No Longer A Victim Of Stalking and Harassment.

May 28

I have written so many versions of my story, yet I leave every single one unfinished. I always find myself struggling with how to begin recounting such a complex area in my life, and questions often swirl about my head as I try to get my story out onto paper. How much detail do I need to go into to relay the very real sense of fear that I have been living under since college? Or, more importantly, how many details do I need to omit in order to keep myself and my family safe and to guard some semblance of my privacy that was so abrasively taken from me against my will? I struggle with my message; do I use my story as a how-to guide for women wanting to avoid unwanted male attention, pulling in data and research to support my claims? Or, do I simply tell my story and allow it to be a contributing voice to the growing uproar that is the aftermath of Sarah Everard's abduction and murder, leaving it open for individual take-away by each reader? My mind rapidly searches for the correct approach as I begin writing yet another version of my story, and as I sit here and type, not knowing which direction this is going in, I hope that this version is my last one.

To avoid a dramatic and suspenseful introduction I will jump straight to the facts: in college I was the victim of stalking and harassment by a male classmate. I am a very lucky victim of stalking and harassment due to the fact that I am alive. There are many fellow sisters who have been stalked and harassed that cannot say the same thing. I deeply mourn for them. I rage for them.

Although I am alive, I am not unscathed. I am nine years removed from the most traumatic portion of my experience, but because the person who inflicted such damage upon my life and my wellbeing is walking around this earth as a free man, still finding ways to seek me out, I will never be able to truly rest. I can sense my nervous system still programmed into a fight or flight function, my guard always on high alert as I navigate this world as a woman and a mother. I own a big scary dog. I double and sometimes triple-check my home's alarm system before bed each night to ensure that it is activated. I never tag my location on social media when I am out somewhere. I try my best to keep my last name erased from any public online profile I have. I am constantly on high alert when out in public and it's as if I can feel my pupils dilating when I see a man that looks like "him." Doing double-takes and triple-takes is normal for me. I block anyone on social media who follows me that does not have a profile picture and has a private account. In total, as far as I am aware, I have blocked seven versions of him on Instagram alone since I graduated college. I travel with a pocket knife. And although I desperately want to see stricter gun laws in this country, I sleep with a gun close to me, knowing that until the laws are changed there is a chance "he" could be walking around with one, intending to aim it at me.

I am tired. No - I am exhausted, emotionally whittled down to my bones with weariness. I am tired of being on my guard all of the time. I am tired of bracing myself when I see that I have a new follower on social media, wondering if it's "him." I am tired of running through the terrifying scenarios that play out in my head, ones where I imagine harm befalling my children because of a sick man from my past. I am tired of living in a state of fight or flight. I am tired of seeing stories like Sarah's and hearing men say "not all men," knowing that the problem is far from being fixed when men defer to defensiveness and institutions play a hand in the harm of women. I am tired of wondering where "he" is at all times, knowing that he knows the city that I live in. I am tired of being tired. And, most of all, I am tired of hiding my story out of fear. I am ready to share it in order to self-liberate.

Sometimes when I think back and recall everything that occurred, it feels like it all happened over the course of many months or even a year. I have to remind myself that the worst parts and the darkest moments were actually consolidated into the final few weeks of my senior year of college. With nothing to truly point out as the catalyst aside from a class field trip, a person who had simply been my classmate all semester turned into a source of deep fear and harassment at the flip of a switch. He ruined my senior year of college. I will call him G in order to safeguard my privacy.

We were returning from a weekend-long hike in the Appalachian Mountains and about fifteen of us were piled into a white van, dirty and tired yet fulfilled and inspired by our hike. Moving through the trails in assigned groups of four, we had hiked across eighteen miles of trail in two days using the skills we had acquired through our course - Hiking and Camping in the Wilderness. As I sat in the van and chatted with my classmates, I felt my phone continuously vibrate in my lap. Looking down I noticed I had a number of text messages from G. This was odd because he was in my assigned group for the hike and we had just spent the past two days talking from sun-up to sun-down. He was also sitting a few rows in front of me in the van. I puzzled over why he felt the need to text me as I glanced through his messages, all of them seemingly casual.

"Hey, did you have fun on the hike?"

"Are you tired from the hike?"

"Do you need a ride home once we get back?"

I responded to a few of them before realizing that the more I responded, the quicker his text messages shot back. I closed my phone (yes, I had a flip phone back then) and turned back to the classmates I was sitting next to, engaging in conversation as I felt my lap continue to vibrate. I kept it closed until after we had reached campus, unloaded the van, and gotten into our own cars to drive away. As my friend drove me back to the house that I shared with two other roommates, I opened my phone to read through his additional messages. The last one stopped me in my tracks.

"I love you."

I turned toward my friend to share the text I had just received from him. We were both surprised, and I remember laughing. I was deflecting with a "get a load of this guy" attitude. In that final moment of innocence, I had no clue how harmful he was going to become. All I knew was that G had become very chatty and very forward, and I needed to put an end to it. I responded politely, explaining that he may have had a lot of fun on the trip with me and our group, but that he should not misinterpret the fun he had had with love for me. He asked me if I loved him, to which I simply replied "no.”

My response injured his ego, and he used his injury as fuel to destroy my sense of peace and sanity. Once I sent that text, the harassment began and escalated at a blinding speed. If my phone was on, it was vibrating or ringing with text messages and phone calls from him. Once I blocked his number, they came in through his friends' numbers. Very overwhelmed and confused, I quickly sought help from the professor of the class we had together.

Now, looking back on it, I realized she did little to help me. She listened to me, gave me some constructive advice on how to ward off his advances the next time I saw him in class, and that was about it. There was no disciplinary action taken against him. There was no notifying the university. There was a complete lack of recognition toward fixing G’s problematic behavior. Everything in her response was geared toward me. What could I do to fix the problem he was causing? How could I adjust the vibrations in the room so that I could ward off his unwanted attention? This should have been my first indication that I was going to have a difficult time getting the university on my side. But, being young and naively trustworthy in the institutions I found myself a part of, I nodded as she spoke and I took notes. I took notes. Notes on how to prevent a person from giving me unwanted attention and harassment. This is the society we find ourselves in. So much time is spent conditioning women toward protecting themselves against misogyny and toxic masculinity. It is an art form not only to protect oneself but also to instruct on it. Women are applauded for protecting themselves. People, programs, and institutions are celebrated for teaching women how to stay safe. And, while we teach and we lecture and we vigorously scribble notes, the true source of the problem moves about freely, held purely unaccountable for his actions. He is justified.

The next time I saw G I was in class. I sat in my seat with my head buried in my notes, fully planning on avoiding all eye-contact and leaving the moment class was over. I arrived before he did. Much to my horror, G eventually walked in carrying a giant bouquet of flowers and headed straight to my desk. He presented them to me with a confident flourish. I wanted to evaporate. This was happening in front of my unassuming classmates, and they whistled and cheered and egged G on. They were entertained, G was encouraged by their banter, and I was absolutely fuming. Since the moment his texts and calls began ramping up speed, I had made it extremely clear to G that I did not appreciate his advances and he needed to leave me alone. And it was becoming abundantly clear that G was not going to respect my demands. It was time to drive the point home once more. I denied the flowers in front of the whole class and he ran out, petals trailing behind him. He was completely mortified. I melted in my seat as my classmates turned to me with wide eyes, shocked at my harsh rejection. They had no idea.

The days marched on and things with G got worse. He would find me on campus and follow me from building to building. There was an incident where he meticulously positioned himself outside of my place of work when I was closing the facility down at 9 pm, alone. I had spotted him before I left, hid in a locker room, and called one of my friends to come pick me up. Another time, G got one of his friends to call me and drill me with questions as to why I was being so cruel to him. I just wanted him and his overwhelming attention toward me to stop.

An escalating point was reached when I began receiving phone calls from him in which he would threaten to take his own life. Once he told me he was standing at the top of the stadium's bleachers, and that he would throw himself off if I did not talk to him. Beginning to believe that G was truly suicidal, I contacted the university police. They did a welfare check on him and determined that he was fine. They told him to leave me alone. This made him incredibly angry.

The crescendo of his harassment came on the night that Hurricane Sandy hit our area, in a classic scary-movie fashion. I remember sitting in my room doing homework and putting my hand to the wall, feeling it ripple and shift from the strong winds outside. I was alone; one of my roommates was back home, the other at her boyfriend's house. My phone rang and I saw that it was one of my friends.

"Where are you right now?" he asked, sounding strange.

"I'm at home," I responded.

"Are you alone?"

"Yeah, why?" I asked, suddenly on edge. My friend, who knew G, was aware of the harassment I had been receiving from him.

"Did you see what G posted on Facebook a few minutes ago?"

"No, I blocked him a while ago," I said. I felt fear creeping in.

"He just put a hit out for you. Stay where you are, I'm coming to get you," my friend said, then hung up. I flipped open my laptop and unblocked G so I could see what my friend had been talking about.

I need to hire two men to take (MY NAME) out of her home, drag her into the center of a public space, and strip her naked.

I read those words and I think my brain turned into survival mode at that point. I screenshotted the Facebook status. I turned off all the lights in my house. I packed a bag. I prayed. I anxiously waited for my friend to arrive. I felt numb.

My friend came and picked me up and I stayed at his house until my mom could come into town to stay with me. Yes, the last few weeks of my college career, while most people are celebrating and preparing for graduation, I had to spend sleeping next to my mom in complete fear. Luckily the hit was never carried out.

While I waited for my mom's arrival, I reported G to the university police. They asked me to come in and give an official statement. I don't remember that entire meeting in extreme detail, but there is one moment that will forever stay ingrained in my mind. As I spoke about G's threats to kill himself, I mentioned that in those moments I felt like I would do whatever it took for him to stop threatening his own life, because I didn't want him to commit suicide.

"I would much rather have a suicide on my hands than a murder-suicide," the officer responded, the depth of his words hanging thick in the air and sitting heavy in the back of my throat. It was at that moment that I realized how grave of a situation I was truly in. Until the officer said that, I had not truly conceptualized that endless phone calls, relentless text messages, threats of suicide, being followed and stalked, and having a hit put out against my dignity were forms of harassment that could end in my death.

The university finally stepped in at that point and removed G from campus, where he had been living, and they submitted a type of restraining order against him on my behalf. I am not sure of the details since I never got to see the paperwork and was only notified of it verbally from the officer. I am suspicious that something like that even exists because on graduation day, based on where we were positioned alphabetically, G sat directly in front of me for the entire ceremony. I have no recollection of my college graduation aside from the image of the back of my harasser's head. If the university had truly taken serious action against G and was intent on keeping him away from me, we would have never wound up positioned in that way and G probably would not have been at the ceremony at all.

Luckily graduation was the last time I saw G in person but, unfortunately, his harassment did not end there. Since December 2012 I have received countless forms of internet harassment from him, the most recent as of March 2019. That is seven year's worth of unsolicited messages, friend requests, and pseudo accounts made to infiltrate my own accounts. Every time I begin to relax and think that I've finally heard the last of him, he finds a way to seek me out. I would love to say that March 2019 was the last I have heard from him, but deep down inside I feel like I cannot allow myself the luxury of that thought. I need to stay vigilant.

The Bureau of Justice Statistics (BJS) has a survey they use, called The National Crime Victimization Survey (NCVS), which gathers information on criminal victimization incidents. The information is then used annually to measure levels and change estimates, and they have a specific survey for victims of crimes such as stalking, called the Supplemental Victimization Survey (SVS). According to SVS, people are labeled as victims of stalking if they have experienced one of the following behaviors on at least two separate occasions. Additionally, the victims must have felt a level of fear for their wellbeing and safety while experiencing the following behaviors:

- receiving unwanted phone calls

- receiving unwanted or unsolicited letters or e-mails

- being followed or spied upon

- having the perpetrator show up at places without a legitimate reason

- having the perpetrator waiting at places for the victim

- being left unwanted gifts, items, or flowers

- having information posted or rumors spread about them on the internet, in a public place, or by word of mouth

As I type these out, I realize that in my experience I can check off every single item. And, if I was putting a checkmark per incident, I would have hundreds of checkmarks next to the unwanted phone calls and unsolicited e-mails and dozens of checkmarks next to the remaining items. And then my mind wanders to what could have been done "better"...

From the moment I brought my problems to my professor, my complaints should have been taken seriously. As a victim, problem-solving should have never been put on my shoulders. My university should have stepped in and taken control in a more protective manner. G should have never been allowed to graduate in the same room as me, let alone at all. I should have done a better job at reporting the incidents in real-time instead of keeping them to myself out of embarrassment until they reached boiling points. I do not say that to victim-blame myself, only to state that I should have been kinder to myself. I brushed aside abusive behavior that affected my quality of life because I did not want to come across as dramatic or cause an issue that may have seemed bigger to me than it truly was. Now I know that thoughts like that are woven in internalized misogyny and I am working daily to deconstruct those types of mindsets.

In 2013, after I had graduated and moved out of state, my university was rocked by a triple shooting that ended with two dead and one in critical condition in the hospital. An ex-boyfriend broke into an off-campus home of a female student and shot her, her male friend she was with, and himself. He and the male friend were killed. The female student survived, but at a devastating cost. When I received news of the story, I could not help but shudder at the thought of how closely it hit home to what I had been through at our shared university. Was it coincidental, or does the university need to be held more accountable for these types of crimes? Are there more preventative actions that can be taken in the future to avoid such tragedies?

According to Kris Mohandie, a stalking expert and police psychologist who spoke to CBS News about what to do if you're being stalked, there are four types of stalkers.

1. The public figure stalker who does not personally know or have had prior contact with their victim

2. The private stranger stalker who targets their victim after crossing paths with them in some way

3. The acquaintance stalker who goes after someone in their life (co-worker, classmate, boss, etc). According to Mohandie, this stalker has a 50% risk of violence.

4. The intimate stalker who victimizes someone with who they've had a personal and intimate relationship with. Mohandie says that this type of stalker is at the highest risk for violence at 74%.

(CBS News - What To Do If You’re Being Stalked)

G fell into category three for me. I share this cited advice because these types of people are everywhere and it is important that women and men alike recognize the warning signs. Stalking may not be preventable, but I do have some advice on what to do once you realize you are being stalked and harassed.

1. Tell friends and family. DO NOT worry about worrying them. Your wellbeing is at stake. Share with those you're close to, because you are better off when you're not the only one looking out for yourself.

2. If you have not done so already, cut off all contact with the person stalking you. To the best of your ability, avoid all future contact with them.

3. Keep records of everything that this stalker does to you. Begin by making a document that you can easily access. I made a folder on my Google Drive. Dropbox is also a good option. Give someone close to you the information to access this folder if something were to happen. I have two close family members who have access to my folder. Once you have this folder set up, begin filling it with your records. Add all of the voicemails. Screenshot your call list of all the calls they've made to you. If they make any public references toward you or about you on their own social media accounts, screenshot those. Record the dates, times, and places that they've shown up unannounced, uninvited, and unexpected. Record how long they stayed and if you or someone else asked them to leave. If you have police reports, make sure you obtain copies of those and add those to your folder. (I did not do this initially and had to go through a somewhat extensive process a few years later to obtain the reports and records on the incidents I was involved in with my stalker. My advice is to collect as you go).

4. Give photographs and descriptions of your stalker to your place of employment, your teachers, your landlord, your coaches, etc. and fill those people in on what is going on. I had a frightening incident caused by G a few years after I had graduated college and moved away, and I had to print out a picture and description of him and give it to the security team who ran the front desk of the building I worked in. They took the necessary steps to ensure my safety, and I felt a lot safer at work knowing the people coming into the building were being checked against the photograph of G.

5. Film every encounter. I know in scary moments when you are experiencing an encounter with your stalker it might be difficult to remember to film, but try to. It is so important to gather video footage of your incidents, it is the best form of evidence you can have. When I was experiencing the worst of my stalking experience and in close proximity to G I did not have a smartphone. I never had the opportunity to gather video footage of my incidents and although I'm grateful I don't have those very real reminders, I know that ultimately they are a valuable asset to my safety that I just do not have.

I know this is a lot to ask of you while you're dealing with something very traumatic. I am sorry you are in this position, I am infuriated for you. Trust me. But you have to be your own hero. Push through it and make sure you are doing everything in your power to stay safe and alert. Tap into every single one of your resources. Your life may depend on it.

I wish I had a very pretty and happy ending to my story. I do not. G walks free and although I have a pretty good idea of where he is located, I am not quite sure. I live in fear, and I do not know when a life without G-related fear will become a reality. I just know that it will, one day. I believe in myself and my feminine resilience. I know I am strong and I know that by sharing this story, I am taking back something that happened to me. This story is mine and now I am the one in control. And although I have eliminated extensive details for my own safety and privacy, I still feel like there is a benefit to sharing my story publicly. I do so in order to contribute to the rising tide of infuriated voices that cry enough. Enough misogyny. Enough "not all men." Enough missing and murdered women. Enough missing and murdered BIPOC and trans women whose stories are overlooked and under-shared. Enough teaching our daughters how to "be safe." Enough excusing our sons’ behavior with "boys will be boys." Enough stalking. Enough harassment. Enough is enough. Enough.

If you happen to be reading this story and knew me personally in college, I kindly ask that you do not share this on your social media pages. And, if you know G, please for my safety do not share this with him. I am risking a lot to share this story. Thank you.

- by The Writer JO

Jeanette Opheim