The Phantom Prince: My Life with Ted Bundy

One day when I arrived home from school, a letter had come in the mail. It had the prison address on it. My mom was still at work. Although it was addressed to my mother, I opened it. Somehow, over thousands of miles, Ted had been able to seize on just the right things to say to hook my mom into his toxic drama again. He talked about how he found God and was working on his spiritual program. I can’t remember what else he professed. The reason I can’t remember? I burned that letter in the fireplace, right then and there, and never said one word about its arrival.

It was all the things my mom would have wanted to hear. I was unwilling to watch her be ripped to shreds again by this “love.” Fuck that. Leave us alone. Leave the whole country alone. Nobody, save your mother, cares that you say you found God, as you try to bargain with the remains of the women you tortured and killed, to save your sorry life. Time to die.

•Ted seemed to fit in wherever he went

•It bothered him that his family was middle class. He was ambitious and wanted to be better than that

•I was ashamed that my face was all swollen from crying. I didn't want Ted to know how important marriage was to me. If I could be casual about it and act as if it was no big deal, maybe I wouldn't drive him away.

•I knew that Ted had stolen some of his textbooks, and soon after we met he had shown me a new pair of ski boots that he said he had taken from an unlocked display case at the student union building.

•I loved him with all my heart. He probably liked our sex because it was available, nothing more.

•with a new great job, Ted still continued to steal

•He was not a violent person. When we argued he was always calm and reasonable. I could count on the fingers of one hand the times that Ted had lost his temper since I'd known him

•Ted felt betrayed by his mother hiding the truth about his birth. This kind of early betrayal can split a child's view of love and hate, creating repressed rage—especially toward women. Being illegitimate likely made Ted feel ashamed. To cope, he built a grandiose persona.

•he said. "I just can't seem to connect with people. Sure I can hold doors open for women and smile and be charming, but when it comes to basic relationships I just don't have it."

•detective turned to me and asked how I felt about Ted now. Now? What had changed? I didn't know any more than I had before

•Ted took me everywhere with him now, and that was what I had always wanted. I knew he needed me as a sort of cover, to counteract the image of "freak" he had been given by the press

•Ted wrote: "I have known people who, without saying a word, radiate vulnerability. Their facial expressions say "I am afraid of you." These people invite abuse. By expecting to be hurt do they subtly encourage it?"

•The dark "force" emerged when Bundy was under emotional stress or rejection. These situations may have activated old feelings of shame, rage, or abandonment from early life.

•Integrated person has consistent values, emotions, and behaviors across situations and people. Compartmentalized person acts differently in different settings—loving at home, cold at work; charming socially, distant or cruel privately.

•An integrated person is kind regardless of who's watching. A compartmentalized one might be charming with you but contemptuous toward others when it "doesn't count."

•Integrated person genuinely cares, openly shares emotions, compartmentalized one loves conditionally, mimics emotions and empathy

•Triggers of violent behavior: Being reminded of deep shame—like illegitimacy, rejection, or powerlessness—or feeling numb, irrelevant, or disconnected from their false self. These moments threaten their constructed identity. Violence becomes a way to feel power, control, or aliveness in the face of inner deadness.

•Shame, fear, and powerlessness were never processed—only pushed down. When triggered, those feelings surge up like a flood.

•Boredom = loss of self. Without stimulation, there's nothing distracting them from their inner emptiness. Their identity—the charming, in-control persona—starts to dissolve. They feel like nothing. Healthy people can tolerate boredom because they have an inner life: memories, values, curiosity. Bundy didn't. He needed external stimulation to feel real.

I decided to begin by reclaiming Lake Sammamish State Park as a place of peace and freedom for me and my dogs to walk. I was so frightened of it, even by the name. I went to great lengths never to go anywhere near the place.

It was terrifying to visit there the first time. With my heart in my throat, I practically ran down one of the trails, stiffly dragging my dogs along. Fearing what was behind each bend in the path, I felt my heart hammer in my chest.

I have spent countless hours there now. Most often in the rain. Without a human companion, but with my beloved dogs, I have walked everywhere a person can go in those 512 acres, no matter how remote. There is no path that I have not walked down, and I have seen some amazing things:

A large stag with a full rack, kneeling to rest in the tall grass.

A coyote who seemed to be dancing and leaping beneath a tree. Who, upon catching sight of me and my dogs, did an up-close, run-by viewing, all the while looking as if he was grinning at us.

A juvenile eagle who, with a fierce cry, flew at eye level between me and a strange man who was making me nervous, making the man jump back and hurry away. Maybe the eagle was saying thanks for my solitary version of a Native American fancy dance, done to pay tribute the first time I saw him in the sky over the field.

And best of all, two adult eagles who, after singing all day in the rainy woods, grabbed each other’s feet and did a barrel roll out of the sky right toward my head, parting at the last second and flying away.

And now I am moving forward by allowing myself a voice. For years I have quietly listened as others have told parts of my story. I stayed quiet out of fear. Fear of exposing myself publicly. And because I wanted to live a life of my own creation, not one that endlessly orbits this evil man’s story. But most of all, I remained quiet out of fear that my perspective would further hurt the others—the victims’ loved ones and Ted’s family—who, like me, have been repeatedly hurt by the continual reemergence of this story.

I have come to realize that I am not protecting anyone by silencing myself. By doing that, I only throw away my ability to live life fully. It is healing to share my perspective. I look forward to hearing the experiences of the other people impacted by Ted Bundy when the time feels right to them. The bravery and perspective of those who have told their stories already have been an inspiration.

And now I go forward, with my new mantra: Life is a gift and you still have it. Have the courage to be happy.