So our house was broken into this morning.
I suppose it makes me a bit of a drama queen to harp on this and blogging about it, but if ya'll will bear with me here, writing is how I process things sometimes.
(The fact that I'm even using language like "processing" most definitely makes me feel like I'm being over dramatic. I'm not even sure that the way I feel right now is process worthy. I feel pretty calm.)
(In light of the above sentences, if I'm not being a drama queen, I guess I am definitely guilty of over thinking things. I'm debating with myself over whether or not I need to process my feelings. WTF?)
(Never mind. It's apparent from all of the above sentences that I'm a wreck. I just needed to write all that to see it. See? We've come full circle to my original point- writing is how I process and understand things.)
Deep breath.
Okay. So I returned home from tutoring today, unlocked the front door to my home, took one step inside and noticed that a drawer to the table in our foyer was pulled open.
My mind registered it as odd.
I took another step inside and saw that the cable box and DVD player were pulled out and that their wires were hanging off the shelf like strands of hair.
I froze.
What a weird thought process- to be looking around your own house and to know that things are very very wrong and yet to have your disbelieving mind still try to rationalize it. I thought to myself, "Well, maybe we left it this way this morning?". Even as I slowly leaned forward and saw that the desk was pulled out from the wall and that the antique piece that we have in the dining area had all it's drawers open, I was still trying to come up with an explanation besides the obvious one.
Fortunately, my legs weren't as interested in rationalizing the situation. They took one, then two steps backwards and then I was out the door.
I crossed the lawn to the sidewalk and called Matt at work, who then instructed me to stay out of the house and to call the police (That instruction was a total formality. He knew I wasn't going back in. I only called him first to touch base with reality because everything felt so odd. I called the police immediately after I got off the phone with him).
You all don't need the details with the police. They were fine. Came out and did their thing. I doubt we'll ever hear back from them.
Here is what I need to get off my chest. Again, please bear with me if I'm being too dramatic.
The absolute worst moment in all of this came when I reentered the house. It'd been about 15 minutes and I was still waiting for the police, but by this point, I was pretty sure that there was no one inside. My friend came (thank you Lord, in times like these for the gift of friends) and stayed with me while I walked inside to check it out. There was still a part of me that had been hoping that I was being silly, that there was an explanation, and that everything else in the house would be undisturbed. But when I stepped into the hallway and looked through the door to the master bedroom and saw that all my drawers had been dumped out, clothes strewn across the floor, and jewelry box open, my blood turned cold. Looking the other way down the hall gave me a view of the kids room, where their toy boxes had been pulled out. The drawers in the linen cabinet were pulled open.
I was so reluctant to even move from the spot I was in. I guess that's because that's the point when I had to accept that some absolute strangers had been in my house, rifling through my drawers and putting their disgusting hands on my stuff, my family's stuff. There was no rationalizing it anymore. Now all I could do was deal with it.
So that's what I've been doing. Dealing with it. Mostly by disinfecting. The feeling of being violated is very prominent. I know that's normal. (Not to trivialize, but my drawer full of "good underwear" was all over the floor and now I just want to burn it.) I've also stared down any stranger who happens by my house in the last few hours. Everyone is a suspect. I hate being distrustful like that, but can't help it now.
Mostly though, I'm trying to keep perspective. My family is safe. I have good friends, both near and far, who either helped me directly by being there today or indirectly by just empathizing on Facebook. Like I said, thank God for friends.
And thank God for karma. May she find these guys and kick their lily livered big fat droopy arses from here to the north pole, and when they get to the pole may it come into direct contact with their family jewels and may their pain be excruciating.
And may they then be poked in their eyes by a pair of large reindeer antlers. And then may they be eaten by polar bears.
With extra sharp teeth.
And razor sharp claws.
Amen.
I suppose it makes me a bit of a drama queen to harp on this and blogging about it, but if ya'll will bear with me here, writing is how I process things sometimes.
(The fact that I'm even using language like "processing" most definitely makes me feel like I'm being over dramatic. I'm not even sure that the way I feel right now is process worthy. I feel pretty calm.)
(In light of the above sentences, if I'm not being a drama queen, I guess I am definitely guilty of over thinking things. I'm debating with myself over whether or not I need to process my feelings. WTF?)
(Never mind. It's apparent from all of the above sentences that I'm a wreck. I just needed to write all that to see it. See? We've come full circle to my original point- writing is how I process and understand things.)
Deep breath.
Okay. So I returned home from tutoring today, unlocked the front door to my home, took one step inside and noticed that a drawer to the table in our foyer was pulled open.
My mind registered it as odd.
I took another step inside and saw that the cable box and DVD player were pulled out and that their wires were hanging off the shelf like strands of hair.
I froze.
What a weird thought process- to be looking around your own house and to know that things are very very wrong and yet to have your disbelieving mind still try to rationalize it. I thought to myself, "Well, maybe we left it this way this morning?". Even as I slowly leaned forward and saw that the desk was pulled out from the wall and that the antique piece that we have in the dining area had all it's drawers open, I was still trying to come up with an explanation besides the obvious one.
Fortunately, my legs weren't as interested in rationalizing the situation. They took one, then two steps backwards and then I was out the door.
I crossed the lawn to the sidewalk and called Matt at work, who then instructed me to stay out of the house and to call the police (That instruction was a total formality. He knew I wasn't going back in. I only called him first to touch base with reality because everything felt so odd. I called the police immediately after I got off the phone with him).
You all don't need the details with the police. They were fine. Came out and did their thing. I doubt we'll ever hear back from them.
Here is what I need to get off my chest. Again, please bear with me if I'm being too dramatic.
The absolute worst moment in all of this came when I reentered the house. It'd been about 15 minutes and I was still waiting for the police, but by this point, I was pretty sure that there was no one inside. My friend came (thank you Lord, in times like these for the gift of friends) and stayed with me while I walked inside to check it out. There was still a part of me that had been hoping that I was being silly, that there was an explanation, and that everything else in the house would be undisturbed. But when I stepped into the hallway and looked through the door to the master bedroom and saw that all my drawers had been dumped out, clothes strewn across the floor, and jewelry box open, my blood turned cold. Looking the other way down the hall gave me a view of the kids room, where their toy boxes had been pulled out. The drawers in the linen cabinet were pulled open.
I was so reluctant to even move from the spot I was in. I guess that's because that's the point when I had to accept that some absolute strangers had been in my house, rifling through my drawers and putting their disgusting hands on my stuff, my family's stuff. There was no rationalizing it anymore. Now all I could do was deal with it.
So that's what I've been doing. Dealing with it. Mostly by disinfecting. The feeling of being violated is very prominent. I know that's normal. (Not to trivialize, but my drawer full of "good underwear" was all over the floor and now I just want to burn it.) I've also stared down any stranger who happens by my house in the last few hours. Everyone is a suspect. I hate being distrustful like that, but can't help it now.
Mostly though, I'm trying to keep perspective. My family is safe. I have good friends, both near and far, who either helped me directly by being there today or indirectly by just empathizing on Facebook. Like I said, thank God for friends.
And thank God for karma. May she find these guys and kick their lily livered big fat droopy arses from here to the north pole, and when they get to the pole may it come into direct contact with their family jewels and may their pain be excruciating.
And may they then be poked in their eyes by a pair of large reindeer antlers. And then may they be eaten by polar bears.
With extra sharp teeth.
And razor sharp claws.
Amen.
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