Once I'm home, I do less well at the happy evasion of the stalker. But I try. I spent years thinking I was facing it down, putting myself in jobs and situations that made it worse, but which held the promise of making me into something normal and more acceptable and OK. My definitions, obviously. What I don't know about what is normal and acceptable to others is a lot.
Fortunately there are a few people I manage to see regularly due to various obligations. Otherwise I could go months with virtually no human contact, even though I do not understand humans who hate their own kind, think bears have more right to be on earth, etc.
I'm actually amazed when I reflect upon the number of years I have battled certain demise and sadness. If the potential was ever there, as some professors, girlfriends, parent, etc. told me, then there was something else there that was more powerful which tended to thwart it. You'd have thought that a few years of cleaning dope and alcohol out of the system would be enough. And you'd be dead wrong in this case. It certainly didn't hurt, as it ensured I'd live to fight another day. It is unlikely I would have lasted much longer without some very big trouble. So, that was a good demon to face head on. It had some definition. It required a lot of change in my outlook and attitude in order to get free of the numbing agents.
Image lifted from someone named Vamane CorbinStill wasn't enough to free me of the stealthy stalker. I may never shake that bastard. However, there are moments when I feel free and right. That is what I have to remember because there was a time when those moments were as much as a year or more apart. Now, it is rarely more than a week or two between them. Progress.
The big question is who will win, the prey or the hunter? I wouldn't bet either way on that, even though in a way I have already placed my bet that the prey will eventually vanquish the hunter. In the mean time, I'll just try to try to do...
