I am comfortable in the fact that people do not fully know or understand me. There are those who like to believe they do, well-meaning friends who like to say, “Come on, I know you better than that” when they think they can detect my mood and wish to draw me out and comfort me or force me into banter when I wish to remain silent.
I know myself better and will recover in my own time.
I realize that most people mean well.
Still, the most interesting of all is the stalker who continues to harangue, harass, and darken my life pretending like she knows what I mean whenever I write something when she knows nothing about my life, has never actually spoken to me, and knows zero about my life. Her constant threats, emails, and illegal behavior of breaking into my online accounts and calling places pretending to be me is laughable and only goes to prove how small her life is.
The very fact that she is so consumed with what I am doing all the while I think very seldom of her goes to prove that I am an enigma to her and she is a transparent manipulative crazy nut just like she appears to be.
Interesting. Disturbing. Funny. But, at the same time, not even a microscopic piece of dust in the cobwebs in the furthermost corner of my mind.
No, when people say, “Come on, I know you better than that,” they truly do not. They have no idea what I intended.
The Flat Girl 