Helping as many women as possible escape from sadistic stalking thus helping them get their lives back, at least to some degree.

So that they can breathe again.

There. 😊 Happy now?

Starting with myself, of course. 😎

On 9 June 2008, a relentless and cunning psychopath made me a victim, nothing but a victim, an object, a thing, a powerless football. Because he knows that I hate being powerless. Because he knows that it’s not at all who I am. Because he literally likes the sight of blood.

I know he can’t help it.

(That doesn’t make it okay.)

What he wants? Acceptance. (He wants me to give up my life, though he isn’t always sure in what way.) It’s very hard for people like him to get any meaningful and effective support. 😥

This isn’t something that I can remedy singlehandedly. I even have no idea where to begin if I were to set out on such an endeavor.

So maybe that would be my dream job, because if I could solve their problems, sadistic stalking would become a thing of the past.

Apparently, he does what he does because it’s the only way for him to be in some kind of lasting relationship.

And because that doesn’t quite work, he sabotages your income relentlessly because he thinks that this will force you to move in with any man who is desperate for a woman.

That’s what his main gripe seems to be about. Neurodiversity leading to loneliness.

He’s often taunted me when I was going hungry, kept me trapped in a coercive control situation for years and years and years. Nobody believed me.

(Only a younger woman who’s been stalked herself saw that something was really wrong when this all started, back in 2008, but even she occasionally entertained romantic notions about what was going on. We all have trouble believing that some people are truly evil and can be very cunning at the same time.)

So, for over fifteen years now, he’s been interfering with and often downright sabotaging as many aspects in my life as he can, whether it’s

• playing a musical instrument at a rehearsal in Bristol in 2009
• paying the deposit for my place in Southsea, also in 2009
• accessing accurate information about DVLA office locations from my computer, in 2010
• selling art reproductions, in 2014
• accessing networking opportunities
• enjoying Christmas
• my contact details at HMRC VAT services
• many login passwords
• logging into Companies House so that I needed to use paid services to file
• incoming payments
• friends and acquaintances
• going to local pubs and enjoying it
• joining in various local activities, including a COVID solidarity group on Facebook in 2020 (people had posters about these groups in their windows but all I found online was one for a small village a little to the north)
• sending Christmas wishes to the Washeteria
• setting up and promoting a petition for a man who lost his home of 30 years over the so-called spare room tax
• going to local art exhibitions and gigs and enjoying it
• my doorlocks (first in 2010, as far as I currently know)
• doing any marketing for the activities I had
• getting broadband, in 2010, by removing my address from the local city council address database that feeds into Royal Mail’s which feeds into the providers’ address databases
• accessing the internet, at all
• reconnecting with Nirmala on 13 August 2018, a woman who was at the Poynter Institute in St Pete with who and whose friends I attended a WMNF birthday bash, among other things
• paying my bills on time (finding payment instructions changed, without explanation)
• emails
• changing my internet provider
• text messages
• running Linux from a usb stick
• client projects, over and over and over
• phone calls
• receiving postal letters and important documents
• making new acquaintances (appointments to meet)
• who provides my electricity
• delaying paying my contribution to a samba drumming club by a week
• having lunch or tea with Maricar Jagger
• accessing dental care and other medical care
• some of the electric wires in my flat (a light switch of which I happened to know that the wires were in place, not loose, with one screw lying in the cavity)
• set up or participating in a local Café Scientifique
• and so on and so forth, and sometimes even with me getting enough sleep, usually when I really needed it

Too bizarre to be true, right?

If you describe a bank robbery that occurred while you were at the bank, nobody’s going to conclude that you are a bank robber, but if you describe somebody else’s crazy activities, people think that you’re crazy.

He does this in a Jekyll and Hyde game in which he also sometimes helps me, which is what others get to see, and he tells these others bullshit stories about me, such as that I have been in a car accident or am learning-disabled or severely autistic. Those others, that’s usually people who don’t know me at all and it’s never (neurotypical) people who really know me. So they believe him.

In interactions with him, you often somehow end up saying what he wants you to say, I’ve noticed. I’m sure that I am not the only person who’s occasionally succumbed to that. It doesn’t help. It’s probably something you do because you instinctively know that you don’t want to anger this person.

There’s also been physical violence. People prefer to ignore it. It makes them feel too uncomfortable. If it happens to me, it might happen to them too, after all.

Besides, he often gets others to carry out his dirty deeds for him.

All of this, it’s not about me. It’s all about him.

I’ve made five escape attempts, but I’m not free yet.

Unfortunately, quite a few people who mattered and who might have been able and willing to help passed away after I moved to England in 2004.