That Time I Was Being Catfished

That time was a few days ago, you know over Memorial Day Weekend. Yeah, that time.

To preface this story, I was NEVER going to be one of those old people who fell for every marketing scam that came down the pike. My Yahoo! Spam folder is full of promises for the perfect over-50 body, testosterone level, soulmate, get rich investment scheme, you name it. I delete that folder almost daily. There are the sponsored ads for freebies on social media that I mostly ignore, though I have followed a couple of them down the endless survey rabbit hole only to get frustrated that I fell for it and wasted my time.

Well, I've also watched the Catfish TV series that ran on MTV when my daughters were younger and living at home. We watched countless episodes together of socially awkward-to-inept teens and young adults pose as someone skinnier, healthier, funnier, prettier...in order to snag a fish. The saying goes there are "many fish in the sea," but these people can't rely on their own merit to catch one, apparently. This idea of catfishing has been going on for years. It snared a cousin of mine who lost his career over it. I was never going to be that gullible.

Right.

The bots are aplenty on all of the Meta platforms--Instagram, Threads and Facebook--that I've used. And I've had to utilize the block button more times than I care to count. I've even had replies to my comments on a post from bots that go to some length expressing how interesting of a person I am and would I please friend them or contact them so they can know me better. Some version of that has happened numerous times. My response is to either hide the comment, if I can't simply delete it, and to block that "user." I'm guessing most of them are Chinese hackers phishing for identities to steal.

But then a reply to a comment I made last week on a Vanity Fair article caught my attention. Of course, first gut instincts are always spot-on and as you'll note, I called out "BOT!" right away. But what struck me about this response is that it seemed a little more personal. It said they wouldn't get to know me unless I was "brave enough" to text them. Okay, now you've questioned my manhood (in a manner of speaking).

Initial exchange under an innocuous comment on a Vanity Fair post last week.

This Jennifer Williams, as she called herself, was just seeking conversation. That seemed reasonable AND HUMAN enough. So I took the bait...and here's what ensued over the weekend...

This Jennifer wanted photos immediately. I offered the one in my profile as it is only a month or two old. "Is that all I get?" And she sent me three photos with a quickness...you know, to sell herself as Jennifer, US Army Chaplain Corps, Idaho Falls, 53. Does she look 53 to you??

The photos I got almost instantly, like she had them on the ready

WOW, I thought, she's pretty attractive! What boosted that was her forwardness, confidence and the fact that she was a badass in the military, and a chaplain to boot, which meant that she was spiritual and invested in enriching others. And LOOK, it says "Williams" right on the uniform. I took that as a clue this was a real person. I mean, it is a real person, not named Jennifer, and not hot on the trail of her soulmate to share her golden years of military retirement with.

That's what I was sold over the weekend, alotta hooey about her pending retirement at age 53, and her being five years post-divorce, ready to find that special someone to settle down with.

After receiving the pictures and some discussion about Idaho--the cell phone number she gave is a Potlach, ID, number--she quickly updated her profile to Moscow, ID, the nearest town. But what was interesting is that no bases are anywhere in the vicinity except the US Naval Surface Command, and so I wondered if an Army Chaplain would be assigned there.

According to "Jennifer," she had no children, no siblings and her parents were both deceased. Convenient. She was on her last deployment (a story that quickly changed once things unraveled, but be patient, I'm getting there).

The conversation was hot and heavy that first day, Saturday, of this past weekend. I was shooting off rapid-fire, interview type questions to get to the heart of her story. And that story contained abuse at the hands of her eight-year husband, so bad that it left physical scars on her back. No counseling and no PTSD, at least not from domestic violence, just "time to heal" these last five years, with no potential suiters. A beauty like this and no men? Well, she is in BFE Idaho, I concluded (to myself).

She claimed to be 53 and enlisted since she was 28. She'd done her time and was looking forward to getting her pension, but not living off of it, as she had plans. They sounded good to me. ALL of her answers sounded quite good. She only evaded one of my questions, and she only spoke in broken English a couple of times (her shorter more spontaneous responses). At the time, I believed that was from her upbringing in Prague, Czech Republic. And I read all of her responses with a slightly Eastern European accent. But the more thoughtful responses, were quite intelligent, convincing and fluid. She was careful to repeat phrases back to me like "being present" and "meaningful."

Let me insert here that I now believe hackers, or some lonely Asian girl, was using AI to generate the near perfect responses. The one that stumped and surprised me, though, was when she read my mind. I had asked her to describe the perfect dinner date at her place. She came through with an A+ response even picking the exact movie title I had in mind. That was weirdly coincidental. That was Sunday afternoon, and by then, my suspicions had eased and my caution relaxed. I was starting to believe this was a real woman.

I even shared the story with two people by Monday/Tuesday, one of whom laughed and poo-poo'd it, while the other was hooked with line and sinker. She started planning our future, LOL! I was not at that level, but I was enjoying the conversation, especially since "Jennifer" was so cordial and complimentary. I'm a sucker for words that affirm me. Who isn't?

So Tuesday afternoon is when this farce all unraveled. We'd been speaking for four days, but three of them weren't nearly as intense as the first day, where we spent about four hours online going back and forth. She had immediately given me her Idaho phone number (that was suspicious behavior, especially for a woman living alone) AND moved our conversation to the Telegram app.

But I was online doing some family research and getting bored with it. I decided to try something I'd seen on the show Catfish. Also, there had been another red flag. A second Facebook account came up for this Jennifer person with a similar looking picture taken at fall/wintertme in a coat and blue knit cap. Well, she never responded when questioned about it, so I drug the photo into the search bar of Google. It identified the image as AMANDA DORIS WILLIAMS who had a TikTok account. I do not.

So I asked my sister who does, to look into it. See if she's posted videos of herself. I was told she never appears on camera but that her vids DO include some of her photos AND there are multiple accounts! So now, I'm researching the new name of my "future girlfriend," who had already asked me to come visit her. I still don't know what her END GAME was. But, lo and behold, there were at least four or five Amanda (Doris) Williams accounts on Facebook with similar photos and claims of being an Army Chaplain.

Some of those accounts from a Facebook search.

Now, I'm agitated and a little embarrassed.

The man who believes he's not that gullible has been duped by a Catfish. I waited for her next communication which came while I was en route to the grocery store. I paced the store waiting for her to respond to this text, "I have more questions. Big Surprise there. Can I call you?" Suddenly, at 4:30 Mountain Time, she was too tired for conversation and wanted to put me off until morning. I attempted to call but got only a generic voicemail using the phone number as the greeting.

Suddenly, she's spinning a new web that she's about to be deployed to Poland and her only means of communication would be through Telegram. She even sent me some very computerized sounding voice memo that was clearly the voice of a young Asian girl. When I asked who the Asian bot was, she just laughed. I told her I was deleting the app and that if she was really going overseas on deployment, she'd still have my number to reach me when she got back. I was promised a call the next day to explain everything, but she stuck to her story, said that Amanda Doris Williams was her real, legal name, and that her account had been hacked.

The only account being hacked was potentially mine!

I called her out online and found the LinkedIn account of the poor woman whose identity has been stolen and her likeness used on potentially HUNDREDS of fake accounts across platforms, like Telegram, Instagram, Threads, LinkedIn and Facebook. The real Amanda Williams, MDIV, did become a chaplain just a few short years ago and is a member of the Texas National Guard. From what I can tell, she has served over 20 years in some area of the US Army, but not in Idaho and the photo of her pinning shows her son proudly pinning his mom.

I doubt much of the backstory from Prague to Idaho to Poland was true. Oh, and you can find the real Army Chaplain, a Captain, now, I believe on YouTube. She doesn't have an Eastern European accent, nor does she sound like an Asian anime character. LOL! But I am sure she is a lovely person, as I believed her to be as Jennifer.

I reached out to her LinkedIn profile to say that I'd nearly been catfished by one of the fake accounts posing as her. She is well aware that many of them exist. Is it even legal to impersonate an officer in the US military? Seems like that would be a punishable, federal offense.

I'm sure I'm not the only one it's happened to. Some of those fake accounts on Facebook boast more than 150 ALL MEN friends and followers.

Yes, I remember too well that time I was being Catfished. It took a couple days for the shame and stinging embarrassment to wear off so that I could share my story.

Be careful out there folks. The internet is some sketchy territory. The end.

Better Than That

I did not deserve the abuse I endured on Oak Ridge Ave, Ft Myers Beach, but I’m working through it. I know I deserve better than that. And while not totally healed from it, I am happy to have escaped. I moved all the way to the other coast across the country to heal by distancing myself and going zero contact. It’s the only way to end narcissistic abuse (and the accompanying reactive abuse).

I didn’t enjoy leaving Scott at the liquor store in the lurch, but I hope he understands. My escape was necessary for my mental health.

Be well my friends. Value your mental wellbeing and prioritize yourself. Peace, love and healing.

Lat/Lon of Life

“Changes in latitude…” Jimmy Buffet

Before I left the beach in Fort Myers, I didn’t plan for the cold. I’d spent the last 21 months mostly in shorts, t-shirt and flops. I was moving to another tropical climate in SoCal…then I got here.

A simple search of the Lat/Lon of both locales shows the degrees of difference. FMB is exactly three degrees north of the tropics, as in the Tropic of Cancer. It’s a very moderate climate where lows to 40 mark the winteriest chill of the season. In SoCal, especially at the beaches, 40’s have been the low since I arrived in mid-January.

I never considered these factors:

SoCal/LA is NOT in or near the tropics.

The Pacific Ocean temp at the coast is low 50’s.

It does actually rain here.

On that last one, it’s been the wettest late Jan/early Feb in a really long time, I believe. In the month since my arrival, there have been consecutive days of rain in THREE of the four weeks. Now they needed the rain, SORELY, I just wasn’t prepared. I thought CA was sunnier than FLA.

The cool sea breezes fueled by a much cooler and larger body of water add to the wintry feel. The Gulf OF MEXICO is considerably warmer, even in the winter. And it’s ALWAYS breezy at the coast in SoCal.

Not only is SoCal not in the tropics, it’s 11 degrees north. It’s nearly four degrees further north than Tallahassee. And we use to get hard freezes in TLH! I’m not whining and complaining. I’m simply pointing out that I did not do my homework. I wasn’t prepared.

In fact, I wasn’t prepared for my train ride up the coast and across the cold Midwest. I’d originally thought my Amtrak train was the old Sunset Limited that basically follows I-10 cross country. I had forgotten that train has been cancelled for more than a decade, cancelled when I lived in TLH and it used to pass through there. I brought one hoodie, a few pairs of long pants, no sweats, and no jacket.

It’s sort of a metaphor for life. I don’t always plan well. It’s not always as sunny as I expect it to be. And I pay the price for my laissez faire attitude. But it DOES keep life interesting!

The main thing was getting as far away from Florida and my ex as possible. And putting 37 degrees of longitude between us fits the bill. The most important part is my mental health. And as the saying goes changes in latitude (i.e. your mental outlook) effects your attitude, and this move has done me worlds of good. Besides, if it stays too cold here for my liking, I can always move two degrees south to San Diego.

The adventure continues…stay tuned!

BLM Movement

BLACK HISTORY MONTH

Why Black Lives Matter

My daughter and I marched in 2020's Black Lives Matter/George Floyd protest in Tallahassee. We were proud to support her African American heritage, on her mother's side, her right to speak out on her own behalf and to let the world know that we've had enough of racism, hate and bigotry in this country.

I just learned of the BLM movement that year, but it started with three women in 2013, one of whom had simply made the comment on social media that black lives matter. And, C'MON, this is a bare minimum requirement, for a human life to matter. Black folks are human beings and so, of course, their lives are sacred, have meaning and value. The fact that this has to be stated for the record is the truly sad part.

These women--Garza, Tometi and Cullors--met at a black leadership conference that year, bonded and created a website for their grassroots organization. As Tometti reminds us, "Black people aren't a monolith." The black community is just as diverse as every other ethnic or racial group. The media just likes to perpetuate stereotypes, but you shouldn't buy into them. They only serve to fuel the hate and bigotry we still see today. The BLM co-founders were horrified and largely motivated by the killing of Trayvon Martin the year before they met. But it was the George Floyd murder by police in 2020 that saw the movement explode internationally.

I am convinced that so many people being home bound and isolated by COVID that Spring gave them a reason to get outside and to congregate. I know that I was paying so much more attention to the MSM and social media at that time and I couldn't get enough of the George Floyd/BLM coverage. I was outraged, as were my daughters. It took no convincing to get my youngest to march that day in downtown Tallahassee with me. It's a memory I'll always cherish.

She and every black member of my family matters significantly. In society, it's a bare minimum to say that one's life matters. Of course, all lives matter, but because of systemic racism and bigotry, we sadly have to single out black lives because they haven't always mattered in this country.

And since it's Black History Month, we should honor the legacy of Black Americans because THEIR HISTORY IS OUR HISTORY! And we should continue to demand better of this country and its government. That's why I'll be joining the continuing protests across all 50 states on February 17th. Please join me and take to the streets.

#BlackLivesMatter

(Editor’s note, the book “Call and Response: The Story of Black Lives Matter,” by Veronica Chambers, 2021, help to inspire and inform this post. It has lots of great photos plus a timeline of the civil rights movement.)

STOPPING THE MADNESS, The Series

I started a series on my YouTube channel documenting my mental health journey the last two and one half months. I titled it Stopping The Madness, parts one through three. Part three is the video above which I recorded in mid-December but just rediscovered on my phone. I hope you’ll take the time to watch it and the two that came before. There is a final part to the series, recorded earlier this week, titled Stopped The Madness. As you may have read in my last post, I finally escaped my narcissist abuser and left Florida for good! As I write this, I’m somewhere in the plains of Southern Colorado aboard an LA-bound train.

I successfully got out of a very toxic situation turned survival quest the last two months. We navigated the holidays together, but my secret mission the entire time was to escape with my sanity. I accomplished that this week.

In the process of escape, I learned that the narcissist’s meddling, low IQ sister messaged MY sister to cast aspersions on my character. WHY??? Just let it go! You were never for the relationship from the get-go. And what was your aim? To harm my reputation with my ride-or-die sister whom you don’t know and have never met. Had this transaction gone down in person you surely would’ve met HER HANDS! My baby sis don’t play that way. She loves her big brother and would go down fighting to protect me! You don’t know what we’ve been through, fought through and suffered together these last ten years. That’s because you are foolish and ignorant just like your siblings. Lynn doesn’t have your back like that, TRUST ME!

Sorry that all of that needed to be said. But the abuse I suffered was real. It’s all documented on my channel, in videos, in a couple of blog posts here, in my private journal (yes, the one the narcissist violated because she thought she owned everything about me, even my thoughts and feelings) AND with the psychiatric staff at Park Royal. Yes there is a record. And I kept receipts. I’ll never be snared by another narcissist disguised as a damsel in distress.

I am literally on the road to healing. Once I get to LA, I will find a good therapist and manage this process, as I did in Boulder in 2021. Keep tabs on me here and on YouTube.

My journey, my story to tell

EDITOR’S NOTE: It is NOT my intent to air Lynn’s dirty laundry. I only felt obliged to begin writing it last weekend when she began lying about me, our situation and assassinating my character, as she is prone to do. I have not cheated on her nor did I leave her for someone else. Period.

My story

It will soon come to light that I left Fort Myers Beach and all it had to offer behind, including a romance that was doomed from the start. I’m talking March 2012 when we were both still married. That should’ve been enough of a red flag to us both. Only one of us heeded it and spent ten years healing, growing and changing.

When I got back to what once was my happy place, I set a course for new adventure but ended up going right back to relearn the lessons I thought I had mastered the first time. Nope, I ran right past all of the red flags. You see, the dreamer in me wanted to rewrite the ending of our saga. Here is how I started that last chapter in 2024.

What I quickly realized is that my partner, the one who I called in the blog post linked above “my person,” was not any different than the psychological mess—the wounded child—I’d left here on Mango Street in February 2014! I’d assumed, and given her the benefit of doubt, that she’d likewise grown, matured and changed over the ten years of separation. I was wrong to assume anything. Turns out, I had to learn the lessons all over again. So that instead of writing a love story, what I was actually finishing is a horror/thriller ride.

It has finally come to an end.

I walk away licking my wounds once again. This is no call for sympathy, just a cautionary tale. Good guys easily become suckers. I fell for the damsel routine once. I didn’t believe I was falling for it again. I thought I had come back to find a strong, empowered woman who had discovered and learned to love herself. Instead, I found the same damsel whose victim game is well worn and tattered, who needs to learn to own up and lose the girl who cried wolf routine.

While no one can undo the damage to the little girl, the adult woman can decide to heal, forgive and move on. That’s what I have decided to do. I need to heal once again from the emotional scars that two trips down this road have left deep inside me.

This isn’t abandonment 2.0 regardless of what some others might believe. She never really wanted me here. She obviously wanted to continue punishing me for the sins of her father and the abusive men who came before me. Added to that she had a personal vendetta for what I “did to her” in 2014. This isn’t me leaving. It’s her pushing me out the door. She’s been doing it since June! I have all of the receipts in my journal.

I fought her on it the first few times in June/July, refusing to leave “her house.” Funny how she called it “Doyle Beach House,” in one breath and her place the next, threatening me with police-enforced eviction more than one time. When she did this again in August, I left. I never felt so liberated.

She used counseling to manipulate me back inside her world. She promised her counselor and I to never kick me out again. She kept her word on that. I was back to being “pawpaw” or her “hubby boy” within weeks. We celebrated my September birthday with a short cruise to Freeport.

Fast forward through two hurricanes and many fights later…

We were at a hotel in town where we chose to evacuate with our pets during Hurricane Milton. I once again made the mistake of pointing out her poor choices/bad behavior. The child lashed out again, leaving me there the night of landfall and telling me she didn’t care if she or our animals survived the night.

So she kept her word of never kicking me out. But giving up and leaving me is no different. Our relationship ended that night. I slept on the hotel room floor once she came to her senses and returned to safety. Once home, I was determined to leave her for good. It took weeks, but my plan eventually materialized.

Fast forward again to this past weekend. She attacked me for being the opposite of everything she typically says that I am, “her perfect man.” This is the game the narcissist plays with their narc supply—you are their hero one minute, Satan the next, there is no in between. I’ve suffered in this no-win situation far too long. I no longer want to be her hero, the villain OR the victim.

So I left.

Monday I packed my things and walked out the door. I’m never looking back. Narcissist abuse is real. My suffering was very real. Therapists will all tell you to cut off their supply and go no contact. That’s what I am doing. 

No regrets and no shame. It was just another misadventure. It was a mistake I MADE TWICE! Never again.

(Edited and posted in Pittsburgh, PA)