost immediately.
Was she high on drugs?
She had invaded my home; my apartment and I had no idea why she was attacking me.
Somehow I got to my feet and unlocked the door that she had just locked.
Somehow, I also had managed to pull her toward the door.
I had brought my hand to my face and noticed my hand was smeared with blood. As I pulled her toward the door, I left a blood-smeared thumbprint on the door frame with my right thumb. I then unlocked the door and got her outside... or perhaps she just left.
This happened so incredibly fast that it's hard to remember each and every fraction of a second. Hopefully, you get the gist of what was happening, dear reader. The entire brutal assault on me could not have lasted more than 45 or 60 seconds, maybe less maybe more (90 seconds). The brevity of the event would be relevant when considering what she would claim happened - her claims would have required a bit more time, but we are getting ahead of the story.
I wanted to establish safety from this crazy person so I could call 911.
As I tried to shut the door, she was pushing the door to get back inside! I couldn't close the door. I couldn't believe it. What more did she want to do to me! I reached my hand through to try to push her away. My hand connected with her face and it might have been partially closed into almost a fist. This was the closest thing to acting in self-defense. It seemed like all I had accomplished was pushing her away from the door so that I could lock it and finally feel safe inside my apartment room.
Like every victim, I immediately picked up my phone and dialed 911. I then waited.
Some of the guys who lived in the house were coming back from work at that time. I must have gotten the sense that she had left from the voices outside. Some had witnessed from outside my apartment room, the commotion.
There were three people in the hallway or on the stairs who looked with shock at just how badly I was bleeding.
Someone asked if I knew her, and I said I had no idea who she was. I was told to go look in the bathroom at how bloody I was.
I was shocked at how profusely I was bleeding all across my face. I wondered why I was not bruised as opposed to seeing my face sliced up like this.
Joachim, one of the other tenants asked me, "so, you don't know her from Adam?"
"No, I have no idea who she was," I answered.
I didn't think to ask if any of them recognized her. I assumed they would have said so if they did.
Someone asked me why I let her into my apartment. I tried to explain that it happened so fast... I didn't have a good explanation for why I let this stranger into my apartment.
I was wearing a fairly dark striped, green short sleeve shirt. The shirt was covered in blood. I was wearing shorts and those were covered in blood as well. Even my socks and shoes were bloody.
I was trying to stop the bleeding as I waited for the police to arrive. It would take a while after the responding police arrived before my bleeding stopped.
I'll pick up this story in the next chapter.