One morning a couple of months ago I had coffee with this guy R. with whom I happen to have classes and friends in common. R. has dark hair, a pale complexion and deep blue eyes; he's very handsome and he knows it. He's also an asshole and even though we're superficially on friendly terms I don't think we care for each other much.
We were just sitting down at the table when this guy approaches us with a bunch of leaflets in his hands. This happens a lot in the cafeteria and it is very annoying. This guy, he says: "You're studying here, right?", and waves around his leaflets.
R. is a lone wolf; he likes an air of mystery and danger surround him. He talks in a very low and calm voice - I've never heard him raise it once - but when you hear it you know immediately you do not want to piss off its owner. It helps that he's physically strong. R. just answers very quietly, "Yes. But we're not interested in anything you want to tell us". Now, if I had been Leaflet Guy I'd have taken up the cue and got lost. He, however, must have had a death wish because he said, "But you don't even know what I want to tell you". And R. responds, still in this creepy quiet manner, "No. But we don't care to know, either".
I have never once in my life met someone who could be so physically threatening without lifting as much as a finger. It was impressive. There was this violent feeling of imminent danger in the air that just ... hit me in the face and took away my breath. I must have stared at him in a strange way, because he asked me what was up, completely oblivious to the impression the scene had made on me. I laughed and said it was nothing, because I had rather bitten off my tongue than told him what exactly that impression was: that it was incredibly hot and I wanted to procreate with him right now. Also, scary. But, damn, hot.
Hot? Of course. It was exciting. It was exciting because the aggression in R.'s manner opened up the very real possibility that he'd beat up a guy over a couple of leaflets. It was dangerous, but it was not dangerous to me, right? He wouldn't hurt me. In fact, he was protecting me from the nuisance that Leaflet Guy posed. He protected me from danger. I was safe in his presence. And for a moment, I felt secure.
This was the day I understood the appeal of Volvo drivers, if you get my meaning.
I have social anxiety disorder. This means I don't really function all that well in every day life. I'm panicking when I'm in crowded rooms; I have a hard time speaking up in groups; I can't give a presentation if I'm not heavily sedated; hell, I'm sometimes afraid to go online on MSN because that too means performing a role in front of other people. Above all, it means that I feel safe very, very rarely and only with a few special people I trust blindly. What I'm trying to say here is, I understand the wish to feel safe, to be saved by someone else.
But it's the wrong kind of safety, right? That little scene above. Thinking about it afterwards, it struck me as especially significant that in that whole scene R. was confidently talking about what "we" wanted, when in fact I had in no way indicated that I actually agreed with him. Hypothetically I could've been extremely curious as to the content of those leaflets. But neither of them even so much as looked at me, much less gave me the opportunity to speak my mind. And that's when safety isn't right: when your saviour takes away your capability to act on your own.
We aren't talking about any guy here. We're talking about the guy who nearly had a fit when I (a casual acquaintance) did not personally say hello to him. We're talking about the guy who, judging from the stories he used to tell about himself, has either a serious aggression problem or desperately needs to prove something, and very likely both. We're talking about the guy who earnestly said, "but some women want to be groped, that's why they wear short skirts and show cleavage", when L. and I talked about being sexually harrassed in the past (and then went on to make a casual remark about my cleavage).
I don't know about you, but I get a creepy and abusive vibe from that, and trust me: abusive behaviour isn't nearly as pretty as it's made out to be lately. I know what I'm talking about. So someone makes you feel safe? Cool. But at the same time that person keeps you from being a whole person on your own, with own wishes, opinions and decisions? Not so much. The dark mysterious guy who protects you from danger is a fantasy, and as a fantasy he's alright, but I, personally, would very much like him to stay a fantasy.
See, I want to feel safe. I want people who make me feel safe. I have, in the past months, spent a lot of time building a safety net of people who know and who are there if needed; and it means keeping people who might hurt me or who have hurt me at a friendly distance, and telling them all apart, and that's tedious and frustrating and scary. Because asking people for help makes you vulnerable and potentially open for further hurt and abuse. Real life, it's just that: tedious and frustrating and scary.
I know I can't save myself all on my own. I tried, and failed horribly. But I know, too, that nobody can and will save me. I hoped people would, and they didn't. But for all of that I know I can take on real life if I have people who are willing to be there: to listen or even lend a helping hand here and there, so that I can be able to live my own life. And that, that is the right kind of safety.
(I wrote that entry last night at 3am when I couldn't sleep and I'm not sure how much sense it makes beyond 'hey, listen to my reasoning out being sexually attracted to a jerk'. But there you go.)
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