My Loss Part 1–life of a cereal killer (sorry could not remove the pun)

My real loss in this life came sometime in 1990.  I had already felt stalked and treated badly since 1988 since I discovered a large group of people just staring at me in 1987 at a restaurant.  It progressed to seeing people sneering at me on the street and feeling watched and followed wherever I went.  I still felt it was just some kind of vendetta from a local person that maybe I had angered.  I was getting “watched” in grocery stores as if they expected to steal.  I got scared and went to my therapist and told her and I was put onto Haldol by a doctor.  I learned to close my mouth and suffer alone for the most part.  Talking about it caused arguments.

One summer I was living in a community of mentally ill people after Mother had kicked me out of the house for a small argument. This was to make me feel as if I had bona fide mental illness…hey, maybe I do now…they drove me bats!   I went there the first time at the request of a therapist and the labelling began.  Whatever I “have” I’ll never know but I get constantly changing diagnoses based on how they want to manipulate me at the moment.

I had moved there the past winter and was struggling to survive and pay the astronomical rent for one room and 6 meals.  One day, I decided to play a guitar a counselor had lent me and I thought I would put some poems I wrote to an easy set of chords.  As I was doing it, the phone rang.  The house phone not a cell phone.  Some strange man on the phone asked if I lived there and what kind of place it was, blah blah blah….no one was there when I came to the phone.  It was a warning not to play the guitar anymore.

That was the day I finally realized that I was being watched and all the rude encounters were probably part of it.  I knew “they” were after me not knowing who “they” were.  It was horrifying.  I knew then my “freedom” was an illusion.  It never got better after that but worse. It was The only thing I had:  freedom from living in America had been stolen from me. I was supposed to be an American but I was the Enemy and I could not figure out why. My family had escaped the Holocaust by coming to this country before the war and now a personal Holocaust was being carried out just for me.

It started off kind of mild so I was sort of able to continue my life and work for awhile but only for awhile.  I had a dark shadow on my life.  My shadow and misery, the perps follow me everywhere.  I could never feel happy and joyous in public again.  I was “on camera”.  My life started to retract and get smaller.

The shadow persists and gets worse every day.

The Hated One

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