It was just seems like one month ago yesterday that my secure, happy-go-lucky, free life drastically changed... I still remember walking up to the front door, and being aware that the big rubbish bin was propped up against the gate. I innocently thought "Perhaps there's a parcel" and the Postie was being clever... and after I dumped my stuff inside I would come back out and check.
Now, walking into our house you are greeted with stairs that go up on your right, and a room that bends round to your left, and you don't see much of the rest of the living area till you walk futher in. At first I saw a bag emptied on ground and thought rational things, like... "Why would my housemate accidentally empty a bag of stuff onto the ground and leave it? She must've been in a real hurry... perhaps the wind blew it over - but the window isn't open..."
It really was only when I turned the corner and saw the shattered glass that reached the front of the house from the smashed back door, and I saw that every drawer downstairs was opened and emptied onto the floor - even the pantry door was wide open - that I felt that bottomless pit of sickly feeling open up in my stomach... my housemate and I weren't the only ones who were in our house this day.
The shock of seeing it and knowing what you are looking at but not believing it is unreal. I really had to hold myself back from touching things knowing that the police would probably have to pay our house a visit. And its really strange what you look for first... and its strange what you see and believe that its normally there. And this was just downstairs...
I had to muster up alot of courage just to even call out upstairs - fearing that the new 'house guests' were still inside. But I grabbed --- something --- [a shoe I think?]--- and made my way up. I felt sick but my adrenaline rush was insanely strong and I'm sure even if someone was there, I would've shown them a thing or two with that shoe that a shoe probably couldn't normally do. Or I felt like I could. The first room I come to at the top of the stairs is my housemate's master bedroom. She'd had her room totally trashed, all her stuff was everywhere, all her containers where thrown around the room and all her precious jewellery was gone [which I only discovered after she got home later in the evening]...
My room looked relatively normal - in that the person going through my room seemed less aggressive and a bit more thoughtful - like they were looking for something specific. Infact, had I not just cleaned my room a few days before, I would've struggled to even recognise things were even out of place. They just seemed to empty a few things onto my bed and took a few pieces of jewellery. They also took my Mac and its charger... but thankfully left my external hard-drive - which had my backups on it from my Mac - but what was a huge blessing was it also had all of my school assignments on it too...
I was never the girl who got freaked by any noises or got spooked by anything. Having spent many moments being 'surprised' by my Dad and brother, I grew up tough. I was the girl who was strutted around thinking no-one would harm anyone who lived with me - like I was some beefy jillaroo or WWF pro wrestler. Got a spider? I'll fix it. Got a funny noise outside? I'll inspect it. Got a weirdo who keeps stalking you professing his love? I'll get rid of it [him].
I have just survived three weeks on my own, as my housemate was staying at a friends place after she broke her leg and couldn't master the stairs too easily. I had many moments of being spooked while in bed and I would set about checking the house 2 or 3 times a night just to make sure I was really home alone in the house and all the doors and windows locked. If i couldn't handle it, I would turn my fan on and hope that if I was broken into while I was asleep, that they would be quick and leave me alone. There were a few nights when it felt like hours before I found some comfort in sleep... waking up the next day feeling sleep-drunk and exhausted but with no real other place to go to get away from the lack of sleep, I just simply had to be brave and take each day as it came. I got to the point of needing to drink some form of alcohol on a nightly basis just to help me sleep.
The absolute worst thing for me, is - they know what I look like. Sure, stuff is gone, and thanks be to God that no one was home or hurt. But they know what I look like...
Thankfully, my housemate is home now, and I think I've finally had the best nights sleep knowing someone else is here. It makes me mad I feel so vulnerable in my own home, and that I despise coming home to this place now that its been broken into. But I persevere through each day trusting that God has my back and I don't have to fear because He will protect me.
NB: I just discovered its 2 months today that the big break in happened. It really feels like it was just yesterday...
