Ties in with my Blog

Tell us all about the person you were when you were sixteen. If you haven’t yet hit sixteen, tell us about the person you want to be at sixteen.


In Dennys uniform

Ahhh sixteen:  the worst year of my life.  I’ve had other bad years but that one was the worst.  I’ve detailed much of it on my Stelazine Diaries which cover the end of being sixteen and the beginning of seventeen.  Seventeen was quite a bit better but sixteen sucked all the way around.

This was my Denny’s Uniform but that is not me.  I was heavier and had longer hair for one.

To start off, I was fired on my sixteenth birthday.  I was working as a hostess at Denny’s on weekends for extra cash while in school.  I wore the lovely uniform posted above.  I had  fine hair bleached to brassy awfulness and I would put it up in a little ponytail to work but I had a co worker with tons of shiny black hair who would put hers in a complicated up do to put anyone to shame.  She hated me.  She got into an argument with me that day and I ended up getting fired (not her of course).  On my birthday.

At home my parents were disappointed but willing to take me out to dinner that night anyway.  It was a Middle Eastern place where you got to sit on the floor and eat with your hands.  It was fun.  It was virtually the only good thing that happened to me that year–that, and escaping the hospital.

The hospital was months away but the events that precipitated it were already brewing.

I’m still weirded out how a semi-normal teen like myself ended up in the State Hospital anyway….

Even my gift that year sucked.  I had wanted new skis and there they were!  I was happy but they were not as nice as I saw the other kids had and then my Dad had to pipe up and say they were very much on sale and HE had bought an identical pair for himself at that low price.  Whose birthday was it , Dad?  It was sort of fun later on having matching skis the few times left I went skiing with the folks, especially since our skis were nearly the same length and almost impossible to tell apart.  Shortish Dad and tall daughter.

It was only the beginning, however.  A month or two later my folks took me to a new shrink (a husband and wife team only blocks away from the aforementioned Denny’s).  I was entering my Junior Year in High School on a bad note not having had finished my Sophomore Year due to running away.  My old shrink decided to not take me back and my parents had not found anyone else suitable.  I had somehow scared off one counselor and another shrink wanted to treat me for five days a week for five years at 100 bucks a pop back in the early 1980s which was incredible.  He must have had a Yacht to pay off.  Well, my parents found these guys.  I think they were a Jewish couple, even.

The wife was my psychiatrist and she was older, sour, and a bit mean I thought.  They ran a bunch of tests on me including the famous Inkblot (remember just answer no to every question–you see nothing–and then you pass).  It took two days and they (also expensive) billed my parents accordingly.  They came up with “Borderline Disorder”  a sort of trashcan diagnosis that was not very well known then.  I think they were still playing with the DSM II at that point.  They told my folks I was nuts and needed drugs.  At first all I got was a mild antianxiety pill but soon after the Stelazine came out.

Since that time I have hardly ever gotten the same “diagnosis” twice although they keep getting worse and worse as time goes on.

I was going to school and I had found another new job to fail at by then.  Soon the pills started to take effect and I found school and work and the new diet I had started (at a diet center no less!)  (See s previous post for that diet. ) way too much.  Soon I also had a support group called Recovery, Inc. which still operates to attend two nights a week.  It was too much.  The pills made me lazy and depressed and all I wanted to do was sleep.  The demands of school, work, dieting, and the support group were too much.

After Christmas Break I could not fathom going back to school.  The pills had me in their grip and I could not concentrate on school or anything else.  I ran away the Sunday night before school started, ended up about 100 miles away and called my mother to come get me the following afternoon.  She made it in an hour to the truckstop where I awaited.

Back to school I went.  It got no better.  I don’t know what precipitated it when I decided to take the pills.  I was very depressed, felt fat, and felt life was passing me by already.  I don’t remember a particular argument or setback though.  I took 20 Stelazine and lay in my bed.  A few minutes later my mother came to my door asking if I had taken pills.  I was aghast.  How did she know?  She said “something” told her I had taken the pills and to check up on me.  I believe it was the Holy Spirit.  My mother never believed in God but “something” got her attention that day.

We got into the car and raced to the hospital where I was given that black nasty charcoal to drink and then admitted to a room until a psych bed could be found.  I got a bed in a psych ward (one of the few that is still in operation here) and my folks went home.  It was not such a bad place and I would have stayed if I had known what laid ahead.

Teens and adults were together in the ward but only the teens got to go on outings.  I think we went bowling, to a movie, to the ballet and to a restaurant the week I was there.  There was also a morning walk in the large park across the street every day.  The ward was also unlocked (a rarity today) but only had one door to go in and out.  There was also art therapy and group therapy.  There was a girl in there with me who went to my school who had also gotten bad harassment due to a physical abnormality.  The same kids that drove me to run away and onto shrink’s couches had led her to attempt suicide.

As usual the kids hated me, one in particular.  Have you noticed, ti’s, that one particular bully is always the worst at your jobs, on your block, etc…?  I have.  After awhile ( a whole week) no one was talking to me on the ward anymore except a few adults.  I decided to run during the morning walk.  While everyone walked ahead and chatted with the counselors I lagged back and waited for my cue.  When everyone had turned the corner and was out of sight I ran to the edge of the park and put my thumb out.  Someone stopped.

I somehow ended up in far Northern California before I was caught by police hitchhiking out of a small town.  I was depressed.  I had hooked up with a man and we were going to Canada? or something but we decided or he decided we should split apart because we were not getting rides.  Well, I got a ride all right.  To jail.

I was photographed and fingerprinted like a real criminal.  I guess I was a crim as I had stolen a candy bar at a store earlier that day.  I was put into a cell by myself and put on “suicide watch” with a camera on at all times (I was very loudly against cameras recording people in public when they first started appearing as I regard cameras as punitive) except going to the bathroom.  I was segregated from the other kids as I had not committed a crime.  I had said nothing about the candy bar.

After two days there I was put on a plane, in handcuffs, with a chaperone to fly “home”.  My father met me at the connecting flight in San Francisco.  He made promises to me that I would go free once the plane landed and I did not have to go back to school, I could live on my own, etc…it was all a lie.  I was taken to our Juvenile Hall which is only blocks from where I live now (done on Perpose?) and kept there until a psychiatric bed was made available.  I got the joy of having a full cavity search every time the parents came to visit.  Showers were supervised, too.

The official story was that psych beds were nowhere to be found…at least that is what was told me.  The reality was, that I was going to the state hospital’s locked adolescent ward.  I would spend the next 3 months of my life there until I took off on pass one fine summer evening.

I spent the first month on suicide watch with no privileges.  I had to sleep in front of the nurses station.  There were groups there and “one on ones” with counselors.  We also had to attend school a few hours each weekday.  School was on the ward.  There was a yard with a 20 foot high fence.  That was it for the outdoors if you had no privileges.

Finally I got a few privileges.   I got to sleep in a “regular” bedroom with 3 other girls.  One of them tried to show me how to light a cigarette with pencil lead and an outlet.  Another gave me a “head rush” by squeezing my neck.  The ward bully was in my room.  She snuck under my bed and raised the mattress and pretended to be a ghost.  I did not react.  The meds made me almost a zombie.  I was getting them in liquid form now so I don’t even know how much I was getting.

Finally I was allowed to go off unit for meetings with my on staff shrink and my one on one counselor.  Then, I was allowed to go to the main cafeteria that featured (gasp) real silverware and plates and a coffeepot.  Later I got to go on outings to the store, a local park, and a convenience store.  I think I was even allowed to be on grounds alone once.  I was still miserable but it was less miserable to be there.  I finally got to go on day only passes with the parents.  The first pass I cried the whole time knowing they were going to take me back to the lockup.

I was getting bored with ward life and it was decided I could do “industrial therapy” which at that time consisted of piece work.  I got accompanied to the building.  After a couple of hours of some boring thing I walked to the door to go outside just to look at the sky and the greening trees.  I walked back in but I had gotten reported.

The ward staff, especially the bitch that ran the ward, came down on me.  No more industrial therapy.  I went on an outing to a movie to only later find out I had not been approved for it.  Outings had been suspended except the scheduled pass home on the weekend.  Things seemed to be getting worse.  What was next?  Sleeping in front of the nurses station again?  Not only that, but my on ward shrink had decided I would have to spend a total of six months there and would only let me out as the new school year was beginning.  Right back to the school where all the problems started.  No dice.

On pass with my grandmother I asked to go use the restroom, went and locked myself in my grandma’s bedroom while they were at table and squeezed out a small window and ran to the busy street in front of her house.  I put my thumb out.  Someone picked me up.

I ran for three weeks in fear because I knew if I was found it was back to the locked ward for me.  I ended up as far as New Orleans but for some reason found myself going back towards home even though I was pretty sure what would happen.  I had nowhere to go and could not just keep on running.  I got home on a warm summer evening and called my parents.

I was surprised when they said they would not lock me up anymore and that all I had to do was make a contract of behavior at Social Services.  I was too mad at my folks to come home so I stayed at my Aunt’s 3 months before she got sick of me.  This and not getting caught “on the road” during those 3 weeks was the miracle.  I believed in God, really, for the first time.  There had been no way that I got out of this mess except for Divine Intervention.  I started believing then but did not really follow through until over a decade later.

Back to the story:  I was almost 17 then.  I started the journal I posted on this blog about two weeks after I came back to town.  The first entry was on July 4.  Freedom of sorts, but not for long.  I had no idea about targetting. Yet.

Now, I’m Sixteen three times over and my life is in the toilet.  Maybe those years had something to do with it.

The perps have threatened me not to write this post.

The perps across the street are going around acting like they have hacked my email.



We are all “wintergirls”. Ti’s wander around, not dead, but not truly alive. Ti’s wake up and dress and go out but have no connection to the world except the enless cruelties of the perps. Ti’s are in a way, ghosts. Ghostly we go through our day. We cry alone. Everything alone. Other ghosts sit outside by the Dumpsters looking for trash to sell, some ghosts float on a drug induced high gotten from a psychiatric clinic with a diagnosis based on mere guesswork. No one cares. No one cares the ghost was a human being with a mother, a father, a family, a future. Identity has been removed and replaced by the slanders of the enemy. There is no ending to it. It’s for life. Like the eating disordered girls in the book we are living ghosts caught in our own worlds.

For them, the nightmare sometimes ends and the sunshine of earthly life begins again.  They are subjected to teams of doctors, shrinks, family members, church members, eating plans, group therapy, etc….they get a chance, we don’t.

Ti’s walk alone.  No holidays, birthdays, anything.  Even the Sabbath is spent alone fearing the perp antics from the church “members” will make any Sunday outing worthless.  You go to the doctor, you go to the store, you go to Social Services when they summon you.  If you are brave, you go on a walk to get the air and to at least see God in nature.

Then, the perps attack you as you walk, and you cower in fear as your body grows weaker and sicker.

Books grow way overdue as you dread the long ride on public transport that will make your life a living hell as perps create a circus in front of you.  At the library, staff watches you as if you are a criminal.  “Patrons” continue to perp you even in the “quiet room” where you go to read and have peace.  Finally, you walk out of the library, ghostlike, back tothe bus for another round of abuse, and then “home” weary and depressed at all the perping knowing it does not end when you enter your front door.  Then the V2k begins……

Maybe Next Year in Jerusalem.

incurable bibliophile

Wintergirls by Laurie Halse Anderson
2009, 278 pages

My review: Image

“You’re not dead, but you’re not alive, either. You’re a wintergirl . . . caught in between the worlds.
You’re a ghost with a beating heart.”

Eating disorders is never an easy topic, but Laurie Halse Anderson weaves it into a riveting, eye-opening read. Eighteen-year-old Lia views food as numbers (calories), striving toward an ever-decreasing goal weight below 100lbs. Her former-best friend Cassie struggled with binging and bulimia, finally dying alone in a hotel room after Lia ignored her deathbed phone calls. Haunted by Cassie’s ghost and struggling with cutting, anorexia, and strained familial relationships, Lia spirals further downward into self-harm.

Before writing this book, Anderson consulted psychiatrists, doctors, recovering anorexics, and pro-eating disorder websites and chat rooms, in order to accurately portray the struggles. Psychologist Miranda J. McDermott calls Wintergirls the best fictionalized version of…

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Predestination is the idea that God pre destines every soul to heaven or hell even before they are born. It is in the Bible. Some people believe it is true, others believe we have a choice to be holy or to sin our lives away. Most of the Bible appears to be people making choices for or against God and how God responds to it. If people did not make their own choices our human race would resemble a huge Chess game or multiplayer video game. Our free will and power to think would be a lie.

Predestination drives me nuts. I can never figure it out. Predestination would mean that saved people could not ever sin enough to be lost and lost people could not choose to come to God and get saved.

Perps try and create a world around ti’s that resembles Predestination by screwing people’s perceptions of reality and limiting choices.  I really hate the idea of Predestination.

I must have the choice to live or not to live….a puppet cannot choose to be good.



This video is about teens forced into mental institutions. It’s the first video I’ve seen on it. These kids spent less time in the hospital than I did but seem scarred for life. I was ready to move on with life only a few years after the hospital but then the perps showed up in 1987.

One woman relates how she cannot be in enclosed places nor go to a hospital. I relate to the man who was hospitalized with substance abuse (although he said he did not use at the time) because the hospital also made me out to be a demon to my parents so they would back off from me.  He and his parents do not get along to this day.  Notice a lot of aircraft flying over his head as he speaks.  Familiar?

They made me out to be what the perps WERE.

The worst instance was the girl who was hospitalized from SCHOOL because her enemies noticed a small cut on her arm. Her parents weren’t notified until later.

It is a long video but worth watching. There are some differences between my hospitalization and theirs. I wasn’t forbidden to touch people for one and also we went to school in the hospital. We had outings if you were at a higher level.  We were still locked up like animals most of the day.  There were few individual bedrooms and we were 4 to a room unlike these kids who were 1 or 2 to a room.

Roseanne Barr was an inmate of forced hospitalization as a youth and is a “truther” now but I have no idea if she is an actual ti.

Also, of interest is the forced incarceration of youths in what were known as “laundries”.  Unwed mothers, and all other kinds of youngsters that did not fit in were sent here and sometimes unlawfully incarcerated for life and worked to death by nuns.  They had these all over the world, not just Ireland.  The video “Sex in a Cold Climate” interviews some of these ladies who were incarcerated.  These “laundries” also operated in the US.  The hospital experience was nothing compared to the “laundries” which not only physically took advantage of women (and sexually) but economically as well.

The last “laundry” closed in 1996.  I lost a link to one page where an American girl was sent to a laundry here in the U.S. and watched a suicidal girl being put into a “dungeon” and never heard from again after she was beaten by nuns.  Celebrity Sinead O’ Connor was an inmate at a “laundry” for over a year when she was young.  If you see a picture of her now, only in her 40s, she looks all old and beaten down.  She was very pretty when I was young.  She tore up a picture of Pope John Paul on Saturday Night Live and no one knew why until recently.  I saw it as an act of dumb rebellion until I read she had been at one of those homes


Prompt 5

Prompt #5: Can’t believe I just said that

Write about a moment when you said or did something extremely embarrassing or accidentally insulting. Go into detail about the feeling of mortification, and how you felt after you said it.

Does this help exorcise the guilt/embarrassment at all? Can you imagine a fictional character going through the same process?

It was something I did.  The perps keep on putting me in embarassing situations where I say or do the wrong thing via setups and skits, but, this was my fault.

I have 2 men working on a project for me.  While they were there I had to use the bathroom.  I went, then went out to watch the men build my project which I won’t share, since it’s TMI.

I looked down and realized I had forgotten to buckle my belt!  I almost died.  I bet they thought I was trash looking to get it on with them.  I have had other times I forget to buckle my belt, but this was the worst.  I’m not used to belts but these “new” jeans with the short waists need them and they still don’t fit.

I did not know what to do.  I could not bring it up to them so I went, buckled it, and acted like nothing had happened.  End of story.

Could I imagine an imaginary person with this minor but humiliating problem?  I guess.

Britney walked into her first pre Law lecture.  The stadium type class was packed.  There were very few seats.  One nearby would require her to push herself past a whole row of students and their laptops and backpacks.  As she moved into the row to take a seat she kept hearing “ouch” and “clank” and was alarmed.  Several people were giving her looks.  Soon, she found the reason.  Her beautiful new belt that she had bought had been left unbuckled since she left the restroom at 7-11 a half hour ago.

Prompt 4

Prompt #4: Post Secret

Leave a post-it note in a secret place. One sentence only. What do you say? How does the placement affect the message?


I don’t have any post it notes, but, if I did, I’d put a post in my bathroom cabinet with a drawing of a cat and the words:

Keep out!  This means You!!!

My cat gets into the bathroom cabinet all the time and I am scared she’ll get into something.

Prompt 3

Prompt #3: Self-Destruct

Rip off a piece of paper and turn of the lights. Begin writing on the paper, but make sure you cannot see what or where you’re writing it. After 25 minutes, destroy the paper completely.

What did you write on that paper that you couldn’t write before? Did the “anonymity” of the writing help you bring out things that you previously couldn’t?

So here’s day 3:  I went into a dark place and wrote what turned out to be unintelligible trash for 25 minutes.  I wrote words on other words so it just looked like a mess.  I shredded it.

A lot of what I wrote I have shared on my old blog.  Just a lot of angst over being a target and what is the use of my life, etc.  I also wrote that I was angry that my passion in life is considered a sin and that I had to die to that sin and also take pills to make me stupid and fat to survive.  I also wondered why small pleasures like vid games and crossword puzzles seemed to be forbidden by God now to me.  I got the perps angry once by writing that the world is a waste now with so many people essentially spying on other people that nothing will get done.  They threatened me.  I hope God protects me.  I also wondered if my mind was going or if the side effects of the pills have dumbed me down so much it only seems that way.  Also if my mind is going, why so young and what should I do?  Heard my perp neighbor giggle over that.  You wish.

I wondered why God would MAKE me take all the joy out of my life (idolatry to a rock band) and then He would not replace it with something else.  It seems as if the promises of joy, peace, assurance, etc. have passed me by.  I was relieved when the time was up as I was writing in the bathroom, it being the only dark place during the day to write.


Prompt #2: Zombie Invasion

At this moment, the area you’re in is suddenly ravaged by zombies. With the internet and phone lines cut off, all you have at your disposal are things in your room. What sort of strategies do you use to get out? How do you see things differently now that they can be used for your survival?

Well already we have a TMI post:  I may not like to divulge what I have on “hand” to “resist zombies” considering I think most people are “zombies” enslaved by the system and are easy to bait into being perps.  The bodies are alive but what’s left in the mind?  A vengeful 12 year old child?  I guess this prompt is talking about nasty undead humans though.

If zombies are”soulless undead former humans” then they are animated by demons, right?  If nasty smelly zombies have cut off all our communications then they are intelligent and not easy to catch and destroy.  Would Bible verses and songs keep them off?  Doubt it.  I really have nothing in here to take down a zombie.  Screaming Bible verses and putting Crisco on the ground would only work a little while.

Incinerating them would not kill the “body” and the demon would fly free and get a new body to live in.  You would have to bind the demon in the zombie or demons, cast them out, then destroy the undead “person” who probably would not be moving then, or would they? Unless you have facilities set up to incinerate mass amounts of zombies it would be a stinky mess.  Lots of fire is needed to burn zombies, apparently.

I do not know what zombies are attracted to or what zombies hate.  In this article, it says you need to damage the brain to kill the zombie.  I say cast out the demon making it move.  To get from point A to point B quickly you’d need a firearm unless you had a huge loudspeaker to cast all the demons out of all the zombies in your area.  The “fast” zombies, or still living human zombies are even more threatening but can be killed more easily.

You’d need to stay far enough for the zombies so they cannot bite you.  If they bite, you become one of the undead.  I’m looking around and I don’t see a thing that could hurt a zombie except maybe things that could trip their clumsy lower extremities and make them slip.  Unless I had a helicopter pick me up or I had a huge firearm I would not get out.

This article says the smell of alcohol deters zombies.  Maybe I’d cover myself in wine and run for it but not get far.  Zombies do not like day as much as night.  Maybe I’d wash myself in wine at dawn, and run if I knew where a safehouse was.

I know almost nothing about zombies.