2025: A Year of Gaslighting
Writing "A Journalist Enters a Pub" (at my prior blog site) provided me with much enjoyment. The stories about my experiences as a journalist were written as a small reminder as to why journalism is my passion. It serves as a diary of how friendships within this field have strengthened both my life and Christian faith.
But the post written in April provided the beginning point for what has been a year of gaslighting.
The actual event (I refer to it as a "single imprint trauma") was on February 27th. And as 2025 winds down and we come to the end of the Gregorian calendar year, I revisit it once again.
https://thelastenglishprince.wordpress.com/2025/04/13/status-unknown/
https://thelastenglishprince.wordpress.com/2025/04/27/two-months-status-unknown/
https://thelastenglishprince.wordpress.com/2025/10/27/status-unknown-eight-months/
A year of gaslighting consisted of fake texts and e mails, dubious and side-winding conversations, and now, a few digital footprints which remain static in nature.
Recently, a family member informed me, "She is busy, in school, and working. You can see her online." I informed the individual, "I can see my father on line and he has been dead for three years." Digital is anything we want it to be. The dead are resurrected, the old are young again, and the fat are suddenly slender and ageless mannequins.
Madad's Facebook page has disappeared. But it never made sense, because how can you attend a reunion for a high school graduating class of 1984 when you were not born until 2005? When the images of the sad and crying eyes made an appearance, I had a hard time sleeping at night. But then again, many sleepless nights because of conversations with the men in this family.
Most cruel - the fake e mails. On July 9th, I received this:
"Hey, I would love to talk to you again. Lets talk, i am in Sudan right now. I would love to volunteer with you on Wednesdays."
A later e mail included a newspaper clipping advertising a garage sale at a local church. The message was truncated and asked if I wanted to go. No time was specified, no signature, cold and calculated. Cruel. My response was practical. Present yourself at my doorstep. I need proof of life.
I have not seen my friend since February 27th. "Said the spider to the fly...." And it was a spider that protected Prophet Muhammad and his secrets when he fled for his life.
If she is alive - what is the absolute terror which she has suffered that would keep her from picking up a phone and letting me know she is well? Who has harmed my friend? Easy enough. His name is Islam.
This is about Islam. Women are property. The men can do with them as they wish. And what has been done to her is whatever her father wished to do. It is as simple as that.
There are competing factors to control, quarantine the story and variables known only to me, as to why this has not been resolved in satisfactory manner, and so she remains: Status Unknown. My personal attorney, retains a file related to this journey. This remains an issue of client-attorney privilege.
* My father - alive and well in this video. If you watch it until the end, a glimpse of my Daddy walking toward his flower box situated near his white van. For a mere second, he is in the top right corner of the video. He is in a digital sarcophagus. Forever there, but permanently gone. He died on 18 January 2023.
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