Having one, or more, stalkers is usually entertainment. Flattering, really. But this time I'd had enough.
Several of my ex's have had a hard time letting me go in the past, and can become borderline psycho stalkers. But even then, I've dealt with it myself. I'm European, I was taught to deal with things mysef - in the streets, not in court. When I want to I can be quite intimidating with my threats (which they never know, are empty).
This time hasn't been the least bit funny. It started with 'love letters', in the cut-and-paste kidnapper style. I had no clue who the sender was, but instead of the "how exciting"-feeling I was creeped out. Someone was watching me! He knew my daily routines (that I wasn't even aware of myself!), my favorite drinks (in the right order!), which wineyards I order from and even my preferences in bed! These are all things hubby doesn't know, and not even my doorman (whom I always drunken open up to when I come stumbling in at night).
I begun to feel paranoid, looking around my shoulder wherever I went. When I was walking Otto in Central Park I wanted to swirl around screaming "what are you waiting for, huh?" like in one of those crap college movies I saw once. "Confront me, you wuss"!
It went on to anonymous phone calls to my cell, followed by flowers being delivered (with the actual flower cut off!) and climaxed with a really freakish polaroid picture (polaroid is so 80's it's scary in itself). The picture was of a naked lower body with a full hard-on and my name written in what looked like ketchup on the lower stomach.
I'd had it - for real. Plus, I recognized the penis (which is quite amazing considering I normally can't even tell the difference between a circumsized or non-circumsized one).
It was an ex's. Rick from Brussels. I felt relieved - he's harmless.
Hadn't seen him for 3 years, and this pic was not the nicest way to rekindle. The photo had been postmarked NY, so he was obviously in town. The next time I got an anonymous call I picked up straight away and yelled.
"Rick, I know it's you and that you're in the city, what the hell are you doing?!"
"Uh.. how did you know it was me?"
I told him to meet me at Starbucks. He came in with a huge boquet of red roses, the color matching his face, and whispered "sorry". He told me how he'd just moved to Nyc, couldn't forget about me and managed to track me down, but then had no idea how to approach me (uh, psycho?)
Pathetic. A hot, succesful EU-lawyer that stalks old girlfriends.
"Sweetie, forget about me and move on. Sign up on match.com and date around, the girls in this city are such sluts you'll have no problem".
His patheticness went on.
"I just feel kinda lonely here and need a friend...."
Ugh. I have my hands full as it is.
"Listen, if you want someone to talk to about your problems, you have to pay".
I handed him my shrink's number. I felt like a true heroine.
"One problem solved! And oh, before you start dating, you should really do something about your left ball".