My response to the AG

I would really appreciate a response to what I am about to say.

First of all, you have violated the 2018 Crime Victims’ Bill of Rights. You have violated public records law. You have violated ethics. But none of that matters.

You took this case from the DA. I have, from the public records from NSP, that you refused to look at additional evidence in this case where there was another party who should have been subject to charges.

I have no idea why you did this to me. I have no idea why you refused to investigate something so clear and on video. I don’t know why you found me unworthy of an actual investigation against my rapists.

You also never felt the need to respond in any way to my direct and formal complaints. Those were never investigated either.

But you certainly found me worthy of being investigated myself—for heckling on the internet. I’m not crazy. I am deeply traumatized. Period. I’m not some delusional idiot making any of this up. This is all real. And no one will help me.

I just wanted to know why, because I can’t handle not knowing the reason. I’ve spent two years researching case law and statutes, and this was rape. Why am I so unworthy of having him arrested? I don’t understand.

And the fact that the one record you sent is calling me crazy—I thought Wolfson comparing me to a hooker was bad.

Do all rape victims get treated like this, or am I special? Because it seems like what mattered was that I almost made the state look bad, per the Administrative Synopsis by the NSP Chief.

You know, David Cassetty’s girlfriend does this thing on my website. She comes at a certain time of night—the hours he used to stumble in and rape me and occasionally threaten me with murder-suicide. She comes then, some nights. I’ve told her repeatedly that that’s what I believe is happening to her when she comes at that time of night. She still does it. He is raping her. He could have been stopped. Now I live with the guilt because I didn’t stop him from being able to hurt other women.

He still messes with me. He made the video go viral on X on Christmas Day. I spent Christmas Day fielding comments about how “hot” it was to hear me scream and repeating quotes from the video like, “No, I’m not going to pull it out, I’m going to f*** you with it.”

He finds me on dating sites and gets me engaged in conversation, then proceeds to start talking about fisting and how big his hands are and what he is going to do to me. One time, he sent me pictures of myself.

For the first three months after, he talked to me every day and kept control over me. I needed so badly for him to not be reachable, not be in contact. You failed me.

You have let this go on for so long. You didn’t protect me, and I needed someone to protect me. It was your job—you are paid to protect people like me.

And you wonder why I didn’t go to the cops. This. This right here. Systemic, institutional dismissal of women. I was a beaten wife, and I went through a three-year marriage where I was sexually assaulted multiple times a day. No one ever helped me.

I’ve learned a lot in the last two years. The key takeaway is that no one cares. You’d let me die. Actually, you did—you were investigating me by the time I tried to kill myself. You didn’t care. No one cares.

My dad, a federal attorney, called me an embarrassment and said, “What did you expect being in a hotel room with three men?” Well, given the amount of time I knew them, I expected safety. I expected someone to help me.

You want to look at delayed reporting and how I reported? I didn’t know. I. Did. Not. Know what had actually occurred until I watched the video in July 2024. I was screaming my head off, but everyone just kept going like nothing was happening. He yelled at me for screaming. I’ve been through so much coercive control that I trust other people over my own thoughts. I thought it was okay.

But that was far from okay. You cannot imagine the horror of watching yourself being raped. It meets the very definition of rape under the law—what happened to me. And I have to remember it in both first person and third person for the rest of my life. That is what I’ve been sentenced to. And you couldn’t even put him in handcuffs.

I just wanted an answer. That was all. Instead, I get his daughter—who, by the way, was lying about that. I accidentally sent one friend request on Facebook. There were no multiple accounts or numbers. That is what her father is doing to me. She reads my blog every day. It was fabricated. I bet you answered her. Me, not so much.

You have had a hand in destroying me. I can never come back from this.

So answer me. Say anything at all to me. Just say something.