Torture for Sport

I have been cleaning out my virtual world. Being bedbound and housebound since 2008, I did almost everything online out of necessity. I didn’t really use social media until the traffickers came. I had reason.

The traffickers used social media to try to sell, prostitute, blackmail, harass, intimidate, discredit or otherwise destroy anyone and everyone who came anywhere near me. They went through photos and papers looking for anything incriminating. They isolated, tortured and intoxicated me while questioning me about anyone and everyone.

They have become terrorists. These are people who have no joy in life and are known as incels or involuntary celibates. These people don’t even like sex because they have been abused by it. They were forced into this mentality of believing that only those who have sex have any worth. If they aren’t seen as possibly having sex by marriage, relationship or children, they’re somehow subhuman.

When the person is frustrated by their inability to get a suitable mate or to keep up with these appearances, they take it out on others. If they are married or in a relationship, the partner isn’t doing enough to make them feel worthy. They will abuse them; force them into situations they aren’t comfortable with; have a secret life; and it continues to devolve without help. Many times partners are murdered or they are forced into this secret life because they can’t escape.

If the person isn’t married, they will commit rape and incest. When they are shamed but not punished or treated, they will seek people of lower social status and then prostitutes. When they can no longer keep these people in their every worsening need for depravity, they will become traffickers. They will enslave humans however they can to fulfill this need that can never be satisfied. They will never stop.

This isn’t my first encounter with these types of people. I am the biological daughter of a DID sufferer. I was raised by my mom and her elders until I was six. I then added daddy and his family from then on.

I was told that Jim was a family friend and visited him on occasion until I was 13. When I graduated high school, I found out that a man I hadn’t seen in four years was my biological father. It was confirmed through a voluntary blood test in Detroit, Michigan in 1992.

I quickly discovered that my newfound family had massive secrets that we were unaware about. In hindsight I see everything but when I was younger, I just understood that I didn’t like being around Jim. It took time to fully comprehend it all. His death was a blessing that I hate admitting was a blessing but it was.

I called Jim’s behavior the whirlwind. It could easily consume you. You couldn’t understand what was happening until it was too late and it had you in its grasp. I was the eldest and not abused to that extent. I have his intelligence but not that evil.

He used me as a way to make himself look better. He then tried to get me to take his side in arguments that he created. I refused. He kept trying but I kept refusing.

I was raised by strong women and men who didn’t tolerate abuse. They worked around it when help couldn’t be found. In 1970’s Detroit, help couldn’t be found. I was on my own and amazingly enough fine.

During a visit to Jim’s apartment, he was trying to impress a young woman with his ‘fatherly’ ways and using me to do so. She was falling for it. I rolled my eyes and had a seat. I was inconsequential. No problem.

Jim became more aggressive with her. She was adorably telling him to stop in front of me. He refused to stop. As she protested more and more forcefully, he grew increasingly insistent and angry. She started to look nervous and I was screaming on her behalf. This made him more excited and insistent.

As it grew to a crescendo, I decided to act. I took my tiny, open hand and reached out before me to the man who dared to harm another. I plunged my hand into his groin as far as it could go and grabbed as much flesh as possible. I dug my tiny fingernails into his flesh while pushing forward and twisting with all of my might. I continued until his body fell to the ground and out of my grasp.

The woman gave me a smile before running to get ice. Mom was called to come get me. She listened to the accounts of everyone involved, including myself. She then said that although I was defending the honor of a woman, men are sensitive down there. I needed to apologize for hurting him. I did so to the smiles of the two women. We all left Jim to recover.

The woman politely thanked my mom. When we were alone, I asked for my punishment. I knew that this was to be handled in private and I had done wrong. She smiled and told me that ice cream sounded good. I understood. I had done good but we had to be nice to the man. He was no longer an imminent threat to anyone. It was okay.

This was mild. Jim became increasingly violent and demanding. Women came to me in tears telling me that he abused them violently and viciously. The police couldn’t or wouldn’t do anything. When he killed his cat and phoned police, an Auburn Hills police officer met me at the crime scene.

Jim wasn’t even there. My half brother was young, his mother, Betsy gave us permission. She stood by with a giant plastic tub full of police reports, court records and medical reports. The officer very professionally gave me his report while pointing to the locations mentioned.

Betsy was trying to convince me as a woman, mother and sister of his guilt. She had been teaching me about Jim’s medical conditions as a registered nurse. I had been studying pre-med and pre-law at Michigan State University before my recent divorce. It complimented everything that I was learning from her and others. It just wasn’t enough fast enough.

The officer and I both quieted her fuming as he walked me through it. He then asked me what I thought or knew. His jaw almost hit the floor when I calmly told him that Jim had obviously killed the cat based on his evidence. I then asked him what might help put him behind bars and naturally get him the help that he needed because killing animals is a warning sign that they might turn to humans next.

The officer stuttered as he tried to remember that this wasn’t an exercise but a real crime and family members. He tried to suggest if I heard or saw anything. I went through my memory and listed anything that I could remember seeing or hearing. I usually said that it wasn’t helpful as soon as I said it. Once I had gone through everything, I asked if we had anything of value in his notebook. He didn’t.

Jim continued terrorizing people for many more years. He was spotted with prostitutes. Many said that they wouldn’t go with him for any amount of money or reason. They didn’t trust him or like him. He mercifully passed away in his yard.

The victim of such horrific and sustained childhood abuse that he split into different personalities. At least one of which was a nightmare who tortured and abused anyone just for fun. The traffickers and some of their associates are very familiar. They’re just like the whirlwind in this sick, twisted, depraved game of torture for sport.