Stalker Girl...

I was planning on winning a Gold medal at the nineteen eighty eight Seoul Olympics in the three day event- and also an Oscar for best actress at the Academy Awards at some stage in my Life.

Optimistic little thing, wasn't I?

Not that I was ever going to be able to do this, and my poor little pony that I was going to ride in the equestrian events would have found the going pretty bloody tough; but I did have the belief that it was going to happen if I wanted it to badly enough. It's been a long time since I've beem that sure that everything would turn out the way I expected it to. About most things.

I didn't expect to be where I am in my life; for instance, which has been at a nightmarish standstill for about thirteen years now, for many reasons. Writing one thousand words per day is the only goal I have in my life atthe moment, besides the next obvious one of everyone I love staying healthy and alive, and finally selling all of my million dollar ideas. Like Cashew Butter- if it doesn't already exist. And it probabably does; I keep meaning to look.

In my parallel life I am rich, too, but then I probably didn't have any kids, either- I always used to say I was going to have a hysterectomy as soon as I turned eighteen. I know it would have been difficult to persuade a doctor to do that to someone who was so young, but I was pretty determined and naive. I suppose it was lucky, then, for my son that I got pregnant when I had only just turned eighteen and hadn't gotten around to making an appointment yet. I wonder what my life would have been like if I had.

Not that it should have mattered in the least. My Hubby told me he was infertile when we first met and as naive as I was I still actually believed him and let him have sex without a condom. It was probably only wishful thinking on his part, but he would've needed to smoke a lot more drugs for that to have happened. Not that I wish I didn't have my kids, either, but I used to hate babies- until I had one. They used to stare at me on buses and then burst into tears when I looked at them. And most of them were ugly to me; especially the blood nuts with pale sickly skin. It was a mutual thing, though- we didn't like each other. I still have trouble around most little kids, I find them strange and everything feels forced and fake. I avoid talking to kids when they are in my presence. I'm sure many of their parents pick up on this fact but I really don't care. If I am ignorant, so be it. Me and children don't have anything much in common anymore anyway.

But I wonder what life would have been like if I had stayed at school and gotten the good marks I'd needed and gone to vet school; I wonder which horse stud I would work for now, and which champions would be under my care? Do I live in the same place that I dreamed of? Do I have the hundreds of lovely green acres of paddocks to ride my big chestnut gelding through? Does my farmhouse have a verandah that goes almost all the way around it? Where are my Beagle and my Border Collie?

In this life I was never going to get married either- though I suppose technically I still haven't in reality, either. It's been almost fifteen years and I've never even been formally asked. I'm a bit passed all that white wedding crap now, and besides, I'm only getting uglier as I get older. And even if he ever wanted that little bit of paper he surely wouldn't want it anymore, not after all these years together. He knows me too well to marry me now- and we've already been 'divorced' twice anyway. We do a lot of things backwards when I think about it. He even gave me a fake name when we first met so he wouldn't have to see me again if he didn't want to- but then- he didn't count on meeting 'Stalker Girl' did he?

My Hubby didn't want to go out with me in the first place- if the truth be told. He didn't want me again after the first night that we met, which I couldn't understand as it had been the best night of my life, up until that night at least. I believe in love at first sight because that's what happened when I laid my greedy eyes upon him. We were both really drunk, Him on Ouzo and me on two bottles of Passion Pop, but I wanted to be with him more than anything I've ever wanted anything else in my life, virginity or not. He told me much later that he didn't see the hymenal blood until the next day but I would have thought it was pretty fucking obvious- or else he must have thought that I was just a really dud root if he hadn't guessed that I was still a virgin.

And I guess that might scare a lot of guys off; a girl who was willing to give her virginity away, like a slut might, to a bloke on the first night that she met him- but I didn't see it as a desperate act at all; after all, I had turned other blokes down for sex before in the past, before that night. He was the one it was meant to happen with, that's all. It's like we were meant to breed or something. See; I told you I was a stalker.

We always had a good time, though, when I got my wicked way to be with him- but for the most part I was just a pest in a catsuit and knee high boots who sort of became obsessed by him. Me and one friend I used to have used to hunt him down a lot. In the days before I owned a car we would walk to every pub in our neighbourhood trying to find him for me; it used to take us hours sometimes. I don't know why I was so desperate to be with him- even to be near him was better than nothing at all. I bought the beers and carried the carton for miles just to spend time with him. Literally. I spent every cent I had on me once, to buy his company- and when it was all gone he disappeared as well. So why did I stay around when he obviously did not like me much- let alone love or respect me? At the time I suppose it was because I wanted him to want me, and I thought I only had to make him see who I really was and that would be enough, for him to love me for who I was. Now of course the reasons are more obvious- but at the time I didn't know that I only wanted to be with someone who wasn't interested in me just so that I could justify playing the part of the helpless victim one more time.

He told me, not all that long ago, that he was only with me back then because he felt sorry for me. Then he conveniently changed the subject. I hadn't expected him to say that about me but I guess I was pretty pathetic. I'd often ring him at three in the morning, drunk and crying hysterically, begging him to just let me talk to him. I threw sex at him. I branded my flesh, many times, melted myself, with cigarettes and lighters when I got depressed over him. I'm covered in these little horse-shoe-shaped scars- it looks like the world's tiniest pony has galloped up my arms- that were meant just for him. One of them oozed green pus for three weeks because I had burned into the skin so deeply.

I suppose many people might feel sorry for that kind of person- someone who will do that sort of thing to themselves when they are feeling depressed or whatever I was. Maybe you feel sorry for me too- but surely, hopefully, his 'sorry' has turned into loving me by now. You would hope so at least. I know I can still act in the same ways that I did when I was seventeen- He would be used to how I am by now- but sometimes it doesn't feel that way. I know that if I left he wouldn't come running after me. Why would he? He doesn't need me in the same way that I need him. He doesn't care in the same way that I do. Not that I will ever be the one to leave. You might sayI'm too obsessed by him to let him go- so I try not to think too much about what will happen after he leaves me. He probably will eventually- and I'll probably act in the same dumb ways to get him back again. Don't ask me why but I just can't let him be with anyone else but me.

I guess it's lucky that he stays of his own accord. Sort of. We had a child before we were even a couple. He thinks I got pregnant on purpose, you know, and he got afraid. I must have done a good job at hiding how scared I was as well. My mind knew I was having a baby but I was in real denial about having a baby to take home and care for afterwards. I wasn't prepared for any of it; I hadn't even packed my bag to go go to hospital.

Two years After our son was born we began 'dating', moved in together, had our 'honeymoon', skipped the marriage, divorced each other in the mind and reunited beneath the sheets, so now we just have our engagement party to look forward to before dying. I still hope we are going to be together for a long time, but I know he finds it difficult to live with me. So do my kids. It must be awful for them- living with a maniac. Why hasn't he already left me? Never mind. Nothing ever happens quickly around here, at least, so who knows- I may still have some time to change his mind about leaving me today.

I'll worry about tomorrow then.