How I fell in love with a dangerous, fraudulent narcissist, and how she (almost) destroyed me

27 Jul 2019

Note to the reader: While I realize publishing this long retelling of events that, in an ideal world, should’ve remained private, won’t get me any sympathies or change matters for the better, I still choose to do so. Both as a therapeutic exercise as well as a warning to others who may be in a similar situation.

If nothing else, maybe an enterprising psychology student can learn something from the included voice- and text messages (none of which, in my mind, showcase earnest emotions of an emotionally stable and mature person but rather childish tantrums by somebody who desperately seeks to be the center of all attention.)

2016 didn’t start out particularly well for me. 4 days before my 28th birthday I was involved in a car accident that saw my vehicle “sail” down a cliff. An event I only barely survived and that left me quite frustrated and anxious. 10 days later she stepped into my life. 38, married and mother of a wonderful daughter. I first met her in a political group on Facebook. We almost immediately became friends. She seemed to like all the things I liked, was funny, friendly, overly bubbly and excuded a certain old world charm. Before long we would talk every single day, separated by a bunch of bits, bytes and wires, and several thousand miles of ocean water. It probably took less than two months before I considered her my “best friend”, and she quickly established the term “Bestie” when referring to me.

Fast forward to early summer 2017. She had since invited me to stay with her at “her” home in Lancaster, PA. I was excited … overly exhilarated to meet her in person and, coincidentally, make my first ever trip stateside.

We first met in Pittsburgh. She, her husband and I were slated to spend some quality time touring the city before we would drive east together.

When I first met her, something seemed off for a moment. The real her looked nothing like her photos. I quickly put that thought aside, telling myself “Some people just don’t have the self-esteem to put undoctored photos of themselves online”… Regardless, we all had a blast that weekend, and the following week in her company was nothing short of splendid. I grew ever fonder of her (if I was a dog, she would’ve been “my person”), to the point the last day made my heart ache. Despite still being in her company, I missed her dearly already. She seemed to have noticed, as she ended up calling me several times throughout the next week, while I traversed the delightfully stressful horrors of Los Angeles’ U.S. 101.

That same week I swore myself never to hurt or disappoint her. That we would be
friends forever.

I eventually arrived back home in Europe in late June 2017, and that’s when things changed, quickly and flabbergastingly. Over the weekend I went on a business trip to Nuremberg. Just my boss, a co-worker and me travelling to the annual DWX trade show. After a long day on the convention floor we eventually settled down for a cold one at a local pub.

At the time I was still rather infatuated with my “Bestie”, so while we were waiting for the beers to arrive I pulled out my phone and checked my messages. Sure enough. As always, she was there, albeit in group chat. Jokingly, I announced to the group chat that there was a “cute American” at the other table. Upon seeing my message, “Bestie” responded by telling me she was about to call me. Five minutes later, her face plopped up on my phone display and, upon seeing what I saw, I quickly and quietly removed myself from the table, red faced. During the first approximately 10 minutes of our conversation (a practice not common between the two of us. While she would often call me or leave voice messages, she had never before video called me and never again thereafter) what I saw was a woman with dilated pupils, laying in bed naked, her breasts exposed. Like a gentleman, I feigned disinterest, averted my gaze and tried to focus on her eyes. Needless to say, I felt conflicted at the time and that night marks the moment I first developed feelings for her. Feelings I ended up fighting desperately but that would overcome me a mere week later.

It was early July. From the victinity of my patio I was enjoying the sight of the setting sun, only to have this moment of solemn tranquillity suddenly interrupted by a stream of voice- and text messages. It was her. She was alone, away from her husband, at her parents’ beachfront property in Delaware. She sounded distressed. Sad. Told me about her daughter. How the two had a talk and she didn’t like the outcome. Foolishly (thinking this was in any way related to me and that previous video call) I engaged her, comforted her, forgot all about my own commitments and only went to bed long after sunrise the next day.

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The next time we talked, I was enormously perplexed and genuinely hurt. She was unnaturally happy again (while I was still exhausted from the previous night) and acted as if nothing had happened. Her tone in regards to her husband had changed, as well. That night she had much to complain, now he was suddenly a character of Herculean proportions. I wasn’t in the mood to make light of this, so our conversation was unusually short and I let her know how I felt. Suffice to say, she didn’t like that very much.

A week passed, I was busy and flooded with work, didn’t have much time for her and, eventually, had to deal with a health emergency that saw me carried away in an ambulance. I was still in the hospital bed when I responded to her seemingly desperate (In the three days I was unavailable she had written several public Facebook pleas, asking people to look for me and telling them she was immensely worried) messages. Calmly I explained to her that I could no longer make her personal, marital problems my own. That she needed to find a way to deal with them on her own or seek professional counsel.

Her response was a long, misplaced, overly hurtful and — in hindsight — ridiculously childish tirade that lasted for several hours (despite her first voice message erroneously announcing her departure).

I was outright flabbergasted. Never before had I witnessed such a selfish, overly childish act. Yet … at the end of the day I broke down and conceded. I told myself I was in the wrong. That it was somehow my “duty” as a friend to care for her emotional well-being.


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My so-called friends at the time also implored me. They told me I shouldn’t be selfish. That I NEEDED to be there for her.

The reality I only realize today is that … no … no, I shouldn’t have been her emotional tampon. She was (and is) a married woman, and it is the solemn duty of a husband to care for the emotional and physical well-being of his wife. If a person isn’t emotionally or intellectually compatible with their spouse, maybe they married the wrong person. Regardless, it should never be the problem of a third party.

October 2017

Despite everything, I still felt strangely blessed to have her in my life. I was happy to return to the east coast once more. We had big plans for that month. Halloween — my first ever Halloween — with friends. A road-trip all the way down to Sky Valley GA, visiting several mutual friends on the way. A meetup at Microsoft HQ I managed to get us both into.

The day I arrived in Pittsburgh — I decided to go on a little road trip of my own this time — everything almost felt normal and natural again.

I had some time to myself, yet was increasingly excited to see her again. As I had promised her some time ago, I was carrying a suitcase filled to the brim with her favorite European sweets (Neapolitan wafers, raspberry flavored Milka chocolate…), alongside a swath of birthday presents that took me about as long to pick out as it took me to save the money for them (in hindsight, a rather terrible idea).

Later that day I received a strange message. Somehow she was hurting to get out of her home and meet me in Pittsburgh, alone. A suggestion I ignored, instead opting to drive on my own.


The following day, I had barely arrived at her place let alone unpacked, I found out why she was so keen on traveling in my direction. The moment I had stepped through the door, it was all about her “woes” again. We sat down and she immediately started denigrating her husband, while said husband was just arriving from work. Embarassed and somewhat tired I directed her towards my birthday “offerings”. She spent the hour excitedly removing the wrapping paper, taking photos and sharing them with friends. I was tired from a long drive and the emotional roller coaster, yet felt like I had saved the day. I sunk into bed early.

The next three days I would barely find sleep. She and her husband would fight regularly and vocally throughout the night. I felt provoked to look for a hotel but, eventually, decided against it, out of fear those fights might turn ugly.

Tuesday the following week we then left for Dixie together. During the drive she thanked me incessantly for giving her the chance to gain some distance from her husband.

For the most part the drive was uneventful. She spent a great deal talking about her family, where she had grown up, the things she liked and the things that irked her about others.

Eventually — and here is where I should have paid more attention — she started talking about her mental condition. That she was “manically depressive”. A term I had heard before but never quite associated with the real meaning. Bipolar Disorder.

Somehow hearing this only made me fall for her more, when the correct course of action was to disengage immediately.

We arrived at our mutual friend’s house in the dead of night. I was tired from 12+ hours of driving and soon went to bed while she and our friend chose to sit on the porch for a while, smoked copious amounts of marijuana and, to my distress, she had once again switched high gear into “My husband is the greatest” mode.

Despite all of this and my mounting health issues, I considered myself blessed at the time. The next two days I felt as if I was getting to know her and our mutual friend better and better. Our friend and her husband jumped through an insane amount of hoops to entertain us, and the day never felt boring. The weather also seemed to suit me, and I was soon making a quick recovery.

As much as I wished time could’ve stood still for a while longer, on Friday we slowly travelled back north.

What should’ve been an uneventful return trip did, unfortunately, turn into another test.

We had barely entered Tennessee when her demeanor changed once more. Suddenly she was more soft spoken and, before I knew it, her hand had reached for my privates. I was embarrassed, ignored her gesture and was befuddled when, mere minutes later, her thoughts seemed to focus on her husband once more. We stopped for gas, she bought her husband a keepsake and we were on our way.

The second, emotionally far more devastating experience, awaited me later that night.

We stopped for food at Bojangles (one of her — and, to an extent, mine — favorite fast food joints). When we got back into the car, she spotted fireworks in the background. Some sort of late Homecoming event, presumably.

We stopped, watched the fireworks and, suddenly, she turned around, looked me dead in the eye and uttered the words that have been haunting me ever since: “I am so glad to have finally found somebody who is just like me. You are my soulmate.”

Later that month, there was another “emergency”. Her husband had inadvertedly damaged both of their cars and she sought me out for help. I gave her 600 USD in cash I had previously withdrawn and, upon waking up to another heartbreaking message from her, the following day I bought her the pair of shoes she so desperately craved (how I surprised her and got her to the mall in the first place, is a story of its own) and took her out for Vietnamese food.


November 2017

I spent most of early November at a friend’s family’s house near DC, wasting an inappropriate amount of time thinking about her, and occasionally responding to her manipulative text messages and her latest drama.

When, on the way back, my friend and I came through Lancaster for a lunch appointment with her I was quite perplexed. While only hours prior she had lamented the latest episode of all the ways her husband was supposedly mistreating her, we were now all sitting down with that very same husband for lunch.

I made light of the entire situation but couldn’t help keep to myself at the diner. I was glad when it was over and soon took off, her daughter in tow (not that I liked being a babysitter, but I felt I couldn’t refuse either, and I liked her daughter quite enough it didn’t feel like a chore).

A week later I took off (not knowing it would be the final time I saw her in person), now succinctly brainwashed into the belief she was like a sister to me. My pretty, bubbly yet perpetually unhappy “Little Big Sister”.

A belief that was tested the moment I arrived at the airport mere hours after leaving Lancaster, and would ultimately last for less than a month.


Back home I soon started talking to another mutual friend, one Paula Peterson Brown, who feigned an immense dislike of LA.

Eventually, not realizing this was a test of loyalty and that Paula was just setting up a trap for me, reporting everything straight back to LA, I gained confidence. Too much confidence. I started talking to people about the situation, including mutual friends. A bad miscalculation on my part.


Later that month LA started another of our then infamous arguments (she’s addicted to conflict like a moth to the flame, and takes every minor disagreement personal), only to send me another string of manipulative voice messages (in total, she sent me 1,044 voice messages in just 5 short months). soon thereafter.

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December 2017

The month began with another long-winded fight, then she was starting to complain about her husband again.

How she hated the fact he was at home with her.

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I had enough of the emotional blackmail. Enough of the constant bait-and-switch. Enough of her telling me how important I was to her, only for her to turn around and insult … nay … emotionally abuse me, telling people I was “just a remote acquaintance”, that I was “needy” and needed attention. Her attention, specifically.

Soon I also found out that she was the reason my dating game was so miserable. That, back in November, she had used my brief absence from Facebook to talk to women I was romantically interested in. That she had denigrated me so she wouldn’t lose my attention.

Paula was right, even if she didn’t really mean it.

I told her plainly that I would not be online regularly. That I needed to tend to my health, and that December was generally a difficult month for me. None of which was a lie.

That decision was only hardened when, a day later, a random person showed up in my Messenger app and started accusing me of being a “Homeraker”(sic), telling me to leave her alone.

It also suited me well that, not long after that, my account was reported (another one of her ploys. I helped her “troll” one Bill White, not knowing she would later turn this around and play the victim) and I was unable to communicate with anybody over Facebook even if I had wanted to.


The plan was hatched to return to Facebook in January, keep the relationship casual until such time I would be able to return stateside, pick up my belongings, claim (or not) the money I had loaned her, sit down for lunch one last time and then, ultimately, hug her goodbye.

Unfortunately for me, she had different plans. I wanted to end the friendship with a hug. She preferred ending it with a stab to my heart followed by dragging my name through the mud.

January 2018

I returned to much (fake) fanfare. The first thing I noticed is that, throughout the entire month of December, people had been flooding my inbox. Seemingly unaware that I was taking a break. LA, feigning ignorance in regards to ever being told I would be unavailable, was fuming. The moment I engaged her, she pulled me into another one of her childish, nonsensical, overly possessive fights. For three solid hours everything was about her and nothing but her. She accused me of unnecessarily worrying her (fuming ever more when I reminded her that we were neither married, nor was I her personal plaything), cried about people being mean to her and, to top it all, started another episode of her infamously paranoid “Guess who is behind that account” game, wherein she would regularly accuse people of being fake, of being catfishers, or of stalking her.

Something I’ve since come to understand is nothing but an unhealthy form of projection.



Late January through March 2018

The last three months of our relationship were increasingly paranoid. She kept making up conspiracy theories about friend and foe alike. Every person in her social circle was put under the microscope. She developed an absurd, seemingly obsessed interest in their private lives and didn’t shy away from accusing people of living a double life (quite ironic, all things considered), not being who they claim to be, as well as conspiring against her.

She also started insulting me, becoming increasingly ungrateful for our time together. At one point she blamed me for her husband’s purported jealousy, telling me we never should’ve gone on that road trip together.

Early February everything I had believed about her turned out to be a lie when, in one short stream of messages, she herself confirmed everything somebody had told me about her early on. She was far from the troubled but, ultimately, innocent woman that had honest intentions and was as pure as freshly driven snow. She fully, almost snarkily, admitted to being a user.


A mere two weeks before she turned against me for good, she started accusing me too. One evening – I was just about to go to bed – she bragged about losing weight. Being simultaneously proud of her but also quite tired, I told her it was a “good start”. Somehow the idea she could still lose more weight triggered her immensely and she acted unnaturally offended. I thought nothing of it, calmly explained that I meant it as a mere compliment, and went to bed.

By the time I got back up, I found several messages and a comment on an old photo I had posted of her, back when we went on a trip to an Amish farm together. She was now accusing me of spreading said photo and thus publicly body shaming her. I was devastated! To me, she was the most attractive creature on God’s green earth. To boot, I still considered her a friend. Despite my plans to end said friendship. I told her of my suspicions, showed her screenshots from a chat wherein a former friend/love interest of hers did indeed body shame her. But she didn’t seem to care much. She seemed flustered by the idea that a guy she held in high regard (certainly higher a regard than she ever held me in) never actually cared about her all that much.

A week after that our friendship deteriorated further, amidst paranoid accusations against aforementioned former love interest. Somehow she felt the need to involve me in her claims that said person was guilty of “hacking her email”. Against my better judgement I investigated. From what little she told me, I soon realized that somebody must’ve simply set up a new email address, with her personal email as a backup address. I informed her of my findings and reproduced them by setting up such an email account myself, linking it to hers. This would later turn out to be an incredibly foolish endeavor. That moment I had, unwittingly, enabled her to engage in a “social engineering attack” against me.


March 13, 2018

A day I’ll never forget. After taking a long weekend off, away from Facebook, I finally found the strength to respond to her latest string of messages. What should’ve been an innocuous experience soon turned into a fight I knew I couldn’t win.

Before I knew it, she had unfriended me. Simultaneously devastated and yet weirdly calmed I went to bed.

March 14, 2018

The next morning I woke up to the infuriating knowledge that, just like with other friends before, she had immediately gone to work in her quest to badmouth me, make herself look like a victim, and drag as many people to her side as she possibly could.

Not 24 hours after the end of our friendship she, with the aid of her much older (but certainly not wiser) friends, started weaving a convincing narrative against me that I was unable to fight back against.

Suddenly I was a stalker. A guy who had handpicked her in 2016 with the sole hope of having sex sometime in the future.

March 24, 2018

Partly out of anger, partly from the idea she needed help (that she could be helped, at all) I showed people the screenshots of her denigrating others in a secret group. A community of people I once liked engaging with, that she had since perverted into “Lauren’s World”. A group that is all about her and attacks anybody who dares criticize her or oppose her delusions. A true testament to her narcissism.

Instead of gaining support, I was shunned. People called me a “rat”.

Before long, more abusive messages than in the days prior came pouring in. Of people distancing themselves, more openly accusing me of abusing and using others.

The final straw that broke the camel’s back came in the form of being blocked by Zoe, her Scottish friend. As Zoe was still in the possession of things I had ordered and had asked her to forward to me (something I didn’t simply take for granted and monetarily rewarded accordingly), this drove me into a temporary fit of rage.

Soon I was hellbent on outing LA in the last public forum I had not been removed and shunned from, yet. Unfortunately, that backfired and my rage was taken as a sign of her being right all-along.

Devastated, I gave up. I knew I would never see all of my belongings. I even had an inkling that what somebody told me — that the two of them were secretly pawning off my property to pay for their own lavish lifestyle — was the truth all along. That I had been taken for a ride from the very get-go.

March 25, 2018

I received word that LA had written an accusationary email to my workplace. Monday would be (it ultimately was) hell.

April 16, 2018

After another hiatus from Facebook, I found her self-proclaimed “mother figure” taunting me, all the while LA was dragging my name through the mud and was making it aboundingly clear I wouldn’t be able to pick up my belongings without getting myself in harm’s way.

May 2018

Stil heartbroken over the turn of events, I mostly avoided the internet as a whole. Most of the month was spent stateside again. This time in the Midwest, amongst new friends.

I still kept my phone on me and connected to Messenger. Eventually, I was drawn back into the rumor mill. People were apparently still talking about me, making up all sorts of disgusting rumors. The most striking one being that the new friend I spent time with was some sort of affair of mine.

Before the month was fully over, I had travelled back to the east coast (a move I severely dreaded, but then I had already purchased the tickets prior to that falling out), intent on spending some quality time on my own and maybe meet new people.

My first stop brought me to a friend near the Poconos. We spent the afternoon chewing chicken Wings and having a good time. Later that evening she and her boyfriend invited me over to their home, where she would show me a Facebook post that would, once again, break my heart into tiny pieces, while also explaining some of the messages I had received.

A few weeks after the end of our friendship I made one desperate attempt to retrieve my belongings. I asked a mutual friend to contact her and find out how and when I may send somebody to collect my property. Rather than getting back to me on the matter, she decided to create a narcissistic Facebook post making it look as if I still needed to be told the two of us would never get together.

Later that week I travelled south, into Virginia. I spent some quality time with a new friend who happens to be well versed in the law, and who convinced me to drive back to Pennsylvania and contact law enforcement there.

Somehow she found out about this — the curse of me being an open book and talking to too many people at a time — and, to my distress, was now using the data she had collected on me (the email I had set up for her earlier, which also contained device information from my previous signup) to compellingly frame me.

Before I knew it, people contacted me. Told me she was tracking my movement stateside. I was shown screenshots from her wall, wherein she played a stalking victim and quoted messages/emails she purported I had sent her.


June 2018

This is where this string of disturbing events should’ve ended. Enraged by her latest episode of self-victimization, I chose to be confrontational. Within an afternoon I assembled some of her collected messages and attempts at blackmailing me, and disseminated them for the world to see.

An hour passed, people started taking notice and, eventually, a friend of hers contacted me. He was rather sympathetic and soon agreed to mediate between the two of us.

The plan was set. The next weekend the three of us would meet on Google+ and put all of this to rest.

I cancelled all of my other plans just to get it over with, the weekend arrived, we agreed that it was best to keep each other blocked on ALL social media platforms and she would return my belongings, placing them into a storage unit chosen and paid by me. In the same breath, however, she accused me of gang stalking her. She purported that I had left my phone with a person I myself had since had a falling out, and that he was sending her abusive messages. In reality, nobody but she and I have ever had access to my phone.

The rest of the day I was saddened but somewhat glad things had worked out in the end.

Unfortunately, my solemn happiness was not meant to last. A mere week later things went south again. People once again started attacking me and I still hadn’t gotten my belongings back from her Scottish friend — who, as one last act prior to blocking me again, re-iterated the claim that I was a stalker, called me a “rape apologist” and insiniuated that I was a rapist — despite paying another £50 for shipping.

Having spent the past weeks apologizing to many people I had wronged in her favor (after she had convinced me they were harassing her), I also started bonding with a few of them. To her chagrin, apparently. Friends of hers would join groups solely to insult and mock my friends and I, then leave satisfied.


In the same timeframe people in the group I was administrating pointed me towards old, seemingly schizophrenic posts of hers. In a group that, during mediation, she had been trying to convince me she was never a member of.

October 2018

Late October I spent some time in the UK. The Mozilla AMO team, I was then a member of, invited me to London. Four days of MozFest, all expenses paid. Just the change of pace I needed.

While I mostly ignored Facebook outside of messaging friends, I received some of the most notorious abuse during that time. People would now openly accuse me of being a Neo-Nazi and one individual came forward with startling accusations.


November 2018

I returned to the US just in time for Thanksgiving. First to meet friends in Texas and Oklahoma, later I went back to Pennsylvania to check on my storage unit and retrieve the things I was told — but wasn’t quite sure — she had left there.

Most of the things were indeed there — minus those stolen by her Scottish friend.

For a brief moment I felt relieved and even somewhat melancholic. Part of me thought I had misjudged her.

That feeling, however, wouldn’t last long. Before long the abuse was raining down again, and she herself was now openly mocking me. Despite our agreement to stay away from each other.

With the help of an app, I even saw that an individual was stalking my profile. The same individual was then trying to get into my groups and insulted other admins after it was made clear he wasn’t a good fit.

I sent her one final email, urging her to remember the good times — that we were friends once —. Pleading with her to leave me be.

Rather than getting the response I had hoped for — a simple “ok” — two days later two “gentlemen” showed up in Messenger and caused further distress. One of them the aforementioned profile stalker.



In addition, one of her fake accounts showed up on my profile and mocked me mercilessly.


January through May 2019

I was, once again, reported to and barred from Facebook. Something I had gotten accustomed to, considering it had been a relatively regular occurence ever since the end of the friendship.

As usual, I contacted a good friend and asked him to make a post about me. He did and soon people would ask if “LA” was behind it (again).

While I only had a hunch myself, both my friend and I conferred that it was very likely her. Three hours passed and suddenly my friend contacted me, quoting the following passages from a series of SMS she sent him right after he blocked her on Facebook.

Not very nice to block me after YOU (not DP, not BW, not Chad nor Mark) implicate me in something… and then I cannot even defend myself. 3 of those 4 of whom I mentioned I haven’t spoken to in over a year so I do not care to live rent free in anyone’s mind. You all need to stop talking about me, keep my name out your mouth, go on with your lives… And then you never need hear from me again it’s that simple And then you never need hear from me again…it’s that simple.

Again… not crazy… it is your all obsession with me. YOU mentioned my name. Did you ever think that maybe Facebook, since it pulls a lot from their algorithm, and the way has mark has been talking about black folk lately… That may be Facebook took it down?? Ffs Paul, you all act like I have some sort of magical powers. I have a lot of eyes and a gifted intuition but that’s it.

I did not bother you until you all started with me! You are crazy. You all are a terrible influence on Mark. You should be ashamed the way you feed into his obsession and mental health disease. You all promote harassment of me and slander of my character… and others… you should be encouraging to get help, NOT feeding into his little fantasy land!

And if I was going to report any body to anything, I would have reported you all to the police or the FBI. I have plenty of screenshots. I have IP reports. There are people… many…who send me Mark and friends fuckery every damn week now. Someone said he was getting even stranger. I got plenty of information but really I just wanted to let all this die but here we are over a year later.

Now I can’t do shit about mark because he’s a foreign national and doesn’t really have anything to lose anyway, but the rest of you… not so much, right?


I was shook. I didn’t know how to react, so I chose not to do anything about it at all. Alas, I couldn’t help but wonder how people were still taking her seriously. There she was acting the victim, yet she undoubtedly still had access to all of my private spaces whereas I had long since left any group remotely connected to her.

Later that month then, people close to her sent me screenshots confirming my earlier suspicions. She was indeed obsessively stalking me and everybody around me, all the while pretending to be a stalking victim herself.


At the same time friends of her showed up in my groups and mocked me. Told the other admins to please add her again. She herself showed up under the alias “Lauren Whelan”, other admins quickly recognized her from her profile photo and — after she denied all charges but removed the profile photo nonetheless — removed her.


I had enough. Suddenly my emotions came pouring out of me and I did the only thing I have since had to regret. Remembering all her acts of cruelty — both big and small — I took to Facebook in a hopelessly optimistic act of unmasking her. I bundled the screenshots and, in a desperate attempt to “play it cool”, created a meme of her that was meant to attack her vanity — while not being nearly as horrible as the memes she had chosen to subject my likeness to.

Eventually it came as it had to come. The entire thing backfired, I received another series of abusive messages and I was forced to reflect on my actions.

Following this act of utmost foolishness, I did the only thing I deemed responsible and necessary at the time. Supported by one of my dearest friends, I wrote down a short (alas still wordy) retelling of the abuse and outright madness of the situation. I added it to an IC3 form and filed it with the FBI’s IC3 Cyber Crime Unit. Since I have yet to hear back from any agent, I fully expect for my report to have ended up in a federal trash can, so I’m including a redacted PDF copy of said report. For the sake of completeness if not clarity.

IC3 Form

For the longest time I was too ashamed to admit exactly how much money I had spent on her

Not counting the loan she never repaid and the merchandise stolen by her and her Scottish friend, I spent over 4,000 USD in just two short months. Most of it in the form of cash handouts, gifts, essentials and dinner/lunch invitations that somehow became a daily occurence as I felt more and more sorry for her.

While it never was about the money, the big fat minus sign on my credit card printout is a monthly reminder of all the hurt and of just how much I had been taken advantage of by a person who meant so much to me and who I meant so little to.

July 11, 2019

After nearly two months away from Facebook, I considered giving it a rest entirely. I thought about just fading into obscurity, hoping nobody would miss me. I even considered destroying all copies of this very blog post.

Then, within moments, my opinion was swayed by the actions of the very person this blog post is about.

It was early in the morning, I was just getting dressed when I noticed my phone’s LED was blinking incessantly. I went to check and … to my utter dismay … I saw her visage amongst a collage of other people, in a group I was unaware I was a member of still, having blocked most of its members over a year ago. A group I had muted many moons ago (long before our falling out) and never looked back on.



After several days curiosity got the better of me, so I downloaded a copy of my messages knowing it would all be in there. What I found nearly enraged me enough to send me to the hospital again. Within moments of joining said group, she was running her mouth about me and, alongside her equally depraved mother figure, used people’s inherent paranoia to cause more conflict and distrust.

I was done! All my deep emotional wounds were surfacing again. Rather than deleting this very post, I decided to add several amendments and more text/voice messages that showcase the true depths of her depravity.

I doubt she will learn any kind of lesson from it or leave me alone, now that a larger fraction of her madness is out in the open. More than likely she will double down yet again.

Conclusion

My “eternal” reward for caring about somebody who I felt was in distress:

Despite everything, I truly wanted to remember her fondly. Instead, all the “good memories” are now nothing more but distant echoes. Experiences that don’t feel like my own anymore, but rather like they belong to a different person altogether. Somebody who merely happens to share my physical attributes. Today I merely remember her as the person that stole from me, lied to me, lied about me and single-handedly broke me through almost two long years of harassment and mockery.

I still occasionally dream of a glorified version of her. The person I saw in her, that she made me believe existed. In those dreams she leaves me letters or speaks to me through the phone, apologizing for the many ways she has hurt me.

In reality, I know this will never happen. Sociopaths are unable to feel any kind of remorse, and her privileged upbringing as well as the close proximity of her

flying monkeys
A term I've since learned on Surviving Narcissism

An amazing Youtube channel I wish I could've found two years sooner

ensures she will never seek help or admit she has issues.

I never thought I would stop loving her. Until I did … and now I wish I could stop hating her. Hating her for making me a pawn in her ponzi scheme for money and attention.
Hating her for not giving it a rest, mocking me and making it look like I was the one who can’t move on. For actually having kept me from moving on for so long.
Hating her for playing with my feelings, and for having broken me to the point I can’t ever hope to develop a meaningful relationship with anybody ever again.