I know, I know - I fell off my blogging wagon for a while, but this time for very good reason: I've been writing like mad. I am working on a personal essay that will evolve into a researched article as I nail down all the details. This is something I have put off writing for the past several years because the subject matter; my having been stalked for two years, is very personal to me, and was frankly too painful for me to write about. I needed some time and space before I could even communicate the particulars effectively. So, I never wrote about it... I didn't even etch my thoughts in my journal.
The stalking changed my perception of safety to such an extent that I didn't even feel safe writing it down. As if not putting it in print made it less real and so less frightening. But now I am past fear. My stalker is my ex-husband. He shadowed my every move, stole my mail, broke into my home, and continually threatened me for two years after divorce. But it didn't stop there, he also electronically stalked me, breaking into personal information and gained access to everything from my pharmacy to my bank accounts.
It took two years and more than fifty police reports before he was finally convicted of several counts of Felony aggravated Stalking, and sent to jail. He is now serving five years of Felony probation in another state, as the State of Florida deemed him such a danger to me that they refused to permit his remaining in Florida to serve his probation.
The kicker in all of this was that because I had been at one time married to him, the police always considered his persistent infiltration into every aspect of my life as a domestic issue. Had he been a stranger he would have been arrested long before he violated my order of protection by coming to my house to do god-knows-what to me. Thankfully, my parents had hired private detectives to protect me, and on the two separate occasions that my stalker came to my home, they were there to intercept him.
The story of all that happened and the legal battle that ensued is so vast and detailed that I am sure I will need to put it all down in book length eventually. For now I am writing little segments at a time starting with an essay with the intention of working it into articles on the subject. I hope my experiences with the horror of being stalked will help another who is suffering the same violation.
The writing is cathartic, but time consuming, as I need to step away from the page every so often to be able to endure recounting it.
The strangest part about living through a stalking is the reaction of other people when they learn about it. They are not sure what to say, and invariably they become uncomfortable with it. Like it is a disease that may be contagious. Strange... but then again sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction.
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