I never thought I would write anything. I worked in accounting, from a fairly small town, an introvert, not well-traveled, and try to keep to the same few long-term friends. Sure, I had a rambunctious stage in my 20s as a party girl. But a hedonistic lifestyle surely doesn’t provide a lot of depth, or a dynamic story on which to write.

When I would see snippets of a writer’s life in movies, it always seemed so glamorous, even the struggles of writers block or getting published, or images of writing alone in rural, pretty parts of the world. Those characters always seemed to have something to say, something to write, to put out in the world. I would think to myself, with my background and life, I would never have anything worth writing.

Then I had the grave misfortune of moving to Seattle, WA for a corporate-like job with a company in the aerospace industry. A company paving the way in space exploration; how fortunate I was I thought at the time. After a slow and steady downward spiral of my work life that included losing all my work assignments, having my work files disappear, having my phone tapped, and being bullied - all on the job - I felt lucky to get out and resign with a shred of wits still intact. Through all of that, I, for many reasons, was internally crumbling.

I left the job thinking I could pick up the broken pieces of my life, and after some time recuperating, go back into the world a better person. Little did I know the insanity of having coworkers tap my phone would follow me. I would be stalked, harassed, bullied, watched in my own home, and have my private life shared with the public. All the while everyone who participated, would deem themselves moral.

Now, I have something to write about. Not how I envisioned the source of writing material being born, but it is what it is.

I cranked out a number of short pieces - some deeply painful, some educational and motivational, some sarcastic, angry and very mean. They’re all sitting in my unpublished webpages. I published, unpublished, published, unpublished … now I’ll attempt a fresh start and polish the initial writings that captured the bleeding of thoughts into words. I read the best time to start writing is when no one is reading. And I would presume if you’re reading my writings at this stage, you should likely find something better to do. But, who knows, maybe they’ll be worth the read.

Perhaps the darkest theme in everything experienced is the issue of morality. I had my character dragged through the mud, mutilated, and left for dead - by people who stalked, bullied, harassed, damaged property, and stole my privacy to share with others. My words, actions, and behavior - including those in my own home alone - were misjudged for intentionality that didn’t exist and was used to slander my character and damage relations with my friends, family, and strangers.

If righteousness is touted by those who participate in the stealing of one’s privacy, stalking, bullying, and harassing, how could there possibly be judgement and criticism handed down to another regardless of the alleged behavior that is deemed immoral? Is this not hypocrisy? It’s so glaring, why is it not glaring to others? Is righteousness blinding? Power? Group think? Hatred? Insecurity? Ego? What is blinding the intellect of people that are seemingly educated and should know better, but that slum to depths of immorality?

Where does my immorality lie in this story? So I can escape the hypocrisy that taints the character of all those involved - substance use. I smoked pot and occasionally drank wine at home. It may also lie in making assumptions, as I’ve yet to witness the courageousness of another put forth to having a direct, transparent conversation. It may lie in misperception, as when the theft of your privacy is thrown back at you in the form of harassment, it’s challenging to pilfer through an analysis of what could be a truth or a misperception. Regardless, there are many truths of my character and of recent events in which I have the utmost confidence. And I do not claim the perfection or righteousness of so many others.

Being left alone in a world that is drowned in hypocrisy and judgement, born from perception and delusion, I have a few things to write about. The writings won’t immediately address the behemoth topics of morality, perception, and hypocrisy, but explore subject matters that were the causes and outcomes of the events related to these subjects.

Having my privacy stolen and shared, the trauma it caused, the damage to my life, my family, my friends, and even my property, I unfortunately, finally have something to write about. It may be angry, it may be really fucking mean, but I do not tout righteousness. I do not live to delusional measures of human morality veiled in hypocrisy and judgement. I live to be human, to learn, to grow, to correct, to forgive. Most importantly, I live to understand intentionality when it’s presented with courage, candor, and honesty. I live to respect the privacy, the struggle, and the flaws of others.

In writing, the most appealing characters are those that are human, dynamic, perfect in some ways, flawed in many others. And the most appealing stories are driven by those characters, their thoughts, their triumphs, their mistakes, and their lives. How fucking awful it would be to read about characters so one sided as to veil themselves in righteousness, blinded to their own immoral and vile behavior. How boring and disgusting a story this would be.