2013. I left you in 2013.
You spent months stalking me, trying to frighten me into submission after your vile threats to kidnap our son and murder my relatives failed to get me running back to you as it had several times prior.
You put me through the emotional wringer. It took multiple arrests, countless hours giving police statements, and even a stay in prison on remand before you were finally found guilty and I got my restraining order – which, quite unusually, is in place until removed by order of the courts.
Which will never happen.
Then you finally seemed to get the message that you needed to leave me alone. Since 2014, I heard nothing from you and saw no sign of you.
It was marvellous. Still, it took some time before the hunted animal feeling left me and I began to rebuild my life.
I moved into my own home, took a new job, made new friends, travelled with my son, worked out – all things that helped rebuild my shattered confidence, slowly restoring those things you took from me.
I grew strong. Our son thrived. I relished the freedom of no longer dreading the next calamity you’d inflict.
Then, a phonecall from a friend, who you’d approached in the street to beg for my phone number and address. She refused, but took your number to pass on to me with your message to call you immediately.
I ignored it, told myself it was just a chance encounter that you jumped on.
I was wrong. The last person I expected to see as I helped my boy into the car that day was you. You were just two metres away from me when I clocked you, and ducked into the car, locking the door.
You smiled, grinned, at me, Duper’s Delight pasted all over your detestable face.
You kept on walking like you had some reason to be lurking outside my relative’s house in a community in which you have no business.
You thought you’d got away with it, as you hadn’t harmed or threatened me in that instance. I shook inside the vehicle, as I pretended to our son that nothing had happened.
Within a fortnight, another message from a different friend. A strange guy had recognised her from my old photos. He’d fallen out of touch with me, he said. Did she have an address for me?
I know why you want my address so badly. Your own life is such a train wreck you can’t bear the thought that I might have made it without you. That my child and I are happier away from you than we ever were in your violent, drug-addicted, destructive, chaotic, self-centred, callous, criminal, narcissistic presence.
You want to rob me of my new found happiness. My calm. My confidence. My strength and self belief.
To you, it’s an obsessive power play in which you need to teach me that I’ll never escape you and you’ll always be the one who gets to dictate the terms of my life.
It must cut you to the quick that you have remained in ugly stasis, whilst my life has blossomed. Or maybe you just need money to fund your habit, and your latest victim has ditched your sorry self.
It certainly isn’t regret at the horrific way you treated the two people you claimed hollowly to love.
You didn’t care then, and you don’t care now.
Not once have you even sent your son a birthday card, though a stamp costs nothing and you knew multiple addresses to which you could mail a tiny token that you were thinking of him.
So, hear me now: I’m not playing your pathetic game. Life continues. Those glorious days with my son, where I feel myself brimming over with happiness at all I’ve been blessed with, continue despite your efforts.
I’m watchful, but I’m not afraid. I’m dancing and I’m singing. You’ll never win.
Crawl back to hell.