Stop wasting my time, I’m grieving
By: Lucky Clarke
Tags: Veterans, Suicide, Sexual Assault, Hollywood, Tattoo

Note: I started writing this weeks ago, on September 7th 2020; I had to process before posting as some very upsetting developments followed.

Photo by Jeremy Wong on Unsplash

To the arrogant tiny man in the hats (and those who claim him as anything other than their sexual predator),

This week is the 14th anniversary of my brother’s disappearance and death. He was sexually assaulted trying to buy marijuana on the grey market, and in the wake of that rape he felt immense guilt over some childish homophobic behavior he had shown towards me, and took his own life.

Photo by Chris Blonk on Unsplash

I remember always being taken aback and saying something whenever you would see me naked (years apart) you would say that you were glad that I didn’t have tattoos because they looked trashy. First of all, you may be in the wrong city as many people in LA have tattoos. Secondly most of my close friends have a plethora of tattoos. As did my brother.

None of these people are trashy.

Trashy is exposing someone who is supposed to be a friend to a deadly disease without consent even when you know them to be physically ill and to have had bad reactions to PEP/PREP drugs, lying about your contraction date and status for years, and then letting your friend/victim’s life get ruined only for you to threaten them with lawyers when they speak out (what you did to me). Not only is that trashy, it’s dishonest and cruel. My brother and friends are not those things.

My Brother was the best person I ever have known and ever will. He was smarter and more courageous than me and if he had been alive when you preyed on me and destroyed my life, he would have outed you in an instant and would have instantly seen through your real estate lawyer’s bombastic and specious legal threats and intimidation tactics. I was afraid for years.

Normally during this week, my mother and I take a vacation to somewhere Mike would have enjoyed and take comfort in each other’s company and celebrate his memory. You know all of this; you’ve actually watched my dog during one such trip when a sitter bailed. I can’t believe I trusted you with her. I can’t believe you’ve met my mother yet still had the nerve to say “noth’in I can do” and practically hangup on her when she called to let you know how sick and distraught I was in the wake of you exposing me. I also can’t believe that you had the nerve to text me (7–24–17), after I saw you in public (7–23–17) and ran away from you, and say that you had spoken with her and were glad to hear I was feeling better. I had been in the room when you spoke with her and she didn’t say anything remotely like that. And I wasn’t feeling better, as in my reply to that text I informed you I was still shitting my pants in public from the medications. That remains an occasional problem today, along with the tremors, a wrecked immune system, severely increased anxiety, etc.

This year, while my mother recovers from jet lag in the bed next to mine, I am nervously typing this, feeling put off by the fact that you have repeatedly expressed interest in speaking to me privately so I can vent to you about the seemingly unending damage your sex crimes against me have had on my life, yet when I agree to stop posting publicly to instead show mercy and vent to you in private, your real estate lawyer’s wife/business partner does not call me for several days after I was told she would (September 4th 2020), ignores multiple voice mails from me and my mother (September 6th 2020), and seems to think I will just go away unless I actively post.

In betwixt this she has sent gas-lighting demands for me to remove posts and sign a confidentiality agreement just to speak with you (in an email to my mother on 8/18/20, and even after I had previously responded to that email letting her know I wouldn’t be bullied or silenced by my sexual predator, again on 9–8–20, the depravity of which I will detail in my next post), acting as if it was not her who had initially contacted me for a meeting (on 6/28/20).

Also, my Uncle Frank died a couple of weeks ago. He was a retired General who I had little in common with except for an uncanny physical resemblance.

To say our family is not close would be an understatement; still I’m fairly certain that distant or not, had Uncle Frank been around when you did this to me he simply would have broken your fucking jaw so it would wired shut and you would not be able to expose anyone else with your paper-shredder mouth and lack of ethics.

When you did this to me, my first response was to, fruitlessly, try to convince you to go to therapy in the hopes that you would know that your dishonesty and sex crimes effect other people’s lives. While I don’t condone violence I wish I had my uncle’s directness and ability to swiftly address threats that helped him lead our nation’s special forces.

While I should be commiserating with my mother about our family’s losses, instead I am walking on eggshells feeling put off yet again by your arrogance, and nervous that such arrogance will lead you to continue to commit sex crimes against other victims. Nervous that you seem to have had your friends lurking on my online profiles (my IMDB and mandy.com have never received so much interest in a decade. My starmeter leaped almost 8 million places the week I first came forward; my email was also hacked but I can’t yet prove who by). Nervous that if I speak louder in defense of others you will sue me as you have continually threatened.

Your arrogance assumes that my timidness means I don’t truly have the courage to call you out or the presence to command the respect to make you hear the impact of your sex crimes. The fact I am related to the two brave souls I have described above assuages any fears I have and assures me I do.

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

You have already stripped my life of so much, as I have previously mentioned all I have to give is tears. Well, this week I got tea-tree oil soap and lavender oil soap in my eye (to treat an outbreak of molluscum; normally a chid-hood disease or an std, but as I’m not sexually active doctor’s think that and my weight loss to 140lbs can be signs of HIV or a horrifically wrecked immune system as a result of the brutal PREP pills), so my left tear duct seems to be blocked and I have even less of those (and my vision in that eye is slightly diminished since. Simply put, I am out of fear and out of cares to give. The only thing I give a crap about is protecting other people from you.

Photo by Marloes Hilckmann on Unsplash

That is also why I am invoking those of you who know the arrogant little man in the hats. His crimes are on you all now. Consider yourself aware of the monster in your presence. I won’t live my life imprisoned in silence by his threats. If your’e around him, it’s your burden to make sure he doesn’t prey on anyone else. No matter how well you know him (I knew him for 3 1/2 years and was blindsided), know that you can be duped. Know that he had no qualms about preying on someone who thought him close. Know that you have been warned.

UPDATE/NOTE: I still held off on posting this and anything else, and offered to fulfill what was YOUR request for a meeting (made on 7/28/20) in a private forum until I received yet another gaslighting email from your attorney (9/8//2020) leveraging my family tragedies when I tried to set a firm date before my brother’s death anniversary, as you kept seeming to put off the meeting so long as I wasn’t posting. You’ve taken a flamethrower to any bridge of kindness I had to extend.

-Clarke Fitzsimmons