My Story

Ever since I became targeted by gangstalkers over 10 years ago, I had the sense that there was something much larger going on.

It was hardly a coincidence that I became a target.

I had finally started the beginnings of a career after several lost years struggling in the aftermath of the Great Recession. After years of living at home and working for free, I had just started a career in politics doing research for causes and candidates aligned with the Democratic Party.

While I was happy to be employed in an interesting profession, I was - like so many other millennials in our society - well meaning, but soft and naive, and dangerously unable to deal with bad people.

And so, to make a very long story short - first I was harassed. Then came the death threats. Then came the threats against my family, and then my enemies started to try to get me into legal trouble. Most infamously, they would later plant cameras in restrooms in places that I had visited in order to frame me for sexual assault. Everywhere I went, people would recognize me as ‘that guy’ and I became infamous throughout the Puget Sound region. What struck me as interesting during this nightmare was that they always seemed to be recruiting new people to join in on the crimes against me, my family, and the community.

Over the years, as the situation got worse and worse, I made many attempts to try to find someone to turn to for help, but as the years dragged on no one seemed to grasp what was happening, much less know what to do. The accusations against me only made the situation worse.

Then came one fateful day. The last day of 2019, actually. For all the ways my life had been besieged, in some ways things were actually looking up. Thanks to long hours at my computer I had taught myself how to code and had successfully changed careers to software engineering, where I was making double what I made while I was working in politics. I also finally had the means to move back out of the house. But as I drank my Guinness in the Fado Irish Pub in downtown Seattle, with the exuberance of New Years Eve in the air, I knew things in my life were not well. I was living in fear.

I did have an escape plan that I would sometimes daydream about over the years. I would run for the state line as fast as I could and then disappear to Mexico, where I would work my remote job as long as I still had it, spending my nights and weekends drinking Dos Equis in the sand.

But I knew that even if I was able to pull it off, my family would get left to a breed of wolf they did not understand.

And so on that fateful night, I decided I was going to fight back with everything I had, and do whatever it took to expose what was happening to me and my family.

Things would get worse - much worse - before they got better. In an slow, painful, process, rumors became allegations, and allegations became a criminal investigation. Simply walking into a building I risked my future. Talking to anyone became painful as I felt the heat of their fear and disgust wash over me. You probably don’t want to know what it feels like to be falsely labeled as a sex predator. I don’t want to tell you either because I do not like to complain, but I will tell you that it feels like your soul is getting burned alive in flames that never seem to run out of fuel.

For many years, the battle did not go well. I was terrified for my family. I knew there was a real possibility that I would meet my death and everything I meant to everyone who ever believed in me would get buried in slander and wiped away forever while my family was left alone with the wolves. And if I ran out of time, there was a possibility I would, to borrow a phrase used by FBI agents, be someone who was “locked in prison for the rest of his days.”

And yet, as I was driven closer and closer to the fringes of society, I slowly pieced together what was happening, piece by painstaking piece. The picture that emerged was of an organized, emerging criminal enterprise that spanned multiple states.

But as I continued piecing together what was happening, the situation continued to escalate until one night I overheard the gangstalkers talking about murdering my mother and then framing me for the crime. My plan up to that point had been to hang on until I finally managed to gather the extraordinary proof to back up my extraordinary claim. But, fearing for my mother’s life, I felt that time had run out. Taking my life in my hands, I drove to the police station and gave them my information.

I began to see the gangstalkers’s attacks on me taper off in May 2025. Around that time, impressed with the quality of what I had given to the police, the FBI approached me. I am generally very meticulous in my approach to my work, and given that I was carrying my life and my mother’s life in my hands, my research on the gangstalkers was no different. The FBI told me they wanted my help catching more gangstalkers.

But as time has gone on, and I saw the dark underside of a powerful American institution, the realization hit me that my decade-long battle with evil had not yet ended - it had only begun.