Don’t listen to the Devil

Summer is finally here.  Next month will be my SEVENTH anniversary of hearing I “lost my salvation”.  God has never restored or reassured me that things were OK between us again even after I gave up all my bad habits, took to Bible study, even gave up pork for awhile, fasted once a week, etc….

It all started (I mean my 7 years of Backsliding) when the Devil or a demon spoke in my head (or voice to skull) saying, “it’s been 8 years since you were saved and your live has not changed.  God is ripping you off! You are still fat (this was the one), still single, still poor, still living in filth! You even got turned down for weight loss surgery! Look at this! Do you see a change???”

This was right after a rock idol of mine died and I took it way too hard after bragging to others that even if one of my rock idols dies I won’t be sad because I have Jesus now.  It was a bolt from the blue.

That very evening after I heard of his odd tragic death (they all kind of die that way don’t they?  What about Prince, Whitney Houston, and Micheal Jackson?)  I was depressed and speechless and some voice came in my ear and said that God was “ripping me off” and sort of implying I didn’t have God at all!

I responded to that voice (not having heard of talking demons or V2k) with rebellion against God.  It started small and grew.  I tried to rein myself in about a year after the death and go back on the path but I wasn’t really as serious as I was before.  I found out a former friend died in early 2005 and fell deep into sin after that.  I also found out I was a ti for real in 2005 and felt God had indeed ripped me off.  The reasoning was that if He didn’t care I wouldn’t care.  But, even though my life sucked He did care.  He removed all His blessings on my life one by one over the next 5 years until, on July 26, 2010 I heard a loud voice that vibrated my whole body tell me that I lost my Salvation. It was early in the morning when I woke up.  At first, I thought it was V2k and got over it after a day.  Then, the attacks came.  I heard voices telling me I was no good, and that God thought I was trash, I had nightmares, depression, insomnia and things got so bad I had to go to the ER with an anxiety attack in January 2011.

I had already got myself connected with Christians online to try and work this out.  At first, they told me the “devil” was talking to me and I needed to reform my behavior and come back to God. I needed to pray, fast, read the Bible, give up rock music, fantasies, my black hair, etc….  I obeyed them but things did not get better.  I even had a telephone “deliverance” where the deliverance minister said I had been set free.  But I wasn’t.  Later, I went on a fast and had a ‘revelation” that I had unconfessed  sin in my life.  I hurried home to my internet “friend” and told her and she said, THAT’S IT, now repent after me and you will be free.  But I wasn’t.

At the ER I received my first Ativan which began a benzo addiction that continues to this day.  I went dragging back to shrinks after 3 years of being free of them and also got antidepressants and a sleeping pill.  Even all drugged up I was still a mess and crying all the time.  I spent all day listening to Christian podcasts and remote deliverance shows.  By April 2011, all those Christians I met online were GONE. I began to suspect God had told them to leave me alone.

I now believe that my loss of Salvation was permanent.  Seven years is the time Job was tormented by devils then he was set free.  My life is worse than ever.

Even though I was a ti back then and heard voices I could still wear what I wanted and had more physical freedom than now.  The hatred was not so malignant, with people acting like this was a big joke.  Now people hate me for real.  I’m in bondage. I dared to wear some NAIL POLISH the perps did not like thinking it was trivial, but I paid. Nothing is off limits.  I’m even feeling physical jolts more often.  I used to be more at peace, as well, and would laugh more frequently.  Now, if I laugh, I still feel the bitterness inside.

God might have delivered me from the perps, even if partially, if I had obeyed that night and did not “mourn” my rock star.  I was “mourning” him for years, wearing only black most of the time.

Backsliding starts small and progresses like soul cancer.  I believe I even started to backslide the year before after discovering Christian Hard Rock.  I had a journal from 1998, and even though I did not overtly sin, I was very bitter and angry.  I wasn’t even walking the walk back in ’98!  Still God put up with me back then seeing I was trying my best and not in open rebellion.

The reason why I wanted to post this is that you should never ever listen to the voice of Hell telling you that you have it ill with God.  When I first backslid, I still talked to my family, could wear what I wanted and enjoyed life to a degree.  I loved God and wanted to serve Him even though my life sucked and I had “enemies” all over it seemed.  Do not listen to the damn Devil tell you God is ripping you off.  One thing I DID have before all this was I was pretty sure I was Saved.  The Devil will lie and lie to get you to rebel and Backslide until even God gives up on you.

Later for awhile, I embraced Calvinism because I thought if I got saved back then I was still saved and if I was lost I had lost nothing.  Predestination seemed to work for me.  Now I don’t know. Hyper Calvinism is going around like the Christian Flu because it appeals to the egos of the believers that think they are the “elect”.  How does anyone know for sure?

Whatever the doctrine is, I feel a sense of loss in my life now.  I used to talk to God without fear and felt a sort of friendliness I don’t feel now.  God seems to have become deaf and blind to my plight.  For years, I have tried to “make it up” to HIm, but He is not buying.  Never listen to the Devil.

BTW the dear perps are threatening me and telling me not to post this.

Advertisements

Something about yesterday’s podcast

Yesterday’s podcast of Pineconeutopia pointed out the fact that ti Millicent Black had a romantic relationship with her perp before her harassment and electronic torture started.

I had a “boyfriend” that I broke off with (the one with the dad at Lockheed Martin) right before I noticed things were odd.  I was an outcast my whole life but now the weird stuff was happening like getting pulled over by police 6 times in a month and discovering people watching me…that was only the beginning of course.

I rejected this man and instead of him begging me to stay with him or asking me why I wanted to break up, he cruelly said “all my friends hate you” and started ripping me apart in the restaurant we were at.  I wanted to leave town to essentially be a groupie.  I did not see why this breakup would be such a big deal to him since he treated me like a second class girlfriend.

When I begged to move in with him to get away from my parents (pre religion days) he said “no”.  When I expressed an interest in a band coming to town he took someone else.  He never bought me a nice gift.  I felt like I was a place holder until he could get a “real” girlfriend.  I guess he just thought he wanted to control me and that I was a second class citizen and HOW DARE I break up with him!

I considered this man physically unattractive and really didn’t want to go out with him in the first place but he seemed very nice and at ease at first.  His family acted nicely towards me and since he had friends I had lots of “friend in laws” to hang out with as well as my boyfriend on Saturday night.  We did become physically involved which was a mistake since he was secretly gay at the time and was fooling around with one of his gay friends who later (not much later actually) died of aids.

After we “broke up” he got married to another woman and then they got divorced and both came out as gay!  Later, I caught up with him working a temp job that I lost really fast (did he talk about me?) and he was living with a man twice his age.  What a waste of two years of my life.

Which brings up the question:  am I a generational ti or did this man do this to me as revenge? There also was another man I went out with that seemed unusually hostile to me when I ran into him years after the breakup.

Millicent Black is unusually lucky to know who her real stalker is.  This man, who underwent extensive military training on how to survive (and inflict?) torture turned her whole town and even her family against her  My family fell, too.

She has had terrible physical torture as well and has had surgeries.  She knew this man since childhood but was never close until they went out together.  My “boyfriend” was Jewish and just one year younger so I thought I could trust him.

Pineconeutopia #11 on Covert Warfare is very educational on how someone might get gangstalked.  Ti Ramola D. has Millicent’s history on her Web site as well.

Hell on Earth

I do wonder sometimes:  as I go thru life merely existing in a punishment mode the perps created for me, and watch life go on all around me, and know I cannot participate, and realize there is no one to complain to;  I wonder if I have died, am dead, extinct, expired, etc…

Right after or right before this SHIT started I took a plane ride.  Did the plane really land?  Did it crash and I forgot I’m dead?  One of the few friends I had in this world had committed suicide when I was gone.  THIS greeted me when I got back.  I didn’t notice the surveillance/rude treatment until a few months later, but, looking back, I can see its early manifestations starting the year before–1986.  Is THIS a special punishment mode for hell-bound souls who are not “bad enough” for the fire/brimstone/demon routine?  This was years before I was “saved”.  Was I really saved?  Was my Salvation a delusion from the demons assigned to me to create a plausible “world” for me to “live” in whilst they punish my soul at leisure?

Right after it started, the few people who cared about me in this world started dying one by one leaving me no one to count on.  Did the people who *seemed* to care, really care?  Was that a delusion?  Did I die even younger, perhaps at sixteen, hitching around the country?

Slowly but surely the few places/situations where I would receive any human warmth/emotion/sympathy/empathy dwindled and died.  Everywhere, it was replaced by coldness and “perping”.  Even in church!  Jesus said that “hearts would grow cold” in Matthew 24.  It’s happening.

With the advent of cell phones, even my illusion of privacy died.  Everybody around me would whip out their cell phone if I showed up.  Soon everyone would taunt me with some phrase my perp supervisor at work directed at me–whispered of course as I went by.  It seemed the whole city had been replaced by cyborgs or demons.  It seemed as if my life was a lie, a delusion, a mere show put on for me for my everlasting punishment.  To get any peace at all, I found I had to isolate myself, further disconnecting myself from the society that seemed determined to disown me.

With the discovery that I was a ti, with all the stalking/harassment/mental death/mind control/regression/infantalization processes along with it, my whole life fell in.  After a brief interlude of hope that it was now “ending”,  I had a nervous breakdown without having a nervous breakdown.  I KNEW I could not show up at a hospital or therapist’s office (or the police!) with my story as I already knew what would happen from hard experience in other situations:  out would come the schizo pills.

So I hid my anguish the best I could, but, it came out anyway.  The last scraps of human interaction I had were destroyed.  I had the surety I needed to know that no one was to be trusted, and, when I did open up, I paid the price.  I isolated more.  I cried a lot.  I returned to my adolescent fantasy world.  I reached out to other targets on the Web to find most of them seemed to be informants for the enemy and/or unwilling to interact with me because they said their targeting “increased” when they interacted with me even online.  What, their targeting did not increase when they interacted with other targets?  Why just me?  I was at the center of a nightmare, alone.  All my online “friends” were feeding to the enemy everything I said to them in emails, messaging, and list servs.

It seems like life is a big reality show and everyone plays their “part”.  People act out “work”, “play”, “church”, “family time”, “vacations”, “birth”, “death”, “marriage”…all just a play.  It’s done by rote, without feeling.  It’s done automatically because if the parts aren’t played, and the lines not uttered, you are in “violation” and will be “punished”.  I don’t want to lend any validation to those debunkers who say ti’s have “Truman Show Syndrome” which is one of the newest “syndromes” to brush ti’s off into psychiatry where of course we can be readily and conveniently treated with the latest “no side effects”  neuroleptic brain death pills supplied by the hydra-headed Big Pharm to keep all “citizens” dumbed down to the level of controllable human pet.  This is no Truman Show.  This is reality for thousands if not millions of innocent “citizens” who suffer in silence for years and decades on end with the only outlet being these blogs, You Tube Channels, and conference calls.  The blogs and videos are seen mainly only by other targets, perps, and other apparatuses of the Modern Nightmare.

I still wonder though…how can it be real?  How can there be no comfort?  Even PRAYING is scant comfort, as my mind is read, and prayers (they say) are answered by PERPS.  The Word of God becomes void when the Word says only God knows your heart when the perps mindread 24/7/365 and even script your dreams.  God must go even deeper than what the satanic technology reads with machines in order to maintain His Sovereignty since God is not the top authority if trash like perps can see into your deepest soul.  Where is God’s comfort?  Where is my fellowship with God if satanists read my mind?  I’ve even tried to obtain a “prayer language” or “tongues” to talk to God so the perps would not know what I was talking about.

Where is the fellowship with other Christians?  The few “Christians” I’ve met since the very beginning honeymoon phase back in the 1990s are shills for the enemy using their “life story” and “faith” to draw me out and even set me up for more pain.  Is this how it’s supposed to be?  It can’t be.  Even in Paul’s depth of hardship and privations he had fellowship with God.  His Roman handlers could not read his mind.  He didn’t have armies of paid stalkers shadowing his movements and putting on skits for his misery.  Even Jesus’ suffering came to an end.  Were those hours like an eternity?

I have felt the loss of fellowship with God and the inability to REALLY pray or enjoy the Bible for YEARS.  I must be in Hell.  No one bothered to tell me.  I’m actually dead, that’s all.

I took lots of risks when young, maybe one of them didn’t work out.  Maybe the perception I was “blessed” and “protected” by God was a delusion.  Maybe I angered God when young and never even had the chance to be “saved”.  I wasn’t a very nice person, but neither was anyone else that nice to me.  Even as a child, I felt people were not acting in my best interest and my parents’ advice was poor and just designed to demoralize me.  It was no help at all.

I go out and everyone is in on it.  Cars go by with staring sneering perps.  Other perps walk by with dirty looks.  Some with insults.  Some with threats.  Sometimes under their breath but now (2017) right out loud.  Some perps have their faces twisted into satanic glee with a sort of sheen or glow on them.  Store clerks are rude. I see cops all the time.  People will go out of their way to try and engage me in “conversations” that are merely info gathering.  It’s just another way to add to the profile they have on me to attack me better.  They try to get me to relax, feel comfortable around them, and feel I’ve found a “friend”.  I have fallen for this crap too many times.  I took one of those people into my home because he was homeless years ago.  What a mistake.

How long will the charade last before I’m dropped into the fire along with my perps and all other sinners?  I feel separated from God, STILL.  The world is dead, cold and fake.  I’m smelling fraud.  I used to sit in one of the religious services I could still go to and see evil clinging to every smirking face in the room.  God would never let the world go so far into evil that it seemed a suburb of Hell, or would He?  He allowed the Holocaust, the murders of Stalin’s regime, the murders of Mao Tse Tung’s regime and others even before I was born.

Most of their victims were Atheists who did not believe in the Afterlife, but not all.  The Jews still have an unclear vision of the Afterlife and they did then, too.  Is all this bloody “history” I’ve learned fake as well?  People talk about reality shifting.  Is being a ti living in a parallel reality while others enjoy life?

Are all the historic wars, slaughters, diseases and storms all just a construct of demonic handlers?  Is there a kinder, gentler alternate reality?  Life is sure cheap in this one.  How could God choose HUMANS as His Chosen?  Are other sentinents  even worse?  Are they only the demons?  Are there really Aliens out there?

The only answer I have is the End is here, and hearts have truly gone cold.  Real human emotion is very rare and usually extinct in a ti’s everyday life.  A ti can become cold him or herself:  regressed, infantalized, dulled to evil–eventually a suicide, an early death, or a perp recruit.  Any ti who resists the dehumanizing gets punished more or taken out.  The future of a psychocivilized, infantalized, stupid race of human pets is upon us.  People will be medicated numbed and controlled from cradle to grave.  Let’s get real.  It’s happening now.

Learning and scholarship will die except if the learning has to do with even more technologies to further animalize humans and to create a tiny “master race” to control the human slaves.  School is a place of indoctrination, a place to learn to conform and to “get along”.  Learning, even at the college level, is truly minimal.  Your whole life now is controlled and planned by the handlers before you are born.

People follow fashion, music, movies, and reality TV shows for their “religion”.  Evangelical religion and any other Fundamental religion is only used as a babysitting service to control those whose lives went haywire with “substance abuse” or crime.  Those who refuse to imbibe substances or get an STD and get into the prison/12-step/ever-recovering oh I’m sooo spiriTOOL pseudo religious path will be given Eating Disorders via Voice to Skull to take up their precious time and money.  Others will spend so much time at “work” that they do not live at all.  Others spend hours online or in front of the TV, the main brainwashing tool in the controller’s arsenal.  A FEW people will be allowed to pursue what seems to be REAL careers in business or the “arts”.  Even THEY will obey and if they rebel, they will be promptly targeted.

The evangelical religions will be run by high level handlers of the controllers.  Any “convert” who thinks for themselves will be “put out” of church or ostracized so much going to church is useless.  The Pious Web toodlers who spew Scripture verses by the dozen to refute a comment and impress and silence others from commenting on religious matters will be satan’s chief ones.  As said before, the Religion of the Twelve Steps will be provided for those who resist compulsive TV watching or controlled organized religion.  Otherwise, the out of control, non-psychocivilized, non pet humans who have gone wild on “substances” or even THOUGHT are put in jails, halfway houses, mental institutions or simply targeted.

Who knows when the Earth ceased to be a place for humans to be born, grow, thrive, and develop their relationship with God?  Was it after WWII?  Was it over 200 years ago when the Illuminati merged with the Freemasons?  Was it back in ancient Egypt?

When did the SNITCH become a respectable person?  Remember when snitches were laughed off or even “got stitches”?  Secrets and lies replace human relationships.  The controllers would set their throne above God’s.  Of course they will lose…in the bye and bye.

The 21st Century has become Hell on Earth.

 

1985–Navel Gazing Back to the Future

Yesterday, I ran into someone I have known for years–or did know.  “Jacob” was the director at a residential program my then-therapist recommended me to after my parents wanted rid of me–again.  It was a residential treatment center for people with mental illness looking for a way to live independently. I saw him in the lobby yesterday after going down the stairs at the mental health center.  He has hardly changed.  He was still tall and slim and had long hair and a beard.  True, his hair was white and he wore glasses, but you would know him anywhere.  His clothes were a bit more “business” than when I knew him 30 years ago, but they were still trendy–“young”. I was shocked he still worked at the mental health center.  After he left the directorship of the “house” in the 1990’s, he worked as a clinician (talk therapist) at the mental health center’s East office where I went to attend therapy after an ER visit due to an especially perpy day.  I was there 7 years, left for 10 and am back now for over 2. Now he’s an Executive of the Mental Health Center. The Center has grown very large.  They were pretty much a startup when I first went there in 1990.  Since I have been a part of “mental health” services since the early 1980s I remember there were a few more private hospitals in town but I don’t know if there was a Center like the one I go to.  I’m thinking Health and Hospitals took on outpatients as well as private therapists who took Medicare/Medicaid.  The place where I have stayed twice was open in 1976 and there had to have been mental health services before then. The City still has a separate mental health program but its conducted in an old smelly building that used to be the main mental hospital.  You can still  see the bathtubs in the restrooms upstairs.  You can feel the “ghosts” of patients past in there. “Jacob” is now a big shot, but still an “old hippie”.  He sort of stood out in the preppy 1980s.  After a short interview I was invited for “dinner at the house”.  It was July 18, 1985.  It was a warm, dry day.  I had gotten there early.  Dinner was at 6:30 back then.  I thought it was sort of late because we ate at 6 every night at home.  I remember sitting in the shade of a huge, old elm tree and listening to the cicadas sing and asking myself why my therapist of 3 years and my mother wanted me there.  I was not dangerous or out of the hospital or did drugs. I was currently dropped out of college because of low grades and lack of interest.  I had a job working the overnight shift at a gas station/convenience store.  I was the one who sat in the little hut and collected the money.  It was a busy street full of nightclubs and I’d get some rude and drunk customers. I drove myself to the huge red brick building that used to be a convent in my old Plymouth Fury III with the AM radio and no A/C.  The transmission sucked, too.  I was 19. I went inside just before dinner started and got the customary greeting:  “why don’t you go into the kitchen and see if the cook needs help?”  The cook didn’t.  Dinner was announced with a huge chuck-wagon triangle. We sat down for dinner.  The dinner was my community interview.  People would ask you questions about yourself, your “illness”, what you intended to do when you were there, and your long term goals.  You either had to work or go to school and had to see a therapist.  I remember feeling scared of Jacob because he was so big.  I felt judged and thought for sure I would not get in.  End of story. II. I was called the next day.  I had gotten in.  I was to move into the house in 2 days.  I would pay 63 bucks a week for rent and 6 dinners a week.  (I told you I was old).  You could also nab leftovers and government “commodities” for lunch if you were home at midday.  Breakfast food was bought by residents and stored in cupboards.  You would get a section of a cupboard for your cereal, etc… I was making 130 bucks a week after taxes so it would work.  A “buffet” apartment where I lived in the 1990s now goes for 1050.00!  I paid 265.00 when I lived there with utilities covered.  The rent at the community is still pretty low considering the rents in the city since they have to cater to people on benefits, mostly.  Toilet paper and linens were provided but not anything else like toothpaste, soap, cosmetics, etc….. I lived in a “shared” bedroom because it was cheaper.  I think the singles were 80 a week or so or even a little more.  I lived in room 3 I think.  The rooms were nun’s cells before, so the singles were tiny, but the doubles were larger but without a sink.  I remember there being some kind of destroyed nasty shag type carpetting and no screen on the window which was common in this area back then before climate change provided more summer bugs. My roommate didn’t seem to like me.  She was up in her 30’s and had a good job.  She was a substance abuser, so up on the house’s social scale.  She was haughty and cold and got really angry at me when I looked through her record collection.  I should not have but didn’t have many social skills after my isolated childhood and wild adolescence.  She was always laughing and flirty with everyone but me.  I saw social disaster for me.  Her eyes were always red but she swore she was sober. We lived next door to the tub bathroom and down the hall from the smoking room.  When I was first there, there was a tornado warning and I remember sitting on my bed and looking out the window at the pouring rain and hearing the sirens.  It was hot up there but summer was already almost over once I was settled so I didn’t suffer that much.  There were no fans. I kept going to my gas station job from 10pm-6am across town then tried to sleep at the “house” during the day.  It was very stressful.  The “house” was noisy during the day and I only got a few hours of sleep.  In September, I transferred to another location nearer the house and got to switch to day shift.  I even got an engraved name tag instead of one put on with Avery sticky tape. At first I didn’t fit in, and and I did not think I would last very long.  First of all, I was the youngest there, and my problems did not seem as severe as the other residents at the time.  Turns out they probably would have seemed more normal if they weren’t on huge doses of “old generation” neuroleptics.  Jacob, who seemed to take a liking to me, said I was “high functioning”.  A high functioning WHAT?  My dx has changed a million times, getting “worse” each time!  I do not believe my dx.  I think I am and always was Asperger’s, which is mild autism.  I also grew up in a cold home and did not know how to give or receive love.  Thank God for my Grandma who did show love! The people at the house that were at the top of the pecking order were the substance abusers and people with eating disorders.  People with mental illness were underneath.  The substance abusers tended to be younger and less drugged than than the mentally ill people as well.  Later, two 18 years olds moved in after I turned 20, so my time as the “baby” was short. After a month or so, people started talking to me, and my “roomie” had left the house over some rule infraction.  I almost always had the room to myself after that.  I’d get roomies off and on but they’d spend the night away from the house, etc…it was sort of weird.  I got sort of an extra large single room. Soon, I made a friend of a new arrival. She was the divorced wife of a local DJ and had depression.  She was so depressed she was made to get ECT which fried her short term memory.  She had also lost custody of her sons.  She accepted me immediately.  She was in her early 30s and was sort of a big sister to me.  She went out and bought a little coffeepot and we’d have coffee in her room Number 2 every morning. We would go out with others to a local bar where I did a little underage drinking and later some legal drinking.  I also made friends with a young man from England who was tall and dark with blue eyes and loved “new wave” music.  (what’s that Grandma?) We went on trips to the ice cream parlor with staff.  I made friends with the two staff members, also.  The lady staffer, C, had ridden into this city on a HORSE when she came here to live!  The male staffer was kind to me sort of like an older brother.  I remember going to the movies with him and he may have been the one who let me ride with him on his motorcycle!  Staffers were usually Divinity students getting internships working with us. There was one young man who was always “coming onto” me, and there was another guy who hated me but he seemed to be the only one.  For the first time in my life I felt “accepted”.  Between the social activities at the house, my then-“boyfriend”, my job, pen pals, and my family I really felt I had a life.  I was always on the go. It was too bad Ms. Coffee turned into a perp later. I got 40 hours a week at work and regular days off at the new location.  They even gave me hours for “watching the store” during remodeling.  Strange, my boss gave me a copy of Animal Farm to read while I watched the store.  Did he “know”? One of my little rituals was to eat the breakfast buffet at Big Boy on Saturday morning, one of my days off.  I also remember putting 10 bucks of gas in the car on Friday night after I got off work.  I think work even cashed our checks.  I was so proud of myself–3 years before I was locked up in a psych ward and now I was living away from my parents, working, had my car with me, had some friends, and felt good for the first time in my life. I tried Clove cigarettes (terrible for your lungs) at the little coffeehouse, got high in the park with another resident and went back to the house and lay on my bed in fear that Jacob would come in and know I was high!!! There were mostly special and some not-so-special memories from the house.  There was a woman I met who had anorexia and we found a sick bird.  She knew a woman who did bird rehab and we sent the bird to her across town.  The bird woman had a huge Checker car called the Bird Ambulance.  I got to go to a fancy dress dinner in Spring ’86 in a borrowed dress.  I bought fancy stockings, shoes, and earrings.  The female staffer made me up.  The featured celebrity there complimented my looks! Another time, I went in Ms. Coffee’s car into the hills to a remote bar.  We were coming home and Ms. Coffee was drunk? and the man who always wanted to get it on with me had to drive.  It was 2 or 3 am when we got back to town.  He was a smartass and would try and go thru the synchronized lights just as they turned green.  At one intersection, another car was running a red and smashed into us.  A window blew out and the car was totalled but no one was really hurt, just bruises.  I remember the day Challenger blew up–I was trying to get food stamps.  It was in February ’86. In December ’85 a bunch of us went into the hills and cut down a Christmas tree.  I remember being so happy helping to decorate it!  I went crazy with my new independence!  I dyed my hair blue!!  It lasted a week.  The customers at work were angry with it.  Now, it’s common. I did it when it was risque.  Ms. Coffee and a group of us went to Easter Sunrise Services outside–I had always wanted to do it and I did!  I also went camping with a few other residents and went on a rafting trip (my only one) in 1987. Cooking dinner, especially on Sunday, was an adventure.  You had to be “cook” once every two weeks.  You had to plan your meal, keep it within the draconian budget, cook it, set the table, serve it, then CLEAN UP.  It was here I discovered I liked to cook.  Cooking on Sunday could go for hours, especially if you had to finish cleaning up after Sunday Meeting. Jacob seemed to take an interest in me.  There was a diner a block away and we’d go for a One Dollar Breakfast (2 eggs, toast, home fries), fifty cent coffee (take that, Starbucks!) and sometimes a Dollar slice of Baklava.  He acted like he wanted me to succeed in life.  I felt like I was sort of in his “inner circle” of residents and ex-residents that he liked. Another resident that Jacob liked was a serious young man who had had to drop out of Oral Roberts University.  This guy asked me out but he was too sick at the time and when I met him later he was better and he wasn’t interested in me anymore.  I was attracted to the cute dark English guy with the blue eyes and freckles anyway.  He would share his Walkman and we would go on walks.  I think they had Walkman players with plugs for 2 sets of earplugs then.  He would tease and tickle me.  He even tried to kiss me.  I would’ve gone with him but he was bi and AIDS was a big threat then.  He had a tragic end about a year after I left the house.  I used to visit his memorial when I lived closer to it and talk to him. There was the fun day when the volunteers arrived and we all helped to paint the house!  I kept my old U2 t-shirt with peach colored paint on it for years since it became a memory of better times in my increasingly dark life. I spent a lot of time in Jacob’s office.  We “just talked” and he did not mind.  He almost felt like an uncle to me or a much older brother.  On Sunday night we had a “spiritual” group that was very faintly Christian and Jacob would wear jeans and my feelings (and other girls) were far from filial then.  He was married though and I met his pretty wife at the Christmas Party. My best memory was when the staff and residents surprised me with cake and ice cream on my 20th birthday!  I had not had a Birthday Party since age 10 and that is when all the other girls turned on me at my own party–how sweet! so this little party was great.  People seemed genuinely happy I would celebrate my milestone birthday there.  Finally out of my teens!  I have not had a birthday party since. Soon I will be 50 and since I am targeted I’m sure there will be NO PARTY.  I did not know that in 1985-1986 I was living in paradise and the hell of targeting would soon steal all my joy bit by agonizing bit. II Like all good things, my house stay came to an end.  I had quit my gas station job in March ’86 then I got an on-call job at a shoe store stocking shoes that didn’t pay enough to stay at the house.  I had to leave without my dream of moving into one of the transitional “satellite” apartments nearby.  They rented for about 300. I moved “home” in June, 1986.  I went to Florida to become a professional groupie but came back in only 5 weeks since I was only getting paid what I was getting back home but my room was 88.00 a week without food.  I went back to school in early 1987, graduated in late 1988 and did not find permanent work. By 1989 it was bad at home.  I still hadn’t found work beyond “temping” and my mother and I were at each others throats.  My sister was still in college and I was on the outs with my Grandma by late 1989 since she started taking my parents side on everything instead of being my advocate.  My father had had bypass in the Spring, my Aunt had been incapacitated by an ill-advised surgery, and I had become a TARGET and did not know it.  I lost both my Grandma and Aunt the next year. My mother booted me out of the house just before Christmas in 1989, giving me some money my Grandma had gifted me with at birth.  It wasn’t much, but at least she didn’t just boot me onto the street.  Since I had never looked for an apartment before, I ended up back at the HOUSE again.  This second time it was not as pleasant, however.  Jacob was still there then, and I was welcomed back, but it was DIFFERENT now.  First of all, I was not the “youngest” anymore.  I was not a cute little teen all bubbly with youth and energy.  Also, Jacob seemed different. He said to me, “boy, have you grown up,” like it was disappointing.  Was I to remain a child forever like Peter Pan?  Life had gotten rough and so had I.  I had a single room this time and it was 465.00 a month.  I paid monthly this time since I had money starting out, plus my “graduation gift” was a 1st month’s rent at my 1st apartment, so this was “it”. The first room, Number 15, was tiny and right off the library smoking room.  Later, I moved to room “1” across a men’s double that was very noisy since they played fantasy baseball and their printer was always running.  It was also over the steep kitchen stairs that a lot of old homes have:  sort of like servant stairs, so I’d get foot traffic going up the stairs.  “2” was the room where Ms. Coffee had stayed. The second friend I made at the “house” I met the day I came to dinner.  She was in a crisis over dinner being done on time and here I was to save the day.  And so it went.  We were friends for years. The “house” was different, somehow.  The atmosphere was more hostile.  There were a group of residents and a few hangers on that “ruled” the house” and they held court in the “library”.  They were like the adult version of the Mean Girls or something.  They harassed a man out of the house when I was there and probably were relishing the thought of his destruction but he just moved on and was fine.  I tried to ingratiate myself with these bullies but they hated my new friend so I ended up loathing them.  By that time in history, society was becoming more cruel and perpy.  A man that came to dinner said he had a breakdown after seeing the movie “Heathers” which I thought was so weak of him since I only thought the movie was about bullying…I looked it up last night and the movie has murder and violence in it…and kind of “predicts” as The Powers That Be often do the school shootings that would start 10 years later. There was a victim of SRA that had become a Christian but still had MPD.  She could switch to one of her child personalities on a dime.  That was almost a deal breaker for me.  The worst people from before were schizophrenics.  Two of the men were Vietnam Vets, one of them physically disabled.  The other was married to one of my old counselors from the hospital where I stayed at 16.  They had a suicide plot and one bailed and the other survived but their friendship was OVER.  Another man would DIE during his stay there because he had a heart attack and could not get treatment without insurance.  I’m surprised he wasn’t taken to the city hospital where they treated indigents.  Instead, the hospital down the street sent him home and he died.  He was 55.  He started a “baking club” at the house where residents would get together and bake one night a week or so.  There was always junk to eat in the house after that.  I met a woman with horrible SI scars and horrific art that she drew depicting a rape.  A man jumped out of a second story window and broke his ankles.  The house was a dark place now. I only had a PT temp job this time.  Because I had that extra money I went out and splurged on highlights for my hair for a then absurd 80 bucks.  I went to Wal Mart and got some sheets for my bed instead of using the old sheets the house provided.  I noticed people were acting oddly to me sometimes…inside and outside the house.  The targeting had started in late 87 but it seemed to get worse overnight when I moved out.  Weird old women laughed at me when I walked down the street.  There was this woman I hated there who only stayed a short while but kept on popping back up in my life. A person called me at the house but when I got to the phone no one was there.  I had to go to the mental health center because I no longer saw my private therapist.  They put me on drugs that had side effects. I lost my temp job and tried to stay on at the house doing janitorial but could not keep up with the rent after my Grandma’s money ran out.  Sunday meetings were a hoot when it was decided that there would be a “chore committee” that would “grade” people’s chores.  The people on the committee were of course the house bullies.  They would give themselves 10 on their chores and give others 4, 5, or 6.  It was like the bullshit orchestra tryouts in high school when the conductor let the kids determine section seating. I was at the house all day in the basement since a heat wave hit.  Nasty talk shows played all day that showed audience members ganging up on guests they didn’t like.  Proto-stalkers???  Sally Jesse Raphael, Gerado Rivera, Cathy Jones???, etc….that and all the “judge” shows.  The heat was horrible upstairs.  We were getting a 100 degree spell which used to be very rare.  I had a west facing window.  The June sun set late and the city heat island kept things hot all night.  The temp in my room was about 95-100 at night and down to about 86 in the morning.  They provided no fans.  A woman resident with a fan was able to reduce her room temp.  I can reduce the inside temp to about 76 in the morning with a huge fan during a heat wave but it will go up during the day–but not to 100!!!  I felt ill with the drug side effects and the heat.  Another woman resident got smart and set up a hammock in the back yard. I decided to go downstairs to sleep in the cooler “chapel” but someone was already there and he made me leave.  The room was huge.  He yelled at me and said I reminded him of his MOTHER.  OOOOOH.  What a perpy insulting thing to say.  I had to go back upstairs and burn.  I started feeling ill.  I finally just gave up and moved home, owing the “house” money for rent. I wonder really what the “house” had to do with my life.  Were they setting me up for stigmatization as a “nut” later?  My 2 stays propelled me towards independence since we had to learn to cook fast, do chores, pay rent, shop, etc…, yet, somehow, I was being funneled into the trash can of society.  Were they setting me up for stigmatization as a “chronic nut” for life?  Was I to live in the wasteland of the Severely Mentally Ill with the loss of dreams and the acceptance of “lower expectations”? I found out later at a “clubhouse” for mental “consumers” that the staff at the clubhouse was not using it as a place for people on benefits to get away from home and isolation, but, as a job factory to funnel people on benefits into low paying jobs which got people off benefits and steered them to dead end jobs that are self defeating since you lose medical benefits and end up losing the job and going on the street and applying for benes all over again…but now, you are worn out and ill and willing to be more COMPLIANT to overdrugging or whatever they have on the agenda for you.  There were a few favorites that got good jobs at the clubhouse that seemed to function normally but that was tokenism.  I think the clubhouse was destructive.  I had a degree and at least wanted a job that had some responsibility:  I did not want to be a file clerk or work for Burger King.  This job scam is a subject for another post!  I think people who are on benefits should be able to work but should be able to keep benefits unless they are truly better and can continue on their own.  A LOT OF PEOPLE TOOK JOBS AND ABANDONED THE BENEFITS BECAUSE THEY WERE ASSIGNED PAYEES THAT DID NOT LET THEM HAVE ANY MONEY–EVEN FOR GROCERIES.  They gave these poor souls “gift cards” for the store.  One such person left benes and went to work and then lost her job and came back a year later, looking 10 years older and dragging an oxygen tank. I could go on about forced drugging but I covered it on my old blog that cannot be resurrected.  Sometimes it’s needed, but not at the extent they do it.  Forced drugging with neuroleptics (antipsychotics) is legally sanctioned torture due to the akesthesia symptoms that are a side effect.  I have tried 6 different ones and they all had the same depression/anxiety effect on me.  My Dr. wants to try me on a seventh. Essentially, I was able to live w/o “meds” for over a decade, but, targeting, witchcraft aimed at me, and God knows what else drove me back to the Docs.  Targeting took away my dreams of overcoming my bad childhood and adolescence.  I stayed poor year after year after year until I just wore out and went on benes–then I had no life at all!  I thought God had a plan for my life but satan and his helpers stole it, for the devil comes to kill, steal and destroy. Again, I wonder if my first stay at the “house” in 1985 was a setup..  I was sort of “lovebombed” there as a youth and it was a way for them to make me think I was on of the Seriously Mentally Ill.  I sort of started to think of myself in those terms–someone who is “chronic”,  E.G., SOMEONE WHO WILL NOT BE “BETTER” WITHOUT DRUGS.  A career nut.  I even “tried” for benes as early as 1986 but got turned down because the doc who saw me thought I “just had to get away from my parents.”  He was partially right.  I would have made it if not for targeting. I was jealous of another young woman who did not have to earn her bread since she had benes, yet, she was not on psych drugs, or seeing a therapist, or going to a clubhouse or anything.  She was free as a bird.  She got around her town on a bike.  She lived in squalor, though.  I was suffering at the time working a nasty temp job and only having about 30 bucks over my rent for food a week and maybe 10 for anything else.  That was a 40 hour job with a long bus ride and the bus was a dollar each way and took that 10 a week. I struggled to work until mid 1999.  I was 33.  I did a variety of temp jobs, food service jobs, day labor, and one “real” office job that lasted only 2 years.  My last job was Mickey D’s, which is in another post.  I finally threw in the towel and took the “checks”.  I’m not a bad worker.  I’m not fast, but I work consistently and like to be accurate in the office and produce good food in the kitchen.  I also was accurate at the “till” usually being within a dollar.  I rarely called in sick, and only when I was really ill.  I was getting “fired” so much that I had NOTHING to show on a resume.  What I got “paid” for these often physically exhausting jobs, was no more than benefits.  NO health insurance.  One job kept me on a yearly average just ONE HOUR UNDER what I would need to qualify for the HMO.  Shysters.  At the end of my working life, I felt often ill, colds dragging on for months, always scared about being fired every day I came in, and even scared about my next meal at times when my tiny check ran out a week before the next payday.  I lost my apartment in 1999 and I found myself living in “community” again–at a shelter.  Oh well, at least I had experience. PS Just saw some fundraising videos about my old community.  They did a major remodel a few years back.  The place was really dirty and run-down and trashy when I was there.  It’s now Posh Palace.  The resident testimonials were sooo great.  It cannot be that great, but, that is what keeps money coming.  The community DID have its success stories–people who returned to full work in “society”, but for the most part people moved into apts, but on benefits.  There were a lot more people who used the place as a revolving door back in my time, but now there are time requirements.  It seems more structured with more groups now.  Back then, we were pretty much on our own.  We were expected to attend a few dinners a week, Sunday Meetings, and “cook planning” meetings.  You could also go to a meeting on basic money management and have a “one-on-one” with an under-staffer, or Resident Coordinator. Overall, the “house” was good and bad.  I had some of the best times of my life there, but I came to see myself as “ill”.  I still see Ms. Coffee on the bus every once in awhile.  She just perps me.  I’ve seen a few others from the “house” off an on over the years but not many.  I saw a “success story” that had an apt and a job that I knew from the second time give me a dirty look on the bus years ago.  Ahhhh, targeting…. I guess the “house” was the best it was ever gonna be.

All For Nothing

Earlier, I posted my “friend” of many years had started accusing me of things and even went to the police.  I had assumed Her Highness was doing this because she was to receive some money and had a new friend and wanted to live it up and have fun.  Turns out, she did all this for nothing.  People around me INSIST she “made up” the accusations to get away from me and that there was no one who slandered me to her.  I’m not sure it that’s true or not.  I think there was a conspiracy of slander to get her away from me so I would be alone and very vulnerable to the perps.  I think she realized it was fake before long.  This slander started two years ago after she stayed in yet another looney bin and then later I had my manager stand in my door two hours trying to get my “friend” to go home:  even trying to make a “deal” with her!  After I got rid of the manager and the bitch went upstairs, my “friend” started to accuse me of terrible slanders a month or two later.  I had no idea where they came from except she went inside my perp “neighbor’s” apartment and probably got told the slander there.

After praying and praising God for months He “let” her come back into my life for a few months before she started up again with the same old slander.  All this time treating me like shit and ordering me around like a slave.

Her mother died then, and she went into a downward spiral until she landed a nearly two month stay in another looney bin (a very long time nowadays).  I found out she had inherited a bundle and assumed she wanted me out of her life because maybe she wanted more “classy” friends, or, that she was having such a good time with her “new” friend of the previous Fall along with the money that she did not need me to be around as her personal gopher anymore.

Someone I know says none of this is true.  He says that she knows that the slander is a lie and that she made it up herself, and that the only reason was that she was worried she’d get kicked out of her tiny Section 8 apartment because she has temper tantrums while I’m there because I don’t just snap to when she orders me around.  He also said she has not seen one penny of the money and that her new “friend” is long gone.  Also, someone else is trying to get his hands on her money. So, she has just been sitting alone in her apt all this time with NOTHING to show for it.  Does she really think the management would kick her out?  They threatened to earlier this year and changed their mind. She gets to screaming and having cops, etc called on her when I’m not there.  I was not there when she got sent to the last looney bin for threatening someone (AGAIN) over the phone when I was NOT THERE.

So here she is, alone, sick, and on forced antipsychotic drugs (now she needs them.  I warned her she’d need them) and has nothing besides the TV to keep her company.  She got nothing out of all her cruelty to me but a bed.  You’d think with a million she could buy a small house or a condo and live off the interest and be free of the government system.  She’d rather take your taxes, folks.  She just lusts after those food stamps and government provided “maids”.  Not to mention sponging off a local church for food every week.  Welfare queen.

I’d get a cabin way out of town and be outta here.  The only problem I’d foresee is getting health insurance that would not penalize for “prior disorders”.  Private health insurance companies love to scam their clients.

I’m guessing she made a “deal” to stay away from me to her corrupt hateful manager.  She ran off the only real friend she had for a cot.  She is happy as a slave

PS  Years ago I was “catfished” by a person, not the person above.  I did not know that “catfishing” meant to deceive.  I think every “friend” I have ever had was “catfishing” for the enemy.  I wondered why this person would call herself a “catfish”…sounded so ugly–a catfish is a fish with whiskers and does not even have scales.  She sought me out, chewed me up, spat me out, then turned everyone else against me….pretended to be a ti only to sink her fangs in me.  I just came across this term and thought it had a familiar ring.  Usually catfishing involves romance and setting up a fake romantic encounter on facebook or another Internet site.  I guess it could be used to snare a “friend” as well.  I knew a woman who was “catfished” online by a man who promised to deliver her out of her poverty lifestyle.  He even sent her money.  He sent her a picture of “himself back in his modeling days” that she showed me and my friend.  I saw the picture months later in an AD in a Dr’s waiting room.  A recent ad.  I told her about it and she did not believe me.  The man who was supposed to swoop her off her feet never showed up.