Yes, this is a messy post on a messy website. Please bear with me. Perhaps you can picture me as a refugee on the run if you want a framework for the messiness if that makes it easier to digest the content.

In June 2023, I made what may have been the biggest mistake of my life. I moved into an apartment in Purmerend (an isolated small town surrounded by polders, north of Amsterdam). I certainly made a decision that had severe consequences for me. Keep reading and you’ll see.

For starters, I sacrificed 17 years of housing waiting list credits for this. I should have waited one more month and have moved into a nice little place in Amsterdam. Instead I moved into what I later started calling a penal colony for the over-55s.

I learned a lot from it.

If I hadn’t done this…

• Then certain civil servants would never have taken an initiative to interact with me because they wouldn’t even have known that I existed.
• Thus, I would have remained oblivious to the biased, highly unethical and even corrupt and criminal activities of these civil servants because I would not have had any need to interact with these particular civil servants in any way and I wouldn’t have known they existed.
• I might therefore also have been able to renew my passport wherever I was instead of having to make the decision to leave the Netherlands on paper – become an illegal migrant here – just so that I could renew my passport elsewhere in the Netherlands. At that point, there was NO WAY that I would ever still willingly stop by at the civic offices in Purmerend. These civil servants had already misbehaved so badly and had made such serious and abusively out-of-line threats that this had become totally out of the question. The behaviours of said civil servants while I was still part of their community really shocked me. If Her Royal Highness Princess Laurentien is powerless against these types of abusive and powerful people and can get sideline by them, then I’d be no more than a tiny fly that they’d step on and crush as if I never even existed.

Said civil servants even appear to have continued to pursue me in a personal vendetta long after I left their municipality. Several things that I have done online were reported as fraudulent. It took me a while to realize that that – these civil servants – was probably where some strange crap was still coming from long after I’d left Purmerend. The longer this went on, however, the clearer the pattern that emerged, and the more the overlap between these incidences of interference with my life became visible. Earlier, some of these things (Google reviews) had also been reported as fraudulent when it concerned them. Besides, it all does appear to fit with behaviors exhibited by a Ms Vivian van Schie and her staff. (I apologize to the other people who I thought might be doing this before it hit me that this was probably coming from civil servants in Purmerend.)

I could ramble on for a while. While writing this, I still find myself shocked at what went on there. I never expected anything like this. You basically get run over by a bunch of lorries before you know it. Civil servants apparently can be highly vindictive.

The sordid goings on at Gemeente Purmerend appeared to concern mostly but not exclusively the department of Ms Vivian van Schie (who I have never spoken with). Ms Van Schie may well be the engine behind the thoroughly rotten atmosphere at a large part of Gemeente Purmerend, but it might just as easily concern (almost) the entire staff at Gemeente Purmerend. In consultation with the Nationale Ombudsman, I filed a formal complaint at one point. Nothing was done with it other than that my complaint was distributed among the civil servants that I had dealt with. I didn’t waste any more time following up on my complaint after that.

This mistake that I made exposed me and opened my eyes to the following.

• The level of hate and contempt for the over-55s in (Dutch) society is largely hidden, but does tremendous damage. I’d always looked forward to growing older. I had no idea how incredibly nasty gerontophobia can be. I was supposed to want virtual euthanasia. I was expected to spend my days attending fashion and furniture presentations for older adults and people with mobility issues. (I received a letter about not having been present at a sales pitch about beds.) I was no longer supposed to want to live life to the full. The hate and contempt you get for daring to deviate is awful. “Je weet hoe oudere vrouwen zijn,” said a much younger colleague to me maybe about a decade ago. “Thank you very much,” I thought. We are considered “lastig”. We are supposed to hide in dark corners and quietly wither away. You’re supposed to be between 20 and 30 and if you’re not, you’d better shut the fuck up and stop having opinions, on anything.
  
• As an example, the assumption that people who are 55 or older and who have not paid one or more of their bills – or paid late – likely have dementia is as nuts as assuming that people who have no driver’s licence are probably blind. I have no data on the latter, but I have known plenty of people who had no driver’s licence. None of them had vision problems. At least one of them later still decided to get a driving license, in middle age.

• The same goes for people in the same age group who say that they have no income and no savings. They are not “forgetting that they have plenty of money”.

• The same also goes for people of any age in a similar situation about who civil servants make the assumption that they are probably learning-disabled.

That’s povertyism.

This is related to a horribly povertyist Dutch concoction called “vroegsignalering” in which the thought police – local civil servants who usually are barely into their twenties – can get sent to your door to pester you, taking a typical scammers’ approach that anyone with any sense knows to ignore.

(I wrote a booklet about this Orwellian monstrosity.)

Linked to this is a proposal by political party D66 to offer euthanasia to anyone aged 75 year or over who’s utterly fed up. I bet that the party’s co-founder Hans van Mierlo would be turning in his grave if he knew about it.

It’s gerontophobia and it’s being pushed into (poverty and) isolation in the fringes of society that makes healthy older adults’ lives not worth living. It’s not one’s age.

I wasn’t ready to give up on life, but it certainly was expected of me. I wasn’t ready to attend fashion shows and furniture sales pitches for older adults besides watching begonias grow all day long just because I am 55+.

Gerontophobia

As many countries’ populations are ageing, there is currently a crazy focus on dementia, in my view. I call this “crazy” because it completely overlooks that most older adults do not have dementia at all. Too often, being over 55 is now equated with having dementia. This also depends on which culture you are in and on how much money you have in your bank account, however.

In 2024, to my utter horror, I became hounded by Dutch civil servants who

• either were on a retaliation rampage because not only had I called them out on their povertyism and some of their amateurish communications with citizens (similar to an approach that scammers often taken and which everyone is told to ignore), I had also dared criticise demeaning attitudes at a large, hence powerful, national real estate outfit (with the generic name “Woonzorg”) that caters mainly to older adults including many people with mobility issues, often belittling and berating them as if they were naughty children,

• or genuinely believed that everyone over 55 has dementia and that I had dementia and was refusing to admit it.

Keep reading and see if you can tell which it was.

For the record, this real estate company determines decisions made at the local civic offices. That became crystal-clear on 14 August 2024. The real estate company calls the shots at the municipality.

This all began with people who had never even spoken with me once. Their blind assumption was that I was as good as brain-dead. Next, they let me know that old cows like me should keep their mouths shut or else.

• One day, I even received a letter that stated that “the investigation has been concluded” and that they had applied for and gotten an xyz warrant. The prosecutor (or perhaps judge?) would decide what would happen to me next, the letter said.

• I knew nothing about an “investigation”. I initially thought it was some kind of joke, likely courtesy of 4chan or whatever again. A few days later, out of curiosity, I looked up online what this xyz warrant was about, whether such a thing really existed. It did exist and it was for people who refuse medical care. Huh? I contacted my GP. She knew nothing about this.

• However, I had been hassled several times before by these same civil servants, mostly about my health, without anyone ever asking about any health conditions, hospital visits, medications and whether I was taking them (which were eye drops, btw) or who my GP was.

• On one occasion (14 August 2024), a representative for the real estate outfit that owns and runs this building for people aged 55 and over that I was living in had said that maybe this was all coming from my GP. Hell, no. It wasn’t. In fact, I know exactly which civil servant started this witch hunt because that name had been given to me when this nonsense started. I had earlier dared point out this woman’s and her colleagues’ povertyist attitudes and astonishingly amateurish approach. I had suggested some improvements, too, including an exchange program with other municipalities so that staff at the various municipalities could learn from each other.

• There also was a day on which two civil servants – not social workers or health professionals or anything like that but regular paper pushers – went into a neighbour’s apartment to clamber onto my balcony via his. Inexplicable and inexcusable. Imagine how startled – and scared – I was when I suddenly found a complete stranger standing in front of my open balcony door.

• “I am worried about you!” one of these two women yelled through my front door a little later, but I told her to cut the crap and added that they were simply on a witch hunt. That particular day, I had intended to go on a day trip. I had to change my plans for the week (which messed up something else that I still tried to do while travelling, but I take responsibility for the latter). The same civil servants also found ways to cut – or postpone payment without prior notification – the basic benefits that I had for about three months. They had wanted me to stop by at the civic offices that morning, but because of their behaviours and because I was very busy at the time, which they knew, I had deliberately decided not to do that and their response to that made clear that I made the right call. I was running a little late, otherwise, I’d have been gone already. Undoubtedly, they would have gone into my apartment and I have no idea what crap they might have pulled. Stuck another stupid kringloopwinkel sticker onto my “dangerous” electronic or electrical equipment, perhaps, and falsely claim that I was a danger to those around me?
  
• On the day I left the building for good, I still received a call, probably about this warrant nonsense. I blocked the person.
  
• (In November/December 2024, there also was a bit of a mess about a low-level job which paid well and for which I had already worked a shift. It forced me to discontinue the job application with a major employer that appeared very eager to have me, I say on the basis of my experiences at the Meet & Greet that I attended, but that would have taken about three months to complete. If I didn’t get that job, then the other job would have supported me just fine. This, however, had nothing to do with civil servants. It didn’t have anything to do with hacking either. It may have been connected to the stigma on my address, the place where I was living. I don’t know.)

These civil servants’ behaviours were pretty abusive. (Zo’n bejegening van “bek houden anders verklaren we je lekker dement” ben je heel snel zat.) At times, it hampered me greatly, in all sorts of ways. These civil servants and their real-estate associates have caused me to make major decisions that have certainly been really inconvenient for me.

As Oxford legal scholar and philosopher John Tasioulas tweeted at the end of 2024:

“One of the most poisonous developments in recent years has been the open contempt shown for democratic citizens without higher education”.

(These civil servants had indeed expected me to be uneducated, as far as I could tell. As soon as they had my CV, which they asked for but which the real estate outfit had had from the beginning, their attitude changed. They had made clear in an oddly threatening manner that they really needed to see inside my apartment, but that was no longer deemed necessary after they received my CV. I still don’t know for certain what that was about, but I suspect that it was sheer intimidation.)

Tasioulas also tweeted:

“Staggering how much control over others can be exerted under the banner of respecting their autonomy”.

Yes, at one point, thinking that maybe my approach at the end of 2023 – calling out these civil servants’ povertyism, gerontophobia and their amateurish communication approach, namely one that is typical of scammers and that everyone who’s with it knows to ignore – had been a bit harsh, I had let one of these people know that I might have CPTSD on account of what had happened to me in England. That was only supposed to serve as some kind of explanation and apology.

I signed up to a CPTSD support forum and quickly discovered that I didn’t have CPTSD. I think I had stress flare-ups. I simply get totally worn out at times.

Part of the reason why people may get flustered around me is that I don’t always sweat easily because I have been through substantially more than most. It may make them draw the incorrect conclusion that I am ignoring important matters (which can go with PTSD). They’d like to see me panic, perhaps, when I don’t. I’m the opposite. Being stagnant and stationary drives me crazy. I enjoy momentum. I enjoy dynamism. I hate it when people try to “run” me as if I am a 2-year-old. Most people in the Netherlands are extremely spoiled and pampered, extremely prosperous. If you’ve just spent two decades in a country in which one third of the population lives in poverty, and about 10% in deep poverty, the Dutch can look to you like Kens and Barbies who have their heads in fluffy la-la fairytale-land clouds.

I also think I was thoroughly fed up with isms and phobias. I had spent two decades in a country where the government kept stating that people like me were thieves and liars, uneducated low-skill, low-wage labourers who only came to the UK to escape the poverty of their native countries and scheme the UK’s benefit system (to which you only got access after you’d been in the UK for a sufficiently long number of years), push Brits out of their jobs and wages down. It quickly got stale.

CPTSD – or anything else for that matter – was never discussed within the above context. Stupid games were played and people lied repeatedly, once out of sheer carelessness, having gotten contact details for me from another party yet claiming not to have any contact details for me because there was no way they could have gotten those legally. (One potential reason for some of the lying became clear to me when, later, someone I know flew into a rage when I confronted him with cognitive issues that he was struggling with. The initial idea certainly seemed to be that I had dementia. After all, I was over 55.)

(This had a lot to do with where I was living, of course. I have been beating myself up for having moved into an apartment that I should never have moved into, but beating myself up serves no purpose. That’s been the worst decision of my life so far, but everything is clearer with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight.)

I extricated myself from the situation. This was the right thing to do; the feelings I was still getting in May 2025 when I saw photographs of my apartment there made me realize that if I’d stayed, I’ve have committed suicide (even though I had not been suicidal). In October 2024, I walked past the building one day and that made me shudder. I took a small detour on my way back so that I didn’t have to walk past the building.

I also decided to limit my contact with the municipality (the civil servants) as much as possible, avoid these miscreants as much as possible.

What these particular, civil servants had pulled on me – their repeated unhinged vindictiveness/abuse – had scared me so much that I didn’t want to have to stop by at their desks ever again. I did what I could to avoid that.

This included, as mentioned, ensuring that I could renew my passport elsewhere, namely as a Dutch expat. It was due to expire soon. This was after the below-described circus I went through in Amsterdam. It means that I am now exclusively based in the United Kingdom again, which I already had been for many years. I remain a legal immigrant in Britain and am merely visiting the Netherlands now.

(By the way, within this context too, there is a lot of impractical black-and-white – binary – thinking in the Netherlands. It also includes not being allowed to have dual nationality. It does exist but is rare and comes about via exceptional circumstances.)

I no longer really know anyone in the Netherlands. Several people who I used to know have passed away, others have moved away, some have disappeared (their online professional presence stopped in for example 2016 and there is no trace of them since then) and there are also a few who have no more use for me now that I can no longer be at their beck and call or am no longer leading an exciting, busy or even simply normal life.

My experiences also clarified that the native country that I used to know no longer exists. It’s no longer highly egalitarian and well organized at all. From the start, I’d increasingly started to miss England, too, for a variety of reasons, including the climate. To my surprise, I also feel that life is more fun in England. There is more playfulness there. In reality, what some of this means is that I had simply started to turn into an Englishwoman. I had adapted and I had also adopted ways of communication that made me come across the wrong way in the Netherlands at times, I am sure.

I feel that I made the right choice by extricating from that municipality but the consequences are challenging. I feel that, in fact, I had no other choice. I clearly needed to shield myself from these individuals, whatever their motivation and whatever their objectives. I had no support and no way to protect myself.

After that, there was a series of appointments in Amsterdam in which other civil servants either pulled my leg or were genuinely wrestling with the regulations. I did as told, dutifully went to all my appointments and then was told on 24 December 2024 that I was not eligible for any kind of support whatsoever. The person who told me this was Fatima Ata. I was supposed to go into a shelter, get an official registered address and continue my application for basic income support (social securit9y benefits) on that day.

I had one initial meeting, on 6 December. The next meeting was with a philosophy graduate whose name I had forgotten, who asked me where I saw myself five years from then. Such a bizarre question. I was in my mid-60s, homeless and penniless. “Working with John Tasioulas in Oxford,” I replied.

I received a form on which other people had to sign off that I’d been staying with them. As it sounded as if this was crucial, the person on whose couch I’d been staying since the first meeting at Jan van Galenstraat (me bringing the total people in the household to 5 adults and 2 children) wanted to be very generous on the form. I stopped him.

I tend to think of what happened as the result of me having emigrated to England in 2004, but I was in fact informed that the issue was that I hadn’t been staying in a tent or car but on someone’s couch.

Unfortunately, there’s nobody who can sign off as to whether or not you’ve been on the street (and there’s no form for it either). It was my understanding that I had to be on someone’s couch, perhaps so that someone could sign off. I have a feeling that if I’d stayed in a tent, I’d have been told yet some other reason as to why I didn’t qualify.

(It’s also my understanding that municipalities HAVE to provide you with an address nowadays, this Dutch condition without which you can’t do a thing, but apparently that too isn’t quite how things work in practice .)

There were also phone calls.

(October 2025: There’s no way that the city of Amsterdam – my Dutch hometown where I worked at the tourist office among other things, got my MSc degree with distinction and where I also started my first business – will still decide that I qualify after all. I’m less eligible now than I was back then so they would basically be admitting that they erred in December 2024. You usually have to go to court in this type of situation. If you win the court case, then these civil servants will make you pay. They can really make your life hell, I now know. I’d accept a lump sum settlement payment so that I can move on, but that is all. The way it looks right now, however, is that I will remain street-homeless for two more years until my state pension payments start arriving.)

Not or no longer being eligible for support anyway, I started a GoFundMe, which clashes with receiving income support in the Netherlands anyway.

There’s been remarkably little hate and contempt – if any – in my life since the start of this year. That confirms that I did the right thing.

Let me say that again, put slightly differently.

• I have technically been homeless with no income since the end of October 2024 because I was not willing to put up with more hate and contempt and abuse in view of the fact that getting away from an abusive situation in England is what I had just abandoned everything for.
• There is remarkably LESS hate and contempt in my life than when I was being hounded for being over 55 in particular and – on top of that – not well off, yet still daring to speak my mind instead of shivering in fear and keeping my mouth shut.
• I’ve been permanently street-homeless since the end of February/start of March 2025. I support myself through donations and by collecting cans and bottles for statiegeld. See also the page about homelessness in the Netherlands.

I have meanwhile come across two articles in Dutch from which I conclude that it appears that government at all levels has become the enemy of the citizens it is supposed to serve, in the Netherlands.

• ‘Levens van mensen door overheidsfalen vermorzeld, kan morgen weer gebeuren’
• Burgers kunnen compleet vastlopen in hun relatie met de overheid en andere instanties. Burger moet hulp krijgen bij concrete problemen, maar hoe betaal je dat?

Yes, I did have plans for November 2024. Unfortunately, a combination of receiving considerably less income (my final benefits payment for October) than anticipated and something that I needed turning out to cost more than I had hoped – yes, too optimistically – temporarily scuppered my plans. Yes, maybe I am often or at least at times too optimistic, but if you aren’t optimistic, you might as well give up right away.

(For the record, the way matters stand currently is that I will leave the Netherlands again physically too. I merely fled to the country to get away from relentless abuse, not because I wanted to be here. The country’s gone downhill a lot since I left it two decades ago and I can’t find any good enough reasons for wanting to be here, but several strong reasons for not wanting to be here at all.)

Update 27 June 2025: I may now understand better why civil servants in Purmerend made my life so difficult. Maybe it started out with gerontophobia and povertyism but maybe they then convinced themselves that I was an evil scammer? I was and still am shocked by their behaviour – these people really scared me – and I know now that if I had stayed in that apartment, I’d have ended up committing suicide, though likely not just because of those civil servants. That realisation threw me a little, frankly. It made me feel very uneasy.

I’m so glad I left!

From an article on the NOS website on 27 June 2025:

Het hoort ook wel een beetje bij de Nederlandse cultuur, ziet De Gier, dat een claim als iets slechts wordt gezien. “Als je schadevergoeding eist, ben je al snel een claimer, iets negatiefs. Maar als je schade hebt geleden, wat is er dan negatief dat je dat vergoed wilt hebben?”

I did not know that. I find it pretty nuts. It’s a little like it being seen as bad to go to a hospital if you have a broken arm. After having pondered it some more… yes, this is quite typically Dutch. You’re not supposed to stand out or excel here. Being average and being like everyone else is applauded here. That’s one of the reasons why I turned out to love the States. Wanting to excel and being driven was seen as normal there. I totally fitted in. In the Netherlands, it can make people see you as a pain in the behind.

It was very confusing to be treated both as if I were brain-dead and as if I were a scammer. A few times, a particular civil servant said that she wanted to come to my home in a really threatening manner. Very odd. To me, it felt like bullying and intimidation. In hindsight, maybe they thought that I wasn’t really living at the address? Do I need to see this within the light of the childcare tax credits scandal? Because I came from abroad? I still can’t quite make it add up. They certainly really scared me and I wanted nothing further to do with these people. They certainly were in an abusive frame of mind.

In England, too, if you seek medical help if you’re over 45, you can be seen as burdening the NHS unnecessarily. “You’re old. Get used to it.” It’s similar.

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The bottomline remains this: If the hacking and other types of interference had not followed me again after my fifth escape attempt from Portsmouth, then I’d have had my own income again faster than these civil servants could have blinked. We’d never have interacted and I’d have remained oblivious to the nasty shit they get into habitually.

Instead, I showed up terrified and deflated at an important job interview in June 2023 and later had to postpone completing one application because he was having some IT fun with my eye test results, which took him two months or so to arrange, not realizing that I had set up yet another alternative email address elsewhere, which I only used there, and that I had applied for a job there for which I needed my eyesight to be good. He had no idea that the fun he was having had serious consequences for me, was not just fun. (This happened a lot.) I also discovered that people who I emailed from that address and location were getting those emails, but that my emails from my regular addresses and my own equipment didn’t seem to get through to people. (Then I made a payment from there and that’s how he discovered that I was using the internet elsewhere, accessing sites that I didn’t access from own equipment.)

I typed up the following bits on 18 and 20 and 22 and 23 and 25 September 2025. There’s more information on other pages and in blog posts on this website.

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I was a scientist with my own small business. I had moved from Amsterdam to England where I was affiliated with the University of Southampton.

I became one of the many victims of a woodwind tech who’s neurodivergent (autism, synesthesia, sociopathy) and can’t help what he does because he’s never had anything near the level of support that he needed. He definitely needs to be “managed”. I don’t know how it can be done without ceasing to exist as a person and becoming a mere toy that he uses and abuses as he sees fit.

Sure, he has many good qualities, but even when you’re at a large distance, it’s apparently impossible to avoid causing him to jump to the wrong conclusions about just about anything you say or do or don’t say or do and thus draw his wrath or unbridled attention and what not. He’s crazy. He’s obsessed. (Or possessed?) He’s extremely controlling.

That simply makes life undoable for practical reasons. You either have to get away or give up on yourself.

In a different life, however, he could easily have been my brother. He told me that he’s the same age that my brother Paul would have been if my mother had not had a miscarriage 18 months or so after me.

As far as I have been able to figure out, his issues stem from some form of childhood abuse. He and his brother complained about their home situation and ended up in a much worse situation. Something like that. With his autism and synesthesia, his aversion to ticking clocks etc and so on, it’s probably very easy to be so abusive and destructive to a young boy whose brain is still developing that he becomes thoroughly messed up – or annoyed. It’s likely also where his need for control comes from (though this can also go with autism). Maybe he was bullied extensively when he was a kid and teenager.

I know that autistic people can be pretty mean, as in “deliberately hurtful”, and in a very childish manner. They can punish you for not seeing things their way and they may also demand 100% loyalty, just like people with NPD, and often feel betrayed. They also lie pretty easily, contrary to what I used to believe.

How can you distinguish an autistic person from a person with NPD? The latter are stingy (which can be manipulative, as a form of control, or perhaps out of needing to feel as secure as possible, financially), but the former can be amazingly generous and really want to help.

I had three appointments with him in 2008. I haven’t spoken with him since.

He’s also once kind of serenaded me… That was still in 2008, after the second appointment. (Went overboard soloing, after someone seated near me, spotted me with my glued-in blue streak in my hair, went to the stage and told him that I was there.)

So what on earth do you do with something like this?

It was not as if he wanted to go for a coffee or have dinner with me or interact with me openly in any kind of manner.

I think that his expectations of people are off, somehow.

He began targeting me within 24 hours after the first appointment on 9 June 2008. I had no idea what hit me.

In October 2008, I filed the first related police report. The police offered me victim support. The issue concerned identity theft and harassment, according to the police.

By the end of the year, I was pretty damn sure that I was dealing with a sadist, but I was moving away and expected that to be the end of it. I was wrong.

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The example below is fairly innocent. They’d checked us all for tuning. Someone interfered after that.

A little later, after the tuning check, I’d been trying to play into a corner to be able to hear myself, when someone opened the doors – in a deliberate manner that stood out for some reason – so that I couldn’t. Was that the person who’d interfered and had stuck the fibre onto the pad?

Next, in the hall, Orphy Robinson kept moving us around until he was able to determine who was playing out of tune. That was me. During the next rehearsal, I noticed that he pointed me out to Andy Sheppard and deliberated whether they should talk with me, but then with kindness decided to leave me in peace – that is, as far as I could tell. After the rehearsal, he told me “sounded good”. Yeah, I was in tune again. (After I came home after that previous rehearsal, I heard how awful I sounded and checked my pads, found the turquoise fibre. I didn’t own anything that was turquoise at the time.)

This was about a year after my three appointments, by the way. I actually purchased this alto from the tech. No complaints there. He knows his trade (profession) and he knows his music. He’s fairly famous for his skills. That’s deserved.

But even getting my first alto back from him, which I had purchased from a music shop up north (and turned out to have a bent bow), became a complete circus.

A saxophone teacher who grew up in Gosport but was now living in Bristol took this photo below, but had nothing to do with any of this.

Things were still somewhat, eh, kinda normal back then. But not quite. Very confusing.

Things got crazier and crazier and crazier. It was like having a herd of hippos sitting on my chest.

Unable to get any support, I had to find out on my own what I was dealing with and how to keep my life liveable. That is how I discovered that I had known two slightly autistic people since the early 1980s and an actually pretty cool and highly intelligent woman with covert NPD since 1994. This is also how I I stumbled upon the field of bioethics.

I’ve made threats, begged, tried to please and mollify, expressed fear and anger and upset, begged some more, made some more threats, tried to provoke a violent attack on my life so that what was going on would become obvious to everyone around me too (and if he would kill me, then this would be over too), contemplated suicide as a last resort (kept a big stash of painkillers that I was going to take in the Farlington Marshes so that I would not be found in time to save my life if things really got too hard to stand), tried to escape… but nothing worked.

He pays, asks, fools, tricks, cajoles people into pestering you. Together, they sabotage you to hell. They have no idea how many others have been asked or paid to do similar things. They don’t know you, so they believe what he tells them about you, such as that you’ve been in a car accident.

My locks got picked for at least 13 years at at least two addresses. It provided direct access to my equipment.

Besides his brother Charles/Charley/Lee Howard, hackers on my tail include Felicity Meadows of Portsmouth/Fareham and “Eden S” of Amsterdam Noord (06 **** 3253).

My life as I knew it was over.

Besides a woman who was stalked for years herself, a sea fisher, nobody believed me. Granted, I initially often tried to hide it and I also often tried to paint a more positive picture. In 2016, I confided in Suzanne Hulscher, who also went through hell when abroad, many years ago. I told her that I appeared to have a psychopath hacker on my tail and that this had been going on for years already. I should have saved my breath.

The phenomenon is called sadistic stalking, aka resentful stalking (forensic psychology terminology).

It all seems to be geared towards causing as much loss of any kind as possible, but that may be a secondary goal, a reaction to not achieving what he wants.

He wants to be accepted the way he is. I get that. We all do.

He also wants to be seen and treated like a god-like creature, possibly.

This is also why it sometimes feels like there is incel ideology behind it. He feels rejected by the world.

This is the story of how I ended up destitute, pestered and mocked in Purmerend.

https://bps.us11.list-manage.com/track/click?u=ef6b58887f03b7e6e6ae5b2b9&id=90efe94095&e=98dda008fa

PS While I was typing the above, the word “trade” got highlighted. While I was typing a different page or post recently, the word “coffee” got highlighted. On 25 September, the word “first” got highlighted when I was talking about some people desperately wanting people who “get” them. Was I the first who “got” him? I find that hard to believe. Yes, I for example “get” his interest in tips (rubbish dumps), but I surely am not the only one.
I also found myself logged out of my protonmail account on the 21st and suspect that one or more incoming emails were deleted. At the same time, all my pending app updates in Google Play were so humongously huge that they couldn’t possibly be genuine. Never seen anything like that before. The following morning (23 September 2025), they were gone.

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Sometimes, I wonder if it’s a personal branding gimmick that spun out of control, but that’s hard to believe.

18 October 2025: This is what I now think happened, more or less, and in a nutshell

1. I sometimes jokingly posted admittedly rather idiotic things on a music forum, anonymously. One day, I received a recommendation for the services of this guy whose website I visited often. I I had not realized that he was based in the same county and not even that crazy far away from me. He then was the only person on that forum who knew what I looked like and who I was. My posts must have annoyed him immensely and have drawn his attention.
2. This: https://autismuk.com/malice-and-asperger-syndrome/ (article by psychiatrist and psychotherapist Digby Tantam). People with Asperger’s often (use a different kind of logic and) have trouble making sense out of allistic people. This can cause a lot of anger and frustration, even resentment. Some use for example Le Petit Prince as a guideline for how to interact with others. They CAN push people’s buttons just to see what happens next, in order to “study” them. This CAN be in combination with resentment, as mentioned. This CAN go pretty far. This CAN take place in the form of a Jekyll & Hyde setup. In my case, the idea was to test if I could be turned into an evil person but initially if I could be drivne crazy. (I had said that nothing would ever break me.) It began by trying to convince my brain that it contained multiple personalities; at the time, I thought that it might be intended to show how confusing this condition – DID – can be for people who have it.
   See also perhaps for example:
   High functioning autistic spectrum disorders, offending and other law-breaking: Findings from a community sample (article by Woodbury-Smith et al. in Journal of Forensic Psychiatry and Psychology)
   Asperger’s disorder and criminal behavior: Forensic-psychiatric considerations (article by Haskins & Silva in J Am Acad Psychiatry Law)
   This is interesting, too: https://wrongplanet.net/forums/viewtopic.php?t=45857
   Rigidity in thinking may lead to odd conclusions such as “You don’t eat meat, so you were probably sexually abused as a child” and “You don’t have my very narrow focus so you likely have ADHD” and so on and so forth.
3. On top of that, I was not dealing with one person but with two persons, two brothers one of which is a hacker. He’s shy. I had no idea he existed.
4. Then came that person’s realization: “You’re actually a really nice woman.”
5. This escalated into “Oh, you’re actually a really really really nice woman and you do your best to understand and defend us.”
6. Etc. etc. etc., combined with 2.

He keeps saying that the connection timed out. Nope, the issue was that my life became unliveable. My situation was completely untenable.

BTW, READER, I STILL NEED YOUR HELP

Fundraiser links:

• https://paypal.me/SourenAW

• Wisetag @Angelinas114