From: slh@gtech.com (Sandy L. Haddon)
Subject: (none)
Organization: GTECH Corporation, West Greenwich, RI
Date: Sun, 22 Nov 1992 04:31:31 GMT

What follows is a letter I wrote to my perp.

First, a little backround.  I have been dealing with being "haunted" lately 
by a werewolf.  First in dreams, then as the pieces of the past: body 
memories, triggered memories, thoughts, etc. have returned, I found my self 
reverting to the childish idea of a werewolf sneaking up on me.  I couldn't 
handle anything there for a bit.  I'm still struggling.  I would appreciate
e-mail from any of you that have dealt with this craziness of remembering
and not believing yourself.  How long does this last?  How long does this
feel like a major emergency?  What'd you do for yourself that worked?
But I sidetrack myself...

I got the idea to write him a letter.  I know that it is a "him" and
I strongly suspect who it was/is.  The letter that follows is angry.

I also seemed to use so much foul language, it surprised even me.

After I wrote this, I felt better for a while.  But its still "Up and Down"
a lot.  If you are not up to it, I recommend you press, "N".  Now.


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I am not kidding...lots of angries follow.
















Dear Perp,

I'm 33 years old now.  I'm really good at what I do.  I'm living in my own
house, driving my own car, exercising my own talents like singing and playing
my guitar, taking care of myself physically and going to therapy to work
on my skills for dealing with my past, present and future.  No thanks to
you, you son of a bitch.

You are the goddamn werewolf I can't seem to get my brains to process.  I
know that but I don't know that.  So you have achieved eternal life, at 
least in my life, as a creature from hell.  There's a little kid inside
of me that you had a lot to do with making.  Incest has more than one
meaning here.  Not only were you responsible for acts that I can only
surmise happened right now, you, by virture of these acts, froze me right
there forever.  That is, I seem to have given birth to a slew of children
that I had inside of me because of your acts and you.  You son of a bitch.

You are the god damn pig who can't get enough of whatever it is you wanted,
not me, as I originally thought.  You are the insidious, filthy scum who
hurt me.  You hurt me.  And you probably hurt my mother, your wife, my
father, my sisters, cousins, aunts and uncle in the same way or as a kind
of fallout from hurting somebody they loved and screwing everybody's life
up by leaving them to deal with the fallout of your actions.  I hope
you are in eternal torment having to play the werewolf in all of these
people's lives at all the times they are haunted.  You were so scared to
die that you wouldn't give up to it until the red blood cells your body
made couldn't hold the oxygen anymore.  They had to transfuse you with
whole blood or else you weren't lucid. Were you finally aware that you
might have to answer for your actions?   It's too bad that you had to die
before I found out.  I would have turned one of my required "visits" to you
in the nursing home into the most painful day of your life.  I could have
told you how much I hate werewolves and how much I hate you.  I could 
have given you formal notice that you are not going to be seeing me 
around anymore, I know about you.  I could have told you that I am going
to tell.  I'm big and I'm grown and I'm telling all about you.  You might
as well wash any hopes of sainthood right down the drain because its over.
In more ways than you were probably ever aware of, its over.  I could have
wounded you with words.  I could have hurt you physically.  I could have
told you things that might have killed you right then but you are gone
now and I can't tell you to your face.  You son of a bitch.

Did you enjoy yourself, you son of a bitch?
Did you plan it so nobody ever found out, you son of a bitch?
How did you scare me into silence, you son of a bitch?
Were you glad when I was born, another girl to do it to, you son of a bitch?
When did you start, you son of a bitch?
Did you like yourself before, during and after, you son of a bitch?
Did you tell your wife or did she help you, you son of a bitch?
Did you go to confession and tell the priest, you son of a bitch?
Did you do penance and feel all better, you son of a bitch?
Did you go to hell, you son of a bitch?

Well if you did, its not good enough.  I sincerely hope you went someplace
worse than hell.  I hope you are reincarnated on the recieving end this
time and I hope that you NEVER find out.  I hope that this new life is a
wasted one and that you have to come back to it again and again.  One 
lifetime for every single thing that you did to me.  One whole wasted 
lifetime in hell.  And while I'm at it, one for each one in the family
you hurt in every single possible way.  One very long and intensely painful
lifetime of no resolution for every single thing you did.  And I hope it
hurts you, a lot.

There's people I'm related to that tell stories about the strangest things.
Your son, sleepwalking and punching out his children and wife
in the night.  Girl cousins, alone in their fear of being the only one
crazy enough to think it, scared of the monster upstairs at the shorehouse.
Aunts that go periodically off the deep-end, attributed to the fact that
their mother, my grandmother, being so crazy all the time.  Suicidal
personalities abound in our family.  Denial is a finely honed skill.  
But you, there's no legends about you, there's no "bad stuff" about you,
there's nothing awful about you.  You are just perfect.  But ya know what?
I know different.  I remember when I went to my sister and then my mother
with the facts:  the facts about you.  And I was told that I misinterpreted
your actions, I was the one that was wrong.  Are you the source of all of
this craziness, you son of a bitch?  I think you are responsible for a
good portion of it, you bastard.

I hate to have to do this work because of what you did to me but I am doing
it.  Consider this formal notification.  I'm working on myself and I'm
getting me an education on skills I never knew existed.  I'm going to kill
you and you can't stop me.  All of these little girl children are no longer
on their own.  All of these little people are scared out of their minds.
I used to leave them out there for you to hurt.  I used to leave them out
there for you to stalk and haunt and terrorize.  I'm not doing that anymore.
As soon as I began to accept them they started releasing all this shit about
you to me.  I'm having problems with it now but I plan on getting myself
in order.  My priority is them now.  So fuck you and be informed, you are
not allowed in anymore.

So just try it you bastard.  C'mon.  I'll take you on, you shithead.
Turn into anything you want, I know lots of magic too.  I know lots of
ways to protect myself and I'm learning more all the time.  You are dead
and can't learn anything new, you stupid fuck.  I'll beat you.  You can
take that as a threat AND a promise.

I hope your twisted-fuck soul is right here in another body and I hope
you are suffering.  I hope you continue to suffer and suffer and suffer.

I wish you could have read this but I think you already know, you bastard.

You stole from me.  You stole things that I haven't even had time to think
about yet.  I thought it was all my fault but it wasn't.  The fault belongs
to you, you bastard.  You took what wasn't yours to take.  You forced on
me things that weren't yours to force.  You didn't care about me at all.
You didn't treat me in the ways that I deserved to be treated.  Did you
hear that you stupid, selfish fuck?  You broke my heart.  You stole my
childhood.  You invaded me in places that you aren't allowed to invade
people without asking and without them agreeing.  You laid the groundwork
for almost thirty years of lost time and pain.  You used my body.  You 
destroyed my trust before I even got used to the idea of it.  You left me
with scars on my soul.  You used me with no thought of anyone or anything but
yourself.  And after all of that, you left me to figure it all out for 
myself alone and without the skills.  

I don't know how many times you stole from me but I hope you are living
in terror on a minute to minute basis.  That's how part of me has lived
for almost 30 years.  I hope you don't get what you need.   That's how
I have lived for almost 30 years.  I hope its worse for you though.  I
hope that you do really DO know what you want and need.  I hope that you
have to ask for it all the time and recieve the opposite.  I hope you
are worse off than I ever was.

I'm glad you are dead.

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The perp is dead.  I felt some vindication at deciding that he could 
"hear" me.  But for good measure, I sent Sandal (the guardian angel/
warrior/protector) off with it to find him, wherever he is.  

San
Newsgroups: alt.sexual.abuse.recovery