Freaked out by spotting my blog stalker on the street just now

NOTE 9-15-14: This was posted because I wanted my stalkers’ antics to be on the public record.  I didn’t care that my stalkers would see it, that they did in fact read it.  What I cared about was that the rest of the world could know what these people were doing.

A little over an hour ago, around 1pm, I left my house for an errand which I won’t describe, for safety purposes.  As I walked up to an intersection, I saw a familiar-looking van with at least one familiar-looking child in it.

As they pulled up to the stop sign, I was close enough to see the oldest girl (the one who, according to the information in the newspaper report, was choked).  I recognized her; our eyes met.

Even though I was bundled up against the cold, I’m almost certain she recognized me, because she started twisting in her seat and crying out, the way she does when she sees Hubby or me.  I suppose I should have waved at her, but I was too stunned to think of it.

In any case, I’m quite sure the driver knew it was me, because of the little girl telling him/her.  And well, one of them will be reading this post, almost for sure, so they’ll confirm it.

I couldn’t tell for sure if it was Richard or Tracy in the driver’s seat, but thought it was Richard.  They drove off, turning down the street I was walking down.

I now knew for sure it was them because of the back/license plate.  Oh, look, now there are even more bumper stickers on the back.

So just think: If I’d left off putting down salt on the walkway before leaving home, I would’ve left the house a few seconds earlier, and made it to the intersection right as Richard drove up.

I would’ve had to watch to make sure he was waiting for me to cross….Then again, because I had to cross the street twice, since the sidewalk ends on that side of the street, and he was turning that way.

He would have seen me, for sure.  It would have been…..awkward, to say the least.

I was shaken up all during the following hour as I did my errand.

But hey, it happens on occasion.  It’s weird that it happens so often, because we’re not some dinky little town, we have some 50,000 people, they live a couple of miles away, those kids go to a different school, and there’s a more direct route from their house to the street we were heading to.

No, I do not go out at the same time every day.  But I could swear it’s been happening more often since they found my blog.

But what really creeped me out was about an hour or so later, on my way home, they passed me AGAIN. 

There’s the back of the van with the political bumper stickers.

This was a different path than they took before, and leads right past my house.


Probably just coincidence, but the timing was perfect–twice in the same day, just an hour apart.  I had to blog about it to get out the shakes and nerves.

This time I made a little wave–half-sarcastically, half-for the little girl if she saw me.  And half to let him know that yes, I know it’s you, and yes, it’s me.  Yes, I will be blogging about it.

There is a gesture I really wanted to make instead, but I’m too much of a lady for that.  And you can’t see it through a mitten.

Update 1:38am, 1/26: Blogging did help quite a bit.  I began to calm down shortly afterwards.  There’s just something so therapeutic about writing…..

I believe blogging and other means by which ordinary people get to speak their mind are in the process of revolutionizing our culture similarly to the way the printing press led to a change in medieval society. —Debra Baker in a comment to a post on The Wartburg Watch

Blogs help people realize they aren’t the only one who feel this way. We can support one another.

And that is what I see as the real Body of Christ, yes even on blogs, even when we have not met in person or only know each other by a pseudonym.

Blogs are a powerful vehicle for processing abuse.Julie Anne Smith in a comment to the same post

Update 8:40pm: As my old friend Shawn used to say, it’s not paranoia when they really are out to get you.

And these two have threatened me, as I documented here, and they still watch my blog constantly; I have detailed records proving it.

Even my mother told me, when this first started last spring, to keep an eye out for them while walking, to protect myself.  (Hypervigilance or hyperarousal is also a symptom of PTSD.)

I am also well aware of their vindictive nature, having witnessed Tracy’s revenge on Todd, and Tracy’s snarky and smearing revenge on me for telling my husband how she was abusing Richard, me and the children.

Having witnessed Richard’s revenge on Todd, and Richard actually calling me up one day in mid-2009 and telling me he was going to assault their apartment manager while she was in her office, for evicting them, do it so she’d never see who it was, “And I’ll make it look like I was never there.”

I got the impression that his past as a Mafia thug, which he had just described to me the day before, gave him the ability to do such a thing.  I got the impression that he would kill her.  Only his wife could finally talk him out of it.

Richard once physically threatened my husband for confronting Richard about his behavior toward me (e-mail documented here).

These are people who, after I made it very clear they were to stay away from me and not contact me, contacted me with still more of the sewer sludge that caused us to sever relations with them in the first place, because we don’t want to hear it anymore–and they added threats.

These are people who were well aware of how shaken and upset I felt whenever I saw them (having read it in my blogs), and that I did not want to see them anymore, and deliberately came to my church on purpose to upset me and force me to see them.

These are people who knew I blocked their static IP computer from my blog and website, so began using their dynamic IP cell phone to access them.

These are people who read my posts about fear and dread of seeing abusers again, who know I wish they would move away, and made snarks about that in the e-mail I documented here.

So even if the oddly increased number of times their vehicle happens to go by at just the right moment to pass me, is just coincidence–

–Their established behavior and boundary violations make it necessary to keep an eye out–and to document it all here on the Net, just in case.

Healing is work, the hardest you’ll ever do. It is not something that happens spontaneously as in the case of a scrape or bruise. It requires a great deal of conscious effort, research and help.

It is easy to become trapped in an identity of being his ex. It is HIS trap and his way of remaining in contact with you.

Imagine that your ex-pathological has implanted a device in your soul that feeds on your pain and fears. In essence that’s what they do. It’s a way of staying connected with you even if you never see or hear from him again.

The good news is that the device does have limitations and a life span. It malfunctions and becomes weaker every time we recognize that our pain and fear are his pleasure and reject them whole cloth.

I still trigger on occasion. Perhaps it’s a song on the radio, a smell, or something I see that reminds me of him.

The difference is that now, after a great deal of hard work, I am able to recognize triggers for what they are, thereby disabling them from feeding what’s left of my own implant.

In fact, I have developed the ability to recognize it almost immediately and have caught myself laughing out loud while thinking, “Oh, there you are again! I know what you are!”

Breaking contact with your ex-pathological means disabling his device. It’s an experience I hope all of you come to know.

I don’t think we ever totally get past what has happened to us, but I do believe we get to a place that our experiences take on a different light. One that feels more like a bad dream that has stuck with us for a long time. Who was that woman? Was she me? I believe that the woman I was with him was not me. Resurfacing is the final step toward living well. –Laura Kamienski, Resurfacing Hope

Grieving the loss of a relationship with a N has many layers. They are not the usual layers of grieving a healthy person.

The problem is that some of the layers ARE the same as grieving a healthy person but then there are layers reserved only for the loss of a N relationship, which are not understood by the ‘civilian’ population and can ONLY be understood by those who have survived a significant relationship with a N…. –Grieving the Narcissist, full post here in the left margin

At first I wasn’t sure what was wrong with me. I was out of the horror that was the relationship and though he left me almost emotionally and monetarily bankrupt I was free of the lies, accusations, insults and comments. So why every night did I relive it all in my mind? Over and over again.

Then there was going to places we had been. I had chosen to move closer to my exN because I needed to move to a cheaper place but I also wanted to help out my partner as he kept complaining about how much the petrol cost to come see me as I did not have a car. The cost to come to him by train wasn’t cheap either but I never complained.

I moved to the same town he lived in and for the almost 2 years we were together we spent a lot of time there. After he [devalued and discarded] me I found it hard to walk into town.

I would get nauseous and shake. I was constantly looking around thinking he would be there and I would have to see him. Once I was actually physically ill.  —Jewish Warrior Princess, PTSD

[UPDATE 8/17/13:] There has been no sign of them anywhere since they saw this post on January 29.  Before and after they found my blog, I would see them once in a while, on the street, at Greek Fest, or at church.  My husband would see them at the store.  Sometimes I saw their pictures in the newspaper, online or print.

After they found my blog, I could swear I was seeing them around more often: Last August, for example, they came to my church, then afterwards I saw them pass our car as we waited to leave a fast-food restaurant driveway.  Then another time that summer or fall, Tracy drove past me as I biked to an errand.

But since they saw this post, I haven’t seen them AT ALL.  Not at church.  Not at Greek Fest.  Not even my husband has seen them at the store.  I haven’t even seen them on the street!  Heck, I haven’t even seen pictures of them in the newspaper.

I know they’re still in town because I see them in my stats once in a while.  Did they get a new vehicle/license plate?  Or could they be doing this deliberately so as not to scare me anymore?

Or could it be related to a post (now removed) which they read on January 30, in which I posted part of an e-mail conversation which proved that either Richard and/or Tracy had lied to me about our sticking point, and falsely accused me?


Shawn Calls; Living with Friends in Krueger; Funny Library Stories–College Memoirs: Life at Roanoke–September 1993, Part 2

Living with Friends in Krueger

Krueger was much different from the suites: The laundry room was in the basement and full of machines.  The machines were now computerized, so you could run them for only as long as you needed to and no longer.  The dryers and washing machines all cost 75 cents now.

I didn’t have to go outside in all kinds of weather to do laundry.  I could put my bike in the laundry room, as other people did, though I never actually used it (I told people it was a bad winter).

There was a small, closet-like kitchen, and vending machines in the lounge with chips, candy and pop.  Though the rooms seemed more soundproof, late at night I often heard squeaking beds, despite trying to drown them out with the fan.  The dorm could get noisy at times, especially when the Pi-Kapp next door turned up sexy rap songs which I hated.

First floor Krueger had few residents, since the lounge divided it up.  Big doors separated the lounge from the two bedroom wings.

The only people living on the right side (when you face the wall opposite the outside doors) were the Hall Directors, a young couple.  I believe they lived in a suite of rooms, made up of at least two regular bedrooms.  Opposite their door was the R.A. office.

On the left side were about six rooms.  Clarissa and I were in one room, an obnoxious Pi-Kapp and her sweet roommate (who had a sex light over her bed) lived in the room to our left, and Rachel lived in the R.A. room on the opposite wall, next to the kitchen.

The Pi-Kapp’s room was closest to the left corner; Cindy had the room adjacent to theirs for a little while, before she moved in with Catherine; Carol and our Bulgarian friend lived to our right, and Catherine’s room was to their right.

Most of us had dry erase message boards attached to the doors.  Clarissa got us a big, white one.  We felt fashionable.

I apparently told Catherine about the “Happiness Patrol” episode of Doctor Who, a corny thing with one good part: Whenever anyone said, “I’m glad,” another said, “I’m happy you’re glad.”  The first said, “I’m glad you’re happy.”  Or if someone said, “I’m happy,” the second said, “I’m glad you’re happy,” and the first said, “I’m happy you’re glad.”

So Catherine and I began an amusing war on my message board: One of us would write, “I’m glad” or “I’m happy,” and the other wrote the appropriate response.  Only ours extended to, “I’m glad you’re happy I’m glad” or “I’m happy you’re glad I’m happy you’re glad I’m happy you’re glad.”  Sometimes this took up the entire board before we finished.

Another great thing about that corny episode: the premise that it’s okay to be sad sometimes.  Sometimes I feel like I’m being judged by the Happiness Patrol.

Krueger lounge was big, with a piano, lots of waiting-room type couches, and a TV.  You’d go down steps to the front door.  Visitors had to use a phone on the outside wall to call up residents of the hall to let them in, since the doors were always locked now.

The side doors were double-locked at night so even the residents couldn’t use them.  If you tried, an alarm sounded.  Not only was there the S– rapist a few months before, but someone let a scary man into Krueger who caused what the R.A.’s only called “an incident.”  (They refused to go into more detail.)

After they started locking the front door at all times, it was common for residents to let in whoever was going in the dorm behind them.  But now, they were forbidden to do this.  Each resident had to let herself in; all non-residents had to call a resident to let them in.  It’s just like the safety rules at an enclosed ATM.

I don’t remember if we had a “loud floor” that year.  I do know it wasn’t mine.

Astrid lived in a room on the third, top floor–and Krueger had no elevators.  Astrid was Clarissa’s friend; they met sophomore year, Clarissa told her about InterVarsity, and she started coming.  She eventually became part of the Group.

Over the summer, somebody donated money to build improvements on Jubilee Hall, and the name was changed to William A. Krueger Hall.  So we had two Krueger Halls!

We had to say “KREE-ger” for the new Krueger and “KROO-ger” for the old–but usually, we rebelled and continued calling Jubilee “Jubilee.”

In the directory, Jubilee was referred to as WAK, or William A. Krueger Hall.  I found this funny because “wak” was rap slang for (I think) “bad,” and because it sounded like “whack!”

When my schedule allowed me to sleep late in the morning, which was often, I stayed up late at night (usually till about one or two a.m.), reading and writing stories and writing papers on my word processor.

I played MTV softly, when they showed the best videos.  (My roommate was deaf.)  They played rock, maybe some rap, alternative, metal, and pop music, a wonderful mix that appealed to my need for variety.

I turned off all the lights except the one beside the bed, so Clarissa could sleep, the two lights giving everything a dreamlike quality.  I loved this time best of all the day.

I still loved dance and pop songs.  Alternative and hard rock/metal provided wonderful music during this time, such as White Zombie’s debut “Thunder Kiss ’65,” Tool’s “Sober,” Boingo’s “Insanity,” Nirvana’s “Heart-Shaped Box,” Ocean Blue’s “Sublime.”

The songs “Today” by Smashing Pumpkins and a remake of “I Can See Clearly Now” by Jimmy Cliff were my anthems for the year, because they were about happiness: “Today is the greatest day I have ever known.”  “I can see clearly now; the rain is gone.”  

Peter and Shawn had no more power over me.  I, Mom, and even Shawn noticed that I got happy as soon as they both left Roanoke.

Now the Phi-Delts had their own suite to live in.  The frats had both living suites and meeting suites now, but the sororities still had to meet in the Krueger basement.

But it was about time that at least some of the inequity was mended.  People had wondered if it was a sexist thing, giving the fraternities suites to meet in and no suites at all to the sororities.

Pearl recorded an outgoing message on her answering machine in which she said she wasn’t there and as for Sharon–“Sharon?  Shaaa-ron!” she called.  Then she said Sharon wasn’t there, either.  We would call her room just to hear the latest answering machine messages.

The Phi-Delt suite was in Hofer and right under the Sigma meeting suite.  During pledging, especially during Hell Week, we could sit in Pearl and Sharon’s room and hear the whack! whack! of big, long Sigma paddles being used on pledges.  They weren’t really supposed to paddle pledges–it was against anti-hazing rules or laws–but they did, anyway.

From my room, I could now see what the suites looked like from Krueger.  I saw the back of Hofer and part of the front of Friedli.  I believe I could see my suite from sophomore year.

I saw what the frats did to their back doors: painted them with the Greek letters of each frat.  The Zeta door, for example, was black and painted with ZX.  I could also see trees beyond the tennis courts, and I might have seen some of the houses on Prof Row.

Funny Library Stories

My library job had the occasional perk.  For one, Wesley would bring in his Expos class to do the Library Skills Workbook.

He was no longer my teacher, and would have been fair game, except–he was married now.  Sigh.  I’m not sure when he started dating his wife, but it must have been very recent, and a whirlwind courtship.

Another perk was, cute guys kept coming in to the library.  One, a freshman, came in to get the Appleworks start-up disc for the library computers.  Then he later dropped off the disc and started to go out the exit gate, but the alarm went off and locked the gate (a bar that would drop).

Flora came over (as did several others, including James).  She said, “Do you have a Mead Library book?”  (That was the S– library.)

“No,” he said.

“Do you have one of our books?”

“I don’t think so.”

He looked through his bag, and a guy checking out some books said, “Strip-search him.”

I said maybe it was the disc.  Flora said he must have put it too close to the scanner, and let him go.  It was so funny.  We weren’t allowed to accuse anyone of stealing books, which was just as well because we were more likely to laugh instead.

The alarm would go off if someone took one of our books without checking it out, but unfortunately, Mead books also set off our alarm.  A sign taped to the desk  said to show us your Mead library books so you won’t get embarrassed.

People did this, or pushed their bags across the desk to avoid the sensor if they had Mead books.  The Appleworks start-up floppy discs were given out by workers at the desk so we’d know where they were.

Shawn Calls

On Thursday the 9th, Clarissa and I hung out in Cindy’s room with her, her roommate Tamara, and Pearl.  The phone rang.  Cindy answered.

It was Shawn.

She didn’t recognize him at first because he sounded nothing like himself: low, soft, on the verge of crying.  Usually he could get so hyper you’d want to shoot him.

He got her number from the switchboard.  He’d called Pearl during the summer, but only twice, and only to ask if she wanted to take him to Great America.  She happened to be planning to go with the Phi-Delts, but they all backed out, and even Shawn didn’t go.  That was odd timing, as was his call on Thursday with us all there.

He had a bad summer, with everything happening at once: his brother died of cystic fibrosis, and a whole bunch of other things which I won’t describe, happened–and he hadn’t been talking.

Normally, you could not shut him up.  Even Cindy, though she tried, could not get him to talk enough.

He was on the edge of another nervous breakdown.  I was very worried about him, but also angry with him for how he left things between us.

Cindy told him we were in the room, so he knew I was there.  Pearl and Felicia eventually left.  Later on, when it sounded like Cindy and Shawn were about to hang up, I had her ask if he had my number.

“He wants to know if you want to give it to him yourself, or if you want me to do it,” Cindy said.

I was nervous and uncertain what to do, but said, “You do it.”

“Did you want him to call you?”

“Not tonight; maybe tomorrow night.”

Cindy said to Shawn, “You don’t have to do it.”

I said, “I hope he does,” and she told him.

They hung up.  “It seemed like he might call you, though I’m not sure,” Cindy said.

“If he calls you again, could you tell him I don’t want to go out with him, so he shouldn’t worry?”

“Okay.  Don’t take it personally if he doesn’t call you.”

“How can I not, if he calls everybody else but me?”

He told her he might come visit some time.  I hoped so, since I didn’t have a picture of him–and as I wrote in my diary, “because I see him everywhere!”

Cast of Characters (Work in Progress)

Table of Contents

Freshman Year

September 1991:

 October 1991:

November 1991:

December 1991: Ride the Greyhound

January 1992: Dealing with a Breakup with Probable NVLD

 February 1992:

March 1992: Shawn: Just Friends or Dating?

April 1992: Pledging, Prayer Group–and Peter’s Smear Campaign

May 1992:

Sophomore Year 

Summer 1992:

September 1992:

October 1992–Shawn’s Exasperating Ambivalence:

November 1992:

December 1992:

January 1993:

February 1993:

March 1993:

April 1993:

May 1993:

Summer 1993: Music, Storm and Prophetic Dreams

September 1993:

October 1993:

November 1993:

December 1993:

January 1994:

February 1994:

March 1994:

April 1994:

Senior Year 

June 1994–Bits of Abuse Here and There:

July & August 1994:

January 1995:

February 1995:

March 1995:

April 1995:

May 1995:


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