At the request of several, here are some more details about my experience. 

I moved to the town in August. In October, I received my first letter. At first, I didn't know what it was exactly, because it wasn't addressed to anyone and wasn't signed; it just appeared on my doorstep. I forget the exact contents, but it was a romantic letter, and I remember thinking that it must have been intended for someone else because the writer seemed to know the recepient very, very well. 

The next incident was the yellow pages and the dildo. The dildo was in a package - it was new, not used (ew!). That's when I realized something weirder than normal was going on. 

A lot of what happened in between that and the break in I didn't put together until later through letters and general, oh yeah that makes sense. But I'll summarize it here.

I constantly felt like I was being watched, and for the most part, I wasn't wrong. I lived in an apartment that took up the entire first story of a two story building and I lived there alone. There were no other buildings on my side of the street. My door didn't actually face the street - it faced the opposite direction, toward the fence separating my complex from another, which made my apartment virtually impossible for pizza delivery men to find. 

There was also a gate leading to a little alleyway between my apartment and the fence. That's where the stalker spent a lot of his time. I would always lock the gate because it was old and would bang in the wind. But many mornings I would wake up to find it unlocked. One night, a friend stayed over. There was a huge rainstorm in the middle of the night. In the morning, my friend told me, "Lorraine, someone was knocking on your door in the middle of the rainstorm last night." I said, "That was probably just the gate, banging in the wind." But my friend was really insistent that, no it was someone at the door, and it had frightened him. 

I found out from later letters that the stalker had been in my apartment. He knew where everything was, including the plastic evidence bag with all of the 'evidence.' He took this as confirmation that I felt the same way about him as he did about me. 

About a week before the break in, he came to my apartment posing as a repairman and said the landlord had sent him to do some work. I told him nothing was broken and the landlord hadn't mentioned anything, and sent him away. I obviously didn't think much of that until a week later when I came out of my bedroom to find him standing in my living room. 

After the break in, I was terrified, moreso than I've ever been. I was also kind of numb. I didn't tell anyone because... I don't really know why, looking back. I was young. I was stupid. I didn't think anyone would believe me. I was ashamed. All I can say is, sometimes when you get caught in the middle of a storm like that, the way out isn't always clear. You're just trying to get from one moment to the next with no regard for long term consequences. You have all of this emotion - a lot of which you're not even consciously aware of and is years away from being fully processed - and no where to put it, no way to deal with it. You 'move on' because it's the only way you can continue to function. You'd really be surprised at how normal my life appeared on the outside through it all. 

I moved away in August. I started getting letters at my 'new' home. This time they were threatening. He was trying to scare me - trying to manipulate me - into giving him my new address (the letters were forwarded). That was when I realized the full scope of what had been happening. I also got emails. The last one came in September. I went to the police with it, but they straight up told me there was nothing much to be done. And that was that. 

So I hope that gives anyone who wants to adapt this into a screenplay enough details. As a writer, I'd do it myself, but I think I'm too close to the situation to really do it justice, if that makes sense. Sometimes you can turn your experiences into stories, other times... it's just not possible at the moment.