Being stalked is probably the most terrifying experience anyone can have. You meet someone and are nice to him, and he’s nice t you, but for some reason, things just aren’t going to happen in a relationship. You tell him you just want to be friends, and suddenly your life is turned upside down.
I met my stalker at the club where I work. He asked questions while I was dancing, and even invited me to just sit and talk. We talked, I tod him about my art, and even gave him a way to see some of it online.
He started coming in to see me dance more often, and started reading commetns on my art pages. He even commented a time or two and made me feel special. One day h came into the club wih a box of art supplies for me. I thanked him and continued my night.
He coninued to come in, and while I didn’t realize I at the time, he would get extremely jealous whenever I danced for someone other than him. I didn’t know that when he wasn’t there watching me, things were getting extremely creepy.
He was frequently following me around town. He knew my car and my license plate number. He knew my home phone number and my cell phone number. He knew my real name. He had my myspace and facebook addresses with my real name on them.
He knew who my parents had been. He knew where I lived, he knew when I worked and when I didn’t. He knew hings about me that I thought were deep, dark secrets from all but my very closest friends.
He would watch me from the shadows outside my home as I dressed for bed. He watched me go to sleep. He watched as I occasionally had sex with someone from the club or a bar. He got jeaous. He got angry. In his mind, I belonged to him, and no one else should have me.
He started to plan.
He started learning everything there was to learn about everplace I went reguarly. He learned the layut of the cub. He earned the layout of my home and the homes around me. He learned about the stores where I shopped and the parks where I ran.
He learned everything about me and made his plan foolproof. He hid severa times near each place he thought he could catch me alone at times he thought I would be there to learn if he really could catch me alone.
While all this went on, he continued to be a regular at the club whenever I was there. He and I continued to have little conversations whenever I danced for him. I thought we were, well not friends, but people who had a very pleasant working relationship. He was one of my favorite customers because he tipped well for dances and didn’t expect me to do things for him.
Then, one day, it happened. I was walking to my car at the edge of the parking lot of the mall I liked to shop at on my nights off. It was late and the mall had just closed. A van was parked next to my car. As I unlocked my car door, the van door rolled open and I was pulled inside.
I was tied down, gagged, and covered with a blanket. I was driven around for a long time, probably in circles. Eventually we stopped and I was carried like a sack of potatoes to a room where I was tied down on a bed.
He sat and talked to me. He told me all about his obsession with me. He called it his love for me. He told me that now we would be together forever. I cried. He cut my clothes off me.
He didn’t rape me right away. He tried to act like he was my lover. He kissed me all over. He touched me. He made my body betray me by becoming aroused. When he entered me, I screamed. I screamed that I hated him. I screamed that he was the worst thing that ever happened to me.
I made him angry. He beat me. He raped me again. He sodomized me. He told me that I would die as his property. He told me that I was his, and that I’d never see anyone I loved again. He told me that if I wanted to be see someone I loved I’d better start loving him.
I was kept chained to that bed for I don’t know how long. He would occasionally let me go to the bathroom, but would stay and watch me. He’d make me go with him standing right there looking at me, and then he’d chain me back to my bed. He’d rape me whenever he felt like it. He’d use me however he wanted.
I’m only alive and free because my roommates missed me and couldn’t get me on the phone, and I’d parked in view of a security camera at the mall. The police looked for me, found out I’d gone to the mall, found my car, and saw me being kidnapped. They saw his license plate. They found his address.
They found me chained to a bed, beaten, bloody, and feeling like my soul had been raped out of me. He was tried, I had to testify, and he went to prison. He wasn’t a big, tough, or mean guy, so he spent some time being raped repeatedly himself before he tried to fight back and was killed.
He’s the rapist it’s easiest to forgive for some reason, because he was the third. He was the one who led Miranda to bring her priest to talk with me. He was the one who ultimately led me to Jesus, and, in a way, I suppose I owe him for that.
I hope that he found God before he was killed, and I hope that his soul was saved, because otherwise he’ll spend the rest of eternity longing for the time he spent in prison and wishing he could have traded places with me chained to that bed. I won’t pray for him to be released from purgatory, and I won’t pray that he suffers in hell. I do forgive him, though, and I hope he found his salvation.
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