Samantha (the victim)

I was wondering, would you want to go see a Red Wings game?

I got us tickets.

I am just kind of speechless in a bad way.

I tell him, I'm not interested in going to a Red Wings game with you.

It's not like there's anything wrong with you, Christopher.

I just don't have any romantic interest in you.

He puts a few red roses under my windshield wiper, more flowers like at my doorstep with a weird love note.

I said, I think you need to kind of back off and to leave me alone, but you won't stop.

He was following me to my work, following me to my internship there at Frisbee practice.

It was the first time I had really laid out each interaction with him in such a way that once they're put all together, I'm like, this guy's stalking me.

He calls him and says, we're revoking this.

You can't come out here.

It was a relief.

It was over.

And I could just pack my car and drive off into the sunset.

I went to graduate school, and I trained as a private practice therapist.

I had friends that were interested in what I was doing.

So I write this blog, and there's a woman named Sarah Mott that comments.

And she just said, well, I just stumbled across your blog.

I was like, oh, this is kind of cool.