Terrified and Terrorized

I am currently paralyzed by fear. I have to go out and get things done but I can’t even open the door to my apartment. Besides having a known grifter and con artist visit, I sat in the lobby with a neighbor. We saw people coming and going. So many people look familiar but I can’t remember who they are nor how I recognize them. I have to trust my instincts sometimes. One man made me nervous. I wanted to run but I was paralyzed by fear. I don’t know why though. I then saw a glimpse of another man who resembled one of my traffickers. I tried to convince myself that not all men with beards are the same ones who terrorized me, even though there were several. I was grateful to see a man who appeared to be an off duty first responder. I vaguely remembered him. His shirt helped.

This world has always been cruel to me but this is unbearable. I am noticeably different. I am highly intelligent, not judgmental and kind to all. Certain people feel like this gives them the right to harm me. It’s like my rapist told me, “I knew that you wanted me because you fought me.” People assume that I need or desire them because I am vulnerable and kind. They assume that I enjoy being used. Nobody wants nor enjoys being used and abused. Absolutely nobody. Yet this is what many people believe.

A young man kept saying, “Darcy just needs a friend.” I don’t. I would love to have friends for sure. I don’t want ones who simply use and abuse my hospitality. I don’t want ones who don’t understand, can’t cope with or disbelieve the unending trauma I am experiencing. Just being in the same room with me can be gut wrenching and heartbreaking. It can also put their lives in danger. It’s a small town with gossip spreading like wildfire. Those who want me dead or silenced know absolutely everything I do along with law enforcement. I can’t have secrets, a private life, anonymity nor freedom.

I find it amusing that people try to keep my identity, trafficking and life hidden. I live in the same small town where it happened. People associated with my trafficking and others have spread gossip. Some is true and some isn’t. Most people don’t even care either way. Most people want to cover my assumed shame. I have no shame. I don’t believe in it. We are human beings. We do things we regret every day. It’s what we do going forward that matters.

In December officers and paramedics kept asking me what drugs I was on, assuming I was an addict. The officers tried to be respectful and not get me charged for my supposed addiction. I put my hand on the ambulance to steady myself and turned to paramedics. I informed them that if I was on heroin, I’d tell them. I then turned to an officer and asked if he got that. It was the first time an officer stayed and truly listened to me. They, along with paramedics discovered that I am highly intelligent with a life threatening disease which I successfully treated with the synthetic cannabis that is legal in Nebraska. They heard that I was trafficked and am still being abused and terrorized for it.

I have absolutely no way of escaping nor surviving this hellish situation. I simply exist to be used, abused and pitied because actual concern, compassion, friendship, community and assistance isn’t something found in our world. My own family won’t talk to me nor help me. I am seen as damaged goods. I’m not worth anyone’s time nor effort. I never have been though. I am a bastard who should’ve never been born. Since I was, I am a slave to all. My trafficking just made it official.

So, I ask the non existent and mum who see this, why should I exist? The answer is that I shouldn’t. So, how do I quickly, effectively, cheaply, easily and less painfully die? I’m still searching for a way out because I can’t keep living amongst those who wish me dead or demand my servitude, especially when this is a global desire. Maybe I should go back to Methodist Hospital and demand they finish what they started. These traffickers just don’t have the guts to kill me though, only torture me. I don’t scare easily. You must finish what you started. You’re going to prison for life anyways. You should get your vengeance out on me first. The world will thank you for it. They’ve proven themselves time and time again. Nobody likes a survivor. Nobody.

I’m at Gifford Towers #906. I can’t leave but I will gladly open my door to put an end to this once and for all. It’s the humane thing to do, as I’ve told countless others, including law enforcement. If you are law enforcement, IPC me and let Methodist personnel murder me. That’ll work too. Please be quick about it. I’m beyond exhausted.

Thank you for killing me. I appreciate it.