My first night was spent in segregation, though, because of a book of matches they found in the coin pocket of my pants after a visit with my mom. I honestly did not know the matches were even there (they returned my clothes to me without searching them very well after I was admitted). As I laid down contemplating the unfairness of it all, the bunk I was lying on started thumping a half inch or so up and down. It seemed the boy in the cell next door was jumping up and down on his bunk, which was bolted to my bunk through the wall. So I stood on my bunk and looked through a crack between the cells where the wall met the windows, and I could see him bouncing in the window.
I asked him what he was doing and he told me he was putting on a «show» for the girls in the dorm across the court yard out the window. When I looked I saw several girls crowded in one of the large dorm-room windows in the wing across the way. They were taking turns lifting their shirts and exposing their breasts. The boy next to me was exposing an erection in turn.
I don't remember if I exposed myself as well, but I probably did (it would have been the «natural» thing to do). I also don't recall if I could actually see the boy next to me through the crack exposing himself to the girls, the whole experience was brand new for me, and strangely liberating. I did not know such behavior could be accepted (among kids), and of course it thrilled me.
The next day I was put back in regular population and spent my days interacting with the other boys mostly (for the most part, the girls hung out together, as did they boys, much like high school), and at night we showered together and slept in dorm rooms with about five to ten other boys each. Other than the «exposing» incident on my first night, there were no other «sexual» situations that I recall. I got along okay with the other boys and «fit in» without trouble.
I was charged with numerous criminal traffic violations, failure to appear, and «assault with a deadly weapon on an officer of the law» in the first degree. The assault charge was obviously the most serious, and surprising. I didn't «assault» anyone! But, the police claimed that I tried to run over the state trooper when I ran the road block, and that the car I was driving was the «deadly weapon».
Of course the real reason for such a serious charge was to justify in their sacred record the fact that the state trooper tried to kill me, and very nearly did, when he fired his 12-gauge point blank at my head (and only missed by inches because I was moving about 40 mph when he fired!)
The court appointed lawyer made a plea deal to drop all charges except the assault, and reducing the assault to «second degree». This got me a suspended sentence with probation on the grounds that I be placed in a «group home» for «delinquent» boys (this was back before they started using the term «at risk» like they do today, but it was the same concept).
I was sent to Dyslin's Boys Ranch, in a semi-rural district near Tacoma. They raised cows there (mostly) and a few other farm animals on several fenced-in acres. The ranch was divided into two parts where the kids lived. The main part was called the «Front Ranch». That was where I went first. It was primarily for boys under 14 or 15 years old (pre-high-school).
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Jessie Dyslin Boys' Ranch, Tacoma, WA. |
There was one incident that occurred while I was at Dyslin's that had a major impact on my sexual behavior after I went back home to live with my mother. But that did not occur until I got to the «Back Ranch» where the older high-school-aged boys stayed, and it did not involve anyone actually at the ranch, boys or staff. But, I'll get to that in a moment.
I learned after my arrest in 2005 (25 years later) that there actually was a lot of «sexual abuse» going on at the «Front Ranch» while I was there. The mitigation investigators for my death penalty cases uncovered numerous criminal and civil law cases against ranch staff for abuses that occurred there for many years, around the time I was there. My lawyers tried to get me to «admit» to any abuse I suffered while I was there, but I honestly never witnessed or even suspected such abuse. But then, I was still very naïve back then, so I would have had no reason to suspect anything even if I did see something «suspicious».
The important thing for me, in hindsight, was that I clearly remember no sexual interest in «abusing» anyone myself while I was there. This became a kind of «touchstone» memory for me that helped me come to understand many year later how the System brainwashed me into believing I was «sick», «dangerous», and «deviant», when the truth was I was only confused by the many mixed signals I got from our very confused social system and culture (which I have since come to refer to as the «insanity» that infected me).
I was only at the Front Ranch until there was an opening at the Back Ranch. The Back Ranch consisted of a main house (original old farm house) and two «cottages» where the boys slept. There were only four boys in each cottage, and each cottage had two bedrooms, a bathroom, and living area. It was actually a very comfortable arrangement. Two staff members, a married couple, lived in the main house were we went for meals. We even had an old outboard motorboat that we could take to a lake (with staff), and that was how I first learned to water-ski.
I was required to attend summer «interim» classes at the local high school. I took, «chess». So, walked about a mile and a half to the school each weekday to play chess. Fun.
We had a considerable amount of freedom. If we wanted to go someplace we were only required to get permission at the time, or basically just notify the live in staff, then go. There was an «Indian Smoke Shop» (Native American-owned and operated store that sold tax-free cigarettes for $4.50 a carton) about three or four miles up a nearby road (a straight shot), and since we were allowed to smoke (even though it was technically illegal for anyone under 18) the «Smoke Shop» was a frequent destination. But, since it was so far, we always hitchhiked once we got to the road that went there. The staff condoned the hitchhiking as well. And because we were kids, we never had a problem getting a ride.
One day, on the way to the Smoke Shop, my room mate and I got a ride in the back of a canopied Chevy Luv pick-up truck. I remember this clearly because it ended up becoming much more than just a ride for cigarettes. The man driving the truck already had two boys around our age sitting in the front with him, which is why he told us to climb in the back. He drove us to the Smoke Shop, then offered us a ride back to the ranch even (he said he was familiar with the ranch and knew some of the other boys there). Of course we accepted and on the way back he offered us both money to come work at his gas station. My room mate became suspicious, but he didn't tell me why he was wary, so I accepted the offer and agreed to meet him the next day out on the road (away from the ranch) so he could take me to work.
I told the staff the next day simply that I had a work for money offer and they did not pry. The man in his Chevy Luv met me on the road as promised and drove me to a gas station in Tacoma, about ten miles away. I remember it was a full service station, and he pulled his truck into one of the service bays and closed the garage door. All of the «attendants» at the station were boys my age or a little older. The man told me to put on some overalls so I wouldn't soil my clothes while I changed oil in his car. He insisted that I remove my clothes in the stead of the overalls, so I did. He didn't stick around to watch me change, so I honestly (innocently) assumed it was all for legitimate reasons. But in hindsight I can only assume he went somewhere where he could watch me change without being seen, because he came back as soon as I'd finished changing, and instead of having me change the oil on his pick-up --- which I assured him I did not know how to do --- he changed it himself, to «show me how».
Then he said that since there wasn't much for me to do at the gas station he wanted me to come to his house and mow his lawn instead. He must have liked what he saw from wherever he was hiding when I stripped down to my underpants to put on the overalls. Anyway, I again innocently agreed. Though I was getting a little suspicious, I never felt scared or even worried.
We drove about 15 miles to his, uh, «house» in a suburban residential area, only it wasn't a house at all, it was a large trailer-home. And his yard wasn't a lawn either. It was a dirt lot with nothing but rocks and weeds. So as soon as we pulled up I asked, «How can I mow this?» and he said, «Oh, I meant 'use the weed-whacker' on it.» But, he wanted me to come inside first for a «refreshment», ... of course.
Inside he made me a cold drink, then asked if I wanted to play chess (I probably told him about my «interim» chess class, which is why he asked me to play a game with him). He set the board up on an ottoman and I sat on the floor on one side while he sat in a large leather lounge chair on the other. During the game, which it was clear to me at this point he had no interest in, he «suggested» that I might be more comfortable if I took my pants off. So I did. And yes, I realized what his real interests were by now also, but I didn't mind. People had been expressing this sort of «interest» in me all my life, so it was nothing new and certainly no surprise. So when he further suggested that I take off my underpants as well, I did not even hesitate. I just took them off, then went back to figuring out my next move on the chess board, boner and all.
He didn't «molest» me right away. Instead he just talked about all sorts of strange and confusing things I'd never heard of before. He talked about how «lucky» I was that I met him instead of someone else who liked to «abuse» boys like me by burning them with cigarettes and such. He also told me he collected pictures of kids like me and asked if I'd mind if he took my picture. Of course I didn't. So he brought out a Polaroid camera and snapped a couple of pictures of me positioned on his sofa. And then he said he wanted to take more pictures in the woods. So we got back in the Chevy Luv and drove to a secluded area in some nearby woods. There, he told me to take off all my clothes and took several pictures of me with my arms above my head and stomach sucked in like he wanted.
He «finished» by lying down on his back and having me bite his nipples, «harder, harder! Harder!» Then I felt something warm and wet against the side of my chest, and that was it. I got dressed, he drove me back to the road near the ranch, and most importantly --- to me at the time --- he paid me in cash for a full day's work, even though I was only with him for a few hours at the most. I was very pleased with myself.
The encounter «woke up» or perhaps «placed» ideas into my head that in less than a year would violently and extremely effect the rest of my life. I have never blamed this man or what he did to me for my crimes; but there is an undeniable connection between what he did to me --- especially the «strange» things he said to me --- and what I ended up doing only six months later. It's hard to explain this connection, except to say that my experience with this man raised a lot of questions in me regarding human sexuality --- and MY sexuality. They were questions that I only knew one way to answer: experimentation. And that is exactly what my so-called early «crimes» were; an attempt to find answers to questions that I did not even know how to ask!
As you might surmise, my experience at the Boys' ranch was teaching me that there were no real consequences for breaking the rules, or laws.
The Smoke Shop also sold illegal fireworks in the parking lot for the Fourth of July. (It was legal for them to be sold on «Indian» property, but illegal to take them off property. So sometimes the cops would park just off property and ticket anyone they caught leaving with illegal fireworks --- and they were all illegal because they were sold without permits.) One day, a group of us boys from the Back Ranch (all four kids from our cottage) found ourselves at the Smoke Shop after dark and after the fireworks stands were closed up for the night. We took note of the guard as we left to head back to the ranch, but then we noticed a weakness in their security. The shacks with all the fireworks were built on loose dirt. So we snuck up behind the stand furthest away from the guard, who never left his chair, and dug a hole underneath the back plywood wall. Because I was the skinniest of the four of us I got elected to climb through and into the shack. Once inside I started grabbing hand fulls of the «best stuff» and tossing them into the hole. I also tossed out several paper bags so the boys on the other side could bag up what I threw into the hole for them to grab.
We got away «clean» with several hundred dollars worth of fireworks, a bag load for each of us. We took the «back way» back to the ranch instead of hitchhiking, and when we got there we hid the fireworks... or, I hid the fireworks, again because I was the skinniest, underneath the cottage in the crawlspace. We ended up getting «busted» for having the fireworks, but by the time we got busted, there wasn't a lot left, and the staff had no idea it was actually stolen. They only admonished us for having «illegal Indian fireworks», which were against the rules at the ranch. But then they let us set off all we had left, under their «supervision» on the Fourth of July anyway.
And this was all my «punishment» for stealing a car and running from the police (and supposedly «assaulting» an officer of the law with a «deadly weapon»). I was having a blast at the Ranch. I had never felt more «accepted» anywhere before. Now, I was not only accepted, but even appreciated! The ranch even got us summer jobs that paid minimum wage (about $5 per hour) after the «interim» classes were over (the jobs were part of a «Youth Summer Employment» initiative that was paid for with State funds, so the jobs were mostly «invented» since the «employer» didn't have to pay for them). My job was supposed to be washing dishes at the Madigan Army Medical Center (MAMC), the same hospital where I had been taken and stayed for a week after crashing that stolen car! But, the other workers there liked me, especially the cooks. So I got «promoted» on my first day to a «Cook V» («Cook Five»), or basically a cook-trainee.
I really liked the job. Again, it made me feel very accepted and appreciated. I worked hard and I learned a lot. Of course I was the only «kid» working there. All the other employees were mostly retired military, and old women who couldn't get a job anywhere else. They all loved me, which I liked, even if I didn't understand why at the time (in hindsight, I'd guess it was because I was very respectful of my elders, and eager to learn; I also «soaked up» all the attention they gave me, which was more attention than I'd gotten anywhere before).
There was only one other «Cook V». He was a mentally retarded man who lived with his mother. I even got along with him, though the «serving ladies» (older women) warned me to stay away from him. When I asked why (like they obviously wanted me to), they said, using a conspiratorial whisper, «Because he likes to let women pee on him!»
Well, that was certainly strange, and of course it made no «sense» to my young ears. So, the first chance I got, I had to ask him. I got my chance quickly enough, while he and I were alone working together preparing Rubin sandwiches for the grill (or something). I just came right out and asked, «Do you like getting peed on?» And his eyes lit up with unrestrained excitement and he spoke with great pleasure in his voice, «Oh, yes! I love it!» But, he didn't explain, so I pried further, and he lit up my ears by happily explaining how he saved his money to pay women (he didn't call them prostitutes, though I'm sure that's what he meant) to pee on him. He had the body of a man, but the mind (mentality) of a nine-year-old, and it was enlightening, to say the least, to hear this boy-man speak so excitedly about getting peed on, and even paying women to do it!
Sometimes, when we finished serving lunch and cleaning up early, I'd have an hour or so to kill before the ranch van came to pick me up and take me back to the ranch with the rest of the boys. So, I'd walk around the hospital, which was rather large and had its own PX (store), public pool and gym, and even a park and picnic area. It was at this park that my first real attempted «sex crime» occurred.
I was relaxing at the park with time to kill one day when a young boy, maybe seven, approached me (I did not approach him or had any ideas about approaching him when I first saw him, which is important to note since it indicates how such ideas must «evolve» and do not just arise out of nowhere, or «someplace evil»). In those days (remember, this is the summer of 1979), it was not uncommon for a curious child, especially a boy, to be seen wandering around alone. There wasn't any less «stranger danger», as there is today, perhaps even more; but people just weren't as concerned about «perverts» back then as they are today, and if a little boy did get touched or kissed on his penis, it was no big deal, for the boy or the parents. So, when the boy approached me, he was just looking for someone to play with him, and because I was the only other «kid» around, he chose me.
At first, I was distinctly disinterested in him. There was a girl my own age in the park also, and I had been talking to her. But she said she had to go home (there was a military housing area next to the hospital). So I was still thinking about her when the boy approached. And, somehow, my mind made a connection with girl-sex-man (from gas station)-boy, and I decided to lure the boy into the bushes, so I could pull his pants down and «experiment».
I got the boy in the bushes, and tried to threaten him with the cook's utility knife I carried in my shirt pocket for work. But as soon as I pulled out the knife, the boy bolted, which I did not expect. And he also started yelling, «Help!» So I bolted, too, in the opposite direction. I ended up being a few minutes late in meeting the van to take me back to the ranch for which I was again admonished; but that was the only consequence for this first attempted «kidnap and rape» (which is what it would have been if I so much as put my penis in the boy's mouth or a finger in his butt).
After spending such a summer at the ranch, my probation officer decided that I had learned my «lesson» and allowed me to return home to live with my mother. Oh, yeah... another important event that occurred while I was at the ranch was my parents getting «separated», and consequently divorced while I was there. Of course I blamed myself, even though I came to realize many years too late that I had nothing to do with it. But, when I went home to live with my mom, my younger brother moved out to go live with my father. So now my mother and I lived alone in the same house where our entire family once lived just a couple of years before (my three older sisters had also moved out by this time, the youngest off to college, and the oldest just married off and living with their new families). The guilty sense of having «destroyed my family» was prevailing for me, though I never spoke of it.
When the school year started that fall, I went back to my old high school, but had to start the tenth grade all over again because of all the school I missed over the last year. That only fed my already huge «sense of failure». This, combined with my newly learned «immunity from consequence», was a good recipe for what happened next (though certainly not the only recipe for such). I began seeking opportunities to «experiment» and learn what I could about myself sexually and otherwise. I played «hookie» (skipped school) and hid in the girls' bathroom at an elementary school once and almost got caught, but got away (again by running away, or «bolting», which always seemed to work well for me). I also threatened an entire group of five younger boys I found playing in the woods once with an ax (which I had taken from the boys themselves as they were playing with it) and made them all take their clothes off and touch each other while I touched them and masturbated. I also «molested» some even younger children that I babysat for a friend of my mother's, one even in diapers, but all I did was, again, look and touch while I masturbated. I was never inclined to do anything «violent» or «cruel» (causing pain or injury) until the fateful night that I found myself in possession of several handguns and got the idea that I could force a girl to let me have sex with her.
But, when I went looking for a girl, all I found was a boy. I literally passed him by at first. But when I saw him again a bit later, I decided to try my «experiments» on him. I threatened him with an empty gun (I had stolen ammunition, but did not bring it explicitly because I did not want to «accidentally» hurt anyone) and made him take off his clothes. I then took off my clothes and straddled his chest and put my penis in his mouth. This «experiment» did not produce «pleasure», so I masturbated as I straddled him and then ejaculated in the dirt next to his head. After getting dressed, I meant to let him go, but decided instead to «try something else» (another experiment).
I made him walk to an even more secluded location in some woods that were actually a part of the Ft. Lewis («North») military base (which is what made it so «secluded» --- we had to breech a security fence to even get into the woods, which we did by simply following a back road onto the base that had no «security gate»).
Once we were in the woods, walking on a dirt access road, I told the other boy to take off his clothes again and then leave them by the road as we kept walking. Remember here that I was «experimenting», looking for things that would give me pleasure. So telling him to walk with no clothes was an attempt to get pleasure from control and humiliation. I did not think this at the time, though. Instead, my only actual thoughts were few and «serviceable». I only thought things like, «What can I do next?» or «That wasn't any fun...» As for feelings, I wasn't scared or nervous; nor was I very excited or anxious. I just felt «normal», like this was all just an encounter with a new friend or something. I had no concern at all for any consequences, other than the embarrassment I might feel if I got found out. In my mind at the time, stealing cars and running from the police was far worse than what I was doing with that 14-year-old boy.
We eventually left the road and into the trees. I wondered, «What now?» and decided to see if hitting the boy with a fern branch would arouse any interest. It didn't. Then I lit a cigarette, and remembered what the gas station man told me about men who like burning boys with their cigarettes. So I tried that, too (by touching the cherry of my cigarette to the boy's butt only long enough to make him flinch --- i.e. I didn't hold it on his skin or take pleasure in the act at all the way I've been often accused). That didn't «make any sense» either, so I did not repeat it. In fact, I didn't repeat anything I did, because I was, remember, «experimenting».
I then told the boy to lie down and this time I straddled his face and told him to lick my butt (experimenting with humiliation and control again, which seemed to «do something» for me). Then I masturbated again and, this time, ejaculated in the boy's mouth.
After all this, I got dressed and told the boy to wait there until I was gone. But he complained that he did not know where his clothes were or even how to get out of the woods. So I led him back to his clothes and out of the woods, then again told him to wait until I was gone.
As an adult, some 30 years later, this «boy» testified at my death penalty sentencing trial that this was by far the most painful and terrifying experience of his life. At the time, I thought I was being «nice» to him, and maybe even teaching him «fun» things. Even now I can't help but wonder what sort of «sheltered life» he must have had if this was the «worst thing» that ever happened to him! If the exact same thing happened to me, I would have considered it a walk in the park and thought nothing of it. Many worse things had happened to me before then, and far, FAR worse things since. If I could have spoken my mind to him at the death penalty trial, I would have liked to say how «charmed» his life must have been. I wouldn't call it «lucky», though. I can't imagine living how in such ignorance could ever be called «lucky».
On the way home, I saw a police car parked in front of the house where I had stolen the guns and ammunition from earlier that night. So I threw the gun I was carrying, unloaded and with no clip, into some bushes before continuing the rest of the way home. And that's exactly how the police found it (unloaded and with no clip) when I showed them where to look after my arrest.
They arrested me at my house about a half hour after I got home. It turned out that the boy «recognized» my voice. It was the voice of a well-known bully who picked on him a lot (because he was smaller than most boys their age) at school. Except it wasn't my voice he recognized; it was my brother's. I had never met the boy before, but it seems my brother knew him well, and used to pick on him a lot in school (they were the same age). But, when the police came to arrest my brother, they found me instead. And, when they got me to the police station, all they had to do was promise me some «help» with my «confusion» and I broke down crying and told them everything I just relayed here (except the part about making the boy lick my ass, for some reason that was too embarrassing, even for me). As a result, they charged me with two counts of first degree burglary (because I told them I went back to the house after I stole the guns to steal more stuff, in particularly ammunition), two counts first degree rape (because I admitted to putting my dick int he boy's mouth twice), two counts of assault (one «simply» because I admitted to hitting the boy with a fern, which left no marks, and one «second degree» for burning him with a cigarette, which left a small red mark), and two counts first degree kidnapping (because I forced the boy at gunpoint to go to two different locations). I spent several months in Raymann Hall (Juvenile Detention) before they «declined» me to «adult status». My father hired a lawyer this time, John Laddenburg (who was later elected District Attorney, or some such thing) who met with me once briefly at the Pierce County Jail (where I was kept separated from the other prisoners and not allowed to smoke because I was a juvenile) and then worked out a plea agreement where I would plead guilty to one count of first degree rape, in exchange for a 20-year-sentence that would be suspended pending successful completion of a «Sexual Psychopath» Treatment Program at the state mental hospital near Tacoma (Western State Hospital).
And so began a nightmare that was far FAR worse than any I had ever even imagined before... a nightmare filled with extreme violence, perversion, isolation, sleep deprivation, stress so severe that it literally caused partial blindness, rape, and fear so great that it has brought me to my knees more than once. A nightmare that continues to this day, and from which the only real hope I have ever had has been the hope that I might wake up some day. It is this hope that I cling to even now, as I await my execution, to «set me free», at last. As much as I abhor ignorance, honesty forces me to admit that it certainly has its appeal! And yet, I would still not trade my life for the life of the boy I raped when I was 16, not even if he had never been raped. Perhaps ESPECIALLY not if he had never been raped. Such a life could never touch the «truths» I have come to know and cherish; «truths» that so few in this «charmed» land will ever come to even suspect! «Truths» that the pharisees of our day work so hard to hide, with their pretend-laws, and pretend-truths. Laws and truths that only crumble in the face of real fear, and real suffering, and real life. In the end, I have come to realize that these are the very answers I sought all along. Answers that «they» tried to hide, and still hide. Answers that destroy their illusion of «law and order» and restore natural law and order instead. Those who have truly suffered, know what I mean. Those who have not, never will. Because to know the Truth, is to suffer; and to suffer, is to know the Truth. I am only saying in my own way what has been said by all the great sages, from Christ to the Buddha. Not because I am such a sage, but only because I have suffered. And I am thankful for it.
Since I've already went and turned this «confession» into a personal rant, I may as well go ahead and say what I really think. But, before I do, I should also say, for the sake of anyone reading this with a critical bent (and I hope you are), or even those reading it with extreme prejudice (that's okay, too, and expected), that what I'm about to say is said strictly as my own honest thoughts. I do NOT think I am an «expert» or that, for any other reason, other people should think the same way I do. But, that being said, I must also assert that everything I write is what I believe to be true and real, and that is based upon careful consideration and deep contemplation upon my own experience, thoughts, and feelings in the relevant regards. I don't «know» if any of it is «true», or «false» either. But, if I ever encounter any evidence that contradicts what I say, then I will careful consider it, and its source (as I sincerely hope you are doing now), and change the way I think and/or what I believe accordingly. Now, let's get on with it...
I should start by pointing out that I don't really believe that the boy I write about raping here, nor the man he has become, has in any factual sense lived a «charmed» life. According to the Buddha, «All life is suffering.» If you understand this «truth», then you also understand that nobody lives a «charmed» life; it simply is an impossibility.
But, most people spend the vast majority of their life's energy (in the literal sense, not mystical; but, mystical, too, if you understand such things as well, or however you understand such things...) attempting to live the «charmed» life by avoiding «suffering». There are a million and more ways to do so. Many are considered «healthy», even «productive». And many more are called «addictions», or perhaps (in some cases) even «insanity» (though, in this case, that would be a tragic and misleading misnomer, even though it is what the so-called «experts» call it --- a clear and relevant example of this is the type of «insanity» that «experts» call «psychopathy» or even «sociopathy» --- but, that's beside the point).
What I think, and remember, I claim to be no «expert», nor do I presume to know the boy, or man that I «raped» as a boy, well enough to assume what I'm about to say is true. But, based on what I do know about him, and about myself, and about humans in general, it seems to me that all he is really doing by claiming that what I did to him was the «worst» and most «terrifying» experience in his life, is projecting all (or nearly all) of the suffering he has experienced throughout the course of his life (and especially his childhood, remembering how he was a small boy and frequently bullied and picked on by larger boys like my brother) onto this one «terrible» and «worst» memory. And by doing so, he has (unconsciously) made it genuinely SEEM like his worst experience. And he does this (again unconsciously) because that is what he was literally taught to do by all the «adults» in his life who saw it (unconsciously for them also) as a way to create and sustain the illusion of an OTHERWISE «charmed life».
These «adults» probably (most likely) told him repeatedly how terrible what happened to him was (how would they know if they weren't there?). And if the «post-rape» boy ever mentioned the suffering or humiliation he experienced from being picked on in school, these same adults would no doubt quickly remind him of how «terrible» a bully the boy who «raped you» was, thus shunting all that pain into an already painful memory.
I have witnessed this sort of «conditioning» so often and seen its effect play out so many times that there is little doubt in my mind that I am mistaken about it (though ready to admit if I am, in an instant, should I ever see evidence to the contrary, or better yet, stumble upon a better explanation for all the evidence I have already seen and continue to see regularly all around me!). Even at my own death sentence trial, I watched a video recording of a specially trained police «forensic» child interview expert tell Shasta (my last surviving «victim») how «terrible» what happened to her was BEFORE he even asked her what had happened! (Seriously, if you can, check the record and you'll see for yourself!)
And, after my arrest in 2005, a man in Seattle went to an address he found on the Internet for two «registered sex offenders» living together in the same house, and shot them both dead. In the police interviews afterwards, he said he did it after he read about «Joseph Duncan» (me) in the news. He said he hated «bullies», and «sex offenders» are the worst «bullies» of all. I can't help but wonder who «put» such ideas into his head, and why. (Actually, I do «wonder», but only in so much as to retain a «healthy» amount of doubt and questions about what I assume to be the «answer» --- i.e. «they» did, the «adults» and «experts» I mentioned a moment ago.)
So, that's what I think, for whatever it's worth. I don't put a lot of stock in it myself (if I did, then it would become too «burdened» by the «investment», making it to «unwieldy» for the way I like to think --- i.e. I like finding out I'm «wrong» about things so I can make «corrections», but an «unwieldy» thought is the one that is most difficult to «correct», because of my investment in it! I seriously don't like such thoughts, and fortunately, this is not one of them --- which is why I'm spending so much time disclaiming it, so I don't become «invested», by writing it down!). But, I do hope it makes someone else think about their own thoughts and ideas about such things, and maybe even question the validity in the face of this «evidence». And what I really hope is that someone, anyone, reads this, then finds a way to let me know I'm «wrong», about all of it, or just some parts. That would be the real «reward» for me, personally. Either way, there it is, no offense (I hope, also).
[J.D. January 21, 2017]
