On Feeling Vulnerable

Monday night, I was involved in a hit-and-run accident. I'm fine, my car is even fine. A woman backed into me in the grocery parking lot and did a small, but noticeable amount of damage to my bumper. I was in the car at the time, preparing to leave and jumped out and got her license plate number. I also had two witnesses who saw what happened and corroborated the events.

But, since the woman denies having hit me and the damage is so slight, I can't do anything. The police won't file a report, because the damage was under $500 and apparently it's a case of "she said, she said." Except, I don't think it should be because I have witnesses. But I don't officially, because there's no police report.

Essentially, this woman hit my car then broke the law by driving away, but nothing is going to happen. To her or to my precious bumper.

And this has been eating me alive.

Because I feel like a very naive child. Because I expected there to be something. When someone breaks the law and then gets caught, they are supposed to have consequences. That's how the system works. I don't want her to go to jail for a fender bender, but there should be consequences. If there aren't, then why should anyone follow the rules ever.

And as that complicated idea bounced around my skull, I realized that what all this amounts to is that I feel vulnerable.

And I know that it's not just this lady and her speedy SUV of doom making me feel that way. I feel vulnerable because I lost a friend too early. Because my insurance company hates me and ignoring the situation isn't going to make it go away. Because the voices in my head like to tell me I'm helpless. But it's also the lady in the SUV and the local police and the insurance company and the whole world looking at the chip in my tail light on the other side and saying, "Just let it go."

I know that the only way to make myself feel less vulnerable is to concentrate on what I can change and on living and kicking life's ass. But there is still this part of me that wants to lie down and cry. That wants to be taken care of. That wants someone to fix this. Because I know it's not that big of a deal and I know it's not all that important, but if there is justice in the world, it should be for the little as well as the big.

I believe in truth. In actions and consequences. In reason and clear expectations. And sometimes I forget that the rest of the world doesn't.