“Shirley MacLaine died six times, and she’s sweet as pie.”

To paraphrase Dr John, all around me the so-called recovery flowed like wine but the table must have been tilted away from me. While these fucking fake ass twelve steppers were busy threatening to beat, kill, or incarcerate me over their precious POWER in a CHATROOM let me tell you what else was going on in my life that those self centered twats never cared about.

It’s not like I got ANY support whatsoever.

They just made my life worse and gave me even more shit to be afraid of at the end of the day.

I’m gonna tell you this though, James is way down on the list of shit I am afraid of and I think if he was reasonably sure it was actually me he’d probably help me cut some motherfuckers because he hates evil, and he hates spiritually abusive fucknuts just as much as I do.

Probably even more than I do. It’s too bad we weren’t friends but ok here’s another thing drugs took away from either or both of us. They robbed us of our friendships, relationships, our lives, and our ability to do something constructive with our lives or for our communities.

But as long as you’re still ticking it’s not too late.

It would be the understatement of the year to say we have different thoughts on what our problems in life are ... and that’s the kindest thing I think I am able to say for now.

Anyway, James was convinced that I was sent by the Jehovah’s Witnesses to monitor his drug use and/or sexual practices.

In the night time he’d hear what he thought was my voice.

And the weird and scary thing about some of what he wrote — mind you, this is his post not mine, and there’s no way he would reasonably know this — is that I have died a couple of times.

And reading this kind of stuff used to make my hair stand up.

Like is there something to this? Do I have a confidence betraying me? Is he up in my records?

I didn’t like any of the answers.


Pretend Robbie sounded like an interesting enough fellow. He worked for every alphabet agency you knew about, and a few that you didn’t.

Pretend Robbie was said to be part of a secret vaccine experiment: They sent him off to Grindr to have sex with men and test their vaccines.

Pretend Robbie died over and over again like Kenny from South Park.

Wait, I think that one is true. And that’s a really fucking bizarre story I haven’t told a single soul yet.

I couldn’t hold a candle to Pretend Robbie: He had so many occupations and I could barely stock the shelves at Home Depot without nodding out.

Pretend Robbie was saving the world and I could neither save myself nor James.

James would from time to time speak of a stranger on whose chest he had felt safe that one night.

That was about all he knew of me.

James didn’t mean to, but he robbed me of any semblance of peace or safety in my own life for years to come. You have to kinda look at it from my perspective, here’s some dude who thinks I am the hoe polluting his mind or spying on him.

James held a backyard wedding ceremony under a full moon to consummate his love with Pretend Robbie.

James maintained a long and interesting blog about their private war against the world — with the CIA, the Mormons, and the Jehovah’s Witnesses.

James would watch the other Robbie’s house and keep tabs on who was coming and going.

I would ask him what he was doing or see if we could clear this up.

James would respond “you’re not really Robbie. Stop messing with me.”

God damn dude. Gaslit, hissssssssssssssssssss.

But it also sounds like maybe he has a concern that there are other real life people who know he’s suffering through that, and are possibly messing with him. I don’t know them and he’s never accused me of being involved with whatever the hell that was about,

But nonetheless he claimed he showed up with a 9mm handgun, determined to find out who I really was. And that’s when I kind of had to go, uhh , this sounds bad.

It was a difficult decision for six years: There was the possibility he was making this up to torment me or make me afraid. But on the off chance he was actually going through this, I exercised a lot of self control to not talk about this or publicly attack him or whatever. I’m hoping enough time has passed to where I, too, can now say “hey so there’s this thing that kind of ruined my life and I am needing to finally put it out there.”

The last straw — not really so much unprocessed trauma or whatever here , I wasn’t feeling a need to go here— was Kylon posting that “white” people don’t really understand domestic violence like a Black person does.

Life isn’t a suffering contest, he is the only party in our former friendship who wants it to be.

We are no longer friends over this.

So anyway here’s what it looked like for my ... let’s say, constructively... white ass for the sake of an argument:

Restraining orders in two states.

Sealed name change orders in King County Superior Court.

I’m so secretive my parents don’t even know what my name is anymore.

I was not sent by the Witnesses,

Or the Mormons,

Or the CIA.

Or anyone.

I do have a message for you though.

You have angels patiently waiting at your side wondering when you will realize that you fell in love with a demon.

Perhaps you did not mean to do that.

Perhaps you were baited with something you thought you wanted.

Take it back.

They will stand guard and deny access to you.

That stuff makes you susceptible to evil.

Reject it.

Forcefully.

We aren’t even scratching the surface with regard to whom or what I’ve felt threatened by for years.

I didn’t start life off that way.

"When I stayed in to study on Saturday nights they were extremely kind to me because they thought I was so brave, working the way I did just to hide a broken heart." 

-- Sylvia Plath (The Bell Jar)


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