This fifth story happened to a girl I went to therapy with. As you are not allowed to share personal information from such sessions, I cannot tell more about the people involved. But it was a sincere story, and the girl was in treatment against paranoia and anxiety. The reason she had ended up there was, that just some years prior, someone had been following her. Most of the time, she just had a bad feeling, as if she was being watched by unknown eyes. And for some time she thought that she must be crazy. But then, her friends started asking her about a man they sometimes noticed around her. Waiting in front of a building she was in, like restaurants, or the hairdresser. Following her to the subway. Always just out of reach, too far away to identify, and leaving once they started to observe him. She asked the police for help, but they said, as long as she doesn't even know who it was, or what he looked like, there was nothing they could do.

And then the hits came closer. Her trash being rummaged in. Mail getting stolen. Flowers disappearing from her balcony (it was only first story, but still...). Again, noone could observe who did it, or a pattern where or when the person could strike next. She was very frightened, and moved to a different apartment An affordable one room flat. At first she seemed to find some peace there. But then one day, something happened. She had come home late from university, hanging up her coat, dropping her backpack by the table, off to take a shower before bed. Relaxing. But when she came back into the room, she noticed something was off. The fear crept back into hear head. So she started to look around. Opened a cupboard. To find it empty. And she froze. Stood there for some minutes, internally screaming. That cupboard held some of her most private belongings. A box full of photographs, old diaries, scrapbooks from vacations with friends. All gone. She called the police. They couldn't find a break in, asked if she was sure she had locked the door, if she was certain that the things were not just misplaced. She felt so helpless and afraid. She spend that night at her mother's home.

No two days later, friends helped her move her things to her boyfriend. He promised to protect her. Bought safety locks for the apartment, although it would cost him extra once they'd move out (drilling large holes into your apartment door to install custom locks isn't exactly what landlords are fans of in my country), and even got safety bolts for the windows. He made sure to pick her up after studies, and go with her on her appointments. But he still couldn't be there 24/7, both had side jobs to pay for their tuition. So her anxiety stuck with her, always making sure her home was safe, when she returned. Not taking off her shoes or jacket, walk into every room, open every closet, always keep the shower curtain drawn back, look under the bed, all the while holding her keys in her hand like claws. Always on edge.

And one day, the final straw fell. She was home alone, sleeping in. Her boyfriend had closed the blinds so she wouldn't be bothered by the sun. It was a warm day, so she woke up slowly and drowsy. Blinking at the blinds. At a shadow. A shape in front of the window. A pair of eyes, that stared at her. Her heart nearly stopped. She reached for her phone on the side table, and hid under the blanket, like a little child scared of monsters. Called up her boyfriend in a panic, repeating in a frantic whisper: „He's here! He's here! He's in front of the window, he's looking at me! Please come quickly!“ It was hard for her to speak, as her teeth were clapping on each other, while her whole body shook in terror. And all this time she was peeking out through a small hole left by the covers. Seeing those eyes staring at her, hardly blinking. Her boyfriend tried to calm her, tried to comfort her, got a co-worker to call the cops, so he wouldn't have to hang up on her, and hurried to get home. She cried and prayed for the man to leave, terrified he might come in, perhaps smashing the window. And then she remembered he had apparently used a key on her apartment before. And that the doors were locked from outside by her boyfriend, but not bolted down.

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She was in such a panic that she couldn't even speak sense anymore. So, when she wiped away some tears to peak again, only to find the man gone, she let out a high screech, startling her boyfriend. He asked her what happened, but she had jumped up, screaming, begging: „No, no, please no!“, while running to the front door, thrusting herself against it, as if trying to hold back an invading army. She closed the bolts, whining, her eyes searching for clues of an intruder, while thinking how, if the man was inside, that she had just locked herself in with him. She picked up a chair in panic, starting to scout the home the way she would upon returning, opening every door or cupboard, even the hamper, and boxes only a child might fit in.

When she was back in the bedroom, scanning under the bed, she heard her boyfriend yelling from the phone she dropped. She tried to explain her situation, when there was a loud knock on the door, and she screamed again in terror. Then another knock, louder, more aggressive. She was so frightened, she just wanted to run and hide. There was more knocking, and yelling, a loud angry man yelling, and she was so scared... But finally, she heard her boyfriend on the phone, and listened to what he was saying: „Honey, it's me! It's me and the police, you need to let us in!“ Still scared senseless, she asked: „But how do I know it's you?“ He tried to assure her, and finally said: „I'm at the window of the living room! Come look!“ So she went back to the living room, and when she saw her boyfriend standing outside the window, she was finally able to calm down a little, and open the bolts from the door. Just to break down crying in his arms, when he came in, leading the way for the police.

Her boyfriend tried to help her. Calm her down. Assure her she was safe. But she could never believe him again. It wasn't his fault, but the whole situation led to them breaking up eventually. Her grades had already dropped, and she couldn't continue her studies. She was sent to a mental hospital far away from her city, and that was when she was able to start feeling secure again. She had since moved to a different state, picked up a different occupation. Still had some old friends, but they only visited occasionally, and for the first one and a half years, whenever they'd visit her, she would only meet them in a public place, and take care to choose a complicated route home after. But the trauma never really left her, and so, when it was time for a treatment again, she had come to the same institute I was in. She shared her story with us, and it shook most of us to the core. Even the men in the group, rather strong looking fellas, agreed that a stalker would freak them out too, and were happy she didn't suffer a worse fate.

She cried some more, saying how she missed her personal things. The old pictures with her family, some originals that noone had a copy or negative of. But what stuck with her the most was this: They never found out, who the stalker was. The police found no lead, none of her friends or family had any guess, and she still can't fathom, how or why anyone would choose her. Just an average girl, no celebrity, she wasn't even popular back in school. But the police told them, that most cases were in fact of random people stalking someone they hardly knew. Like a neighbor, a colleague, a sales clerk at a local store... It could have been anyone, she concluded. Anyone at all.