My account of that day as it appears on auntloubooks.weebly.com:
It was October of the same year of the 9-11 terrorist attacks. I was still dealing emotionally with seeing the images of the attacks, and I was not aware of my PTSD at this time so I didn’t limit my exposure to the trauma. I think the short period of time between the terrorist attacks and my personal attack ingrained the emotions and images of both into my memory even more vividly.
I was walking to my car through an apartment complex parking lot off of Myers Lane in Bellmead, headed to school. The details that I remember are minute and crisp. I distinctly remember that I was going to wear navy blue addidas athletic shorts to school that day, but I melted the material with the clothes iron (should have been a sign). So I changed. I also remember that outfit in detail--Tommy Hillfiger flare jeans, a grey Baylor tee with a red and blue University logo and addidas tennis shoes. Something told me to ride with my husband that morning, but I ignored the instinct. Ladies, always pay attention to that little voice. You never know what it may be trying to protect you from.
As soon as I was outside, I saw him. He was far enough away that I felt safe, but close enough that I wasted no time getting to and inside of my car.
I remotely unlocked my driver side door of my Ford Escort, sat down, put my drink in the cup holder, threw my route 44 backpack across to the passenger side, and tried to close the door.
Then all of the sudden, the weirdest sensation...my door wouldn't close. There was resistance. I turned and there he was. A black male about 200lbs and a bit over six foot. He had something sharp in his hand—at the time I assumed it was a pocket knife. He threw open my door, put the object to my neck and said, "Get over". He wanted me to scoot to the passenger side and let him drive away with me.
My first instinct was to obey this large, angry man weilding a sharp object dangerously close to my throat, but then...RAGE! At this point he was actually partially seated next to me in the driver’s side seat still assaulting me with the ‘knife’ and pushing with all his strength to get me over to the passenger side. Luckily enough my car had bucket seat and a rather tall console. I was wedged between my assailant and the console and FULL OF RAGE!
I WAS NOT going to be victimized AGAIN! This attack took place no less than nine years after my sexual abuse stopped—right then that meant NOTHING! It was like it had all had happened yesterday, and I was TICKED!
I put my left hand on the horn of my car--it was early morning, everyone was home asleep and would come out angry at the noise. I knew help wasn't far away. I leaned through the opening of the door and my attacker and yelled with all my strength for JASON! He started jabbing and slashing at me with what turned out to be a broken glass bottle in a paper bag. I knew he would probably cut me, but not bad enough to kill me.
I looked up the stairs of the complex and there was Jason. Tee-shirt, boxers and a very angry expression.
I can only imagine what the attack looked like from his vantage point, but from mine I saw hope.
Jason has always brought light, truth and security to my life. The image of him-- and God's protection, gave me the strength and courage to somehow miraculously fight through my attacker and exit the same door that he was currently blocking.
I distinctly remember having one hand gripped tightly to his shirt once. I realized I was now outside the car and he was inside all my anger and pent-up rage overwhelmed me. For an instant, I wanted nothing more than to drag him out of the car, take a few shots at him and then let Jason finish him off. But yet again, God intervened and I just let him go.
I watched him slam my car door, fumble for the keys and take off. Jason got to the car door about the time he closed and locked it. He beat on the window screaming words that I dare not repeat.
It was at this point that I realized blood was coming from somewhere. I didn’t know where nor how bad. I just ran to a wall collapsed to my knees and screamed, "I AM BLEEDING!".
Jason instantly left the car to drive away, and came to my side.
To this day I am certain that I had an angel in the car with me that day. All that shuffling and fighting and flailing, and I walked away with only a scratch on 3 fingertips, a slash through my shirt and my bra (but not to the skin).
PRAISE GOD FOR HIS PROTECTION!