‘Seeing my stalker at my door left me struggling with severe anxiety’
When a man started contacting Beth on social media, she felt safe in the knowledge that at least he didn’t know where she lived. Then he turned up on her doorstep – and the terrifying incident left her struggling to cope
Acommon symptom of anxiety is a tendency towards catastrophising; dwelling on the worst-case scenario in any given situation. So when a complete stranger began harassing and stalking me online, messaging my friends and calling me his girlfriend, the anxiety I’d experienced for years ramped up, and made me believe that he might turn up at my door one day. Then it actually happened. It started in the summer of 2014, when a middle-aged man began responding to almost all of my tweets. It continued through the summer, and in October, he sent me a link to a blog he’d written, saying he feels like we’re talking to each other, that he feels like he knows me – and did I feel the same? I told my boyfriend and promptly blocked and reported him. I realised he’d crossed the line from being an overfamiliar stranger. And I didn’t feel comfortable. He could no longer mention me in tweets, but I found myself checking his profile. If I knew what he was up to, perhaps it would help me feel safer. I found a stream of consciousness, all directed at me. He posted photos of himself in London, minutes from where I worked. When he messaged my best friend and shared videos of me, referring to me as his ‘woman’, I felt petrified. ‘Well, at least you know he can never turn up at your door,’ my boyfriend reassured me. But that didn’t stop my anxious mind from imagining the worst. I found myself planning what I’d do if I ever saw him in a crowd – would I run into a shop and ask them to call the police? I was at home, unwell, on the morning of 16 December 2014, when the doorbell went. I assumed it would be an online delivery, so when I opened the door and saw him standing there, I froze in panic. He looked exactly like his profile picture. He only managed to say hello before I screamed, slammed the door and dialled 999. When the police arrived, they seemed confused. He said we were in a relationship; through near-hysterical tears on the other side of the locked door, I explained that we had never met. They arrested him, but despite daily phone calls to the police station, they couldn’t tell me whether he was in a cell or had been released on bail. Not knowing where he was, my anxiety spiralled. I no longer felt safe in my own home, or outside it. In the weeks following, I refused to leave the house alone, and friends took it in turns to give me lifts to the Tube. While I’ve always considered every possible outcome of a situation, my anxious thinking reached a new, debilitating level now that I’d lived out my worst-case scenario. The way the police handled my case didn’t help. They signed off a restraining order on the wrong London borough, meaning that, if he had turned up at my door again, he could have got off on a technicality. The case went to trial, but the psychological impact it had had on me wasn’t considered, and when I gave evidence, it was only to prove that I didn’t know him. I didn’t hear what he said in defence, and, to this day, I don’t know why he fixated on me. I did, however, find out that he got my address by paying for it on a directories website. It was unnerving, but when he was sentenced to a fine and community service, I finally felt closure. Though my anxiety symptoms have improved, I still experience acute episodes, which I know are related to the incident. My chest gets tight and I have difficulty breathing. This experience has changed the way I behave, both online and off. I’ll never share anything that reveals my location, I never pick up the phone if I don’t know the number – and I never answer the door if I’m not expecting something. I’m far less trusting of strangers. While social media encourages us to be open with people we don’t know, I’ve learnt the hard way that my safety comes first.