People always say be cautious. Be careful. Watch who is around you. Don't talk to strangers. The works.

I had heard those sayings millions of times, each. And I always obeyed. I never went anywhere without my pepper spray, it was always attached to my keys and wallet. I would never forget it.

I didn't realize that there were certain situations where carrying pepper spray wouldn't help.

It was cold outside, about 4:30 p.m when I agreed to pick my fourteen-year-old friend up. It wasn't something that I always did, but everyone seemed to be out of town, and we hadn't seen each other in a while, so we decided to make an adventure out of the night.

We went to go thrift some records for my new record player, and then we were going to go home afterward.

I'm going to call her Abby, instead of her real name.

Abby was two years younger than me, but we met through activities, and we had similar interests. I picked her up around 4:45 p.m. and then we made the journey towards downtown, where the best record store in town is.

We parked, made our way inside, and checked it out a little bit. Eventually, we decided that the record shop was a little too pricey for our broke high school selves, and we left.

We trekked back to my car in the freezing cold, it was the day after Christmas, after all.

While we were inside the store, I bumped into a little friend of mine. And by friend, I mean the boy that I ghosted two months before that. And that kind of triggered something in me.

I missed my boyfriend of a week. Let's call him Bob. He happened to live downtown as well.

So then I got an idea. A bad idea. I wanted to see him.

I started the car, pulled out of the parking lot, and I was on my way.

I didn't realize that this short trip would change my life.

It was only about five minutes away, so I hopped on the major road to his house. About 2 minutes in, I realized the yellow PT Cruiser behind me was not giving me any space, riding my bumper while I was going 10 mph over the speed limit to get away from whoever was tailgating me.

So I decided to switch lanes. Quickly.

Just as fast, he did the same.

Then, we got stopped at a stoplight. Abby and I looked behind us. There he was, rearview mirror hanging crookedly by a rubber band. He held up fingers on his hand and signed for us to call him. We ignored him, and in return, he tapped my bumper with the front of his car.

The light turned green, and I knew this guy was crazy, so I sped off as fast as I could, and called Bob. I knew we were almost there, and so I asked him to wait outside for me.

Looking back, I realized I probably should have called the police, or even driven to the nearest police station, but hindsight is always 20/20.

I turned onto Bob's road, I didn't bother using the turn lane, either. I was just scared. I stopped at the stop sign, but the guy behind me did not and kept following me.

I arrived at Bob's house.

He was standing outside, and I parked a few houses away, for safety reasons. Bob sees the car pulling up next to me and just says "Hey! What are you doing?"

In response, the PT Cruiser takes charge. He drives forward in an attempt to run over Bob. Bob jumps out of the way in time, and the car is in the grass. The car then reverses, and gives it another go, trying to hit Bob again. When Bob jumps out of the way, the car speeds off, and I think we are safe.

I attempt to pull my car into Bob's driveway, and I see the car turn around in the street, and make his way back towards us. I pull into a random neighbors driveway, and park my car, and attempt to run onto the porch.

I unbuckle, and I see the car try to hit Bob ONCE AGAIN, and I shut my door, still in my car, unbuckled.

I hear a sound. It sounds like glass shattering. That is, in fact, what it is. Bob had picked up a brick off the side of the road and thrown it into the windshield of the PT Cruiser.

The next thing I know, My car is moving. The PT Cruiser made its way into the rear driver's side of my car, and my head hits the window.

Abby is now on the phone with the police, and we are both screaming. My car shakes again, he has reversed and hit us again. And again. And again. Four times.

Before we know it, I see the flashing lights, I hear the sirens. Several patrol cars have arrived, and Abby and I sprint to the front porch of the neighbor's house, where he is also on the phone with police officers.

I call my mom. I'm in tears. My dad is there within five minutes. The police already have the man cuffed and on the sidewalk, his face is all beat up, and his shirt is really dirty. He has a raspy voice, and he keeps staring at me, trying to talk to me.

I run to my dad and give him the biggest hug. Who knows what could have happened if I went somewhere else.

It was December, and freezing cold, so the police officers put me in the back of a car and shut the door to keep me warm.

I got out when an officer wanted to talk to me, and the man was in the back of a patrol car behind me, and he started to bang on the window and yelled at me. I am still traumatized by his voice.

He's in jail now. He got six years for all of that. It really is crazy. I'm alive to tell the story, and it might not seem like much to anybody else, but I am scarred for life, as cliche as that sounds.

I'm still afraid of cars, and I freak out when a car is behind me for too long or is following too close. That was almost two years ago.

I try not to let my anxiety get to me, but some days it really sucks.

I'm okay now, and I feel safer than ever before, thanks to the amazing people in my life.

Be careful driving, and I know everyone says that, but I mean it.