Remembering the Pedophile Protocol

The story I have to tell is not a happy story, but once upon a time I was a happy little girl. It’s important to remember that. Whatever mistakes my parents made, whatever other people did to me, I remember what it feels like to be happy and innocent and safe. People stole those feelings from me on purpose. I intend to take them back for keeps.

I’m not going to name names for legal reasons. I want the option to sue the people who made this story possible. The statute of limitations runs out when I turn 48. I turn 47 later this year. All I need to do is find a lawyer who is willing and able to make my case, but that’s proving more difficult than it sounds.

My story is the stuff of nightmares. It’s so horrific that I would rather be crazy. Seriously, I am knowledgeable about mental health challenges and would not wish to make light of any of them, but — all the same — being crazy sounds better than remembering being sex trafficked in my elementary school.

I have written a fact-based testimony, which will be made available to whichever lawyer is willing and able to make this case in a Connecticut court. What follows is a less graphic, less specific account of my experiences. In court, the point would be to prove this happened to me. The purpose of this piece is to prove that it happened and that it’s worthy of further investigation.

If my memories are true, then a child sex trafficking ring operated within my elementary school. If my memories are true, then pornographic pictures and video footage of me was distributed. If my memories are true, then proving it may be as easy as running an image search using a picture of me as a child against one of the child porn databases law enforcement agencies have compiled to better prosecute offenders. Mariska Hargitay’s SVU makes this look easy. The problem is this didn’t happen in a fictional New York City, and I don’t happen to know any zealous SVU detectives who are willing to jump through the bureaucratic hoops to get me in contact with someone who will help me. If you happen to have access to such a database, here’s a picture of me. Please let me know what you find.

I have been fighting to survive what my abusers did to me for over 30 years. I’m tired. I need help. I’m tired of asking for help and getting shuffled off to somebody else whose problem this isn’t. I’m tired of calling people who intend to lead me around in circles. I need someone who can open the way for me. Maybe that somebody is you.

This actual story is paywalled for two reasons. The first reason is to reduce the risk that someone accidentally exposes themselves to traumatizing material. I’m not going to include graphic details, but the truth does not need to be graphic to be traumatic. The second reason is to ensure there is some kind of record of who accesses this material. Obviously, this is the Internet and reasonable safeguards don’t safeguard much. Read on at your own risk.

If you’ve read enough and you want to help, my name is Stephanie Allen Crist. I’m a published author. If you have investigative skills, I am reachable.

The story I have to tell is not a happy story, but once upon a time I was a happy little girl. It’s important to remember that. Whatever mistakes my parents made, whatever other people did to me, I remember what it feels like to be happy and innocent and safe. People stole those feelings from me on purpose. I intend to take them back for keeps.

I’m not going to name names for legal reasons. I want the option to sue the people who made this story possible. The statute of limitations runs out when I turn 48. I turn 47 later this year. All I need to do is find a lawyer who is willing and able to make my case, but that’s proving more difficult than it sounds.

My story is the stuff of nightmares. It’s so horrific that I would rather be crazy. Seriously, I am knowledgeable about mental health challenges and would not wish to make light of any of them, but — all the same — being crazy sounds better than remembering being sex trafficked in my elementary school.

I have written a fact-based testimony, which will be made available to whichever lawyer is willing and able to make this case in a Connecticut court. What follows is a less graphic, less specific account of my experiences. In court, the point would be to prove this happened to me. The purpose of this piece is to prove that it happened and that it’s worthy of further investigation.

If my memories are true, then a child sex trafficking ring operated within my elementary school. If my memories are true, then pornographic pictures and video footage of me was distributed. If my memories are true, then proving it may be as easy as running an image search using a picture of me as a child against one of the child porn databases law enforcement agencies have compiled to better prosecute offenders. Mariska Hargitay’s SVU makes this look easy. The problem is this didn’t happen in a fictional New York City, and I don’t happen to know any zealous SVU detectives who are willing to jump through the bureaucratic hoops to get me in contact with someone who will help me. If you happen to have access to such a database, here’s a picture of me. Please let me know what you find.

insert photo

I have been fighting to survive what my abusers did to me for over 30 years. I’m tired. I need help. I’m tired of asking for help and getting shuffled off to somebody else whose problem this isn’t. I’m tired of calling people who intend to lead me around in circles. I need someone who can open the way for me. Maybe that somebody is you.

This actual story is paywalled for two reasons. The first reason is to reduce the risk that someone accidentally exposes themselves to traumatizing material. I’m not going to include graphic details, but the truth does not need to be graphic to be traumatic. The second reason is to ensure there is some kind of record of who accesses this material. Obviously, this is the Internet and reasonable safeguards don’t safeguard much. Read on at your own risk.

If you’ve read enough and you want to help, my name is Stephanie Allen Crist. I’m a published author. If you have investigative skills, I am reachable.