Fight or Flight

Years ago I went through a fairly traumatic, completely farcical experience and I have always wanted to share it openly. I’ve mentioned the story in bits and pieces in conversation with random people, but I’ve never written about the situation from start to finish. It’s long, it’s weird, it’s uncomfortable but I can say with confidence that it IS interesting. It’s also an important piece of personal history, as it completely ended up changing the trajectory of my life, which set me straight after years of unhinged behavior.

Truly, this particular situation was the end of an era. It had a remarkably profound, sobering effect on me, and was ironically the catalyst that sent me permanently to Canada to join the rest of my immediate family.

Let’s start with someone feeling “off” to you. I’m sure most of you who are at least in the mere vicinity of my age has had the unpleasant experience of the “vibes” being off about a person or situation. Sometimes there are no words, just pure instinct because your brain is trying to process all these unnatural tells you are receiving, trying to put them into rational thoughts. There is no other way to describe this other than “off”. You just know something is just not quite Chippewa about a person in your life.

Instinct is such a real response; it’s a shame most of us ignore it.

*Trigger warning: disturbing situation, all sorts of undiagnosed mental health, (attempted) manipulation, violation of personal rights, absolute fuckery*

We start our tale in late Spring, 2011. I had just left California for Michigan to be roommates with someone. What followed was a series of unfortunate events that would have me packing up my car in under 24 hours and fleeing the scene.

The details of who I moved in with will remain murky, just to protect identity. While I will never forgive this person; I do not want to draw any attention to them as they are (maybe) living their life in relative peace now.

Really? Don’t know, don’t care.

In brief summation; my new roommate was someone I had known on the internet for six years. I know it sounds a little odd, but early MMORPG’s were serious business and we all were making real friends with people on the other sides of countries. I knew him only by voice and gaming character, didn’t even know what he looked like and playing an MMORPG together sometimes days in a row, can really play up a false sense of trust that I’m sure spanned both sides. A lot of you know exactly what I’m talking about. It truly feels like you actually “know” the person behind the pixels which is a queasy mix of fascinating and scary, because you really have no idea who is on the other side. Sometimes you meet them, and it works off screen and you become great friends or more.

In this case it was absolutely fucking ludicrous.

To this day I cannot tell you why I thought this was a good idea. The entire situation was fueled by a desire; a driving force to do anything I could possibly do to get closer to Canada (and my mother). All the while blindly steam rolling over red flags with my drive and ambition.

Why was I like this, you may be asking? It’s because I spent YEARS of my life flying by the seat of my pants, living in a state of perpetual chaos and making a trauma response to a situation my entire lifestyle. If I liked a place, I would just uproot my life and relocate. It was hard, it was messy, and I was completely addicted to clean slates and starting over. Focused solely on running away from any sort of stability.

Let’s dial back into 2011 with a music montage. Where I was, once again, selling much of what I owned in Sacramento. Ever used to paring down my belongings, I stripped down to the bare absolute minimum until I was sporting just two suitcases of possessions once again (obviously not my first rodeo). I was on my way to visit my parents in Southern Ontario, Canada and then off to Bloomfield Hills, MI where I would be starting a new life!

It’s heartbreaking when you hear this from my parent’s point of view, and I still struggle with the visual years later, as an auntie parent. You watch your kid sell all their own possessions to move closer to you, and you drop them off thinking this will be the start of a good new life. Three months later you are helping them flee a situation that should have probably been reported to the cops.

There I was, bright eyed, naive and ready to make bad choices; waving goodbye to California (again) and off to see my family, where they would drive me the 1.5 hours into the outer suburbs of Detroit, Michigan. I was armed with new apartment things; coffee maker, utensils, blow up mattress, etc. My mother was so happy to have me close by again, and there was nothing but optimism about my impending time in Detroit. I had transferred to a well known, Swedish furniture company in Canton and everything, for some wild reason, was just falling into place.

My roommate and I were solidly communicating; it truly felt like we were friends. We both seemed to be on the same page, both seemed to be fairly good communicators, and everything seemed laid out perfectly. All I had to do was get there in one piece. I was 100% completely secure with our agreement to be platonic roommates and ready to rock.

Before there was an inkling of fuckery, before I even set foot on Detroit soil, the first red flag suddenly appeared. It was an email the day before my actual move to Michigan. I remember opening this thinking it was maybe a recap of what we had talked about prior. Or maybe a welcome of sorts.

Instead I was given a confession of sorts stating that he wished I wasn’t coming. Long, winded and full of worry. It was also completely out of left field, leaving me positively baffled. We had spoken just a couple nights ago when I had arrived in Canada, and he seemed well? This was the first I had ever heard of this being a bad idea (From him).

Unfortunately, the hard Shakespearian foreshadowing of this event had gone right over my head.

“For something wicked this way comes” ~Macbeth

The email was so oddly worded, full of regret, essentially telling me I made a terrible decision. This would be the first flaming on fire red flag that I just completely ignored. Why? You again may be asking. (You might be asking this a lot).

BECAUSE I JUST MOVED. It was the sheer logistics of what I had done to GET to this point of life that had my brain immediately dismissing this as last-minute nerves. I moved across the country (again) and was already propelled into the motions of a new life in a new place (again), so I had no mental capacity to even process this email as anything other than “cold feet”. I simply could not comprehend the concept that he was suddenly too anxious for this to work out, and just completely blanked out the vaguely psychotic email that I should have paid WAY MORE ATTENTION to but you know, hindsight.

Blinders firmly on, I pushed forward assuming that I could fix any situation. I had assured this person that while I could not change anything that was set into motion, we would be fine. The memory of completely convincing myself that I could smooth all weirdness/nervousness with my life experience and charm aged like milk. Literally all bets were on my personality being so stellar that I could make it all work, and yes, that was also utterly ridiculous.

‘Oft expectation fails, and most oft there where most it promises ‘~All’s Well That Ends Well

By the next day, the email was promptly forgotten and it was a pleasant drive with the parents. Once there, I had a couple hours to myself, so I openly admired the area that was Bloomfield Hills, Michigan. At the time it was quite vibrant, with a suburban plethora of restaurants, patios, lively strip malls and grocery stores. It was there I would be introduced to Kroger, and where I would spend countless hours at Panera Bread when it was in it’s prime. This area was heavily treed, with lakes, creeks and trails and I was deeply content with the surroundings. Such an amazing difference from dead grass/foliage Sacramento that was probably on fire starting the minute I sat down on the plane. It was the first time since Chicago that I felt I could truly enjoy nature, maybe even see some storms and experience seasons. It’s here where the Michigan story begins.

The Beginning Of the End

He was out when I arrived but had texted me that he would be home in the early evening, so I eagerly awaited to match a face to the voice I knew so well. Our initial meeting was of course, awkward, but with little fanfare. I gave him a hug that was not returned and then my auto-chatter took over. He was a normal looking dude, a couple years younger than me and had that obvious aura of “gamer nerd” but no smell. He came from a strict family, was fastidious* to the EXTREME. Very, very neat and tidy and went into detail immediately about kitchen arrangements, which I felt was not too weird. Food is important- and as a seasoned roommate I respected kitchen rules.

What was weird was the absolutely intense, overwhelming feeling of something being totally off. It hit me like a ton of bricks the moment we made eye contact. I did my best to try and shake it, but my body instinctually knew something was purely wrong on a level my brain wasn’t understanding yet. I expected weirdness from such a devoted gamer, plus I knew he had a recent Asperger’s diagnosis. At the time, after working with kids, I was familiar with ASD. Missing social queues, lack of eye contact, repetitive behaviors, narrow interests to name a few, but this felt very different. Just so incredibly off, like something else was at play here. Perhaps another mental diagnosis was waiting in the wings.

In pure Sarah at the time form, I just buried those uneasy feelings deep down, blamed myself, assumed my guard was up. More than likely, I was the problem. I mean, when was I not the problem lately? So, I maintained this upbeat facade of everything’s good, everything’s fine and just hoped that my brain would decide to go along for the ride.

This worked for 36 whole hours. As it was day two of my Michigan arrival, when I would try to start the car that I was buying from him and his family.

It was a 1998 Toyota Camry, that according to him was being sold “as is” but I had several confirmations that the car started and ran fine from both him and his parents. Again, TWO days after my initial move in, I happily went out to start the car. She sputtered up to life, shook like mad and then completely DIED. It wouldn’t even turn over after repeated attempts. The dash was covered in a thick layer of dust and as I was sitting in the driver’s seat, I realized I couldn’t even see out any of the windows. The sinking suspicion that I was being swindled dawned on me, so I mustered up the courage to go upstairs and have a chat.

I remember coming into the apartment, devastated, as I started work in two weeks. He was adamant the car was fine, which prompted quite an argument, as I was refusing to buy a car that did NOT work. He volleyed back it was “as is”. My argument was that you told me it was a working, running vehicle, and this was clearly a lie. You couldn’t even see the miles through the dashboard because of the dust/grime. This car has been in disuse for much longer than you disclosed.

I was firm, and he gave up pretty quick and called his parents. The jig was up.

In the end, my obstinate refusal to buy a non-working car had me only paying for the repairs, which costed exactly what I was supposed to pay him and his family for the car. Interesting. I could see several hoses needed to be replaced and something else (I can’t remember) but I recall being validated about my suspicion. He was legitimately trying to sell me a broken car. This was shitty.

Even though this might sound completely stupid, after the car was fixed I let it go immediately and put it behind us. Which was absolutely the higher road (literally) and smarter decision. That car would end up being the crown jewel of my life, and the best, most trusted relationship I would forge that year. There was also in my brain a potential that maybe everyone involved just wasn’t remotely car savvy. Maybe we all had different ideas of what classified a working vehicle? This seemed to be reaching, but I just didn’t want to believe that I was being taken advantage in such a vulnerable position.

Tension was now high, but I was determined to be optimistic and remain in denial. Everything’s good, everything’s fine.

Enter the attempted “discussions”. On any given night, no rhyme or reason, he would thoroughly insist to the point of harassment, that we have a chat in our sparsely furnished living room. So, I would head in thinking I was in trouble, sit on the only couch we had or sometimes floor, and wait for what he wanted to say. And wait and wait. Ever the extravert, I would very gently try to help get the conversation started but I would get nowhere. He would just sit there in silence and sigh. One evening I timed it-we sat there for 31 minutes with him sighing and acting like he was going to say something, but then deciding to not speak. It was brutal and I told him I was done that evening and went back into my room.

After the reluctance to start a conversation he insisted on having, he did finally start to bring up a couple topics, but it fast became apparent that there was no normal ebb and flow of a conversation. It was just facts and tidbits about how interesting he was as a person. So he would just rattle out factoids, vent about his family (he had a very endearing, charismatic sister) and then fall into silence. Aside from the random tidbits, he later starting delving into weird, odd statements that I would see play out in real time later, when the bad things started happening. One stand out topic was that he could “psychologically control anyone around him, and manipulate them easily, making them believe what he wants them to believe”. I laughed it off the first time but he said he was serious. So I just let it go. Ok, sure buddy.

Naturally I wasn’t buying it, and sat through those rambles with a raised eyebrow. Who talks like this to people? I tried to brush it off as nerves, anxiety and maybe a smidge of autism although that didn’t sit well with me. Up until that moment my biggest brush with autism was one of our childcare kids at an old job who was all about reciting the entire script to the movie “Cars” and preferring the nickname I gave him. “Pit Stop” (but said like little Guido. Peet Stohp). He did have an absolute meltdown when he had to get out of the ball pit, but Pit Stop never once at 12 years old told me he could manipulate my thoughts like a jedi. In fact, Pit Stop was quite cut and dry so you knew where you stood with him, which was much appreciated by the adults. I’d like to think that this kid, who would be in his 20’s now, is a high end mechanic and owns a shop.

The roommate was coming off quite differently, and it got extremely uncomfortable very quickly. Again, those vibes were just not good. He was not another Pit Stop.

Because of continued unease and new-found freedom with a working vehicle, I gave up trying to be friends and decided to be gone all the time from the apartment. You see, in my head I had a loose plan of putting up with this for a year or even 8 months, and then moving closer to where I worked. This went on for mostly May and June of 2011. My commute was over 40 minutes, perfect for making all sorts of stops along the way, so I threw myself onto dating apps and met several guys over the course of two months for what I referred to as “one hit wonder” dinner only dates. I knew with 100% certainty that this was going nowhere, but it still got me out and driving all over Detroit. I only had two good dates with one person, but I ended up ghosting any contacts after things culminated into the specific event.

When late June rolled around the unease of the inexplicable vibes I was getting from him were mounting. To combat that I would be on my phone, sitting in my car, constantly. I was talking to several people at any given time, and all of them in different states. California, Illinois and Minnesota and a couple in Canada. Most of it was venting about this atrociously weird roommate situation. One night, when I was on my phone, I was watching the intense number of fireflies buzzing all around the tall grass, and as it was getting close to the end of their season-lying in the grass. It was about this time that I remember rolling the windows down (manually) to get air and then catching a reflection of someone watching me from sliding glass doors. It actually took a minute for me to realize it was MY apartment. He was watching me, while I was outside. When he realized I could see him- he stepped back into the darkness.

I called him out when I went back inside about the creepy behavior. He laughed at me, denied it was creepy, and said he was just curious about what I was doing since I was “out of the apartment all the time”. Glossing over the fact that when I looked at him, he scurried into the shadows like a vampire, clearly trying to hide. This would happen all the time. I’d see him watching me, and he would deny it was weird.

Shortly after one of these events, he randomly made a comment about his family stating that “we were a couple”. No no NO. Loud, internal alarm bells finally went off, and I instantly corrected this statement until I could get him to repeat back that we were just platonic roommates. He then immediately questioned why would it be such a bad thing to think we were together? I just repeated that this wasn’t the case and started to feel concerned. In hindsight, I know I was communicative enough. I had reiterated several times that this was a platonic roommate situation, and this seemed very well met, with clear understanding that I was going on dates with other people. Before this comment he had even said to me that we were exactly on the same page, and that he wasn’t even attracted to me, which was great. Now he seemed put out that I wouldn’t consider dating him and was wondering why?

Looking back- he obviously wasn’t remotely listening to me or respecting any boundaries. Yet the version of me at the time kept silent, despite growing unease. Things were not going in a healthy direction and even my traumatized, relocating-addict, bird-brain could recognize that.

Clearly, I knew I was in the throes of a bad situation. Let’s take a serious look at the facts: The vibe was off SO much that I would get on my phone every night in my car, and he would watch me every night until I started moving my car so he couldn’t see me. I hate to admit how normal it was for me to get out of the apartment to talk to people that weren’t him. How I felt so unsafe in what was supposed to be my safe place. Like SO MANY PEOPLE in bad situations, I normalized instability and blamed myself for overthinking.

The absolute saving grace that kept me sane was our schedules. They couldn’t be more opposite if I tried (and I did). It was easy to almost completely avoid him entirely for a whole day, so I took advantage.

He was an student and in/out of class most of the day and evenings at University, and I was working 8 hour shifts in a warehouse part time. Any early ending shifts where I would be home had me sitting somewhere else until it was late. Panera, libraries, etc. On weekends if we were both home I would go on vast, distant exploring walks all over the area we lived. I had some really awesome moments during these walks. I truly loved how “green” the area was and I was just starting to get more interested in my health, finally, after years of neglect. So there was some inner purpose behind all the uncomfortable roommate scenarios. I was finally starting to find myself, and this was absolutely the pre-cursor into health that I would capitalize on the next year, when I would drop an obscene amount of unhealthy weight.

I was on borrowed time during this odyssey of self discovery. Because eventually, the Culmination of Events was upon us.

The Incident

It was a sunny morning, maybe around 10am early July 2011. I woke up and lazed in my luxurious, blow up mattress, waiting for him to be done in the shower before I took my turn, to resume avoiding all contact. I assumed he had class that day, and I was working a 1-9 shift. So I wanted to wait for when he left to shower, and then make up a brunch before my commute.

I remember, clear as vodka, hearing him get out of the shower, and very quietly pulling himself together, which was just a series of muffled thumps, kitchen noises and feet walking around the apartment. I finally got out of bed to the noise of the front door slamming, and went to peek out my window to see him RUNNING, full tilt, to his car. This was strange to me, as this kid never ran or hurried anywhere. I shrugged it off to maybe him being late for a school presentation, etc. Whatever, so I opened my bedroom door, and got all my stuff together to take a shower in the shared bathroom.

I walked in, dumped my stuff onto the counter, and noticed a pile of clothes on the floor which stopped me in my tracks. This was also extremely unusual, as this guy was very neat, tidy to the point of fastidious*. Started to wonder if something was wrong and while I was staring at the pile of clothing, I saw a flash of something glinting in the dim bathroom light.

Heart in throat, I immediately kicked the pile and his phone rolled out of a shirt pocket. Camera clearly recording. It had been recording for about 20 minutes, since the moment he left the apartment.

I went from astonishment to revulsion in seconds. This pile was facing the toilet and shower. My eyes were not deceiving me. I turned off the camera, dropped the phone, kicked that pile of clothes to his room, shut the door, and went back to the bathroom and just sat fully clothed on the toilet, completely stunned. My brain was a whirlwind of sludge and denial. This could not really, actually happening.

I remember shakily taking a shower, after looking ALL OVER the bathroom for other cameras, even the hallway. I felt absolutely disgusting. After the quick shower I called one of my friends, who said I needed to confront him asap, and so I got ready for work, drove the 40 minute commute in silence and spent the entire day trying to formulate what I was going to say to this person. As the hours went by it was slowly dawning on me that my roommate was trying to film me in the bathroom. I felt so separated from reality and consistently questioned what I thought I saw. Did I really see the camera? Why didn’t I check the rest of the pictures/videos? Had he done this before?! I was still processing what even happened, as this was just not something I would have never predicted.

By the time I got home later that night he had been home for awhile, and I immediately, within seconds of getting in the door, told him what I had found.

He laughed it off, called it a misunderstanding, and said that I was very mistaken and not seeing what I thought I saw. That was it, that was the end. There was no explanation as to why the clothing was on the floor, nothing about why a phone was left in a bathroom. Just a “haha, no”.

Naturally I started to question reality, so I shut down and went to bed feeling sick. Was I completely misunderstanding the situation? Like, seriously? How was I misunderstanding seeing a phone with video recording in a bathroom. That event played over and over in my mind as I was falling asleep. How could I have mis-interpreted the series of events. How does someone accidentally leave their phone recording, in a pile of clothing, pointed at the shower. It just seemed to farfetched for words.

It was how he acted after this, the very next day, that convinced me he was a total piece of shit. The foreshadowed attempt at psychological manipulation had begun.

The next morning I woke up to a lengthy email, about how wrong I was about the situation. Feeling pretty weirded out with the tone, I did not respond. Later the next day I received another email, about why I shouldn’t be ignoring him, that I was just super silly for thinking the worst. More silence from me and I wouldn’t come out of my room. I again waited for him to leave before even venturing to hit the toilet the next day, and I had gone to bed hungry the night before just avoid confrontation. The tone of these two emails was immediately unsettling. Here we were, just into the 36 hour mark of not speaking because it looked like he was trying to film me, and I had two emails telling me how this was essentially my fault.

My bedroom door had a lock, and I would use it when I was inside the bedroom from that point forward. I started to recall the bits of conversation he had thrown at me about his manipulation super power, and just wanted to vomit.

Over the next few days more emails and texts started to trickle in, all in regards to my sanity. All of this communication was positively rife with gaslighting. Things like: he was very concerned over my mental state, that I was clearly delusional, and that I needed him. Because he was the only person I had in Michigan, the only person to be trusted. He also stated that he would forgive me for my assumptions and we could start over. His prose was sympathetic, yet stern-as if I was a troublemaking child.

I’m sorry, but we’re here because I caught you TRYING TO FILM ME. The victim blaming was off the charts. I wasn’t even looking for a full apology, I was just looking for an explanation that made sense from someone who was just supposed to be my friend. Instead he doubled down on how I was the crazy one, and stuck to that for the rest of our mostly one-sided correspondence.

It was the audacity. Just…the BALLS, the presumption of actually verbalizing to someone you were supposed to be friends with, that they are mentally ill for assuming the worst of a pretty bad situation. Alleging that you were all they had, which wasn’t even true. The manipulation was positively dripping off the email page, and it was such an insult that he had unfolded his plan to me with his Dr. Evil, Austin Powers-like villains monologue, just over a month ago.

Apparently he thought I would fall for his evil plan? I don’t even know. His tone itself in the email was so fake and grossly, saccharine sweet. Maybe it was his first day acting out his newly formed psychotic tendencies? Again, I wasn’t buying into this narcissistic version of an explanation about why I was the problem. Instead, I just went more and more inward and started to mentally freak the fuck out.

Clearly we weren’t friends, it was painfully obvious I was someone he figured he could control this entire time. The ick, as the kids say, was overwhelming and I felt so incredibly stupid and betrayed. This level of fuckery was not on my bingo card.

I had to get out, and I had to get out now.

The Plan

First: I completely shut him out. Since the moment of confrontation, to this day, I have not spoken to this person, I only shared minimally worded emails telling him that I was leaving, and to not speak with me. I further arranged my schedule so that I was rarely home even less than before, to ensure that we would never cross paths. My “new” car was fantastic, ran great, was my lifeline and saw SO many meals in the driver seat. If we were off on the same day, I would be gone until bed time. Sometimes it was just sitting in a different section of the parking lot on my phone later in the evening.

Second: Strategy. After chatting with my parents, ex fiancé, family, friends-I took up my ex’s offer of staying with him in Minneapolis. Better the devil I knew, than the devil I didn’t, right. Honestly he was a class act here and stepped right up to the plate for me, and I still appreciate his level of support. My Chicago family also stepped up for me, and I would be stopping by their place with what I had immediately dubbed as ” Sarah’s Great Lakes States Tour of 2011“. I would drive from Detroit to Chicago, and then to St. Paul/Minneapolis. This trip was going to happen within a matter of weeks. My parents were sending me money for the journey, and I was planning out my trip just writing out directions in a notebook. Smart phones were brand-spanking new and not as common, and I had no printer and would not use his, as it was in his bedroom.

Third: My job was the last hold out, and I sat down with my manager at the time and just told her EVERYTHING. From the beginning to the end and essentially gave my “2 weeks” that was more like a “4 days” notice. She was very supportive, open and honest about me not having enough time to plan to stay with someone. She was also the first person that asked me if I had filed a police report.

That had not crossed my mind, but I drove back home that night mulling it over. This was such an incredible whirlwind of events. Should I go to the police? Was this actually some form of harassment? So completely consumed with my plan of escape, I was not fully grasping that this might fall under a reportable offence.

Instead, I went to Canada for a week to discuss strategy and see my family. He decided to send me another email upon my return, essentially relieving me of owing him rent but still full of concern over my clearly deteriorating mental state and reminding me again, that he was ALL I HAD IN MICHIGAN. He also wanted to explain to me WHY HE WAS FILMING and that’s where I completely blew a fuse. So there it was-the admission.

I didn’t give a shit about the reasoning behind anything at this point and started packing all my boxes back up in my bedroom. The rest of this delicate, awful situation was now starting to fully unravel.

Going to the police was filed into the back of my mind, as I was on high alert to bail the fuck out. Maybe this was the wrong decision, we will never know. He was really focused on pushing me to admit I needed him to function and I actually felt scared, so all I wanted to do was leave. My trip plans were expedited. My parents tried to send me money but I never received it, and since I rarely retrieved the mail we had to assume he opened my mail and took the money, as I had never had one issue prior. I had also noticed around that time, that he had been coming into my room when I was out. Some of my items were clearly moved and finally, there my computer had an obvious sign in attempt.

The next day I quit my job on the spot (I think I only had a few days left anyway), and planned to drive out immediately, within 48 hours . My Chicago family was on high alert.

My remaining moments in Michigan had me like the Predator in the bush stalking Dutch. How was I going to disappear? Like covert ops I had monitored his movements and habits for several days, which were fortunately very scheduled and predictable. I had a solid window in the beginning of the week, which meant I could pack my car up before 8 or 9pm unnoticed before he arrived back home. As it was mostly small boxes, suitcases, and a trunk, I estimated this would take me a few hours and could be done in one evening.


Monday, August 1, 2011 I literally sat near my window around 6pm and waited till I saw his car leave before springing into action. The packing went fairly quick, with the exception of lugging my heavy, broken trunk into my car. As this was a 3 story walk-up and we were on the 2nd floor I remember painfully sliding that thing down two flights of stairs and trying to open the keyed entry doors without killing myself. (The things I did for an antique, ancestorial relic).

As a safety measure, I had judged the distance between my apartment balcony window and car, and decided to move my car down all the way to the end of the un-assigned visitors row so that he potentially wouldn’t notice all the contents wedged inside. My blow up mattress had been “mysteriously” deflated the evening before when I was gone, so I was resting on the floor in a pile of blankets when I heard him come into the apartment the night before, and I watched the shadow of his feet walk past the door feeling intensely sick to my stomach.

The Escape

No idea if I slept, but I think I did for a couple hours. Either way, I was up precisely at 4:30am on Tuesday, August 2nd, 2011 with no alarm. For some reason I didn’t want him to hear me leave too early, I think I was really concerned about confrontation- so my plan was to leave closer to 6:30 like I was going to work. I sat in silence in that bedroom for a full hour trying to find some sort of inner peace before I abandoned this life for good. There were no regrets that morning, there was just fear.

I don’t think I even made it to 6:30. Clothes were tossed on, deflated blow up mattress was left behind, remaining blankets and purse grabbed and apartment keys were left on the counter with no note ( I was going to email later ) and I slowly crept down the stairs and out to my car. I remember my heart beat drowning out all the morning bird noises as I looked at the windows of the balcony with absolute dread.

20 minutes later I stopped for gas right near the freeway onramp, body buzzing with the high of “flight”. Elation, almost euphoria with escaping the situation, with the fear of the reprisal lurking in the back. Never mind the raw panic of plunging myself again into a brand new life that I wasn’t ready for, at all. My hands were shaking so badly and I was singing, loudly to whatever song that came up on my iPod to distract my brain from my own trembling body. I had blocked him on my phone well before I left so there was no anticipation of texts, but it truly wasn’t until I got to the middle of Michigan that I could stop for coffee and breakfast and start to feel human again. I had left. I was safe. I was free. And my god, what in the actual FUCK was happening? Was I really fleeing a psychotic person? WHAT WAS I DOING.

I drove to Chicago in a haze of disbelief and adrenaline. Music blasting, windows down, wind rushing through my curls and flipping the pages of my barely legible directions scrawled in a notebook on the passenger seat. Alternately wiping angry tears away when my mind would repeatedly try to wrap logic around a highly emotionally charged moment. That, my friends…is how I fled the scene.

You have to understand how many times I replayed the moment of finding the phone in my head. Over and over, analyzing every angle, movement and situation. I would always come to the same conclusion: that there was intent. I did this for years. It’s very important to note, that even to this day if I catch my phone with the camera on accidentally, I still have a flashback to that moment. Definitely had some form of PTSD on the heels of fleeing Michigan, as I dreamed constantly that he followed me up to Minneapolis. Even though I knew there was no way that would even happen, that the time and effort to try and find me would be lost on this guy; it took a very long time for my brain to let that go.

After I made it to Chicago, I emailed this person goodbye and told him to never contact me again. He was blocked beyond all reason on every platform possible and we are radio silence to this day. I still have all the emails saved on that old Gmail account.

The Aftermath

As the shockwaves of my abrupt departure started to ease up, I continued to have quite the interesting summer. My brief stop in Chicago was lovely. My drive to Minnesota was easy and fun, but living in that state was rough. I had 13 job interviews and no leads and I also just totally hated it there. My mastermind mother figured out a way for me to live in Canada, so I parted ways with the ex for real this time after just under 3 months. Road trip time again, and I drove back alone through Wisconsin into Illinois to Chicago for a couple days, and then drove off to the border into the sunset of Southern Ontario- sealing my fate then and there as a soon to be Canadian.

So was this an overreaction? Probably? Maybe? Who really knows. You have to understand that at the time, I was an absolute mess of a person. 2024 me is so logical, so full of sense and wisdom that I can only look back at my past self like it was someone else entirely. 2011 Sarah was dark, and full of terrors.

The pure, unadulterated chaos that was my life from April 30th, 2011 to August 2nd, 2011 will forever lurk in the shadows of my past. When I hear certain songs, or even when I’m driving and the weather/vibe hits just right- I start to remember details of this absolute farce of an experience. I hit so many stages of denial and then acceptance that I gave myself whiplash, and it wouldn’t be until the end of November 2011 that I would be sitting in an empty apartment in London, Ontario, Canada by myself, the reality slowing catching up with me that I finally had my own safe space and that I was finally ready to stop running.

Whether it was born from a trauma response years before or immaturity, I was truly a heartless trainwreck leading up to that point in my life. So many people who loved me would get pulled into my churning void, where I would trap them in my wind field and then spit them out like an EF5 tornado. I would move through stable lives and uproot their peace, their reasoning, sometimes get them to fall in love with me- and I would dissipate suddenly with no trace on the radar, just a visual wake of the disturbance I left. Then I would start to message them, like if a tornado had your phone number and didn’t want to stop reminiscing about the time it sucked up your house and leveled your property.

I was 100%, a toxic bitch. Sadly and truly the author of my own misfortune, and I alone put myself in that position with that man.

Several people told me it was a bad idea, and they were the real MVP’s for letting it play out, because it did end up being a teachable moment, in a pretty fucked way. The Michigan experience cleanly and efficiently killed off that phase of my life and personality. Happy to say it shaped me into the person that makes up who I am today. Plus I’m WAY older. Just exhausting to keep up that level of transience and indecision. I’m much more into family, friends, stability, building up a retirement fund, sipping prosecco and sitting on my balcony watching the weather or flight radar 24, instead of constantly relocating myself and jumping head-first into unknown situations. That experience was a personal definition of “fucked around and found out”.

It’s hard to look at at the blog posts from that time period. Obviously I was not talking about the events and desperately trying to distract myself. I can see the suppressed upset all over my face, especially since I was SO happy at the beginning of May after my first week at work.

However, I am proud of how quickly I got the fuck out. No one deserves to get filmed in the bathroom against their consent, and I still truly feel like my reaction was valid. He ended up in a very bad situation (unrelated to me) about a year later. I can only pity the life he has created for himself. Also, I stand by the fact that his actions had nothing to do with autism. There was something wrong, something so deliberate behind the crafted manipulation. The idea of it just being an autistic response to a situation to me, isn’t remotely accurate. Something else was going on in his brain.

As a side note, I did catch him trying again with the camera but it was such an odd situation with him at his desk, filming the hallway that I just blocked it out. I was already in motion to get out, and I remember at the time thinking ” at least it’s not hidden”. Bad, I know.

The Beginning of the End is the Beginning

All I can impress on anyone reading this unhinged adventure is to just trust your gut. It’s so easy to ignore red flags, and you’re not going to see them all. You will make mistakes. As long as you are learning from your mistakes you are on the right path. Do I think this person would have ever gotten physical with me? I immediately think not a chance but in the end- who knows. No one truly knows what makes a person snap, and I’d rather be fleeing the scene than waiting around to find out.

Whenever I’m in a situation regarding instinct, I come back to the first moment I met this person, and the skin-crawling unease that came over me the minute he made eye contact. My body knew before my brain, and I purposefully suppressed all that instinct just to make those moments work. Suffice to say, I rarely do this now. Getting older hones your radar, and I’m here for it.

Thanks for getting this far with this rather lengthy post. I’ve always wanted to write about this experience. Most people who know me well, know about what happened, but the fact that I still get that small frisson of unease when I accidentally open my phone camera accidentally- is telling. It affected me quite deeply, something that is burned into my memory as a fairly traumatic experience. Writing it out has really helped.

In the end the fact that this drama pointed me to Canada, and the current life I am leading, is the best part of this unnerving experience. In the end I really did end up finding myself, and went on to create a rather interesting Canadian legacy. I’m quite proud of where I am now today, how I treat the people who love me, and how I react in the middle of dramatic, emotional situations. I am known as logical, stable, reliable Sarah and you can’t get any better than that.

But fuck that guy, no one deserves to feel the way he wanted me to feel, and I will never let that go.

-S