u/Intothestars02

Growing up, I thought I was pretty aware of the dangers around me. Like most kids, I grew up hearing about “stranger danger.” Don’t get into a stranger’s car. Don’t talk to people you don’t know. Pay attention to your surroundings.
What I wasn’t prepared for was how I would actually react when I found myself in danger.

This happened several years ago, during the summer of COVID. I was an upperclassman in high school and lived in the suburbs outside of Kansas City. It was August, and there were still a lot of pandemic restrictions in place.
At the time, I had a situationship with a guy I had known for several years. One morning, he called and asked if I wanted to go fishing with him. I agreed, and we decided to meet at QuikTrip to grab some snacks before heading to the park.
Because of COVID, we drove separately.
That ended up being a decision I would regret.

We met at QuikTrip, bought what we needed, and agreed to meet again at the park. He pulled out first, and I left shortly afterward.

I had only driven about a mile and a half when I started noticing a van behind me.
At first, I dismissed it. We were traveling in the same direction. That happens. I remember thinking I was probably just being paranoid.
Then we stopped at a red light.
The driver pulled into the lane directly beside me and started shouting through his window. He was trying to get my attention and telling me to roll my window down.I didn’t.

There was something about the urgency of it that immediately made me uncomfortable. He wasn’t casually trying to tell me my gas cap was open or that something was wrong with my car. He seemed desperate to get me to talk to him.
The light changed, and I kept driving.
So did he.

I called the guy I was meeting and told him what was happening. He was about five minutes ahead of me at that point. I kept him on the phone while I drove, but I still wasn’t completely convinced that I was actually being followed.
Looking back, I know that sounds strange. But part of me kept trying to come up with another explanation. I wondered if I had misunderstood the situation or if I was overreacting.

My friend told me to pull into a nearby business.
“If he follows you in, then you know.”

He told me that if the van followed me, I needed to get inside and ask the employees for help. At the same time, he turned his car around and started driving back toward me.

I pulled into a Taco Bell parking lot.
The van pulled in behind me.
That was the moment my stomach dropped.
He was following me.
I quickly pulled into a parking spot close to the entrance. By then, the van was practically on my bumper. Everything was happening so fast that I didn’t even have time to think through what I was supposed to do next.
Before I could get out of my car, the man was already there.
My passenger door opened.
He got inside.
I screamed.

My friend was still on the phone and could hear everything, but the man seemed completely unfazed by my reaction.
Instead, he looked at me and asked, “Why are you nervous?”
I froze.
People always talk about “fight or flight,” but that was the day I learned there is another response: freeze.
I couldn’t move.
My mind was racing, but my body wasn’t.

I remember trying to figure out whether running would make things worse. I didn’t know if he had a gun or a knife. I didn’t know what he wanted. I didn’t know what would happen if I tried to get out of the car.

Then he told me I shouldn’t be “shy” because I was “wearing an outfit like that.”
I was wearing a cropped T-shirt and jean shorts.

He started trying to convince me to go back to his house with him. I kept refusing.

Eventually, I told him that my friend was meeting me there and would be arriving at any moment. He still didn’t want to leave.
Then I looked in my rearview mirror.
I saw my friend’s car.
He had been racing back toward me the entire time.

I immediately told the man, “He’s here. I need to go.”
The man looked behind us and realized that someone really was waiting for me. He sighed and finally got out of my car.
Before leaving, he actually tried to hug me.
I got away from him and went straight to my friend’s car.

Only after I was safely inside did we call 911.
My friend had stayed on the phone throughout the entire encounter, silently listening to what was happening. We gave law enforcement our initial report, and a case was opened.
Then I waited.
For several weeks, I heard nothing.
Eventually, one afternoon, my phone rang. It was a detective.
They had found surveillance footage.

There was footage from both the QuikTrip and the Taco Bell parking lot. The cameras at QuikTrip showed the man watching me before I left. Then they showed him following me.

They were also able to get his license plate.
Police identified him.
He was in his late 30s. He was married. When questioned, he openly admitted that he had wanted to sleep with me.
He was arrested on multiple charges related to what happened.

But then the detective told me something I hadn’t expected.
They were escalating the case because they determined that the man had also been stalking me.
That part terrified me more than almost anything else.
I had never noticed him before.
I didn’t recognize his face.
I didn’t recognize his van.
I had absolutely no idea that this man had apparently been watching or following me.

There is something uniquely terrifying about finding out that someone knew of your existence when you didn’t even know they existed.
There was one more detail that made the entire situation even more disturbing.
I had turned 18 two weeks before this happened.
Had this happened just a couple of weeks earlier, he could have been facing an entirely different situation involving a minor.
For a long time afterward, I thought about how differently that day could have ended.
I thought I understood “stranger danger” before this happened. What I didn’t understand was that when you are actually put into a terrifying situation, you may not react the way you always imagined you would. I thought I would run. I thought I would fight. Instead, I froze.
I also learned to stop worrying so much about whether I’m “overreacting” when something feels wrong.
After that day, I bought pepper spray and attached it to my car keys.
And I started locking my car doors the second I got inside.

Hi Reddit, I am sharing this story in hopes to help bring awareness. I’m aware that some of the decisions I made in the moment weren’t the smartest. However, it is the transparent truth of how I reacted.

Growing up, I thought I was pretty aware of the dangers around me. Like most kids, I grew up hearing about “stranger danger.” Don’t get into a stranger’s car. Don’t talk to people you don’t know. Pay attention to your surroundings. What I wasn’t prepared for was how I would actually react when I found myself in danger.

This happened several years ago, during the summer of COVID. I was an upperclassman in high school and lived in the suburbs outside of Kansas City. It was August, and there were still a lot of pandemic restrictions in place. At the time, I had a “situationship”with a guy I had known for several years. One morning, he called and asked if I wanted to go fishing with him. I agreed, and we decided to meet at QuikTrip to grab some snacks before heading to the park.

Because of COVID, we drove separately.
That ended up being a decision I would regret.

We met at QuikTrip, bought what we needed, and agreed to meet again at the park. He pulled out first, and I left shortly afterward. I had only driven about a mile and a half when I started noticing a van behind me. At first, I dismissed it. We were traveling in the same direction. That happens. I remember thinking I was probably just being paranoid. Then we stopped at a red light. The driver pulled into the lane directly beside me and started shouting through his window. He was trying to get my attention and telling me to roll my window down. I didn’t.

There was something about the urgency of it that immediately made me uncomfortable. He wasn’t casually trying to tell me my gas cap was open or that something was wrong with my car. He seemed desperate to get me to talk to him.

The light changed, and I kept driving. So did he.

I called the guy I was meeting and told him what was happening. He was about five minutes ahead of me at that point. I kept him on the phone while I drove, but I still wasn’t completely convinced that I was actually being followed. Looking back, I know that sounds strange. But part of me kept trying to come up with another explanation. I wondered if I had misunderstood the situation or if I was overreacting.

My friend told me to pull into a nearby business.

“If he follows you in, then you know.”

He told me that if the van followed me, I needed to get inside and ask the employees for help. At the same time, he turned his car around and started driving back toward me.
I pulled into a Taco Bell parking lot.The van pulled in behind me.

That was the moment my stomach dropped.
He was following me.

I quickly pulled into a parking spot close to the entrance. By then, the van was practically on my bumper. Everything was happening so fast that I didn’t even have time to think through what I was supposed to do next.Before I could get out of my car, the man was already there.
My passenger door opened.
He got inside.
I screamed.

My friend was still on the phone and could hear everything, but the man seemed completely unfazed by my reaction.
Instead, he looked at me and asked, “Why are you nervous?”

I froze.

People always talk about “fight or flight,” but that was the day I learned there is another response: freeze. I couldn’t move. My mind was racing, but my body wasn’t. I remember trying to figure out whether running would make things worse. I didn’t know if he had a gun or a knife. I didn’t know what he wanted. I didn’t know what would happen if I tried to get out of the car.

Then he told me I shouldn’t be “shy” because I was “wearing an outfit like that.”

I was wearing a cropped T-shirt and jean shorts.

He started trying to convince me to go back to his house with him. I kept refusing.

Eventually, I told him that my friend was meeting me there and would be arriving at any moment. He still didn’t want to leave.
Then I looked in my rearview mirror. I saw my friend’s car. He had been racing back toward me the entire time.

I immediately told the man, “He’s here. I need to go.”

The man looked behind us and realized that someone really was waiting for me. He sighed and finally got out of my car. Before leaving, he actually tried to hug me. I got away from him and went straight to my friend’s car.

Only after I was safely inside did we call 911.
My friend had stayed on the phone throughout the entire encounter, silently listening to what was happening. We gave law enforcement our initial report, and a case was opened.

Then I waited.
For several weeks, I heard nothing. Eventually, one afternoon, my phone rang. It was a detective.

They had found surveillance footage. There was footage from both the QuikTrip and the Taco Bell parking lot. The cameras at QuikTrip showed the man watching me before I left. Then they showed him following me. They were also able to get his license plate.

Police identified him.

He was in his late 30s. He was married. When questioned, he openly admitted that he had wanted to sleep with me.

He was arrested on multiple charges related to what happened. But then the detective told me something I hadn’t expected. They were escalating the case because they determined that the man had also been stalking me.

That part terrified me more than almost anything else. I had never noticed him before. I didn’t recognize his face. I didn’t recognize his van. I had absolutely no idea that this man had apparently been watching or following me.

There is something uniquely terrifying about finding out that someone knew of your existence when you didn’t even know they existed. There was one more detail that made the entire situation even more disturbing. I had turned 18 two weeks before this happened. Had this happened just a couple of weeks earlier, he could have been facing an entirely different situation involving a minor.

For a long time afterward, I thought about how differently that day could have ended.
I thought I understood “stranger danger” before this happened. What I didn’t understand was that when you are actually put into a terrifying situation, you may not react the way you always imagined you would. I thought I would run. I thought I would fight. Instead, I froze.

I also learned to stop worrying so much about whether I’m “overreacting” when something feels wrong. After that day, I bought pepper spray and attached it to my car keys. And I started locking my car doors the second I got inside.

Hello Reddit,
I’ve been trying to figure out how to put this feeling into words for a long time.My dad is alive. But sometimes I feel like I’ve spent my entire life grieving him.

I was only 2 years old when my dad was in a devastating car accident on February 16, 2006. He was driving home from a consulting job when the accident happened. He suffered a severe traumatic brain injury and was taken to the hospital unconscious.

His brain was swelling so badly that surgeons had to remove a blood clot and temporarily remove part of his skull to give his brain room to swell. What followed was months of hospitals, surgeries, complications, and rehabilitation. Later, he developed hydrocephalus and needed a shunt placed to drain the excess fluid from his brain.

He survived.But his life, and our family’s life, changed forever.Today my dad is completely dependent on other people for 24/7 care. He is essentially paralyzed from his shoulders down. He cannot walk or open his hands. He struggles with speaking and swallowing. He has gone through numerous brain surgeries and has lived with the effects of his TBI for more than 20 years.

And I don’t remember him before any of it.
Not one memory. That’s probably the hardest part for me to explain. I don’t remember my dad’s voice before his brain injury. I don’t remember what it sounded like when he laughed. I don’t remember having a conversation with him. I don’t remember what it felt like for him to pick me up or play with me.

Everything I know about who my dad was before his accident has been given to me through other people’s memories. I’ve been told he was an amazing and loving father. He was goofy. He was artistic. He loved music. I’ve been told he used to play guitar for me. For some reason, that one really gets me. I was there. I was his little girl sitting there while my dad played guitar for me, but I was too young for my brain to hold onto the memory.

There was once a version of my dad who could pick up a guitar, use both of his hands, play music and probably sing or talk to his 2-year-old daughter. I just don’t remember him. Sometimes I wonder what his voice sounded like. What kind of conversations we would have now. What advice he would have given me growing up. Whether we would have the same sense of humor. What he would think about the person I’ve become.

There are so many things I want to know about someone who is still here. And that’s where the grief gets complicated. I feel guilty even using the word “grief” sometimes because my dad didn’t die. I know how fortunate I am that I can still see him, sit beside him, hug him and tell him I love him. But I think I’ve realized that being grateful he’s alive doesn’t mean I can’t mourn what was taken from us.

The accident didn’t take my father’s life, but it took so much of the person he was and the life he was supposed to have. And it took something from me too. I grew up with a father, but I also grew up wondering who my father would have been.

I didn’t get to know the goofy, artistic man everyone tells me about. I didn’t get to grow up hearing him play guitar. I didn’t get to learn his voice well enough to still hear it in my head. Sometimes looking at old pictures is almost strange because I’m looking at my own dad, but I’m also looking at someone I desperately wish I could meet.

I love the man my father is today. I don’t wish to replace him with some imaginary version of who he “should” have been. He is still my dad, and his life has value exactly as it is.But I also miss the man he was before February 16, 2006. And that’s such a strange sentence to write because how do you miss someone you don’t remember?

I think maybe that’s what I’ve been mourning all these years. Not his death. Just the chance to know him.
His independence. His art. His music. His voice. Are all of the ordinary moments most people don’t realize are precious until they’re gone. Severe brain damage is such a strange kind of loss because the person you love survives, and you’re incredibly thankful for that, but you also have to live with everything the injury took from them. Sometimes I wish I could go back to 2005 for just five minutes. I wouldn’t need to change anything. I wouldn’t even need him to know who I was. I’d just want to hear my dad’s voice. Maybe watch him play the guitar. And have one memory of who he was before the accident that actually belonged to me.