 You're pushing me off the edge of rationality, sending me plummeting, into full on bloodthirst. If you like true revenge stories, you've found the best place for your vengeful needs. In this episode, we'll learn that circumstances can force you, to be turned into the villain yourself. We start off with a girl with autism, who gets pushed to the edge of rationality, send plummeting into full bloodthirst on her high school bully predator, blasting him into an unforgiven oblivion. Followed by a story about a predator with influential parents, who meets Lady Karma when receiving a factory reset. The third story shows how you can become grateful, for getting your teeth knocked out. Lastly, a favorite uncle who's loved by everyone, seems to have a dark side he can't hide forever. Before we start, make sure you pop the like buttons pimple without asking. Let's dive in. Naturally, viewer discretion is advised. These revenge acts might be disturbing to snowflakes. We're jumping straight into this. The year was 2014 and I was a freshman in high school. On a general basis it sucked. I mean, it was an American public high school with literally thousands of kids, it's a given that it's gonna blow some major balls. One thing in particular that made it extra sucky though was gym class. Specifically, this one guy in gym class. This dude's name was Jack A. McGee, the A of course being short for booty. As the name would imply, he was a jackass. At first, it was pretty standard high school guy in gym class level of obnoxious prick. You know the type, overly loud, unreasonably aggressive during games, bossy, tossing the collective brain cell back and forth between his two equally ape-like buddies. The usual. I don't know when it happened exactly, but he developed a sort of eye for me, after the first couple of weeks or so. He started asking me bizarre questions that I now believe may have been some sort of innuendo, sitting uncomfortably close to me, resting his hand on my gym shoe general creepy behavior. He once blocked a doorway with his body, this dude was massive, forcing me to literally squeeze my way through and crawl over him. He then tried to grab me and pin me to him once I was almost through, but I'm very good at dodging physical contact whenever possible, and dipped on him before his giant gorilla arm could catch me. I still shudder thinking about it. I cannot emphasize enough how terrible this dude smelled. But the true breaking point came during the peak cruelty of this school-mandated sadism, gym swim. Before anyone asks, let it be known that yes, I did try to tell someone about this. I told my gym teacher first semester, really early on, that Jack was making me incredibly uncomfortable. The gym teacher waved it off, saying he was, just playing around and that it's probably because he likes you. His suggestion was basically to just put up with it and wait it out, because he was sure Jack would lose interest soon anyways. Spoiler alert, he didn't. Second semester rolls around, and the four-week period of gym swim descends upon us like the bloated carcass of a catapulted whale, crushing us beneath its wet, foul-smelling body. 40-some-odd adolescents forced into a cold, overly-chlorinated pool for 50-plus minutes, adorned in swimsuits determined to crawl up into our booty like Ant-Man himself. It was hell on earth, basically. As I've mentioned in a previous post, I am autistic, so the echoing sounds, reflected fluorescent lights, pungent odors, slimy floors, and assorted BS made the situation even worse for me. I wasn't officially diagnosed yet, so my complaints were written off as me being whiny, and I was told to shut up and deal with it. So I did. I think I had more meltdowns in that four-week span than I've had in the past two years combined, but whatever. On top of the sensory overload, there was Jack. I think something about being allowed to go shirtless and stare at the nearly-bear booties of girls for an entire period emboldened him, because Jack promptly lost whatever semblance of restraint he had until then. He made frequent attempts to grab me, trying to hold me against his bare skin, which was disgusting, and I spent most of the class trying to evade him. The swimsuit I was forced to wear fit a little awkwardly around my chest, which he delighted in pointing out to his buddies, staring unabashedly at my body parts. He managed to sneak up behind me and snap the strap of my swimsuit, even trying to pull it down off my shoulder, but I jerked away fast enough to prevent that. I was furious at this point, but I'm like 5 foot 2. Whereas he was easily over 6 foot 5, probably over 300 pounds, and I'm not stupid. While all of this was happening, my new gym teacher, they switched every semester, was busy trying to keep a couple of the other guys from drowning each other. She was one adult force to watch over 40 rowdy kids in a swimming pool, she was a bit preoccupied. The final straw came one Wednesday afternoon. The event that finally pushed me off the edge of the rationality I'd been clinging to, and sent me plummeting into full-on bloodthirst. There I was, paddling around, minding my own business, when Jack and his two goons managed to corner me. I'm immediately suspicious, hackles raised, as they ask me fairly banal questions about how the pool is today and, sniggering the whole time. I give short, terse answers, trying to see if I could maybe slip past them. I spot an opening and bolt for it, but Jack was apparently expecting this. As I swim through the narrow gap between him and one of his friends, he stretches his arm out, and actually manages to slip his hand under my suit to grab my breast. I froze for a moment, the delighted giggling of him and his friends echoing in my ears as if from a thousand miles away. The next thing I knew, I was out of the pool, being held back by the gym teacher, and Jack had a bloody nose. He was shouting angrily at me, calling me all sorts of crazy. As his nose gushed blood into the water. There was mass confusion among the class. I was told to change quickly and sit in the hallway. Apparently, the gym teacher had heard me screech like a banshee, followed by a number of shouts, and had looked over to see me wrestle out of Jack's grip, jump on his back, and throw him off balance enough to smash his face into the edge of the pool wall. I remembered none of this, but I did find a few chunks of greasy brown hair clenched in my fists that I'd evidently ripped from his scalp when the teacher pulled me off. I washed my hands thoroughly. It was decided that I'd go in early to school tomorrow to have a little talk with the dean. They would have just sent me there straight away, but gym was my last class of the day, and the dean had already left by then for whatever reason, so it had to be postponed a little while. It was pretty heavily implied that I was going to be suspended, quite possibly even expelled, for what had happened. I was furious. Not only had Jack made my life a living hell, but his horse Dudu was now going to be the cause of my expulsion. I wasn't about to go down without a fight, but I realized that I'd have to play this pretty smart if I wanted to weasel out of it. The next morning, I did two things, I put on mascara, and I made a superficial, but rather painful incision on my right thigh, high enough so as to be covered by my shorts. Normally, I hate wearing makeup, because I don't like the way it feels, but I'd worn mascara before and notice the interesting effect it had on my appearance. Specifically, I already have pretty long, pretty dark eyelashes, so adding mascara draws a lot of attention to my eyes and makes them look huge. Like, total bambi eyes wide, innocent, naive and harmless. I sat down in front of the dean first thing in the morning. I didn't need to fake the fear in my expression, but I made sure to throw in something that could be interpreted as guilt, too, vowing my head and twisting my face in dismay. Needless to say, the dean was pretty pissed. Do you know why you're here, young lady? He said. Yes, I said softly. And you know that what you did is very serious? Yes, I said again, making my voice tremble. Care to explain yourself, then? I began, my voice shaking. I just wanted him to stop. He prompted, stop what? While his eyebrows furrowed. I just wanted him to stop touching me. I blurted. As I said this, I reached my hand onto the table where he couldn't see it and dug my finger into the cut on my leg, causing me to lurch forward as if in a sob, my other hand covering my face as my eyes watered from the pain. Touching you? The dean asked, his brows now on a collision course for Mars. I spent the next several minutes divulging all the crap that had happened to me that year, digging into my injury for some tears whenever necessary, and by the end of it the dean looked horrified. He reaffirmed that no, I shouldn't have attacked Jack like that, but that they'd have to investigate the matter further. I basically got off with a slap on the wrist, and after multiple testimonies from other girls, Jack got suspended for two weeks. I wasn't satisfied. They hadn't been able to expel him due to lack of hard evidence, but I was out for blood. He returned to school two weeks later, and I was ready. One of his friends had a little brother in my bio class, a fairly chill dude named Owen, who I had worked out a deal with. See, Jack had been very vocal about his displeasure with me to his friends, which made its way to Owen. He was more than willing to share that information with me, in turn I had to cover for him in class. I had a direct pipeline. Anything Jack shared with his friends made its way directly to me via Owen, and, as it turns out, this dude didn't keep a whole lot to himself. There was a lot of do-do I was tempted to nail him for. For instance, I found out he was selling Adderall and some occasional weed from his locker, and had been cheating his way through most of his classes. However, I knew how suspicious it would look for me to report something like that so soon. It'd probably just look like I had a grudge, which I did. And was trying to get even, which I was. But I had to play it smart. He slipped up really bad about a week after his return, and that was when I struck. See, he hadn't been subtle about his displeasure with my retaliation, and spent most of gym class sending really ugly looks my way. The gym teacher kept us as far away from each other as possible, but he managed to track me down in a passing period one day and ran at me, about how I had screwed him over and that I was a lying pretzel, yada yada yada, and that he'd make me regret it. Funny, stole the words right out of my mouth. I found out from Owen later, that Jack had been bragging to his friends last night about the switch blade he'd stolen from one of those hunting stores downtown, and promised he'd show it off to them later that day. I seized the opportunity. I took a few seconds in the bathroom mirror, scratching at the scab on my leg until my eyes were teary enough to really sell the terrified victim look, then bolted down to the dean's office, stuttering and shaking, crying out for help. The front desk lady was understandably startled by the sight of a seemingly panicked freshman girl bolting into the office, and called the dean out right away. His face grew serious when he saw me. I started crying and stuttering, Mr. Dean, please help. He's gonna kill me. Now, slow down, he said. What happened? I replied, Jack. Resisting the urge to grin maniacally at the hardness that appeared in the dean's eyes. He, he cornered me in the hall. He called me a skank and said he was gonna make me regret telling on him. He's got a knife. He what? The dean barked. Everything moved very quickly after that. The security guards were told to search the kid's locker, while a couple other security officers were called down to get Jack out of his classroom and take him to the office. I was told by the front desk lady, who had heard the whole exchange, to hide with her in the copier room so Jack wouldn't see me. They found the stolen knife in his backpack, and the narcotics in his locker. That, combined with his previous charges, was enough to get him not only expelled, but arrested. I never saw him again, which is probably a good thing because I'm still mad and would probably try to end him if given the opportunity. Don't mess with the girl that has autism. My story consists out of illegal activities, therefore I need to stay anonymous. Let me emphasize the seriousness of my story, by warning you beforehand. It started when I was in high school, 1999-2002. In Brazil, before we had one of the best laws against violence to girls. I had a group of friends, six guys and two girls. We're a really diversified group. I was a nerd, one of the girls was a so-called emo, the other was a real pretty girl, so we called her the beauty queen. We had two soccer players and three others that didn't really had a group, but they were friends nonetheless. Sometime in our second year, a dirtbag started to join our high school. He was a creepy dirtbag, son of an influential politician of our city. He had a crush on our beauty queen. Not a good type of crush, more of a creepy stalker type. Whenever he saw her, he would try to hug her in a uncomfortable way, acting all friendly while you could feel the weirdness about him. It made us, but her really uncomfortable. She asked him to stop, but he just replied with, stop being difficult, I know you like it. She tried to talk to teachers, but dirtbag wouldn't do that. So we started to act like bodyguards around her. Every time she walked on the school premises, at least one of us would stick to her. We thought this would make things better, but it made the things worse for her. While walking home, she would spot him following her to her house. So we started walking her to her home too. One day, he didn't come to school, so we had the stupid idea that, if he wasn't going to school today, we didn't need to escort our friend. We were dead wrong. He attacked her in the middle of her way home. He groped and assaulted her. I will not go into all the details, because I'm mad just remembering and it makes me feel conflicted towards my friend. It was horrible. Afterwards, she ran home to an empty house because her parents weren't home at that time. When she got there, she called me, told me everything. I called our group, we all went to her house and we did the best we could to help her. Me and the other boys agreed on one thing. He would pay. I told her other female friend to stay with her for the night. Me and the boys go to our home and prepare ourselves. We grab cheap masks, put special equipment into our bags, wore black clothes and headed to school. We all studied real hard that day. While keeping our eyes on the predator, not knowing we were moving at OMIM. When the school bell rang, we made sure to start the pursuit, without him noticing us. We followed him until we reached a place where we wouldn't be disturbed, for some alone time with him. We catch up to him, and before he had a chance to react. We turned the tables, now he's the one being assaulted. We gave him the beating of his life, brutally. When we were finished, I went to a pay phone, to call in the situation about somebody being hurt with the location. I hung up, our job was done. The aftermath, the school announced that creepy douche was in the hospital with broken ribs, one broken arm, a foot broken, and other bones cracked. No one knew what happened, just us. When my friend learned what happened, she was mad at first, she is too kind, but was grateful later. Why we didn't go to the police? We didn't have enough proof. He assaulted her, but a rape kit wouldn't have helped in this situation. Even if we could put him in jail, his father was a really influential guy. The douche would have probably get bailed out real quick, and would probably attack my friend again. What we did was wrong, but I don't lose one night of sleep because of it. Me and my friends still talk to this day. My family were professional expats, and I mixed race, so I never really fit in anywhere we moved to. Our cultural differences were tolerated to greater or lesser extents, depending on the country and or economic prosperity of the area. I got used to thinking of the places we moved to, the schools I attended, and the friends I made, as being purely temporary. Eventually it got the point where my mentality became, why even bother? Because we'd be gone in six months or a year and all that effort I put into building social connections would have been a waste of time. Needless to say, this mindset didn't make me the most popular shiny new toy. People thought I was arrogant, too good for their company and I experienced a lot of bullying throughout my high school years. Because I'm a girl, it was mostly verbal slash psychological rather than physical. Except for this one guy, enter Jamie. It was the second high school I'd attended in the country, and there was a very stark divide between the two kinds of students it had. Middle-class oil workers' children made up about two-thirds of the school, with the remaining third coming from impoverished homes living partially or completely on government assistance. He was part of the second group, I was, technically, part of the first. And he hated me for it, particularly because I wasn't white like everyone else in the school. Jamie took every opportunity to mess with me. For months, his attacks ranged from spewing racism at me, calling me a terrorist, jihadi and way worse. Which I can't say here. He went on spilling drinks on me, destroying my belongings, spreading vile rumors about me, tripping or shoulder barging me in the hallways. It went on and on. I didn't bother telling my parents or the school. Previous experience had taught me that school administrators didn't give a do-do about kids and their problems, and why should I care if this one bootyhole wanted to expand all his energy making me miserable? I'd be leaving soon for another school with a different set of bullies, and this guy was destined for a life of alcoholism, state assistance, and five kids by different mothers before dying in his forties. But then my dad got a permanent post at the hospital in the city, and his side practice was doing really well. My oldest sister got engaged to a local. My parents started looking for a house. They'd inexplicably decided on now being the time to settle down. Just when I was banking on us relocating. Now I was fricked. I had no friends, and a giant, Jamie-shaped problem in my life. Not to mention I'd been kind of cruising on my grades because my disrupted education made it impossible to actually focus or care about what I was studying. My grades were the easiest thing to fix, so I started there. My chemistry and math marks were the worst, so I got extra tutoring hours for maths, and got permission to use the chemistry classroom three lunch times a week to work on experiments without anyone else there to put me off, steal my stuff, or ruin my experiments. Jamie got wind of this arrangement in the second week. The first time, he came in with a bunch of his meathead friends and started throwing my stuff around, knotting my flasks over, and generally being a kidney stone. Unluckily for them, the teacher was in his office connected to the classroom by a single door and he came in when he heard the commotion, and gave all of them detention for the rest of the week. He also tried to get me to talk about the bullying, but I never had much trust in adults, so I just shrugged a lot and refused to engage until he let it go. The detentions hadn't gone down well at Jamie's house. I heard a couple people mention that his dad had beat 10 bells of doo-doo out of him. That didn't really surprise me, because you don't become that much of a fart of a human being without some pretty bad examples to follow. But at the time, I was more worried about what that was going to mean for me. Rightly so, as it turned out, about a week after that, Jamie turned up in the chemistry classroom, alone this time. He'd waited until he'd seen the teacher leave. He didn't touch my stuff, he came right up and grabbed me by the throat, pinning me between the L of two desks. I'm a tall, athletic girl, but he was at least six feet and had the kind of muscle mass teenage boys get when their future includes prison. The only thing he said was, you're mine now, skank. For the record, his attacks had never had a adultery component to them before. Sure, some of the rumors involve this, but I think on some level he genuinely considered me genderless or non-feminine, because of the dad-eyed silence I maintained every time he got at me. Not this time. As his hand squeezed down on my throat hard enough to restrict my breathing, I felt him push his leg between mine, and his other hand shoved up under my sweater. All I could think was, I'm going to get touched funny in a chemistry classroom, and I don't even like chemistry. I wanted to take music, but my parents wanted me on a medical track. I just wanted to play the goddamn saxophone. This is their fault. I'm not sure whether it was because I was pissed about my smooth jazz dreams being crushed or because I was scared he was going to choke me out, but I clawed and shoved at him and screamed bloody murder right in his face. He was clearly beginning to regret only having two hands. Forced to back off so I didn't scratch his eyes out, he gave me all the opening I needed. I picked up my chemistry textbook, ancient, hardback, weighed about 100 pounds, and smashed it across his face with every bit of strength I possessed. It ripped the back cover straight off. Oh no, I thought. I'm going to have to pay for that. Jamie fell sideways, hit the desk with his stupid wimp skull, then hit the floor, and several of his teeth clattered across. I went to find some cellotape to repair my textbook. Things escalated rather rapid after that. Ambulances, police, parents, headmaster, social services, the whole nine yards. His parents were surprisingly sanguine about the whole thing, but on the other hand, it didn't seem to worry them that they were raising a predator. My parents went into complete meltdown at the school, and my one week suspension was a holiday of video games, pizza, and no chores or bedtime. I got to drop chemistry and take saxophone lessons instead, which was an unforeseen bonus, the therapy, not so much. Guilt is a powerful emotion, it turns out. Jamie, meanwhile, lost six teeth, had a fractured jaw, and concussion. I didn't see him at that school again. Someone said that after he recovered, he was sent to live with his grandmother a couple towns over for a fresh start. I eventually went off to university and forgot about him, until a few years ago when I was visiting my parents with my now husband. We went to the local pub, and he was there. Neither of us looked that different, except he is a lot bigger and has a bunch of tattoos now. As soon as he saw me, he got up and came over, and asked politely if he could have a word with me. I was more afraid of a brawl starting inside, especially since my husband would feel like he'd have to get involved, and I work in the emergency services now, I know how nasty things can get. I told him to get the drinks in, and led Jamie outside to the smoking deck. To my surprise, once there, he apologized for everything that he'd done to me in school. He said that me hitting him and putting him in the hospital was the best thing anyone had ever done for him, that it changed his life. He got all choked up, and showed me a picture of his kids, and told me about his construction company. He told me he hadn't seen his parents in almost a decade. Then he bought me and my husband a drink, gave me his card, and told me if I ever needed any work done, he'd give me a discount. It was a nice offer, and I'm glad things worked out for him. But I won't be taking him up on it. For reasons I'm sure he understands, I don't like being alone in a room with men outside my family anymore. Hi there, some aspects of my story I am omitting as it is far too traumatic to myself and the victims. About 22 years ago, my mom got a frantic call from my uncle's best friend, saying he had been arrested. Apparently an ex-girlfriend had accused him of assault, but she was being vindictive, because he broke up with her. My uncle, Chad, is obviously innocent. We all love him, he is our charismatic, friendly, outgoing, loving uncle. He would never hurt anyone. The family all send money for legal fees, since they are in France. We are in South Africa. The best friend sends us all the updates, no one ever thought to google anything, we were getting it from the source. He was found guilty and the family was devastated. We all send money for an appeal. This goes on for two years and then we get the call that he has been found innocent and released. After his release he meets Lucy, who is originally from Canada. Lucy is lovely, comes from big money. He is so charming and convincing, they were married in less than eight months, with a huge wedding in France. Then suddenly, it seemed that they were having separate honeymoon. He was going to have his honeymoon in his home country, Namibia, and she was going to Canada. They would then meet up in Brazil. He stayed Namibia for a couple of days and then partied with us in SA. We teased him about taking his wife's surname, he responded with, if that is what she wanted, he would have no say in it, considering she is the boss. We had such a great time as a family, but then something shocked everyone. My dear uncle, the one I looked up to all these years, the man that could do no wrong. He cheated. He cheated on his wife. I was floored. Apparently he cheated on his wife during their separate honeymoon. I was disgusted to say the least. I saw him once after that, he tells me he is unhappy and his marriage yada yada yada. I honestly couldn't care less. Then six years ago I get a message from him. He is getting divorced, he is coming to SA and asks if he can crash on the couch for a while. I approve, because in the end, he is still family. I haven't seen him in maybe 10 years, maybe he has changed. He arrives and we have a blast. He hits it off with my fiance, he is funny and happy, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He tells me they were both cheating. The relationship was extremely volatile, they were always fighting it on edge. They are toxic for each other. She is a total control freak. He is on Tinder and hooking up, on the prowl. He leaves for a couple months to travel around SA, it is an extremely beautiful and diverse country. Comes back, leaves again. We don't mind, he is fun to have around. One of the weeks he is in town, he meets my friend Jane. Jane is a gorgeous, wild, fun, out there. They hit it off instantly. He asks her out for a drink, she says yes. She tells me the next day that they were having a great time but they must have drank a lot, because she can't remember much of the evening. She vaguely remembers Chad going home with her, they must have had sexy time, she just can't remember. This is not unusual behavior for Jane, she has a chronic drinking problem. She will get drunk and go home with men all the time. I have learnt the hard way not to bring this up. Also, we are all 40 plus, I am not going to start telling other adults how to live their lives. I am definitely not a saint. Two days later Chad has to fly back to Namibia and calls Jane from the airport. We are sitting together having lunch. Chad says, out of the blue, that he is so glad he has photographic mementos of their time together. She is confused, but he was so kind to refresh her memories. He proceeds to send her nude photos of her, unconscious, laying on bed while being put in different positions. She couldn't believe what was happening. This wonderful man, this kind man she had such a great time with, having done such a terrible thing to her. She just started crying. She doesn't show them to me, I receive them at a later stage. She told him to delete them immediately, but he laughs it off. She is furious and embarrassed but starts reflecting on the evening, trying to remember details. She digs through her handbag and finds the receipt of the night out. 2x gin and tonic and 2x tequila. Definitely not enough to get a seasoned drink or black out drunk. Jane is furious and I join refueling my rage at my uncle. For some reason, I had a brainwave about the history of my uncle, about his assault conviction and I started to google his name. I couldn't believe what I saw, how blind me and my family were at that time. Wishing I had done this 20 years ago. At the top of the google search, Namibian predator released from jail in political blunder. We read this article in Silent Shock. The truth came out, two years before being caught and convicted, he met a woman in a nightclub, drugged her drink, took her home, took questionable photos of her and then forced himself on her. She went to the police the next day, and they successfully got his DNA. Two years later he gets arrested for drinking and driving, they take his DNA and bam, it's a match, they have all the surveillance footage and the photos on his phone. Easy conviction, even though he had tried to convince the courts they were dating and she was a jilted lover. His story about being innocent and released was all bullcrap. Some politician who was trying to make a name for himself decided to release 100 non-violent criminals. Uncle Chad got on the list somehow. About 8 months later they realized their mistake, rearrested him and extradited him back to Namibia, hence the separate honeymoons. While in Namibia, he changed his name and took his wife's surname so he could get into Canada, since they don't take convicted felons. I tell Jane we need to go to the police, but she refuses and says, absolutely not. She has dealt with SA police concerning these crimes before and it was worse than the actual event itself, these are her words. I tell her I know someone, ex-policeman, who can help her. We end up getting into a huge fight, she blames me for introducing them. She has had a couple of drinks on top of this devastating realization, slaps me through the face and leaves the restaurant. I am beyond furious, I am murderous, but only towards Chad. I send him a message saying that I know what he'd done to my dear friend and I know about his real past. He shows his despicable and disgusting nature. Responding, I am so over your drama, does this look like she was knocked out because of me? And then proceeds to shamelessly send me all the photos. I became physically ill, no one wants to see photos of a friend like that. She refuses to take my calls and that day was the beginning of the end of our friendship. I'm haunted, the situation consumes my thoughts day and night. I decide to message his wife. Telling her I'm so sorry about her divorce and tell her all the crap he has said about her. She interrupts me, asking me, are you sitting down? Because I need to tell you something. Apparently there was no divorce. Yes, they are having issues with his infidelity, but he promised it would never happen again. He has a therapist who has advised that he should go to SA to find himself. I tell her exactly how he is finding himself. She breaks down and tells me everything, from him shenanigans with the babysitters at home, hiding cameras in their bathroom to film them showering, getting one of them pregnant. There was a huge court case because he denied it was his and refused to take a DNA test, court made him take the test. Yes, he is the father. She sends me all the affidavits, court papers, report from the therapist etc. She also sent me screenshots of their conversations. Message upon message of him saying how much he misses her and how this trip will save their marriage. He misses her more and more every day. All the while telling us that she is crazy, abusive, controlling and cheated on him with his best friend. Spoiler alert, there is no therapist. He created a fake Gmail account and sent reports to his wife on his progress. The therapist basically instructed her to forgive him for his infidelity, because he had a traumatic childhood and he is actually a great guy. If I wasn't his therapist, he would be my best friend. I kid you not, that was in the report. I am not sure if his wife was just really gullible or hopeful, but I saw it the minute I opened the first email. I mean, my loony uncle even made the same spelling mistakes and used the same colloquialism. I plot and plan, what is the worst possible thing I can do with him? I am all consumed. In SA you can pay someone for anything. But I am a big believer of karma, so I know I can't use any nefarious means. I realize I have copies of all of his documents, passports, from Namibia and Canada, his ID with his original name on it, bank statements. Which were showing he had loads of money, while he was supposed to send money home to his wife. Before he left he took the proceeds of a car they sold. It was meant for the farm but he told her he needed it for his sabbatical. He would flip cars in SA and double the money. Then I remember, he changed his name and took her surname so he couldn't probably would get into Canada. So for about a year, I went backwards and forwards in my head. Do I report him to the Canadian immigration? What will be the repercussions? I was troubled and torn. I am not a malicious person. But it felt like I needed to do something, I am a person of action. Then I heard he had done the same thing to someone else extremely close to me. My other dear friend Annie, during the same period as Jane, she only remembered a year later after extensive therapy. So I sat down in front of my laptop and wrote the most detailed, factual, devastating letter of my life. My hands shook the entire time. I put it all in there, the case from France with links to all the newspaper articles, screenshots of messages to me, partially blanked out, showing he is distributing naked pictures without consent, which is illegal in SA, a full timeline of his life, highlighting his name changed to deliberately deceive the Canadian immigration. I made it very clear in my report, that his behavior had escalated, without recourse. I did not include the affidavits or correspondence from his wife. Even though she knew of his deception, I didn't want her to get into trouble. I pressed send and chose to got very drunk that night. I made sure it was 100% anonymous, so I never got a response. I just carried on my life and helped Annie get better. Jane and my friendship deteriorated beyond repair. She deliberately started dating my brother and has turned him against me, that is a whole other messed up story that I might write about one day, when it stops hurting. I only told Annie what I did, I actually told her this year. I've kept it a secret for about three years, while knowing he wasn't able to go back to Canada. He was banned for life. Part of me feels sorry for his kids and another part of me thinks I did them a favor, especially his daughter, who he started talking inappropriately about, saying things you can't say to and about someone that age. Considering the babysitter he got pregnant was only 18. I am friends with his ex-wife on Facebook. She seems happy. New guy, kids are happy and doing their thing. If you got this far, thank you. I hope you found some justice in hearing all of this. Thank you for enjoying this episode, which was made with artificial love. Subscribe or give Royal ASM sugar by avenging the like button. Could you imagine doing one of these acts yourself? Share your experience below. I'll join the conversation.