Hey guys. It's taken me over seven years to put my own doubts and second-guessing myself in regards to what I am about to say.
So we can keep names straight, Mark Moroso is the older one without a tattoo, Christopher Hudson is the older one *with* an arm tattoo, and Dylan Earle is the young one with the Zelda tattoo.
My story begins in 2016, when I had just started dating my boyfriend at the time, Clint (we were also a throuple long distance with someone else, Clint was a recent addition). Unknown to me, he'd been seeing a dealer for uppers to help at work. That dealer's name is Christopher Hudson. At the time, he was one of two, the other being Mark Moroso. Dylan Earle wasn't involved at the time, as far as I have been able to determine.
Hudson's tactic was to sell MDMA that he'd laced with a tiny amount of meth, to set the hooks of addiction to *his* products. Clint spiraled RAPIDLY into addiction, greedily aided by Moroso and Hudson, not a care for the damage they were abetting. I had no idea what was going on, he developed random sores, wild mood swings. He became violent. Physically abusive, mentally abusive, sexually abusive. I became little better than a prisoner in my own home, I only dared leave the condo to go to work, because I didn't know if anyone would be conscious to buzz me in, or if more of my belongings had randomly disappeared.
I started seeking solace in alcohol, using it to mute the growing anxiety as I would return home from work. In retrospect, I think the condo was so contaminated that I was probably getting dosed by proximity, I still slept with him. He wasn't always a maniac...
Naturally, my mental health wasn't going to do well in that environment, and suicidal ideations can take many forms. In my case that ideation took the form of the thought:
"I'm going to find out what he sees in it, maybe if I understand what it's like, I can better help him out of it."
I'm aware of how stupid that was *now*, but it made perfect sense at the time, so one night, I went onto Grindr, hit up the account that I'd been sparring with for ages that advertised "parTy favours", discussed the menu, met near a SkyTrain station that was probably convenient, that's when I met Mark. I gave him cash, he gave me drugs. Specifically I had purchased some MDMA and some G, and we know what they did to their MDMA.
My "brilliant plan" was to learn how to manage symptoms using other drugs, through experimenting on myself, because of I went about it scientifically, I would be able to prevent addiction. The problem was, I was already addicted due to second hand exposure, I was just kicking it into overdrive with my half baked excuse to mix drugs. I started to slide rapidly, and one night I attended a party that I'd been invited to by some of the less reputable company I'd started to keep.
I arrived at the party, assumed the dress code and began to explore for a spot to get comfortable and start enjoying the drink I'd been handed, knowing it was likely spiked, deciding to nurse it gently (from the taste, G?), to measure my response to it. I can say for certain that Hudson was there, he provided me with some of the favours for the evening.
It wasn't long before there were various vaporous inhalants and smokes in the atmosphere, and I just gave in, accepting what was offered. Consent started to lose meaning, and then I don't remember anything else aside from impressions, smells, sounds. My next cognizant memory was waking up in my bed, nobody around, and my physical state told me everything I needed to know about the blanks. I still don't know how I got home, Clint said he didn't do it.
I do not know for certain if Hudson was one of the people that raped me that night, but the sight of his tattoo and the sounds he makes having sex send me spiraling into a panic attack. He was definitely distributing, though, and is an accessory to my sexual assault, though my chances of proving that part are pretty slim.
That experience was enough to open my eyes just enough to realize that I needed to get out, and so I did, all the way to that third guy I mentioned earlier. He gave me a safe place to heal and get myself back together, and everything was going "ok". That man, who literally saved my life, is Dylan Earle's older brother.
Imagine my shock when he showed up one Christmas with Hudson and Moroso on his arm, what was racing through my mind as I sat down to Christmas dinner with the men responsible for my trauma, and they'd gotten their hooks into my BFs brother. My Christmas present to my bf was almost my corpse hanging in his bathroom, luckily, the improvised noose failed shortly after I lost consciousness, because I came to on the floor with a sprained wrist and a bump on my head.
I tried over the next few years to tell Dylan's parents what he'd gotten involved in, I tried to tell Dylan in case he wasn't aware (somehow), I never went to the police because I didn't want him going down with them for something he didn't do. Over time, though, I've come to accept that Dylan is a willing and active participant, and like Hudson and Moroso, thinks it's ok to prey on the weakness of others to fund their lifestyle.
In the last few weeks, I have gotten in touch with several other victims and witnesses of the trafficking behavior of these men (including rumors of them distributing at palm springs, if anyone can verify that with certainty, please contact me ASAP). We are putting our testimonies together and will be presenting them to RCMP Division E in the next week or two, barring scheduling conflicts.
With that being said, just because we are going to the police doesn't mean we aren't still seeing witnesses that can make a statement regarding their trafficking, so if you or anyone you knows has relevant information, please contact me, or wait for me to update this thread with the police file #.
It is the nature of society recently to blame and shun the victim/addict, that's prevented me and many others from speaking out, and I've had it. My story needs to be told and heard, and people that would poison our community with drugs aimed to cause addiction purposefully need to be ostracised.
So we can keep names straight, Mark Moroso is the older one without a tattoo, Christopher Hudson is the older one *with* an arm tattoo, and Dylan Earle is the young one with the Zelda tattoo.
My story begins in 2016, when I had just started dating my boyfriend at the time, Clint (we were also a throuple long distance with someone else, Clint was a recent addition). Unknown to me, he'd been seeing a dealer for uppers to help at work. That dealer's name is Christopher Hudson. At the time, he was one of two, the other being Mark Moroso. Dylan Earle wasn't involved at the time, as far as I have been able to determine.
Hudson's tactic was to sell MDMA that he'd laced with a tiny amount of meth, to set the hooks of addiction to *his* products. Clint spiraled RAPIDLY into addiction, greedily aided by Moroso and Hudson, not a care for the damage they were abetting. I had no idea what was going on, he developed random sores, wild mood swings. He became violent. Physically abusive, mentally abusive, sexually abusive. I became little better than a prisoner in my own home, I only dared leave the condo to go to work, because I didn't know if anyone would be conscious to buzz me in, or if more of my belongings had randomly disappeared.
I started seeking solace in alcohol, using it to mute the growing anxiety as I would return home from work. In retrospect, I think the condo was so contaminated that I was probably getting dosed by proximity, I still slept with him. He wasn't always a maniac...
Naturally, my mental health wasn't going to do well in that environment, and suicidal ideations can take many forms. In my case that ideation took the form of the thought:
"I'm going to find out what he sees in it, maybe if I understand what it's like, I can better help him out of it."
I'm aware of how stupid that was *now*, but it made perfect sense at the time, so one night, I went onto Grindr, hit up the account that I'd been sparring with for ages that advertised "parTy favours", discussed the menu, met near a SkyTrain station that was probably convenient, that's when I met Mark. I gave him cash, he gave me drugs. Specifically I had purchased some MDMA and some G, and we know what they did to their MDMA.
My "brilliant plan" was to learn how to manage symptoms using other drugs, through experimenting on myself, because of I went about it scientifically, I would be able to prevent addiction. The problem was, I was already addicted due to second hand exposure, I was just kicking it into overdrive with my half baked excuse to mix drugs. I started to slide rapidly, and one night I attended a party that I'd been invited to by some of the less reputable company I'd started to keep.
I arrived at the party, assumed the dress code and began to explore for a spot to get comfortable and start enjoying the drink I'd been handed, knowing it was likely spiked, deciding to nurse it gently (from the taste, G?), to measure my response to it. I can say for certain that Hudson was there, he provided me with some of the favours for the evening.
It wasn't long before there were various vaporous inhalants and smokes in the atmosphere, and I just gave in, accepting what was offered. Consent started to lose meaning, and then I don't remember anything else aside from impressions, smells, sounds. My next cognizant memory was waking up in my bed, nobody around, and my physical state told me everything I needed to know about the blanks. I still don't know how I got home, Clint said he didn't do it.
I do not know for certain if Hudson was one of the people that raped me that night, but the sight of his tattoo and the sounds he makes having sex send me spiraling into a panic attack. He was definitely distributing, though, and is an accessory to my sexual assault, though my chances of proving that part are pretty slim.
That experience was enough to open my eyes just enough to realize that I needed to get out, and so I did, all the way to that third guy I mentioned earlier. He gave me a safe place to heal and get myself back together, and everything was going "ok". That man, who literally saved my life, is Dylan Earle's older brother.
Imagine my shock when he showed up one Christmas with Hudson and Moroso on his arm, what was racing through my mind as I sat down to Christmas dinner with the men responsible for my trauma, and they'd gotten their hooks into my BFs brother. My Christmas present to my bf was almost my corpse hanging in his bathroom, luckily, the improvised noose failed shortly after I lost consciousness, because I came to on the floor with a sprained wrist and a bump on my head.
I tried over the next few years to tell Dylan's parents what he'd gotten involved in, I tried to tell Dylan in case he wasn't aware (somehow), I never went to the police because I didn't want him going down with them for something he didn't do. Over time, though, I've come to accept that Dylan is a willing and active participant, and like Hudson and Moroso, thinks it's ok to prey on the weakness of others to fund their lifestyle.
In the last few weeks, I have gotten in touch with several other victims and witnesses of the trafficking behavior of these men (including rumors of them distributing at palm springs, if anyone can verify that with certainty, please contact me ASAP). We are putting our testimonies together and will be presenting them to RCMP Division E in the next week or two, barring scheduling conflicts.
With that being said, just because we are going to the police doesn't mean we aren't still seeing witnesses that can make a statement regarding their trafficking, so if you or anyone you knows has relevant information, please contact me, or wait for me to update this thread with the police file #.
It is the nature of society recently to blame and shun the victim/addict, that's prevented me and many others from speaking out, and I've had it. My story needs to be told and heard, and people that would poison our community with drugs aimed to cause addiction purposefully need to be ostracised.
