I have been working all weekend on statement for court next week. I have to defend myself against being crazy and a stalker, {D} go-to bullshit. As soon as I tried to confront him he sent formal long texts calling me crazy and stalker and whatnot. It was obvious he was covering his ass when he sent them to me. It was all bullshit and I knew it. Not sure anyone else will. Little concerned. Why does this always turn into me defending MY sanity while his remain unquestioned.
here is actual reality. The reality of {D}
{D} is many things.
{D} is a great attorney that can command a room.
{D} is incredibly smart.
{D} is a psychopath. I have this from his own lips. He was treated for psychopathy at the age of 6 after beating a child at school with a toy truck. I will tell you, as an actual expert in 20th-century popular culture, going to therapy in 1972 was completely out of the normal range for a 6-year-old boy who got into a fight at school. It was bad.
He had a head injury a year or two prior in a car accident in Virginia. I do not know if that caused any type of TBI, and it certainly wouldn’t have been recognized with imaging in the late 1960s, but it was enough to hospitalize him. I don’t know if it is related, because he did state that other family members also have psychopathic traits like being manipulative and “toying with people.”
{D} is also an alcoholic.
He consumes approximately 30 oz of hard liquor — gin, generally — per night. He drinks until he passes out or blacks out. When he blacks out he spirals. He goes through major depressive symptoms and talks about how much he hates himself and how he wants to die. He would say he was going to take me with him in a murder-suicide. This was not a single event; this was a common occurrence.
I would stay up and tell him how wonderful his life was and how much I loved him and why, until he finally fell asleep.
{D} is a liar.
He will tell you lying is all about the little details. When you make up a lie you have to add detail. It was one of his mantras. He lies constantly. He told me more than once that I was the only person who “pissed him off” as much as his brother because I could read him. I would accept his lies though.
{D} is violent.
He enjoys causing pain. He told me while I screamed that the screaming was the part he liked. He told me about the BDSM with his now-current girlfriend and how bored he was becoming with beating her.
I believe I fell into a weird space with him. He knew after that night he couldn’t hurt me. He also knew he had complete control over me. He said that he loved me because he didn’t have to hurt me to make me feel. I went to a space where I was not in physical danger with him, I think. I’m still not certain what any of that meant.
{D} is intimidating.
When he looks at you, you comply. Psychopaths lose affect. Their faces shift. Their eyes change. They are devoid of any expression that resembles human. When they shift into the psychopathic state, you comply.
I was married to a psychopath for 3 years and I learned to comply when I saw that face. {D} was even scarier to me. You comply with everything he says.
{D} is manipulative.
He will gaslight you. In one case, he tried to convince me a physical object did not exist. I saw the object — a hat — and he still, up to the last time I spoke to him, told me the hat wasn’t real. It was a physical object I saw and I touched, and he tried to make me believe it never existed.
{D} has violent fantasies of graphic murder.
He speaks with a child’s curiosity combined with a man’s lust about how it would feel to crush someone’s windpipe in his hand. He told me that when he killed me, he wanted my brain to explode on the wall. He wanted to feel the resistance in the blade as it sliced through different layers of human flesh. He fantasized about it in an almost sexual way.
What this all adds up to is that {D} is extremely dangerous.
He comes across as a mild-mannered, upstanding man. If someone questions him in any wrongdoing, he will always lie to protect himself. He has no empathy. He sees human pain and emotion but can’t quite process it. Often, he finds pleasure in that pain — especially when he can cause it physically.
I am the only person who has ever been able to see him pay a price for any misdeed he has done. We, the women he has brought into his fold — who he has possessed and forever, it seems, he will keep ownership of — protect him. All of us. There is something about him that makes you want to protect him.
I am not here because I want to hurt him.
I want him to have consequences.
I want him to have treatment.
I want him to have a happier and safer life.
But he is dangerous to other women.
You might not be able to see the red flags. Psychopaths are superficially charming. He is a short bald guy with glasses. But when the psychopath comes out — especially when he is drinking — the danger is incredibly real.
I need to help him.
I need to protect others from him.
I don’t want to hurt him.
I want to show him love and protect him from the most dangerous person in his life and all of his women’s lives — him.
I have to protect him from him.
I have to protect them from him.
This case was not brought criminally because I messed up.
I didn’t report it the way I should and to whom I should have. There is enough evidence — but if I hadn’t sent the complaint the way I did and gone to the press, he would be in prison right now. I see that. It’s my fault that he can’t be charged. It’s my fault they can’t be safe because someone finally caught him.
I will close with the story of {D}’s first rape in somewhere around 1987 or 1988.
He told me this story in my kitchen one night. He was something you don’t see in many psychopaths that night — remorseful.
He told me his college roommate and the roommate’s girlfriend were drinking. The roommate passed out and he had sex with the girlfriend. He then stopped, and I will never forget the look or the way his lips moved as he said it quietly and with shame. He said:
“I think I forced her. I had to hold her down a little bit.
I don’t think she wanted to.”
I immediately hugged him and told him it was alright. I told him times were different back then. I told him that he needed to forgive himself. I told him “{D} needs to work on loving {D}.” And I held him.
I sit in this memory and I wonder if the remorse was real.
I wonder if when he spirals at night he thinks about what he did to me that night and all those other nights where he held me down, pinning me on the bed with his head and chest pressed into my chest with all his weight.
I also wonder if it was a manipulative mind game to tell me that story.
I’ll never know. But I look for her.
All I know is that the boyfriend was a dance major, and the two addresses for {D} I can find in Berkeley — one on Durant and one on Derby Street. I spend hours poring through old dance programs, trying to find the male dancers and contact them via email. I have yet to find the boyfriend. I don’t know if I will ever find her.
There is one more out there as well.
A woman he accused of “stalking him,” just like he accused me when I was at his house with keys I was given, knowing I was his girlfriend at the time — and he accused me of stalking him.
The one time I show up unannounced, he isn’t there.
It was July 4th, and I was there to confront him about the rape.
He said he had a “heart attack” and was in the hospital and couldn’t text me because his phone had to be turned off — so he could only email — from his phone that was turned off.
He is a liar, and when backed into a corner, he is not always good at it.
His other stalker — I am still trying to convince the state to give me the records about. It was 2023 when he told me the story. I had gone to see him, and when I left my house my stalker had broken into my car. I was upset and angry and complaining to {D}.
He said, “I had a stalker. I had to have her banned from the building at work and home.”
And I laughed, because this was badass boxer {D} — “Bulldog” — who would kick anyone’s ass. I laughed and said, “Why would you be afraid of a woman?”
And he took a sip of his drink, looked off into the distance, and said:
“Some people don’t know what no means.”
It was chilling, because in that moment I was not sure if he was talking about her — or himself.
I know it wasn’t just me.
I know.
i know that if this ever became public, there would be more of us here in town. I don't how many more but certainly a few. 7 years is a long time for a predator to collect and discard prey
But I’m the one with the video that could make me the last,
if our judicial system was more concerned about women
and less concerned about appearances.
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