May 25th, 2022
This report describes the events in 2019 that ruined my life, the ones I can report on first-hand, anyway. It was that year that my then-fiancé trafficked me to be tortured in absentia by elite men who claimed to be movie stars on the dark web. That’s what I hear, anyway. The torture was real, I know. I experienced it.
This is a weird story, and it starts with me admitting that I was a mail order bride of sorts. I didn’t realize it until later (maybe we seldom do); I thought I was a doting girlfriend, but looking back the signs of trafficking were there. My ex and I met online when we were both living in the United States, and he quickly offered to marry me and bring me to Canada. The thing is, I thought he was joking. After we’d been seeing each other for a while and I’d given up my living situation to help him out with rent and build a life together, he decided to move back to Canada. I didn’t have many choices but to follow him, and I thought it could work out. I had to give up most of my belongings to move because he wouldn’t let me have enough space for them on the moving truck. He’d talk about Vancouver like everything would be perfect there. I laughingly told him he sounded like the song “There are No Cats in America” from An American Tail: he kept essentially telling me that the streets were paved with cheese (although he doesn’t like cheese). I have chronic illnesses, and he promised he’d take good care of me. I was good to him.
I moved to Vancouver, British Columbia in good faith. I did everything I knew to do correctly to immigrate, and I was trying very hard to assimilate and have a life there. I thought we were doing fine as a couple; he kept assuring me that we were. He’d warned me about the Vancouver freeze, as he called it, saying that Vancouverites didn’t always warm to people quickly, but I stayed socially warm and hoped for the best.
Around 2017 I developed tuberculosis of the throat. It wasn’t diagnosed quickly, and my health suffered very badly. I know I didn’t bring tuberculosis into Canada with me because I’d been screened for it in 2014 as part of the immigration process. As I understand it, serious tuberculosis can often be seen as a disease of the downtrodden, more or less (which is to say that a difficult social position and/or abuse are often contributing factors in serious cases). Things were not good for me there, and every day I hoped they’d get better soon, but after a while it was obvious my health was failing. It got to the point where I was stuck in bed almost every moment of the day, and so I worked toward spiritual ascension, hoping that physical ascension symptoms would heal me of my mysterious post-2017 malady. I did overcome the tuberculosis eventually, and I’m clear of it now, but I didn’t get there in time.
Behind the scenes, my ex was not as good a guy as he was making himself out to be. I’ve since heard that he got involved with a shady dark web group where some people may have noticed him bragging about me, possibly referencing my history as a somewhat popular blogger. For whatever reason (and I’ve heard of a few possible reasons, none of them my fault) they decided to attempt to break us up. I have reason to believe one or more people may have been lying about me at that time, possibly including him.
In May 2019, my ex woke me up from a fairly sound sleep. I’d been having a nightmare, I remember, that coincidentally recalled the time when (circa 2007 during a hospital visit in Detroit) I’d had a bad reaction to a medication I turned out to be allergic to, and begged my father to help me escape a hospital, where I was afraid I’d be given a traumatic spinal tap (which actually happened days later, as the hospital, which happened to be a teaching hospital, allowed novices to practice on me). My ex roughly informed me upon waking me that we were going to the hospital, even though I did not have any new acute health complaints that night, and it a very strange hour; I begged him not to drag me anywhere, and told him about the dream I’d been having, and that the hospital was one of the last places that seemed appropriate right then. My ex ignored me, and immediately transported me that night (or very early morning) directly to what looked like a hospital somewhere in Vancouver (which may have even been a sound stage, considering it was Vancouver, and that much of what happened there was bizarre and very unlike any hospital). I think I may have been sedated before arriving.
While there, I saw people who’d possibly been hired to look like people I’d known who’d passed on years before: an uncle I’d lost, and my late boss. There were no other obvious patients besides myself, but people were sitting in the waiting area and milling around. I also saw people I’d definitely known in the past there, including at least one old friend and four acquaintances from Michigan. It may be helpful to note here that I had no reason to believe I’d ever made any enemies, and had up to that point received no indication in my life that I had any, so all this was unprovoked. The Canadian acquaintances that suddenly appeared upon and very shortly after my arrival, and whom I did not invite, were behaving strangely: there were people from my community choir, relatives of my ex, and possibly at least one of his coworkers (whom I’d never actually met before, but had seen photos of). Everyone there seemed cagey, and no one treated me normally. I was subjected to a lot of questioning, from a line of doctors that didn’t talk to me about any medical condition nor symptoms. The person who drew my blood put the vials in a huge metal bowl full of vials, which seemed strange. In my sedated state I somehow felt that I just had to smile and not react too much, or there was danger. At very least this was obviously some kind of gaslighting torture. With that bizarre event, I realized that I couldn’t trust the people I knew in Canada the way I’d thought I could.
When one of my acquaintances from Michigan cornered me in a room I was terrified. He withdrew at my screaming. After that, my ex and someone I thought was my friend until that day convinced me to take another sedative and administered it themselves. After a short sleep, I was discharged by my ex.
My dog was gone when I got back from the hospital, and there was more gaslighting and intimidation from Vancouverites I knew upon my arrival back to my apartment. Once again, I was not the one who invited the visitors. I don’t know why they were there. My dog was never okay again, and would die within days. I believe he was treated very badly while he was missing, and that my ex intended for him to die. A vision of my dog had appeared to me shortly before the “hospital” incident, in which he told me not to interfere with what was going to happen to him. I didn’t, but it was very difficult. He indicated that I might not survive if I didn’t just go along peacefully with whatever was being done to me at the time. I’m a shaman, and I was a fairly new shaman then. I don’t know if I should’ve taken that advice, but I don’t know exactly what I could’ve done to change what happened to him. I miss him every day.
When several days later, I asked a man posing as my doctor (an imposter who looked exactly like someone I’d met in Redford, Michigan, but spoke with an English accent and performed the only doctor “home visit” I’d ever had in Canada, when I identified my real doctor as having an Australian accent and looking quite different) to ask about the “X-ray” and “CT scan” I’d allegedly been given, he completely ignored me. He basically just said it was nice to finally talk to me, though he answered to the name of my doctor, whom I’d recently talked to on the phone. My ex had scheduled the “home appointment” himself, though. I never heard a thing about those tests ever again.
It’s my understanding that my ex did not arrange for the bizarre “hospital” incident himself, but that it was orchestrated by people he’d corresponded with over the dark web, and it seems that they must’ve had significant resources and connections, considering what I experienced. My relationship with my ex never recovered, and he never explained anything about this, but he behaved very strangely and erratically– even threateningly– for the rest of the year. In fact he seemed to become completely unhinged. I will not recount the entire list of abuses I experienced from him during that period, but it was extensive, and made for an unbelievably difficult time. He subjected me to systematic torture at home and elsewhere. He cruelly ejected me from my home that October, defaulting on virtually all legal and personal commitments he’d made to me.
I’m still not back on my feet. I’ve received no apologies for the behavior of anyone involved. I’ve received no respite and no compensation.
───── by Lync Dalton ─────
