Years ago I had a stalker living in Budapest named Charles. To give you a date range, I still had a land line and the Patriot Act was pretty new.
I realize it’s not easy to have a stalker living so far away but he was persistent. He called all the time, wrote multiple letters, and would send small gifts. It’s about at this point in the story where people say, ‘BULLSHIT!’ So, I would always go to my dresser and pull out the letters, gifts, and picture he sent of himself. The look on most faces then turned to horror.
The letters were always a few pages long (his English was pretty good) and the gifts were usually a CD or poem.
This went on for about a year but he eventually gave up because he said all he ever really wanted was a friend and I wasn’t reciprocating, well, because he came on a bit strong.
This story does have a couple of other extremely odd/terrifying details that I’ve left out for now because I just wanted to let people know that I had a Hungarian stalker named Charles.
This doesn’t really have a lot to do with chronic pain but just an old memory that popped into my head as I was have a huge flare up of pain in my hip.