Horror In Real Life


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The Stories on These Pages have been chosen from the other stories I receive. The reason for this became clear when I received this, the first one. They are more than just common letters. They either contained information that was new and previously uncovered, or they were more than just a story, and of particular importance.

Each of these Handpicked Stories is contained on it's own page. This story is frightening. At first glance, it seems almost too horrendous, too spectacular to be real. But see.. I know the net. I don't doubt that what is contained below is possible, and that it happened.

If the publishing of this story will save someone who is currently missing, then I can withstand the skeptcism and the scrutiny. Wild.

June 11, 1998 - DF

While walking around crying "I'm a victim! Pity me!" has absolutely no appeal, it is always nice to discover people who are emotionally capable of truly understanding what a survivor of any violent crime experiences.

I am a survivor. No longer a victim.

It is difficult to find someone who can handle the knowledge of what I have been through without trivializing it somehow -- "How could you let that happen?" or "Well, if I were in that situation, I would have..." That stuff makes me just plain MAD! There are not many who can get their minds around the fact that things like that happen somewhere besides television, to say nothing of it happening to someone they know or are close to. And that is not to say that I want my history to be the center of the universe when it comes to a relationship (good grief, NO!!!), but that history does make me difficult to be with sometimes. I still get flashbacks, and that's hard for someone to take if I let them see it. Humans are generally so uncomfortable with someone else's pain. I'm a very good-natured person for the most part, but not 100% of the time...

I have said before, it's a VERY long story, and will be long in the telling; there will be many more writings than this one before the story is completely told, and I will likely repeat myself more than once. Let's see if I can give you a nutshell:

I met a man (via AOL, incidentally -- he "searched" for me and others like me -- PLEASE be careful out here!) who claimed to be a music producer, and who in fact (as I learned) did have his own studio space as part of a fairly well-reputed sound studio in San Francisco. Well, I was all ambitious at the time, and wanted fame more than anything... so I bit. First mistake.

He very quickly and skillfully started messing with my mind, claiming in short order that he was in love with me, and then shortly after that claiming that he was a key member of the Yakuza, the Japanese version of the Mafia. In my na´vetÚ, I believed all these things, but not completely, so I started trying to dig up information about him. Well, he had told me not to talk to anyone, so I had a guilty conscience, which he of course immediately picked up.

Have you ever met someone who is so skillful at debate or wordplay that you feel befuddled? He was like that, and had me so scared that I believed my family's lives were all in danger if I did not do exactly as he told me.

That's when the REALLY bad stuff started. There is a long list of crimes, including rape, beatings, starvation, sleep deprivation, torture of various kinds, extortion, and continual brainwashing. I was completely convinced that I deserved everything he dished out (and I was not the only victim at the time, to make it worse!). And in another twist, through all this, I was also convinced that he was my protector from a worse fate. He had me convinced that not only was my family in danger, but that if I left his presence for anything other than errands on which he sent me, or for work, my own life was in danger. Or that I would be captured by this faceless Yakuza because of my supposed "crimes", and tortured far worse than anything he could dish out. Happiness is relative, even in one's mind... It's bizarre, even as I read what I am writing... difficult to imagine that any of this is real.

It is real. This is not fiction.

And this went on for nearly a year, because he had also convinced me never to tell anyone because, again, I was constantly being watched by his protectors, the Yakuza. So I was isolated from friends and family in a most insidious fashion, to the point where they began mistrusting me because I had to be so circumspect in my dealings with them. And that mistrust led to eventual silence, and I have lost many friends because of this. Of course nothing ever happened to my family or friends, nor would anything have happened to them. Among other things, he is Hawaiian, though of Japanese extraction, and so excluded from the Yakuza by birth, according to some people who know these things. But at the time, I had to give him the benefit of the doubt, for the sake of my family, or so I believed. So even though I went out in public to work (and bring him my paychecks), I was silent about what was going on, even when asked about various bruises and scars (isn't it amazing how we can justify such things when pressed?) and could not, out of fear, check his lies against any kind of reality.

But then another person was dragged in. She had been a friend of mine before I got involved with psycho-boy, and he found out about her somehow, and convinced me to get her to meet him. Of course, out of fear, I did... There are many things that happened that year of which I am not proud. Getting my friend involved was one. Even though it saved me later, I wish that I had not put a friend through that...

He played many similar psychological tricks on her (without the physical damage, thank God!), and was nearly successful in setting us up against each other, but our trust for each other won out in the end, and we started comparing notes. And that, thankfully, was when it all fell apart. We realized he had been lying about everything, and so we left. Just like that. We were both at work one day, and just didn't go back to him.

She is still my friend, for which I am grateful, and one of the very few people who understands.

That in itself is a very sad commentary, that only those who have experienced such horror can have the sort of empathy needed to help other survivors through what they've experienced. Perhaps that is too broad a generalization, but it has certainly been my experience and the experience of many others with whom I've spoken.

On the other hand, there are entirely too many people who have experienced such horror.

One is too many. But I digress.

We spent many hours in the police station that night, and disappeared very effectively that weekend, still thinking it was possible that the Yakuza bit could be true. It was a frightening couple of days. More happened after we left, things such as psycho-boy threatening over the phone to kill me (get a gun and shoot me, he said) if I showed up again. I also discovered that he attempted to hook a new victim not three hours after he figured out we weren't coming back. Fortunately, his new target was not so vulnerable to his machinations, and her own instincts plus my very vehement warning kept her from harm.

My friend and I lost much in the way of possessions and money to him, which is no great loss at all compared to our freedom, but frustrating when trying to rebuild one's life with nothing. Psycho-boy called and harassed my friend at work for many days afterward. I was not able to go back to work, because it was truly not safe. I was working an overnight job at the time, and building security was not good. If psycho-boy had gotten it into his head to take revenge on me, that would have been the perfect time.

I live in another state now, and am steadily regaining my feet.

And now I'm fighting with the San Francisco justice system, trying to convince them that these crimes actually occurred. Making some progress, but painfully slowly. And you know what it took to get their attention? Not my story at all, but the fact that a girl is now missing, and possibly worse... and he may be responsible.

Please can this stop?


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