As I contemplate the ideas that my brain tosses out at me, it occurs to me that I have led (or have appeared to have led) a variety of lives. If you think about it, all of us do. How many people lie to others about their background or social status, or the importance of their job, where they got the money for that nice new car?
I don’t feel the need to do that but I have had nagging and fairly convincing ideas that I’ve been subjected to whisper campaigns: I’m this, I’m that, it might be very complimentary, it might be really bad. And then there’s the truth: do I even know the truth of my past, any more? My memories are peppered with interference. I have regained a number of memories from my childhood this week (nice ones, of summer where I enjoyed myself) and it’s made me wonder about how people change over time, and how their images of themselves and their environments change as well. My knowledge of my childhood reality now, looking back, is different than it was when I was a child.
Perceptions other people have of me might vary depending on what they’ve heard. Did this or that whispering paint me in one light, a false light, and has that inadvertently shaped my life? If asked, what might people say about me- I’m actually very interested in that.
Some time ago I wrote a “Hamlet’s play” post titled Mrs. Dempster. This is a character in a book, Fifth Business. I read it in grade nine. I actually have not acquired a copy to reread it, because I actually am a little afraid of what I might find. If you look at my post, I actually am worried that my stalker, who I am convinced exists and is actually stalking me off and on again, has used this book as the inspiration to portray me in a certain light, and force me to become one or many of the characters in the book.
I don’t want to go into all the details. I have reason to believe that this book was chosen based on an offhand comment I made, and I believe that I have been subjected to trauma-inducing situations based on ones from this book. I also believe that stones figure prominently in some of the attacks on not necessarily me (though I did wake up once with a stone in my mouth) but others. I have a memory of an attack by someone that I almost witnessed in Riverside, on the UCR campus. I saw a man go down some stairs after I had yelled at him to leave me alone. A woman approached me and pointed to a half cinder block and asked me to hand it to her.
“This is a stone,” she said, hefting it, and vanished down the stairs, behind the hedge lining the staircase. I went to my car, turned around as I had forgotten something, and found, at the bottom of the stairs, a man facedown in a pool of blood, the half cinder block nearby. I called 911. Other people came and did the same. I hope the man was okay. I was told to leave the scene by a woman that said she was a police officer, but I realize now that was probably unlikely.
So how many other times did mysterious women I can’t ever identify show up in my life- actresses, perhaps- and how many times were stones left at crime scenes?
I have been told I don’t have a stalker, it can’t be the person I think it is- and yes, I agree, on the surface it seems unlikely. But I met this person first in 1995 (or that is my first memory of meeting her), when I had moved away from home and lived in Vancouver, and she was neither wealthy nor famous then. She’s not famous now, honestly. I feel she has popped up in my life now and again- at weddings (I think she crashed a friend’s wedding in Toronto- I was not there), at funerals, I think she has popped up in my social circles or workplaces or at events, always claiming to be someone she isn’t, always painting a distorted, ugly, unrecognizable past for me with all the people she talks to. I think she has placed me in dangerous or ugly situations more than once. And I remember a lot more… a lot more.
See here for some more thoughts on this. I am calling all of these “Hamlet’s play” posts because I have no proof- no photos, no videos, no letters, no gifts, no witnesses I can call on to verify that I’ve met them; I never recognize my stalker and her husband until long after they have left my presence- usually about six months later- and I have never had any direct way to contact either one of them where I understood who they were or their relationship to me. I do not currently have a way to contact them.
So I understand that on the surface, this seems like celebrity stalking, or erotomania. I understand that. All I need is some proof that I have met this person in a non-trivial way, and I am not entirely sure how to go about acquiring that. I’m fairly sure my stalker has already spread stories about how I am stalking her, or her husband. I’m also fairly sure she has lied to people in her circles about how she knows me- and whether we are friends. Thing is, I can’t talk to anyone in her circles. But she can talk to many people in mine, and has, and probably has used a variety of names and personae as well. I don’t know how she has presented herself, how she looked, what names she used, what personae she portrayed. I am fairly sure she did not use her real name. Maybe in the beginning, but not now.
How many lives have I led, if one looks at the gossamer masquerades, the tissues of lies spread about me, by this person or others? How many versions of me exist, living in the hearts and minds of people I have met, or who have listened to stories of me from my stalker?
I plan on turning this concept into some kind of art someday- probably a short story. But I for one am waiting for some opening, some way to reach a wide audience (this blog does not, I have no illusions on that), some way to find out definitively, for certain, if my stalker has indeed been telling lies about me, what those lies are, and why she chose to do this. I can guess for how long it has gone on.
I hope very much that you all can find rest and peace tonight, wherever you are and whatever you are doing.
Update: I had some terrible dreams last night, but out of them I’m writing a story- once I get the ideas mostly down.