When I was 16 I went to live with my dad so I could finish my senior year of high school back at my old high school...my junior year I'd gone to two out of state schools while living with my mother and I couldn't handle another new school. Seriously, like I was going to hang myself when we lived in Texas (see: What if tomorrow is better? (TW: Suicidality)).
Anyway, there's a long story for another day, but the short version is that we had lost the ranch when I was 13, but my dad through a sub-lease had access to the house/buildings and someone else was farming the land. My dad worked "in town" (the town 70 miles away from the ranch where you could actually go to a hospital, or a mini-mall) for his disabled brother during the week.
With me being alone during the week at the ranch, and sometimes on the weekend if the weather/roads were bad I picked up a habit of sleeping with his Ruger .357 under my pillow (yes, fully loaded, and no it didn't have a safety so the safety was not on)...for safety.
I was chatting with someone the other day about the time the sub-lease partner's ranch hand Albert, a fellow in his 70's had picked me up to join him and the other ranch hands for dinner at there bunk house. When he dropped me off he came in the house and unfortunately got pervy-he wrapped his arms and legs around me like a fucking anaconda and tried to kiss me, and that old son-of-a-bitch was strong. Fortunately I was too...it took everything I had to break his hold and during the struggle I was thinking, "I have to break free so I can get to the .357 under my pillow/thank god it's fully loaded, and I have to do it before he does." Fortunately, once I was able to fight my way out of his tenticals he didn't pursue me; he had the audacity to thump the couch and tell me to come sit next to him, which I declined and he finally left on his own.
As I was telling the mini-version of this story I started to laugh at myself. Something about saying it aloud that time gave me a little perspective...I SLEPT WITH A LOADED FUCKING PISTOL UNDER MY PILLOW. What really struck me as funny is that I never locked my door to keep the bad guys out, I SLEPT WITH A FUCKING LOADED PISTOL UNDER MY PILLOW. And I shared that thought, and she pointed out to me that perhaps because of my past the protective part of myself was just, "Fuck you! Mess with me and I'll kill you!" and simply having a barrier (locked door) between me and potential weirdos felt too passive to feel safe. And hell, perfect example-I let the damn vampire right into my house!
At the end of the day, the adults in my life didn't do a very good job of creating a sense of safety, hell, they didn't provide an environment of safety either. By the time I was 16 I was well aware, and had been for many years that he world wasn't a safe place, especially for women. So, I had to create my own safety, and I did that with a loaded pistol under my pillow, and a wall of anger. Unfortunately the wall of anger didn't keep out the people it was supposed to-it seems they were the most immune to it, but the pistol represented tangible safety to me. And it still does.
I have since sold that pistol because it was the same one that I put to my head when I was 20 and when my suicidal thoughts hit hard it just felt a little too easy to have my old friend around. But I continue to "feel" like having a pistol around creates safety for me. Logically I know that statistics show that it generally does not increase a gun owners safety to have a pistol, but there's a 16 year old in me that is mighty glad that pistol was just in the other room the Albert went crazy-eyed pervert on her. Maybe someday I'll have created enough of my own safety, I'll have had enough positive other experiences with other humans, that I'll feel like I can keep/get myself out of bad situations without having a gun around...but I'm not there yet. As I ponder it, I think when I started sleeping with that damn pistol under my pillow was probably the first time since I was 7 that I felt any level of safety.
I need some coffee and a slice of gluten free toast right now, but maybe down the road I'll explore what safety means to me, and other ways I can create a deeper sense of safety in my life...without guns.
FYI, I don't sleep with a pistol under my pillow anymore.
Anyway, there's a long story for another day, but the short version is that we had lost the ranch when I was 13, but my dad through a sub-lease had access to the house/buildings and someone else was farming the land. My dad worked "in town" (the town 70 miles away from the ranch where you could actually go to a hospital, or a mini-mall) for his disabled brother during the week.
With me being alone during the week at the ranch, and sometimes on the weekend if the weather/roads were bad I picked up a habit of sleeping with his Ruger .357 under my pillow (yes, fully loaded, and no it didn't have a safety so the safety was not on)...for safety.
I was chatting with someone the other day about the time the sub-lease partner's ranch hand Albert, a fellow in his 70's had picked me up to join him and the other ranch hands for dinner at there bunk house. When he dropped me off he came in the house and unfortunately got pervy-he wrapped his arms and legs around me like a fucking anaconda and tried to kiss me, and that old son-of-a-bitch was strong. Fortunately I was too...it took everything I had to break his hold and during the struggle I was thinking, "I have to break free so I can get to the .357 under my pillow/thank god it's fully loaded, and I have to do it before he does." Fortunately, once I was able to fight my way out of his tenticals he didn't pursue me; he had the audacity to thump the couch and tell me to come sit next to him, which I declined and he finally left on his own.
As I was telling the mini-version of this story I started to laugh at myself. Something about saying it aloud that time gave me a little perspective...I SLEPT WITH A LOADED FUCKING PISTOL UNDER MY PILLOW. What really struck me as funny is that I never locked my door to keep the bad guys out, I SLEPT WITH A FUCKING LOADED PISTOL UNDER MY PILLOW. And I shared that thought, and she pointed out to me that perhaps because of my past the protective part of myself was just, "Fuck you! Mess with me and I'll kill you!" and simply having a barrier (locked door) between me and potential weirdos felt too passive to feel safe. And hell, perfect example-I let the damn vampire right into my house!
At the end of the day, the adults in my life didn't do a very good job of creating a sense of safety, hell, they didn't provide an environment of safety either. By the time I was 16 I was well aware, and had been for many years that he world wasn't a safe place, especially for women. So, I had to create my own safety, and I did that with a loaded pistol under my pillow, and a wall of anger. Unfortunately the wall of anger didn't keep out the people it was supposed to-it seems they were the most immune to it, but the pistol represented tangible safety to me. And it still does.
I have since sold that pistol because it was the same one that I put to my head when I was 20 and when my suicidal thoughts hit hard it just felt a little too easy to have my old friend around. But I continue to "feel" like having a pistol around creates safety for me. Logically I know that statistics show that it generally does not increase a gun owners safety to have a pistol, but there's a 16 year old in me that is mighty glad that pistol was just in the other room the Albert went crazy-eyed pervert on her. Maybe someday I'll have created enough of my own safety, I'll have had enough positive other experiences with other humans, that I'll feel like I can keep/get myself out of bad situations without having a gun around...but I'm not there yet. As I ponder it, I think when I started sleeping with that damn pistol under my pillow was probably the first time since I was 7 that I felt any level of safety.
I need some coffee and a slice of gluten free toast right now, but maybe down the road I'll explore what safety means to me, and other ways I can create a deeper sense of safety in my life...without guns.
FYI, I don't sleep with a pistol under my pillow anymore.
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