Being Stalked; Was: High School Reunion Math: 1979 + 25 = 2004 (Gulp!)

[msbeadsley]

I am reposting this after deleting it because I got the attribution 
wrong the first time. How stupid. How embarrassing. I got so into 
whuppin' on stalkers I forgot to pay attention to exactly who I was 
responding to. I'm sorry, everyone, and especially Jennifer Piersol  
and Amber. (Perhaps on some level this is me screwing up to further 
ensure that I *never* get offered <shudder> an elf hat!)

In message #18624, Amber <ambiree at s... wrote:
>Then I moved without telling him...I spent 6 weeks being email 
>stalked then 4 weeks being otherwise hounded.  The courts granted 
>protection which he violated 70+ times and his new girlfriend (whom 
>he had been ...um yeah... while we were together) did some awful 
>things as well...

This is ghastly. What a creep! Did you spend a fair amount of time 
wondering ('cos *I* did), "and this is someone who said he *cared* 
about me?!?"

>I finally got resolution, but the problem is that we go to the same 
>college (6000 students).  He's been banned from courses for a year, 
>but is back this semester.  I agreed as long as he stayed out of 2 
>buildings, the one where I have classes (not in conflict with his), 
>and where I work (the library)....

I don't know if mace or hot pepper spray are legal where you live, 
but if they were, I'd be looking for a mini-can in a designer-color 
holder to wear on an elegant lanyard around my neck. (And relishing 
the thought of using it; but then, I can be a bloodthirsty wench.)

>all of a sudden, he NEEDS to use the library...this is his 9th year 
>of college and he is still an underclassman taking 1st and 2nd year 
>courses...I am just at wit's end w/this envelope pusher.  Give him 
>a bloody inch and he'll run the whole race....okay ranting 
>one...sorry, it's just that it's my last semester and the dementors 
>are at my door ....think they'd be appeased with lemon cake?

I was nineteen, having moved back in with my family after living with 
this guy for six months; actually spent my nineteenth *birthday* in 
court getting a restraining order. My creep used to call at 1:00 - 
3:00 a.m. and threaten to "get" me and anybody new I went out with. 
(This was long before caller i.d.) What hurt the most was that he 
threatened to hurt my "baby" brothers, who were nine and eleven at 
the time. He had copies made of an extremely compromising photo I had 
very stupidly let him take one night (alcohol had been involved) and 
sent them to all of my friends, including many at local radio 
stations (I was an oblivious "pin-up" in one control room for years 
until someone spilled the beans and I insisted they destroy it), and 
also all my *relatives*, including my grandparents. (No wonder my 90+ 
year old So. Baptist grandma thinks I need a *lot* of praying for. 
Yes, now I can laugh about it.)

Then one day, about a year later, he showed up where I was working as 
a cashier. He bought a pack of gum or something just so he could 
stare me down. I was shaking on the inside, but being face-to-face 
with him again was so surreal that I clung to the unreality of it and 
was able to look through him as if he were just a random stranger. He 
lagged behind after I gave him his change and said, "You don't know 
who I am, do you?" (Huh? I was *that* good?) And then a powerful wave 
of pure hatred swept through me. I stared him right in the eye and 
said, with a bucketful of contempt and loathing: "I know *exactly* 
who *you* are." (I'm glad now that I didn't have a gun.) And he 
blinked at me and left!

So, I don't know how good you are at rage, but in this case I 
recommend it. These guys are nothing to do with dementors. (Happy 
thoughts are not what got me through having to deal with mine, 
anyway.) It seems to me (and I have read and heard) that the whole 
curdled-affection/obsession thing with stalkers is that they feed on 
*fear*. Focus on what a scum this person is (not on your shared 
past). Get mad. Focus, girl. Outwardly. Work at it. Get a mental 
baseball bat. And use it. (Do NOT be depressed over this; depression 
is anger/inward.) *You* didn't do anything wrong! He is not some 
gliding beastie in a black cloak with any paranormal powers; he's 
just a sick, nasty thug. Do not let *him* wield power over *you*. 
Turn the tables. Get a little crazy yourself. Scare *him*. If your 
demeanor until now has been mild, so much the better. Make him 
wonder. Glare. Shoot fire from your eyes. Curl your lip. Snort. Make 
much ado of snipping up something with a large pair of scissors. Look 
avidly back and forth from his head to the heaviest, most damaging 
book in the library, which you just happen to have at your elbow.

Just some friendly suggestions.

Sandy

P.S. After that, I didn't hear from him again until many years later 
when he called wanting to know what went wrong (!) between us. I 
treated him politely but left no doubt that it was ancient history to 
me and devoid of any emotional content (I should have gotten an 
award) whatsoever. I did, as I knew he was calling from outside the 
continental U.S. (overseas operator), scrape up the courage to ask 
him, "Those things you did, you know, they were not, ah, nice...why'd 
you do them, anyway?" His answer: "Uh, I guess I was mad." (Funny how 
we both thought that was the word for it.) And that was the last of 
it.

P.S.S. Remind me to tell y'all sometime what happened the one time 
(that I know of) I got anywhere close to being raped. D*mn, having a 
berserker mode can come in handy.