I used to want to date nerdy white men. Everything about them seemed attractive. Their “shyness,” I interpreted to be politeness. Their interest in non-athletic pursuits, I used to find intelligent. But always, I have never been able to snag the attention, or the even flirtatious glances of a nerdy white guy, at least eye to eye.
I’d always chalk up their disinterest to the fact that I was not attractive enough. When riding through the subway tunnels of lower Manhattan, I’d see these… hipster types, I could say, holding hands with pale-skinned hanger-skinny white girls with bone straight hair, having sorts of conversations that seemed boring, even without my being able to hear a thing. Or, perhaps I’d find these young men holding hands “charming” immigrant east Asian girls, crooked teeth and all.
My friends always tell me I’m attractive, to this day. But despite their encouragement and honesty, I never feel like I am. I see these hipster couples with their MacLaren strollers, and their front-sided baby pouches, and I think, “Why can’t I be like them? Why can’t I be stupid and vacant like them?” Really, I mean, they look boring as shit, and yet I want to be like them.
These days, I don’t want to date. I’m not interested in nerdy men anymore, and I have never been into more macho or thuggish types. I’m incredibly friendly, kind and somewhat naïve. Truly, any person who has been attracted to me thus far has been the predatory type. Typically, people find me attractive because I bat my eyes away when men flirt with me, and so I attract the more aggressive types. While nicer men will leave me alone after my withdrawal, the go-getters (and typically the more cocky and over-confident) will perceive me as prey, and attack.
For this reason, I have been subject to numerous unwanted sexual encounters. My kindness and naïvety, I mean. Over the years, various predators have enticed me as easily as candy with a baby. One time, a bald man at my local Barnes & Noble told me I was beautiful, spoke a few words to me in German (which I speak), and then lured me into his car, wherein he molested me. He claimed he was 35 years old, but looked more like 55. I sat silently and listened, while he told me he loved me and wanted to dress me like a princess. I remained mute… and then he “benevolently” drove me home.
Another time, an acquaintance from my college, a Latino married man, began flirting with me on Skype. I was unable to catch on to the sexual innuendos. He invited me to have a “recording session” with a friend the next day, which I agreed to attend. I traveled there, and spent the day sitting idly in a recording studio, waiting for the “musicians” to show up. One was busy taking a shower for 2 hours, another was getting Chinese for an hour, and so forth.
For dinner, I went to an Italian restaurant with my acquaintance and 3 other Latino men, during which they spoke in Spanish the entire time. I was unable to understand a word they said. After a while, my acquaintance invited me to leave because it was “boring” and I “couldn’t understand,” and then he brought me to his car, whereby he began molesting me. The other 3 men showed up and joined in, and then I was driven to a motel. I really had no idea where I was. I lay there quietly, like a dead fish. They attempted to do whatever they wanted, and I dissociated. Was mute. After a while, they sensed my “disinterest,” and told me, “Oh, we just wanted you to have fun.” Benevolently, they then drove me home. I didn’t tell anyone about this episode until a full 24 hours later, when I called 911. I was then interviewed by a brute lady cop, who told me that it was not rape because I didn’t express any protestations.
Really? So, if I dissociate and become mute and am unable to move due to fear… is that consenting to unwanted sexual contact?
Who knows. I think the worst time was in September-ish time in 2009, maybe October. I was feeling sad, whilst loitering in Washington Square park in downtown Manhattan, near NYU. A black guy came up to me, and told me I was beautiful. I felt a bit better, and began following him around. He told me he was a rapper, and took me to a nice French restaurant for an early dinner.
After a while, we entered a cab, and he had me pay for a hotel at Times Square for about $169. In the bedroom, he essentially lied that he was scratching himself while sitting next to me. Again, I was a stone. He attempted to go further, but I dissociated and made no noise. He then gave up, and we retired. The next day… I think he asked me for money, I don’t remember quite, but I said that the card on my person was my mother’s. He then allowed me to leave. 2 days later, I received a call from the police, telling me that this man was a wanted serial rapist, known for slashing women with knives.
There have been other instances of my being taken advantage of, again and again. Why does this keep happening to me? Why am I unable to protect myself from predators?
I guess because I’m nice. I guess because I assume good will with people, and those who are predators… thrive on nice types like me. They perceive me as “stupid,” and “street-dumb.” They feed me sweet lines, and they do what they want.
But I’m fucking lucky. I always wonder… why did these sinister rapists leave me untouched?
Maybe… I always remember that, when these people were violating me, I still regarded them as people with feelings. I regarded them as people who were entitled to have that which made them happy. And if it was my unhappiness that they desired, they were entitled to have it.
Maybe I’m an idealist here, but I wonder… maybe they sensed that respect that I offered to them. Maybe these sinister people were touched emotionally… maybe they felt that I “understood” them. Or maybe… maybe they saw that I was not putting up any fight, and so they found me a boring conquest.
I might be saying something odd… but sinister people are people too. My problem, has always been that I never learned from my mistakes. I allowed myself to be advantage of, over and over again, yet I never learned to protect myself. And these assholes… they take advantage of people over and over again, and they never learn either.
I’m terribly an idealist.
I think I have a clearer picture to tell. In 2012, I briefly dated a guy I met in a bar in Brooklyn, at some hipster joint. We became soulmates overnight, and then spent a good deal of time together. The details of his life that he shared with me were tumultuous and sorrowful, and so I developed compassion for him. Yet, my instincts were such, that he made me sad often, and I broke off with him a few times within 6 weeks. The façade he presented quickly began to crack, and I realized that his presence was far more dangerous than I expected. But in the end… it was him, transforming into a utter monster while speaking on the phone to some hapless phone representative. I saw shades of my father. I saw what this man was capable of.
Then something unexpected happened.
When he hung up, he looked at me, with tears. “I’m wrong for you. I’m just going to drag you down. You’re better off without me.” And he left.
I think… I think that he was ashamed of who he was, or maybe he was a victim of circumstances that caused his integrity to weaken. “Sinisterize.”
I CARE TOO MUCH.
How do I heal? How do I reclaim myself? Or… how do I just CLAIM myself? Sometimes, I wonder… have I ever known who I am? This shit started when I was so young.
I’m happy though… I’ve come this far. And I want to go further… but right now I just need to grieve. Cry. Feel it fully. And feel it by myself. I don’t want to try and find the answers from others. Asking for advice. I want to find it in myself. It’s so hard though. I hope I can do it soon. Because I don’t want to live in the past, and I don’t want to live in fear anymore.
The fear… that is what causes me to limit my future. That fear of friendship and beyond… that is what causes me to still be in the dark, when I look at romantic couples and marriage partners… I don’t get what binds them together. I only understand violence and hatred. I only understand manipulation. That is why I’ve been afraid. And… for me to say it here… maybe some sicko will read it here, and then find me and get me. But… there are so many of us out there, suffering like me. Suffering like the way I write here. And we are intimidated into remaining silent, to save our skins.
It’s almost as if, every hipster couple reminds me of how they have no tragedy like this, and so their lives are easier. Smoother… but… in my soul, I know I’ve got it better. Because I’ve got depth.