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Actor to Advocate

My name is Delphinia T. Kares.  My stage name was Vanessa Cloke. My eleven-year career in the film industry included the Goldman Sachs money woman opposite Christian Bale, a recurring character on USA's Common Law, and the minor recurring role of Anna on one of the most popular shows in the world, The Walking Dead.  

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Unfortunately, my hard-earned, childhood dream of acting came to an abrupt and unjust halt; narcissistic abuse would serve as the catalyst through which I would land the most important role of my life; Advocate. 

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In December 2019, I experienced firsthand the depths of narcissistic abuse. The relentless psychological and emotional torment brought me to the brink of suicide. Gaslighting, harassment, slander, and intimidation from my abuser and his family left me physically and mentally broken.

However, with the support of a few friends, online communities, and experts in narcissistic abuse, I began a journey of recovery and self-discovery. What nearly destroyed me also revealed my purpose: to shed light on the silent epidemic of psychological abuse and fight to support and protect victims like myself.

The Events of December 14, 2019

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I attempted to leave my apartment at Nutwood East in Fullerton on the morning of December 14, 2019,  to drop a friend off at the airport. As we headed towards the exit, I was met with a large U-Haul truck, three police officers, my former live-in partner (whom I’ll refer to as Davis), his family (including his mentally handicapped sibling), and several friends.

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I asked one of the police officers, Officer Watson, what was happening, and he told me that Davis was there to collect his belongings. He said Davis and his family had receipts to prove ownership, but I quickly realized these receipts were provided by Davis’s mother, who had no tenant rights to our apartment. I was in a state of panic and fear, unable to rationalize or articulate this information. Despite any objections, the police forced me to allow Davis and his friend inside to remove the possessions that he and I had used for a year and a half while we lived as romantic partners.​

​​I was in no mental state to process what was happening. At the time, I had been living under constant stress due to ongoing psychological, emotional, and financial abuse by Davis and his family. Their tactics included harassment, intimidation, stonewalling, gaslighting, social media slander, and even tampering with my personal property. This relentless abuse had pushed my mind and body into fight-or-flight mode for weeks, leaving me physically weak and emotionally drained. I lost twenty pounds in a month.

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Inside the apartment, Davis and his friend began removing everything—our shared furniture, the refrigerator, the couch, the bed, the television, kitchenware, and more. I objected, pleading with the officers, but they dismissed my concerns. One officer even remarked that the family was “kind enough” to leave Styrofoam coolers for my food after taking the refrigerator. Humiliated and desperate, I alternated between sobbing and begging, but Davis remained void of empathy.

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When I could no longer bear the chaos, I left my apartment to get away…

A Tipping Point

As I descended the stairs, Davis’s sister stood waiting with a phone in hand, already recording. Despite being asked not to come to my home, she plotted to catch me off guard. She had a history of aggressive behavior, and I knew her presence was meant to provoke me. Despite police assurances that only Davis and one friend would be allowed inside, she had inserted herself into the situation, adding to the hostility.​

 

​In a moment of overwhelming frustration, coupled with the months of emotional distress inflicted by this family, I snapped. I grabbed her phone and threw it over the balcony. Immediately afterward, I turned to walk away, but my actions gave the family what they wanted—a reason to escalate. Davis’s stepfather announced loudly, “There she goes!” Police handcuffed me, and Davis’s sister insisted on pressing charges, falsely claiming I had physically assaulted her (audio in my possession proves my truth).

A Harrowing Arrest

At the police station, the humiliation continued. I was handcuffed to a wall pipe, denied basic dignity, and subjected to a search by a female Officer Diaz. Despite my polite request for sensitivity during the search due to past trauma from child molestation, she used unnecessary force, yanking and grabbing my breasts in a way that left me in shock. My body’s involuntary response was to fling itself across the room, landing face down on a metal bench, stuck between a wall and the table. I begged for help, but she coldly responded: “You got yourself in there; you can get yourself out.”

I was eventually permitted to use a restroom, but Diaz removed my socks and told me to walk barefoot. I refused, yet since I was handcuffed, I was forced to painfully twist my shoulder in order to reach my shoes and feet.

The entire experience was belittling and deeply traumatic. The officers showed no understanding of the mental anguish I was enduring, treating me as though I was simply “crazy” or overreacting. This lack of empathy from law enforcement highlighted a broader issue—psychological abuse is invisible and often dismissed, leaving victims without support or recourse.

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The Fallout

After my release, I returned home to find that Davis’s family had fully taken over the apartment, despite police assurances to the contrary. Davis’s sister mocked me, yelling, “You’re homeless! You need to leave! You can’t afford to live here! This isn’t your home!” Her words echoed and looped in my mind for months. That night, I reached my breaking point. Alone, terrified, and utterly defeated, I decided to end my life.

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But in my darkest moment, I made a small promise to myself: to wait one more day. The next morning, I reached out to friends and my therapist, who asked me to draw up a suicide safety plan and encouraged me to retreat somewhere out of the area until my body could calm itself.

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Finding Meaning Through Advocacy

In the weeks and months that followed, I struggled to make sense of what had happened. The trauma left lasting effects on my physical and mental health, including anxiety, nightmares, and PTSD. Yet, as I searched for answers, I discovered communities of survivors whose stories mirrored my own. Narcissistic abuse, I learned, is a widespread but largely unrecognized epidemic. It isolates victims, destroys their sense of self, and leaves them vulnerable to further harm.

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Two realizations became clear. First, while resources exist to help survivors heal, there is virtually no legal framework to protect them or hold abusers accountable. Psychological abuse is not adequately recognized as a crime, leaving victims like me without justice. Second, I realized that my story could serve a higher purpose. By sharing my experience, I could help others understand the insidious nature of narcissistic abuse and advocate for meaningful change.

A Call for Reform

The legal system must evolve to address the devastating impact of psychological abuse. And while non-profits cannot influence legislation, we can raise awareness and arm people with the information they need in order to survive, and hopefully prevent, narcissistic abuse.

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My mission is clear: to shine a light on this hidden form of abuse, inspire survivors to reclaim their voices, and fight for a society that values mental health as much as physical safety.

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This journey has not been easy, and I continue to work toward healing. But I believe that even the darkest experiences can lead to purpose. If my story can spark change, my pain was not in vain.

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