As you read my account of being stalked, certain sentences are in bold print to call your attention to actions that I think unwittingly served to maintain the stalking behavior.
The Introduction
In mid-December 1998 I received a phone call from a woman seeking psychotherapy. The first question she asked, unlike the usual ones about insurance or evening or weekend hours, immediately informed me that I was about to have a most unusual experience. “Are you pregnant?” This ludicrous question struck me as funny but I refrained from laughing and told her that her question told me that it was very important for her to know if I were pregnant. “Yes,” she said. Her previous therapist, Dr. Linda, had become pregnant and terminated treatment to go on maternity leave. She wanted to be certain it did not happen again. I assured her that I was not pregnant and we made an appointment for a consultation the following week at 1 P.M. I advised her that if she arrived early, not to be concerned if I did not answer the doorbell to my office (which was in my home); I would most likely be out to lunch but would be back in time for the appointment.
When I returned to my office, a car was parked there—stenciled with a picture of Mickey Mouse, along with a musical notation, the name, Doctor Susie, and a phone number. As the car door opened, I saw that the owner appeared to be in her late forties, dressed casually, and unkempt. When she entered the office, I commented that she had quite an unusual-looking car, at which she smiled broadly. She revealed that she was “an absolutely magnificent pianist and musical genius” who gave piano lessons to children. She also played piano at a local restaurant on Saturday nights.
Susie said she was a pathological liar but would try very hard not to lie to me. I was shocked by how truthful she was. It was my empathy that enabled her to be so honest. I asked her to tell me more about her experience with Dr Linda. She went to explain their last appointment had been three weeks earlier, and since then she has called and left daily messages at Dr. Linda’s home. The previous day was Dr. Linda’s due date and Susie wanted to be sure that she and the baby were alright. Dr. Linda had not returned any calls.
Susie volunteered that she never had held a steady job, but for a while she had run a golf course, been a coin dealer, and operated a candy warehouse, her father’s business. Although Susie went to a music college, she never graduated because she gave the orchestra “a hard time.” She said she had a Ph.D. from a “university without walls,” explaining that was why she calls herself Dr. Susie. Dr. Susie and Mickey Mouse were her logos, and she used them to decorate her car, her home, and her clothing. She wanted me to call her Dr. Susie, and she called me Dr. Sharon. She seemed to be quite intelligent, and there was something quite endearing and likable about her. I continued to call her Dr. Susie. She reluctantly disclosed prior psychiatric hospitalizations, that she had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and was receiving psychiatric disability payments. “But I’m all right now, much better,” she added. When I inquired about medication, she said that she had been on the mood stabilizer lithium, but no longer took it because she did not need it.
Susie explained she could accept that Dr. Linda could no longer be her therapist, but could not accept that Dr. Linda would not see her socially and would not return her calls. It felt to her as if Dr. Linda had died, a terrible loss.
I asked Susie to return the following week so that I could get a better sense of what had happened and think about how I might be helpful to her. The following week Susie arrived announcing that someone from Dr. Linda’s office had called to tell her the doctor had delivered the baby and both mother and child were doing well. Susie sounded sad as she recalled how much she had really liked Dr. Linda, and then became angry, saying that “all of a sudden, she became pregnant.” I commented that she seemed angry at Dr. Linda. “Yes, I am. All that baby can do is sleep and eat, pee and shit. I am so much more interesting than that!”
The Stalking History
During this session I discovered that 17 years earlier, Susie’s then four-year-old daughter was doing poorly in nursery school and a psychotherapist associated with the school referred both Susie and her daughter to an outpatient mental health center, where they were treated for a year. Susie became quite depressed and had suicidal thoughts, and was hospitalized for a few weeks. Ms. Storm, the outpatient therapist, had become very special to Susie, and upon discharge from the hospital, she returned to treatment with her for a few years—until Ms. Storm’s supervisor insisted that she stop treatment with Susie. Susie stayed in touch with Ms. Storm until beginning three-times-a-week treatment with Dr. Barbara, a candidate at a psychoanalytic training institute.
I discovered how special Dr. Barbara had become to her. Susie recalled that she had written songs about Dr. Barbara, performed in her home office, and bought Dr. Barbara expensive gifts (which went unaccepted). Suddenly and with no explanation, Dr. Barbara cut down the frequency of appointments to once a week. And then, after five and a half years of treatment, Dr. Barbara abruptly ended therapy without prior notice. Susie responded by ordering several pizzas in Dr. Barbara’s name and having them delivered to Dr. Barbara’s home around midnight. Susie began to follow Dr. Barbara and her family by car. It was apparent to Susie that Dr. Barbara thought Susie was dangerous and would come after her. Susie explained to me “If she thought I’m a stalker, I gave her something to be afraid of!”
Susie revealed that Dr. Barbara and her husband, a lawyer, went to the police with a copy of the DSM description of delusional disorder, erotomanic type. This resulted in the police visiting Susie and warning her to stop harassing Dr. Barbara. This enraged Susie. She exclaimed “An erotomaniac? What does she think I am, a fucking bulldyke?” Susie, in turn, reported Dr. Barbara to the psychology board for sexual misconduct. Dr. Barbara filed criminal charges against Susie, who was sent away to a state psychiatric hospital. Upon discharge, Susie began seeing Dr. Linda.
By the time Susie left the appointment, I felt as if I had been run over by a Mack truck. I was stunned that she presented herself to me as a relentless stalker with no awareness of how horrified I was to hear it. She seemed to feel listened to and heard empathically, and she seemed to assume that I felt for her and all she went through at the hands of the horrid therapists. I knew I had to protect myself and could never accept her for treatment. She distorted my listening in a way that was remarkably out of touch with reality, making it clear to me how psychotic she was. Despite my fear of her, I knew that I had to stall for time to think about how I could tell her that I could not treat her. I knew that refusing to treat her, as Dr. Barbara had done, or refusing to see her socially would enrage her, and I did not want to enrage her any more than necessary. I called Susie’s insurance company and they revealed nothing of her stalking history, although I was certain they knew of it.
I decided to curb my usual candor and directness; I lied about why I could not see her for treatment so that it might not feel so much like a rejection. I told her that she deserved a more intensive treatment than my schedule allowed, and that the proper treatment required a hospital based program, where she could receive both psychotherapy and medication, including a mood stabilizer. Susie was certain that she did not need to be on a mood stabilizer. I suggested that she was not the best judge of that. She seemed stunned and left. The next day I received a managed care authorization for further treatment, with a diagnosis of Bipolar I. I also received a curt, angry letter from Susie requesting her medical records, which I sent to her.
How the Therapist Became a Therapy Pen Pal
Several weeks later, toward the end of January 1999, I received a very long phone message from Susie, saying that she was trying to channel her anger at me into something more constructive by writing a report about me. She also said she was revising the song she had written about Dr. Barbara and sang it to my answering machine. She expressed some remorse about what she had done to Dr. Barbara. I was struck by how much more lucid and reflective she seemed.
Soon after, I begin to receive numerous hang-up phone calls at my office and home phones. I tried unsuccessfully to have the calls traced. Then I sent Susie a brief letter, saying I believed she was making those calls, and insisted she stop. Days later, I received a letter from Susie in a far more thoughtful, kinder tone, with an Indian Head penny enclosed for luck. She said after reading my letter, she had thrown out all her treatment records and police reports about her interactions with Dr. Barbara. Susie said she intended to work on her therapy song album, named after a song about her treatment in Dr. Barbara’s office, and said there would be a song in the album written for and dedicated to me.
After the letter, I began to receive several long phone messages from Susie, asking me to reconsider seeing her for treatment. I did not return her calls. Numerous hang-up phone calls followed.
By now, Susie had invaded my mind; I realized that I had become the victim of a stalker. I recalled that an actress had been killed by her stalker, and when I awoke up each morning my first thoughts were: “Is this the day she’ll kill me? Is it the day she’ll kill my husband? Or my son?” I wished I did not have a home office. Each time I saw a car the same color and make as Susie’s, my heart pounded.
Then I received a phone message from Susie: she had found another therapist. I was jubilant. A few days later I sent her a letter reiterating why I could not see her and wishing her well in her treatment. I received a very angry letter on stationery emblazoned with Susie’s favorite cartoon character, Mickey Mouse.
I realize you are far too busy to see me. I realize that your schedule is completely full for now and the foreseeable future. I realize I must attempt to regulate my angry feelings. I realize. I realize. I realize. Ect. Ect. Ect. (I think she meant to write etc, etc but wrote the abbreviation for Electrosconvulsive therapy.) Please don’t write me any more hostile letters. It didn’t help me at all. I won’t call or write you anymore either. I hope your other patients with neck and head terminal cancer do well with you.
In April, I received a summons to appear in small claims court. Susie was suing me for $200. She claimed I owed her money because she could have been giving music lessons and earning income rather than seeing me. I began to panic; I knew sending her any amount of money would not appease her, and I was afraid to confront her in court, afraid she would attack me or my husband or anyone who accompanied me.
In a moment of lucidity about this case, I remembered that a member of one of my professional organizations was not only a clinical social worker but also a forensic social worker in the New York City court system, so highly acclaimed that there had been an article about him in
The New York Times (
Kleinfeld, 1998)
2. He suggested I file a harassment complaint with the local police and request an order of protection. I did that the next day. The order of protection was denied. Because Susie never overtly threatened me, I was told that there was nothing they could do. I was so frazzled that it did not occur to me to tell the police of her stalking history, criminal charges, and resulting hospitalization, which might have expedited matters.
Weeks later, early in May, Susie called, asking to settle out of court. I refused. She asked for an apology from me for the things I said in my treatment record. About this time, I received a call from Hillel. He had spoken to someone in the district attorney’s office about getting the local police actively involved in a new case of stalking by someone with a history of the crime. Although this was somewhat reassuring, it made me even more anxious; it meant that this really was this serious.
Reconsidering my interactions with Susie and trying to appease her, I called her and apologized for my words in her record that hurt her. In a conciliatory and reflective tone, she said that she been so angry at Dr. Linda for ending treatment that she took it out on me, and she said she would drop the small claims court case.
The following day, a woman from the district attorney’s office called and offered to look up my stalker’s history, and asked for her name. I froze, fearful that I would be breaching the ethic of confidentiality by disclosing Susie’s name. The woman impatiently advised that if I did not tell her the name, she could not help me. As soon as I provided Susie’s name, the woman recognized it, and said there was a pretty thick file about Susie. The woman remembered prior cases against Susie, and advised me to call her if the stalking persisted. If it did, she promised she would get the local police to pay Susie a warning visit.
Despite Susie’s assurances that the case would be dropped, I received a letter from a local mediation center asking me to appear at a hearing. Feeling more empowered, I responded that I would not participate. A week later, I received a letter from Susie apologizing and telling me that she had dropped the small claims charges. In the letter she explained that she realized she was unwell; she was remorseful for her behavior. When she wasn’t having acute symptoms, she was lucid. Her new therapist was trying to find a psychopharmacologist to help with treatment, and “if you ever see Dr. Barbara, please tell her for me I miss her and I’m sorry.”
She also included a business card, on the back of which she had hand written a “free coupon” for dinner for two any Saturday night for “Dr. Sharon and guest” at a restaurant where she played piano.
I sent her a note reiterating that I did not have contact outside my office with people I have seen for consultation or treatment. A few days later I received a note from her saying that she has begun treatment with another therapist. I sent a letter in support. A few weeks later I received her business card with a note thanking me for my letter, asking me yet again to be her guest for dinner on a specific date in June. Also enclosed was a printed coupon, suggesting Susie had gone to the time and trouble to have it printed. Again, I sent a letter reiterating my policy of no outside contact.
Two weeks later I received a package of photographs of various items decorated with Susie’s favorite cartoon character and her Mickey Mouse logo. This included a photo of her car, a fireplace mantel with figurines, a stained glass window of the cartoon, a wall mural, her recording studio, and her boyfriend, wearing a tee shirt her distinctively embellished with the cartoon character and logo. Because I was feeling supported by the forensic contact and was no longer so fearful of her, I did not feel compelled to respond to pacify her.
There was no contact in July and August; I began to relax a bit. On vacation, I came across two books, Barbara Ehrenreich’s (1997) Blood Rites: Origins and History of the Passions of War, based on the prey-topredator paradigm, and psychiatrist Doreen Orion’s (1997) personal account, I Know You Really Love Me; A Psychiatrist’s Journal of Erotomania, Stalking, and Obsessive Love. As frightening as Dr. Orion’s story was, it helped me to realize that not all stalkers are of the same stripe; my stalker was not as violent or intrusive as Dr. Orion’s. My stalker was not a serial killer; she was a serial stalker.
Early in September I received a note from Susie, saying her father died a month and a half before, along with a very moving tape of a song she wrote for him: “Daddy, I hardly knew you.” I listened to it and cried. By this time I knew that I should not respond to her overtures but it seemed so cold and heartless not to send a condolence note. With most the most conflicted of feelings, I sent her a brief note. I received a letter from Susie telling me that the song she had written to her father would be played on a radio show. The letter continued, “Thanks for your continued empathetic support. I know we’re little more than strangers technically, but feel for myself that you are my therapy pen pal. Be in touch soon.” She signed herself, “Dr. Susie, musical genius.”
A few weeks later a message was left on my answering machine at midnight. A male voice, identifying himself as a friend of Susie, told me to tune in to a syndicated radio show at four A.M. to hear the song on national radio. I felt enraged.
I continued to receive hang-up phone calls through early November. Then I received a call from Susie, once again asking me to treat her. Immediately I told her clearly and firmly that there was no role I could play in her life. “I cannot be your friend. I cannot be your therapist. Do not call, write, send me mail, photos, anything. I do not want to hear from you or about you ever again.” I was about to ask “Do you understand?” but quickly realized that this might invite a dialogue. I conveyed clarity, forcefulness, and anger with no effort to be kind.
It was, paradoxically, the most truly empathic response to her. I had put myself in her shoes and spoke to the level of her pathology and deranged transference. It was a long overdue dose of reality testing that apparently punctured any delusion she might have had about me. It was truly an “AHA!” moment for me. I had come to understand that an empathic response is not necessarily warm nor compassionate (
Hopenwasser 2008), nor must it sound kind. It must speak to the stalker’s level of ego-and self-organization. Finally, I had done that. I never heard from her again, although I still get occasional hang-up calls, which may or may not be from her.