It has been one year since I created this blog. When I wrote the first post, I had already been suffering this new experience for a few months.
I created it because of the way the police interacted with me. It was like they were dependent on their record being the only record.
Over the course of several months, a group of people who have been watching me my entire life and recording my experiences started showing me, piece by piece. I spent most of my time sitting on my bed suffering. When I say suffering, I mean unimaginable. Indescribable. I could feel energy throughout my entire body, as if I was being hit with some kind of bright, rapidly alternating light, or electric field. The intensity of it changed very often. In my posts where I mention murder attempts, I felt like the intensity was turned to the maximum. As I write right now, the intensity is low, but it is still present.
Another human being was talking to me through my own internal monologue. With my eyes closed, I could see complex imagery related to what the person who was talking to me was saying. A lot of them had to do with my memories. I myself had some control over the imagery at times and could show things to the person talking to me. Mental health? Hallucinations? Paranoid schizophrenia? Try science.
If it happened to you, you would know pretty quickly. Except, maybe you wouldn’t. The person talking to me seemed to be reading from a script. They portrayed themselves as the police, aliens, God and my family. One after another after they could tell I didn’t believe they were who they said they were. Whatever technology is being used is why people believe in aliens. It’s why people believe in God. It’s why people get so twisted up on the science and claiming to have answers that others don’t have. Do a search for “targeted individuals” and you’ll see the people affected by this are numerous. Unfortunately, a scientific mind latches onto the first “wrong” proclamation and dismisses them entirely.
We treat these people with the “new” mental health guidelines of our own creation. Paper, sentences and medication. I’m willing to bet my life that the people who are affected do not respond to this kind of treatment. Yet, for most of them, they lack the words to describe what is actually happening to them.
I was recently asked by my doctor if I’ve experienced any “vivid dreams” lately. What an odd question to ask as a doctor. I went a very long period over the last year not having any dreams. Within the last few months, I have started dreaming again. As soon as I wake up after having a dream, I go through it in my conscious mind a few times so that I can remember the overall dream later. None of the dreams I’ve had recently can be described as vivid. What they can be described as- stupid, not random and not natural. Guided. Until very recently, I truly believed that dreams were natural random manifestations, the brain sorting loosely related information from the day and throwing it at you accidentally.
The person playing dreams in your head is not God, although I believe that is what they want you to think. I don’t know how many of us have had this done to us, but I’m willing to bet most of us are slaves in one way or another. Free will isn’t free and it isn’t yours. Only sometimes.
When I talk about measuring, I mean with the right set of tools and methodology, this can be proven. Each tool costs money, and it could be like searching for a needle in a haystack depending on the methodology. Hospitals have the right equipment, but if you don’t have insurance or a very good reason then you are likely to remain a slave to somebody else’s whims for a very long time. The first memory I have of watching myself do something that I wouldn’t have naturally done was when I was still in diapers and could only stand on my feet, not walk yet.
I vividly remember being even younger, being held, listening to my parents talk and hearing gibberish. Then, suddenly, it’s like I could understand exactly what they were saying, and I remember thinking “that isn’t right”. Before I knew it things were back to normal, it only happened for a sentence or two.
I remember being a toddler and struggling with speech. I could hear and understand all the words, but I couldn’t form my own to respond to questions. I could think the response in my head, I knew what words to use, I just couldn’t make the sounds. I remember getting angry. Angry at myself for not being able to make the same sounds I heard, angry at my parents for not understanding what I was getting at without forming the right words and angry at the world for not making sense.
During this transition period I developed my own mini vocabulary. This is where the word “yigh-yigh” came from, my mom eventually understood that I wanted to use the vacuum cleaner. I was fascinated with using them. “Ersh-condern” was the best I could get out for air conditioner. I’ve always viewed air conditioners as one of the greatest inventions on the planet.
The next time I remember watching myself do something that I wouldn’t have naturally done was when I was at a convenience store with my mother. I was old enough to walk. A padlock caught my attention, normally I wouldn’t have been interested. But I couldn’t look away from it. I wanted it. I knew my mom would get it for me, I didn’t ask for things very often and when I did, I usually got it. When I piped up and told her I wanted it, she told me no. I had a flurry of thoughts that I can only describe as adult go through my mind. I was assured that if I grabbed it and just held on to it, it would be ok. Sometime after getting home with the lock, I managed to open the packaging and get the lock out to start playing with it. I was under the kitchen table, hidden by the tablecloth. My mother comes out of nowhere, very shortly after opening it and disciplined me by taking me back to the store and letting the store owner call the police on me. I was treated like a criminal, just old enough to walk. I was told in that moment that I may not see my parents again, that I may be going to jail with adults. It’s funny, I’ve watched my mother do so many illegal things and I’ve always been forced to keep my lips sealed. I couldn’t use my own voice to let society correct her the same way she set society up to correct me.
I could go on, but there needs to be other posts in the future. I feel like I was born a slave, and no matter what I’ve done in my life it’s never good enough. Surrounded by predators at all times. Force-fed a lie that only looks like the truth if you squint.