A Letter to SEC agents, Etri and Good

Over the next few days, I will be uploading my life story, apologizing to individuals, talking about prison, how people can help others, and where help can be found for those who are living with abuse issues that might be impacting your life in ways you that keep you from living a full life. You might be suffering from autoimmune issues, anxiety, suicidal ideation, self-harm, etc... 

I doubt I will see the inside of a court room due to my illness, so it's important for me to be honest, own my wrongs, and seek forgiveness.

I also want people to know I do not blame anyone for what happened to me as child. I love my parents and I do believe they were not equipped to handle the child I became. I would steal, lie, touch men inappropriately and more. I suspect my mom was also abused, just as I am witnessing today, the heartbreak my niece is going through as she tries to save her own daughter from an abuser.

This is one of the letters I wrote to those at the Security and Exchange Commission. 

Due to some explicit content, individuals may become triggered. Please do what you need to care for yourself.

I was offered by the Security and Exchange Commission to write a 40 page response to the findings from their investigation and explain anything I believed was important to the case being brought against me. 

 

                                                        

Dear Mr. Etri, and Ms. Good, 

I write this letter in full acknowledgment of the civil and felony crimes I have been informed by you that I committed. I do not dispute them, nor do I offer excuses. I take full responsibility for my actions and the choices I made, and I accept the consequences that come with them.

 

At the same time, I believe it is important to provide insight into the circumstances that shaped my actions—not as a justification, but as a factor in understanding how I arrived at this point. My life has been shaped by severe and prolonged trauma, which led to the development of Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). This disorder, a direct result of childhood sexual abuse, has impacted my memory, perception, and ability to make sound decisions at times.

 

While I acknowledge that this does not absolve me of accountability, it is a critical element in understanding how my fractured mind operated over the years.

 

From the time I was a small child, I was subjected to relentless and inescapable sexual abuse. I was forced to please men sexually without understanding why—only that it was expected of me. I was told, “You are beautiful, and you belong to me.” My abusers convinced me that my body was not my own. My voice did not matter. My worth was measured only by how well I could comply, endure, and remain silent.

I learned to lie as a survival mechanism. I learned early in life that the truth did not protect me. I was told different stories to protect the abuser, Alvin Clifford George (1908–1983), from getting in trouble. I didn’t have a clue as to what was happening. In time, words held no meaning—only immediate survival mattered—until the lie became a part of my character. I also lied when I couldn’t remember what someone was talking about or when I was asked a question and had no idea how to answer. Yet people would say, “You remember…” and I would agree or make something up just to appease them in the moment.

 

By my twenties, I had developed self-destructive coping mechanisms to deal with the trauma. One such behavior was scraping the inside of my vaginal wall with a fork—repeatedly. Others included risky sexual behavior. I caused so much damage to myself, I was later offered reconstructive surgery. Even as an adult, I was still punishing myself for what had been done to me as a child. I believed I deserved to be hurt, sometimes I still do, but today, I have new tools to help me stay present and I’m doing much better.

 

Throughout my life, I experienced dissociation as a means of coping. I have lived much of my existence in a state of detachment, unable to form cohesive memories of certain events or people. I found I had not learned to connect with emotions related to behaviors. I believed “betrayal” meant a married person having sex with someone other than their spouse/partner. I didn’t know betrayal also applied to “lying”. I need to have an emotional connection/understanding of feelings.

A fractured mind learns to survive not by holding onto memories, but by adapting to the present—responding in whatever way makes sense to the alter in that moment. When remembering is too painful or overwhelming, the mind protects itself by letting go—by reshaping reality into something more bearable. Words and actions come automatically—not because they are deeply considered, but because they are necessary to keep going. Truth becomes fluid, shifting to fit what is safest in that instant. Later, when the past tries to surface, it comes in fragments—disjointed, uncertain—leaving behind the unsettling question: Did it happen that way, or was that just how I had to remember it to survive? This is where I became a full-fledged liar.

It wasn’t until I was 63 years old—after mustering the determination and courage to ask my father about the abuse—that I received confirmation from him. I had also been experiencing a resurgence of flashbacks and nightmares. That was when I fully grasped the extent of the trauma I endured as a child. This realization sent me on a relentless pursuit to understand who I am and how my mind has operated under the weight of trauma.

For years, I was misdiagnosed while living with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). Instead, I was told I had bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. What I was actually experiencing was trauma manifesting through bulimia, suspected anorexia (I weighed under 100 lbs.), and self-harm.

Despite medical interventions, I never found relief because the core issue—DID—was never diagnosed. Yet nearly every psychologist and psychiatrist I saw questioned me about it. They would ask if it had been ruled out, and my answer was always the same: “Of course not, there’s nothing wrong with me.” I refused to be treated for DID. If anyone pursued that diagnosis, I would stop seeing them—unless I was forcibly admitted. Before my diagnosis, I lived unaware of how fractured my mind had become. Memory loss, dissociation, and impaired cognitive function affected my decision-making in ways I didn’t understand at the time.

 

I lived in a constant state of survival, unable to comprehend the long-term impact of my actions. There were times I was aware, and times I was not. My mind had been trained since childhood to disconnect from reality in order to endure pain.

People like me—those who have endured life-altering trauma—do not always have full control over their actions due to memory loss and dissociation. This is not an excuse; it is a painful reality. That being said, as I’ve stated before, I alone take full responsibility for any harm I may have caused. I am sorry for the pain I added to the lives of others. That was never my desire. I look for ways to help, not to harm.

 

I know my case is not unique. Many women live with DID. There are not enough mental health professionals to care for the countless women who were forced into sexual servitude as children. The long-term consequences of childhood sexual abuse are devastating and often lead to complex mental health disorders, including:

• Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID)

• Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)

• Severe Depression and Anxiety

• Self-harm and Suicidal Ideation

 

Most survivors never get the help they need. Many, like me, are misdiagnosed for decades—misunderstood by the medical community, left untreated, and forced to navigate life with broken minds and families. There are not enough trained professionals in the prison system to recognize and treat severe childhood trauma. And even when help is available, it is nearly impossible to feel safe on a consistent basis in prison. As a result, women never fully receive the help they need. Appointments with prison psychiatrists—and more importantly, psychologists—are often limited to once or twice a month. That’s not enough to truly help a survivor dig in and work through the issues that led to criminal behavior.

I know this because it wasn’t enough for me. My psychologist, Dr. Lang, was wonderful, and I felt safe with her at times. But I struggled with memory issues. I think they were real memories. I just didn’t have the words to speak about the abuse. I would alter.

As a result, many survivors like me:

• Fall through the cracks of the system

• Self-medicate or engage in self-destructive behaviors

• Make harmful or impulsive decisions without fully understanding the long-term consequences

 

I take full accountability for not getting the help I needed. I know, as adults, it is up to us to deal with the hand we’ve been dealt without hurting others. And yet, I failed time and again. Still, I recognize that my story is part of a much larger issue—one that extends far beyond just me. I hope that women and men can one day truly get the mental health support they need.

 

Despite my past, I have tried to bring good into the world—and I believe that is truly the heart of who I am. I am a woman who cares deeply for others. I dedicated part of my life to caring for AIDS patients at a time when society had turned its back on them. I sat with many as they transitioned from life to death. I saw their pain and fear, and I knew I had to help.

 

After losing one of my dearest friends, I knew I had to step away from all the death and find a new way to bring love and comfort. I saw how much their pets—dogs, cats, snakes, or whatever companions they had—meant to them. So I made it my mission to find homes for those animals, giving my friends peace of mind in their final moments, knowing their babies would be cared for and loved.

 

I also recorded farewell messages for men before they slipped into comas or transitioned—messages for the families who had disowned them. In every case, these men offered hope and peace to the very people who had rejected them. Many extended forgiveness. Most just wanted their families to know that they loved them—even if they themselves didn’t feel worthy, loved, or like they mattered.

 

I saw how cruel people could be—often out of fear, ignorance, or a lack of empathy.

 

I worked with unwed teenage mothers, sometimes showing up in the middle of the night with milk and comfort. I worked with youth experiencing mental health struggles and taught in a self-contained classroom for teens. I helped develop a medical sleeve later used by elderly patients and those with cancer. I contributed to developing technology that ensured fairness and equity in online spaces.

 

My life has been a paradox of pain and purpose—of good and bad. I am deeply sorry for the wrong I have done. I never realized I had become the monster.

 

My last hope is that by sharing my story, others might better understand the realities of trauma, dissociation, and survival. The federal prison for women houses many survivors—some 82% were sexually abused by a stranger, someone they knew, or a family member. Many were traded for sex as little girls. As a nation, we should want children to grow up knowing they are safe, loved, and that they matter.

 

I am sorry. I am sorry the justice system has to deal with me again. I am sorry to anyone who has been hurt by my actions. I am sorry for my deceit, theft, and lack of memory. I am sorry to those who placed their trust in me. I take full responsibility for my wrongs, and I offer my deepest, most sincere apology to anyone I have harmed.

 

There are no excuses—only regret and a desire for understanding. I never set out to hurt anyone. But I know intent does not erase impact. If I could undo the wrongs I’ve done, I would. All I can do now is acknowledge my mistakes, own my actions, and express my deepest sorrow.

 

Thank you for the opportunity to provide this response. I know you allowed up to 40 pages, but honestly, we all know—I will always own what people say I did, because my lack of memory (I can’t think of a better word) sucks. I don’t run nor do I fight. Please let me know when I need to show up to be taken into custody.  That’s me—I don’t fight back. I was taught to do what I was told, smile, and look pretty.