I’ve gotten a lot closer lately to someone in my life. We’re bonded by the understanding of similar relationship types. There are so many other awesome things in common, but emotional understanding is a unique one. Just knowing that someone knows what you are going through or have gone through sometimes makes all the difference. Especially when one is male, the other female.

We were checking in with each other for the day and the ole emotional roller coaster came up. You know the one. One minute they love you and it feels amazing, the next they tell you how replaceable you are or just appear to completely bail. Yup, those.

And then I remembered. I remembered a time when the mention of a roller coaster brought a ridiculously huge smile to my face, instead of a sinking feeling in my stomach. The bad “this is gonna hurt” kind of sinking feeling that is, not the “look mom no hands” kind. Anyway, you know what I mean. Some of my way early blog posts touch a little bit about a time when I ran a group home for Autistic children in California. In many ways that home, that time, will always feel like home to me.

One of the oldest residents, J, was 16 and had Asperger’s. He was obsessed with weather and all his emotions were given as a weather report. “How was school today J?” “Sunny in the morning turning cloudy and windy shortly after lunch.” In his eyes, I was one of the coolest people ever because I had seen a tornado “live.” When he started to fly off the handle, me telling him of the times I would stand at the end of the driveway watching the tornado come then running in the house and down into the basement for safety, would calm him down.

Being the 2nd oldest in the house and having the least communication impairment was hard on J. Even harder was the fact that his parents were complete fuck ups. What saved them from epic level was the fact they finally had the sense to put him in the group home. Though, I suspect Social Services had more to do with it than they did. Every couple of months I would get a call they were visiting and J needed me. Standing there looking at them, knowing where every scar came from, emotional and physical on J’s body SUCKED. What made it even worse was knowing all he wanted was for them to love him, to accept him and he was met with cold expressions. It was the only time J actually wanted to be touched. Just my hand on his arm. Like I was anchoring the tornado. Or I was standing there watching it with him and my hand would tell him when to run to the basement for safety. Or maybe my hand was the basement. There were so many times as they sat there coldly uttering some sort of resemblance of idle chit chat that in my head I would literally picture screaming at them. Telling them everything I thought of them. It went against everything in me to not actually do it. But, I knew if I did, they wouldn’t come back. While not coming back may be a really good thing for J, it wasn’t my decision to make for him and I guess the sappy me still had hope.

We had a routine. They would leave, J would go directly to his room. I would give him some time while I charted the visit, then go check on him before he left. See what the weather report was. After one of these visits, I walked in and my eyes locked on the posters of roller coasters he had next to all his meteorology ones. J’s second favorite thing was roller coasters. But, J had never actually been on one. When I got in my car that day, it occurred to me that we lived maybe 15 minutes from Great America. So, I took a detour on my way home. After an hour with the manager of the place and the low price of $100, J and I became season pass holders. And J had his own “front of the line pass.” The next morning I walked into the home, told J to get dressed that I had a surprise for him and our new ritual began.

From that weekend on, every Saturday morning, J and I had a date. We’d get there right when Great America opened and ride all the roller coasters he wanted to. You could pack a lot in when you got to walk to the front of the line every time. Watching him close his eyes and just scream and let it all out was well it was its own lil roller coaster of emotion. Proud he was letting it all out. Relieved I’d found a way for him to do so. Happy because he would walk around that park with the biggest grin on his face. Yet, still so sad that it wasn’t just a kid having fun getting that rush from rides, but therapy. I’d wished so much it could just be fun for him. When J had enough, he would stop, look at me and say “I’m done Lolli, let’s go home.” (Lolli was what one of his house brothers called me because he couldn’t say “Natali.” J thought it fit me pretty good.) Like every good date, well great date in this case, the ending is key. Each time I pulled up to the house to drop him off, I got a hug. You’d have to know J to know how much it means. To me, it meant the world.

One of my favorite movies is Parenthood. There is a scene where the sweet, yet senile, lil ole grandma talks about a date. On a roller coaster. She compares it to the merry go round and life. Like life, some people prefer the merry go rounds, they are safe, they are predictable. But roller coasters, though they are scary, offer so much more. Me, I’ll forever take the roller coasters.

And thanks to wise advice from my wonderful new friend, I will always remember to raise my arms at the top of the hill.

You can watch my favorite clip of Parenthood here.

Perhaps it is part of the job description of being the “Poster Princess for Murphy’s Law.” Perhaps I was one in a past life and this is karmic payback. Perhaps it’s a side-effect of my ability to attract those who are emotionally/mentally unstable like a moth to a proverbial flame. No matter what the reason, no matter what the rhyme, in the last roughly 18 years, I have racked up 9 stalkers. Bet you thought I was kidding about the whole cats’ lives thing? Nope. I kid you not. Most of them were tame, some even funny, and one… one scared the ever-lovin’ hell out of me. Together they would make an excellent book I think. Or run the risk of sounding like a bad Scream/Scary Movie rip off. Rather than torture you with the full stalker journey (this is bound to be long enough as it is), I shall give you a mere sampling.

I see that look. Of course I’ll toss in the worst one. You should know me better than that. 🙂

They say you never forget your first. Stalkers are no exception. Although, I giggled through the whole first time of having sex, this yeah, no. That’s a whole other post though. Ok.. onward.. I was 16. He went to another school. Classic story- boy meets girl. Boy and girl become friends. Boy professes undying love. Girl says, sorry, not so much. Boy turns into a drooling lunatic. Girl says, thank you bye bye. No, really, bye. Please, leave NOW. Boy threatens to kill himself. Girl is freaked out. I called his parents, his friends, the guidance counselor at his school- anyone I could think of. After a month of nonstop threats, I snapped. Bear in mind, this wasn’t just phone calls, letters would show up in the mail every day, notes in my locker- this was a full on assault. The first (and only time) my dad would hear me utter the word he hates the most was the last time I talked to stalker number one. After uttering “If you won’t be mine forever I swear I’ll kill myself” for the 104th time, I finally lost it. I screamed “Then grow a sac and fucking do it!!!” then hung up. I never heard his voice again.

No, he didn’t actually grow a sac. Rumor has it he found someone much cuter to drive insane. Alright, because I’m all about full disclosure, I did see him a year later. I said I never heard his voice, I never said I didn’t see him. We were playing his school in girl’s basketball. I ran out to the bus to grab something… it was dark, I turn around, alone on the bus and he’s standing at the front of it- smiling. I took a deep breath, walked toward him and when I got close enough, clocked him right in the nose. Laid him flat, jumped over him and got the fuck off that bus. He was gone by the time security made it out there.

The first one that actually creeped me out popped up Freshman year of college. This was also my first tandem stalkage. I was already facing a total single white female scenario when this one reared it’s creepy lil noggin. And no, it wasn’t one in the same. I ruled that out first. Out of all of them, this one still makes me the most upset on some level. Not because of the actual stalker, but because of the UW-Milwaukee police’s handling, or lack of as the case may be, of it. Barney Freakin’ Fifes. This one is the one that smells of Scream, but this was ’93 so way ahead of the time. I lived in the dorms. When our phones rang we could tell if it was an off-campus call (one ring) or an on-campus call (double ring). If it was call waiting, you were screwed. It’s a Saturday morning at like 6:43am and the phone rings. Double ring. I’m thinking it’s my friend Aaron with pancakes for me, because he rocks like that. Me,very sleepily: “Hello?” “*over-exagerated obscene phone call heavy breathing*” Me, still thinking it’s Aaron, “*giggle fit*.” Clearly not Aaron: “Laugh all you want, I know who YOU are.” THAT WILL SHUT A GIRL UP. Especially when it’s followed by a freakin’ cackle. A CACKLE. Then he hung up. I don’t remember how long I stood there trying to process everything that had happened. Though it probably seemed like hours, I’m guessing it was closer to 5 minutes later the phone rang again. Single ring this time. I squeak out a “hello.” He responded: “You stopped laughing. Good. There may be hope for you yet.” Then, hung up again.

Two nicely quiet days go by. I’m in the library and just started working on one of the computers. Random message pops up “Hi gorgeous.” Me: “Sorry, you’ve got the wrong gal.” (there was some hot blonde cheerleader looking gal on it right before I sat down) “You look much better with your hair down. Why don’t you wear it down more?” I realize that, yup, my hair is all piled up. Me: “Who is this?” “HA HA! It would seem I still know who you are and you, my pretty, haven’t a clue who I am.” At least he used proper grammar. I logged out and left.

Next night, mac lab in the Union. It took one message “I love that white shirt on you.” I’m telling you, I scanned that entire lab and there were 5 people, none of which would have remotely been the person. Now, I’m a pretty tough girl (see aforementioned nose breaking) but, I called to have someone walk with me back to the dorms. I never walked at night alone after that. Period. For the rest of the semester I would get typed notes under my dorm room door, he would call and pop up on computers randomly. I eventually got pissed and taunted the hell out of him. I begged him to show up. He never did. I guess I should be thankful for that. But, the UW-Milwaukee police did nothing. They even laughed at me. The didn’t take it seriously at all and certainly didn’t do a thing to find out who it was. After break was over, he had completely disappeared. Honestly, I’d still like to meet him and find out what the deal was. And who the hell he was. In a well lit public place of course, my ass is getting old.

And then there was HIM.

Fast-foward to ’98. My best friend A and I had hit the road and move to Cali. We managed to score a fabulous 3 bedroom at what was totally dirt cheap for Sunnyvale at the time. Locked intercom, cable tv and a pool table in the laundry room, sand volleyball court, pool, jacuzzi- we were livin’ large. We also had an extra room just sitting there empty. Now, A knows my history w/ stalkers and the unbalanced ones. He actually got to witness one of the funny ones (muffins and typed love notes randomly left for me like everywhere). He’s working at a really great company- one of the first online gaming sites ever. I loved hanging out there. He calls me at work one Friday afternoon (this is when I was running the group home for Autistic children and teaching art at the day program attached to it). He’s got a guy he works with that just broke up with his girlfriend a couple of months ago and really needs to move out of his folks’ house cuz they are driving him nuts (oh the irony). His thought- we all have dinner together and see if I’m comfortable enough to have him take the extra room over. I already had plans with my friend L, so I dragged her along too. There ended up being a group of like 8 of us total. First impression… not so bad. Then the red flags start popping up. Just two. But enough to make me a bit nervous. First red flag- he asked a random question, L answered it. He kind of snapped at her and said ” I was asking Natali.” I called him on his rudeness and he apologized. Second red flag- he called me his ex girlfriend’s name- twice.

After dinner, everyone piles back to our place to hang. This is the one moment I almost wish I would have handled just a bit differently and junk punched A all up in his man business for. A, psycho boy and I were all on the patio smoking and talking and A puts me on the spot “So, whatchya think Lolli- can he move in?” Right in front of him. (Lolli was one of the zillions of nicknames peeps had for me). I freak. I stutter. I wanna ram my head into a wall after I say “Well, why don’t we do a trial weekend and all sit down on Sunday and see if it will work or not.” Why I didn’t put on my big girl panties, suck it up and say “dude, I’m really not sure about this, I’m thinking he’s got some issues” is beyond me. I’m gonna blame the beer I just got done sucking down.

Psycho boy then just gave up any effort at behaving. He blatantly hit on me. He kept inappropriately touching me. He kept talking about how much like his ex I was. Always while no one was around to witness. Sneaky little fuck. Everyone left, he passed out in the back room. I told A I was really not comfortable with the situation. In fact my exact words were “This guys has stalker tattooed all over him and he’d be living under the same fucking roof A. The boy ain’t right. Please do something.” I totally locked my bedroom door that night. Next morning, psycho boy was gone. In fact, he stayed gone until Sunday evening. We all sat down and A laid down the “Hey, sorry, this just isn’t going to work.” Psycho boy looked incredibly calm. The anger seething from his pores was palpable to me though.

Monday afternoon, A calls me at work. Psycho boy stole his key, had one made, and moved a bunch of crap into the spare room. Before I can even respond he pleas with me “I promise I’ll handle this. Just make sure L is with you when you come home.” So, L and I get home. He’s not there. We go out back and take a dip. He pops up and jumps in…. with his clothes on. This is now awkwardness personified. I know showing fear makes it worse. I know he knows I’m already feeling it. I do my bet dance of confidence to dissuade him, praying he buys it. We’re all walking back in to the building and L ends up a couple of paces ahead of us. He grabs my arm and pulls me into him, other hand digs into my crotch and whispers “I’m going to have so much fun with you.” Then disafreakingpears. He didn’t come “home” that night. Three days go by and he’s not at work and not back at the apartment. L is out of town now so I don’t go home until A and I meet up and go home together. Friday comes. L is back and her and I are home having a cocktail and chatting. We’re sitting on the floor and with the way the furniture is set up, when someone walks in, all you can see is me. Pscyho boy comes storming in the door, points at me and says “YOU’RE MINE NOW.” Then he notices L and tries to laugh it off. He slams “his” bedroom door. Then it slams again and I hear the bathroom door slam and the shower turn on. Phone rings. It’s A. “Shit, I’m on my way home.. I just found out he was fired.” All I can squeak out is “It’s too late. L is here, but please hurry.” He’s up in the city, so I know it’s going to be awhile. L and I just try to go back to normal chit chat. I keep the phone by my hand.

I glance at the clock and realize 45 minutes have gone by. The shower is still running. First thought- there’s a dead psycho boy in my shower. I pound on the bathroom door. No answer. It’s locked. I try his bedroom, it’s locked. I call 911. I swear it was less than 5 minutes before I opened the door for the cops. They had heard the whole story on the phone. They pound on the bathroom door once. Then kick it down. It’s empty. Just a running shower. They don’t even knock, they just kick down his bedroom door. I’m not going to lie, I was behind them in the hall. I felt the need to see what was going on. Room was dark. He was in the corner of it laughing manically. They flipped the switch and reveal a wall shrine to me. I’m not kidding. An actual shrine. He’s clutching a length of rope. That’s the point I fled back down the hall and waited on the patio wishing I had something a hell of a lot stronger than a Camel ultra light 100 to smoke. He agrees to voluntarily check himself into psych and walks out with the police. Smiling at me the whole time.

I wish this was the happy ending. It’s not.

A comes back as psycho boy is being hauled off. I’m standing there numb. The coast seems clear. L heads home because she’s been gone 3 days and has cats. A decides I need food and drink and heads out to go get it. I jump in the shower to scrub the feeling off. Well try to. I just step out and wrap my hair up in a towel when the intercom rings. It rings through our phone, much like the dorms. Double ring for someone at the front lobby. I throw on a T and grab it. I did not expect to hear him on the other line.

“Hello?” “Open the door.” “No” “I forgot my wallet. Open the door.” “I thought the police had you.” “I’m voluntary. Cab will take me. I need to pay for it, open the door now.” “Nope.” “OPEN THE DOOR YOU FUCKING WHORE!!!” *click* 911. I call L- she’s not home yet. I’m staring at my patio door. Knowing he’s outside the building…somewhere. I stand there dripping. Waiting. I grab a knife from the kitchen, scared to take my eyes off the patio door. All I can hear is my heart beating and the distant sound of one of the neighbors watching Bollywood. The double ring breaks the silence. I pick it up, unable to even speak. It’s the police. They explain he’s no longer at the front door and they are searching the area. I don’t even hang up, just drop the receiver. Still staring at that patio door. Knowing. Time ticked by with my heartbeats. I appreciated each one as I heard it. I honestly knew that there was a slight possibility it may be one of the last times I hear it. Thump. Thuddump. Thump. Thadd- there he was. Face leering up at me over the top of the patio now. A combination of lust and hatred staring me dead in the eye. I took one deep breath and stared back. Let’s fucking do this. Then we both heard it- the shout of one officer to another coming around the back “WEST SIDE CLEAR!” He winked at me. licked his lips and disappeared. Thump. Thaddump. Thump. I waited. I lost track of my precious heartbeats. My eyes never lost track of that patio though. The apartment door bursts open, I spin, knife up.

It was A. I dropped the knife and literally collapsed in a ball sobbing. As he held me tighter than I think I’ve ever been held, he told me that when he pulled in 7 squad cars had psycho boy surrounded. 12 guns were drawn and pointing. At him and his duffel bag. I would later find out the duffel bag contained some very hardcore S&M gear and a wrapped case of medical scalpels. I never saw or heard from him again. He was admitted to a locked, highly secure psych unit. A slept for the next month on the futon in the living room… in front of our patio door. Just in case. From that night on, I wasn’t ever truly alone and always had to check in if I wasn’t with him.

Part of me wants to see him again. He’s getting junk punched for sure. I owe him that at least that. I will also say thank you. We don’t always have control over the things that happen to us in life. But, we do have control over how we let them affect us. Each of my stalkers have taught me a lesson. Prior to psycho boy, I had been through a year of utter hell. One I’m not sure I’ll be able to blog about any time soon. His presence in my life proved to me that I had been able to maintain the me-ness I fought so hard to hold onto. The year of hell didn’t strip it away. Standing there with the knife in hand, staring his deranged face right back proved to me that I wasn’t about to let his punk ass take it either.

So, thank you psycho boy. But, yeah… still getting junk punched. Asshole. 🙂