Everybody knows that there’s no such thing as hacking. That’s just something that old cows like me make up to hide that they can no longer hack it. Life. They’re too old and too feeble-minded to handle modern technology. Everybody knows that. They can no longer hack real life. Warehouse the bitches. They just get in the way.
(Or as Boris Johnson said, let them have cake, and covid.)
This tablet’s unique Google account was being accessed from a Linux system, first in early June of this year. But that’s not true. I just need new spectacles or something. Am reading things that aren’t there.
Yeah, right.
Meanwhile, that hacker’s reasoning goes somewhat like this. “Let’s break this bitch. Let’s teach her a lesson. We swore we would break her and break her we will. Goddamn feminist bitch, who does she think she is.” Or whatever. How on earth would I know.
It’s over between men and me. Forever. Too many misogynistic insults. Too many men who insulted me, within this context. I’m not my brainless lace bra or panties. Just like men are not their stinky socks. Or so I believed.
Yes, I am bitter. I’ve had enough. I am often very unpleasant to be around nowadays. People – animals too – can often sense the fear in me and the hurt that’s been inflicted on me. Particularly men are often uncomfortable around me. I am okay with that. They can sense that I am wary of people.
I became stalked by a cunning calculating sociopath over 15 years ago. I received almost no support with the exception of one person who was stalked herself and had to overhaul her life completely to escape from that lunatic.
I’m very angry – bitter – with all the people who have let me down within this context and I guess it’s turning me into a real bitch. I’ll stick to my own company from now on. Nobody will ever mess with me again.
I’m in another country now.
I was devastated when the crap really started gearing up again after I left Portsmouth. Gutted. Fear and despair really began to rule my life then. That was in early June. The fear – that this sociopath would continue to mess with me until the day of my death – didn’t go away any more.
Eventually, I realized that I could really start hitting back now because not only did I literally have nothing to lose any longer, the risk for him was becoming too obvious. So among other things, I sent a bunch of texts to someone else in which I said that he really was going out of the way geographically so much now that it was showing clear (criminal) intent.
I noticed that he paid attention to that.
(It indicated that he knew very well that he was doing something that he should not be doing and that he didn’t want to be caught out by law enforcement.)
Then I deliberately sent him an e-mail in which I said that I would kill him if I ever saw him again. (I also sent that to someone else.)
It concerns someone I have spoken with three times, over 15 years ago. Need I say more? I know almost nothing about him.
Wow. I got back a crazy rant about my “shabby life” and this and that and what not. From someone who supposedly has nothing to do with me? From someone who last spoke with me over 15 years ago?!
(Actually, it wasn’t really a rant, but more like strange, unhinged ramblings. Pretty weird.)
He even moved the cursor to “contact” to make sure that I went and checked that particular email inbox. I hadn’t expected a response. I think he wanted to scare me but I have nothing left to lose, already got used to expecting the worst in Portsmouth.
In the by now very distant past, I have begged him to leave me the hell alone. He would just play stupid games in return.
This is the first time he’s openly revealed himself as my stalker.
I feel victorious.
I also feel sad.
And I’m feeling like closing the door on the many people who let me down.
I feel raw and bitter. The fear (despair, powerlessness) hasn’t left me yet. He’s done horrible things to my mind and to my life; the fact that I know that he can’t help himself doesn’t change that.
Note this, though: Even he wants to be accepted the way he is. Because he can’t change himself. His brain structure. He may even do his best to keep his tendencies in check, but the way he does that also serves as a cover, so it’s hard to tell, really, what is behind it.
Right now, things are happening in my life that I already predicted in June. But my health is a lot better than it was in Portsmouth and I just couldn’t do it any longer. I can’t let someone out there, and his pals, control and dictate and restrict just about every second and aspect of my life. It was killing me.
If he could be content with being in my equipment and merely observing, that would be a very different thing. But he has to interfere, inflict hurt and then try to find out how much it hurts. This affects everyone else I interact with. He even messes with my interactions with others too, deliberately. To him, it’s just a game.
And no, to J: I am still not in the market for women either.
