Whenever someone asks why I’d proposed yet never married, I reply how I’ve replied for the longest time: I don’t play with God. Whenever someone asks why I joined church yet stopped attending, again, I say what I’ve always said: I don’t play with God. Which isn’t to say my fiancée or church acted in accordance. It’s to say I’m not some character who performs screenplays where my heart isn’t entirely into the script—I’m a bad actor.
This, more than anything, is why I cannot stand a fake Christian. I cannot stand the air a fake Christian breathes. I cannot stand the ground on which a fake Christian walks. A fake Christian tells you exactly what to expect from eye contact—lies, liar, minstrel show. A fake Christian will look directly into your eyes and lie to your face.
Julia Williams is a fake Christian. I’ve said it for awhile now. There is no study worth the paper it is printed on that could define Williams. There is no content around to explain the act. My Dad’s mom assured me that a fake Christian doesn’t believe in God. I’ve never known the woman to lie.
Anyone who knows me will tell you that, once my peace is threatened, I’ll ignore a person’s entire existence in the blink of an eye. I’ll walk past people like they’re not standing there. Case in point: I’ve gone years without speaking to my own flesh and blood. There are friends and family members with whom I hadn’t exchanged words in decades. So I care less about ignoring a social media account, which Williams represented in my life.
In Julia’s deranged mind, bullying and harassment is a victim publicly addressing the ongoing criminal activity against himself and others. As if to say, shut up while I continue to cyberstalk, cyberbully and invade your privacy, to the point where she and others are somehow able to listen to phone calls, see inside of my residence, witness my sexual activities and view me inside of places of businesses in Madison, Wisconsin. Day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, I’ve watched Williams accurately depict not only my sexual activities but the sexual activities of women around me. This, for the most part, is the most disheartening thing—women violated within the created rape culture due to being associated with me in some form or fashion. One woman received a death threat. I received a death threat mailed to my home address.
These sex offenders placed my employer, employer’s phone number, my address and picture of my apartment building on Twitter, claiming “contacts within the FBI, CIA, IRS and other agencies to make my life infinitely more complicated.” This, after I’d named corrupt law enforcement and manipulator Jami Dolby, convicted felon Barbara Rawls-Ivy, Alabama educators Kimberly and husband Jeff Johnson and convicted sex offender Richard Harrison as being involved in the felony criminal activity publicly disguised as a movement. They believed revealing this personal information would deter me when, in actuality, it drove me.
Williams tweeted about how I could use the tweets to my advantage. Tiffany, party to the crime, tweeted in laughter after I’d finally noticed the tweets “this is big and I am little, will God make up the rest?” If phoned death threats and mailed death threats hadn’t deterred me then what makes them believe those tweets scared me? Matter of fact, which one of these social media accounts are bold enough to travel to my city and/or employer, and take my life? Not one.
Williams claimed she’s dealt with “whatever lie she wants others to believe” for the past 10 years, which is not true seeing as how we’d interacted only five years. I created a blog in ‘07 and ignored Williams in ‘13. One of those years I stopped blogging, communicated with no bloggers altogether. Who asks a “random person” to provide feedback on an unpublished manuscript? She asked at least three times. Last time, getting on my nerves. Who phones a “random person” after receiving a contract in the mail for publication? Who emails unsolicited nude and other suggestive photographs to someone harassing you? Who leaves a Happy Birthday voicemail to a bully? Mind you, in those five years, Williams and I never had any conversation whatsoever related to sex. Never, ever.
Upon ignoring, the only times I contacted this sick person involved the criminal activity. Once, I called the phone number associated with last text message. Williams never answered. And twice, I emailed to ask if there was something she needed to call me and say? At this point, I only looked to pass that particular number to Wisconsin law enforcement. She replied with a bible verse. Afterward, Tiffany again tweeted in laughter that “scripture isn’t needed in times of crisis.” To the day, both women and other parties to the crimes continue to accurately depict persons, places and things in my life. None of which could be known without stalking, invading my privacy.