What would it take for you to consider yourself a “successful blogger”? Is that something you strive for?

I don’t want to be famous or even rich. I want to create the blog post that will go viral and put the cause of ti’s out there so it cannot be ignored any more. NO more tin foil hats and being called crazy.  No more false psych diagnoses.

The sleeping sheeple know it’s going on but need forcible waking, quickening– to really see it for what it is and to know it is not acceptable for themselves or for others to go through this. Lives are being destroyed and sucked up through thin air into nothing by these programs. Even when a famous writer, Gloria Naylor, wrote about this, she slid into obscurity. I’m sure she never went back onto Oprah.

I think people like their chains and slavery and make a deal with themselves that it’s better this way than the other–as in they themselves being a target. The moral and ethical issues go right past them. They are non religious and amoral creatures dedicated to the love and pampering of self.  Their parents were the same way.  It was all about “me”, the “me” decade.  People raised in the 80s and later don’t even get what’s wrong.

Plus, if you are free, you have to make decisions and get involved in life…no one has time anymore.  Everyone is a single parent, or working 2 jobs, or is addicted to World of Warcraft.

Even Alex Jones pooh poohed it on his show.  He invalidated the experience of thousands if not millions of listeners…but he knows where his bread is buttered.  See his video response to a question on it.  What a joke.  People used to be automatically banned from his forum for bringing up gangstalking.

The religious act interested at first until they realize they become targets by helping targets.

I wonder what I’d be like if I were on the other side.  Would I care about targets?  Would I call them crazy?  Would I avoid even visiting the target sites like the plague for fear of “catching it”?  Would a perp recruit me to harass a neighbor after showing me a gussied up fake file?  Would I be afraid not to do it?  What if my relative became a target????

I am of the opinion people in this country are living in fear and debt barely running in place floating on a pillow of sugar, caffeine and psych drugs along with TV and rock music.  If they saw reality the govt would need to requisition 300 million syringes full of Thorazine all ready to shoot as everyone would go completely mad.

Liar, Liar

I live the Big Lie.

The biggest Lie is when I go to my therapist and psychiatrist’s office.  We all lie.

We all Pretend.

They Pretend I have a Mental Illness so the gangstalking and Voice to Skull I get becomes “symptoms”.  No one gets to be accountable, no one suffers but me. I  pretend I’m Ill so I can get pills to help the relentless depression and anxiety, the constant escalating gangstalking produces.  I tried the fish oil and the vitamins.  They were Not Enough.

The Doctors dream up more and more excessive diagnoses for my “illness”…I become more “disabled” by the minute.  I’m halfway to mental retardation or complete insanity now.  I let them do it.  I can’t live without the pills that let me survive.

Three years ago the perps got me to such a low point I could not eat, could not sleep, could not sit in a chair for over 5 minutes.  They are very proud.

They played God and hurt me deep….they cooked up a Lie to bring me down.

So, after the misery of what they did…I started to play along.  I did what they wanted all along.  I took the pills.  I listened to them as they restricted my life more and more with more and more threats.  I got a little relief at first and then it got bad again, except this time I’m fat again with the pills and lost all that conditioning I got from all those little walks when I took my life in my hands not knowing what would happen on the way to and from the Park.

1.  People trying to run me over

2.  Trucks pretending to sideswipe me

3.  Skits always.

4.  Dead Animals

5.  Police Following me Around

6.  Police almost Arresting me

7.  Getting propostioned to by men

8.  Meeting a “boyfriend” who was being paid to snitch on me

ETC  ETC yet I walked…until I started to swallow the pills

I don’t know what happened.  When the first few pounds came on, I LIed to myself and tried to diet them off.  They would not budge.  I would go on a 3 day fast and the scale would not budge.  My walks became less and less frequent.  I became scared to walk as I grew heavier.  I Lied to myself I was better off without those walks.  But I’m not.

I started eating more to compensate for my extra anxiety due to less exercise.

My life is not better with the pills.  Just more manageable. Now I’m an addict to the pills and my gangstalking problems are even worse.  I was healthy now I’m weak and tired.

It all started with a LIe.

School Daze

Another degreeof whatfriesschool semester will soon begin. If you’re in school, are you looking forward to starting classes? If you’re out of school, what do you miss about it — or are you glad those days are over?

After 5 1/2 years I completed college and realized I had really learnt nothing. I had a few facts about history and had read some stuff from England but really knew nothing that would get me a job in the real world unless I went to graduate school.It was a Liberal Arts waste.  I had no energy to start that as the gangstalking was already wearing me out plus my parents were putting pressure on to find a job–any job–thereby denying me time to look for one I was qualified for. I took the Civil Service exam and did not too well. I applied with the State and the City too. Nothing. I applied all over town and ended up “temping” and getting abused by the customers and temp agency.  I started to attend classes to train for a trade and sometimes I would get a job for a year or two and that would be it.  I tried to take the GRE to get into graduate school and did well, but not good enough.  I tried only once to get into graduate school and failed.  My life was already too stressful at the time dealing with gangstalking, poverty and chronic illness.  After that, I trained to be a line cook, got a job that lasted the requisite 2 years then nothing.  At the same time I slaved night shift at McDonalds and on weekends or gave out hot dogs at the ballpark After the one cook position I got, I temped, and even though I cooked before, all I could get was dishwashing or banquet server jobs.  I even tried to drive a school bus but lost my job to a big fat bully in the lunchroom of the bus service.  I even worked at my old school as a temp cashier at the bookstore. My last unsheltered job was a second “sentence” at McDonalds until one day I went in and was fired without warning.  I was getting abused by the customers all the time anyway.  I did not know the customers were perping me and enjoying themselves at my expense.  I thought I must suck, my work must suck, I must be nuts…etc.  After trying to get on at another McDonalds I finally quit the job world and applied for benefits.  I had a few sheltered jobs after that made miserable by perps but that’s it.  Even volunteer work does not pan out.  The perps have destroyed any way I could make a living.

School was a waste in that I should have been working and enjoying myself in those last few years before targetting.  I had no idea this would be my life although hints were placed as far back as preschool.

Stand Out Much?


hidden in God

When was the last time you really stood out in a crowd? Are you comfortable in that position, or do you wish you could fade into the woodwork

Was that a rhetorical question?

I want to be invisible to all enemies, visible to all friends. You stand out everywhere you go as a ti even at the grocery store. No one lets you alone. The only way to try to be a little more invisible is to say nothing when out in public and don’t react to the perps. I still have a problem with that.

Plus all the lovely drugs I went on after my horrible experience in 2010 had made me gain about half the weight back I had lost so now I’m getting all the fat comments as well.

Invisible my fat ass.

Dear 12 year old me

Hello from the future.

There’s something you need to know. You are falling down a hole that you are making for yourself and wasting your life. What is left of it…See, 10 years in the future you will be “picked” to be a gangstalking target and will lose your life bit by bit until you have almost nothing left and every day will be a trial and a burden. By the time you are middle aged you will regret you had been born.

So, 12-year-old self, make your life now count. Enjoy life, nature and the few people you have in your life. Examine your potentials and try to excel in them in the time you have left because soon it will be all gone.  Be nice to your family.  Soon they will co opt them and they will be gone to you.

Don’t waste any more time on that band. Don’t suck your brain into extinction. The pop music culture was designed to make you promiscuous and stupid and will eventually draw you down into a cult like mind state. Life is too short for this. During your free time, read, before your overlords count the pages and impose punishments if you rebel.  Rock music is designed to rot the mind and control it.  The “establishment” you rebel against is behind this “music”.  Go out in nature and enjoy the sounds of birds and enjoy the night sounds before the voices come

Wear the prettiest clothes you can and enjoy yourself in them. You are NOT too fat. That will come later. Honor the Sabbath with the prettiest clothes you have since one day you will have no one to celebrate the Sabbath with.  Later they will tell you what colors to wear and you will end up in black and brown mostly.

Go on hikes and enjoy nature and freedom. One day you won’t even be able to look out the door without the neighbors screaming at you or go anywhere without an army of stalkers following and mocking you. Get involved in the community and volunteer to help others because when this starts no one will even want you as a volunteer.

Pray to God. Talk to Him. Later you won’t be able because when you pray a computerized voice will answer you with curses. Try to get that Bar Mitzvah. Beg for it and get it.

Do good in school. It’s not a sin to be a good student. “They” don’t like you any more for shunning your schoolwork. Those snotty people at your school will never like you, never. You will still see them from time to time in MIDDLE AGE even–perping you. They are worth nothing. Ignore their names and taunts.

Get to know Jesus really well, as I said before, because their technology can block prayer sometimes.  You might need to hide this from the parents unless you would love to experience Foster Care.

Take care of your teeth, you will need them and dentists will no longer be your friend.

Learn useful things like sewing before they are “forbidden” to you and these torturers do punish.

They are even threatening me more trouble to post this post.

This post will come to you in the MAIL on PAPER with  STAMP.  I am you, decades in the future.

Suicide? you say?  This is my dark future?  My life already sucks old lady, why did you go on living?

I didn’t know, I lived on hope.  It failed.  All I know is we are given a life to live and must complete it or forfeit eternity.  I sure hope they who said that were right.


What bores you?

Braggarts. I cannot stand when people brag and brag. Mostly it ends up not being true but a way to deceive me into thinking they are better than they are and to build up my trust of them. Minutes become hours as braggarts go over the accomplishments of themselves and their children.  I especially loathe those who brag about how much religion they have.  It’s always false and leads to the person doing something to me because my guard was down because of the alleged “religion”.  Show my your religion don’t tell me about it.

The very worst is when they bring out the pictures of their ugly children/grandchildren etc..and say now isn’t she BEAUTIFUL or isn’t he HOT? You have to agree or else.

The next worse are flatterers. You just KNOW you are being set up and if you don’t accept their wildly untrue compliments you are rude and a boor.

Childhood Dreams

When I was young I wanted to be an ornithologist and study birds. Later, I wanted to be a meteorologist and do weather on TV. After college I decided to be a librarian like my mother was but that dream was derailed. Even if I had been a librarian I would have hated being in a post 9/11 library where patrons are spied upon. I have been spied upon at the Library even in the shelves. Today’s library is mostly a place where the poor or homeless go to use the computer for email to watch You Tube or play games. The library is full of troublemakers. Books are in the background.

They still produce books but now it is easy to order a book online or even “check out” an e book from the library from your own computer. The mystery and freedom of the old library is all gone.

Thanks 9/11.

Back in Time

When I was 8 I first remember going to my Aunt’s to stay for a few nights. I don’t remember exactly why, but I think it was because my parents had had a fight and needed time alone together.  My allergies precluded me from going to Grandma’s, which would have been more fun since she always was doing things, so away I went (I forget if my sister did too) to the poor side of town to stay at my Aunt’s.

When we arrived, I remember sitting in the small living room of the house built in about 1900 and seeing my Aunt, then about 60, talking to my mother, dressed in clothes that were out of date by decades. It was the 1970s but she seemed stuck in the 1940s. She seemed very sweet and kind and wanted me to feel welcome. She had trouble walking but that did not keep her from living her life. Everything about her and the house seemed out of time. She wore a long green pleated skirt that hit mid calf, had special black shoes that enabled her to walk a bit (remember the old time orthopedic shoes that old ladies wore?) put her hair up in a twist instead of having a “haircut” and style, and wore old time style makeup that would have looked good in the 1940s. Even her face seemed preserved from that time. She had relatively few wrinkles in her fair skin that was set off by black hair. Her voice was deep and even sounded from another time as if the voice had been allowed to wear out with time and almost creaked on its hinges, which is strange since she never smoked. Her voice was just that deep. I later found out she had trained as a contralto (female tenor) singer.  I caught her singing once when she was cleaning up the kitchen and she acted like I caught her in something shameful.  How had that woman been hurt?

My voice is deep but not even near to hers nor my other Aunt’s. I don’t smoke either. It’s hereditary.

Pictures hung on the wall of my Aunt and my Father and my Aunt and Uncles.  All were very old from the 1930s and 1940s.  They were the kind they took in Black and White and colored in later.

The house was fascinating to a kid who lived in a newer (at the time) subdivision with the modern conveniences. The house was on a tiny parcel of land and the tiny front yard was on a hill. The former Jewish neighborhood had become Hispanic over time. There was an old fashioned swing on the porch. The tiny backyard was overgrown and sported a grapevine which bore grapes that my Aunt gave away every year.  There was some crime there and even a dirty picture house on the corner.  If you sat on the swing, the leches would check you out.  Ewww.  If you went down the street to the 7/11 or another errand men would pull over to pick you up. The dirty picture house still stands there today.  This neighborhood isn’t falling fast to gentrification like the other older neighborhoods are here.

The house was built as a bungalow with living and dining rooms right behind each other.  The three tiny bedrooms were on the side.  I got the one where my deceased grandmother had slept in. Some of her old things were still in the bureau and bedside tables. The “middle” bedroom was for guests, usually family, and her bedroom was the smallest but had a window unit for air conditioning.  She had a high single bed.  Her old bureau had old earrings and perfume.  She wore Youth Dew as did my Mother when she wore perfume.  Also the smell of Pond’s Cold Cream was everywhere.

There was a long kitchen complete with a stove that hardly worked, an old fashioned sink that had a “back”, as in the ceramic went up the wall behind the sink (I’ve seen another one since and Laura Ingalls Wilder had one in Missouri), and a tiny old washer that did not work.  The elderly maid had to go to the laundromat. The fridge was old and smaller than ours was.  It was full of food that was forbidden at home. The floor was old linoleum in a yellow pattern, very worn in places.  There was a huge walk in closet that stayed locked on one side of the kitchen that held my grandmother’s old clothes from the past.  Behind the kitchen, out back was a “summer kitchen” where my Aunt cooked on very hot days in order to not heat up the house.  She barely made it out there and back but did it anyway.  It was dusty and had an older stove than the one inside.

There was an unfinished basement full of spiders (said my Aunt) and where strange old things were found after my Aunt’s death. Apparently there were Victorian area things left from the previous occupants.  I would have loved to see the antiques and old clothes that were taken from the house.  Many old clothes worth money were stolen by “nurses” she had to hire in her last years when she could not do the transfer to the toilet anymore.  Back when I was a kid she still walked and had a cane for going out–well, it was a black umbrella actually.

I have a rather narrow view of people who do home health care.  The mostly untrained “nurses”  also did not treat her well and would stay out all night when she needed someone there all the time.  I wonder if my Aunt was a target.  She worked for the government as a clerk stenographer but had had a bright future that was strangely derailed.  She never married and never left home after something “happened” away at college in Chicago.  She was living on a small pension and Social Security when I knew her.  She was skilled as a writer and a singer and could play piano.  She was also considered good looking.  Apparently a few men asked but she always said “no”.

The bathroom had a huge clawed tub that my Aunt managed to get into to bathe.  No shower.  The faucets had separate Hot and Cold spouts so you had to create the happy medium yourself for bathing and even hand washing.  the old fashioned sink sat alone and had rust stains.  The toilet was more modern but it was odd shaped as I recall as old toilets were.

An elderly maid came once a week.  She had been coming for years.  My Aunt would cook, wash dishes make her bed and even sweep, but the heavy housework was too much.  The maid had a push broom instead of a vacuum.  Have you ever seen one of those?  They don’t clean much.  They used one on a PBS special where a family was supposed to live like the old days.

My Aunt’s house was fascinating for an 8 year old.  Later, as I went there for dinner, weekly, in college, I found the whole setup creepy and wished my Aunt had a modern apartment with setups for disabled people and an electric wheelchair.  There was a huge B/W TV in a console when I first started going there for visits and a huge record player that had a 3 foot high speaker.  It played in “mono” I think.  The old dark green carpet was thin in places.  Later on she had a color TV where my Aunt, me, my cousin and my Uncle would watch 80s shows like Family Ties, the Cosby Show and Night Court.  We would watch the news until the Weather was over then it was bed for my Aunt and we had to leave.  Later, my older cousin lived there and did not have to leave after the weather was over.

After my Aunt died I continued to have dreams and nightmares of going over there.  A few years ago, I took a walk and saw the house from the outside.  It looked fixed up and repainted.  Central A/C had been added.  I did not knock or ask for a tour.  As a ti I am persona non grata.  I think my Aunt knew I was going to be a target and she did not like it.  I think she distanced herself from me when she saw it coming.  My grandmother did not distance herself though.  She did not act ashamed of me.

I told my Aunt not to get her final surgery that proved to be her demise but she did it anyway.  The Dr. promised her paradise and she came home a total invalid and lived one more year after a hellish 5 month hospital stay.  I hope he’s flipping burgers, but I bet not.  I really needed convincing to get my surgery.  I had no complications but I think I got some implants.  I waited at least 5 years longer than I should have to have it thanks to my Aunt’s experience.

I was already a target in the beginning stages and starting to get paranoid of people and their intentions.  I did not think my Aunt looked healthy enough or young enough for the surgery but she insisted and called me “foolish” for trying to talk her out of it.  She’d get angry at me in later years.  I was crushed since I remembered my sweet Aunt from childhood.

I would go visit her after the hospital.  She lay in her hospital bed at home and the inevitable “nurse” would be there listening to all conversations and poking herself in when not needed but withdrawing when real work was needed.  There was a triangle over my Aunt’s bed since now she even had trouble pulling herself up to sit up.  She had a bedpan and needed the nurse to get her into her chair.  All the weight she had lost thru her mistreatment in the hospital had been regained.  She was hooked on benzos.  A color TV was rigged over her bed so she could watch all day long.  Her love of books seemed over.  I could barely stand to visit.

LIttle did I know Death would visit my grandmother only months later and then my mother would go a few years later leaving me no real supportive family members.  My cousin’s apartment has that sort of out of time feel but not so extreme when I visited.  There is a sense of creepiness that seemed familiar.  Old ghosts hanging around.  (Even though there are no ghosts, my religion forbids it)

My apartment is way too old but has had some work done to it.  It reminds me of my Aunt’s house the way the rooms go from front to back.  I have no TV, no maid, and one furperson–a few of the differences but the creepy feeling is there.  I wish I could move far away out of the city and get fresh air and a big yard but wishes are like horses for ti’s.