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This is a question Stalked

Have you been stalked? Or have you done the stalking? Is that you in the bushes outside with the nightvision goggles?

(, Thu 31 Jan 2008, 15:40)
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Desperation is a terrible thing
Righto, so, let's get this over with.


I had just broken up with my girlfriend of 2 and a half years. It was a relationship I was ultimately glad to get out of, but at the time I was left me emotionally vunerable (my depression and bulimia didn't help), lonely, and desperate. As you can imagine, my standards had been lowered. I would have humped a dead horse if it meant one night less alone. So, when a pervious aquaintance from school walked into my work, I actually acknowledged her existance, as opposed to my pretend-not-to-remember-them act I usually use on people I knew in school. We had a short chat, she paid for her goods, and left.

I come in the next day to find that she had returned later in the day, after I had finished my shift, and left her number with one of the other staff. Brill, thinks I, but as not to seem too desperate, I decide to leave it a few days before I text/call her.

Fortunately (or so I thought at the time), I didn't need to worry about not seeming too desperate - she returned that second day day (once more missing me by minutes), and leaves her number again, worried she might have gotten it wrong the first time around, because I had failed to text her. Faint warning bells should have sounded when she returned a 3rd time after that, again to make sure she had left her number correctly, as I still hadn't texted her.

They did not sound, however. Not even the slightest tinkling - like I said, I was far too desperate. I eventually texted her on the 3rd day. We meet up in a pub, both accompanied by mutual friends. After a couple of hours, and a few too many drinks on my part, she frankly asks, "So, want to be my boyfriend then?". Me, being slightly drunk, say, "sure, why not?", and she proceeds to "kiss" me with cigarette-tainted breathe, slimey tongue, and slightly black front teeth. And they say romance is dead.

At the end of the evening - bordering on leglessness - I offer to walk her home. "It's not that far!", says she. It takes 3 hours. But what was more worrying was the conversation we had along the way. It started off innocent enough. So what have you been doing? Do you still live at home? Stil see many people from school? Etc, etc, etc. She reveals she works at a nursery, which allows her to bring up the subject of how much she loves her kids, what she'd want to call her own kids, and whether I wanted to have kids in the future, and whether I wanted to have them with her... Being the drunken fool I am, I just agreed and nodded and smiled. My mind was more preoccupied with getting some, and if I had to pander to this girl's want of commitment, so be it.

So we get to her's, engage in some fumbling, only for her parents to start moving around upstairs (she had jumped me on the living room sofa), and for me to skeedaddle as quickly as my bony legs could carry me. Thank God, too - let's just say this girl was a tad... inept.

Did I also mention she had been in a fire as a child? Hence the damaged teeth, and the slight scarring. It was slightly off-putting, let's say. Didn't exactly help mini-matoosh come out of hiding and stand to attention. Furthermore, could this traumatic experience of her's account for what happened in the following fortnight? Some sort of left over emotional scar? Some deep mental damage left untreated?... No. She had no excuses. She was, simply, batshit insane.

Over the following week she'd be at my house after she finished work. Every day. "I have stuff to do, I'm sorry, can I see you tomorrow?" I'd plead. "I'll just stay for a cup of tea and then be off!", she'd reply, and I'd take her at the value of her word. This 'cup of tea' would usually end up lasting for 3 or 4 hours, with her throwing a tantrum and crying when I finally asked her to leave. Sometimes she'd persuade (see: guilt) me into accompanying her home (a 2-hour-round bus trip). Matters were made worse by this girls borderline nymphomania. She was constantly in need of sex, which, usually, would be a man's dream. But no. In this case it wasn't. As I stated, she was... "inept". Untalented. Rubbish. Furthermore, in order to be "prepared" for the act, she would demand about 10-15 minutes of tongue-time from me. She had hygiene issues. I reguarly felt like vomiting. I few times I almost did. But being the depressive, low-self-esteem, pushover I am, I put up with this.

Yet, 7 days later, even I, an incredibly submissive, non-complaining type, willing to put up with all sorts of shite, snapped.
"This isn't working out," said I, "I'm sorry. It's not you - it's me. I'm too ill at the minute to be with any one. My depression simply won't allow it."
Obviously I padded it out a little more than this, but you get the jist. I did it with as much sympathy and sensitivity as I could. I hugged her, held her hands, etc, while telling her, effectively, that it was over. And what did she do? She climbed out of my window and onto the roof of my house, threatening to jump. She said she loved me, more than any one she had ever loved in her entire life. She could not live without me.

Oh christ, what have I got myself into, think I?

I eventually coax her back in, mainly by agreeing that I'll give it a week's thought. And, I genuinely did, weighing up all the pros and cons. She really did not help her case, however. 20+ missed calls, multiple texts, coming over after work, and continually knocking on the door even when I pretended not to be in, staying way passed her welcome if I ever did let her in, giving me presents (a belt, Beatles album, a disney stuffed toy (I fucking hate disney, ffs)), etc, etc, etc. Thus, on a Friday, I once more tell her, "I'm sorry, I'm sticking with my decision." She proceeds to throw a tantrum, bangs her head on the floor for half-an-hour. I eventually have to escape, and have my Mum - being a caring female person - go up and talk to her. After another hour or so, she's calmed down, and gets her parents to pick her up.

The next day, Saturday, she miss-calls me dozens of times. Leaves messages. Insists she has stuff she left at mine to pick up. I eventually reply, telling her that she's scaring me. She continues. I again eventually reply, telling her to have no more contact with me - by this point I was shaking violently, sitting in a cupboard. Yet, shockingly (or not-very-shockingly, given what we've established so far) she still comes over. She knocks on the door for an hour, until I eventually open it. She asks to come in, I refuse, and just shove the items she left at my house into her hands, and slam the door. After another five minutes of knocking, her parents call her back into the car, and she leaves. The rest of the day is spent ignoring my phone, ignoring the further dozens of texts and calls. She tries knocking again in the evening, I ignore it, she eventually leaves.

Is it over, I think? Is it.. finally over? Silly, silly me.

The next day, Sunday, 11am. I'm asleep in my room, having come down with a terrible cold, probably due to stress. Depression acting up. Can't keep my food down. She knocks on the door, my mum answers and, being aware of the situation, politely talks to her, telling her that I'm too ill to see her any more, and that it would be best for all party's concerned if she just left me be for a few weeks, and then maybe me and her could reestablish contact on a friends-only-level. She agrees and leaves.

Or at least that's what my Mum thinks.

The girl must have been waiting around the corner, for, 2 hours later, my mum leaves the house, off to do some shopping. Within minutes, the girl is back at the door, hammering away. I was not aware of her earlier visit, and so go to open it. I see her through the frosted glass. I scream, fall back, get up, and stumble into the dining room, out of sight. The girl proceeds to knock, unstopping, for an hour. I think I'm going mad. My lodger at the time eventually comes downstairs and asks wtf is going on. I explain. Me and her discuss various plans, but a further half-hour later I decide the only possible action is to answer the door and tell her to, simply, fuck off out of my life.

So, I go to the door. I open it a crack. Fast as lightning, she has her foot in the door, so I can't close it. She begs to come in, begs for me to reconsider, to take her back. Please, she begs, please. I refuse, I use all my strength to stop her pushing open the door. But her foot won't move! I can't close the effing door!
"PLEASE, LET ME IN" she wails. An idea occurs. "Okay," says I, "I'll let you in, but the chain is on, I can't get it off if you don't move your foot."
"Oh.." she sounds confused, as she can't see a chain on, but would the love of her life really lie to her? No, she thinks, he wouldn't. So she takes her foot away. Problem is, she's still too close to the door.
"Take a step back," says I, and she does. Still too close.
"And another," and she does. Suddenly it dawns on her.
"You're not going to close the door on me? Are you? ARE YOU? DON'T CLO-" and I slam it, hard, just as she attempts to barrell it open. She's struck in the face. The knocking begins again. Another half-an-hour of knocking. She screams through the letter box. She wails. Cries. Screams more. Beats on the door. Tries to break the glass. I sit in the dining room, shaking.

Eventually mum returns, finds this wreck at the door. Talks to her calmly, like a wild animal - I hear it all. After 5 minutes my mum comes in, using her key, and explains she's taken the monster to the bus stop. I breathe a sigh of a relief, Thank God for th-.. *knock*. No! Wait. She's back. Sod. I hide in the cupboard, shaking so violently I can barely stand. My mum goes to the door, and in no uncertain terms threatens her with police intervention. This seems to work, as if she has a criminal record, she'd be fired from her current job.

And she leaves. Finally.

And that was almost the end of it. Had a few texts from her over the next few weeks. All I ignored, and they petered out. I haven't heard from her in about half a year - although she still asks about me. A friend of mine who attended the same school was unfortunate enough to bump into her in a local pub.
"How's Matoosh?" she asked, "where's he working now? Has he got a different mobile number? Do you have it?" My friend, to his credit, downed his pint, made his excuses, and left.

Despite the good many months I've had to recover, I still shake. I still shake when I hear someone knock on the door. Especially if it's the girl's signature 3 successive knocks.

We have a real chain on the door now. It's locked every night.


Length? It shrivels at the thought.

Edit: And, just to reiterate one point from the story: this girl works with CHILDREN. She has a collection of picutres of all of them, on her mobile, printed out to keep in her wallet, on the walls of her room... I fear for their futures.
(, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 18:49, 12 replies)
Bloody hell!
You should have phoned the police - she shouldn't be working with children she's unstable and needs professional help.

I'm not surprised you're scared every time someone knocks on the door. Bloody hell.
(, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 19:04, closed)
And terrifying.
(, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 19:12, closed)
Oh. My. God.

You have my sympathy..... Noone needs or deserves that....
(, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 20:47, closed)
Note to self, I am never having kids, ever. If that kind of looney can get into childcare then damn... there is no hope.

And bulimia?... I know how much that sucks like hell. A total relationship ruiner. I hope you are okay now.
(, Wed 6 Feb 2008, 20:48, closed)
This sounds terrifying...
I hope you're ok now...
(, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 0:53, closed)
My goodness...
That truely reads like a hellish situation... especially if you were a tad turnippy... hope you manage to get your feet back on the ground our son... mums are ace in these situations!
(, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 2:21, closed)
This is terrifying...
Especially as she works with children. You really have to report her for this, as the kids are seriously at risk from this fruitcake. If you fear for the kids (as you say you do at the end), then please do something about it.
(, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 7:04, closed)

Call me an suspicious-faced old bastard and beat me soundly with a rusty shovel if I'm wrong, but this is the second (that I've noticed) beautifully crafted, sympathy-generating post this week from a 'newbie' [see Talkbackstuck's post]. As I say, it may just be me, but do I detect a hint of rat in the air?

Fair cop or bad cop?
(, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 9:19, closed)
I feel bad...
...for clicking 'I Like This', but I felt the need to offer some sympathy.

she sounds like a loony bint.
(, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 10:45, closed)
@ che
I'd say it's just fairly likely that a couple of lurkers with traumatic stories read the theme and felt the call to share.

I would.

For Matoosh: I hope you're on the up now, though that sort of thing really isn't going to help. May I recommend some counselling
(, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 11:27, closed)
You hid in a cupboard? It sounds like you need to grow some balls.
(, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 12:45, closed)
I'd tell her employers if I were you...
(, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 13:02, closed)

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