Chapter 9: Kill Switch PsyOp

July 2025: This chapter is unfinished and I don’t know when I’ll care enough to polish it or add media.

I don’t remember a lot from September to December of 2023. At some point, I started using drugs with him, but I couldn’t tell you exactly when it began. I don’t remember learning he used them, but I do know I did not know in July of 2023 when we took his daughters to San Francisco. I just know that by then, he had already drugged and raped me. And somehow, after that, I was inhaling whatever he put in front of me.

The drug use was completely wrapped up in the baby-girl state. I was compliant. I’d say yes to anything.

Eventually, something in me started waking back up, my adult self, my prefrontal cortex, my boundary system. I began telling him it wasn’t okay. I asked him to stop offering it. I explained that I was dissociating, cited the parts of me that would dissociate and have ideations about myself or his son, tell him they were defense mechanisms in response to hi abuse, that what he was doing to me felt like pedophilia. I said it out loud.

That’s when he shifted. He stopped handing it to me directly and started making me hold it, then telling me to inhale.

Then in December, right after the state charged him with assaulting me there was a critical turning point. His strategy shifted from manipulation to full-scale psychological warfare.

From then on, he started pushing me toward a complete collapse. trying to get me to overdose, or retract my statement, whichever would bury the threat faster.

He used what he knew about me, my patterns, my traumas, my triggers, not to care for me, but to destabilize me.

There were nights when I’d sit at his feet while he was on the toilet, shaking, dissociated, devastated after one of his breakup-return cycles. I’d follow him around like a sick puppy, just trying to be okay again. He’d interrogate me about sleeping with other people after he’d return from being away for days. and then force sexual acts on me like punishment for behaviors I was not even engaging in.

At the time, I didn’t register it as assault. I was still in that baby-girl mindset, trying to contort my body into something appealing, trying to keep him from hurting me more. He told me I looked ugly if I didn’t look aroused, so I learned to mask resistance even in my face.

The only times I could think clearly were when would be gone with his son for a couple days, which was rare. But even a few hours away gave me just enough space to feel. It would become momentarily safe to realize I was being abused, and to want boundaries.

I’d get furious. I’d cry. I’d talk to the camera like it was him, trying to say everything he wouldn’t hear.

He used fear of law enforcement to control me too. After using, he’d say things like, “I have a prescription for Adderall, so I’ll be fine. But you? You’ll go to jail. You’ll be eating dogshit.”

He kept planting seeds of betrayal, too. He’d “accidentally” tap on messages to other women while I was nearby, then scramble to close them. He did it constantly, just enough to get a reaction, then pretend I imagined it.

If I confronted him, he’d fall back on the script: “I’m doing what you’re doing.” Over and over. “You’re doing what I’m doing.” It confused me at the time, but now I realize it was behavioral entrainment. He was trying to get me to cheat, or at least to believe I was capable of it. That we were the same.

I didn’t cheat. I wouldn’t even talk to other people. I knew I was vulnerable, and I didn’t want to bring anyone else into that. I didn’t want to use anyone for comfort. I didn’t want to disrespect a future partner by being emotionally unavailable while I was still drowning in Sean.

Meanwhile, he was actively trying to program me to cheat. Just like he used to make me repeat things after sex, he started telling me to make dating profiles. Told me which pictures to use. What to write.

Over a year later I realized it was a setup, so he could blackmail me, make me look unstable, and protect himself. He wanted access to my phone, so he could get my contacts to blackmail me, and he did that by engaging my curiosity over whether he was cheating, and told me he’d only show me if I showed him something. He wanted us to trade phones. God the level of sickery here is just gross. This man has teenage children, it’s just disgusting.

A couple memories I’d like to forget: him saying we needed to stop having sex because he had “just found out” the meth he gave me had fentanyl in it. He said it probably numbed me, and that’s why I didn’t notice how bruised my genitals were. I think he was worried a doctor might notice I was being raped.

And one time, as he was getting meth ready, he looked up at me, right in the eyes and said “wouldn’t it be sad if you became an addict and died, and it was because of me?”

He wanted me to retract my statement to the police about him hitting me, because his attorney said everything would go away if I did that. The state had charged him with assault. And the plea deal he was trying to blackmail me to get out of?

One

day

in

jail.

Two years of probation. That’s what he was facing. And even one day in jail was too much for him. God, he brings shame to everyone with a variable in common with him. He should be disowned by the VA, americans, people with penises. Humans. everyone. His existence brings shame to the entire species.

So instead of taking accountability, he tried to break me. He raped me, gaslit me, pushed me into states of terror and collapse. He used psychological warfare to avoid facing what he did.

He used to go on and on about how he’d never plead guilty, because that would mean admitting guilt. Once I had to talk him into apologizing to his daughters for not sending christmas presents and he literally said that “that’s admitting I’m wrong.” He is that level of committed to his crap.

So yeah, you know. He ended up getting three years unsupervised probation with 180 days suspended jail. So he walks free unless he commits a crime or talks to me, then he would serve the jail time. It feels… like America can do better.