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.