I've been ignoring my blog this week because I haven't wanted to write about something that happened to me, but I feel like not writing about it actually makes it worse, because what's the point of writing at all if not to tell the truth? And so I say it: I got mugged.
When you tell someone you got mugged--and it's hard to know who to tell and how big of a deal it should be--there are so many questions. The answers to those questions are: Monday night, nine o'clock, walking from my car to my building; it was scary; they took my purse but didn't hurt me; the police came and I cancelled all of my cards; I hope it never happens again. Also, I hate the term "mugged." It's like detective slang. So dramatic! But I tried telling people my purse was stolen, and it wasn't the same--they thought I'd left it somewhere instead of having it taken from me. There's a big difference.
Anyway, I'm okay. I'm slowly refilling my wallet--actually, I haven't gotten a new wallet yet, but I'm working on replacing all of the things they took. I'm back to feeling safe in my apartment, and I'm sleeping well. I'm coming home alone tonight for the first time, and realizing that the worst thing I lost was my self-confidence; I hate that I've been thinking all day about that walk down the street, and that I'd suddenly really love it if I could have a personal bodyguard to walk me home at night. It's a bad feeling. And I hear it goes away, but I wish it would leave a little sooner.