On Being Victims of Electronic Harassment, ID Theft, Stalking, Ritualized Abuse and Terrorism... (And no one doing anything about it)
There are stories that begin with a death so sudden that it splits your life into a Before and an After. Tonight's story begins with Edgardo — my brother, my boy — who died at seventeen when a car struck him. One moment he was here, handsome and full of life, and the next he was gone. No warning. No mercy. No chance to say goodbye.
His absence became one of the worst hauntings of my life.
For years, I carried him quietly. I remembered. I tried to live with the hole he left behind. But in 2021, something changed. I began to dream — not soft dreams, not symbolic dreams, but visions that felt like they were carved into my spirit. I saw him suffering. I saw witches torturing him. I saw hands forcing him to do things he would never do. I saw his beauty — the same beauty he had in life — being used in rituals, in spells, in ways that broke my heart all over again.
I didn’t ask for these visions. I didn’t want them. But they came. And they didn’t stop with Edgardo.
I saw other people — people connected to me, people in my circles — being raised, manipulated, tormented. I saw spirits being dragged into things they never chose. I saw darkness moving through people who once claimed to love me.
One of them was JD.
My first big love. The boy I gave everything to. The one who left me with nothing but questions.
In the visions, he was one of the ones doing harm. One of the ones torturing. One of the ones pulling strings in the shadows. And the question that has burned in me ever since is simple and impossible:
Why? Why did he do this to me?
Why did the boy I loved — the one I trusted, who was my best friend even twenty years after we broke up — become a figure of pain in the deepest corners of my spirit? Why did he betray me in life and then appear in visions as someone who hurt the people I loved most?
This question burns within me deeper than I can share with anyone.
The Harassment That Never Ended
I am now a victim of decades of electronic harassment that began around 2008---or prior. That was the year a video of a woman who wasn’t me was tagged with my name. She was doing things I would never do. She was being portrayed as me. My identity was stolen, twisted, and thrown into the world without my consent.
I reported it to the website. But I didn’t report it to authorities. Not because I didn’t care — but because no one had ever taught me how. No teacher, no counselor, no adult ever said, “If someone misuses your image, here is how you protect yourself.” We teach kids math, but not how to defend their digital lives. We teach them grammar, but not how to report danger.
Over the years, people who should have known better joined in. Especially, in the last 7 years, since I met Douglas, the man who I believe to be a primary culprit, alongside many other actors, in my perpetration as a victim of terrorism.
Ex‑boyfriends. Their mistresses. Their ex‑partners. Cousins. My father’s wives. My mother’s enemies. Women jealous of me. Friends I never wanted to sleep with. Family members. Friends of friends. People who called themselves witches. People who wanted things that were never God’s will.
They used my name. My photos. My identity. My silence.
They used it to create accounts online. They used it to leak personal information. They used it to torture and torment me. They used it to fool others.
They used it not just to stalk but to make people sick, to make people angry, to tempt them into sin and crime.
They used it in an attempt to murder.
And through it all, the FBI has remained silent.
There were rumors — whispers — that men in suits had come looking for me at one of the check-in centers I freuented when I was homeless. I was gone from that area, Orange Blossom Trail (aka OBT) for some time, because God had warned me that my perpetrators were looking for me there, too. When I came back one day, having nowhere to eat, they said: "Someone came looking for you. Some cops." But they never said why. They didn't leave a number. No one ever followed up. And in all the years I’ve been a victim of online harassment, stalking, and ritualized abuse, the FBI has never reached out to protect me.
Not once.
The Need for Defense Education
It is time — past time — for the law and the states to expand their vision of protection.
Children need to be taught:
how to report misuse of their images
how to report online threats
how to report impersonation
how to protect their digital identity
how to respond immediately when danger appears
We cannot keep raising generations who know how to solve equations but not how to defend their reputations. We cannot keep pretending that digital harm is less real than physical harm. We cannot keep leaving victims alone in the dark. Especially when these attacks are coupled with ritualized abuse.
Faith, Puerto Rico, and Final Reckonings
Through all of this — the harassment, the visions, the grief, the loss, the immorality, the blasphemy — my faith has been the only constant. God told me not to trust in princes, not to place my hope in politicians or governments. And I listened. Because His protection has always been more real to me than any agency’s.
And in that faith, I hear the echo of a Puerto Rican saying:
“A cada lechón le llega su Navidad.”
Every pig meets its Christmas. Every wrongdoing meets its reckoning. Every shadow meets its dawn.
It reminds me of the biblical story of the man possessed by many demons — Legion — in Mark 5:1–20 and Luke 8:26–39. Evil had its time. And then its end.
Justice comes. Even if slowly. Even if silently. Even if painfully.
And So I Keep Praying
Not because I am helpless. Not because I am paranoid or mentally ill. Not because I am alone. But because prayer is the only place where I know I am fully seen, fully heard, and fully protected.
God told me recently: "I will not tolerate terror."
God does not abandon His children. God does not leave justice unfinished.
And as long as I keep my trust in Him first, I know I will be covered — not by fear, not by violence, but by His presence.
Because every lechón meets its navidad. And every darkness meets its dawn.
Shalom shalom,
K.
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