Blog

waving red flags

waving red flags 🚩 🚩 🚩

Mr. Weasel Dick

On June XX, 2023 I was granted a temporary order of protection against you by Judge ABC for sexual assault (rape) that occurred on June XX, 2023 sometime between the hours of 8pm and 9:49 pm at my residence in Santa Monica. The LA County Sheriff attempted service to you on June XX, 2023 at 666 Go Fuck Yourself Ave, but was unable to serve you as you had not given me your apartment number ever. I went to court today on the XX of July 2023 and that order was extended by Judge DEF until August XX, 2023 in attempt to serve you again. If you ever contact me again in any manner. Text. Phone. Email. In person. In California or Arizona. At the studios I practice and teach at. At my homes. Over Social Media. Not only will I call the authorities I will file criminal rape charges as well as a civil suit for all the emotional, physical, financial and legal burdens I have sustained due to your illegal, illicit, criminal, and damaging  behavior. Rape is a felony. And according to California Penal Code 261 (a)(3) “Does intoxication impact the victim’s ability to consent? Yes, the accused is guilty of rape if engaging in an act of sexual intercourse where the other person is prevented from resisting by any intoxicating or anesthetic substance, or any controlled substance, and this condition was known, or reasonably should have been known by the accused.” Considering you’ve been an active member of the AA community for the last nine plus years you were certainly aware that I was incredibly intoxicated and unable to consent. You violated me in the most heinous way and I have been suffering for weeks and this most likely will take me a lifetime to deal with. You know I have multiple sclerosis and I am not well because of what you have done. You gave me a bacterial infection as well for which I had to be treated with strong antibiotics, not to mention the invasive exam and vials of blood drawn to find out if I was okay. I have my underwear in a ziplock and will submit it as evidence if you ever come near me again. At no time throughout our acquaintance was I ever interested in a sexual intimate relationship with you or any intimate relationship with you for that matter. I hope I’ve been incredibly clear that you are never to contact me again in ANY way. Ever. 

Julie Blew

ps. I’d appreciate you supplying me with your apartment number as I have sustained such trauma from this and am not interested in hunting you down. I just want you kept away. I do have your mom’s address and I can always send to her home. I am trying to heal. You can make this easy or you can make this challenging. You are not worth me ending up in a wheelchair. you are not worth anything…

I sent this to him via email after I returned home from the courthouse that evening in July. I could no longer keep sharing this with my kids but I had no one else. I tried my family. My brother dug up the same information that I already had gotten from my own PI that I hired. I never heard from them again other than weeks later my other brother argued with me about what this guy was going to do to me in court. What could he do? I had admission via text and phone. I had no support. I was raped and not one of them actually cared. My mother didn’t say much. But called a month later to see how court went. I mean. Fuck all of you. I had to take matters into my own hands. HE hurt me. He hurt me in a way that I may never recover from fully. Especially because of my illness. How insane is it that this man could harm me in such a way, yet I had to go find him…fuck that too.

Three days after I sent the above email (It’s verbatim minus any disparaging details and fuck that too as I am not allowed to disparage him, but he almost virtually destroyed me.) I heard from an attorney. Not a criminal defense attorney. A friend/lawyer kind of attorney and for the next six weeks I became an attorney representing myself all while dealing with the aftermath of trauma so vile and heinous my brain literally stopped working. For months. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t pay bills. I was paralyzed. I mean I’m still not ok. And I just navigated the most stress inducing sale of my home ever, with the buyer assaulting my home trying to take insane advantage of me. I’m also still recovering from that.  There were only a few things I was able to do – yoga, run, eat (barely), sleep (that was hard because every time the sun went down…I panicked – every goddamn night for months) And I started playing the guitar. Found myself a guitar teacher. He’s kinda my hero. I still play to this day. Eight months and counting. Right now i’m playing Redemption Song:) I play everyday and it still helps. i can go on and on about what this weasel dick took from me and I hate that he took anything. Fuck. He’s a grown weasel with three daughters and I was unconscious and I have an autoimmune disease. I mean. I hadn’t seen this piece of shit fuck in months and tbh I still haven’t seen him and I was not out with him that evening. He was with his mother in Santa Monica because his stepdad died two days prior and his mom lives there. In fact, I have no idea how he got into my apartment. I know in a previous blog post that I said “I must’ve let him in”, but I remember nothing from that evening except three things. And two of those things took hours the next day to remember. Number one. Getting to the restaurant and meeting my girlfriend. He called on the way and I let it go to text and said I’d reach out after. (that’s all i remember until about two plus hours after I woke the next morning:) Number two. This WD on top of me on my couch. Dude. Seriously. Number three. Him holding my hair back as I violently vomit from drinking too much tequila. Thanking him. Apologizing for vomiting. That gets me every time I say that. (The thanking and the apologizing) and asking him to lock the door on his way out because at that point I was still shitfaced and according to my apple watch I arrived home at 8:00pm and was asleep by 9:49 pm. When I woke up the next morning feeling like hell, he had texted. Then he called. Because after laying in bed so sick the next morning I had a vision of him on top of me. My next memory was the bathroom. I laid in bed for close to three hours watching this memory return and hoping to whoever would fucking help me out that this was just a vision. I shot him a text and I asked him, he then asked to call and I said “sure”, and his answer threw me. He said there was penetration. WHO THE FUCK SAYS THAT? My daughter called on the other line and I hung up and immediately blocked him and started my very challenging  journey towards justice where the prey has to find the predator – that is insanity. And justice, which really hasn’t been served. And to recovering from being raped at 55 by a 57 year old WD with three daughters. And the biggest kicker is I was virtually unconscious. He is (hope to g-d was) a leader he claimed in the AA community. So he knew I was shitfaced. All the details are in the blogs I’ve written. It’s really nothing more than I was underfed and over served. Whatever it was, this WD had absolutely no right. No invitation. No even suggestion to do what he did to my body while I was laying there unable to resist or fight back. I was incapacitated. Do you have any idea how horrifying that is? I hope you never ever ever ever have to know.  Ever. 

anyway. 

Wow. Do you see where my brain just took you. Way off base. Thank you trauma. ptsd, and ms. 

I became my own attorney with the assistance of my lawyer friend in Arizona. I poured my trauma out to his lawyer in really lengthy emails for multiple reasons. Since I wasn’t putting his rapist ass in jail I knew the only way I could get to him was with my words. I never backed down. And I truly don’t believe his attorney even wanted this case as he gave me everything i asked for. Except the one thing that would have been justice served by having his rapist ass sent to jail. Because he is guilty. And his attorney let me vent. Yes I knew WD was paying for it,  but my emails were very detailed and personal. Let’s not forget I have an illness, I live alone and I am a writer. Writers know how cathartic it can be. I have a chronic asshole of an illness. Who was going to help me but me? And if I didn’t have multiple sclerosis or a family that gave a fuck that I was violently and horrifically assaulted I may have been able to put him behind bars. Because I do not believe this is his first time…how fucked up is that…a nice jewish man from the North Shore of Chicago.

I’ll take a hard pass:)

That’s a lot. It’s a lot for a normal human. It’s exacerbated by my illness and my current situation. Support comes in lots of forms. I prefer the real kind. Not the social media kind. I need interaction with real human beings. Yet this weasel, and he looks like one too – hurt me in ways I can never explain nor will I try. I’m exhausted. It’s exhausting being me. A one woman show that everyone thinks can handle all that is thrown at me. I can’t. This took me to my edge. I won’t let it make me fall. But I am dangling…I promise. 

Okay…now how the fuck did I get here? Maybe we need to take a ride back to my past to figure that out.

Buckle up babies….it’s going to be a bumpy (but a good quick read:) kind of ride. 

Maybe you will heed my wisdom or find yourself in the middle of one of my monologues. Essays. Trips. Journeys. Love found and lost. My own red flags. The years of therapy and searching and seeking. Finally being okay with who I am. Was the lesson in being assaulted that I would finally find, love, and honor myself. Because I promise you I love myself more than ever and I am incredibly confident in all of the choices I make. Life is short as fuck people. There isn’t time and you shouldn’t wait. Don’t listen to me, I truly don’t care. Again. I’m not writing this for you. I am writing because it heals me. And if you find a little healing, a smile, a laugh, a tear along the way. Then good. I’ve always been a healer. The truth is, in me healing you, it allowed you all to heal me. 

namaste

to be continued…

No Comments

Post a Comment