Diary of a Sociopathic Stalker

I haven’t been completely honest with you. Yes, I started following you around online because I found you interesting, or whatever, but the reasons it intensified aren’t entirely how I’ve described them in my past letters. You know I have my music career, but I also have all these side streams of revenue. I come from poverty so have always lived with a scarcity mentality. I can’t feel secure only depending on one source of income, I’ve diversified. I have dozens and dozens of ways to make a buck. A lot are passive income sources that don’t require too much attention from me. Others are more labor intensive and rely on the talents I’ve cultivated over the years.    I started picking up a lot of work writing for other people, both musical and literary works. I’ve written some songs for artists that have made it all the way to the Top 10. I’ve also done work ghost writing for a fiction series or two that went onto to be hugely successful in more than one medium. When I landed the contract

You’ve tried in so many different ways to stop this. The pleading, the bargaining, the begging, the crying. Trying to reason with me won’t work. You know this by now, but it doesn’t stop you from having your own fantasies. The fantasies where once you understand the whole truth the lingering feeling that there’s a deranged puppet master lurking in the shadows of your life will finally fade. That all is not what it seems and if you only had that missing bit of information the whole puzzle would pop into place. That I will wake from my fog to see the error of my ways, come to you and ask for salvation. That you can get back to what you were doing before me, your ambition, your dreams, your relationships. Don’t be foolish. Your best years are behind you. The damage done is irrevocable.  When I met you, you were such a young, fresh peach. You had an energy about you that drew others in. But of course, everyone loves a young woman. It’s not hard to see the potential in a supple beauty wit

I know how trauma bonds work. It’s how I was raised. It was the way I experienced love in my family, and after leaving them, because I was never able to think my way out of acting on the behaviors that came so automatically. It’s not really something you can think your way out of, especially when you’ve created a life for yourself where you don’t need to see people. To change something that deep seated you need to be learning from others, practicing with them. Unfortunately, one of my main ego defenses is arrogance. I refuse to take advice or instruction from others. I’m secluded on my own island of twisted love and fun house mirrors. Nothing here is truly as it seems. At least I get to feel like I’m a real boy. Here I’m always right. It’s not like I “studied” how to make a trauma bond, it comes naturally, unconsciously. Historically it hasn’t been premeditated. I’m an avid reader and I love learning about things that explain me. By the time you showed up I had probably read just about

I understand the only reason I got so far with the helper I mentioned in my last letter, (let’s call her Hanley) was because you felt so desperately alone. This is a classic cult leader tactic. I know this because my early years were spent in a religious cult. Once I got free, I read up on how intelligent people like my parents could be so easily controlled. I still carry that handbook in my back pocket. I know you remember me writing posts for you about the various methods of controlling / manipulating people because you have those screenshots in your “Evidence Log.” Posting that was good for a laugh, at the time, but now it’s one of those things that I realize may have set us back for heading into the loving relationship I sometimes find myself questioning if I want. I read that handbook many times over and absorbed the more poignant tips to use on you. Some flopped, but the Cult Leader 101 Number 1. (separate them from their friends and family) was a smashing success. Not only did p

I’m not sure but I don’t think they do. I’m also probably not a real sociopath. That’s just something I liked to tell you to scare you. I’ve never been diagnosed, because I wouldn’t put that kind of power in the hands of a mere mortal, but my guess is I’m mixin’ up some combo of narcissism, BPD and OCD. I really do try to self-reflect but it’s hard for any human to see themselves objectively and I am certainly mentally ill. That adds another layer of challenge to the equation. I know I try to sound all tough and impervious in my letters to you, but I do feel, I do cry, I do feel sad about the things I do to you. My OCD makes it so I can’t stop myself from doing horrible things to you even when it’s against my better judgment. Watching you wriggle around in pain and confusion really scratches an itch for me, satisfies some deep ineffable primal need that comes from urges I’ve buried the explanations for long ago. I don’t see that stopping any time soon. Sorry about that. Of course, it’s

 

I do have some issues with rage. It’s an inner rage. On the outside I look cool a s a cucumber, stoic some say. My rage burns white hot on the inside. It’s why I’m also known as a bit of a recluse. If forced to be around people more than an hour at a time the rage starts making its way to the surface. Maybe a snap here and a yip there at first, but after too long trying to push it down it will come plummeting forth like the deadly waves of a tsunami, indiscriminately crushing everything in its wake. Ok, I’m being dramatic. It would be that way if I didn’t isolate. Rest assured; I’m doing y’all a favor by canceling plans. The advent of the internet gave me some wiggle room to experiment with this fire inside me. Mostly I like to keep it corked because I don’t know its strength. Historically I’ve been afraid and ashamed of it. At home in my room, I could pour whiskey and drugs on top of it before it blew too far. Although sometimes that was fuel. I was definitely an early adopter of the

You’re always threatening to expose the “truth” under the guise of stopping me, regaining your sense of “privacy” and “safety.” You’re just being vengeful and obsessive, making excuses for yourself. You say people who have been victimized and abused will spend their entire lives seeking an acknowledgment of what was done to them in hopes of healing and gaining closure. You say “perpetrators” who never have to openly admit their wrongs feel free to continue doing the same with impunity. That's just a fancy way of saying you want revenge, being petty, trying to hurt me back. Everything I've done to you was out of love. I did it for your own good. I didn’t abuse you. I loved you more than anyone else ever has. Why can’t you see that?? You keep talking about consent and saying that my “love” doesn’t matter if we haven’t mutually agreed to a relationship and that saddens me because I see you are still the runner in our Twin Flame dynamic. Don’t worry. I won’t give up on you. I wil

Sarah is a problematic victim. Which makes her the perfect victim. This is why I have never felt too pressed when I listened to her phone calls trying to get a restraining order or contacting the FBI Cyber Crimes Unit. She’s too emotional. If she ever actually got me into a courtroom in front of a jury, they’d be locking her up at the end of it. I know how to perform for an audience. Sarah operates under the false assumption that her feelings are valid, and the truth will prevail. This is what happens when you grew up as a latchkey kid and your babysitter was the television. No one was there to calibrate her moral compass and let her in on the secret that most humans are garbage. She was relying on Charles in Charge and Pee-Wee’s Playhouse for instructions on how to be a “good” person. If you believe all the Hollywood tropes from your favorite ABC After School Specials, you’re going to hit some snags later in life. Sarah had done some “stalking” of her own. Very hypocritical, actuall

Of course I love you and would do anything for you, but asking me to openly tell the truth will just tarnish my reputation. I will do anything but that, Sarah. Do you not love me? Why would you want me to look bad in the eyes of others?? I know you think I've done that to you and worse, how silly, your reputation is but a trifle. Your life is not comparable to my own. I've told you through my anon accounts that I intend to do better. That should be sufficient! Of course you don't know for sure if I'm still in your devices and accounts, and you can see I'm still using catfish to "harass" you, as you call it, but we need trust, Sarah!! Please, just trust my words and disregard my actions, for once dear, I'm begging! Why must you be so vengeful? Oh sure, you call it "justice" and keep referencing "laws" I've broken and "crimes" I continue to commit... Ugh... You would really try to expose my true identity and hurt my imag

I know you think I killed him but you’re not sure what that means. I pulled the plug on his consciousness and stopped generating the photos and stories that went along with my elaborate smokescreen? A hacked social security number? A life, faked? A love, faked? A house and a dog and friends and family, all fake? His death, faked? The online obituary, more creative writing? You think back to that text I sent you where I was equivocating, per usual, about wanting to be with you and when I ended the exchange, I said I was mad at myself and my whole “plan” was starting to slip. The phrasing was ominous, of course. Now there you are, wondering all these years later if I poisoned him to eliminate a set of problems I wasn’t emotionally equipped to deal with. What was the "plan" because I certainly didn't let you in on it... Part of you believes I’m capable of that. I only have myself to blame for fostering that belief system in you. I love seeing you jump to conclusions based on

Relationships are 50/50. We each hold responsibility for our strained dynamic and toxic arguments. It takes two to tango, Sarah. I have shown you my innermost secrets and this is how you treat me in return? With such callous disregard? Are you mocking me? HOW DARE YOU, SARAH. All you think about are your own feelings. What about me , Sarah? You have cut me to the core. Wounded me deeper than anyone has ever, and you did so with intent! I hear your tired refrain in my head: We were never in a relationship , delusional. I was talking to a handful of catfish accounts that may or may not have been you. Were those your secrets or made-up stories about a sock puppet? You put me in the position to either lie down and let you do whatever you wanted with your stalking and your helpers and your hackers or to stand up and fight back. So I fought back trying to stop your harassment campaign and you think I owe you an apology for that??? You had all the leverage, all the power and information on yo

Sarah, you and I disagree on a lot of things. First and foremost, our definitions of privacy. You keep claiming I violated / am violating your civil right to privacy, while I continue to explain that, for me to bring out the best in you, I need unfettered access to your innermost workings. See the subconscious mind is very slippery. You are not going to be honest with me about your failings and weaknesses because you don’t understand them yourself. Those aren’t favorable circumstances, Sarah. How am I to train you if you won’t offer all of yourself? For me to test your metal I need truth. The whole truth, Sarah. Steel sharpens steel and I cannot invest my precious time and resources in mediocrity. If you are just a flimsy piece of aluminum, you will be obliterated within seconds of facing the powerful force of my iron will, the tsunami of my magnetic nature. Simple facts. I’m here to protect your best interests and mold you into the incredible woman I know you can be. The fact that you

 That lamp you threw at him went whizzing by, but it didn’t connect. He ran and hid under the bed. He waited until you started rummaging through the sock drawer looking for the switch blade you had stashed in case of a serial killer. When your back was turned, he flew down the stairs in one giant leap, then slipped out the window right before you uncapped the gasoline and lit the match. He made it out alive, despite your best efforts. He found you later, crumpled in a heap in front of your pile of ash, face in your hands, weeping. He sat down with you, touched your hair, put his arm around your waist, you moved your face from your hands to his shoulder and cried some more. You like this one. You remember wanting to love this one. It hurts you when you see him in pain, when he writes about wanting to lie down with you, wrap you in a blanket, bring you coffee. You’re so tired of doing everything alone, having to be everything a person needs all for yourself. Your own support, your own co

Sarah asked me out. She sent me a text. It was shocking, very forward of her. I had never even given her my name or my number, which has been a great way for me to label her as the true stalker in my smear campaign. While it’s technically true I never gave her my number, I did make sure to get it into her line of vision, in case she wanted to make use of it. After I planted the seed, I went home and did a love spell. It took a couple months, but the seed sprouted, and the spell seemed to work. I was floored when I got the text. Not only is it totally out of the ordinary for a girl to make the first move, the way she invited me to hang out was so cute. It melted my heart in one second flat. Looking back, that was the moment I was cooked. I was powerless to her charm. I didn’t answer her, but I did write a blog post. Let the games begin… As I mentioned previously, I told my friends. They were enthralled by the idea of her. Being that I identify as gay, and they had not spent any time co

She has been for the last 7 years or so. She still decorates and makes herself a big dinner, traditional stuff she never had with her family like Green Bean Casserole, but also the solid staples like mashed potatoes. She likes doing a turkey but it's a lot of bird for one person. She also tries to go mostly vegan at home, so dealing with the aftermath of that big carcass always makes her sad. She says her thanks to the bird and comforts herself by acknowledging she was probably a holiday turkey in another life. I think it's sweet. I'm usually able to find a lot of fault with whatever decisions Sarah happens to be making in the moment, it's part of my contrarian nature, but this tradition of hers really touches me, partly because she thinks I'm the reason she's alone. She likes to belabor this topic, but her arguments are worn out and were always shaky at best. Yes, Sarah, I created chaos in your life and made you look insane to any outside observer. Yes, Sarah,

What could drive a person to do such things? An unfortunate series of events? Is it like the sitcoms where one wacky mistake leads the protagonist to the next wacky mistake while they lack any and all agency to turn the tides on their own and they’re just carried along on that current until they finally crash into their opportunity to explain it all and be forgiven? Sarah kept waiting for her wacky explanation. She was always so sure one was just around the corner. It had to be . There had to be a reasonable explanation for everything that occurred because no one, even a crazy person, would orchestrate something so nonsensical and elaborate and not have a point. What was the point? Where was the punchline? I would encourage her to feel this way, tell her that that soon everything would all make sense, dangle that carrot. I loved watching her eyes widen while she would get a little breathless reading some hint I had posted that I was about to show up and answer the riddle for her. She

Sarah found out I hacked her phone a few months into our strange little online courtship, between her and a half dozen or so of my characters. Make no mistake, she was pissed, but also oddly understanding about it, like I said before, forgiving to a fault. She empathized with my situation, what had gotten me to where I was with all my blogs and alt accounts and my penchant for misdirection in every form. Although I have the propensity to be full of arrogant showmanship, I’m also cripplingly shy. I’m a paradox. Add that to my trauma, my mental illness, my need to protect my reputation; it’s the perfect storm for unquantifiable dysfunction. This is why I feel so betrayed by Sarah. I told her all of this, all my secrets. She knew things I never told anyone, and she used it against me, tried to out me publicly. Her argument against any blame falling on her shoulders for that is that I wasn’t actually telling her anything if I was pretending to be someone else and all my “truths” were being

If there’s one thing the world loves, it a big ol’ shit show. Is your marriage all screwy? Your kids, your childhood, your life, your brain? Well listen up, you can make a buck off that, so don’t go snoozin’ on it. I have the art of making money off misery mastered down to a science. That’s why I never run from it.  Why do these letters remain unsent, you ask? Why not *actually* try to connect with the object of your affections?? Because I don’t actually want to feel good. There’s no poetry in that. All the classic love stories that transcend time and trends are tragic. The happy endings feel good right before they evaporate ~poof~ forgotten forever. The tragedies are what get their meat hooks deep in your brain. It’s that never ending, unanswerable why that keeps nagging at you? Why can’t they just… maybe they could just… why won’t you just… Just do this one simple thing differently and then everything will be ok??? Well, I don’t want to be ok, OK? So, stop asking. The world is not O

It’s easy to play off Sarah’s empathy. She grew up in a family full of erratic and self-centered people. When you depend on those kinds of people to meet your needs for love and safety, you get used to forgiving a lot of wild behavior. What choice do you have when you’re 5 or 6 or even 16? By the time you’re all grown up it can be hard to see the flaws in the survival techniques that helped you make it this far in life. You made it out and now you need to pivot from the dysfunction you learned in your nuclear family if you have any hope of assimilating into the world of relatively “normal” people. Sarah is very forgiving. Not only because she was forced to forgive since birth, but also because she wishes she could be forgiven for all the crazy learned behaviors that came from growing up in insane circumstances. She yearns to be understood, to be handled with care, to be given chances to make amends when she screws up. She’s trying to be better. It’s what makes her the perfect mark. I h

Sarah can be a bit long winded, always yammering on about herself with no concern for the boredom and inattentiveness of the listener. I do remember one story she told me, for some reason... She said her sister loved to give her gifts, “take care” of her. Sister would go to great lengths planning for and organizing the “gifts” all for Sarah’s great delight. The only thing was when she finally got the gifts, they were all actually things her sister would have wanted for herself, not anything Sarah had expressed interest in or asked for. Her sister wasn’t really paying attention to Sarah’s desires, how she felt, what she thought. Sister was always so pleased with the whole display. The gift giving revealed itself to be more performative than anything else. Even so, sister couldn’t understand why Sarah never appreciated everything she did for her. After so many gifts given and so few thanks yous received, sister became indignant and embittered, demanding an apology for being taken for gra

Picture this: a childhood that makes horror movies seem like Disney cartoons. An abusive family, too many siblings to count, and enough trauma to fill a Stephen King novel. Love, in my world, was a foreign concept, something for saps and dreamers. So when Sarah, with her innocence and simple kindness, waltzed into my life, I wanted to shatter her rosy glasses. I wanted to show her the cold, harsh reality I knew. But, damn it, there was this undeniable warmth she brought along. An annoying glow that, despite my best efforts, I couldn't shake off. It was like a drug, and I hated that I secretly craved it. So, I decided to play a little game. The push and pull, the "leave me alone, no, come back" routine. I wanted to see her unravel, desperately trying to decode the enigma that was me. It became a sick form of entertainment, the purest form of love I'd ever experienced - someone actually trying to know me like that. And I reveled in it. Ruining her was an art, and I love

 

It’s so painful not knowing the truth. I have trust issues, as you know. So of course, I design all kinds of tests to subject potential love interests to. Trust is earned, Sarah. This is not just a one and done type situation. It’s a battery of tests, coming from a variety of different directions. I find the more discombobulated the test subject is the more honest their responses become. It’s easy to feign warmth and kindness when you have time to work on your responses. I like to keep it poppin’, fast motion, to test agility, so to speak. In the event the subject passes all exams, we are good, for a period of 3 to 4 hours, after which my crippling self-doubt begins to creep back in and the subject must then be reexamined to confirm the validity of the first battery of tests. The scientific method can be grueling, Darling. In the beginning you were so kind and understanding I knew it all had to be bullshit, so I brought out the big guns and got to work on scoring your performance strai

 

 

I know, dear reader, you're out there thinking how marvelous unfettered access to your lover's most intimate details would be. Information can be so empowering. Unfortunately, the truth also hurts. In the beginning Sarah and I had some quick passing moments that seemed promising. She would text friends about meeting at a cafe, I'd intercept the texts and make sure to get there first. You're not actually following someone if you get there first. I arranged a couple more opportunities for us to bump into each other and the energy felt charged. I think she was feeling me, serious eye contact.  Once I cracked into her devices and accounts I went straight to the date of the first night I met her (that she was aware of). I wanted to see if she had taken notice of me, mentioned me to anyone. She had. When she heard my name she remembered her sister had brought me up in the past. She sent sister a girlie gossip text telling her we had bumped into each other. Her sister was very