It all was Planned

Last week, on Pineconeutopia, Karen Stewart, ex-NSA, revealed that Lockheed/Martin, the weapons contractor has human stalking services in 47 states!  I have had very few friends in my life, but, two of them had FATHERS who spent their careers at Lockheed, I know another man who worked there a little bit, and his wife spent her career at RAYTHEON!!!  Everyone I know, or have known has already been cleared by these satanic beasts.

I was also perped and called a “lifer” by a perp at a restaurant while I was trying to enjoy a quiet meal.  It was totally orchestrated, so much, that I even suspect the person who took me knew it was going off.  It was very weird.  The skit seemed planned.  Then, the man who took me to eat told me I had to “come to terms with my “mental illness” and other insults.  No doubt he is being paid to be a handler/babysitter by the perp establishment.  I dared to go shopping once without him and got hell from the neighbors for days.  You know the “retribution” they give you for doing ANYTHING THEY TELL YOU NOT TO DO.

Now, I am not even allowed to wear ANY purple.  It seems they own colors as well.  They act like they own God.  I wore 2 purple fingernails and it seemed Hell broke loose.

Interesting V2k’s these past few months:

“Don’t expose us” after I commented on another ti’s video

“You will think Obama’s administration is paradise” on Inauguration Day in January with the threat life will be Hell under Trump.  Is it sour grapes by liberal perps or real?

“You are not allowed to play your Mp3 outside with earphones”  I have just bought a new Mp3 player because the old one’s microphone was bad and the headphone jack was broken.  I wanted to sit outside and not have to listen to their crap, and that requires earphones jammed into my ears and volume turned up.

“Those are your prison clothes”  Every time I go and get something to wear.

30 years of my life lost to this.  Now I have a sadistic landlady, crime on my block, a false accusation hanging over my head, etc…All of a sudden my looks are completely gone and even look horrible with makeup.  I went out for someone’s birthday and was ashamed of how I looked.

Life in perp prison w/o possibility of parole.  No accusations, no trial, no conviction…NOTHING.  Still, no one outside of the ti community cares.

More Perp Threats

I was going to rewrite some old blogs of mine from 2009/2010 but got threatened by a perp “neighbor” that I would not be able to leave my apartment if I posted these posts.  I was going to post yet another post on what has REALLY been going on this year but got a threat from “God” probably a perp, that “he” would “leave me” if I posted it.  I got threatened that “God” would “leave me” if I read my library books, colored in the adult coloring books I had, etc…etc…etc…I’m in a box, a coffin.  The “authoritative” male voice probably isn’t God, and the neighbor probably couldn’t force me to stay in here, but, they get you with their satanic fear every time.  I feel motivated to do nothing.  God, or His perp counterpart told me if I “touched my lips” to wine to relax I would be “unsaved”.  I’m not even Saved anyway.  The Holy Spirit never came inside me.

Panic is, by the way, knowing you are fucked and that there is nothing you can do about it, that if will never end and even God does not hear you anymore.  It’s a slow creeping quiet desperation.

 

helicopter

I was finally going to write a post that has been going around in my head for weeks when just as I was getting ready to write a giant helicopter circled over my block for an hour.  A threat?  You bet.  They flew over my head by my house the week before Thanksgiving as well.  I really want to write this post but am scared to death.

P.S. 1/28/15  It was to be a post on Myron May.  Look at Stoporganizedgangstalking’s latest post to hear actual audio from Myron May.  Planes are flying low over the house right now.  Some other nasty perps that were around last Fall are back.  I had hoped I’d seen the last of them.

The Park???

It’s been awhile since I’ve been to “the park”. I used to go almost every day, but after almost being arrested for giving a dirty look to a cop, having dead animals put into my path, skitted and scammed with fake little dramas and then to top it all off seeing my OLD landlord at the park who made me homeless back in the 1990s and finding out he is trying to take over a large part of the city…..ugh, a nightmare.

Here’s an old one from a few years ago….

Wow, what a great way to make money!  This has to be the best untapped way to make a buck!  Making money off the backs of the homeless!  I supply the drugs and they sell it to their homeless buddies!  All I do is sit here in the parking lot and rake in the cash!  And the cops do not bother me!  It’s almost like they want me here!  Like I help to “keep order”.  I am a feudal Lord!  Some ugly bitch over there keeps giving me dirty looks and I think she’s on to me, but, she is one of those targets and can’t do a damn thing.  Plus all my guys keep staring at her and giving her dirty looks as they constantly go back and forth to my car!  What a sucker that woman is!  I bet she comes here to get away from the “neighbors” if you know what I mean.  If this keeps up I won’t have to go back to work!  I’m afraid when the weather gets colder though the bums will go inside and I will lose income.  Better think up another scam.  Maybe I should be a stalker….

It can’t be!  That bastard is dealing drugs out of the park and destroying the only peace I get at all!  His “men” keep staring at me as they walk back and forth all over the bridge.  Not one cop in sight.  Where is that cop I keep seeing following me around everywhere?  He zips past me on the bike path, he “meets” me in parking lots, once he even kept speed with the bus as I was on it!  I even see him sitting half a block away while I wait for the bus!  I see tire tracks on the grass sometimes but if those belong to cops they aren’t messing with this operation.  They follow me on the street when I walk home from the park turning and driving past me dozens of times but these guys deal drugs out in the sunlight just like my “neighbor” does.  The cops tell my landlady that there’s “nothing they can do”, but, I watched an interaction with him and the cops one evening and it’s obvious he’s a snitch even if he’s not a well-liked one!  He was trying to demand respect from the cops and they were laughing at him.   But they won’t arrest him even though he does his dealing in front of everyone.  Why are those asshole bums staring at me like they want to beat me up?  I’m not interfering with their “business”.  They know I can’t call the cops because they won’t do anything but accuse me of being nuts and trying to force me into a hospital or on psych drugs.

Wow what a niiiice awesome day for me to ride my bike!  I look awesome in my tight “bike outfit” Cowabunga!  I hate all the poor people walking on the path, they get in the way.  I want to go fast!  A guy like me needs to stay in shape to get girls in bed!  My current girlfriend is a drag and is getting demanding so I’m gonna have to trade her in–matter of fact I’m already cheating on her ass!  She’s gained like five whole pounds and a yuppie like me cannot be seen with a fat girl.  I hang out with the guys from work and I’d lose social cred if I’m seen with a needy fat chick!  Here’s the park!  Sometimes my buddies and I come here for a few beers or to pick up some cheap chicks–like slumming!  Usually, I just ride past here as fast as I can since there are bums everywhere!  This summer, it’s like weird.  They seem to be walking up and down the path near the bridge every time I come here.  I almost ran into one.  Ten points!  Can’t they see they are getting in the way of my fitness goals?

Post 5—Brevity. Part II from yesterday

It was a windy day.

I decided to walk another way home to get some exercise because I was new to a weight loss program.  I was in a dark mood already since my life had seemed to have taken a downward turn the past few years for no apparent reason.  I walked slowly and tried to avoid oncoming people as much as possible to avoid the sneers and weird smiles I got all the time.  Each look was a knife through the heart.

Then I saw it:  an envelope blowing in the wind towards me.  It was small and pink but loaded with sheets of paper just as I used to write letters to pen pals–long and newsy epistles.  I was afraid to touch it at first due to my new-found fear of being infected by the evil intentions of others, but it was irresistible.  I prayed for protection then opened it.  It was three pink sheets long.

The letter started:

Dear Target,

You may have noticed that despite your best intentions to improve your life it is not improving.  It is getting worse.  You are not imagining this.  Going to your therapist with this information will not help. You will be drugged.  Neither will going to the police, or the government.  This is your life now.  All hope ends here.  Going the religious route (very common I must say) will not help as we will get other church goers to reject and spew you out of their churches.  Your last bastion–family–will be of no help as they have already been converted to our way of thinking.  You are truly alone.

Even the little you have now will soon be gone.  You will not be able to get a job, talk with your family, go to school, or even do volunteer work anymore.  You will have to eat out of the hand that whips you, there is no other choice.  We are a special secret program to deal with trouble like you.  Going to another state or another country will not help.  We await there too.  Getting a car to escape us even at times is out of the question for your particular case. Try even praying your way out of this–it won’t work.  We intercept your prayers and read your mind.

You are a criminal that has escaped punishment.

“What did I do?”  you ask

It is something you did a long long time ago and you conveniently forgot.  But we didn’t.  We know everything.  We are all over.  You will pay for this crime.  Our client has tons of money and says money is no object.  Your life is his object.  The best thing you can do is kill yourself now and save yourself the trouble of a lifetime of misery.  You think this is a hoax?  It is not.  Years from now, you will wish you took our advice.

See you “later”

Your Stalkers

I took the envelope and the letter and burned them at home. I thought about keeping it as evidence but thought I would be laughed at and told I wrote it myself.  In the 5 years since I graduated College my life had gone from having some hope for the future after a dark adolescence to hell on earth.  I wondered what I would do that night.  Would God come through or would I suffer this life for the next 20, 30, 40 years or end it now?

I stood in the park the next day wind whipping around me as tears formed feeling alone.  A group of people laughing loudly and sneaking looks at me was coming.  Them.

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The shadow persists and gets worse every day.

The Hated One

Ties in with my Blog

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

 

In Dennys uniform

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The perps have threatened me not to write this post.

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

 

Prompt 3

Prompt #3: Self-Destruct

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

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

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

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

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

365 prompts: January 19th

Apply yourself

Describe your last attempt to learn something that did not
come easily to you.

This was last year’s Feb 10th post.  Say hello to the Sleestaks.

I tried to learn Gregg Shorthand but was shorthanded by the perps.

I tried to learn flower arranging but it was arranged that I would never arrange flowers again.

I learned to crochet and cross stitch but was crossed by the perps.

I attempted knitting and was paid back by an attempt on my health.

Being a slave sucks.

 

Struggling

Part III

I got a prep cook job in 1995 right around the time I got saved? and worked there except a few slow periods for over 2.5 years. It was pure misery as I worked with ex cons and others who cussed and drank and bragged about wife beating, etc…I worked for a man who hated me and seemed obsessed with me. Turns out I might have seen him growing up but never met him–his family’s home was 2 blocks away from my grandparent’s house when I was young. He mistreated me and ridiculed me even when he no longer was my boss and he worked in another department in the kitchen. He weighed 400 pounds. He’d make me work through lunch when everyone else was gone.  He would “find” me in his car and want to take me home.  I got out fast when I got there.

My worst enemy from cooking school magically appeared as a new employee. She managed to brown nose the boss and took hours away from me. She would also try and start “fights” with me so she would end up crying (a trick she did in class that almost ended my schooling). She even tried to pry me about my past in the hospital by telling me her story of being in the same hospital a few years later.  I said nothing.  I knew then she was getting her info from somewhere.

She was instrumental in getting me fired.  I saw her shaking the hand of a strange older white woman the day I got fired. (I was forced to quit probably to avoid any lawsuits)  The whole thing had been fixed.  The reason I was fired is that I got into it with an aggro temp from a day service who had it in for me.

After I left almost 3 years of lettuce chopping, meat cutting, and fruit cutting etc…I began to struggle which ended up with me eventually becoming homeless and getting on the dole.

I had temped a bit during that job including working in the BOOKSTORE of the college I had graduated during lulls, but hadn’t been truly unemployed for 3.5 years.  I went to a temp agency that specialized in food jobs and all they got me were dish-washing jobs and one banquet server job and one cashier job.  I also got to give out samples at a warehouse store.  Whoopee.  None of it paid the rent and I got kicked out of my apartment and had to move home to my father.  It was May and I had struggled to survive since the past October.

He was not happy to have me home but he used me to clean the house and cook for him.  I was so hurt and exhausted and bitter I did not work for a few months.  I did a one day stint in a dress shop doing inventory, that’s it.  I did inventory for Sears from an Agency years ago and was offered a job a min wage and no benes.  I did not take it.  This shop did not even need me back the next day.  I did not work until August when I trained to drive a school bus.

They put us through class training, driving training, CPR and everything else for weeks until we went to Motor Vehicles to pass a test and get our special bus license.  Before that we took a road test to pass that as well.  I lost that job in weeks.  A big fat ugly woman blew up at me in the driver’s lunchroom because I had accidentally taken her seat and I got fired.  I knew no one liked me because another driver “narked” on me when I hopped a curb and one of the drivers’ children who went to one of the schools on my route had started a fight hitting a girl half his size.  His mother showed up and screamed at me. They even made me take another urine test.  I knew it would not last.  The stress of getting up at 5:00 am and the job stress made me sick and it was a long time before I felt well.  My father had put me in this little miserable apartment and I hated it.  I moved home again.

There, I continued to look for work but found none and essentially got another month or two off before I went back to the world’s most famous Scottish Restaurant.  This time I was in Drive Thru and at least half of the customers acted like they had it out for me.  I did not know a lot of them were perps.  I hated the job and fell ill due to allergies from the store doing remodeling while I was there.  It took 2 months to get well.  They cut my hours and told me they didn’t like my work.  I asked over and over to be on the “grill” just to get away from customers but for some reason they refused.  I was on Grill the whole time at the other McD’s. It was either Drive Thru or Front Counter.  I gained weight drinking all the soda all day and felt bad overall.  One day the owner’s WIFE came thru the Drive Thru and treated me like hell (I had never met her) and I got fired.  Also some bitch got into it with me over a glass of water–a total skit.

I had moved out again during my McJob and now could not afford rent.  This time my father would not have me home as he had sold the house and he didn’t want me to stay over at his new condo.  I applied for a few jobs, got turned down, then applied for benefits.  I lived an extra month in my apt due to a charity donation then moved into a shelter.  I did not see my father for 2 months after that.  When he did see me he would complain of the 30 bucks a month it cost to leave my stuff in storage.

I was sent to a “clubhouse” for crazies from the mental health center where they tried to get everyone to work and tried to scam people out of their benefits.  I got my benefits when I was there and was threatened by one of the workers that I would LOSE my benefits if I didn’t participate in Job Service and Voc Rehab.  It was a lie but I did get a few jobs before I got rent assistance to help with bills.  Voc Rehab found me a job filing right on the premises for 6 months, I worked at Burger King a whole week, worked for a charity that provided meals for home bound sick people and then took my last job with a service for “disabled” people who wanted work.  It was the last “regular” job I ever had.

It was in a hospital right by my apartment so I could walk to work.  That was the only good part.  I could feel the hatred the first day.  Only one woman was nice to me and she was an Apostate Christian (prob another perp special) who hated Christ and complained about everything all the time.  It was filing again and there were tons of files.  Some were so high I had to climb on a stool to get them and others were at floor level so I had to sit on the stool or the floor to get to them.  I was sexually and racially harassed by a man there and no one did anything.  The only good part of the job was the cafeteria and the coffee cart.  A strange thing that happened was that I saw the name of the first doctor who put me on Stelazine worked there and was a winner of some kind of contest run by the cafeteria.  There was a teen psych ward and Eating Disorders hospital there then.  Poor kids, having her as a doc.  I was horrified she would find out I worked there.  Mercifully the job ended in 3 months.  That was 2001.

Aside from volunteer jobs and a very very part time gig I had a few years ago I’m sitting on the dole.  It’s 2013.  So much for the American Dream.