My Life in Stalkers 4 - The Ex-Boyfriend

People from my other blogs will know all of this pretty much, so feel free to skip.

Steve was the love of my life. Really. When I met him, I was a bit wary, because he was 14 years younger than me, and we weren't very much alike, but then in other ways we sort of were. Oh, and he was living with his girlfriend. Now he SAID he was only living with her because he had nowhere else to go. But now that I know better, I'm wondering if he would ever have left her if she hadn't thrown him out when she found out about me. And I'm wondering if he tried to get her to take him back - because every story he ever told about me was a lie, so why would what he said about anyone else be true?

But back to when we met - and I had no clue that he was a psychopath/sociopath/narcissist/had antisocial personality disorder/was your common or garden complete and utter cunt (delete as appropriate - I'm not a psychiatrist). It was the 29th December 2006. By 31st December I knew I was falling in love with him. He seemed so perfect - and my friends all thought so too - really sociable, funny, entertaining, happy.

Within two weeks I was in love, and I thought he was too. I still do love that person. That person never existed.

Oh, for a while it was all perfect. Then in February 2007 things changed. His Mum died, and he began drinking and using drugs again. He'd phone at weird times of night, lost somewhere between here and Albrighton. Or he'd phone from outside a pub, incoherent, with no way to get home, so I'd go and find him and take him home. One time he was supposed to be babysitting for his sister (he was living with her by then) and he wasn't answering his phone so she phoned me. Of course, I went to the rescue. I found him passed out on the floor behind the front door. When I got in (luckily I knew where the spare key was kept), and roused him, he was vile, kept trying to punch me, but again, I thought it was all due to his mum dying. Even though he said, 'I really don't care that she's dead. I feel nothing.' Sociopaths always tell you what they are, but mostly we don't hear them until it is too late.

And as time went on, he didn't get better, he got worse. I'll save the details of the various beatings for another post or series of posts, because I find it quite triggering, so for purposes of this post, it's only necessary to say that what began as verbal abuse and maybe pushing, pulling and intimidatory door-punches gradually became hair-pulling, slapping and shaking. Usually out of jealousy - and by jealousy I mean really STUPID jealousy. The night we first split up, he attacked me because I'd talked to some people who were outside smoking when he went for a smoke. He was right next to me. They were a mixed group of men and women. He joined in the conversation. I didn't know him well enough then or I would have sensed the warning signs.

We were away for the weekend, and when we got back to the hotel, he just laid into me. Pushed me against the wall, took hold of my head and kept banging it against the wall as he yelled at me. Then he grabbed my arm and threw me to the ground, face down, but he was still pulling my arm up behind me. I was terrified, I could feel my shoulder was going to dislocate or something, because he had his body fixing my legs. Then with my other hand I was able to grab my stilletto boot. I started hitting him with the heel until he let my other arm go, then I rolled over, and anger took hold of me. I didn't stop. I kept on hitting him, as hard as I could, backing him out of the room, then I slammed it shut on him and locked it. I couldn't believe the state I was in. I didn't know where he went and I didn't care.

He came back in the early hours of the morning, and I let him back in, because I'd need to drive us home anyway. He slept a little bit, and when he woke up in the morning he had no idea why he was covered in little round bruises. But I finished it. Went to Sue's house and told her what had happened, and she said she thought it was for the best. Showed her my arm.

He kept ringing, wanting to talk to me, but I wouldn't take the calls. So he started calling Sue, I think he even went around her house, crying and saying how much he loved me. She believed him, she said she thought he really meant it, and that maybe he was worth another chance. So I gave him one. On condition he stopped drinking. Which he did, for a while.

Then slowly it was back on ordinary lager, then back on Special Brew, then back on heroin. By this time he was working away, and cheating on me. I found out, and dumped him. Yet even though he was living in the Lake District, he began a concerted effort to get me back. He'd come down here at weekends, find me in pubs, be talking to me wanting to get back together - seconds before his girlfriend phoned him.

Not for the last time, I became the 'other woman' - because I fell for the lies again. this time my friends didn't, and they all thought I was mad. He eventually dumped the girlfriend, came back to live here, we got back together properly, and all was well for another 18 months. Well - he still hit me, but it had become the norm. I no longer told friends about it, it wasn't worth it. I blogged about it. There were some hideous times, but I'll do those another day.

Then he cheated again. For me, this was really the end, and all the years that followed were just me crapply extricating myself. The whole 'Deb' thing was insane, I'll separately blog it too, because it is insane FUNNY. Ditto 'Sophie'. And through both we still got back together, time and again. And the violence was always escalating, and it was always over one of two things - he would be jealous for no reason, or I would want to finish it. A good beating would leave me mentally unable to end it.

December 2010 I finally prosecuted him (another separate story). This was when the stalking started big time. Whenever we had split in the past, he would come to the house at night and try to talk to me. He'd throw stones at my windows, bang on doors and windows, generally be a nuisance until I spoke to him. Now that I wouldn't, he escalated things. He would come into the house when I was at work using the spare key I'd given him. He would move things. He used the phone. He stole my pants.

So I changed the locks AGAIN (I am one of the few people I know who has a locksmith's number in their phone!). February 2011 I gained a two year restraining order (yes, it shits me up that it is running out soon). It made no difference, but it did mean I could phone the Police.

So at one point he decided to wear masks when spying on me. I tell you, it is terrifying to look up and see Batman staring in at you. He wouldn't try to speak to me, he would just move around my garden furniture in the night. Or leave cans of Special Brew in the middle of my drive. He'd left a pile of bricks by the side of the house - I cannot count the amount of times that pile has moved.

On the day of the Royal Wedding, I was having a little party here. My ex-husband and his family came, and left their car on my drive cos they both wanted to drink. When everyone had gone, about 7.30, I got a text saying, 'Uve gotta b kidin me knob at urs.' Then 'cal me'

I did call him, he said he was gonna kick in Ex-H's car and kick his head in too. I told him the reason the car was there, but he just said he was going to be here in 2 minutes. I stood outside the house, planning to head him off, but he came from a different direction to usual, ran at the car and started kicking it in. Completely trashed the one side of it before I dragged him off.

He pushed into the house, was alternately crying, trying to hug me and saying he loved me, then becoming violent and shouting what a cow I was, pulling down my party decorations and throwing things. Then he said, 'I'm off with Johnny to score heroin', and staggered off.

I spent the rest of the night giving a statement to the Police. 

And still the stalking didn't stop. A couple of weeks later, there was a knock on my door, not at the usual time he would call, yet it was still Steve, with two bags of clothes, crying.

'I love you, can I come back, please? And stay here?' !!!!! I said I'd count to ten before phoning the Police....

He sent flowers - no card, but I knew they were from him cos he used the florist he always goes to who does him deals.

One time I was at wheelchair clinic and he phoned me wanting me to come and pick him up. It's like he didn't learn that I didn't care any more. He'd turn up here drunk and beaten up, saying his phone had been stolen, and he'd expect me to be bothered. I stopped answering the door, and would talk to him out of my bedroom window.

Then on my birthday last year he overdosed on heroin, and was only saved by another junkie phoning an ambulance. He was clinically dead and had to be resuscitated. His Dad didn't want him at his house, so he brought him to me - nice birthday present! He stayed with me for a while too - I am such a bloody Florence Nightingale, and I sort of did feel responsible for him.

He got sent to prison for the vandalism and for breaking the restraining order. By the time it got to court, it was February last year. And you know what? We got back together while he was in prison. It lasted about an hour, cos when he came out he got immediately drunk, so I binned him. He slept with his best mate's girlfriend, and when he came here to get the rest of his stuff that I'd been storing, he stole loads of my clothes.

He gradually returned them, beginning a month or so later!

And since then I have been very No Contact. I refuse to engage with him. Especially after what I learned from D_ when Circus Boy was here. I now have no doubt that he was cheating on me throughout our relationship, I just didn't always know. He never wanted me, he only ever wanted to control me. He still does.

The weekend he came back from his next prison experience (Swansea) for shoplifting and breaking the terms of his license, he came around - he'd phoned me immediately he was released. It was a week after Dad died. I am sure he wanted to see if I was with Circus Boy. He started throwing up in the drive as we were talking, and said he was throwing up blood. He was. I called the ambulance and he was taken to hospital. 

Next day he phoned me ranting and raving how had I dared call the ambulance, now he was stuck in hospital, how was he going to get back, what was I going to do about it? Erm, how about nothing?

I was snoozing later in the day, when someone walked in through the back door. It was Steve. He sat on my sofa as though this was perfectly normal and started talking about what we were going to do for the evening! I was so shocked, at first I just sat there listening as he said how he'd walked out of the hospital, and walked here. I said shouldn't he go back as he may be seriously ill, I'd give him a lift? He refused, said he didn't care, but he was hungry.

I suggested a curry, cos an idea was forming. I pretended to phone the curry house, but said the delivery number wasn't working, so we walked down. As we waited for the curry we ordered, I said I'd nip to the offie for some booze, I wouldn't be a minute. I ran home like the wind! Locked the door, but he didn't come back. Probably took the extra curry round to one of his other hapless women.

He turned up just before New Year, and I stayed very calm because Son was in the house, and Son hates him. He was trying to find out what I was doing on New Year's Eve. But he went away no problem.

New Year's Eve he tried to call reverse-charge. I get the feeling his heart really isn't in this stalking lark any more!

I'm just waiting now to see what happens when the restraining order runs out. He knows I tell the Police when he contacts me - though I don't press charges. He could easily be sent back to prison and he knows it. If I can get to the end of February with as little contact as this, then I'll know it's over. Fingers crossed.....

My Life in Stalkers 3 - Psycho One-Date Man

Apologies to those who've read my old blog, as they lived through this particular stalk as it happened, in 2010.

I was about to write that this stalker started out as a normal date, but that isn't strictly true - he was a bit odd from the get-go and I totally missed the warning signs. Which is a bit worrying, as I'd been with Steve for almost four years by this time - we were on one of our 'breaks' - by which I mean I had broken up with him, and my nights were not my own because he'd be coming around, throwing stones at my window, wanting to talk to me, begging me to take him back. While he was with someone else, of course.

I was out for lunch with Sue and her daughter, and whilst I was at the bar, a girl in her early twenties came over and asked could she have my phone number for her dad :-O Hmmmm. We chatted for a short time, although at this point I said I thought it was a bit odd, as most men would wait a while before introducing a woman to their children - this was kind of the reverse situation. So eventually I went over and spoke briefly to her dad, he was my age (but I didn't let this put me off), came from Wolverhampton, was a landscape gardener, seemed ok, so I thought why not?

So two days later he phoned and we agreed to go out on the following Sunday, as I was busy until then. Have to say, I already had reservations, because he seemed to keen, and in my mind keenness reminded me of how Steve had been when we first met. Plus I didn't think I fancied this Dad bloke, but I thought I might as well give him a chance.

Sunday rolled along, and I went to meet him in the car park at a nearby pub. At first, I thought he wasn't there, but it turned out that he WAS there - in this broken-looking white van that I had assumed someone had abandoned in the corner of the car park.

Off we set in this death-trap, with him driving in a way as to fulfill every white-van-man stereotype you could care to mention. I was sitting there trying to breathe as little as possible and through my mouth. I still kind of thought I could taste dog and sweat.

We got to a pub, eventually, thank God, and I was able to breathe normally again. He bought the drinks and we were having a nice chat until he turned the conversation to my last relationship, which wasn't really something I wanted to talk about.

'Oh, he was an arse, he was abusive, there was a lot of violence, we've split up now, end of story really.'

'Oooh, that's terrible, I can't stand men like that, I'm not like that AT ALL. With me, what you see is what you get, I treat women right, I'd never lay a hand on them.....' and on it went for a good ten minutes, must have been. Which struck me as a bit odd. I mean, who goes on and on about something they aren't?

But that was nothing, because next topic of conversation was his wife, whom he was in the process of divorcing.

'God, she's such a bitch. She wants to keep the house, says it's for the best because the girls are staying with her, and I can live at my parents.' It's a good job I've hidden all the profits from my work, otherwise she'd be getting loads more, the cow. Luckily she can't think straight since the stroke...'

'She's had a STROKE?'

'Yeah, that's caused all the problems. She was fine before then, but since the stroke she's a right lazy cow, keeps losing her temper and all. I can't be expected to put up with that sort of thing, whatever anyone says. It's not them that have to live with her. Six months of that is enough for anyone to put up with. I mean, it was alright when she was in hospital, you can expect to put up with a bit of crap then, but not once they're home - I mean, there's in sickness and in health, and there's taking it to extremes, and this was a bit extreme...'

And on it went. All the time I was getting more and more sympathy for this poor woman, who is not only disabled, not only looking after his kids, but also is being deprived of her proper divorce settlement by this PIG!

Obviously, when he suggested we go somewhere for lunch, I said I had to get back for my son being dropped off. Off we drove.

Not back to Shifnal though. He was driving on back roads that I didn't know, so it took me a while to realise we were headed towards Wolverhampton.

'Where are we going?'

'Oh, there's a good place for lunch I know.'

Well fucking hell. So we had lunch, and I let him pay, which I wouldn't normally do, but I was well pissed off at not being taken back home. And STILL I didn't realise that the guy was a looney tunes. I was just waiting for it all to be over, and was convinced I wasn't going to see him again by this time. Even though he was talking about introducing me to his parents :-O

Luckily, we then headed back for home.

'So where do you live?'

'Don't worry, I'm only two minutes form the Beehive, just drop me back at the car park.'

'No, I'll drop you home, you said Orchard Road didn't you, well, we're here now, which number?'

So I pointed out my house. And he insisted on getting out to look at 'what he could do to the garden' (my garden is a tip, but I had already decided it could stay that way rather than me ever see this loser again). As I opened my front door, intending to yell a cheery 'byee' he practically forced his way in and said, 'how about a cup of tea then?' I hate the fact that my natural instinct to be polite overcame my reluctance to have him in my house. In retrospect, I should have shoved him straight back out.

So we had a cup of tea. He sat on the sofa. I sat on my window ledge, waiting for him to leave.

'Why don;t you come and sit over here?' he said. 'The neighbours can see everything with you sitting there.'

THANK THE LORD!

FINALLY he decided to go, but not before he had arranged to see me again. I said no to Saturday night and Sunday lunch, but decided I needed him out of the house and so I said yes to Friday night. He left, after giving me a hug I really didn't want, and I heaved the BIGGEST sigh of relief.

I didn't sleep that night, because I really didn't want to see him again. I actually felt trapped. After one date! So Monday evening I phoned him and said I was sorry, after thinking about it, I was feeling trapped and it was probably because I wasn't ready to date again, sorry again. Luckily, he wasn't very vocal, and just said, 'oh' and 'ok', and then I said 'bye' and hung up. PHEW! OVER!

But it wasn't.

An hour later he rang back. I ignored it - I mean, it's not like I felt I owed him anything: it had been one date, I'd cancelled seeing him, said I didn't want to see him again, given a plausible reason why not, what else could I say? He rang about five times before I turned my phone off. As it happened, it was a good thing, because next morning when I turned it back on, I had been getting calls from him right up to 11pm, and also lots of texts from Steve. So damn good thing I missed all of that drama.

But that wasn't the end of it, oh no. Psycho One-Date Man had left millions of messages, which obviously I deleted without listening to. But the phonecalls and messages continued. Because, of course, I was really likely to answer a call a day later. Or two days later. Or a week later. Wasn't I? NO YOU PSYCHO!!!

Well eventually he got the message - or so I thought. About three weeks later, there was a phenomenal banging on my door, quite late one Friday night. Opened it, and it was Steve.

'Who the fuck owns that white van that's always parked outside your house? TELL ME!'

'You what?'

'You know what, whose fucking crappy van is it? Every night I've come past here and that fucking van is parked outside your house, so don't pretend you don't know what the fuck I'm talking about.'

'I don't! I really don't!'

But then it clicked. I hadn't seen it, but it MUST have been Psycho One-Date Man.

'Well, it doesn't matter whether you did or not, I've just gone after the tosser and told him he can fuck right off, cos if I see him out here again I'm gonna rip his fucking head off.'

How very gallant. So much so that we eventually got back together. Cos I'm pig-shit thick like that. then one night in December, about 11pm, me and Steve were in bed when my phone went.

'Hello?'

'Hello Karen? It's Psycho One-Date Man...' (he actually said his name, but for clarity I've stuck with Psycho One-Date Man)

'Oh for fuck's sake!' and I hung up. He's never called back, although I have his number stored in my phone to prevent such a repetition. As Psycho One-Date Man.

So learning points from him:
Trust your instincts and listen to your gut - and run when you feel the urge
Consciously be aware of and look out for warning signs
Don't be polite - not if it puts you in danger
Swear if you have to
Have more than one stalker so they fight eachother off
Just like a lit firework - Never go back to a stalker. Steve ended up beating me so badly he was prosecuted almost immediately after I went back to him after this incident.
And once again - No Contact eventually worked

So being as January is coincidentally Stalking Awareness Month in the US, I'll try to do the Steve story next. Six years of crap decanted into a few posts - but concentrating on the stalking. If the above is what someone is capable of after one date, you can imagine what a person who has been in a relationship for years is capable of...

Well Hello, Stranger...

Yesterday I was feeling a bit run-down and fuzzy-headed (yup, other people may say 'hungover'), so I had an early night with my book in preparation for return-proper to work today.

Just after nine, there was a rap-rap-rap on the door. I was shit scared for a second, cos surely only Steve would be calling at this time of night? But then I remembered that when he sees my bedroom light is on, his preferred method of letting me know he's there is to throw stones at my window. so I got my dressing gown on and opened the front door.

'Hello you,' said a hooded figure, much taller than Steve. For a second I didn't recognise him, but then by his voice I realised it was Circus Boy. Son was at the top of the stairs by now, obviously thinking it was Steve too, and determined that I wouldn't let him in.

'It's ok, it's Circus Boy,' I said.

'Oh, hello Circus Boy, we haven't seen you for AGES have we?'

Heehee, that's right, rub it in.

So off Son went to bed again, and in came Circus Boy, apologising for disturbing me, but not actually leaving! So we chatted, and I waited for him to tell me what he was doing here, but in typical Circus Boy style, he was saying nothing. He, as usual, has been doing all sorts - DJ-ing, juggling fire, going to various massive parties in the windswept wilds of the countryside, rehearsing for a play in March, saving for a van still, and buying a new sound system.

'And what have you been doing?' he said.

'Hmmm. Not a lot. I nearly cleaned out the fish tank today...'

Sometimes my sentences would be best left unfinished.

We had a cup of tea and he smoked out my back door, while putting the world to rights and telling me about a CID Christmas Party he'd been to (!) We talked about my Dad, about his Dad, about his work and my work. At about half ten I said I was going to bed because I had to be up early the next day and I was feeling rough and a bit hungover.

'Oh, I thought you were looking really well, your skin looks so much better, and your eyes are all sparkly, you look so much better than when I last saw you...'

Well yes, I'd just had a suspected stroke when you last saw me!

Thing is, when he re-appears, we just go straight back to getting on, like we always have. He makes me laugh, the things he says, even though he isn't usually trying to. For instance, when he says, 'I just can't stay away from you.' Well, you bloody managed well enough for the last three months! My face aches whenever I've been with him for an hour or so. Things like him pondering at length whether it wouldn't be better to risk going to prison 'for a couple of years' rather than saving up money - and he doesn't understand why I find that funny - though he ends up laughing along with me. And do supermarkets really have compressors out back to squash up out-of-date food so people can't eat it and sue them? I really do think he is officially crackers. Yet I also feel a bit nervous with him - he is so confident for someone his age, he really knows what he wants, and has every expectation of getting it. Also, when he thinks I'm not looking, he outright STARES at me, which is very disconcerting. Not like sexily, but like as if I am a specimen or something, like he's trying to work me out.

So we went back in the living room and I finally asked him, 'Circus Boy, have you had a row with your Mum or something?'

'No! Not really....' but his guilty sort of laugh gave it away that he had.

'Good, cos you have to go home now, I'm knackered.'

'Can't I stay here?'

'No, you bloody can't! I really do need some sleep, and I don't think it's really on to suddenly turn up out of nowhere and expect to stay over. But it was really nice to see you, and maybe if you don't leave it so long next time...'

We had a hug and a kiss at the door, and off he went. I'd just got into bed, and he was back again.

'Forgot me baccy.' He'd left it in the kitchen. 'So you're sure you don't want me to stay?' I just raised Roger Moore eyebrow.

Another hug and another kiss, and this time he was gone properly.

He'd already been talking about us going out in the next couple of weeks to see some bands, but I think that could just be Circus Boy guff to fish me in again. So we'll see. It was a shame to miss out on his really quite marvellous cock, but there's also the issue of the somewhat less-than-marvellous anal sores which I haven't investigated yet. So we'll see what happens.

This morning I was telling Son, 'so, we'll see if we see Circus Boy again in the next week or so, or if he's going to disappear for another three months.'

'I strongly suspect the latter,' he said.

I strongly suspect he's right. But I'm optimistic enough to hold out a teensy bit of hope otherwise. Who knows, I might even invite him to my birthday drinks. But then again, I couldn't cope if he copped off with someone else on my birthday. I am still capable of going slightly psycho over him. Another reason not to shag him really. Not one I'm about to mention to him though.

By The Way...

The photo of me on this blog is temporarily changed to one from about the time of the latest story. I'm not trying to pretend I am twenty years younger (well, not in this particular way at least). :-)

My Life in Stalkers 2 - The one that was All My Fault (Part 2)

It couldn't go on, I couldn't stay with M_ when I was falling so desperately in love with Dr House Officer. It all came to a head, as these things usually do, at a completely inappropriate time.

M_ and I had been invited to my old house-mate's wedding, in Wales. We went down the night before, and neither of us could sleep. At 5am he asked me, 'what's wrong? Something isn't right - you need to tell me.'

'I don't love you any more. Not the way I should.'

'Do you want us to stay together?'

'No.'

And that was sort of that, bar the crying, the deciding we couldn't face a day of trying to be civil to eachother, and the drive back to Birmingham. M_  moved out as soon as we got back - to his friend-next-door's.

I ignored all the phonecalls that weekend, and just holed up in my bed. It was what I wanted, but I still felt tragic.

When I got back from work on Monday, the flat was empty. I mean, as in NOTHING was left except the bed and other furniture that belonged to the landlord, and my things. Everything else was gone. Things we had bought together, things I was renting (this was in the days of Radio Rentals, so the TV and video player), anything that wasn't definitely mine, it was gone.

M_ probably thought I'd rock up next door and make a big deal about it, but I didn't. I was too busy waiting for Dr House Officer to call to worry about stuff.

Every morning I'd head out to work, and M_ would be watching from his friend's window.

About a week later, Dr House Officer and I went to Canon Hill Park and spent the afternoon wandering around, then lazing on the grass, finally falling asleep. It was with him that I learned to love that smell of fresh boy-sweat. He was the first time I smelled it - at Handsworth Carnival and again that afternoon. Or maybe I'd never noticed it before because I hadn't cared so much. Whatever, we wandered back to my flat, me on a high of love-hormones and boy-pheromones.

I'd lost my key. We couldn't get in. Shit.

Well, there was one person who did have a key, and he was conveniently close by - next door in fact. So we moseyed on over to ask M_ to lend me a key. Which he did. Oh, I saw him clock Dr House Officer, but it really didn't surprise me, and he showed no signs that he was at that very minute turning into a complete psycho nightmare.

Over the next week, the strangest thing happened. Things began returning to the flat. Gradually it was being re-furnished. Still no alarm bells.

Then the next weekend Dr House Officer and I were in Pizza Express, and I saw M_ looking through the window at us from across the road. I thought it was pure chance, but when he didn't move, just carried on watching us, I pointed him out to Dr House Officer. He got up and went outside, but by that time, M_ had gone.

Roll forward to a Thursday night. A Thursday night like any other. I can't remember what me and Dr House Officer had done, probably been for a meal then the pub, but we had gone back to his house, were in bed, had been for a while, and were about to go to sleep. The doorbell rang, and Dr House Officer went to answer it.

'Where's Karen? I want to speak to her.' It was M_

'Look, she is here, but she doesn't want to speak to you.' Dr House Officer was right - not least because I was starkers.

'I know she's in here. You need to let me in. I've got an axe in the car.'

'You what! You're a fucking maniac! Just fuck off, ok?' And Dr House Officer slammed the door shut.

There then followed ten minutes of M_ banging on the door and shouting, while Dr House Officer instructed me to get dressed, get my stuff together, and packed his own bag. Then we ran out the back door, round to his car, and drove away, M_ still obliviously banging on his front door.

We went to his on-call room at the Accident Hospital. Dr House Officer would barely speak a word to me. I tried to say I was sorry, that I didn't know how he'd found us, that I'd sort it out. He wasn't interested, just told me to go to sleep. I couldn't, and eventually called a taxi about 2am. I went home and phoned my best friend, S_. I could see that M_'s car was back, but I still didn't click that he was probably well aware I was back. I didn't click until S_ got her boyfriend to bring her to pick me up. As I got in the car, M_ came running out going, 'who are you off with now, you tramp?!' and kicking his car.

I didn't sleep at all that night. I sat up with S_ and told her the whole sorry story. I knew, I just knew, that it was over with me and Dr House Officer, and that was killing me. He had been everything I had ever wanted - we'd been to see plays, to see bands; we liked the same sorts of music, the same books, everything. We'd even shared the same dream - we'd both wanted to work at the Acci because it was the very best, it was the hardest work, the  most challenging workload, the most innovative treatments. Not everyone could cut it, and we'd both wanted that more than anything.

Next day I was a mess, couldn't stop crying. Everyone was astonished, because no-one (not even S_ until the night before) had known we were together, we'd kept it that secret. And now we weren't. Dr House Officer didn't contact me, and there was no way I would contact him. I was Senior I Burns, I still had my pride.

M_ apologised, but it was too late, I knew I couldn't live next door to him. I moved out a week later, leaving no forwarding address. I didn't hear from him until he contacted me on Facebook two years ago to apologise. It wasn't necessary - I blame myself and myself alone.

Dr House Officer contacted me about a month later when I was doing a weekend on-call. We had lunch together. I will never know what he wanted - there was a physio course on that weekend, and some of the physios came to join us after about ten minutes. He finished his food and left. Later that afternoon, I was suctioning a patient on MIU, and he came behind the curtains.

'I wanted to tell you... I wanted to say....'

I pulled my suction catheter out of the ET tube, it had a huge gob of browny yellow sputum on the end of it. I will remember that particular sputum gob for the rest of my life.

'...you're a really good physio, aren't you?'

I looked into his eyes. Then grabbed hold of the end of the catheter, sputum gob and all, and in a swift move pulled off my glove over it, held the whole package in the other hand and pulled off my other glove over the whole lot. Chucked it in the bin.

'Yeah, I'm not bad.'

He left. I screwed my eyes up, pulled off my apron and finally came out of the curtains.

One of the MIU nurses was waiting outside.

'You know that Dr House Officer who's just left?' she said.

'Yes,'

'Well,' she drew closer, confidentially. 'He was going out with one of the OTs, and her ex-boyfriend was only stalking them! Followed them home one night with a baseball bat, and totally wrecked his house!'

I drew myself up to my full height, standing on every last little bit of the meagre amount of dignity I had left. 'Actually, she was a physio, not an OT; it was an axe, not a baseball bat, and it never left the stalker's car. And the reason I know all of this is because I WAS that physiotherapist.'

As I write this I can still see her face, and the faces of the onlookers as I left the MIU.

I went on to win the Points Game, mainly by shagging a burns Registrar in a vain attempt to get Dr House Officer's attention, then being snogged by an anaesthetist who pretended he was a shoulder to cry on. I lost a stone in weight because I couldn't eat. Dr House Officer is now Dr Consultant Anaesthetist. I still think I should be the mother of his two children, but hey, if he thinks of me at all it is as just the girl who was too much trouble cos she had a crazy stalker ex. PIG. ;-)

My Life in Stalkers 2 - The one that was All My Fault (Part 1)

I'm not proud of this one, because I took a pretty normal bloke and sent him psycho, and it is fair to say I never saw it coming. I've felt bad about this for years, it is why I became so determined to never cheat on anyone ever again, because what happened was so bad - tho being my life, it did have a comedy ending!

The person this blog is about is actually now a friend, and out of respect for him, I am changing his initial and his friends' initials etc., so hopefully unless you know the story already, he's pretty unrecognisable. Dr House Officer is another kettle of fish altogether, and I don't care if he has invented a wonder-light, he acted pretty badly and I don't care if people work out who he is!

So - it is the early 90s and I am Senior 1 Burns physio at Birmingham Accident Hospital. This was pretty much my complete and utter dream job at the time, I loved the hospital, I loved my consultants, I loved learning and teaching, I loved the drama and the excitement and the ridiculously hard work, and even more ridiculously hard play.

At the same time, I had this whole other parallel life, living with my boyfriend, M_, in Moseley, and doing all the usual gothy stuff with our friends. He wasn't anything to do with hospitals, was very arty, and played in a band in his spare time - a band that very nearly sort of made it :-)

There I was, all happy, and then one August Dr House Officer turns up. You get new HOs every August and February - but August they are brand new out of uni. By this time (I was 27), I wasn't particularly interested in the new HOs - they seemed very young, very vulnerable, and they were all just that teensy bit incompetent and a nuisance at first. Yet I noticed Dr House Officer the very first time I saw him. He was sitting on his own in the canteen, and he ate like my Dad. I can't explain how, but my Dad does (did) this thing with his mouth when he eats, and so did Dr House Officer. He also had these gorgeous brown eyes, like a baby seal, and he looked so young and vulnerable - but that was all - a quick, 'oh, he eats like my Dad, I've never seen anyone else do that before' - and I forgot all about him.

All the other physios were involved in The Points Game - you get points for snogging different grades of doctors, and the game resets each rotation, so the new game was on. I was settled, so I wasn't even in the running, but it was still fun to listen into the plans and plotting. Most of the gossip was about the upcoming barge party, the first big event of the new rotation.

We all went, and M_ wasn't going, because he wasn't really into things that went on at the hospital at all - he was pretty shy anyway, and especially with people who weren't goth. I never really was your 'dressed in black' goth - I had orange hair and loved wearing very colourful clothes. That evening as I climbed down the ladder thingy into the barge, I was wearing leopard-print yellow skinny trousers, a purple shirt and a multicoloured glittery waistcoat with jingle bells on it. 'Oh my God, it's Marc Bolan' said Dr House Officer. I smiled, but essentially blanked him, and went off with my friends to drink some horrible green drink, that surely had more than a little bearing on what was to follow.

What was to follow was Dr House Officer chatting to me a couple of times, and inadvertantly letting slip that he liked Nick Drake. All of a sudden, I was interested - no - MORE than interested, because Nick Drake was my current Big Thing that I had recently discovered and was banging on about to anyone who would listen (and more than a few who wouldn't). So we had a very animated conversation, but then off I went with my mates again.

Until the Casualty Dog got involved. So named because she worked in Casualty, and she was a Dog. Yes, it's not very sisterly, it's not very adult, but trust me, in this case it was deserved. All my mates were going on at me, 'Karen, you can't leave him to the Casualty Dog, you've got to rescue him - I mean, he WON'T KNOW that she's the Casualty Dog, he might think she's normal. He'll catch something, you HAVE to act.' And of course, I was all tipsy on Green Drink, so it seemed like yes, this was a reasonable thing to do.  So I came out with one of the lines that has gone down in Accident Hospital history - a story that would doubtless still be being told today, had it not been shut.

I wandered up to Dr House Officer and Casualty Dog, smiling sweetly and saying, 'excuse me'. I turned to Dr House Officer and said, 'only, I just wanted to let you know, I'm going to snog you later.' Then I turned slightly, before turning back. 'In fact, I'm going to snog you now.' And I did. Not just a baby snog either. This was a proper, no-coming-up-for-air, face-off, tonsil-tickling full-on snog. Which he enthusiastically participated in. When we finished, I sort of held him at arms length, smiled, and walked to the other end of the boat - luckily he followed me. We were pretty much alone (apart from the sounds of cheering and whistles) at that end, and I said, 'you can thank me later, I just saved you from the Casualty Dog.' But somehow, we carried on chatting for the rest of the night.

And by the end of that night I had fallen for him, massively hard. He knew I lived with someone, but he wanted to see me again, and I wanted to see him again too. It was a question of logistics though - but he said we'd work something out at work.

I hardly slept that night at all. M_ obvs asked me how my night had been, I said it was just the usual; too much alcohol and not enough common sense. Didn't mention that was just me.

Next day I was just buzzing, couldn't WAIT to see Dr House Officer. but there I was, trapped in the Burns Unit and desperate to know what he thought of me in the cold light of day. Then, at break, my Best Mate, S_ said, 'oh, I can't put my finger on it, but I'm pretty sure Dr House Officer really regrets last night.' I was gutted. Then my Future Best Mate, C_, said, 'I can't see that, he was well into her even before the snog, why would he suddenly change his mind - he wasn't drunk at the start of the night.'

So I was well confused, but also quite proud, because, whatever, for one day at least I was winning the Points Game!

After lunch, my bleep went, and when I answered it, it was DR HOUSE OFFICER wanting to talk to me. thus began a whole string of sneaky meetings over the next couple of days. I'd been supposed to bleep him, but I hadn't, cos of what S_ had said, but he told me it wasn't true, and he definitely didn't regret it at all. Over those couple of days we reorganised my on-calls to coincide with when his team were on take, and arranged a night out, and a completely fabulous weekend at Handsworth Carnival (when M_ was away with his mate).

It was weird - I still loved M_ as a friend, but the spark had gone ages previously. Yet I would come back from being on call and want to tell him about how great Dr House Officer was. And I knew how awful I was being. There was one Saturday when I really wanted to be with Dr House Officer, but we were cat-sitting for M_'s friend, and watching Wild At Heart (the film, not the crap TV show). Chris Isaak was singing about how he didn't want to fall in love, celluloid houses were burning down, and I knew exactly how it felt. I knew my life was going to be shattered at some point, but like a car-crash it was happening in slow motion, and I couldn't do anything to stop it.

The Karma train was coming - and it was about to pull into my station....

My Life in Stalkers 1 - Patients

I thought as a New Year was starting, now would be as good a time as any to run through some of my stalkers - because though there haven't been that many, there have been a few. Enough, in fact, to spread over about three posts I should think. Though Steve will definitely need at least one post to himself. I've actually learned a fair bit about how to spot potential stalkers and avoid them - also about how to deal with them when they happen.

None of this is true about my stalkers who began as patients.

That's because I have never been stalked by a patient from the general out-patient population. I'd be surprised if I had been - I think I mentioned before that I am very good at keeping a professional distance. It's completely different to not getting emotionally involved, because I do get VERY emotionally involved with lots of my patients: I am not one of those people who thinks you can be a good health worker without getting emotionally involved. But I keep things on a very professional level - I would expect my patient to be well aware that I genuinely care for them, but to realise that it is purely in a professional capacity and I am not available for friendship or anything else outside of that capacity. In the whole of my professional career I have only twice had people think any differently - and in both cases it was women who wanted to meet as friends when their treatment ended. I declined and explained my reasons why - that they only knew the professional me and probably wouldn't even like the personal me!

Two of my stalkers were men who had received head injuries, and in both cases there was a similar progression. In both cases, I treated them in the MIU (the intensive care unit) at Birmingham Accident Hospital, through their hospital stay, and then as out-patients. Working with someone who has a severe head injury is extremely intensive - you see them for at least an hour each day, you get to know them and their family extremely well. Sometimes, like in one of these cases, you are the one who realises that they are far more aware than they are able to indicate.

A_ used to scream weakly for most of the day. He didn't talk or make eye-contact so everyone thought he couldn't think, but one day it just sort of clicked that he was trying to respond appropriately to what I was saying. I started asking him yes/no questions, and it became clear that he was in pain with his hip (which he'd broken), he was often thirsty and he was lonely for most of the day except in physio. Once I knew that, the Occupational Therapists (OTs) were able to get him a computer-thingy (this was the early 90s, so nothing fancy) that he could use to communicate, using the one arm he could move. It turned out that much of his mental ability was intact, and once his body caught up with that, over a period of about 8 months, he made a good physical recovery. However, he had profound personality changes and whereas he was previously an outgoing, confident man, he had become quite a dependent, socially awkward person. When he was discharged, he would come back to the hospital to see me almost every week. Then he began to bring me in mix tapes, but I still didn't really click. Until he started following me home from the hospital. Luckily I was a way faster walker than he was, and I was quite capable of nipping on a passing bus to escape him, but it was a bit worrying, so I had a chat with him and said it wasn't really on. He switched to just phoning me every week or so, which was fine.

L_ was older, and was able to communicate well from the third week after his head injury. He had a wife, and she was very supportive, so it was quite a surprise to me that after his discharge, he would often come back to see me, and try to see me in social situations. Initially he used fundraising things as the reason, and so I did go to a couple of functions, which in hindsight wasn't a good idea. But when I began to disengage, he began phoning daily to speak to me and invite me to places. I was quite firm with him, but it didn't make any difference, so the secretaries ended up having to tell him I wasn't available.

I then moved to a mental health hospital, and heard nothing from either patient for about a month. Then, within one week I received a mix tape from A and two phonecalls from L - a new secretary had told them my new place of work! But this hospital was out in the sticks, and not as convenient as the Accident Hospital, which was very central, and so eventually the contacts died out. I think it also helped that the physiotherapy department was very poorly signposted, so any casual callers wouldn't have found it. So I suppose these were both examples where a form of 'No Contact' worked.

For all that these men were a bit of a nuisance, they weren't frightening to me at all, because I knew they were physically frail, and also I knew it was all a product of their head injuries. My next stalker was the only person in my career in mental health that I was frightened of. C_ Christ J_ was in hospital because of bipolar disorder - during a manic phase he had turned his house open-plan - by knocking through to the neighbours' house. So we are talking seriously disturbed. The usual routine was that the physio would assess people for exercise and relaxation classes, and these were done by physios and Technical Instructors on a rota. As physios, we would also sometimes see people for one-to-one sessions for physical problems, or for anxiety management. Now the assessment was interesting because C_ Christ J_ insisted that I sit on a certain chair, always call him 'C_ Christ J_' (this wasn't just me, this was everyone), and never turn my back on him. 'For your own good' he said. It was a bit like having a conversation with a less eloquent Hannibal Lecter. But he agreed to go to exercise and relaxation groups.

He caused LOTS of problems in all the groups. And he hurt his back, so I took him out of classes and saw him alone - initially to treat his back. It was a kind of personal challenge - I would put up with all the bossiness and insults, because I was being paid for this, and I WOULD get this man better. And it worked. He eventually started to go to relaxation, initially in my groups, and he wouldn't act out. Then he went back to exercise groups. Finally, he was discharged.

And then the letters began. He first off just sent a thank you letter. Then a couple of thank you presents - a half-eaten packet of Polos; a cake decoration with no head. Then he began sending letters talking about me and asking personal questions, composed from letters cut out of a newspaper :-O My boss informed his consultant, and probably partly to do with this, he was re-admitted.

Once again I assessed him, and decided I'd better do a one-to-one relaxation just to see how he coped again. Now my boss was already saying maybe I shouldn't be involved in his programme, because of the history, but I wasn't so experienced then, and I wanted to prove myself - to my seniors, but also to myself. It's not a mistake I would make now.

Things came to a head a day later. It was almost Christmas, and a hospital envelope arrived in the internal mail addressed to me. It contained C_ Christ J_'s physio appointment card, folded in two to make a Christmas card - he'd even stuck on a piece of holly. When I opened it, the message read, 'Happy Christmas. It will be your last. Love from C_ Christ J_' And there was a little stick hangman drawn on the opposite page, with my name under it :-O

My boss went completely ape-shit, and ran off to C_ Christ J_'s ward as such a speed I thought he was going to physically attack him. But of course he didn't. Just got him transferred to the secure ward and  it was only with a lot of persuading that he didn't call the Police.

In fact, once C_ Christ J_ was properly well, he was very apologetic about the whole thing - and a completely different person to the person I met on the wards. But this was a big learning experience - know when it is better for all involved to back the hell off.

Once again, No Contact proved to be the best tactic in dealing with stalker-type behaviour. So looking back, although I thought there was little for me to learn about stalkers when dealing with a patient population,  it actually has reinforced what I now know - No Contact is a very useful tool when dealing with stalkers.  But it would be another 20 years before I realised that.

Names of patients and other biographical/medical details have been slightly altered to prevent any possible identification