The effort necessary to run a camera 24/7 and play “gotcha” only feeds the creature. They got enough of my life. And though I imagine the stereotype of “targeted individuals” is of cowering paranoid lunatic people making implausible connections, I am almost always surprised when it happens. I do my best to just live my life soberly, not in a place of fear.

I have a couple of recordings that are pretty damning but miss the initial event. Because again, when it happens, my mind is totally not prepared. I have said several times “Oh you have got to be f-ing kidding me” when the more overt strangers began their gleeful “We’ve got one on you” BS spiel. Again, with specifics of my life, though colored by the false version of events of the initial crime as spread far and wide by the white-collar criminals.

The reason I went after the guy with a bottle is because he was following me and filming me. I’ll get to him but first need to explain some prior encounters.

I think the creeps identified recording as a “trigger” of mine because it got really overt for a period: for example, one night last August at 11PM I was waiting to cross the street to grab a coconut water from the deli when a homeless-looking stranger came up to me, dug in his backpack for his phone and took a flash photo, in my face. I crossed the street and looked back and he was standing there staring at me. Stuff like that. At my coffee place a couple months back, as I was walking out I passed a 25-ish guy with his phone pointed at me, and I thought “That seems unnatural” and instead of rounding the corner to the parking lot I stopped. Meanwhile he had pivoted to where his camera was pointing where I would ordinarily have walked. And from behind I could see that he was recording. When I did not move as expected he turned with his camera, saw me staring at him and then shifted his camera to film the bottom of the exit door. Which had nothing of interest about it. So then he booked and I followed him across the parking lot about fifteen steps behind, and then I asked firmly “Why were you filming me just now?” and he said “I can film whatever I want. It’s a public place.” Which is just not what you say when you are innocent, if that makes sense. We exchanged words and I kept my cool even as I laid into him.

This is the same coffee place where in November 2017 a perfect stranger, a pock-marked middle aged dude, approached the patio table where I sat and said that the notorious “intelligence agency” (which I’ll not name presently) wanted me to drop my interest in the matter where I was a whistleblower. This actually happened, and while I know it sounds far out that is also what makes gaslighting effective.

So this guy I went after with a bottle was bothering me as I sat at my neighborhood yogurt place trying to enjoy a f-ing cone. He was pretending to be drunk, and when I told him to go away several times I saw that he was filming. So I just walked out toward my apartment.

I turned up a residential street, walked a block and glanced back and he was about 30-35 steps behind me, phone up, following me, recording. It was so blatant it seemed he was intentionally annoying me. In one hand I held my yogurt cone. In the other a full glass bottle of soda. I turned and moved toward him saying “I told you to get the f-ck away” and the minute he began the now-familiar whining spiel I made the wonderful realization that I was holding a full bottle of soda and he was in striking range. And so I made his world very wet as I went glug-glug all over him and his phone and even though he shrieked and ran into the middle of the street I don’t think a drop hit the sidewalk. He was soaked.

I turned and walked back to the corner where I’d first spotted him following me. And then my body just went “enough” and relaxed completely as I thought “Gosh it would feel great to just beat the sh-t out of this person.” This sense of relaxing is normal for me when push comes to shove. I then turned to him, still dealing with the wetness down the block, wiping his phone, etc. He looked up to see me walking with a swagger now wielding the bottle as a weapon. I am good in a fight. The street was pretty dark. There was a guy passing who had seen the exchange and that was it for potential witnesses, and I suspect he would have cheered me on given the guy was clearly such a weasel. And when the stalker saw that I wasn’t messing around - I am six feet and solidly built - he turned tail and ran, and when I rounded the corner saw him disappear into the safety of a nightclub a few doors past the yogurt joint.

I tell you this because you asked. This is one of the most mundane incidents barring my unusual (until now)“fight” response. I divide the incidents into “definites” and “maybes” and this one counts as a “maybe” because he did not (for example) tell me about my behavior in Chicago eighteen months prior, he was not quoting me text messages I had sent an hour before to my brother, he did not say leeringly how MEAN I was to the white-collar criminals who fucked me over. These are but three examples of what perfect strangers have said to me.

I have gobs of incriminating evidence I’ve gathered over the four years including, for example, names photos phone numbers and damning follow-up text messages with the people who hit me up online. None of it alone is a smoking gun because that is the brilliance of gaslighting. The totality of it however makes it crystal-clear.

I am no angel but (as I say) I come off as Mr. Rogers in CALIGULA compared to the rest of these people, white-collar criminals on down. I began medicating myself, which I will admit cheerfully and upfront. I think they pushed me as far as they did because they could say “He does drugs” even though some of them vacuum up cocaine like their name is Dyson. And when I stopped using the abuse did not stop, though the nature of it changed.

And it was the abuse that made me start because again, it is horrifying to discover that people are so fucked up, so petty and trifling, and that my suffering brought them joy.

A common refrain - almost always by suspect people - is “Do you really think you are that interesting?”

My answer is: nothing about my nature is, especially.

But what I know could really fuck up the lives of some incredibly amoral people who’d have a lot of egg on their face were the truth to come to light.

Many of the victims of gangstalking are potential whistleblowers like me.

May of last year I overheard my rapist say (as I came to consciousness the first time) that I would break eventually given enough abuse. This was to a second party I never saw who was not present when I was knocked out.

He was sober, the rapist, I should add.

What it means for me to “break” though is the last thing any of them want.

It’s been an interesting four years.