My Stalking Blog – Excuses! Excuses! Excuses!

My Stalking Blog – Excuses! Excuses! Excuses!

Little kids say, “He started it.”

The rapist says, “She was asking for it.”

The wife beater says, “She made me hit her.”

The thief says, “I don’t know how that got there. Someone must have put that in my pocket when I wasn’t looking.”

The murderer says, “I was only defending myself.”

Excuses, excuses, excuses! Over the years, The Stalkers have used every excuse known to mankind as a means of continuing their criminal behavior, i.e. Stalking.

It was a very talented psychiatrist who helped me understand that their stalking has less to do with me than the average person might realize and more to do with their fears and inadequacies. Manipulating me or trying to, is their way of bolstering their egos. Since speaking a well known psychiatrist, my constant question to them is always, “Does it really take all that to make you feel good about yourself?”

Some of their favorite manipulation excuse have been:

“It’s her fault. She should stop:

• Sleeping with men for pleasure.

 

• Playing with herself instead of sleeping with men.

 

• Working. Only greedy women work. Marry some man. Have some babies and get on welfare like everyone else.

 

• Buying clothes. Who she trying to look for. She’s trying to get a ‘good’ man.

 

• Buying furniture. Why is she buying furniture? No man is going to come over to her house. We’ll make sure of that.)

 

• Trying to make friends. Don’t nobody like her.

 

• Taking a bath, brushing her teeth, combing her hair. Who she trying to look good for?

 

• Stop having fun. We can’t let her get away with that.

 

The latest one goes like this: “She won’t talk about it (the stalking and bullying). Therefore, she must be hiding something. So we’re going to keep on until she does.

Or, we’re going to keep on stalking and verbally abusing her until she admits she’s trouble by something. (Could that something be their stalking and bullying?)

 

Well, people, I’ve talked with no less than three psychiatrists, and they ALL agree that The Stalkers are more in need of psychiatric help than me. It seems my thoughts aren’t all that abnormal after all. But following someone 24/7/365, now that’s weird!

p.s. I was and still am considering doing a blog on the murders and shootings happening in Maywood, Illinois. But, I first wanted to do this blog because as a teenager I remember being really really self conscious when it came to my parents.

I can’t image what it must be like being the teenage child of a mother, sister, or aunt who follows another woman around constantly. What if their school classmates or friends found out about their mother, sister, or aunt? What kind of verbal remarks would that child face everyday?

Would that child who grew up in a home full of hostilely an anger and learned at an early age that because they’re ‘special’ that it’s OK for them to vent their anger at their classmates? Would that child likely use their ‘special talent’ to push others to hurt (shoot) those people who make distasteful remarks about their mother, sister, or aunt?

OK, I’m not foolish enough to think that all of the shootings in Maywood are about this but if I were Police Chief, I’d make damn sure I knew where the men in The Stalker’s family were at night. Who are they stalking while mama, sister, and auntie are out stalking?

And shooters, they’ll give you up as a means to keep on stalking.

www.stalkedbyvoices.wordpress.com

STALKED! By Voices Chapter 47

Chapter 47

JOHN KINDS. I HAD NO IDEA WHO HE WAS. Everyday! An I mean everyday, I entered the office through the door nearest my cubicle, in which I spent all eight hours of my work day, except for bathroom breaks and lunch. At the end of the day, I exited the office through that same door.

John Kinds’ office was on the other side of the building. As far as I knew, I’d never met John Kinds.

Imagine my surprise when one day, while sitting in my cubicle, I receive a call from John Kinds’ secretary demanding that I come over to her office, immediately.

When I get there, she ushers me to a seat and begins telling me that she’s heard through the grapevine that I was after her job as a means of getting close to Mr. Kinds. I was dumbfounded.

I was at a lost for words. My secret fear was that once again, I had done something or said something wrong, like I had evidently done at Florsheim that had gotten me fired, and again was completely unaware that I had done so. I let that fear keep me silent as she went on to say, that, “In the future if I had anything else to say about her or her work, I should say it directly to her face.”

She added further insult by reminding me, “Mr. Kinds is a married man and does not appreciate and/or have any attention of returning your feelings.” I think I mumbled a thank you and left.

On the way back from my lecture, I asked someone to point out John Kinds to me.

He was Vice President of the Associate Leasing Division where I worked. He was six feet tall, dark hair, well built, extremely attractive, and white. Upon seeing him, I could readily understand a girl having a crush on him. But I couldn’t remember ever meeting him. Had we ridden up in the elevator together and I hadn’t noticed? I went back to my cubicle wondering if John Kinds had done all of this to get my attention, and why?

Didn’t matter either way, three weeks later, I was fired again without ever knowing why or having spoken a single word to John Kinds.

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STALKED! By Voices Chapter 46

 Chapter 46

 MY NEXT JOB WAS WITH Associates Leasing Corporation or The Associates as it was known internally. Associates Leasing Corporation owned top of the line eighteen wheelers, like Mack, Fleetwood, and Mercedes, which they leased out to independent truckers. I worked for them as a statistical typist.

I was so beat up emotionally, I actually went to work day after day without my dentures. (At this point, the Cafeteria girl’s younger sisters and I guess nieces joined the pack and took turns following me around. In the morning when I arrived at work, they were already there – standing outside the building mingling in with the morning commute crowd. I started each day off with a barrage of taunts.) I was so humiliated that I sat in my cubicle all day except for when I went to the bathroom or out at lunch-time.

The one good thing about working for The Associates was that my salary went from one hundred and twenty dollars a week to one hundred and sixty-seven dollars a week. The extra money went for clothes.

Happiness for me was Lame Bryant’s downtown store on Randolph Street. I’d leave my tiny gray cubicle, ride the elevator down twenty-one stories to ground level, walk three blocks – Jackson, Washington, Randolph and enter through those two polished glass doors. Soon I began feeling like myself again.

Over time I cleared everything out of my closet that was ‘funky and London inspired’. I had a new look that was definitely American city girl chic. I stuck my fake teeth in my mouth and bought Ciara Cologne. I began smiling and talking with other people in the office.

This is when the benign stalkers changed. Not content with their usual taunts, they amped it up.

Riding the ‘el’ home from work in the evenings, they’d sit in various sections of the train and every time the wind blew my cologne through the car, they’d scream in unison, “Oh My God! Sis stinks. Someone make her move away from the window! Oh my God! I’m going to be sick!” Everyone on the train stared at me! And laughed at me!

I switched from Ciara to Jontue Cologne. They only screamed louder. But I hung in there! I stayed on that train and kept right on working, shipping, and trying to improve myself. I wasn’t about to give in to ‘The Voices\Stalkers.’

This amping up of the taunts, torture, and threats would remain a constancy over the next thirty years every time my self-esteem got higher than knee level or a suitable man took an interest in me.

The one absolute thing I’d come to know for a certainty with The Voices\Stalkers is that, EVERYTHING I DO IS ALL BAD. As far as they’re concerned, you will never ever, ever, ever, ever do anything right. And sooner or later other people begin to believe that, as well.

 stalkedbyvoices.wordpress.com 

 

STALKED! by Voices Chapter 45

Chapter 45

ONE OF THE WORST THINGS I considered wrong with my looks was the gap I had between my two front teeth.

So I sought out a dentist hoping he could fit me with braces that would close the unsightly gap.

I was extremely apprehensive about the visit. When I was seventeen, I’d gone to the dentist with a badly infected wisdom tooth. That visit was a horror that haunted me for years. The dentist pulled my infected wisdom tooth without giving me enough Novocain. As he was pulling the tooth, I kept trying to push him away. The more I fought – beating him about his hands and forearms with tears streaming down my face the more determined he was to get the tooth out. Later, when I’d recovered somewhat from the ordeal, he asked me why I had kept hitting him. I told him I was in extreme pain and I was desperately trying to get him to stop. He told me I should have just said so. I said, “Your fist was in my mouth at the time so I couldn’t talk.” He told me not to come back to his office anymore.

This new dentist convinced me that my teeth were so badly damaged from years of not visiting a dentist that he’d have to pull all my upper teeth. I was such an idiot. I was taught that grown ups always tell the truth and that especially applied to doctors. After-all, doctors have sworn an oath to ‘first do no harm.’ I’ve learned from hard experience that’s as much of a crock as that crap the Police use, ‘We serve and protect.’ Beware! Beware! Beware! Beware! People — even doctors, policemen, lawyers, co-workers, friends, family members – will lie to you and lie to you, and lie to you. They will think that they’re doing the right thing and lie to you for your own good. Poor pathetic retch that I was at the time, did not know that simple fact. I never doubted for a moment that what he was telling me was anything but the truth, so I let him pull my teeth.

NOTE: After researching this incident in nineteen ninety-one, I found out that The Stalkers/Voices had paid that dentist a huge sum of money to mutilate me in that way.

 

STALKED! By Voices Chapter 44

Chapter 44

HOWEVER, DURING THE TIME I spent waiting for my rescue, I decided I’d make myself over. My very English look had to go!

I spent a whopping forty dollars (that was considered a lot of money back then) to get my hair cut and styled by a young stylist named Andre. He gave me a very sleek side parted page-boy hairdo and also took the time to show me how to blow-dry my hair. Blow-drying was the new ‘in’ thing.

Next, I went shopping for a new skin care regime. Erno Laszlo was what I wanted but was far too expensive. As was my next choice of Janet Sartin. I was standing in Marshall Field’s downtown store drooling over the expensive products when I heard a familiar voice say, “I don’t know why she’s looking at those things. She can’t afford them cause she ain’t got no job!” I got out of there as fast as I could and headed for the train. I settled for products I could get at the local Venture’s.

 

STALKED! By Voices Chapter 43

Chapter 43

IN THE FALL OF 1975 a few months before I was fired from Florsheim, my parents moved my sister and me out of their home.

Moving day dawned bright and sunny. What beautiful day. How amazing, I thought, how all the bad things in my life happened on the most beautiful sunny days. My mother had died on a gloriously sunny Saturday morning. And now this was happening.

At that time, I saw the move as just another act of betrayal. But in retrospect, I see my father was being unusually kind. He had purchased an apartment building on Eleventh Avenue in Maywood, and had set the two of us up in one of the apartments. Not rent free, of course, but cheap.

The apartment, a small one-bedroom unit, without air-conditioning, was on the second floor. The living room was the largest room in the apartment.

My father, being a handy-man of some repute because of his years spent working as a janitor to help make ends meet when we first arrived in Chicago, split the large living room in half. One half he kept as our living room and the other half he designated as a second bedroom.

I took the original bedroom and my sister took the one daddy had made. It was the first time either of us had lived on our own. It was a trying time for both of us.

I sat in my room totally convinced that when Mr. Bowers returned from England, and found that Dale had fired me, he’d rush to my rescue. All I had to do was hold on. Mr. Bowers would tell Dale, that he was wrong in firing me. I’d have my job back in no time. I held onto that idea for three months while existing on unemployment compensation.

One day I got up the courage to call my office and the new secretary answered the phone. I asked her when Mr. Bowers was expected back in town. She surprised me by saying that Mr. Bowers had been back in Chicago for weeks.

With my hopes smashed, I got myself together and went out searching for a new job.

NOTE: Did you notice that Eleventh Avenue in Maywood was in bold and italicized letters? The reason being, I recently moved back to Eleventh Avenue in Maywood. I live one block from this building that my father used to own. I pass it every night on my way home. It is my way of reminding myself what I went through back then and NOW. Later, in the book, you’ll under the significance of the move back.

 

STALKED! By Voices Chapter 42

 Chapter 42

IN 1973, I TOOK MY FIRST FULL-TIME office job as a secretary working for Florsheim Shoes in their Import/Export Department.

To my surprise and my supervisor’s delight, I was actually good at it. I enjoyed my job immensely. Florsheim had offices in several different countries which gave me the opportunity to talk with people from all over the globe.

I also found great joy in my regular duties. I loved filing and getting things organized. I enjoyed seeing a project I’d started come to completion. Finishing a letter I’d taken from dictation made me ecstatic.

When Mr. Bowers arrived from London, he said, “to enlarge the Chicago Import /Export plant.” I thought my work was so good that even the British offices of Florsheim had taken notice. Of course, I realize now that it was The Stalkers/Voices or Remote Viewers that had grabbed the attention of the British Offices and not my fantastic filing skills.

Whatever it was that had brought Mr. Bowers across the seas, I was in complete awe of him. I’d never seen anyone like him before. I developed an immediate tremendous crush. He, on the other hand, though generous, kind, and very thoughtful, kept me at a distance.

However, he did introduce me to fine dining and good hotels. On Mr. Bowers first day in town, he took Dale (that was my boss’ name) and me out to lunch. I thought it hilarious, that here he was a visitor from London, and he knew more about the restaurants in our city than we did. We ate at Greek, German, and Italian restaurants. I discovered Baklava, Greek melted cheese, veal parmesan, and German pancakes.

Whenever we were out at a new place, he’d lean over and whisper in my ear, “Eliza, let me order for you.” I’d say OK. He must have enjoyed the look of surprise on my face when my plate arrived at the table.

I remember once, we were dining at a German restaurant and I confessed I couldn’t make heads or tails of the menu. He looked pleased and ordered the sauerbraten for me. I nodded my head in approval, but inwardly, I was thinking, “Yuk! Who wants to eat sour tasting food – and pancakes made from potatoes?” When the waiter brought out the dish of roast beef and pancakes, I thought “Well OK. Not too bad”. I even managed a smile which quickly faded when the waiter started ladling gravy all over my pancakes. I couldn’t get the word stop out of my mouth fast enough. The waiter quickly apologized asking if I would have preferred sour cream instead. “No, I don’t want any sour cream on my pancakes. Where’s the syrup?”

I was about to tell him to take the mess of gravy laden pancakes back to the kitchen, when Mr. Bowers let out a big whooping laugh and placed his hand on my arm and said, “Eliza, try it. You’ll like it.”

Whenever he was in town, he stayed at the Intercontinental or Hilton Hotels. Dale was allowed up to his room while I remained in the lobby. Both hotels had amazing lobbies, by the way.

After his third visit, and time spent watching all those fancy dressed ladies in the hotel lobby, I stopped shopping at Goldblatt’s bargain basement and moved up the street to Lane Bryant. I was a firm, not flabby, size sixteen with an ample bust.

I let myself explore Lane Bryant’s downtown Chicago store with full abandonment. I’d try on an outfit and try to imagine Mr. Bower’s reaction when he saw me in it, or how heads would turn as I made my entrance into one of the nice restaurants we frequented.

After my wardrobe change, Mr. Bowers began openly flirting with me. Maybe a love life was possible.

But nothing ever came of it because a few weeks later, I was fired. I can still remember Dale stumbling over the words and working hard trying to find some excuse that made sense as to why he was letting me go.

I figured my firing had something to do with the complaints coming from the women warehouse workers. There was this one woman who worked in the warehouse, who was particularly vocal in her complaints.

Whenever Dale left me alone in the office, I’d hear her yelling to the other girls in the warehouse, “Why does she get to sit up in the air conditioning and we have to work out here in the heat? Who does she think she is? She comes from the same place as we do.” I foolishly thought she meant Chicago’s West Side. That is until that last day and she showed herself. It was my old enemy from the dreams. All grown up and working at Florsheim, too!

 

STALKED! By Voices Chapter 41

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 41

IN 1972 LACKING A HIGH SCHOOL EDUCATION and any sense of self confidence, I took a job working as a maid at the Oak Park Arms Hotel making eighty dollars a week, or four thousand dollars a year.

Back in 1972, Oak Park was a predominately White upper middle class suburb west of Chicago. 

The Oak Park Arms was, and still is, a residential hotel for the well-to-do elderly.  Their ‘hotel apartments’ came complete with maid service. 

The hotel also catered to the relatives and friends of their elderly residents by maintaining some nightly and weekly rooms for their permanent residents’ out of town guests and/or family.

I made beds, cleaned toilets, vacuumed, dusted, washed dishes, cleaned ovens, and kept the elderly guests company while saving money for college.  And in September of 1973, I quit my job at the Oak Park Arms and enrolled at Triton College taking Secretarial courses.  I received the usual encouragement — none.

My year at triton was marked by an overwhelming feeling of loneliness (isolation).  But at least it was better than my one semester at Roosevelt University in the heart of Downtown Chicago.

In spite of not receiving my High School Diploma, I was accepted at Roosevelt University, primarily, because my SAT scores were so high, eleven point two in reading, fourteen point zero in Word Comprehension, and eight point seven in Math.

Talk about being blind to your skills.  With my word comprehension skills off the charts and my math scores lower than a pair of old ‘bobby socks, I selected Business Administration as my major.  I found economics to be the most boring subject known to man and woman kind.  Nothing about business appealed to me except for dressing up in nice clothes and walking around with a clipboard looking authoritative.  I might have toughed it out, but whenever I walked down the hallways at Roosevelt, I had the feeling that people were either ignoring me completely, or laughing at me behind my back.  (It still hadn’t sunk in that someone was following me and causing the other students behavior towards me.)

Things were better at Triton.  The college was not as upper crust as Roosevelt and I didn’t feel so completely out of place.  I managed to stick it out for two semesters.  During the summer break, I found a job.