My Next-Door Stalker

You know how it is - you are happily headed for your lunch, and then you find out that your ex (the one who was convicted of assaulting you and then sent to prison for breaking the restraining order) is moving in two doors down. Around a corner. So he can look into your garden out of the bedroom windows.

But let me take you back to how this all unfolded. Those of you who are in the dark about Steve could read What It's Like To Be A Punchbag. It doesn't quite capture the horror, but it's enough to understand why yesterday was a bit of a freaky one for me.

I woke up yesterday morning to two texts from a number I didn't know:

Hi Karen has Parker been in touch lately

Sorry to ask 

They were both sent at gone 1am, so I assumed it was one of his druggy mates trying to get in touch. I sent back:

Hi, no, last I heard he was with a lass called S [name redacted], and was living at [the last address I had], but that was over a year ago

I then pootled off to work, and forgot all about it.

As I was going to lunch, one of my colleagues said she had heard my phone making noises - on checking it I found I had another two messages.

I am S

Yikes!!

I live round the corner from you no [number redacted] yes Wer still on n of 

SHIT THE BED :-O

I think I forgot to breathe for a bit. In a state of Pure Numb, I texted back:

Oh, sorry, didn't recognise the number. Well, u probs know all he is like by now. Kinda freaks me out the thought he could be so close :-O But hopefully you settling in 2 ur new home

What the fut was I thinking??!! 'Hope you settle into your new home'??? NO!!! Why, even in extremis, is my default mode polite???

Meanwhile, our texts crossed so I got these:

Sorry for txtin u just needed to no only bein a door away from u n to warn u

Ye gettin there he doesn't live with me only comes wk end have u 2 dogs

It may not even be true about him only being there at the weekend, because she probably doesn't trust that I wouldn't report her to the DSS. I wouldn't. It's not her I have a problem with. Anyway, I was still channelling Michael Palin, if he was demented and had no sense of self-preservation, and sent:

Thanx 4 the warning :-) No that's [my next door neighbour]. I am [my house number]

S then sent her final two texts:

I'm on the corner Wer the big tree used to b

He's still injecting heroin did he wen u was with him

I replied:

Yes, even when I didn't know. 

I sat down for a second, and realised I was shaking, properly shaking and I couldn't stop. I was scared out of my wits. The restraining order ran out in February 2013, I felt like I had no protection. I ran downstairs to the office and fell to pieces all over the lassie who was behind the desk. It only lasted 20 minutes though, I was back to work at the end of my break, with the help of everyone I work with. Like the Boss said, I am stronger than this, this isn't me.

Luckily I saw my Little Sister after work, and she was as adamant as everyone else that I needed to tell the Police even though nothing had happened - and I agreed for once. When I got home, I phoned 101, and the woman I spoke to was really sympathetic, took all the details, advising me to report anything, even something as little as a dirty look from him, if it makes me or my Son uncomfortable. That way if there's a record of harrassment I can get another court order without delay. I felt better.

I went outside and saw how the second I step out of my patio doors, he can see me. I felt worse.

Came back inside and facebook pmed my closest friends. Felt better.

Had a panic attack. Felt worse.

Binge-watched Matthew MacFadyen in 'Spooks'. Felt bloody shedloads better. In fact, I could do with a bit of cheering up right now:

Vented on the facebook support group I admin - felt a lot back to normal. And then a friend shared this post by Marianne Williamson - and finally I was back to me and back in my power.

Fear is the thinking that dominates the world, but love is who we really are. Grounding ourselves each day in a deep remembrance of who we really are, we actualize the spiritual power that lies latent within all of us.

I'd rationally been telling myself that nothing had changed that lunchtime, not really. All that had changed had been what I knew - I wasn't actually in any more danger (and possibly less through foreknowledge). All true and all very well, but in my heart, I hadn't felt it. Those texts messages had activated a conditioned reflex fear response: I'd reacted the way I always used to - he'd had the effect he always used to have. I had me temporarily reverted to 'old' me - I'd forgotten who I really am again. I am a perfect expression of one aspect of Source - I have infinite power and infinite love, and Steve is never going to be a match for the power of that love, as expressed by me.

He cannot come back into my life or into my head or heart, even if he camps on my doorstep. I am not the person I was. He is incompatible with me, our energies do not match any longer, I have no inner wounds that react to sociopathy any more. I'm too busy saving myself to be bothered about saving anyone else.

I went to bed and slept really well. I woke about 4.30 from a dream where Steve was pretending to love me and I was watching, studying, feeling both sad and repulsed. I remembered the words of the article:

As you go through the day, anywhere you might be, look at someone's face and silently say to them, "The love in me salutes the love in you." I defy you to do this for two minutes each day and not become happier. 

No one needs to be reminded today that we are in need of a counterforce to the world's despair. All the hatred and unnecessary suffering that have gripped our planet are a challenge to our species to evolve and grow—to become who we are capable of being, so we can rise up with greater power and behave with greater wisdom. When any of us does this individually, our lives transform. And when we do it collectively, our planet will transform. Love will not just heal your life or mine. Love will heal the world.

So I sent love in the direction of the house they live in, until I fell asleep again.

Today has been another blessing, another day of usefulness, fun, trying to stay me. When he did cross my mind, I was able to laugh at the situation. I have no fear, I have the love of Source, and trust in life. He gave me the greatest gift ever - he revealed the wounds that were holding me back. This is just another little bonus gift.

I strongly believe that I can keep him away through pure unadulterated love. And if not, hey, there's always the Police :-)

A Text and a Call.

I've not seen or heard of Steve since Carnival weekend, and so he hadn't been on my radar at all. Then a week last Friday night he texted at gone 2am - just 'hello u'. I am sure one of the list of exes he sent that text to will have felt compelled to reply, but that ex was not me. Since I was feverish at the time, I did waste a good few minutes composing variations of a 'fuck off' text, but then I realised that any response at all would only encourage him, and so forgot all about it.

Yesterday morning the home phone went and despite suffering from Fever II - the Virus Strikes Back, I answered it because I was expecting a call from Naughty Little Sister.

Male Voice: 'Is that Mrs Reed?'

Me: 'No, I think you've got the wrong number [Wheeze. Cough] What number did you want?'

He read out my number.

Me: 'Oh, that's my number....'

MV: 'Is that [my address]?'

Me: 'Yes....'

MV: 'Well, some time ago you spoke to someone from this company about having new fascias installed, and I'm phoning to ask a few market research questions..'

Well by this time I was properly suspicious. I haven't spoken to anyone about fascias, I close the door in their faces because I'm sick of them knocking on my door with their rip-off pretendy bargain offers for shoddy work done by scary builder-types, who block my toilet with their clay-textured poos.

Me: 'What company is this?'

MV: 'This is erm...'

SECOND MALE VOICE IN BACKGROUND: 'Ask her about [mumble mumble mumble]'.

I hung up. That second male voice was Steve, I was completely sure of it. I also realised I could hear TV in the background, not the noise of other people on phones. 1471 told me the caller withheld their number.

WTF!!!

I spent a lot of yesterday wondering what the hell was the point of it? Why the 'Mrs Reed' palaver? Why was he even bothering with me still? What could he possibly hope to gain?

This morning I woke up with an immediate knowledge of why Mrs Reed, in that way answers come when you sleep on a problem.

Just like with cold-callers at my door, I now hang up immediately on cold-callers to my home phone. As soon as, 'Can I speak to, erm, Miss Field?' is out of their mouths (or when I hear the delay of an auto-dialler), I'm off that phone. The number of cold calls had indeed increased last week. 'Mrs Reed' was a ploy to engage me in a conversation they were never going to have when asking for 'Miss Field'.

And the reason he is doing this? Who can fathom his crazy brain? It's certainly not something I have time or energy for, though at a guess he's between girlfriends again and is bored and has nothing better to do. Fortunately he's not doing anything more annoying. 

But don't you just despise a half-hearted stalker? :-D

Carnival Encounter

Saturday just gone was Carnival Day in Shifnal, and it was a brilliant day, warm and sometimes sunny, lots of floats and people dressed up, lots of live music and people happy and smiling. Even the cat weeing on the top I was intending to wear didn't dampen my enthusiasm (though it soaked the top). I didn't wear it, btw...

Off I went for a day of drinking in beer gardens, with Sue and her boyfriend and kids, and Heather, and various people we met on the way.

About 5pm, Heather and me were both hungry, and being as we are veggie and the main food on offer in the pub where we were was a hog roast, we decided to nip to the Kebab Ye for a veggieburger. But as we got in, Heather muttered, 'nothing here for us,' and pushed me out.

So we walked two frontages down to the chippie. 'They've got veggieburgers here,' I said.

'But I like the ones from the Kebab Ye,' moaned Heather.

<puzzled face> 'But you said they didn't have any!'

'That's because STEVE'S IN THERE!'

Oooooooh..... Well that explains it then. Nothing is guaranteed to put a downer on my mood like meeting the abusive stalker ex.....

We decided to go into the Co-Op opposite and wait for him to go. Five minutes of lurking and peeking later, and Heather declared the coast clear. Then as we walked across the road.....

'Yikes!' I whisper-shrieked, followed by, 'walk-on, walk-on, walk-on, he's outside, he's outside'

So we tried to unobtrusively walk away and behind the row of shops, then sneak in from behind, up an alley. Once installed, Heather sat me on a seat facing away from the window, hidden from outside by the advertising banner.

We were waiting for our burgers when a Horrifically Drunk man came in. Slurring his words, stumbling about all sweaty and offensive, and smelling like somebody had sicked in a urinal.

'Hey, love, him outside says he used to go out with you.'

Well, of course, 'him outside' was Steve.

'Nope, never seen him before in my life.'

And off stumbled Horrific Drunk.

Then back he stumbled again, this time sitting down next to a distinctly unimpressed Heather.

'He says he went out with you for five and a half years.'

'Well he's lying then.'

'Why's he lying?'

I have no idea, you'll have to take it up with him.'

At this point Steve appeared in the doorway going, 'why are you saying that Karen? Why are you saying that.'

'My name's not even Karen. I don't know you, you are a stranger.'

'Yes you do'

'No I don't. Do you know him Heather?'

She shook her head and said, 'we're trying to eat, please go away.' By this time the men behind the counter were getting involved too. 'Come on lads, move it on now.' So off they went.

As we sat eating, Heather was giving me a running commentary.

'They're still there. They're looking in, don't look!' (Not that I was likely to look AT ALL) Then, 'oh my god,  Horrific Drunk is kissing Steve - ON THE LIPS... Oh my god, he's SO gay.... Steve's really getting more than he bargained for there.... UGH!'

So of course, we then had the discussion about how I'd heard that Steve has done blow jobs for money in Telford, and how now he's back on heroin properly, without even any methadone to fall back on (unless he's sought help since I last spoke to him, which it didn't look like), there's every possibility he now sells more than blow jobs, and possibly always did.

Eventually they went away, 'in the direction of yours and my houses...' said Heather.

But no damage was done. I did feel a bit wobbly just from having that bit of interaction, but hey, that's what stalkers do and that's what dry white wine is perfect medicine for. We went on to have a brilliant night, watched Fruit Machine at the Railway, danced until I had blisters even UNDER my feet, staggered home and wasn't even too hungover the next day.

Looking back, the only thing that bothered me was WHY he still appeared in my life in the first place? I firmly believe that we get the same things happening to us until we learn, and I for sure have learned I don't want him and he is poison, and yet here he was again. It also bothered me that even KNOWING he would most likely be about, in fact having spoken about this with various people beforehand (and wanting to go to the Railway because of this - he wouldn't pay the £5 to get in), I'd then been taken completely by surprise when he did pop up.

On the good side, this time and last time we've seen him out, I've not been the one who noticed him first. I'm obviously not on the lookout for him or worrying about him, even subconsciously. But on the bad side, did him reappearing mean there's still something I haven't learned that I'm missing out on? Or, even more worryingly, could it be true that we are destined to be together? (Yes, I know, I do sometimes overthink to a ludicrous extent: 'I can't stand the bloke and he gives me the willies, but I'll always love him in a way and maybe we are meant to be together'!!!!!)

Then today, I read this on emmanueldagher.com (which is a really good website if it is the sort of thing you are into, which I am):

When this much love and light manifest all at once, it can really rock us to the core. It can feel very confusing because a lot of past emotions and challenging situations we thought we had taken care of come right back up in front of our beautiful faces seeming more present than ever. This confusion also comes up because the mind is being nudged to expand out of the limitations it had once created for itself. 

This actually happens to give us the opportunity to ‘react’ in a different way than we may have in the past. If we find ourselves still reacting in the same or a similar way as we did before, then it means there’s still quite a bit of healing for us to do especially around strengthening our letting-go muscles. 

On the other side of this downpour of energies, many of us are becoming more mindful by catching ourselves in the act as we realize that past emotions and situations coming back up are just here to show us how far we’ve already come. With this state of non-reactive mind it becomes much easier not to overreact as we once used to, because we are no longer identifying ourselves with whatever it was that caused us so much anger in the first place. 

Now I feel so much better - because I would never have reacted in that way to him before, I would have felt an obligation to treat him with the courtesy I treat everyone else. And then I would have felt bad, because he would have used anything nice I did against me, and at the very least would have tried to use it as an invitation to initiate some further interaction. As it was, he wasn't able to do that. Anything he could have said or done was deflected by the constant, 'I don't know you.'

It's not even a lie. I DO know him, as well as anyone can. But I don't know the real him, because everything about him, even the evil, is a lie. He doesn't have a genuine bone in his body. It's impossible to know him and he will now always be a stranger to me.

He remains a threat to my well-being when I see him. But he's not in my head, he's not in my thoughts, he's not in my heart. He's just in my blog.

THAT'S how far I've come.

Ghosts and Monsters

I feel weird today.

Over the last year, I've felt so much myself, so much back to normal, and here I am back in the doldrums of not knowing what to do with myself and having no motivation. Back in that place where I have to watch TV and read books and do everything I can to try not to think about him. I'd thought it was over, but it wasn't, and now it is, and I feel weird.

Not like when you break up with someone - no tears and heartbreak. More like a scabby heart that you've had a little pick at.

If I do think about it, I feel really sorry for Steve, but at the same time I know that this is exactly what he would want, it would be his hook back in. I don't know what it is about him that one incident of him being pathetic and useless and self-destructive, and I can almost forget all the trauma and the horror. At the same time, I can't recognise him as the person I spent the good times with - I can't imagine a time when I would have been in love with him. The strange, trauma-bonded, Stockholm-syndrome-type love - oh yes, I remember that all too well; but before that, the normal sort of romantic love - I know I had that once, but it was so long ago.

That photo at the top of the page - it's one of the first I have of us together because I didn't have a digital camera at the time. But it's from about two years in - I can tell from the ring he's wearing. Rings we got after he cheated the first time. And THE POSE! I probably don't need to point that out.

Writing this has helped - a lot. I've realised that when you have been owned, you don't need motivation yourself, because your motivation has been the other person and what they want for so long. You forget your own self, so it is no wonder that having that interaction with him has thrown me back there.

I remember when he had beaten me, I would want to hide because I felt like I was somehow to blame (I eknew I wasn't, rationally I know I wasn't, but emotionally that was the overpowering feeling). Oh, I'd force myself out (usually. There was one day where my son didn't go to school because I couldn't face taking him), but inside I was cringeing.

Even from only having spoken to him, I feel like that again - and this time it is true, it IS my fault, because I chose to speak to him, knowing what might happen.

The monster was only in my head. But the monster will always be in my head, ALWAYS. Seeing Steve for what he is doesn't change that monster. It's one I need to keep in its box. But first I have to put it back in.

So when I've written this, I'm drinking that last cup of tea, putting on some clothes and doing a workout. I'm getting back into a routine, I'm forgetting about a person who is beyond help of any kind, I'm forgetting about the things behind the sun, the monsters under the bed and the ghosts inhabiting my heart.

This mood is just a shadow of where I have been before. The sun is coming out.

But not today.

Playing With Fire and Not Getting Burned

I met Steve.

Yes, you read that right. I decided against all better judgment that I would see what he wanted or needed. I can't say I am any closer to knowing that now than I was beforehand. But whereas before, in my mind, he was a horrific monster of a person, someone who potentially could hurt me or damage me in some way, I now see he isn't. Hence the photo - it's from a Star Trek episode, where this is what speaks to the crew of the Enterprise - when in fact it is a puppet representing a little child-like alien who couldn't scare a mouse. Except this monster was of my own creating.

I know that there was a time when Steve was a threat to me, but not now. Now he is a sad, empty, full-blown heroin-addicted waste of a life. He ended the night throwing up in my garden because it had been so long since his last fix - and he has a stomach ulcer that is only being made worse by not eating and drinking too much, so there was blood in there again. I felt nothing but sympathy for him. And a feeling of responsibility - but that is just a feeling, and I can ignore it. I'm not responsible for him any more.

I know I was playing with fire. I know there was the potential there for him to use me, or fish me in again. But I went knowing that, and being prepared. I wasn't prepared for a life unlived, a person so messed up that they could barely string a sentence together, let alone explain why they had wanted to see me. And there was the ghost of my love there too - I could remember how it felt to love him, feel the tiny bit inside that always will love the person he pretended to be - and the bit inside that still loves this pathetic thing he has become, because it triggers all the protective impulses, all the destructive coping strategies I've developed in my life to keep the self-hatred at bay. But it is fine to feel those things, and recognise them, and not act on them. It is fine to turn my back and walk away.

He is who he is, and he will never change. At one point he was trying to tell me how I was, 'The One' and how he wasn't in touch with any other women, and he handed me his phone to prove it. He thought I'd look at the messages or call-list I presume, but I didn't, just looked at the contacts list. He has every ex he ever cheated with listed on there still, right back to 'Lauren Inthelakes'. I'm only one of many; another old-flame he can't quite bear to extinguish. I deleted my number.

I really do forgive him now. Oh, I'll never forget what he did and what I became, but I now see that he truly has hurt himself far more than he could ever hurt me. I wish him well, but he knows that is as far as it goes, there is nothing to see here any more. Time to move along.

I genuinely hope that he can.

So now I just have to explain to my sister that this was 'sending to the dog-pound' rather than 'casting a morsel of meat'!

Bloody Horrible Day

Proceed no further if bad language and obscenity offend you. I mean it. It's not pretty down there.

So this bad day really started on Saturday - but we'll come on to that later.

But first, I want to slam Kaspersky - the people who make the antivirus programmes. I've had Kaspersky for a while - since 2009 apparently. It has happily auto-renewed every year since then. But not this year, oh no. For this year, I have a new credit card. So, the old one naturally was declined, and the auto-renew didn't go through. So far, so normal. One would assume, would one not, that it would be a simple matter to be directed to the website, where one could fill in the updated details? One would be horribly, horribly wrong.

NO, says Mr Kaspersky! Nothing So Simple! After a good 30 minutes of searching the hideously designed (if 'designed' can be used to refer to any old shambolic arrangement of coding) website, I finally found that if the auto-renewal didn't work, you had to cancel the auto-renewal, then order it again.

Ho-hum, seemed a bloody palaver, but hey, I'm just as capable of jumping through hoops as the next person. I cancelled the auto-renew. Which resulted in the 'renew' button and page disappearing. Great. So now I was instructed to buy Kaspersky 2013. Undeterred, I did. Removed my previous version, downloaded and installed the new one, entered the activation code, all done.

It still said my subscription was STILL expired and no updates would be available in 5 days time. Click this link to auto-renew or visit the website. CUNTING HELL! FUCKING GROUNDHOG DAY OR WHAT!

At this point I tried to contact Kaspersky support, but, as every high-profile multinational company should do, they had shut up shop until the next day. I did what every pissed off consumer does in this situation and swore loudly and violently at the cunting bastard on the answering machine, before going off to bed.

This morning I decided that since I was up WAAAAY earlier than Kaspersky employees, who apparently slumber until just short of midday, I would try to solve the problem once again.

This time couldn't get anywhere because now my antivirus activation code wasn't recognised. So back to the mess of a website to try to solve this. It was at this point that I found a section called, 'known problems with Kaspersky 2013'. Now forgive me if I'm being a bit thick here, but if a company can't debug their own program, how the hell can I trust them to deal with a virus?????

Anyway, their advice was to remove the activation key (following the steps given) and then re-key it. Done deal. But OH! Now the key wasn't recognised in any way whatsoever - leaving me £30 out of pocket, with NO antivirus protection at all!

At this point I gave up and phoned customer services (never has a phone line been so mal-named - 'rip-off a mug phoneline' or 'give me your money gullible assholes premium-call' would be more appropriate). Tried to speak to a techie. No good, massive wait at the end of multiple phone menu choices, and I was constantly second in the queue, twice, for 10 minutes each.

Next I tried to cancel and get a refund. Again, same scenario. Got through finally, and quite literally had to shut the girl up, she wanted to know had I done this, had I done that, I ended up saying, 'I'm answering no questions. I just want a refund!'

It's going to take ten days to get my money back. I have to donate a kidney to Mr Kaspersky to get it, and sell my soul to a rag and bone man from Old London Town. Or does it just feel like that?

Then had to telephone the HMRC helpline. Yes, I know. EVERYONE knows that the HMRC Helpline is overloaded and crappily staffed. Everyone, it would seem, apart from HMRC staff themselves, for their stupid bastard tax-credits renewal form doesn't allow you to notify them of changes on it. Oh no, nothing so sensible. You have to put a cross in a box to say your circumstances have changed, and then phone up the helpline to notify them of the change in circumstances.

So you do. And you sit through announcements of how you can get help on the website (like if it was any use anyone would be on the bloody useless helpline). And you sit and wait, listening to crap cunting music like the lazy doley scumbag with tonnes of money that they obviously think you are.

No thanks. After ten minutes I gave up and notified them via their form of my change in circumstance. I then signed this new declaration, and also declared that I thought they were a bunch of thickies, and told them in future to phone me, rather than the other way around, as I actually have sometimes been known to answer my phone.

By this time (and don't forget that I have also taken my mother shopping today, and that's an ordeal in anyone's book) I was in severe danger of going out and massacre-ing a bunch of strangers, that's how bad the pent-up anger was. Luckily, this was highly inconvenient to me, due to UK gun laws, so instead I did Jillian Michaels 'Banish Fat, Boost Metabolism' and 'No More Trouble Zones' DVDs back to back, with added aggression.

Felt a bit better.

I do wonder if I am a victim of my hormones. I've had a period over the weekend , out of nowhere, and now it is ended my boobs feel pre-menstrual, and I am full of rage.

But then maybe it is also because I have spoken to Steve, the ex who beat crap out of me, also known as my sociopathic stalker.

Just having spoken to him on Saturday night has put me on edge. I felt sorry for him (though I nipped that in the bud quite quickly), and have been left feeling I owe him something. Worst of all, he said he would phone me to go for a drink this weekend.

Now I know in my head that he won't. I know that for him, the very fact that he thinks I might answer my phone is ego-stroke enough, and that he won't follow through. I also know that I have no intention of answering the phone to him, let alone seeing him: I mean, dear Goddess, my life has been one hundred per cent happy since he went, there's no danger of me going back.

But just that bit of contact has me unsettled. The little twisty knot in my stomach is back.

I used to think that was love.

I'm Not Paranoid, I Just Know My Stalker!

So on and off there have been little incidents like the Gate incidents, things I can't say were definite stalking, but just had me a bit suspicious. And then last week there was the Return of Stalker's Friend - Dean turned up last Wednesday to apologise for 'being a dick' last time he saw me.

Now it seemed a little odd that he should turn up to apologise some 9 months after the fact, but I let it slide, accepted the apology, and assured him that it was nothing, not a problem. Then I got to thinking. The last time Dean turned up here was swiftly followed by Steve coming out of prison and subsequently turning up here to vomit blood on my drive - so why had Dean suddenly turned up again out of nowhere?

So I was slightly on the alert. But also not, because I had kind of convinced myself I was being paranoid, what with all the gate drama and stuff that never came to anything.

Friday night Heather was here and we had a good old girly night, with drinking and feasting and gossiping. She left, and after about half an hour I was thinking of going up to bed, went and got my dressing gown on and was back downstairs just tidying up a few things when my mobile rang.

I deleted all Steve's numbers after New Year, because I had no idea of his number but was pretty sure it wasn't his old one as his iPhone had been cut off for non-payment when he was on one of his prison stints. So I answered, not knowing who it was (and wondering who was calling at gone midnight).

It was Steve.

'I was just passing and saw your bedroom light on. I wondered how you were doing.'

'I'm fine' I was actually frozen.

'I'm not on anything, and I'm not drunk and I don't want to get back together....'

'Good, because you wreck my life when you are in it....'

'Who's that talking to you?'

I put the phone down. It wasn't anyone talking to me, it was the TV - but he thought I was in my bedroom, and there's no TV there. That's why he was phoning - to keep tabs on me.

I went straight on Facebook and put on a public status about it - cos he hates it when I do that (funny how he knows really, as he pretends he 'doesn't understand' facebook). Well, he knows how to stop me doing it - keep well away.

I switched the phone off, and thought he'd have phoned back - thought he might even phone my house phone, but no. In the morning, nothing.

Which is almost an insult, like I'm only worth a 'convenience' stalk when he happens to be passing!

So I'm putting it out of my mind - I think he was just trying it on - to see if I was up for a bit of exploitation, like so many of his other women (and yes, me too) have been time and again in the past.

Try it on all you like matey-boy, those days have gone, GONE I tell you! But just in case, he has his own ringtone on my phone now - the Twilight Zone music :-)

The Unforgiven

I've been thinking about forgiveness a lot, for a long time, specifically because I don't think I will ever forgive Steve for what he did over those years. The internet is full to bursting with all these quotes about how wonderful it is to forgive - and just this ONE about the other side of the coin. I have thought and thought, and I have come to the conclusion that actually, sometimes forgiveness is NOT the right thing, and that is not because I'm not a forgiving person, but because I am a VERY forgiving person.

There has been lots of discussion on various forums I'm on about how to forgive your abuser, and I have found myself saying I don't plan to and doubt that I ever will, and that I am glad of that. In response, there have been lots of people saying that I should forgive him for myself, not for him, because otherwise the bad feelings will destroy me. To which I respond:

No, bad feelings won't destroy me, because I have no feelings towards him, as he isn't in my life any more. If he WERE to enter my life again, forgiving him would leave me open to abuse again, because that is exactly what happened in the past - time and again I forgave him, and time and again he abused me again. Now, without forgiveness, any contact with him leaves me frightened and wanting to run - and that is how I am MEANT to feel. This man is evil and he means me harm.

You see, that is what is the problem, it is the very essence of him that makes me not forgive him. When I said I was a very forgiving person, I wasn't just going on my own judgment. Son has before now said, 'Mum, sometimes I think you are TOO forgiving.' There was a recent drama because when I tried to clear the air with an ex-friend who had been spreading rumours about me, she graciously refused to admit that she had done anything wrong in either spreading the rumours or in ignoring me when I approached her to try to sort it out - and then lied about the whole incident afterwards, saying I had physically attacked her! In fairness, I would have if someone else hadn't intervened, but that was only because she was poking my chest like she was some badarse, and comprehensive girls don't let High School girls do that sort of thing with impugnity (she's bigly snobbish about schooling). I tell this story to show how I'm no slacker on the forgiveness front - the rumours were potentially very damaging -  that I was a drug addict, which is, when I last checked, incompatible with the Chartered Society of Physiotherapy's Code of Conduct, even if social services didn't get to hear about it (there is already a file on me and my son because of the domestic violence); the fact that I could easily disprove them wouldn't have stopped the inconvenience and stress of an investigation from either quarter. Yet despite this, I was the one who wanted to make things right.

The thing is, I find it easy to forgive, usually. Then when I do, it is complete forgiveness - I don't have a little list in the back of my mind of what people have done. The worst I do is remember what happened and beware of getting myself into that situation again with that person, but as far as the relationship goes, from my point of view the slate is clean and I feel about the person and treat them exactly as I did before. To me, once you have forgiven a person, it's like you have restored the previous version of Windows - everything goes back to how it was before.

Reason being, I can easily see why people do the things they do, I can understand how we all have faults and hang-ups and that usually people do not act out of malice. In a selfish way, I would hope that people would forgive me and understand why I would screw up, so I do that with others. Also, usually people are in my life because I value them, so to not fully forgive would be like having a crack in a beloved vase and constantly looking at the crack rather than the vase.

For many years I struggled to forgive my mother - we had a difficult relationship for reasons which I'll probably go into in a post one day. Then one day I realised that she was a product of her upbringing, and her dad and gran were products of their upbringing, and back and back ad infinitum. It wasn't her fault she was the way she was. She would never be the mother I needed, but she was trying to be her best. But for various accidents of fate, I'd be the same as her, so who was I to judge? I'm not actually sure this rationalisation is the truth, but I've found it is the only way I can live with her in my life, and now she has dementia, it really doesn't matter what the truth is, she can't change anything now. So that is one situation where I have forgiven for my own sake - and for hers, incidentally, as if she didn't have me she'd be stuck!

Steve himself would say he didn't know why I was friends with certain people because of things they had done to me. In his typical disordered way, he has never forgiven anyone in his life. He doesn't have to - to him, people are either wholly good or wholly bad, and it all depends on whether he approves of their last action related to him. It wouldn't matter that I had paid to take us on holiday, and had spent the whole week doing everything I could to make him happy. If I then spoke to someone while he was outside smoking, that made me a bad person who deserved to be beaten. It wouldn't matter that his sister gave him somewhere to live for six months; if she then refused to lend him £5 she was an evil cow, always had been, and he HAD to move out. Conversely, if she had been refusing to let him see her and her son for a year due to his addiction, if she then gave him her old iPod she immediately transformed  into the salt of the earth, a really good girl.

This is part of the reason I can't forgive him. He isn't like other people. He hurts others not because he messes up, but because inside is a soul-less excuse for a personality. I've seen him transform into the devil himself, seen a reptilian persona slide over the mask of his human features. If I believed in demon possession, I'd believe I've seen it. Everthing he does is all about him, he has no genuine feelings for others. Not forgiving him is an act of self-protection and preservation.

Yet here are the definitions of forgiveness from Wikipaedia (I've looked at lots of other sites too, and they are very similar):
"renunciation or cessation of resentment, indignation or anger as a result of a perceived offence, disagreement or mistake, or ceasing to demand punishment or restitution."
"to grant free pardon and to give up all claim on account of offence or debt"

By those definitions, I have forgiven him. If I passed him in the street and he was on fire, I would piss on him. Well, I wouldn't, but I'd put him out. I have no thoughts of revenge any more. I bear him no malice in my heart. He has no place in my heart at all any more.

But wipe the slate clean? Oh no, never, not if I live to be a million years old, not even though it would most likely be a paper exercise as I doubt I will ever see him again.

Some people don't deserve my type of forgiveness. Which is a shame, because the only qualification is to be a person, not sub-human.

Valentine's Day

I'm a single girl, so I suppose I shouldn't love Valentines Day as much as I do. It doesn't seem like it is cool to admit to liking it, even if you ARE in a relationship. But I love it; I do. It's a day to celebrate LOVE, what's not to like?

I've been a fan since secondary school, when it was one of the highlights of the year. It was something we all got totally wrapped up in, the talk of the playground for weeks, sending cards to your crush, and waiting to see if anyone would send you one. Then the endless post-mortems and analysis. Not that I had moch to contribute by way of raw material - the only school valentine I ever got was when I was in sixth form, and was from a really cute lad - in FIRST year! (erm, I believe this translates as year 7 in new money). Ironically, he will now be too old for me to consider dating him :-O

<GRATUITOUS BRAGGING ALERT> Then, my first year at physio school, I had the Valentine's haul to end all Valentine's hauls. I got six, yup, count 'em, SIX Valentines cards. All from different people. One of whom I hadn't even snogged.<End of gratuitous bragging>

So I know it can be done, and this contributes to the completely irrational hope that I have every year, this one included, that I will get a shed-load of cards. Or even ONE. But being completely honest, I don't have the inclination to put in the effort required. Those six cards represented six men cultivated over a good six months - two of them for two years. Like spinning plates, it's a skill, it takes practice and effort, and it can all too easily come crashing down around your ears. As it did for me eventually, in the car-crash that became known as the 'why no-one at Nottingham University is speaking to me' incident.

Of course, there's been loads of years where I've been part of a couple, and I love the whole 'being treated' aspect of it. So what if your bloke is lovely all year round anyway? It's still nice to have an official day when you know you will be getting some flowers and choccies, when you can treat eachother and celebrate your relationship. And if your man is a bit of a duffer when it comes to romance, it's a chance for him to get with the programme and give you a card and some petrol station flowers. They all count, and the love expressions can be as individual as a couple is - there's no law says it has to cost loads of money. Love on Valentine's Day might be a cup of coffee and a chocolate heart, or it might be a dedication on the radio, or it might be rose petals and a rumpled duvet - there are no rules, there's no need to enter the commercialised game if you don't want to.

But this year, I am once again alone:

It doesn't bother me - I'm alone but not lonely. I'm not the sort of person who feels bad seeing couples in love and showing it - quite the reverse. It makes me happy to think that there are happy people out there, that there are people who are loving and who are loved. That all around the world are genuine loving couples, and despite all that has happened, that this can happen to me too. And even if it doesn't, well, it doesn't matter. I've been in love and been loved. I've had my lovely Valentines Days, I've done the meals, the champagne, the shagging in the graveyard. :-) Now it's someone else's turn.

And lest I should forget that there are WAY worse things than being single, I remind myself of the last valentine card that Steve gave me. 'With love from your Boyfiend.' How very right he was - and how very much happier I can be, now I am fiend-less! This is my happy year, and tomorrow will be one of my happiest days, even if I do have to be content with nothing more than my Dogs Trust sponsor dog Valentine.

Whoever you are with (pets and cuddly toys included), wherever you are, have a wonderful Valentine's Day, and SPREAD THE LOVE :-)

The Gate and Other Ex Problems

Today I found something even more spooky than an open gate - though it had been last Wednesday again, I kind of put it down to high winds, cos realistically speaking, Steve would actually have to get up in the morning to have done it, and that is highly unlikely to happen.

This morning, I was looking out the kitchen window waiting for the kettle to boil, and thinking that the garden really needs a good tidy, and working out if I have enough rubbish in house/garden to justify hiring a skip, when I noticed that the 'stalking chair' (a chair which, wherever I put it, always seems to end up outside the patio door, where someone would sit if they were looking in) had something on it. A paper something. Popped out, it was a letter - but in the rain, it had turned to a soggy mass of inky papier mache. Something tells me it's a good thing I can't read it.

I'm not sure what it is with the exes at the moment. Got a FB message last night, quite late on, from my first love. On FB that day, I'd done a meme that is going around where the person you get it from gives you and age, and you list where you lived, what you drove etc, and one of the questions was 'who had your heart', and I had named him. He said I'd had his heart too, and was telling me that when we were together, the grass always seemed greener, but it turned out it never was, and no-one had ever lived up to me. I gently replied that this was what nostalgia and beer goggles did to a person. This morning there was another message saying that in the cold light of day, and remembering all the things about me that annoyed him intensely, he still felt the same. I've not written the words he used for either message, but suffice to say they are two of the most beautiful things anyone has ever written to me. Though he does have a way with words. I remember once, when he cheated on me, we got back together because he sent me the most wonderful poem. A few years later, listening to Bowie's Space Oddity, I realised 'the poem' was the lyrics to Letter to Hermione. 

I was really confused about what to do with this. It isn't the sort of thing you can read and not respond to - especially as FB now shows when someone has read a message. Then in a fit of genius I replied that I was stunned that he had found anything about me irritating.

It kind of bothered me though - we have become friends, had a really lovely New Year's Eve with him and his WIFE and son last year. I feel like I don't want to lose that, but I don't understand what his motives are. He must know that I am not about to go back there. He's already apologised for how he treated me, and I accepted the apology, not that it was needed, I was pretty horrible to him in the end too. So. It's all gonna just sit there like a big, fat, flattering, but ultimately a bit suspicious-looking, elephant.

Men eh?

Paranoia and Indifference

What do you think when you come out of your house and see your garden gate open?

I'm thinking it's fairly safe to bet that you don't momentarily freeze and  creep towards it, whilst all the while in your head beats the constant refrain, 'oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.'

That's what I do since being stalked. I'm hoping this is pure paranoia; I'm hoping that one of the multiple other explanations is the real reason my garden gate has been open at least three mornings out of the last four.

My gate is taller than me and doesn't shut since before Christmas, when Son (who comes in through the back door when I am at work) forgot to close it behind him and it swelled in the incessant rain. Since then, we've been pushing it 'to' and securing it in place with a housebrick. This means that to open it you push from the outside, go in, then put the brick back. If you are leaving the garden, you can't secure the gate, you have to leave it open.

On Saturday when I was hiding my spare key before I went out, I saw the gate was open. At first I thought nothing of it, as son had probably left it that way - then I remembered that I had been home when he got back on Friday - I had let him in through the front door. But there are other explanations - it was probably one of the kids from next door, getting a ball back or something.

Sunday, I went to retrieve my spare key, and the gate was wide open again. Now I was getting worried. It was dark when I left to go out on Saturday night - who plays ball games in the dark? But then, it had been a bit windy - maybe the wind had somehow opened it. Are you a crazy woman!!! The wind wouldn't move that house brick! It's Steve, I tell you, STEVE!!

This time I kept the gate shut with TWO housebricks, one behind the other. No wind moving that.

Monday, Son was ill, so we didn't leave the house.

Monday night we were both feeling rough so we went to be early - even I was in bed by 8.30. It was very windy, and at one point I was woken by a huge shuddering BANG! It crossed my sleepy mind that it was my gate, but then I thought, 'no, can't be, it's held with two house bricks.' I ignored the other less loud bangs for the same reason.

This morning we were leaving the house, and I was reminding Son to always put back the bricks, when he said, 'Mum.... the gate....'

It was wide open again. We went to look, and the housebricks had been pushed completely back. I really don't think any wind would have done that. I've put the bricks back, and so far today there's been no movement. There never has been before - the only time that gate opens is when someone has been through - the postman for instance. But there's been no parcels left these times.

The restraining order runs out in the middle of February. I wouldn't put it past Steve to be spying on me, or just intimidating me, but not doing anything I can pin down until after the order runs out. Why risk being sent back to prison when he can wait a few days then do whatever he wants with impugnity?

I'm going to jump out of bed now though if I hear the gravel crunching. I think I've mentioned how I have a gravel driveway and so does the man next door. And he likes to march around on his at random times in the night, so that recently I've just disregarded the sound of crunching gravel. Not any more - if someone's messing with my gate, I want to see.

So, that's the paranoia well and truly covered - where's the indifference? Well, last night Circus Boy rang. But it was about 10 o'clock, so it was pretty clear what he was after, and I was feeling yucky and had to get up at 6.30 so I couldn't be bothered to pick up. I was going to phone him back this evening (no point before then cos he doesn't get up til lunchtime and I was at work), but I find I can't be bothered, cos I'm not feeling on form and am thus not up for coping with a dose of him. I'll probably phone him on Thursday if I am feeling better.

Basically, it appears that this has become the sort of relationship where one of us phones the other when we fancy a shag. Nothing wrong in that, we are both single, but it's hardly Romeo and Juliet, is it? And it would appear that our libidos are not even in synch.  But I wonder - I bet he'd be a fab bodyguard.....

Coronation Street

I've mentioned before about how the Kirsty/Tyrone storyline really gets me because of how it so accurately portrays a violent relationship. Tonight was no different.

In case (shock! horror!) you don't watch, Crazy Kirstie tonight fell downstairs whilst trying to hit Tyrone. She then told the Police that he pushed her, and had been abusing her. Almost immediately on twitter there was a slew of tweets saying how unrealistic it was, that Corrie had gone too far now, that this wouldn't happen.

Oh yes it would.

I experienced this the first few times I phoned the Police when Steve attacked me. The thing is, Tyrone has NEVER phoned the Police. You don't, not at first. And the way it works is that you suffer a really bad attack, but then it is over, so you don't call them then. But the next time the abuser kicks off, you are so scared that it is then that you call - when they haven't actually done anything much. So the Police would arrive, and I would be there, with no marks on me, yet hysterical and crying, whilst Steve would be there really calm and pretendy-uncomprehending. He would always kick off after drinking and when my Son was at his Dad's, so it would be a Friday or Saturday night and I would have been drinking too. He'd say we had been rowing, and then I'd drunkenly lost the plot.  The more I protested, the more crazy I looked. Those first few times, they believed him.

Then one Friday night he attacked me when I was sober. When I phoned the Police, he knew the game would be up, cos I hadn't drunk a thing - so he took my only set of housekeys and ran. I told the Police this when they arrived. Eventually they told me they had questioned him and searched his B and B room and he didn't have the keys. I could tell they didn't believe me - I found out later exactly why.

He'd told the Police that I was his EX girlfriend, and was obsessed with him, and had made the whole thing up to frame him.

You'd be surprised how commonly abusers can blame their victims. When I was attending the Freedom Programme, one of the women had been successfully prosecuted by her abuser for attacking him. They are so very plausible - if they weren't we would never have believed they loved us.

So once again, Corrie has got it right. But it doesn't stop me from being disappointed in one aspect of the story. In Corrie, Tyrone stays even when the beatings get bad because of his daughter. I would really have liked for him to stay for the real reasons people stay - out of love for the person they met (the illusion), out of the perpetual hope that the abuser will change, out of trauma bonding. That's a storyline that has yet to be done by the soaps - it's one I'd like to see. Or maybe not.

Circus Boy 4 - Hatman Returns

So I waved my son off on a weekend away with his Dad, and wandered back into the house to hear my phone ringing. As you've probably guessed it was Circus Boy. After deliberating for all of, ooooh, a microsecond, I answered. I was a little cagey with him at first, turns out he was phoning from a service station while his 'friend' got petrol. But the thing is, he is just so bloody CHARMING! Although the other thing is that he NEVER gives you a straight answer to a question. So when I asked him, 'so what happened to you?' he didn't actually say - just talked about how busy he had been and his anti-Olympics demonstration that was apparently in the paper. Presumably his fingers had dropped off too, cos texting takes about a minute, phoning even less time. I didn't say this though, cos of the aforementioned charm completely winning me over and having me sitting in my garden smiling like a really smiley thing.

So then he says, 'why don't you come and meet me? If you can get to the festi tomorrow, I can probably get you in.'

'Oh yes, Sunny Jim, I'm gonna go travelling to the back of beyond on the off chance that you, unreliable as you are, are going to be there to meet me. Hmmm. And by the way, WHY HAVEN'T YOU CONTACTED ME ALL WEEK!'

In my dreams. Of course, I didn't say that at all. Instead I said, 'you know what Circus Boy? Thing is, when I hadn't heard from you by Thursday, I just assumed that you weren't interested, so now I'm busy all weekend, which is a shame, cos I really would have liked to have gone, but I'm a busy person, I have lots of friends, I'm not able to keep weekends free just on the off chance.'

Did I have anything planned? Did I heck as like, I spent the whole weekend cleaning and watching DVDs. But hey, you have to set your boundaries. You can't let people think you are an option whenever they have nothing and no-one better to do, or that you can be left on a back-burner because you'll drop everything when they call.

So yes, I had my quiet little weekend, mostly because I thought this really wasn't going to work out, that he was bound to cop off with some nubile hippie-fairy girl and that would be that.

Then Sunday evening he phoned! YAY!!! We chatted for ages, he was telling me all about his festival adventures, the workshops he'd been to, the people he'd met, and then his phone died, but I didn't mind, cos he must have been thinking about me. I texted him to say have a good rest of Festival, and maybe I'd see him when he was back.

Then about 1am he phoned again! He'd re-charged the phone and so we chatted for about another hour, about all sorts of stuff this time, although he was repeating himself quite a lot - but hey, that's festivals for you I suppose. When we said goodbye, he kept on repeating he'd call me when he was back from the festival tomorrow.

Did I hear from him the next day? Well, what do you think? Of course not, not a dickie-bird. Did I hear from him Tuesday? I think you can guess the answer to that one too, can't you?

So Wednesday morning Son and I were just about to leave to take Mum shopping and to the hospital when there was a knock at the door. No, it wasn't Circus Boy.

It was Dean, a friend of Steve's, asking if I knew where Steve was. I told him we weren't together, but that the last time I'd heard from him was when Aberystwyth Police phoned me asking about various old Sim card phone numbers that he used to use. I have no idea why, but the person contacting me was the custody sergeant, so when Steve completely stopped stalking me from then on, I made the educated guess that he was banged up again, cos he was out at license at that point anyway.

Dean was a bit surprised that we weren't together, because last he'd heard form Steve was about how much he loved me and how we were going to give it another go and how he was going to get clean and not blow it this time. I told him about how when Steve got out of prison he immediately got so drunk and off his head that he was paralytic when he got around here - and my ex-husband was about to arrive to pick up Son, so I just shoved him into my bedroom to sleep it off. He then got up in the middle of the night to throw up out of my bedroom window, yet thought I was being unreasonable when I said I had no desire to live like that and he could sling his hook. Luckily for Steve, his best mate let him go and live with him. Steve repaid him by sleeping with his girlfriend. That's how nice he is (that is also a whole other story that may be coming to this blog at some later date). So Dean was going on about what an idiot, how I was the best thing that had happened to him ever etc etc (that was true at least!), and then he headed off. As I closed the door, I said to Son, 'something tells me that's not the last I've seen of him.....' This was not a prospect I relished particularly, because although Dean is ok, he's a friend of Steve's and to me that tells you all you need to know about a person, cos Steve is poison.

Anyway, I'd forgotten all about this by the evening, then just after Son had gone to bed, the phone rang. This WAS Circus Boy. He was in the Co-op wondering if he could come round and see me, and what wine could he bring? See, this is what happens. I end up agreeing to things he wants because although he doesn't exactly persuade me, he somehow makes it impossible to say no. So he turned up and he was possibly even more cute and even more excitingly charming than I remembered, and we were getting on like a house on fire when there was a knock on the door. Now by this time it was about 11, and we were, umm, 'getting ready to go to bed', but then the door knocked again, and I thought I'd better get it cos it could be the Police. Or Steve, but by now I knew that Circus Boy could easily see off Steve, cos he was about twice his height and just as scrappy.

It was Dean. I should have guessed really. He was asking if I wanted to go out with him and some mates on Friday, and so I said that I might if my friends wanted to go too, and was taking his number when Circus Boy came to see what was going on - and it turns out they knew eachother :-O So I ended up inviting Dean in, and we sat and chatted for about another two hours. I say chatted, it was more a meeting of the Karen Fan Club, as the two of them kept going on and on about how lovely and wonderful I was, trying to outdo eachother on just how bloody nice they thought I was. It was torture :-DD

Oh, but they were both quite excited about this Friday night out thing, and apparently Circus Boy had something about it on his Facebook, and he suggested I log on and show Dean. OOPS! So I had to admit that I had unfriended him the previous week, because 'I thought you weren't interested, and no-one wants random shags on their Facebook, do they?' He said he supposed not, and I foolishly carried on filling in the silence by continuing, 'and I wouldn't want you to think that I'm at all stalkerish'.

'Ok....' says Circus Boy, uncertainly, 'we'll cross that off the list of possibilities then....'

The night wore on and THEN Dean said something about 'all that shit with S_' (one of Steve's exes that he basically used to try to make me jealous) as if I knew all about it. Initially I thought he meant her mental illness and how she used to attack Steve, so I said something about how he probably deserved it. But the look on his face told me that it wasn't that. So then it all came tumbling out about how Dean had a threesome with S_ and Steve. Now this actually made me feel a bit sick. I'm not a prude, but at my age I don't think it is unusual to find that sort of thing a bit distasteful. But what really upset me was that S_ was very vulnerable - she was supposedly schizophrenic, she was definitely seriously unhinged, and I certainly don't think she was in a fit state to make a choice to have sex with two men at any point in her relationship with Steve. Honestly, the girl was mega-disturbed. Of course, taking advantage of a fragile girl was exactly the sort of thing Steve would do. And video. Sicko.

I ended up saying all this because Circus Boy had initially opined that it wasn't unusual for him and his friends to share girls. He got one of those, 'don't you ever try that with me, Matey-Boy,' looks off me, and I filed this away for future reference under the growing category of 'reasons why Circus Boy is not a good idea'.

It then became impossible to get rid of Dean. I don't mean that he wouldn't take the hint - I mean that even though I had several times said, 'it's time to go Dean, I'm chucking you out' he just carried on sitting there. In the end he said to Circus Boy, 'shall we go now?' and Circus Boy said, 'erm, I'm staying here with Karen, mate'. Well, that wasn't at all awkward. Especially as Dean then insisted on apologising for about another half an hour.

'Good God, ' said Circus Boy when he'd gone, 'I thought we were never going to get rid of him. Now where were we....'

We were just beginning a night of unbridled lust and passion is where we were, and I am proud to announce that we actually broke my bed. Though I should also announce that it actually broke when I sat on it the next morning as I brought him tea and toast. But this could only have been due to it being terminally weakened in the hours before. And I mean hours. God, I love that about young men.

But anyway, even though I haven't quite finished the story of this appearance of Circus Boy,  I shall do that next time as I have to go and do motherly things now. Like get in the bath and drink wine, probably.

To be continued......

Worst Week EVER

So as if having what I thought was a stroke (long story, it was probably a migraine), and then my Dad dying were not bad enough, the week just got a whole lot worse.

Was sitting here when my phone went - a Cardiff number, which is odd, but I answered.

'Hello,' I said

'Hello' went the person

'This is Karen Field'

'Yes, I know. And you know who this is.'

'No I don't'

'Yes you do.'

In that second I did. It's been three months since I heard that voice - Steve. He's out of prison. He's heading back to Telford. I love the life I have now, I have no wish to ever see him again.

And yes, I'm scared.