Friday, November 30, 2007

A one day respite is over

A one day respite is over--yesterday I felt like a human being for the first time in nearly two weeks.  I was able to play (and feel) music.  I was able to read with meaning, and to drive comfortably and relaxed, instead of like the drug-induced, autistic nervous wreck who can only fixate on the spot in front of her.  I was able to really practice yoga, instead of going through the motions reduced to a stretching class.  By that I mean that I was able to feel my body, connect with my body, my mind and my spirit, and really push myself and my muscles to a (admittedly poor) performance peak.  My whole body was so weak from two weeks of numbness and locked, spasming muscles that I found it difficult to hold any position for any length of time.  Worst of all, was the clear evidence of ongoing, possible permanent damage.  My lower back, hips, and especially my quad muscles are rigidly locked.  Whenever I try to hug my legs, it feels like my thighs have steel rods for bones and muscles.  I don't know if and when this will ever go away, or if it is just more permanent damage that my body endures at the hands of my abusers.  I do know this--their drugs are what is responsible for causing my catatonia--not the chemical intoxication from lack of absorption, which is what "Martin" is assuming.   The more saturated with drugs I become, the more paralyzed I become.  I know this because the first realization that I was drugged again this morning was when I woke up, and felt that my legs were numb before I even got out of bed.  Now I am aware of the painful muscle spasms in my back again (my body spasms in an effort to evade what it instinctively knows is the most toxic of poison), and the muscle weakness in my arms that make it difficult to write or type or lift a cup of coffee to my lips.  Soon I will be completely alienated from reality, so I have to write while I still can.

I don't think Martin is interested in diagnosis and healing.  I tried to get a referral to a doctor who specialized in neurosensory disorders, but I haven't heard anything. Stupid ass Mengele Martin has made his diagnosis and I will suffer from his concentration camp treatment.  God only knows how much I can endure.

Saturday, November 24, 2007

Answer to the commentator

Answer to the commentator--I always appreciate a good book recommendation, and will put the name of Sara Miles on my "Read before I die" list.  However, I will not be doing any serious reading anytime soon, thanks to the psychotropic drugs and constant physical pain (from never ending muscle spasms) which makes mental concentration practically impossible.  I believe that the written word truly represents reality, but right now, I am not engaged in reality, and insofar as I am engaged in reality, the energy drain to stay focussed there is too great to allow for any deep dialogue with a worthy and inspiring writer/thinker.

Also, I have to say that there is no way that

I am not ready to contribute to institutional Christianity right now.  I am beginning to believe I made a mistake receiving the sacrament of reception when I am in such a bad spot.  I can't provide for my own needs.  I can't walk.  I'm a dangerous, nervous wreck when I drive.  Even in church, people talk to me, and I am like an autistic child again--mind totally blanked out, sensing that I am supposed to respond somehow, but utterly dumbfounded, not knowing how to respond back, so I just stare back, trying to fathom what it is I am supposed to say, and then get cursed, as I did today by some guy at the gym who was saying something to me, and wanted me to say something back, but I couldn't focus in reality enough to respond. If my mind is so blank, empty, null, and zeroed out on these psychotropic drugs so that I can't respond to a casual encounter with a stranger, how can I dialogue with the reality of the thought of a writer or thinker?

I really am beginning to wish that I had stuck with my original plan--which was to not become part of any church community again until I was settled down with a partner.  For my dreams are telling me that once again Christians are trying to force me into celibacy.   The powers that are enslaving my life have the coercive force to keep me celibate.  They have been doing it for years now, and I finally thought they were letting up, until I became involved with the Episcopal Church, and now, here it goes again, "St. Medeita blah, blah, blah."  For about 5 years I believed that crap and let the Roman Catholics control me, but the self-realization and abundant sense of life that accompanied falling in love with Augusta, and reminding me of how happy and blessed that I had been with Colleen, completely and forever revealed the lies about celibacy that I had been witnessing for years as I explored celibate communities.  One nice thing about aging is that you get to know yourself better, and so I have.  I now know that I will not accept or fit it into any vocation of any type or stripe until I have a partner to mirror me back to myself, to confide in, keep me from overreaching, dialogue with me, and yes, most importantly, just make me feel loved, even though I am so "different" from the overwhelming majority of humanity.  Did it ever occur to you psychiatric dumbasses that maybe I am "schizophrenic" in the same way that Tom Hanks was "schizophrenic" in "Castaway", when he painted a face on a soccer ball and created his imaginary companion, "Wilson"?  That I was so lonely and alienated from social reality and family as a child that I socialized myself (and kept myself from going truly insane) by accessing an imaginary world to mirror me back   And all that has been forced onto me in the last 10 years--the constant rejection and lies, job harassment, incarceration, denial of intimate relations--that has forced me back into my dysfunctional, imaginative world, that I had mostly overcome through intense psychological and spiritual work.  When I was with Colleen, I never, not once, had to daydream about social relations or our relationship.  As a matter of fact, she was so extroverted, and had so many friends coming over that the difficulty lay in me finding time to myself, and then realizing that Colleen was jealous of my relationship with God.  And I was wrong by not telling her from the beginning of how important God and a spiritual life was to me (to be honest, I lied to my own self about it too).  That is not a mistake I will repeat again, now that I am mature.  But the problem now is that I don't have any kind of a social or intimate life, and yet that is an undeniable need in myself that I cannot bypass or fill. 

So why do these people keep trying to force celibacy on me?  They listen in on me talking in my sleep (which in itself is an incredible violation), and they learn two things--one is that I have a spousal relationship with Jesus Christ, which I admit I do.  When I am able to really pray (which these days isn't often), I address Jesus as my husband and Lord.  Such a spousal relationship with Christ does not negate my ability or vocation to be a good partner and spouse to a human being, though sometimes I wonder if I would call Jesus "husband" if I were married to a man, and the answer is, "yes, I think I would."  In the ancient Hebrew world, women used to call their husbands, "Lord", at the same time they prayed to God as "Lord."  It is a little bit awkward, but there is a totally different quality in the relationship between human person and human person, and human person and divine Godhead, and I know it and respect it.  The challenging part would be finding a mate that will accept the fact that, first of all, I belong to God, and then to any committed partner.  In other words, my partner cannot be jealous of my relationship with Christ.  I do believe that as long as I am honest, that I will find such a person.  One last note--anything that comes from a dream (including talking in a sleep) can often be highly metaphorical and not indicative of reality in the physical space/time world at all.

The second reason I think celibacy keeps being pushed on me is that I think there is some information floating around that comes from outside the present timeline.  I would caution people to not take that kind of information literally.  First of all, time (or fate or destiny) is never fixed.  I am certain that God has infinite possibilities available no matter what any one person, including myself, chooses to do with their free will.  To deny someone (like me) their free will in order to bring about God's will, is heresy.  It is like the religious-political fundamentalists who would bring about a nuclear Armageddon in the hopes that divine intervention will save the planet (and I am sorry to say, but that is exactly what appears to be happening).  Even if I were to commit suicide tomorrow, God would still find a way to use my life (maybe from beyond the other side) to accomplish the purpose which I am called to fulfill in this lifetime.  So quit worrying about forcing me into a mold that fits your preconceptions of what my destiny is.  Let God and myself interact in natural reality, and trust that the will of the Great Creator and Savior will always come through.  I have prayed about this for years.  I do not feel called to celibacy, and could list a whole multitude of reasons.  Finally, a reminder from modern physics--"when you observe an object, it changes."  Maybe at some point, I was called to celibacy.  But after 10 years of being web cammed, rejected, objectified, manipulated, and tortured through drugs and coercion, I have changed.  I will NOT cooperate with people who deny me free will (including leaning on individuals who are courageous enough to desire intimacy with me). 


Friday, November 23, 2007

The first snowfall of the year

The first snowfall of the year, and I cannot appreciate it.  Usually the first snowfall of the year has me bundling up, and heading out for a long walk in which I skip with excitement and delight, my heart bursting with gratitude and praise to the God who creates all things--including snow.  Today, however, I am too sick with psychotropic drugs to do anything. There is no joy, no possibility of excitement or joy in my life at all.  I had headed to the gym to try to work out for an hour or two before taking a walk, but I was so severely autistic that I couldn't do anything.  While I was driving, I had to shut my eyes while stopped at intersections, because I could not bear to see the cars moving past (key feature of autism AND migraine headaches--objects in motion create a nauseating seasick feeling, and seem to be much closer than they really are).  It took monumental effort to focus on reality enough to drive, and sure wouldn't want to be a passenger if I knew how messed up the driver's perception of reality was.  I got to the gym and did a little cardio, but again, it took monumental effort to move my legs.  I had to close my eyes because I could not bear all the stimuli all around me.  I  had wanted to do a little weights to try to keep my muscles toned, but as I walked across the gym floor with all the commotion and stimuli around me, I knew there was no way I could stand it.  So I left--a waste of a gallon of gas for 25 minutes of cardio. 
I had wanted to go to the bosque, but I was too sick to walk briskly enough in the snow to keep warm (all I wanted to do was find a nice tree and lay down).  I have decided to create myself an elaborate scifi fantasy world, and need a little drug free time and space to do so.  Why?  Because right now, with myself being as severely autistic as I am, it actually is much more comfortable, much more human, to be in a fantasy world than the real world.  I struggled so hard as a child and youth to leave the comfort blanket of the fantasy world behind and enter the "real world" of things, motion, and people.  But now, it is too hard to be in the real world, it is too sickening, too inhuman.  I find though (it amazed me in the psychiatric hospital that the dumbass "psych" thought that he was erasing my "racing thoughts" when all I did was lay in bed and spin out an entire fantasy world in which I spent nearly all of my time), that it is very pleasant to enter a fantasy world, and it is the only way in which I can feel like a human being again.  This is why I keep reverting to images from memories, novels, and movies.  But it would be more challenging to create a completely new fantasy world--I just need a little drug free space to initiate it.  It won't happen today.  I am too sick to go anywhere except stay in the house and breathe the poison.  So I will go for the next best thing--TV--a total waste of time, but right now my entire life is a waste, so no big loss.

Thursday, November 22, 2007

Well, I am close to saying it is all over

Well, I am close to saying it is all over--the purpose of this blog was to document my efforts at reclaiming my sexuality and soul.  I have failed.  At this point, barring a miracle, I realize that I will never be a human being again--I have lost both the freedom to live my sexuality and experience my soul.  I cannot stop the NSA from drugging me; as a matter of fact they have put two implants in my brain which not only track me, but I suspect drug me as well.  I can no longer fight to escape it.  Even when I go to the bosque, I am sick with the psychotropic drugs.  They can track me (I watched some skinny, tall dame in black signal a helicoptor before she sprayed me with drugs one night last week), and drug me at will.  In this particular case, it was a good thing I was close to the truck, because she doped me up so good that I could barely walk the 25 yards to the truck.  I am used to not being able to walk by now, though I continue to force myself to try to work out, even if only barely, and do yoga.  I don't know how much longer I can force myself though.  I feel so sick and weak and fluish all the time.  My autism is becoming severe, and I literally find it difficult to even be around people, so I do my best to avoid them.  It is especially hard when they talk to me, because it takes too much effort to talk back to them, and I am not in reality, but at the bottom of a deep, deep pit.  Fortunately, I don't have to talk to very many people.  Being isolated from people doesn't really bother me that much.  I spent my entire childhood and youth living that way, and I learned very well how to live in that painful desolation.  What really bothers me, and leaves me in suicidal despair is not being in touch with my interior life.  I cannot pray, either mentally, verbally or contemplatively.  I am a zombie, totally cut off from all emotions, and my great little secret that only one person that I know of ever guessed, is really how much of an emotional, "devotional" prayer I am.  Because I don't show emotions, people do not realize how much of my prayer, even pure contemplative prayer, depends upon, and wells up from an emotional relationship with Jesus Christ, but now I am completely cut off from any emotions or feelings, any "soul", and without that, life has lost all meaning.  The other day in the laundromat, while I was totally zombied out on psychotropic drugs, I experienced a first.  A little 2 or 3 year old started throwing her toy figurines at me.  Her mother was apologetic, but I looked at the little kid, and understood.  She feared and reviled the subhuman, mostly dead zombie that she saw in front of her.  Normally children pick up on my friendly, extroverted energy, zest, and joy for life, and respond to me with with open eyes and frankness (though I do hear a lot of "are you a boy or a girl?"), unlike too many of their parents who think I am hyperactive to the point of flakiness, or "schizophrenic" as the unimaginative, intellectually dour and spiritually immoral MIB do (speaking of which, I met another NSA psych the other day in Dr. Huaman's office--"Martin"--I guess he wanted to check out his drugged slave for himself.  Maybe he wanted to see if I would have any kind of emotional reaction to him, but even though I knew who and what he was, I was too alienated from reality or any of my emotions to do anything other than observe.  He probably is really proud of himself, not knowing at all the depth of my contempt and hatred for him).  Anyway, I guess I had better get used to lots of negative feedback--people in general, (much less children) do not understand or appreciate autistic perception or alienation, and I do believe that I am on my way to becoming "Rainwoman."

Another real hardship is my complete inability to read.  I can only remember three times in my life when I absolutely could not read or pay attention.  The most prolonged period was my senior year, when I suffered a bad case of senior burnout.  In retrospect, I think it was God's grace directing me away from graduate school, because at the time, that seemed like a natural next step for me. But if I had gone on to graduate school, I would have become a rarefied, ivory-tower, bookworm neurotic.  The "real world" was a challenging place for me to be in, but I learned so much about remedial social relations and practicalities that I would have missed  had I gone on to the easy, intellectual insularity of graduate school.  Still, after the intellectual intensity of my first three years in college, it was hard to pick up a book, and find it boring, shallow, overspecialized or the "same old same old."  At the time I was constantly chasing the cosmic GUTS ("grand unified theory of spirituality") that I had just briefly caught a glimpse of during my conversion, and I had no patience with the pedestrian dissertations and essays of academia.  Of course, I know now (and knew then) that the problem really was with me, not the books.  What I would do to be able to go back and really read Process Philosophy/Theology (I say that because I have been thinking a lot on temporal issues, and how that would impact Christian orthodoxy, and I suspect that the most fruitful synthesis of understanding would include Process Theology features.  Then there were the two classes that I absolutely hated--Logic and Molecular Biology.  I took logic because I thought I might be a philosophy major--again God's grace steered me clear.  Molecular Biology was different.  I really liked the instructor, and in theory, I was very curious about how Molecular Biology worked, but I felt physically sick while doing lab work on rats that had just been killed (I hated dissecting frogs in high school), and the sheer, overwhelming detail of biological minutae just bored me stiff.  I wanted to know how the brain worked.  I didn't give a shit about how acetylcholine converted to dopamine or vice versa or whatever.  If I could take Molecular Biology now, you better believe I would give a shit, and I would be more motivated to pay attention.  But could I pay attention?  I am having the hardest time focussing even on reading familiar authors and favorite topics.  And no, it is NOT that my mind is racing.  Rather, it is that the words on the page are meaningless, and I notice that speed especially impacts my ability to make sense of words on a page.  It is like reading Jabberwocky.  I read but there is no context that signifies or declares meaning in my brain.  Is this because I am so alienated from reality, or is my mind unable to process verbal thought (hmm--could be another side effect of the enhanced autism I am experiencing).  I can write fine (at least I think I am), but I have to say that as I am writing this I feel better than I have all day, (but I still don't feel good--I feel really nauseated and headachy, and have difficulty concentrating).  But does the mind race?  No--it daydreams, not in a racing fashion, but more in a gentle reverie.  How do I daydream?  Read My Friend Flicka, one of my favorite childhood books.  I daydream like young Ken.  When his mother asks him how he failed English, he explained to her step by step of how and why he daydreamed away an entire hour.  I, like Ken, think in images.  It is an extra step for me to write, but normally, a very easy step.  It is not an easy step now.  In addition to "thinking images," I want to drift off into one of my "stressed out" reveries.  When I am stressed out, I think of mountain hikes I have taken (and I am there), blue skies, running barefoot in the KY hills (and I feel the freedom of grass under my bare feet).  One of my favorite images that I replay over and over is from the movie "King David."  Richard Gere (in the only movie in which I can ever stand him), is a decrepit, dying king, who no longer can keep warm without a virgin laying asexually next to his once vigorous virility, and he is informing the room that he is about to "go the way of all flesh," and just by looking at him, you wonder how he gets the breath to get the words out. Then he slips into a reverie, and in his reverie, he is in the prime of young, virile manhood once again, racing with Jonathan, who (begging the question of what transpired sexually), I believe was the true love of his life.  And just as he jump hurdles a fence like an Olympian, the movie ends. I think I see this image over and over because I feel like the dying, impotent David, no longer sovereign over even my own brain, ova, or sexuality, and the only thing I have to remind me of my once free, vital, joyful life are memories.  I used to love to run.  One of my favorite memories of Augusta is racing with her down the call center floor.  Of course, some people thought we were crazy (why don't you apply for employment with the intelligence services, assholes?), but we had a blast.  When I became overweight and could no longer run on a regular basis, I took up aerobics, but now I can no longer do even aerobics.  Dr. Huaman asked me if I could not do something else, and I said yoga, but the truth is I miss the sheer all-out exhiliration of impulse and movement, and nothing, not even yoga, can give me that joy (yoga normally gives me a different kind of joy, but right now, with these psychotropic drugs, there is no body-mind-spirit connection, and it is nothing more than pedestrian exercise, but I do it to try to keep my body in some kind of shape).  To be honest, I am in constant pain with nerve damage to the left leg (caused by the speed) that is worsening to the point where I wonder if soon I am going to be limping on that leg for the rest of my life, so you can see why I love that fantasy.  I also love the scene where he dances naked for God, and his arranged wife despises him, asking him, "what is wrong with you," and he replies, "I do it for God, not for you and not for proper decorum."  Of course David didn't live in an age where religious and political fundamentalists could spy on and control everything.  I keep asking, "what would Jesus do if he knew that powers and forces of evil had implanted  psychotropic drugs and a tracking implant in his brain that tracked his every move, made him ill and unable to pray or relate to others, and denied his free will to choose how to live out his sexuality.  I know Jesus in another realm understands my dilemma, but my brain cannot answer that question with what I know of Jesus from Scripture.  I wish I could pray, but the drugs prevent that. 

I had hoped to have just one person to talk to--Ana Huaman.  Dr. Huaman has true genius of intellect--not because she is an MD (most of whom don't impress me at all), but because she, like me, combines a scientific mind (another secret people don't grasp about me) with an intuitive perception into reality.  The combination of science and intuition is what constitutes genius--not how much information a person carries in their head.  She is heavier on the former while I am stronger on the latter, and I think she could really be helpful to me in figuring out some of these intellectual issues I have been struggling with(sure, she has been briefed by the NSA but I would tell EVERYBODY to take what they say with a grain of salt.  Their MO is lies and disinformation.  They don't know the truth themselves, because they are "disinformed" as well).  I just need one friend to talk to, to keep me from utter despair.  Another image that comes to mind is from the movie, "Notorious."  When Ingrid Bergman is poisoned by her Nazi husband and mother-in-law, she succumbs without a fight, and I don't think it was because the poison was so effective but because she felt no one (namely Cary Grant) loved her, and life is not worth living and struggling for without someone to love you.  That is where I am at--not one person to love me and help free me from the poison, so it is just reallyeasy to lay down and die, especially when I am in such pain all the damned time.  I am not a celibate--I have too much need of another human person to help me navigate life.  I  need a helpmate, a friend, and a lover.  But once again, I feel like I am being forced into celibacy.  I can't stress how hateful that concept is to me.  I hate it.  I am too sick to continue.  It is time to stop.  I don't know if I will ever be intimate again.  For that matter, I don't know if I will ever be a human being again.  I have a bad headache.  Maybe tomorrow I will feel better.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

I had to take six tylenol last night in order to sleep

I had to take six tylenol last night in order to sleep--three Vicodins and three Tylenol PM's, and I actually felt pain where my liver is.  Of course, I worry about pain and damage to my liver, but I was out of my mind with pain from muscle spasms and nerve pain in my left leg from speed.  But it is not speed that is making my life a sheer hell--it is the Risperdal that I am being force fed.  I know it is Risperdal because they forced me to take it for a month last year, and it has the very same effects that it had on me a year ago--muscle pain and weakness to the point of debilitation, headaches, nausea, autistic separation and alienation from reality, suicidal depression and murderous rage (you try being forced into an autistic perception of reality and see what it does to you, you fucking assholes).  The most obvious handicap though (after all which one of my abusers care if I suffer, cry and scream in constant pain from the muscle spasms 24/7),  is that I cannot walk.  My legs are literally numb with no sensation in them at all, except for the tender to touch nerve pain of my left thigh, and even that I think would feel much worse if my legs were not totally numb.  Even now as I sit here at the computer, I can tell that my legs are completely numb.  I had difficulty walking last year when I was on this Risperdal, and I had to walk very slowly, so slowly that my aged, out of shape mother kept walking faster than I could keep up.  But this is worse--my legs are so numb that I twist and turn them as I step, since I cannot feel or have any control over the joints as they land.  It takes a monumental effort of will to lift and place each leg.  I am the kind of person who pushes and pushes and pushes, but even I realize that soon, I will be completely paralyzed.  Because it is not just the legs--it is the arms too--so weak and heavy that I can't lift a cup of coffee to my mouth or hold a shampoo bottle in my hands.  But the arms don't seem to be affected as quickly as the legs do.  Why is it worse now this year than last year?  Because the pricks took my self-knowledge of my own body and ailments (that I stupidly gave them) to address the calcium imbalance in my brain and now my brain is absorbing the Risperdal much more rapidly, and so the extrapyrimadal symptoms are much quicker to show themselves.  The worst thing about these symptoms  that I learned throughinternet research is that they are not temporary, but rather that they are caused by damage and destruction to the motor neurons.  This is why I no longer can do aerobic exercise. This is why I no longer have enough muscle flex to do a simple, single pushup.  My motor neurons have been destroyed by these MORONIC PIECE OF SHIT FUCKERS, and I will never be healthy and whole again, thanks to you assholes.  Now, you are doing even further damage--will you be happy when I am a total vegetable?  The most depressing thing in the world to me is to not be able to exercise, and now I cannot even walk. 

What are some other symptoms of this forced Risperdal in me?  Well, let me just concur with what some other people have experienced: risperdal: Side effects, ratings, and patient comments

"weight gain (10 % body weight in one month!), increased appetite, sore feet, muscular tiredness/weakness have discontinued due to weight gain  M  46 1 months  8/31/2007
 1 to janssen rep side effects are SUPPOSED to go away after taking a medication. I'm impotent, have no libido, can't feel any emotions, have no motivation, have no interest in life or doing things, etc. as an ONGOING, CHRONIC effect of taking your medication."


Yeah--no emotions that is a good way of describing the utterly desolate hell that I experience.  This is why I cannot pray or read poetry--because for me that involves emotions, desire, joy, meaning in life--all of which are zombied out by this drug.  Even contemplative prayer involves desire and yearning, and late at night it is my custom to reach into my spirit and reach out for God in contemplative prayer, and you fuckers have taken all that away from me.  You have denied me my spirit, my emotions, my libido, my joy in life, and I don't know if I ever will get it back.


How about this one?

"Cognitive impairment, substantial weight gain (puffed up like a balloon), zombie-like apathy"

I never will forget the stupid dumbass psych Dr.  Cameron Johnson asking me the day after he forced me his goddamned poison down my throat, "Now aren't the 'racing thoughts' starting to subside?" 

YOU STUPID GODDAMNED FUCKS--I don't have racing thoughts.  When I am healthy, what I have is an incredibly quick, intuitive mind that is capable of picking up multiple impressions and sensations, and analyzing and processing them rapidly so that I can respond optimally.  For me, as an autistic, this is absolutely imperative because I don't have the ability to  emotionally read people that 98% of the population has, so I have to do extra work.  I have to be alert for extra cues and process them so I can relate to people without offending them, a feat I had mastered and now have completely lost again.   Thank you you fucking assholes for making it even more difficult for me to relate to people than it already is.  Thank you for healing me of my ability to interact in, and master reality as an independent, successful, healthy person.

The "good doctor's" utterly stupid and presumptious comment reminded me(and it is the image that keeps floating over and over again into my mind) reminded me of a scene from Babylon 5.  A corporate CEO (and psychiatrist himself) wants to control the psychics (why?--because they have a power he cannot understand or control, and he has to control everything).  So he creates a fatal virus that will impact only telepaths, to which only he has the antidote for, but to prove the effectiveness of the antitdote he has to condemn to death numerous telepaths.  It is a horrible virus that causes intense suffering before death, and this "doctor" is making his rounds in the condemned ward, and the sick telepaths haven't a clue that their disease and suffering and death is caused by this man.  The doctor takes the hand of one dying telepath who tells him how bad he hurts and how he just wants it all over, and the sick, evil doctor pats his hand and says "don't worry, soon the pain will be all over."  I am that telepath, and the unnamed psych (though I think I did see him onceat ALLtel), is the evil doctor who has created my pain and suffering, and whose idea it "being all over" is the destruction of the essence of what makes me human, and enables me to function in society.  And why?  Because I have a giftedness they don't understand and they cannot control. 


How about some other testimontials to this cash cow for Jansen?

"Lack of intrest in life, no will to carry on living.Constant need to use go to the bathroom.Constant headache .living hell! "

"Horrific, turned into a suicidal zombie. Weight gain, constant suicidal thoughts, no motivation.Lost a court case as gave up fight. meant to be delusional about being raped. Sick Australian government. Now have vision problems with damage to retina.Brain scan showed diffuse damage"

"Extreme lethargy, confusion, forgetfulness, sleepiness, zombification."

"I've got pain all over my body. I feel weak and don't like to stand up, or stand up for several minutes. The most worrying pain is in my back and sometimes I need painkillers and cremes angainst it. At the beginning I had lots of sideffects that were mental and still have them a bit. I am more depressed and suffer more from anxiety and that scares me. Can anybody tell me if the pain will go away and the feeling of weakness?"

I could copy and paste dozens of the same testimony of the same horror, devastation and damage done by this drug.  But I just recommend you to the link.  Just one little side note that I find interesting--this damned drug even damages vocal cords through spasms--that is why my voice is changing. 


I am too sick to go on.  A plumber is coming to my house today, and it is a mess, and I am too sick to even clean house.  Tita Zombie signing off

Saturday, November 17, 2007

Missing poetry, prayer, and exercise

Missing poetry, prayer, and exercise as these damned psychotropic drugs continue to atrophy my mind, spirit, and body.  I shuffle along like an 80 year old woman, longing to be able to just walk like a normal person again.  I want to have energy again.  I want to be able to lift my arms and move in celebration of being alive.  Instead I can barely walk a few yards to where I lay down, and then of course I can always shuffle around the house while I mostly lay in bed or watch TV.  And every time I look at my legs, I see more and more dimpled fat where there was once nothing but toned, healthy muscle.  My whole body is turning into a fat blob, and I know it is from the hormonal changes caused by these NSA sobs and their invasive violation of my body.  Yeah, you pigs, I know now what you did to me when I was under anethesia.   I don't want to think about it, because I become filled with rage and hopeless despair, so move on.  The priest today read a poem, and I envied him.  I remember when I used to be able to get up and read poetry or Scripture, but now my mind is so messed up on drugs I can't even follow Internet journalism--which is written on about a sixth grade level.  It is the most depressing thing to not be able to read and pray, and get significance from life.  I have never been so prevented from cooperating with grace.  All I can do is ask God to help me.  I hope tomorrow is a grace filled day.  Today sure wasn't, and now once again, I get to try to go to bed with painful rigid muscles that spasm, a never ending headache from all the fluid in my head, and the surefire knowledge that try as I might, I cannot connect with the holy spirit that is within me, but completely alienated from my drugged presence.  Jesus this is the most miserable and hateful of lives.  I have been handed over to the powers of evil, and I am helpless to resist.   Please stop it. Please stop it any way that you can.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Dreamed last night that I was a slave

Dreamed last night that I was a slave--a prophetic dream for sure.  In the dream, I was a little three or four year old African slave boy.  I was travelling with a group of slaves and life was hard, and times were tough.  Everyone was beat down and weary.  A mother offered me her breast (though it was a perky, girlish breast rather than a full, maternal breast).  In the dream, part of me was an adult and I thought that I was too old to take the breast.  But there was an anthropological commentary running too, and it said, "when life is a constant struggle and food is scarce, mothers suckle their young for extended periods."    I took the breast.  The rest of the dream I will keep to myself and wait to see if it reveals itself, but I will say that I am very much looking forward to being received into the Episcopal Church by a Black woman bishop.  That setup is  so perfect--I couldn't have prayed for it any more perfectly.  It also is very reassuring that apparently the rector, Fr. Brian went to seminary with her (and I assume, he is the one that invited).  That speaks volumes of her character and spirituality to me.  I indeed am blessed, even though tonight I feel the burden of slavery very heavy.

My body is totally broken down from the constant drugging of speed and psychotropic drugs.  My arms are so heavy that they cannot lift, and my muscles are all painflully  spasming. I have a constant headache, and a full, "bloated", fluid-filled head that makes it hard to think or feel. My heart is constantly racing, and I don't even want to know my cholesterol level (lithium raises cholesterol, too).  Arthritis and tendonitis are attacking all my joints--those are the ones that working.  The psychotropic drugs totally deaden my knees and elbows so that I cannot even walk normally, and it it painful on the knees to not track properly.  The interior of my body is in pain too--something is wrong with my espophagus (I think--I don't know what the hell it is), and I feel organ and deep abdominal pain, but I don't know what is causing it--it could be all this extra weight, that is truly disgusting to live with and accept, especially knowing that it has all been incurred through personal bodily violation by people I cannot stand.  But I am slave.  Even my own body and brain does not belong to me, but to religious parasites who want to force me into a sickening, idolatrous image of holiness that they can feed off of.  I am tryingto hold on, but honestly I don't know how my body can continue to live with this kind of heaviness, pain, and suffering.  I saw a former aerobics instructor today, and I was so depressed, because when I used to go to his class, I used to be full of energy, vitality, life, and joy, able to do a full hour of aerobic exercise, and then go on to a yoga class.  Now I cannot even do an aerobics class at all.  I can barely walk.  I cannot even do yoga.  My arms are too weak and heavy to do even the basic poses.  And I know, from before, that damage IS permanent.  I haven't been able to do one pushup since the lithium caused the muscle rigidity two years ago, and now the damned slaveowners are forcing more of the muscle destroying poison into me. 

Then there is the autism.  That is a whole another story.  I wanted to freak out in Walmart today--just couldn't handle it.  Instead I went to a changing room to try on clothes where I could have my own space with no stimuli, but the stupid clerk drugged it with psychotropic drugs.   And I knew, I knew, exactly by that smile she gave me that she was going to do it.  It is the smile of a stupid sheep Catholic--that is, the smile of a codependent with no self-aware,  empowered,  interior life or depth of spirituality.  She doesn't feel in control of her own life, so it is so satisfying to her to steal the self-esteem and self-control of another who would be sovereign in her own life.  The amazing thing is that I don't pick up that co-dependency from the Episcopalians at St.  Michael.  I also don't pick it up at yoga--my inner intuition tells me that people of my yoga class have been praying for me, and though most of them probably cannot stand institutional Christianity, they are truly spiritually powerful and sincere people, and I "feel" their genuine and benevolent intent for me, and am grateful.  So see, even a slave gets offered a breast every once in a while (this image just reminded me of the disgust on Dave Denny's face that I observed while someone was talking of an animal suckling--true patriarch that he is, he despises feminine nurturance.  But I don't.  I am a slave, and my life is hard, and I am humbly grateful for any true nurturing, nourishment, and support that is offered to me.  I thank God I seem to finally have found an institutional community that truly cares about me, and I thank God for all the people who truly are praying for me--specifically the people of my yoga class and at St. Michael's. 

Saturday, November 10, 2007

Woke up this morning in severe pain

Woke up this morning in severe pain from my nerves in my left thigh--a sure sign that I am being force-fed speed.  Actually, I didn't need the pain.  I only slept three hours last night before completely waking up unrefreshed--another sure sign of speed, and a mind control tactic used by cults and security organizations--sleep deprivation.  Instead of feeling suicidally depressed this morning, it took everything I had not to hurl the teakettle against the wall.  I am full of rage at my pain and suffering.  It doesn't help that I perused a web site on brain injury this morning and recognize that I am suffering both permant and current symptoms--memory loss, loss of word choice function, fatigue, disorganization, sensory overload (definitely related to my autism and definitely severely exacerbated by these psychotropic drugs), depression and anger.  I do not to what extent I will ever be able to heal from this damage, but God told me at the time of the original lithium injury that permanent damage had been done, so I am not optimistic. 

Right now though I am just trying to survive--to escape the hell of this speed and psychosis inducing drug, but it is so hard when I can barely walk.  My muscles feel like they are atrophying, and through it all Dave Denny keeps IMing it.  Get this Dave, FATHER (if that is what it takes to get you to listen, powertripping patriarchal abuser).  GET OUT OF MY LIFE. NOW.  FOREVER.  GO FIND A GIRL TO GIVE SPIRITUAL DIRECTION TO AND PROJECT YOUR STUPIDITY AND ARROGANCE ONTO.  I AM NOT AVAILABLE.  I WILL LEAVE GOD TO JUDGE YOU, BUT YOU HAD BETTER HOPE THAT GOD DOESN'T ASK FOR MY INPUT.

Hint Hint:  The power of the poor (the powerless)pierces the cloud", and right now, as for the last ten years, I know God has heard my prayer of agony and anguish--angony and anguish, pain and suffering initiated and orchestrated by you.  Good luck with your life and eternal judgment.  Just leave me alone.

Friday, November 9, 2007

Incredible sickness and suffering

Incredible sickness and suffering with these drugs that have left me practically paralyzed and in a severe autistic state.  I cannot walk.  I cannot drive without freaking out. I cannot read.  I cannot listen to music.  People talk to me, and I feel like I am mentally retarded because I don't understand what it is they are saying to me.  I am not in reality.  All I can do is watch TV, lay in bed and cry--oh and one more thing, praise God for getting me out of the Roman Catholic Church.  Unfortunately, it didn't happen before the bastards did irrepable damage to me--and still is doing it--but at least I know that if I die (and my desire to live is so low now that I don't know how much longer I will be here on this earth), an Episcopalian priest will perform my burial.  That is so important to me--that a cleric who is MAN enough to accept a woman as a full and equal partner in the mystery and vocation of faith is the one who I want to administer sacraments to me--not these sick misogynists with their specious arguments on how women aren't fully in the image of the divine.  Bullshit.  I only bring this up because I see the SLI (Dave Denny or one of his RC fundamentalist or Opus Dei cohorts) are still stalking me online.  Fortunately they are easy to ignore, for I am much too sick and out of touch with reality to have a conversation with anyone. 

I don't know how much longer I can hold out.  My days are hell.  My nights are hell.  I don't know if I will ever have a free future again for the SLI and Opus Dei have gotten the NSA involved (no wonder--they are exactly alike--both entities treat people like slaves and things to be controlled, used, and manipulated  instead of as free human beings).  I have already gone through ten years of this torture, and I will not go through another ten.  I feel like a kid trying to cover myself up while I just keep getting kicked and kicked and kicked.  At least when I was a kid, I could heal, but my body and brain have already been so damaged by these bastards that I know my healing capacity is severely compromised.  I am so tired of suffering.  I am so tired of being alone and celibate.  I am so sick of not being in reality, of not feeling joy and happiness, of not being able to read or play music because I'm so drugged up that I am a nothing but a vegetable.  God help me.

Thursday, November 8, 2007

The cat is running away from me again

The cat is running away from me again--it is amazing how an animal can sense that I am not in reality, but my tormentors don't have a clue.  I don't feel like writing, but I tell myself that I have to leave a record, that people have to know how much I have suffered at the hands of the power abusers, of really how much of a martydom the last ten years of my life has been.  I woke up this morning hating life, dreading both getting out of bed or staying in it.  That has become my morning ritual ever since this latest round of drugging began about 3 weeks ago.  Occasionally, like yesterday morning, I actually wake up feeling like a human being, in touch with my spirit, connected to my energy, and pulsating with the joy of being alive.  I know when I am myself because I sing.  I sing with the radio, I sing in my head, I sing in my heart.  Now, my radio is on mute, for it is just noise that grates on my nerves at a time when I cannot handle any other irritant without snapping or lashing out.  Of course, as soon as I get out of bed and start walking, I can tell how badly I am drugged by how unable I am to walk.  I have given up on trying to reclaim my physical health or control my weight.  It is clear to me that these bastards prefer that I be a fat blob--the better to enforce their celibate slavery on me.  Neither do they care about my physical, mental, emotional or spiritual well-being.  I am being groomed to meet their needs and expectations, and my needs and expectations are completely irrelevant to them.  What a tragedy it must be to them to learn that their drugs make me autistic to the point of dysfunction.  I keep putting in job applications via email, but I know that I am not capable of holding any kind of job right now.  My worst fear is that of getting a job, and getting fired because I am not in reality enough to perform the duties.  Fortunately, my drug induced disabilities are readily apparent to anyone who interviews me.  But sooner or later I have to get to work.  My truck is starting to need expensive repairs, and I have needed dental surgery for the last two years.  I was supposed to go into surgery the day they first severely overdosed me on speed and other drugs, which left me deathly ill in a motel room.  I am probably going to lose that tooth since I haven't had the periodontal surgery that it has needed for years now.  But right now, Idon't care.  I just am trying to survive these horrible and intense mood swings of despair and rage without harming myself or going 999.  I am just somehow trying to keep my body going even though it feels like I am in the body of a 70 year old woman.  I try to hold on to some sense of identity and self-esteem even though I pray to God to release me from this world.

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

A mixed day

A mixed day as I managed to recover from a severe bout of autism earlier in the day.  More and more it is apparent to me that all of these psychotropic drugs cause an exacerbated autism in me which is a truly hateful condition. My response ranges from fierce rage (the extreme frustration of a usually "normally" perceiving person to someone who is completely overwhelmed by, and unable to mediate reality) to near catatonic psychosis (I know when I fixate my gaze on one thing that I am going catatonic, but I fixate the gaze because I cannot stand any more sensory input). 

Anyway, it was very unfortunate that I was so autistic this morning because I spoke with Fr. Brian regarding reception into the Episcopal church.  I wasn't really in reality, and so was not able to engage and interact with him on a human level (which makes me feel bad, but my God, how long has it been since I have been able to interact with people on a real level.  I feel like the character in "Castaway", deserted in solitary for four years, arriving home on a jet plane, and not knowing how to engage people and the reality of the civilized world again).  He was kind and let me ramble on about intellectual and ideological differences with the Catholic Church, which are very true and valid, but I never broke the personal plane (and believe me I can cry oceans over it), on how it feels to be an outcast in a Church, to have your gender denigrated, restricted and defined, to have your sexuality termed "disordered" and sinful, to be frustrated at every attempt to fit into church life while the so-called "spiritual directors" even interfere in my worldly life--to the point of being fired from jobs, thrown in jail, and being denied personal intimate relationships.  And as I sit here tonight, in more possession of my faculties than I have had in recent weeks, that is the most painful of all.  I do not wish to be celibate.  I do not have a vocation to celibacy.  More than anything else, I hope and desire to share my life with a significant other, but instead am forced into this miserable aloneness.  I envy the partnered people I see around me.  At the SLI, they were always trying to arouse envy in me, but the truth is that I really don't envy others very much, but I do envy those who have someone to talk to about their deepest pain, I envy those who sleep next to an inviting warm body, and I envy those who have partnered intimately for life.  I know that God knows my prayer and my gifts and my sexuality.  When will I be free to exercise them?  (Wow, I must be feeling good--I'm actually dealing with real issues, instead of the omnipresent crush of praying for release from the drugs).

Monday, November 5, 2007


vegetable--that is what I am --not a human being at all.  Spent all day in bed, forced myself to go for a walk and realized that I wasn't in reality at all. Living in a coccooned world where it is so hard and overwhelming just to recognize reality much less relate to it.  I will go watch TV, Good old TV--always there for the  vegetables.

Friday, November 2, 2007

Very sick, depressed and fighting mood swings

Very sick, depressed and fighting mood swings as I realize I am fighting both lithium and speed at the same time.  My weight is totally out of control and I am at 191 pounds, fatter and heavier than I have ever been in my life.  There is no point trying to work out.  I am too sick to work out, and I am so low energy that I eat to try to feel better.  I feel fluish all the time, and the only time I ever enjoy and crave sugar is when I have the flu or a bad cold or sinus infection.  I am so depressed that I despair.  But I am too busy trying to handle mood swings or the most physically nauseating, exhausted, and totally sick feelings to feel sorry for myself.  But I do.  Everytime I look in the mirror and see my bloated, pouchy, fluid filled face, and my dead eyes, I just long for death.  If I cannot feel like a human being, I don't want to live.  I would rather die.  I keep holding on to fantasies of freedom--especially sexual feelings.  When I am totally oppressed and imprisoned by these chemicals that completely shut down my energy and vitality (not to mention that I can't even walk), I just have the most explicit and detailed sex fantasies.  I know what I am waiting for--and one day when I have my humanity back from these hateful, abusive thieves, I will pursue it in the flesh, not just in my imagination.  In the meantime, thanks to the muse of my mind, who is the number one preserver of my sanity right now.