Since December 2016, when the lawyers for the property management sent me their first letter telling me to stop what they called my false accusation of voyeurism or I'd be evicted, I have asked that people who know that it's not a false accusation tell those lawyers that it's the truth.
4 months. Nobody has. They also hack my phone, so they know about all of the people whom I have called or emailed for help in the Boston area, who either don't believe that the hidden, illegal cameras are in the apartment or don't know what to do about it. The people who hack my phone and watch me in my home have seen and heard me have phone conversations with suicide crisis and sexual abuse crisis volunteers.
They don't care.
Not only do they not care, they like it. They like seeing my helplessness, and they're calling me a bitch who deserves it and who's trying to ruin other people's lives. They're telling jokes. They're doing whatever they want, which is what they've always done, while they accuse me of being a slut, a liar, and a criminal.
They're used to these pages, also. My angry pages. Thousands of them, published as the abuse of me is institutionalized, as the gossip about me that's 20 years old is passed around to excuse every new horror that's inflicted on me.
Probably, even my talking about suicide has been a joke for them for years.
"You liked it, you fucking whore, and you know it." I never did want a grave, but is that what they think my epitaph should be?
Sarcasm Alert:
No, of course not; who would say that?
End of Sarcasm Alert.
Copyright L. Kochman, April 28, 2017 @ 1:10 a.m.
