Moping Around at New Year’s

Moping Around on New Year’s

It’s been a tough year for me, and I didn’t post for most of it.  From V2k threats against posting, threats of eviction, perping, and all the rest, I can see this gangstalking gets worse every year.  This fall I have been gangstalked for 30 years.  I remember the weird behavior started when I returned home after trying to live out of state in late 1986.

There were a few blessings so it wasn’t all hellish.  Soon, very soon, 2017 will be here with a drastically new President.  Will it bode better for me and other ti’s or will it be worse?  Will I finally be able to be independent again going about my business on public transportation without much fear or will I be forever dependent on rides to get things done?

For the first time in months, I took myself somewhere.  It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be since today some companies are giving their employees the day off to compensate for New Year’s being on a weekday.  The buses were fairly empty but the store (wow I even took myself to the effing store!) was very crowded.

When I first found out I was a ti on January 9, 2005, I was determined not to stay in the house all the time.  I find myself at home lots more these past 3 years since I have been threatened on the bus going to the store in April, 2014.  I used to go somewhere everyday, even if just the park, despite heavy gangstalking.  Now I see it as not worth it.  Short, necessary trips are all I make and seldom.  I am afraid.  I am older.  The perps seem more aggressive.

I hope Trump restores some law and order so I won’t fear violence if I decide to exercise outside again.

A lot of people of the celebrity sort have died this year, most prematurely.  I don’t think I have long.  The perps put a picture in my head with a – dash 2017, like I might die this coming year.  The people in charge are winnowing out who they don’t like now.

I’m wasting my life. I’ve had V2k threats even for reading my library books and now they are very late.  I’ve even had V2k threats for sitting outside.  I waste my time besides the basics of living and Bible Study watching videos instead of reading books, being outside, exercising. listening to pastors on podcast, etc….I’m going to seed.  My brain needs work to do. I’m not interested in crossword puzzles anymore or crafts. I was “told” by a voice I could not use coloring books to fill out the time or ELSE.

There are very many homeless people here and they use it as a threat to me.  Last year, I heard as a threat, that I would become homeless, and on top of that, no one would help me and I would die a slow death outside.  I get very scared when we get cold spells.  We are going to get our third or fourth spell of zero weather after New Year’s.  It is colder than last year.  Colder and drier.  La Nina.  There is an old woman who has been staying outside on my block since July, and another group of homeless that have been here over a year.  Other groups come and go.

Even the homeless here seem cliquish and hang around each other, and yes, they perp.  Even living outside has expenses, and a Social Security check won’t even pay the rent around here if you are not in Section 8, so you live in fear.  When I started on Social Security, I could have just barely made it in my former 410 dollar a month apt with food stamps.  Now, the smallest studio is 900 dollars.  Food stamps have been cut.  I got more food stamps to start out with in 1999 than I get today.  I’d go back to work if I could get a living wage, health insurance, and no perp bullshit, e.g. getting set up to get fired time after time.

Now there is the Murphy Act that gives mental health providers the power to FORCE patients on drugs they don’t want even if they aren’t violent or suicidal.  They have shots that last 3 months so putting pills down the loo isn’t an option all the time.

For 6 or 7 of Obama’s 8 years Social Security recipients have had no raise at all or a very small one.  Prices keep going up.  There are rules living in Section 8, and if you lose your apt you could end up on the street.  This is not California or Florida.  I don’t have a car to live in.  It seems to be the “in” thing now to live in your car, work, and save up.  Sounds like a rough life to me.  I knew a woman who had to do it HERE where there is winter for 3 years with only her dog for warmth.  Her daughter would not take her in.  She’d let her own mother, who had to raise her as a single mom take a shower there.  I hate this world.

Please keep me from hating You, God.

I usually spend New Year’s with the covers over my head and music playing to drown out the sound of celebration.

Good Book

w/o Internet at home I have more time to read..and read.  Just finished a 400+ page book called Straight Into Darkness by Faye Kellerman.  It is about pre-Hitler Germany and how a troubled understaffed police department and a detective with at least a few morals left solve a case of mass murder in Munich or “lustmord” which is I think the definition of “love of death” or something.  It also examines the state of the art and entertainment around Germany at that time.  Munich was sort of a place of middle class “respectability” compared to Berlin…so they did not get the hootchie cootchie shows as much but they did have Kabarets, or nightclubs.  It also explores the world of 1920s German art which had themes of violence (the lustmord) as well.  The main character watches as Hitler rises, and his rallies and his (eventually disposable) Brownshirts become more and more violent and how the police have trouble controlling the riots from the rallies and how the police and populance become more and more sympathetic to the Nazi cause and how honest people like Axel Berg (the main character) are getting fewer and fewer.  Kellerman leaves you guessing to the end who the killer is and the ending is a big surprise.  It is a good read for a ti as perps have been compared to Brownshirts over and over again.  Another theme is…drum roll…FOOD.  German pub food sucks apparently, and if the Germans had a better cuisine they probably would not have had to have so many wars.  I bet Postwar Germany is full of Chinese, Mexican, Indian and American food.  Kellerman uses lots of German phrases to make the novel seem authentically German even though it is written in English.  I recognized a few German words due to my Grandmother using some Yiddish words even though she spoke English.  She also spoke Yiddish and my mother understood it.  I can only make out a few food words.  Apparently Jewish food is German food, essentially, sort of like Macrobiotic food is Japanese food, essentially…except for SAUSAGE.  The Jews ate Brisket and bird not sausage

Sober–Angle of self deception? Looking at sober in a new way?

Are you Sober? Am I? What is Sober?

Is Sober merely abstaining from mind altering substances such as liquor and street drugs, or, is it also being in a rational mental state also abstaining from anger and rage and silly frivolity? Is Sober avoiding (if it can be avoided) the depths of melancholy and self pity? How many people are actually Sober in your state your country, the world? Not so many.

Most of my life, I believed I had been “Sober”. Actually, I was only “Sober” on paper since I did not drink nor do street drugs with a few backslidings with alcohol and teen experimentation with pot. I also smoked for a few years.  There was also that time I did the diet pills….For the most part, I did not drink, smoke, or use recreational drugs for almost 50 years. Still, I drink lots of coffee, eat lots of sugar and bread, and take psych drugs, including benzodiazepines.  I’m a junkie, really, if you get down to it.  I have also indulged myself emotionally in anger and ranting and cursing and long periods of self pity and depression.  My Sobriety comes in moments, maybe hours but never for even a day.

I think I have used this “sober clean living” thing as a facade.  It’s a platform for sinful pride.  I’m prideful that I do not indulge in cigarettes, alcohol, sleep with men, gamble, etc…makes me think I have an “in” with God.  It’s all a lie.  God looks at the heart.  Maybe some of His favorites are junkies sitting in alleys.  Mine is a hard fisted miserable sobriety done more for self preservation than to be “good”.  White knuckles could describe it.  If I had a buck for every time I’ve wanted a cigarette these past four years….

There are many actions and attitudes in today’s society that although they do not include beer, cigarettes or cocaine or even an innocent cup of coffee, are not “Sober” activities.

Giving way to anger and rage puts one in an altered state that is ungodly.  People who used to do various drugs and drinks and tell happy stories of those days or linger on those memories or still act immature are considered “dry drunks” by organizations such as AA.  People who indulge themselves in jealousy are taken over by a demon that can lead to murder.  If your cup of tea is melancholy it can lead you to living a “dark” lifestyle where the negative and even gross aspects of life gain importance and God loses out.  Some people use incredible amounts of legal supplements to get a sort of “high”, like the kind you get drinking Red Bull or Five Hour Energy.  Those substances are good in a pinch when extra energy is needed and there is little time for rest.  God knows I have had Red Bull and Five Hour Energy, I just avoid the occult looking Monster drink.

Some people get a high off of starving which some people say is the reason it is so hard to get anorexics to eat.  Some hallucinate on long fasts and keep going on them to get enlightenment or not.  Some people eat until they get sleepy enough to block out the world.  Some people use pornography for a temporary high. There is a hypnotic state achieved by watching a movie or even TV.  Between the constant ads, brainwashing and flicker rate TV and movies are a drug.  I used to feel a lot “better” when I used to watch TV for hours every evening.  Some people use compulsive and extravagant shopping trips to get a high.  Some people play video games for hours on end. Even poor people like me buy stuff we don’t need but want just to “feel better”.  NO one is totally “Sober”.

Most of us delude ourselves into thinking we are living “clean and sober”.  With our laundry list of little habits and emotions we retain a sort of high, just enough to get through a day.  If we were to be truly sober or all substances or media including starving, overeating, and shopping, it would be unendurable to most of us.  Were they more “Sober” in the old days without all the psych drugs and TV and coffee on every corner?  Maybe not.  People consumed a lot more alcohol than we do now and there was not a “drinking age”.  Alcohol was served at least once a day in an average household that was not overtly religious.  People smoked more, too, especially men.  Overall, they were “more Sober” than we are in this techno-controlled society.  Shopping was limited, there were not restaurants on every corner, no easily available porn, or psych drugs.  People were grateful to eat and did not worship “skinny”.  For some, they did not even get needful medication for their ills, living in constant pain.\

Could people live “Sober” today?  If one was willing to live without the TV, the Internet, Coffee, Sweets, any psych drugs, movies, drugs and alcohol and cigarettes, and even shopping except for necessities, you could be sort of “Sober”.  What about books?  Do some books make people high?  Would people have to live without novels or sensational journalism?  What about puzzles?  Where does it end?  Would we be hunched over a candle in a small room reading a Bible Commentary for hours or be like Lincoln reading Law by the fire?

Nineteen, free write w/o editing..spelinng optional

Yesterday’s post got me to thinking about the sad state of the elderly poor. They sometimes remain naive of the ways of the world especially if they are widowed and are largelay taken adventage of.

My “Mrs Pauley” post was partially based on a real person whose life fell apart. She was married to her third husband and living in low income housing. They were pretty happy but poor. He loved her. She loved him.

When he was dying he asked his family to help take care of her since her family was quite estranged from her. The only child she talked to was in prison and the only other person she talked to was his ex wife–crabby and bipolar but with a love for cleaning.

She had some friends amongst her neighbors but they could do little for her as they were poor themselves.  She was friendly with a crabby lady downstairs and did many things for her but then they fell out.

This person’s life was mainly focused on her job as an in home dispatcher for her family’s plumbing business.  She would earn extra over her Social Security and be kept busy without leaving her apartment as she was somewhat disabled with COPD and arthritis.  She still smoked.

When work was over she watched television. She cooked a little here and there.  Her few outings took her to restaurants or to her ex daughter-in-law’s apartment.  She loved to go out and would dress up a bit and had a smile on her face.  She loved to talk and also to brag about how good her son in prison had become.  She had a tendancy to gossip.

Then, her life started to fall apart bit by bit.  First, it was her doctor.  He started giving her fewer pain pills because the HMO she was with set a limit.  She was left with pain during the day.  At first she used menthol rubs and Advil and such to mask the extra pain but it never completely worked.  Still she lived with it.

Next, her son came out of prison.  He was not the reformed creature she said he was.  He was on the make, always looking for drugs.  He stayed at his mother’s house on and off sponging off her as much as possible.  He struck up a friendship with an alcoholic neighbor across the hall and they schemed to steal whatever was valuable from the old lady’s apartment.  I don’t know how he got the safe’s combintation but he did.  Things started missing from her apartment.  I started calling the alcoholic woman the “thief” and she did a few dirty perpy tricks on me.  I was not upset when the management made her leave later on.

When I visited her alone or with my friend she would joke that she had “old-timer’s disease” which filled me with terror as I saw my grandfather die badly of it.  I assured her she did not, but, her work performance started to go down.  Her in laws fired her.  She was left virtually destitute.  The pain was worse.

We took her to the ER for something and one of the nurses said she was an alcoholic but I had never seen her with a drink so I was angry and thought they lied to rile up a vulneralble woman.

Soon I saw the alcohol.  She bought Whiskey at a half gallon a pop.  I didn’t even know they made it that big.  Whiskey, cigarettes and Coke were her mainstays to keep the pain away that the lower does of pills did not handle.

She was getting my friend or even ME to go to the liquor store to buy her half gallon of whiskey at 30 bucks.

Finally she could not take care of herself at all and the state got involved and put her into some kind of assisted care building.  I inferred they had diagnosed her with Alzeimer’s as well.  She was only in her mid 60s.

She had had a hard life in the woods of the South.  She had no plumbing as a child.  After two disastrous marriages and a few kids she moved here with her last husband.  He was a quiet gentle man.

He treated her as she always wanted to be treated.  She drank during her earlier marriages but remained dry for at least 20 years with the third marriage and afterward until her life fell apart.

We visited her only once.  She had moved maybe two miles away to an apartment building refitted for assisted care.  Instead of an apartment she now only had a tiny room that led into a common area with a fridge and microwave.  Another woman lived in a room off the common area as well.  That was her life.  She also went to adult day care where they put her with the “droolers” even though she still had lots of lucidity.  The indignity.

I’m sure she has passed away by now.  It frightened me how people will take advantage of an elderly person alone, especially one who hadn’t had much education or experience except the hard knocks.  Even with them, she seemd to be a little lamb amongst wolves.  The only book in her house was the Bible.

She was a friend to me when I needed her and I wonder if she was being perped.  I hope she remembers me when she gets to Heaven as a have few friends on the Earth.

Lost and Found–The Sixteenth Temp Agency

Imagine you had a job in which you had to sift through forgotten or lost belongings. Describe a day in which you come upon something peculiar, or tell a story about something interesting you find in a pile.


So, today’s twist: If you’d like to continue our serial challenge, also reflect on the theme of “lost and found” more generally in this post.

By the end of Writing 101, you’ll have multiple posts around a theme — material you could thread together in a longform piece.

Questions to think about as you write your post:

  • What have you learned about loss over the years?
  • What does it feel like to find an object that was once important to you?
  • When can reconnecting go horribly wrong?
  • When are things better left buried and forgotten?

In your “lost and found” tale, tell us something larger — a life lesson, perhaps —

This post is based on this website.  State mental patients in Upstate New York left their few belongings which ended up in storage.  The “Suitcase Project” became famous and a catalyst for patient rights in the current era.

The following is fiction:  I never held a job like this…dcms

It had happened again:  I was caught broke and hard up with no one to help.  I needed money fast.  I went to the Recollections temp agency because they seemed to offer jobs a little different than the ones I got at standard temp agencies….could I possibly get any experience on these assignments instead of the usual gig that lands you in an office somewhere doing work my cat could do and look better doing it.

I knew it would be different when I heard my first assignment would be at a CLOSED mental hospital.  There would be no administrative tasks to be done:  no filing, no answering phones, no data entry, no food service in the now closed cafeteria.  I could  not imagine why they would want people to work in an abandoned mental hospital.

I was sent to the sub basement to a huge area filled with boxes of patients belongings.  These were the few personal belongings of patients who had died at the hospital and had no one to pick up their few scraps of possessions.  There were lots and lots of boxes.  Once we were done collecting, categorizing and repackaging belongings, they were to go to the Metropolitan museum to become an exhibit.  Lives Lost:  the possessions of the dispossessed.   There was even a show on Discovery Channel planned.  I felt exited and honored to be part of the project even though the temps were offered nothing but their wages.  We would not be listed as contributors to the project.

There is little ceremony on a temp job.  We were set to work with latex gloves and dusting wipes to snoop into the lives of the forgotten ones.

The first person my work buddy and I came onto was an old lady that had died in the institution.  She had photos of relatives dating from the 1940s all the way until 1986 when she had died.  She also had a few pieces of costume jewelry, a brush comb and mirror, and some very old expired cosmetics.  There was a book of poems by an obscure author and some white gloves.  There was also a pair of heels and cheap-fancy underwear.  She must have been a “trusty” who was allowed out on passes to various events or just to shop or go out to eat.  There were a few stilted letters from her husband, the guilty one, who had put her there.  If he had been alive when she died he never bothered to get her things or to bury her because her burial plot number was put in Magic Marker on the outside of the box.  The graveyard for patients was about a mile away and there were thousands of simple crosses and small headstones that marked the lives of the disposable people.  Over 100 years of unloved ones buried beneath the earth.  It was going to be a Historical Area so at least the remains would not be disturbed.

The second suitcase was a set.  In the first one there were clothes, underwear, cosmetics, and even expensive perfume.  There was a small packet at the bottom of the suitcase.  I lost myself to time and place when I found myself reading love letters from this woman’s boyfriend written a year or so before her admission to the hospital.  The letters ended abruptly.  They had broken up and he had married the woman his parents wanted him to marry and left her heartbroken.  The second box contained tons of sheet music for the violin and piano loaded up with instructor’s notes.  The fading spidery notes were guides for some musician to improve playing the piece at hand.  I felt a chill.  The box also contained some novels and philosophical books and even a Bible.  On the bottom was a box of hats and gloves and a cigarette holder.  This was one elegant lady.

In yet another big box there was a case in which there was a dusty violin with broken strings.  Lumps of rosin accompanied the instrument and there were spare strings along with a photo of the Boyfriend.  Turned out she was a concert violinist on the verge of big fame when she went into a downward spiral over the loss of her engagement.  She took to drink and was found drunk on the street.  Instead of putting her in jail where she could have called someone they took her to one hospital after another where she did not appear to get better.  The one picture of her before the hospital showed a slim stylish woman with all her faculties.  Where was her family, her friends?, her lawyer?  She was transferred to State and spent the next fifty years of her “life” here helping wash dishes in the hospital kitchen.  She spent a few years in a group home towards the end but poor health brought her into a nursing home.  Apparently there is one recording of this woman’s playing but a Net search failed to produce it.

The next person’s suitcase looked like an elderly grandmother’s.  It was full of Bibles and Bible Commentaries and knitted and crocheted and tatted items of good quality. A letter by James Vernon McGee had been framed in a cheap frame. She had been on the “Bible Bus”.  A small transistor radio was found. There was a looking glass, brush and comb, and a nail clipper with file.  No cosmetics.  A paper bag revealed Mother’s Day and Christmas and Birthday cards to the inmate from her family.  The cartoonish or gaudily floral greetings seemed so out of place for State.  There were also a few drawings and Report Cards full of A’s for the inmate to look at.  There was a romance novel full of pressed flowers and a dried bouquet in the box.  Her husband had kept in touch.

The next box of hers revealed lots of flowery house coats and a few dowdy dresses.  There were 2 pair of sensible shoes, size 11.  The one picture of the woman was taken slightly before her incarceration at State.  She was a Middle-Aged slightly fat woman with fading beauty and a sad face.  Her hair, done in a dowdy bun, drooped.  I could have cried.  What was this woman’s crime?

The woman was once a very active Church member of a village nearby and had a family of 7.  She was quite happy and busy as a small town housewife and leader of various charities in her Church.  Then the change happened.  The old pastor left and a new one came in.  Also, strange people started joining the Church and some of the wives challenged her right to run her groups.  Some of this group got together to ruin the woman by starting a psychological campaign to destroy her by undermining her Spirituality and making her believe she had never been Saved.  In the end she fell apart, had to quit her groups and even the Church.  She had been brought to a village hospital after a suicide attempt and never seemed much better after that.  She was brought to State to live out the rest of her 30 years.

The only reason anyone knew of all this was that her husband had petitioned for her release into his custody to accompany him to a country retreat and he gave this testimony of his wife.  Turns out the Church totally fell apart and disbanded months after this woman left.  The damage had been done though.

In her early years at the hospital according to Dr.’s Notes she had been sullen and uncommunicative.  She made more suicide attempts.  Later, when they put her on psychiatric drugs she calmed down enough to go to an unlocked ward and attend Occupational Therapy and to work in the Kitchen.  She even had a small cottage to herself on the grounds before she became too ill physically to live there.  Her husband even took her on passes to town to shop and to eat out.  When asked if she would like to leave the hospital she would grow pale and shake and retreat within herself for several days.  The loving husband died rather young and the family slowly lost touch as they grew up and moved away.

The third box had me in tears.  I almost could not go on.  But life goes on and I had rent, a car payment and cable to pay for.  There were 500 boxes that had been left there and they were still looking for more around the huge campus when I finally left to get a job in my field.  It was getting stressful with the tourists and TV cameras anyway.

It was ironic how these lost people had been found by strangers and made well known though modern electronic media.  I will never know if the lost ones we found really wanted to be found at all but I can only hope that life after death had been kinder to them than on this side of mortality.

Some things when lost, remain lost forever.  The joys of this life pass quickly and sometimes there is nothing to replace the loss here on Earth.  I have rarely reclaimed something or somebody I had on Earth.  I used to find
“surprises” at my parent’s home if I searched the top of my old closet.  Items from the past, worth nothing but remembrance.  A window into another time.  I used to peruse an old brown suitcase full of old family pictures my father had including some of me.  I would sadly note that the times had passed, people had died and I had not “turned out”.

Several years ago, I backslid and tried to somehow return to my old “life” as a groupie.  It not only failed, it hurt me more than I could say.  I asked God this time to show me my idols as they really were and He did even though I backslid.  I was very disappointed.  They were just men and flawed ones at that.  Then the perps took what I was doing and turned it into a nightmare.  When I finally turned away I heartily regretted what I had done.  The past belongs in the past.

I believe I should have simply forgotten my idolatry from the past but my rebellious nature got the best of me when my life went downhill.  I got angry at God and opened up that old can of worms.  I had found nothing had changed nor gotten better.  One evening, when I was living in one of my fantasies, I came to myself and found I was acting like I did when I was a girl and new to the fantasies.  I was sickened I had slid all the way to the bottom of the hill.  I have tried to reclaim my faith since then but it has never been the same.  The beginning of sin is as the letting forth of water……



This is the time of year I start thinking of Summer.  There was thunder lightning and hail.  Early summer, the prelude to the real thing.

Summer was fun before I was a target.  I was bullied at school but Summer meant most time was spent with family and occasional visits with cousins at my Aunt’s house.  I liked to do all the Summertime things I would not dare do now because I’m an official Outcast, official Off-scouring–the ti.

It was fun hanging out at my Aunt’s eating myself sick and doing errands for her. Making burnt pancakes on her ancient stove.  Playing with the neighborhood kids occasionally.  Meeting a lost little kitten on my Aunt’s porch.  Watching her grapes ripen and knowing my mother would want some.  Her favorite food of all was Concord Grapes.  It was hot at my Aunt’s but we were thin and wore shorts and tee shirts and it was sort of like camping sleeping in the small stifling bedroom that used to belong to my grandmother.  There were windows way high up and it took hours to get a breeze.  The big window stayed closed as it was a rough neighborhood then.

I could wear shorts before I got fat.  I was actually comfortable in Summer at my parents A/C home wearing Summer clothes.  Ever since I have moved out it has been one a/c less apt after another.  I’m too fat to wear shorts and even feel sort of naked in capri length pants.  I spend three months a year under the relentless 50mph blow of a huge fan.  I do wear tank tops but now they stretch the bounds of decency because I’ve gotten large on top so now I’m paranoid about that and am wondering if I should go back to regular hot t shirts for Summer.  People make fun of my attire and I’m too poor to get nice things.

I used to go swimming at the J CC, at the local High School Pool and the lake behind our house.  As a child I would do dives off the diving board and might dare a forward flip.  There was that little jittery feeling as I ascended the high dive and also the determination I would go off it and not climb back down to my utter humiliation.  I would dive off the high dive and get water up my nose.  At the lake there was not much room to swim for so many people so my mother got us floating rafts to sit in to go out on the water.  I would sit and read in the raft.

As a young trip there were trips to Dairy Queen to get soft serve.  I insisted on at least a Medium Cone which was huge then.  It was 35 cents.  Occasionally my father would let us get dipped cones.  On special days we’d get to go to Baskin Robbins and I would get a double cone of the most odd flavors I could find or the most decadent chocolate flavors or one of each.  I’d get daiquiri, pina colada and every other weird sherbet.  A double cost, what, 79 cents?  My latest forays into ice cream shops gave me nightmares with the high prices and perps everywhere,

We would go to movies and enjoy the a/c before we had a/c at home.  It was a magical world in the dark eating overpriced popcorn and drinking drinks worth their weight in gold, and you didn’t want to movie to end.  Now I’d be sitting in the dark with a bunch of angry perps…I do not remember the last time I went to a movie.

We would go on vacation and sleep in dive motels and eat at greasy spoons.  Dad would drive too much during the day.  There would be fights.  It was the typical American Vacation.  My classmates got trips to various Islands and resorts but we had less than they.  I still remember going to the beach for the first time in San Diego and being fascinated with the seaweed on the shore, the pelicans and the cool coastal air.

I would take my sleeping bag and sleep in the backyard only to be woken at about 6:25 am under the morning clouds and the clatter of my mother’s Cottonwood tree.  I’d walk inside and she’d say “good morning, how did you sleep?”  Like a baby that’s what. NO pills either.

We’d go to the amusement park at night to escape the heat so we’d see the older crowd of teens and adults and not whiny babies and hot ride seats.  I was grateful for that.  We would stay until they closed at midnight.  My mother went on all the fast rides with us girls while my dad played skee ball and fascination.

We would eat before going at an Italian restaurant.  I would get a huge calzone.  It was a family run place, closed now.

We’d beg for sweets at the park later.

We’d pile tired into our big old car for the drive across town to the suburbs sleepy and happy.

I have not been to an amusement park since 1990 and am not eager to go.  Surrounded by people again.  Perps and skits and park security.  Nope.

If it stormed at night we’d go to our parents’ bed and tell them we were scared.  We were told “It’s just a storm” and be told to go away.  To me the great flashes of lightning and window rattling thunder and sheets of rain were the end of the world.

My mother said she saw a tornado out driving once.  My childhood dream was to see a tornado.  I saw one later on but it wasn’t so great.  The dream was already dead.

One summer we joined a hiking club and hiked as a family.  Oh those 5 am wake ups and those breakfasts on the road with the group!  The beautiful forest and rocks and then crossing the tree line and eating the same whole wheat bread and cheese of everyday but it seemed a feast up there.  Falling asleep on a breeze in the mountain meadow before we had to hike down….begging for ice cream in the first town we saw.

My mother’s forays for fudge in any small town we went thru on vacation…

I’d lay on my bed and listen to America’s Top 40 on my little radio with the windows wide open.  I never thought I would end up like this.

The summer crickets would chirp and a breeze would float in.  Life was a summer dream.  The nightmare was out there waiting for me.


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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Location Location Location

The blog Qwik Lit is having prompts. For some fresh Ideas I am going here to try and complete some of them. Posting on gs/v2k/mindcontrol is so depressing to me I cannot do it anymore. This might change. I have found several other blogs lately that are so good and full of content on gs that I think they have it covered. One of them was so good the perps punished me for going on it. If I remember their names I will link them.  One of them was People not Serfs.


Blog idea 1 (these go to 100)

Prompt #1: Location Location Location

Where are you? Your room? A hotel lobby? the top of a burning building? In the finest detail possible, describe everything you possibly can, from the sound to the smell to the temperature. Be extremely specific.

I am in the front room of my apt.  If I had my apt decorated as per “normal” this would be the “living room” or TV room.  There is an empty cable hook up here.  My only phone jack is here.  This is an old building so the room has high ceilings of 10 or 12 feet not the standard 8.  I virtually have no furniture but the few things I have are mostly in this room.

I have one of my father’s old coffee tables to hold the phone on and a 1960s dinette table that I sometimes eat on but usually avoid when I’m by myself since perps look in the window at the front.  I have a leftover computer table that was left here when the old tenant moved 2 doors down and I have junk strewn on its lower shelves.  I have something of a bookcase that was given to me by a woman who was supposed to move out of state with a Prince Charming she met online that never happened.  The bookshelf holds a few books and some candles and other knick knacks from when it was a sort of altar to my dead “idols” gone by.  Now it just holds stuff and collects dust.  If the power goes out the candles would be useful.

I have two calendars on the wall for decoration.  One holds my appointments and the other is only for the pictures.  I have no paintings or any other kind of art in the room so they save the wall from blankness.  I have pictures of my biological family on the floor, unhung.  They were not loyal to me and were only too happy to give me to the perps so I never hang them.  I have a few pictures of my old cat that I had to give up because she had feline AIDS, a pic of one of my estranged sister’s cats and one nephew, and some more recent nephew pictures still in the card that my estranged sister sent.

My blah walls are a low gloss white and the trim is perp allowed brown.  I had to rush out and get curtains for my yearly govt inspection because my current cat destroyed my blinds.

Welcome to my welfare apt!

One prompt, at last.

Grab the nearest book. Open it and go to the tenth word. Do a Google Image Search of the word. Write about what the image brings to mind

Lots of times I read prompts but refuse to do them because I feel as if I’m giving too much information to the perps by answering the prompt.  Here’s a prompt that isn’t too personal:

I picked up the nearest book, the Bible, and where I opened the text, I forgot book and chapter, the word was “of”. What can I do with that?

God? or the perps are saying I can’t even read my Christian novels anymore. This time I could not tell if the Holy Spirit or high tech was talking to me. I know the perps want to strip me of all pleasures. I gave up all video games because I thought God wanted me to. My life was being made hard by just playing one game a day for an hour or so.  Perping decreased when I gave it up.  All I got to do with novels was read 50 pages a day of a Christian novel 6 days a week and now I can’t do it anymore apparently.  I also apparently cannot work crossword puzzles anymore. Sounds more like the perps trying to make sure all my time is devoted to them, but I’m not sure.

Back tp the word “of”.

First image????


You are kidding right?  I am the Rightless One.  I cannot even choose the clothes I wear.  Now the perpotraitors are telling me what color BAG I can carry if I want to tote things around.  Got some red cloth grocery bags at Target.  First they got perps wearing “my” clothes carrying red bags running around and people wearing red t shirts, THEN they put a red paper gift bag in the front yard with a dirty old cap in it.  It’s a threat.  Again.  I’m a total slave.  What rights?

They told me this morning over the oh so convenient Voice to Skull that they were God and I could not wear sleeveless tank tops anymore or he would “leave” me because they were not “modest”.  What, are the perps the Taliban, also?

They keep taking away and I never know 100% that it’s NOT God speaking as He allows them to “punish” me for infractions.  This Bible commentary I’m reading said God is allowing people to go through trials if He thinks they are not humble enough and He gives them trials to bring them down from pride.  How low do I have to go?  This stuff has been following me around since age 3.

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.