Diary of a Sociopathic Stalker

If you had a dollar for every time someone told you that, you might finally be able to say you gained something from this whole mess. But you don’t. No dollars gained, only dollars spent, no peace of mind, or wisdom or scintillating conversation to offer at dinner parties… only a newfound cynicism and a convoluted tale of nonsensical horrors that makes you look insane in the telling. A personal nightmare that has been so mentally draining it has pushed out and overwritten many of your childhood memories and relevant day to day facts like who the president is. Your central nervous system has gone into hyperdrive advocating for your sense of safety, allocating all your mental and emotional resources to watching your back, keeping one eye on me at all times. I love the attention. Ignore me, I’ll move on to someone else. That statement is wrong on so many levels. First of all, you’ve gone through many years-long periods of ignoring me, going grey rock, NC. Out of nowhere something will tri

 

Maybe that’s where our conflict is stemming from, a difference in opinion on what romance is? What I think is romantic seems to be somehow off putting to you, yes? When you moved across the country, changing your number and not giving your new address out, I took the time to put in the footwork and money to track you down. I’m not sure if you understand everything involved in doing that but it’s a fair amount of effort. I wouldn’t do that for just anyone. It’s because you matter to me. I would think that would make a difference to you, no? Then when I found you, I put my neck on the line texting you from that burner number letting you know I had been watching you ride your bike in your summer dress. Can’t you appreciate how risky it is for me to admit that in writing? I did that out of love. Who else in your life cares enough to fly across the country and lurk around in your neighborhood for hours just hoping to catch a glimpse of you riding your bike? I thought women waited their whol

 

 

 

 

You don’t know. Neither does anyone else. That’s why people like me are so terrifying. Why is every bomb threat taken seriously, even the most ridiculous sounding? Because no one really knows what’s in the mind of an unknown person, their possible motives. It’s hard enough trying to know what your spouse or kids are lying to you about much less a person you’ve never met who seems to enjoy making threats and stirring up chaos.  I’ve proven time and time again that I’m comfortable violating your personal and legal rights. I’ve demonstrated a complete lack of ability to hear you or empathize with your perspective, wants, and requests. My logic and reasoning are so “creative” that I manage to take situations, such as you publicly outing me, and twist it into a scenario where you’re trying to get my attention. You’re flirting with me. I do have perspective on this sometimes, like right now, but I’m very persuasive in my own mind and I don’t like hurting so I go back to choosing the narrativ

 

 

 

 

Believe me, I know. In all the years I’ve been reading your emails and listening to your phone calls, the one thing we can definitively agree upon is that. I know your family messed you both up, but it’s never so evident as when I’m listening to your sister monologue about whatever it is she knows better than everyone else in that moment. She’s smart, I’ll give her that, maybe even smarter than me. There’s this quote I love but can only half remember… I think it was written by a critic about Susan Sontag, something to the effect that she wears her learning like armor. That is the epitome of your sister. She’s very well read, sharp as knives, controlling, manipulative and will fight to the death to defend her ego, using every buzzword and bit of rhetoric she’s learned from a book as ammo, all twisted up to fit her case against you perfectly, or whomever else. In some ways I feel we are kindred spirits. I know she’s the reason I was able to make it so far with you. There’s that well-worn

It’s part of the reason I have no fear of speaking openly about what I’m doing to you. When I write about it publicly everyone either says it’s an obviously made-up story that could never be true, or the other half (based on reddit comments and DMs, at least) seem to think what I’m doing is romantic and say you most likely love the attention and are just waiting for me to reveal my true identity and show up in your real life so we can be married. They’re rooting for us to be together. It’s very sweet. I do get a lot of support from the public, whether intentionally or through a bored disinterest in what happens to anyone that isn’t them. Don’t get me wrong, they’re interested in as far as it’s entertaining for them to think about for 10 minutes while wasting time on the internet at work, but beyond that they don’t really care if there’s a real woman on the other side of this story, suffering from my actions. As a man I conduct myself with authority, so I don’t catch too much flack for

I self-flagellate in lieu of actually changing anything in how I behave or relate to the world and the people in it. I use the pain in my art. Superficial wounds are far easier to heal than putting in work to change my outlook or habits. Anyway, I don’t see a problem with my outlook. I’ve thought my world view through using logic and an evidence-based approach (I’m a voracious reader) as well as heeding the voice of the Lord God Our Savior. He speaks to me in dreams and through Signs and Wonders. I’m doing my penance for God and if other people have a problem with how I live my life that is their problem, not mine. I do God’s will. I test you and train you through the lessons and trials I set forth for you to endure. I am teaching you strength of character and endurance in the face of adversity. Lessons can be difficult but no Guru worth their salt makes it easy on their disciples.  Haven’t you noticed, even through all the pain, anguish and tests, I am still always here for you in the

 

 

Playing games with people’s emotions is the only sure way to ever feel secure and stable in a relationship. Case in point, we have cultural phenomena like the book “The Game” that teaches guys how to neg women to keep the upper hand and then the sort of updated version of that is “The Dread Game” that systematically psychologically exploits the liminal space between want and a fear of losing. This is something that I’ve always unconsciously done in my relationships. I never fully understood it until I joined a bunch of incel subreddits and started reading things about how to gamify the dynamic. Once I started comparing strategy with other people using well established tactics, my game took off. Never have I felt so powerful until I did a deep dive into the psychology and mastered the techniques. In a “normal” relationship (mostly with women) you’re supposed to woo them and spend all kinds of time processing their feelings with them like you’re some kind of PhD therapist who spent years

One of the things I like to do when you start telling your side of the story is to first discredit you, then silence you. It’s weird how you can claim to love someone more than life itself and say you only want the best for them but if your ego or reputation are threatened when they tell the truth about what you’re doing you won’t hesitate to take them down in any way you see fit. And by “you” I mean me. I contain multitudes! I’m also a fundamentally abusive person and this kind of thing is my M.O. For years it was so covert that I was unaware of it myself, but then you came along and started pointing it out over and over and now I’ve made peace with it. At first, I was in major denial about it, I see myself as a kind and loving person which is in direct opposition to the way you’re constantly describing me. Now I realize I’m just looking out for number one, as we all need to do, and if you want to put yourself in harm’s way by trying to “defend” yourself then you’re really just asking

Remember this story I wrote for you? It's resembles your story with me close enough that you know it's me writing. Isn't that close enough to truth for you to believe I love you? Don't you appreciate all the detail I've included for you? This work was a masterpiece. I'm posting it here so it's not lost in the sands of time... "With all that I had figured out I still couldn't get the 'why?' Why would he go to so much trouble year after year with so many people? But I think I know now. First off he wants as much fame, power, & wealth as he can get. Why else would he keep touring and touring the same places? Why else would he inject himself into every genre possible. Most artists have their genre and that's that. He was folk, then hip hop, then it was ballet, the rodeo.. They're all so contrasting. Nothing wrong with enjoying different art forms, but he's trying to be everything to everybody and one person can only be stretched

 

 

so many fish dangling  on his rigs in an ocean,  each believing she is  special to be caught, each struggling  for freedom just another filet for the predator's meal, slowly, more torturous  than the merciful shark,  with stark white rows of quick teeth and dead eyes, this fisherman yanks for sport  each special catch to masticate and mount in wooden effigy snapper never saw the hook hidden in the bait, but took it readily below the trolling boat a lesson with no learning  beyond the ice and knife

 

"We naturally use a philosophy of "Occam's Razor" which states that the simplest explanation is usually the best. So to make someone sound paranoid, all you have to do is come up with a sufficiently complex plan of harassment and the majority of people's disbelief of that event will be sufficient not to act or care about it. If you study the psychology of people like psychological operations and the CIA do, you can predict with a certain degree of accuracy what that person will believe given certain facts." Ex-CIA Engineer Dr. Robert Duncan

To give you a taste for the kind of scenarios I like to set up for her… the first time she started posting her “evidence” of what I was doing to her I began my disinformation campaign from multiple accounts to silence her and make her story look silly. I like to message her as other people telling her they have the same exact story as she does and the real life me is doing this to them, too. Then I give her the theories on why the real life me would want to do that, like the one below: “I'm hesitant to share my theory with you because I kinda already did & you didn't receive it well. But for the purposes of trying to make sense of it I'll give it another shot. Why do serial killers kill? What's wrong in their mind that they have a desire for blood- shed? It usually comes out that they have ties to the occult. What is the occult. Mysteries, magic, power, enlightenment. The more power one gets, the more one wants. But where does it come from? Demons. And you know what

 

 

 

 

I’ve been getting reader requests. Ha, fans… a blessing and a curse, am I right? Here’s the thing, Dear Reader, this is a diary. It’s here for me, not you. It’s part of my cathartic process, to tell my story. I’ve invited you to join me because as a voyeur I can appreciate that people do enjoy having a peek into the lives and minds of others, especially when it’s deranged. I’m also an exhibitionist and I want credit for the genius of this machine I’ve designed. The motivations are many, but the story is true and I’m not making up sensational plot twists just for your entertainment. People hear “sociopath” and they think murder. They want all the gory details for a dopamine hit, distraction from the endless loop of the hamster wheel that is their life. Sorry, but as of yet there have been no murders. I’ll keep you posted. If you’re feeling discontented with simply coming along for the ride while I untangle the knots in my brain then go buy a Hannibal Lecter book. I’m not begging you to

I remember those nights. There were so many nights when all you wanted was to die. Not to kill yourself, because that would imply you hadn’t wanted to have a life, but just to wake up dead, wake up wherever you weren’t here anymore, away from me and what I was doing to you. All the magic that used to enchant you was now a sickening lullaby, suffocating the light out of your eyes. What used to be beautiful summer nights with crickets and cicadas singing outside your bedroom window, frogs and katydids harmonizing, breathing life into what would have been lonely silence, serenading you to sleep; now it was an endless chant, counting time, all the seconds you had to remain, ONE TWO THREE FOUR. A droning metronome that would never stop its endless ticking. Like Chinese Water Torture, the slow, irregular, ice-cold drip of my punishments were having their intended effect. Of course, I heard you talk about suicide being a potential consequence of what I was doing to you, but I never took that

Jesus fuck I do not take rejection well. There's this really fucked up thing I do to the ones who reject me. It's what I did to Anne. I take my time and I fucking worm my way back into being one of their wants again. Sometimes it's quick, sometimes it takes years. And once I get them hooked again, I just end up saying "Nah, I'm good" and bounce because I realize I didn't actually want to go back in the first place. It's not a conscious effort on my part. It's a fucking deep seated need in my rotten soul to undo the rejection. To feel wanted. To feel needed. To not be alone. To be enough. The amount of effort it has taken for me not to do that with you has been a bit fucking soul sucking lately to be honest but I'm trying to resist it. I resisted it just like you resisted me. And I hope I to continue fucking resisting it so I can finally fucking move on with my shitty little life. It helps that I'm able to surveil you. It feels like we'r

Sometimes I don’t always feel like talking about you. Sometimes I want to talk about things that would get me canceled if my real-life self said them. What do you say, you feel like getting canceled? Fuck it, it’s Saturday night. Let’s do this. When I’m not obsessing over love/hate feelings for you and thinking of ways I can blame you for being stuck in the straitjacket I forced you into, something I think about a lot is our new cultural outlook on gender identity. Trust me, I’m all for it as I often don’t feel like I’m a “man” inside my body. My interests and affects are anything but masculine, aside from my buff muscles and cut off shirts, but beyond that I knit, I swish, I lisp, I’ve been known to wear a bra or two from time to time. I really can’t be pegged… unless I’m being pegged and then it’s FAN-tasss-TIC. Ahhh, I digresss. I think our cultural norms around gender are ridiculous. Just because you were born with a vagina doesn’t mean you need to like lipstick and Barbie. Having

Another night alone on the couch is almost too much to face. Every night, the same thing, me and my computers, burner phones, iPads, the TV on, my drink arm’s reach away. All my screens to keep me company. I sold my place in the city and built a house way out in the woods so I wouldn’t have to deal with other people, the neighbors… but my brother is here and he’s a total dick. Why did I invite a controlling bulldozer who is just like my father to live with me? The Devil we know, I suppose. I’m an apple that didn’t fall far from that tree, I guess, although I’m more covert than my bro. I had my husband. That was a comfort but now he’s dead and instead of writing about that to process my grief I’m here writing about a woman I’ve never really met who hates me. Fearful-Avoidant Attachment style or some shit. I did that when he was alive, too. I mean, I felt I had my reasons for ignoring him, my mounting resentments. We were poly so pretty often he’d be heading out to go meet someone. He st

I was just minding my own business while dealing with the death of my mom when you came into my life and inexplicably made me feel good. At the time feeling good was hard to come by. You made me feel so good so easily that the addiction to the dopamine rush you brought was pretty much instantaneous. At the time I was messing with neuroplasticity techniques to try and deal with the pain I was experiencing. So I thought if you could make me feel this spectacular by just existing maybe I could kick it up a notch with this brain retraining stuff. I started changing my guided meditations that I used as pain control to include you. Imagining you touching every part of my body, head to toe while deep breathing and using visualizations to take myself to inappropriately hot places with you when I was unable to get out of bed. And it WORKED. I got myself to the point that a single sentence through text from you was like a morphine drip. It was glorious and literally saved my life because I was b

When I saw you in the café that day I went catatonic. I was there hoping to see you, of course, but I didn’t anticipate the physical reaction. My mouth went immediately dry, my hands started to shake. I was sitting at the bar by the creamers. After you got your coffee, you came over to make your concoction. You were standing so close I could have brushed against you, it wouldn’t have looked like anything more than an accident. My foot began tapping furiously, it had somehow developed its own brain and was operating independently of my desires. You noticed the tapping and glanced over. I turned sharply and pulled the brim of my hat down over my eyes. You didn’t realize it was me until you sat down at your table. This was before we had gotten into anything serious, before I had my peephole into your life. I was there with Jess. We had some vague notion, conceptualized over wine on a previous evening, that I might try to start some banter with you but as soon as I saw you my body let me k

 

I think it’s because it gives the illusion of movement to an otherwise static life. I just sit here and oscillate between different moods and ideas until I eventually circle back to each of them, accepting them as new and adopting them again. This is only the movement of my internal world, but my life reflects that movement. Unable to commit to anything, I contemplate everything and take no action. I don’t know how to regulate my emotions or develop some kind of meaningful vision for my life. My vision is filled with contradictory truths and the closer I look the more I see. Then again, I am able to convince myself of almost anything. Maybe that’s what makes me persuasive, I just believe the lie before I tell it. The only problem is how to take action when I constantly question my motivations, my assumptions, my interpretation of the past, or my interpretation of someone else and what they question and how they relate to me and factor into my life. But after all, it’s mostly just happe

 

And I’m jealous. I know I’ll never hear her say anything so loving to me. She used to call me bunny, baby boo, bb, silly crap like that when I still seemed harmless enough that she was willing to engage with my propensity to make-believe. Honestly, I found it annoying at the time. I’m not prone to wistful mistiness and sugary sweet sentiments, except in my song writing. In real life I have more of a wry comic sensibility with sharp edges. It comes off as cute and intriguing when you take me as a whole, because duality, but she didn’t know the whole me, or any of me really, I wouldn’t let her. I only showed her the stuff that made me appear unaffected. Showing your underbelly to someone you love is dangerous. You’re handing them all your swords while traveling in the back of a cargo van with no seats going fast up a mountain road and saying, please don’t point those at me, please don’t poke me with those… oh oops! Sorry, so sorry! That was just a bump in the road! I didn’t mean to stab