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A Life in Thompson

By Brianne MorrisPublished 6 years ago 7 min read
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The world is not a safe place. It was the one thing I learned when I lived in Winnipeg for a short period of time. Of course I used to travel to the city, even stayed in hotels around Portage area, and bravely walked the streets in the daylight. But when you actually live there, it has a way of showing its scars underneath the shiny, colorful makeup after a while. There are men leering at you on the bus like dogs hungry for meat. There are even women who sneer or glare down at your body moving through the aisles of Shopper's Drug Mart. Then there are the police who slow down as you try to make it to your room after a long day at school. It isn’t a month until you start to observe your surroundings like a hawk, keep your hair in a tight bun so that no one would use it as a weapon against you, and you buy a switchblade knife for twenty dollars, tucked nicely in your boots. You’re good as golden to roam the streets as safe as anybody can be. Even for a native girl.

This was my reality living in a city I thought I could take by the reins; make it my own. But like any disappointing coming of age story, I got chewed up and spit up. It would take me years before I was brave enough to itch my way back into the city for a visit. Three years it would take me more to find the nerve to go back to school. I wasn’t the type to try and fight, I was the type to give up and move on to something that was a whole lot less stressing.

But this time, I wanted to try again.

Instead of returning to the city of my failure, I decided to go with Thompson. It was an hour and a half away from my hometown, which made it easier for me to carry my laundry home for the weekend. Another plus side was that I was already familiar with the underbelly of the mining town. I knew where it was safe to walk at certain hours of the day. I also knew which areas were the red zones (danger) and the orange zones (places I will never be welcomed). The apartment that I had bought was just a fifteen minute walk from two major malls, and there was a Subway just down the block. My new home had free internet, free cable, and a dish washer. It was at a reasonable price. I’d loved it.

I loved it in the beginning though.

For the past two years, I have dealt with partying neighbors and an absence maintenance man. The only time I have seen him around was when there were inspections on the building. Even that was like wrangling a fucking bull to replace my window. My landlady was no better. You have a problem with the building? She’ll make it sound the whole thing is in your head. Go to her supervisor, she’ll manage to twist around the story and make you the crazy nut. So all in all, those were the only problems I had to deal with. I was fine by it all, actually. I ignored my neighbors, my dad did all the repairs in the apartment, and I kept my distance from the landlady. Then it all came to a crashing halt over the New Year’s Eve weekend this past year.

I was home alone drinking a bottle of Captain Morgan, blasting my stereo on Bishop Briggs music. No one was hitting me up to go out for a drink. Not even for a smoke break. So I decided to call it a night and take a shower. There were a lot of things on my mind that evening. I was heading into the winter semester with five courses. There was no possibility I was going to graduate this year. Then I started reflecting on the year of lost friends, new friends, death and births. It was the same old end of the year blues you mull over when you’re alone with rum and music. Just as I was getting out of the shower, I heard a knock at the door. I had to yell over the music to tell them to hold up. Instead, the knocking got more persistent; impatient. The knocks turned into the sound of someone punching and kicking my door. I froze.

All I could think was I didn’t have any devices with me to call for help. I didn’t even have clothes nearby to get to. They just keep pounding and pounding. They didn’t yell, speak, or scream at me to open the door. It was just them pounding the door. I couldn’t move from the bathtub to make them stop. My heart was pounding. My mouth turned dry. My whole body was shivering. It felt like a lifetime until I heard the familiar crack even over the loud music. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t have any form of weapons with me to protect myself. Then it stopped.

At first I thought they got in, but I didn’t hear any footsteps. Just the sound of my stereo and faded laughter. I waited in that bathtub still naked and shaking for who knows how long. I crept out of the bathroom eventually. The first thing I ran to was my iPad, asking my friends for the maintenance number. I grabbed a knife while I was speaking to him. When the security and maintenance were working on my door, I got paranoid thinking it was one of them fucking with me. It was hard not to think that. I didn’t know who tried breaking into my apartment. I still will never know. That night, I was afraid to leave my apartment. I couldn’t sleep. Even with my Lexapro, I couldn’t calm my heart down at the sounds of people knocking on other doors. My nerves were shot so bad I had buried myself in my room all day with a knife beside me.

Stupid thing is, I didn’t call the RCMP. I regret not calling the cops that night. Although, I had run out of minutes for my phone when I was talking to the maintenance. I didn’t realize at that moment that it was going to cause some problems in the future.

I followed the normal procedures. First, I made a report to my landlady who, at the time, was on vacation until the second week of January. When I finally got back from her, it took her three emails of two days to get her to see the video. She told me it was some tenant’s guest in the building who was lost. Imagine me sitting in class, trying to contain my anger and surprise. The woman didn’t even say she was going to do something about it. Not even an apology that it had happened to me. I wasn’t even allowed to see who attempted to break into my apartment and charge them for it. I tried going to the RCMP to get a warrant to see that video. When I did not get help from them, I just gave up. I fell into depression afterwards.

For the last three months, I have been struggling in my courses. It was difficult to concentrate on taking notes in classes, writing papers, and studying for my quizzes, exams, and midterms. I was having attacks almost every week. My doses went up. It didn’t help with the fact I was dealing with a teenager and her boyfriend upstairs late at night. Then there were things happening with my family. It all accumulated to my big blow up with the student council. I just had enough of everything. With the school. With the apartment. With my life. I wanted more than anything to just end it.

I still feel it before I go to bed at night. The feeling is there for a split second. It’s the feeling of fear, humiliation, and anger all wrapped into a ball in the pit of my stomach. The feelings are there when I walk into a shower late at night. The feelings are there when I walk home from school, looking the faces of strangers wondering if it was her or him. This is ruining my life. I try to talk about what I am going through with others but they are either too scared or just don’t care enough to listen. I thought I had escaped this when I left Winnipeg. I thought Thompson was safe enough for me. But wherever you go, even in your hometown, you can’t escape danger. You’re fooling yourself to believe in security.

This world is not a safe place.

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