In 1987 when Lori infected me with the AIDS virus, while I slept, I believed that I was going to die. So, since I was 19, my mortality has been an issue. Of course, there were the years before when my father was accused of molesting a boy, when it felt like the world had come to an end too...so this feeling of impending doom has been in my life since I was about 11. In short, it changes a person. When you find out later, when you are 50 years old that someone was actually behind all of this pain, you get to the point where you start to believe that this tortured life was all at the hands of someone else.
You dig and dig and finally see daylight only to have someone else come along and throw twice as much dirt on you than you had before, for no apparent reason at all. You didn't know them, you did everything to help them, but they don't see anything but more dirt to cover you with. It feels like this picture.
It's worse when it is your own boyfriend with the shovel.
What I've learned about this crime is devastating. What I've learned about the people behind it is very heartbreaking. The whole crime was about someone else. Someone that I had nothing to do with who obsessed over me until they could throw me in a deep grave so that they could grovel.
Once I began taking HIV meds and I was undetectable, Lori came back again in the early morning hours to try to reinfect me with Hep C. At the time, not curable and another death sentence. When I took that information to the police, after my rape, they did absolutely nothing about it. The grave was re-opened and Chief Reyes threw me back inside the box. After years of struggling to make it, making it, then having it taken from me...I was handed another death sentence. So much for living, I am dying slowly without anyone doing or saying anything about it.
I tried to make the most out of this fucked up life by helping other people. They were saved, but me, they left to die in the desert all alone and without any concern for what Lori was doing again. She was living out another killing fantasy with an audience.
If you wonder why I am mad, understand that I had this whole situation finished because I found a way out. Then along came Jeffrey who threw me back into a deeper grave, took all of my way out, then buried me out in the desert without any support from anywhere. He took my escape money. He took my home. He took my family. Then he discarded me like trash on Sunday. There wasn't any empathy for me, I'm a nobody.
Christopher is the added knife in the back. Supporting a plan to keep me buried alive and silencing me forever. I'm dying in the middle of my own Hell. This is what I never wanted to happen and I stopped it for so many of my friends, including him. When someone lies to you, it suffocates your light and you burn out.
I'm barely breathing now...
Taking away every bit of love, appreciation, companionship, friendship and future, Jeffrey decided to help three people that were absolutely fine. They weren't in any danger. They were safe in his home, but the attraction of watching someone struggle to live was more important than saving the one person that did what nobody else was willing to do: speak out. I had to. I was advised by Bryan Anderson to report the rape. I was asked to become an informant. I told the truth to the police. I gave them exactly who they asked for in terms of the kiddie porn...and for all of that, I was given a death sentence in the desert.
I now sleep in the garage of my parent's home. My cat died. My family barely speaks to me. I don't have a single friend to talk to or hug. I don't have any of the things that I worked my ass off for to try to have one single year without Lori and Brian following me and trying to snuff out the rest of my life. I didn't have a choice but to speak out. If I didn't more of my friends would have ended up with AIDS. If I kept silent my whole family would have been in danger. What choice did Jeffrey give me? Nothing. I helped his son and he fucked me for doing it.
I am living in my own version of Hell. I'm an intelligent man that is treated like some dullard homeless person that didn't plan for his future. I didn't have a future for most of my life. For someone to come along and say, "Guess what, I was going to help you with this problem, but I decided to help the girls that killed you instead" is a knife through the heart after years of dodging bullets.
I don't understand Jeffrey any more than any of you do. I do understand that he did this on purpose. He isn't a kind person. He's terrible to anyone without money or that can help him hurt me. Christopher's involvement is like dumping more salt on open wounds that never heal. There isn't a future for me...but if I saved some kid from being knocked out, infected, filmed and humiliated by Lori and Brian, then at least I wasn't as apathetic as the rest of you.
I begged for your help. You said no. I guess that's it.
