During my homelessness, I’ve had to use the restroom in some really embarrassing places. Any unhoused person can tell you about the horrors of not making it on time or nearly soiling yourself. Not to mention the lack of safety.
I vividly remember an attack that happened to me, because of trying to find a safe place to urinate at night. I was at a bus stop that was well lit, but it was about 9 p.m. and very dark outside. My bus was delayed and I knew I couldn’t wait.
I looked behind the bus stop to see bushes and a corner of privacy where I thought I could handle my business. There were three men at the bus stop, so I wasn’t alone, and I didn’t feel afraid.
That couldn’t have been further from the truth. As I stepped into that corner of darkness, I dropped down and quickly relieved myself. As I began to pull up my pants, I heard quick movements as the bushes around me parted, and one of the men from the bus stop approached. I yelled in horror and told him, “Get back!” and that, “I wasn’t finished.”
Before I could even finish the words and get my pants all the way up, this large young man tackled me. He seemed so angry. I can still remember the whites of his eyes and his pupils looking wild.
He tackled me to the ground, sat on my stomach and started to pummel my face. I tried to block and defend my face as best I could, but his punches were coming too quickly. I screamed and cried as the other two men from the bus stop just watched me through the dirt glass of the bus hut. I was so hurt. This man was still punching me as I tried to scratch his face and block his hands. With surprising speed he grabbed my head and slammed it backwards into the ground.
I started to see blackness and became dizzy. I was sure I would pass out. I could hear him and feel him start to fumble with his belt buckle as someone else finally started to yell from the distance.
He quickly got up as if nothing had happened and ran to a bike that had been propped up against the bus hut. He rode away, and I never saw him again.
I laid there for a couple of minutes and cried, as I tried to assess my injuries by running my fingers over my swollen face, but I became so distracted by how much blood there was that I rallied myself to get up off the ground. I finally zipped and buttoned my pants.
I cried and yelled at the men who did nothing to call 911, and surprise, surprise they did nothing again. After flagging down someone who cared enough to help me call 911, I was seen at the hospital for a broken nose, concussion, cuts and bruises, and a dislocated finger.
And to think, I was so lucky, because I could have been further assaulted or died. All of this stemmed from not having a safe place to use the restroom.
