Updated January 2025. Another section added at the end, giving the PS update about what happened with my so-called “mother’s” death back in 2019.

Updated October, 2024. Additional dream memory details provided, along with additional real life correlations that could give credence. I revisited this piece in October, 2024 after having yet another, VERY telling childhood Connecticut church dream out of nowhere that ties into everything I discuss here. It reignited a bit of an obsession with this subject, so I did some further internet sleuthing using Google Streetview, and figured out some more correlating details that align. So the update contains the latest dream, along with further details about the other churches I saw in my dreams. It also contains one actual real life church-related memory, not dream memory, that’s very telling, and not in a positive way, and which I left out of the original version of this write up. :/ Additional information also added in at the very end regarding the Israeli connection.

 

This was a story I originally intended to post on my Gab as a multi-parter …..but which I soon realized would need to be broken up into 100 parts to even make it possible. It’s important enough though that it’s worthy of putting on my website. Anybody who’s read my website, and including my book ‘Chasing Phantoms,’ and enjoyed it probably could appreciate this story, as it’s yet another story about “the weird and the woo.” And just as importantly, it also fills in the cracks of the things discussed in my book. The gist of this particular story took place in 2007 primarily, and which exemplifies why I can never just relay a story to anybody. Because there’s always a bezillion layers of never ending weirdness folding in on itself. It’s never just straight forward and simple, “one thing happened….the end.” This one is no exception, starting with a bizarre neg entity encounter…….and ending with MK and MILABs, possible suppressed memory flashbacks, a major important possible confirmation about my lifelong abductions/MK puzzle that was directly given to me by my so-called “mom” when I was 16, and which I left out of “Chasing Phantoms” (but shouldn’t have I now realize), scary level spot-on tarot card readings, pendulum dowsings and past life closure. But just as important, “wow….!” level synchronicities that just kept happening as I attempted to compile it all into the write up you’re reading now.

The synchs were all happening via music, since I would tend to load up my customized “Classic Rock” playlist on my computer while either writing this, or going back in and editing and adding new things in, because I like to listen to music while writing. Words and entire phrases from the songs would keep lining up to what I was writing/editing in the most bizarre and uncanny ways, and where sometimes the concepts themselves in the lyrics would line up exactly to what I was writing about. O.o Once it started happening while using that playlist…….I just kept using that playlist anytime I’d go back in to tinker with this piece. And there were even more synchs that lined up that what’s mentioned throughout, but I gave up on mentioning them after a certain point because it just becomes so unbelievable sounding. Truly next level and actually scary. (Like going back in to edit, and having new synchs with different songs lining up in the parts where I’d previously noted synchs had happened. So double synchs on top of each other.) But without fail, every-single-time I went in to edit this piece while listening to that playlist, unbelievable synchs would line up. Even after not looking at this piece for long periods of time, then getting back into it totally randomly here and there, with that playlist loaded up as I did. The phenomenon always happened.

I think a big part of the reason is that all the songs on my classic rock playlist from the 60s through the 80s are very heavy with lyrics that have a lot of poetry, telling actual stories that progress along in their development, even when trying to be funny. It’s all meaningful subject matter about the human condition, from the darkest of the dark to the lightest of the light and funny and irreverent, because music back then was so much more meaningful and complex. So you stand a much better chance of having synchs lining up with that playlist than many others, especially when writing a complex piece about the human condition, full of words. Just my theory.

But then as to WHY synchs would happen when editing this specific piece, every single time, without fail, in a way that doesn’t necessarily happen with other pieces I’ve written…….that’s open for interpretation. But my first guess is the subject matter of this piece. It fills in a lot of blanks of everything else that’s on my website and in my book, and is the darkest of the dark stuff that I could be talking about, despite the writing style that as usual is conversational and flowing and even charismatic. Seeming to be light. But when in actuality what I’m discussing is on the dark end of the spectrum, resulting in permanently altered lives and dissociated split minds. And involves actual memories. So this write up means something. It goes there. And who knows what trickledown effects it’s either already had or will continue to have as a result the longer it’s out there and the more details I continue to add. Hence…..a pretty much 100% synchronicity rate every-single-time I’ve ever loaded this up to work on it……since synchs for me tend to involve the freewill choice to mindfully deviate against the grain and thus, shift my personal timeline.

I searched long and hard as I was writing this, really tuning into my intuition to feel whether it was right or wrong to put this out there, and I never got a no. To my surprise. I expected it, and intellectually doubted things, but have never received a single negative feedback intuitively. Instead, being compelled to push forward and to keep editing the hell out of this thing as much as I felt I needed to in terms of adding more and more details and things that fill in the blanks. A “therapeutic dumping grounds” if you will.

So with that in mind…..

*****

In July 2007 I decided I needed to take a trip from where we were living in Charlottesville, Virginia back to the town where I lived as a kid in Connecticut from ages 7-16, in order to make peace with the place once and for all. Some of the worst experiences of my life happened while living there, and as a result for years I’d been plagued with dreams that always took place “in our old house in Connecticut.” As well as the yard, the surrounding woods, our street, the school bus stop, on the bus itself, and the tract home neighborhood in general. Including the repeating theme of running up the street in slo mo, always trying to “catch the bus.” All of it was the constant “go-to” dream theme, mostly benign, though indicating unresolved subconscious traumas/obsession with the place.

By 2007, when I was 32, it was absolutely OUT-OF-CONTROL. I was dreaming about it all in some form or another pretty much every-single-night. Truly. There was a SERIOUS problem on a subconscious level, and it needed to be dealt with.

I knew something needed to be done. Since I’d just finished a temp job and had time off I decided I would physically drive up there and literally “confront it,” find a way to make peace.

The temp assignment finished up on Friday, July 13th. (I know, right.) I planned to pack up over the weekend and take off early Monday morning, arriving Monday evening. Avoid the weekend traffic and sold out motel occupancies, as everybody packs every motel and hotel in eastern and southern CT to go to the Indian casinos, especially during the summer.

Then on Saturday the 14th I woke up in the “half in/half out” lower astral realms I guess it was, I’m not sure, to find an……It…..crouched next to the bed, whispering fast and furiously to me in unintelligible gibberish. Brown/black in color, covered in “fur,” including the face as well, and probably only about four feet tall max. Tom nicknamed it the “Demonic Ewok” after I described it to him. Its arms hung down between its bent legs, seeming to stare intensely at me (though I couldn’t see eyes) while furiously whispering intense gibberish.

whisperwhisperwhisper….whisperwhisperwhisper….whisperwhisperwhisper….

It was so brazen, that even though I was fully “awake” and staring right at It, like um….HELLO….WTF?! It didn’t care. Never paused, didn’t stop, just hellbent on whatever It was doing/saying. Determined.

whisperwhisperwhisper….whisperwhisperwhisper….whisperwhisperwhisper…. whisperwhisperwhisper….whisperwhisperwhisper….whisperwhisperwhisper…. whisperwhisperwhisper….whisperwhisperwhisper….whisperwhisperwhisper….

I finally broke out of the half in this realm/half in that realm state and found myself fully back in “my” realm. It was no longer next to my bed. (Though as I’ve since learned from another “lower astral critter” encounter, it most likely was still there…….just in the lower astral, which I now couldn’t see since I was fully awake and back in this realm.)

By that point I was starting to consciously realize some things about the mathematical timing of this trip. The date of the trip, 7/16/07, was exactly 16 years to the date of when we moved from CT after the divorce, getting on that plane at Bradley International in Windsor Locks. End destination: LAX. And exactly twice a lifetime later, since I was now 32. And where I’d be checking back into the same exact motel that my “family” stayed in together the last time any of us were ever in the same room together. O.o

It was so mathematically perfect that it screamed of ritualism.

Needless to say, I canceled my trip on Monday.

Though by two weeks later, at the end of the month, the urge to take this trip was still so strong that I caved in and decided to go after all. It was still the same motel, in the same month, twice a lifetime later….but at least it wasn’t the exact same day, like originally planned. O.o

Because of the “Demonic Ewok” I made sure to do MASSIVE protective intents for myself, envisioning angels and such surrounding me and my car for safe passage all the way up there and back, since I’d be going it alone, and racing along on busy interstates surrounded by tens of thousands of other cars. Two in the front, and two in the back. Meanwhile Tom would remain back in Cville.

The trip itself went off without a hitch, completely safe and protected as I drove through Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey, New York City and up through Connecticut, and with the absolute most perfect beautiful weather imaginable. So it was extremely pleasant. I really did feel like I had angels actually surrounding my car, not like it was just something I was imagining, or wishful thinking.

But then….some weird things started happening in the middle of all that innocuous summer beauty that brings a COMPLETELY unexpected and bizarre layer to it all.

(On a funny, random, but still kind of weird side note worth mentioning is how on my way there I thought back to how there was nothing to do and no good places to eat in this town. They didn’t get a McDonald’s until 1990, just before we moved. To say it’s a sleepy, semi-rural farming town [though situated right off the very busy 395] is putting it mildly. As I drove I thought to myself, “There BETTER be a Wendy’s there now!!” And as I exited the 395, onto Lathrop Road, there it was. A Wendy’s that hadn’t been there before, directly across from the motel. The only other fast food restaurant to ever open there since that one damn McDonald’s in 1990. Makes me wonder…. would it have still existed in this timeline had I not had that thought? dun dunn DUUUUNNNN. O.o )

The day after arriving was my big day to tour the entire region where we’d lived, just exploring and seeing everything after being away for many years. But most importantly….. to see it/experience it through my adult self, in a positive way. Overwriting powerless, childhood experiences, and rewriting the subconscious, which was the entire point of this trip.

Surprisingly I still had the entire region completely mapped out/photographically memorized in my mind. Granted, I’d visited once back in December of ’94, and then once again in June of ’95, which was the last time. (The Wendy’s was not there then either! ;D ) But still, I’d been away for 16 years, with an insane level of life experiences in four other states in the middle of it. And factoring in how when I did actually live there I never drove my own self around. I was always driven by others, since I didn’t have a license or a car. But yet I had it all photographically memorized, and like I’d never left. That was wild to me.

So as I was driving down Route 12, entering into the town of Jewett City, I realized that one of the buildings on my right – a long, two storied deal made of grayish colored stone?/brick? with the rows of windows – was in fact the scene of a “dream” (memory flash?) I’d had within the past couple of years. I couldn’t remember exactly when I’d had the dream, but it was vivid enough for me to remember it as I drove past, which indicates that it was relatively recently, anyway. The “dream” had taken place in the Fall time though, with the colored leaves, mainly yellow.

Back when I had the “dream” in Virginia I didn’t recognize or know the building itself, though I recognized/somehow “knew” I was on Route 12, a road I hadn’t been on in many years…..as it often goes in either dreams, or actual memory flashes. But you just know. And guess what…..it turns out I was right. O.o It was Route 12. However I’d just assumed the building itself was made up by my subconscious. But no. It was in fact real, as I was now realizing. So it was a stunning moment when I recognized the scene as being a “dream” I’d had in the past couple of years, only, during a different season. There was even a line of trees in front of this building that theoretically could match up to the trees I saw in my “dream”/memory.

But why I would have dreamt about that building?? I wondered. We only rarely passed through Jewett City as there wasn’t much there to go to at the time.

I would later learn after getting back to Virginia and doing research that this building is (now was) a Catholic school, across from the corresponding Catholic church.

While in Jewett City I’d decided to park my car and walk around its “downtown” just for kicks. Why did I do that? We didn’t live in Jewett City, and the place held no meaningful memories for me. (barely any memories at all, actually.) So why would I have decided to full on park my car and get out and walk around? I didn’t even do that in my own town that I was visiting, where I lived for nine years and have loads of personal memories. But I felt compelled to. And as I was walking on the sidewalk a church across the street started chiming at noon. Playing the Wizard of Oz’s “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” of all songs. The one and only time I’ve ever heard that song played on church bells. And the song was chiming right as I was standing in front of a (now closed) real estate agency called “Monarch Realty.” (as in royalty, not the butterfly, with a crown in the logo.) O.o

I looked back and forth between the word “Monarch” and the church across the street chiming “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” at the same time, feeling surreal and creeped out, despite the hot and sunny summer morning, only because I recognized both as PROMINENT MK Ultra symbolisms/triggers/systems, written about in multiple sources. (Fritz Springmeier and Cisco Wheeler, Cathy O’Brien, etc.) Hello, Monarch Mind Kontrol Programming, going Over the Rainbow. Both programmings are sexual in nature.

After realizing the gray stone building from my “dream” was really real, followed by the Monarch/Somewhere Over the Rainbow thing right after, on top of the strange compulsion to even park and get out of my car in the first place means I became so creeped out that I decided to GTFO, ASAP. I don’t know what TF is happening here, but I’m going straight back to my car. !! O.o

Later I decided to go drive around another neighboring town called Moosup, which we also only went to here and there when I was a kid, as there wasn’t anything there worth going to. (The only memorable thing for me from Moosup was the Aldrich Public Library, in a neat looking 1800s house, which still exists to this day. When I was younger, even grade school level, I LOVED historical/old/vintage stuff, due to feeling out of place in this time period, so that library stuck out for me.)

By strange compulsion I picked a street we never actually went down the few times we did go there….and that’s when I saw a distinct/unusual tall, brownish red colored (Catholic, as I would later realize) church situated on a small green grassy hill…..that once again, I recognized as the scene of yet ANOTHER vivid “dream” that I’d had within the past couple of years. It’s VERY distinct. There’s no mistaking it or denying it, and nothing else looks like it in the entire region.

In the “dream” the church had been next to a school that was situated to the right………. which it actually is in real life too, as I was now seeing. O.o So once again the “dream” was accurate. And in the “dream” I was walking up steep-ish steps heading inside, with other kids/adolescents around me, and the school to the right. And as I saw now in real life, there were indeed steep-ish stone/concrete steps leading up into the front of the church. So it was another stunning, shocking moment recognizing a real life scene I was in as being from a dream. Every last detail matched up. I just sat there in my car looking at this church going “WTF?!?!?!” to myself.

Then there was a third one. Came across another church in the area, in Central Village, that triggered a memory of another dream I’d had within the past couple of years. And keeping in mind that Plainfield, Moosup and Central Village, along with Wauregan and Sterling, all run together. It’s all in the same one small region, and all kids from all five villages are funneled into the same one high school. So to have church memories from different villages makes absolute sense. But this third “dream” had involved a typical white church, smaller in size, with the steeple, in what I’d recognized upon waking as being Connecticut, despite not living there for many years. Once again, you just know.

And I seemed to have found it in real life as I was driving around the region randomly. The only one like it that I saw. And as soon as I saw it the memory was triggered and I recognized it. It was also situated near a main intersection like I’d seen in my “dream.” In my “dream” it had been night, in the winter, and it had been lightly snowing, or about to snow. In the “dream” I had been standing in a parking lot, which was located on the right side of the church, if you’re facing it from the main street (technically the left side of the church if you’re inside), and I was looking upwards at the low lying snow clouds that were reflecting orange colored light from streetlights nearby, also seeing the white steeple. (Anybody who grows up in the north where it snows every winter knows how to recognize those low lying snow clouds, and knows what it smells like when “snow is in the air.”)

Just a “moment in time,” most likely before going in inside. Doesn’t really sound like a dream to me though. More like an actual memory. :/

And in real life guess what…..this church only has one parking lot access……on the right side of the church, if you’re facing it from the street. Exactly where I saw myself in my “dream.” Not only that, but recently when I was revisiting this subject and did research with Google Streetview I saw that there’s a door leading into the basement/ground floor level. In my “dream memory” that’s exactly where we seemed to be headed/pointed in the direction of. I didn’t get the feeling we were going to go around up to the front entrance facing the street. And yes, there are streetlights around, since again the church is right alongside the main street. There’s even a streetlight at the far side of the parking lot, from what I’ve seen on Streetview. Whether they’re orange when they’re on at night, like I saw in my dream reflecting off the snow clouds, I don’t know.

So now taking a look at all of these memories: In the first memory I was heading inside, and pausing to look to my right at the line of yellow leafy trees. In the second Moosup “dream” I was definitely heading inside, glancing at the school building to the right and seeing the other kids around me. In the third I was looking up while about to head inside. So that’s another pattern worth noting. “Heading inside/about to head inside” ….and that’s where things always end. Nothing beyond that. I never get to see what happens once I cross over the threshold of the doorway.

In the first dream, for me to be about to “head inside” it wouldn’t align it seems at first glance, since there was no main entrance to the school facing Route 12. Oh, but guess what…..there was a church building (“Parish Center”) directly to the left of the old Catholic School, as I saw on Street View when researching it more in depth later. And if – theoretically – I was standing outside the Parish Center, heading inside, glancing to my right, then the trees in front of the Catholic school building that I saw in my “dream,” which were mainly yellow in color, would in fact align from that specific view point. It would align 100%. :/

And there was also a fourth, but non church, related “dream memory.” O.o I’d had a couple of dreams during the same time period as the church “dreams” that took place at what I thought was an apartment complex (but which is actually a condo complex I now realize, no difference really). In those “dreams” I was standing in a doorway of an apartment/condo building, at night, about to go inside. But that’s where it always ends. Same as the church “dreams.”

I had that particular “dream” a couple of times actually……but only remembered them when driving to my old middle and junior high schools, which were connected together. When heading down the downhill driveway, back to Route 14-A, I saw the apartment/condo complex from my “dreams” across the street. And realized….holy shit!!!…..as several “dream memories” that took place there from recent times resurfaced.

Some may say, Okay, well, the apartments/condos were across from your school, you “saw” them all the time from 4th – 8th grades, so that explains why they could have been in your dreams……. Except again A) these “dreams” were happening at least 15 years since I’d gone to those schools, and had since lived in four other states with endless other life experiences and adventures, and B) They were happening at night. I never saw that complex at night in my everyday, “real” world while “bussing to and from school,” and C) I was seeing them from the vantage point of being IN the complex, standing in a doorway of one of the units…….about to go in. So the logical explanation doesn’t fit.

So it was shocking to find yet another “recent dreamtime place” that I recognized during my 2007 visit.

Going to add this in as an edit in October, 2024: Towards the end of last month I had another bizarre so-called dream tying into this sordid tale. Completely out of nowhere, and totally unexpected. I wasn’t thinking about this write up or subject matter prior to the dream. It was a dream……though may have been pulling from actual memories. In it I was sitting on my bed in my old bedroom in Connecticut, at night. The lights in my room were off, so I was sitting in the dark, in the early evening. (~6:30-7 pm or so, which means winter time, to already be dark.) The only negligible light was coming in through my bedroom window. And I was a teen again. My “mother” was suddenly standing in the doorway behind me………. wanting to take me to some “bible study” thing. Light was now coming into my room from the hallway light. I could see in my mind’s eye where we would be going – It looked like some church office, or room/area within a church, with floral wallpaper and “old lady” style decorations/furnishings in general. Brightly lit by lights. Very vivid in my mind’s eye. And I was absolutely DESPONDENT. In tears, wanting desperately to not have to go there. In the dream my reasoning was that the bible is really just a bunch of hard to understand gibberish – that was the word I used, gibberish – so therefore I just wasn’t interested. However the intense level of my emotional reaction to the entire thing was a bit beyond just being bored with the idea of gibberish. :/ It’s like saying something innocuous and stupid….but crying full of despondency while saying it. It doesn’t match. [Synch – listening to my classic rock playlist, as always, as I went in and edited this and “…but they never cry outloud. Cry out” from “Gold Dust Woman” lined up with crying. O.o Continuing with “Did she make you cry, make you break down, shatter your illusions of love; Now tell me is it over now, do you know how, to pick up the pieces and go home…..” That’s the song that lined up as I went in and was editing, of all songs. :/ ] So what I was saying, and my hyper emotional response, didn’t line up. Meanwhile my dad was not around. I’ll be touching back on this dream later.

Growing up we didn’t go to church, and Joe and I weren’t given any real religious education. Not until I was 15/9th grade, during the divorce, did my “mom” suddenly start making me and Joe go with her to our local (Catholic) church there in town. Oddly enough though that church was never one of the regional churches I mysteriously dreamt about years later as an adult. However…..it’s the one and only church where I have an actual memory, and not a “dream fragment.” :/ So this is another add-on, as of October 2024.

I originally included this anecdote in this write up, then felt compelled to delete it. Unfortunately for some reason it’s harder to deal with anything that’s truly REAL-real, as opposed to hazy, fuzzy, far away “dream memory fragments.” So………the one actual real weird church memory I have from this time period took place at the main (Catholic) church that we actually went to. It was me and all the other teens that were enrolled in CCD classes, a mix of boys and girls. All of us teens had been divided into two groups for CCD instruction, and that night everybody from both groups was there. Normally the CCD classes met at night in the houses of each respective CCD leader (and I have no bad memories or dream fragments that relate to that, at all; our CCD leader, Mrs. Brodeur, was a warm and friendly and genuinely kind and sincere mother/grandmother type of woman) but for whatever reason, that night we were all meeting together in the basement of the main church that we all went to. So this matches up to that memory of seeing myself going into that other, small white steepled church at night in the neighboring town, pointed towards what would have been the basement entrance. :/ It wasn’t the first time I went into a church basement, at night, for some “group meeting.” The difference is, I remember some of this one, whereas I blocked the others completely out of my mind.

The priest of our church was there – Father Chuck – leading the group meeting. Father Chuck normally seemed like a cool guy – a brunette white guy with glasses, who seemed to be late 30s – and my adult self recognizes that he seemed gay, based on his way of speaking and mannerisms. Which probably explains why he was in the church, especially back then.

All of us CCD kids were gathered together that night in the brightly lit basement of the main Catholic church we all went to. We were sitting in folding chairs at long tables, filling out paperwork/doing written exercises of some sort. Father Chuck was slowly walking the room in his full priest garb – long black robe, collar around his neck – talking to us/walking us through the exercises. The question or subject that is the crux of this memory was something about human needs. Things that people need to get by in every day in life. As 15/16 year olds we all had the typical answers of food, water, shelter, whatever. But Father Chuck slipped something else in. His voice changed and got weird, lower. He mentions sex. Sex is something that people all need.

Everybody got uncomfortable and weirded out, the room dead silent in the awkwardness. I briefly caught the eye of a classmate and fellow neighborhood resident and church goer named Denise who was in my grade. We just looked weirded out/embarrassed, our eyes darting around to our fellow teens around us. Everybody was silent. Denise and I weren’t friends, AT all, because she had personality problems. Just not a likeable chick, with only one friend that I knew of, a crazy chick named Tina. And for whatever reason Denise didn’t like me either, probably because I decided to avoid her. But in that moment when we caught each others’ eyes that was completely gone. It was just two vulnerable, weirded out girls finding themselves in the same situation and seeing that in each other.

And that’s where the memory ends. Nothing else beyond Father Chuck saying that sex is something that everybody “NEEDS.” I literally have no memories of anything else we all did after that, or the end of the evening, and going home, nothing. Just that one true, actual memory and moment in time. The one thing that I have to possibly give credence to everything else. And maybe I should be thankful for that.

This actual memory ticks all the boxes of everything else around it, but because it’s an actual memory, however small and stupid seeming to most people, means I felt like I couldn’t even deal with it. Too embarrassing. Again, it’s easier to deal with the fuzzy, far away hearsay than the actual memories. I can’t explain why I get so embarrassed by actual memories of adults saying REALLY inappropriate, even predatorial level things in creepy voices. Intellectually I know it’s not my fault. I have nothing to do with THEIR behaviors. But it doesn’t matter. It’s completely embarrassing. Too hard to deal with, no matter how stupid and innocuous. It gives me weird chills in my ribs when I think about it, and makes me want to curl into a ball. Which could explain why/how if all the rest of what I think may have happened actually did happen, why my mind just blocked it all out. Adults that you trusted and liked doing a sudden perverted, predatorial turn, eying you up in a way they shouldn’t, saying gross things and betraying that trust and whatever level of buddy/friendship you thought you had with dirty sex shit is just too much. Same situation for some of the weird and inappropriate things my dad had said during this same time period, when I was now 15/16 years old, the memories of which re-emerged during the same time as the church memories. It was gross and creepy. Will be touching on this again later.

*****

That whole crazy time period during my parents’ two year, drawn out divorce from hell that lasted for all of 9th and 10th grades, 1989 – 1991, then extending into 11th/12th in California post-divorce, and which was the background for this church weirdness, was one of the most bizarre and abusive time periods of my life. It’s when my “mom” lost whatever was left of her mind and made me her nonstop abuse target with never ending rage, hatred and jealousy, vicious verbal abuse and minor physical. I’ve talked in other articles, and in one interview, about her severe Borderline Personality Disorder, with the hefty dose of Narcissism. But as noted in the “Hidden Puppetmasters” article, just linked, there was also a demonic manipulation component happening as well with her.

So….why was I now having dreams many years later, 3,000 miles away, of Catholic churches/schools, and a possible third non-Catholic church, and then a condo complex, in the region where we used to live in Connecticut during my childhood, but which we never actually went to, nor paid any attention to, back when we did live in that area?

I have no idea what the implications of this are, only that this isn’t normal and can’t just be swept under the rug. What am I saying here, that I was brought to these places? (for some nefarious purpose?) And it resurfaced in my mind, all those years later? After all, the Catholic church in particular is frequently implicated in scandals, with ties to mind control activities.

It threw me for a loop because I’ve never had any other dreams or memory fragments about these churches/schools. But I do know that my life got REALLY strange during the divorce time period, and that my family was weird in general, and obviously “stuff” has been in my life since childhood. But I never considered that it was THAT kind of “stuff.” I always assumed it was hyperdimensional/”aliens” as well as MILABs (and it is, based on all the evidence and memories) somehow tying into my dad’s time working for military intelligence, reporting to the NSA. But not like, being brought to churches or something where shit is done to kids/teens.

Now, I make mention in the Appendix section of “Chasing Phantoms,” that by the time I was 15 or so, during 9th and 10th grades, I had retreated into a zombified, tranced out stupor, complete with black out periods, and with a lot of weird psychological issues in general, tying into the above mentioned worst, and most abusive time period of my life, which was triggered by my parent’s divorce.

But what if it wasn’t triggered by the divorce? Because let’s face it, Joe had even jokingly asked me when he was 6 and I was 13 “….if Mom and Dad got divorced who would you want to live with?” Even he knew at 6, back in 1987, that they were headed for splitsville, despite the fact they didn’t have fights in front of us. It was obvious they weren’t happy. Just matter-of-fact facts, so when they finally did decide to split it’s not like it was any big shock. Please. If anything it’s Good, now you guys can move on with your lives and finally be HAPPY maybe. There was absolutely no reason whatsoever to be sad about this situation. Especially since from the moment the divorce was announced our “mom” knew she was going to move us to southern California/Midway City, Orange County, where our grandmother, her brother and his wife all lived (who were all originally from Brooklyn, NY). So I just latched onto the whole “we’re moving to California!!!” like nobody’s business. That’s all I cared about. Get me the fuck out of this place.

In addition, despite whatever negativity I’d gone through in life I was still quite clear, alert, alive and normal right up through the end of 8th grade. But once the – not surprising in the least – divorce kicked in during the first month of 9th grade, but also “coincidentally” once my mom started bringing us to church at the same exact time, I completely tanked. That’s when I suddenly sunk into numbed depression, where I could just stare at the wall for hours and hours, became – LITERALLY – tranced out. Which later morphed into mild dissociative states by Fall/Winter of 10th grade. Then full dissociative blackouts by 11th grade, and all the while being obsessed with suicidal ideation.

I lost something in myself during those years, and it completely set the stage for the entire rest of my life. A general apathetic indifference to life/living. I now saw it all as a complete and total joke, and spent many years subconsciously – and not so subconsciously – trying to actually get myself directly killed, or get my body to die young, so I could GTFO of here. Taking in my cat Kitty as a stray, starving/skin and bones kitten in 2000 helped stave that off though, as I decided to rein myself in for her sake, since she was completely reliant on me. I will always remember that “moment of commitment,” I guess you could call it, when I sat there on the floor or me and Joe’s apartment, in the living room/dining area, stray kitten Kitty in my lap, as I thought ahead to the fact that she could live up to 20 years……and whether I was up to that. Was I willing to give myself up for her, for up to 20 years potentially? She will most likely also die before me. So I’ll also have to deal with that. Was I willing to go through that? Of becoming insanely attached to her, only to lose her? I looked down at her in my lap. We obviously know what the answer was. It only ended up being 12 1/2 years, vs. 20, and traversing four states, after moving briefly from SoCal up to Portland, then making the 4,500 mile cross country roadtrip from Portland, Oregon, to Fort Lauderdale, Florida, and I’ve never regretted it. She was with me through it all. So she was directly responsible for making sure that I put aside wild ideas about purposely making myself homeless/skipping out on mainstream life, or getting myself killed, and whatever else was going through my head. Can’t do that when you have a cat to be responsible for. !

But the first time I became aware of the mild dissociative states was Fall/Winter of 10th grade, 1990-1991, as just mentioned. I was jolted from a trance state by my “mom,” as I’d gotten up from the dinner table in a zombified/autopilot state and headed to the spice cabinet, apparently looking for the cayenne pepper. After getting back to the table she cut into my trance state by coldly pointing out, “You’ve been putting cayenne pepper all over your food lately.”

I “awoke”/”came to” seeing myself holding the jar of red pepper over my food that under any normal circumstances shouldn’t have red pepper added to it. Then looking up and around at my “parents,” and Joe (who was just turning 10) at the table, who were all looking at me. (Despite the fact they were going through the divorce they were forced to live under the same roof for the entire two years that the divorce dragged out, as mentioned. Which is why all of us were eating together. We didn’t usually though anymore by that point, but were on that particular day.)

Suddenly “remembered” retroactively how I’d been putting cayenne pepper on everything I ate, for who knows how long. (Which gives credence to the idea that suppressed memories can absolutely resurface at a later date, due to some trigger activating them.) Also immediately realized it had been an unconscious attempt to jolt myself “awake,” make me finally FEEL something, shock me back to consciousness. Because I wasn’t feeling anything anymore.

But apparently even cayenne pepper wasn’t working either, as that had now become another mindless autopilot task that wasn’t registering. So a “solution” that had originally worked, and which my subconscious grappled at to jolt me awake out of a perpetual trance state, was also just getting tuned out. Mouthfuls of hot pepper did nothing.

Any normal mom would have been concerned though over their kid putting cayenne pepper all over their food in a depressed, zombified looking trance state. Not my “mom” though. Just coldly pointed it out, but never questioned it, nor felt the slightest bit of maternal instinct concern. She had NONE of that. We had zero bond or connection dating back to when I was a baby. She never bonded with either Joe or I, don’t have any memories of being held or hugged by her. We may as well have been somebody else’s strange kids that she was being forced to babysit. It eventually got to the point where she wouldn’t even refer to Joe by his name. O.o Only referred to him as “your brother” with slight disdain/blame, like he was my deal, and my fault and problem when talking to me about him. Eventually, when he was 12, she stopped doing most anything for him and tried to pretend he just didn’t exist. I stepped in to fill in the cracks, with clothes, food, help with homework and general care where needed. (like the time he had lice at 12. Summer of ’92, and she gets home from work at about 5:30, and I’m like “Oh and by the way Joe had lice, but it’s all taken care of now.” O.o She just nodded like it was the most normal thing and not a big deal that it was completely handled…….even though I didn’t have a car. Literally ran, not walked, but ran, on foot to Long’s Drugs to get some Rid with my own money, and which also included all Joe’s clothes and bedding being baked in the washer at scalding hot temps, but all reassembled and put away by the time she got home. O.o So he started 6th grade clean, lice free and with a full new wardrobe, after I took him school clothes shopping.)

Same deal with my “dad” though. Zero concern, warmth, empathy or love once I hit a certain age and was no longer a small “cute” child that could be totally controlled. Mentally checked out. Somebody else’s kids that he’d been forced to deal with, whom he’d side eye with cold disdain. (The side eye was coupled with the upward head/nose tilt, so looking down/sideways at you with the tight, slightly pursed lips and general coldness. Exactly like a reptile.)

By 11th grade in Mission Viejo, SoCal I was experiencing full on missing time where entire days, and at one point, a whole week, were blacked out. Gone. Zero recollection of ANYTHING. I was apparently going to school, and my job, like a good little programmed zombie on autopilot, but completely blacked out on any of it. I was also acting catatonic many days, which sounds histrionic, but there’s really no other way to describe my behavior. I’d shuffle to high school in a daze, then proceed to not speak a word for most of the day. Not even to my friends. And where I was just tranced out in every class, not really there. Which is why I was failing almost all of my classes.

I’ve written elsewhere about how my best friend Shirley, who was also a new student and originally from Israel, would just stick by my side despite this. So I have these memories of sitting in the quad on break, just staring off, far away, and her sitting next to me, chatting with these one sided conversations. Or one of her other friends would be with us, and they’d be talking, but always making sure that I was included in their group, even though I didn’t really talk much of the time. Or where she’d be walking with me as we walked home after school, chatting, or singing funny songs from the radio that she liked, while I just listened, and would give small smiles sometimes. To say I was “out of it” is putting it mildly. For whatever reason though she stuck with me, despite me not giving her any reason to. But it really was almost to the point of catatonic many days, mixed in amongst actual black outs. I will be returning to the subject of Shirley, and the whole Israeli connection thing, at the end of this piece.

Then one time during this same period in 11th grade I just…..blacked out in the middle of crossing a street. I was with my then pseudo-boyfriend Don, a senior, heading back to school after eating lunch in the plaza across the street, and we were jaywalking. And I got halfway across the street and just…..shut off. Stopped walking right then and there and was “gone.” I came to only because Don ran back to grab me, going “Hey! What are you doing?? Come on!” trying to get me out of the road, pulling me by my arm. I looked to my right to see all the cars approaching, and started walking again to make it across the rest of the street.

It’s amazing how somebody can be in that state, right in front of everybody, and yet have it go unnoticed. By everybody. Including teachers. Not one teacher ever thought to ask if everything was okay, or why things were this way. Why I never spoke a word, acted catatonic and was failing. For the second semester of 11th grade, January – June, I was switched out/downgraded for three of my classes to lower level classes with different teachers in order to not be completely failed out for the year.

The one thing I wasn’t doing though during my dissociative states was eating. So I fell to 97 pounds during that time, at just under 5’3”, looking gaunt and skeletal.

There was a morning when I was getting dressed for school in the Fall of 11th grade (where I was getting dressed with head to toe black, but completely unconsciously, not planned, not “trying to be Goth” or something) and finally “came to,”/waking up from a trance state. I had been “GONE” for who knows how long. Now I was back. Finally SAW my reflection in my dresser mirror, in my head to toe black ensemble picked out unconsciously, and how skeletal/gaunt my body and face were. Was immediately alarmed. Which led to trying to remember when I’d last eaten. [ synch – The word “remember” from Billy Joel’s “You May Be Right” on my Classic Rock playlist that I had loaded up lined up exactly when I was rereading this/editing] which led to realizing that I couldn’t even remember the day before…………….which led to realizing that this lack of memory extended to the entire past week. I had no recollection of ANYTHING for many days. Couldn’t account for any of it. School, homework, my job, interaction with my coworkers, couple of friends, my boyfriend…….eating…….none of it. Gone. [On another funny note, the chorus of that Billy Joel song is “You may be right, I may be crazy, but it just may be a lunatic you’re looking for / turn out the lights, don’t try to save me / you may be wrong for all I know, you may be right…” Kind of fitting I guess as I try to make sense of this sordid tale….]

And no, there was no mention of my scary weight loss from my “mom,” zero concern over my gaunt appearance. That was par for the course by that point in life.

So even though I question how I could theoretically have “STUFF” happening to me that’s completely blacked out to THAT level, I can actually understand how….when thinking back on 10th and 11th grade, and the way I was apparently still going to school and work in a disassociated state, but with some other part of my mind “taking over” and doing the bare minimum. Yet with zero recollection of any of it. Just….gone. Even shutting off, mid step, in the middle of the street in broad daylight. O.o

But that’s why I always say real life isn’t quite like Hollywood portrays it. At least in my case. Hollywood makes movies like M. Night Shayamalan’s “Split,” which is an awesome movie, no doubt. But real life is a lot more subtle. I wasn’t answering to another name, wasn’t operating in some completely different persona, with a different age, gender and name. Whatever “took over” for me when I “skipped out” did the bare minimum of what it needed to do, and it still responded to Carissa. It recognized that school, and the job for money, were absolute priorities, bare minimum. So nobody around me knew the difference. Never heard a peep from anybody at school, my job, my friends or boyfriend in 11th grade that something was amiss in terms of “consistency.” Even though I myself had zero memory of anything, it held the body, like a placeholder. Yet somehow forgot to eat, as it always does, as I’ve learned. Eating is not the “Placeholder’s” priority. Food was ALWAYS the first thing to be shoved aside, for me, during extremely stressful times when the “placeholder” took over and the rest of me checks out. (It’s been many years since I’ve experienced this phenomenon, btw.)

And that’s reality, versus Hollywood. Though I have actually experienced alternate “personas,” as mentioned in “Chasing Phantoms,” that while also not responding to alternate names did in fact have different personality traits. Making it something that I haven’t read about elsewhere, other than what seems to be Gunther Russbacher’s “Mind Control in Amerika – 5 Easy Steps to Create a Manchurian Candidate,” also mentioned in CP and on my website. We always typically hear of all or nothing, black/white scenarios. Either you’re fully blacking out with full on alternate personalities that take over, responding to different names, ages and genders, and with their own personality traits. Really dramatic! and Hollywood!! Or nothing is happening at all, and your mind is completely healthy and whole and functional!

But I’ve been in the middle – with these “persona overlays,” for lack of a better way of putting it, that do seem to have their own personality traits…..but which always still respond to “Carissa.” And again, the only source of which I’ve come across that describes this being Gunther’s. My brother Joe also experienced this, but even more so, since he did actually start responding to other names along with his black out periods, also detailed in “CP” in the section that talks about Gunther Russbacher. We were both “split,” but Joe even more so. His black out periods started when he was a teen now living back in Connecticut with our “dad,” after being released from jails/juvees, and coincided with criminal mayhem, as he would figure out. He’d have missing time and vague memories of running around engaging in criminal shit during those black out periods, things that would get verified later, like Oh, I guess that really was me, I did do that…. O.o ……and would have times where he wanted to be addressed as Shawn. He’s not Joe. He’s Shawn Hill.

What’s interesting in my case, versus other people who describe having MK’d alters, is that my core personality/ego is just SO intense (something that was once noted by a very talented intuitive – it was the first thing she picked up when she tuned into me, the intensely strong ego core that wasn’t like other people she’d tuned into she said) that it seems, in my opinion, that it won’t allow for any of these other personalities to have their own names, and be able to take over to THAT level. The “NEED FOR CONTROL” is INTENSE. It’s always “CARISSA.” Period. Even when my “mom” asked me around the age of 6/7 if she could nickname me Carrie I was immediately like “NO!” extremely adamant, annoyed and even offended. Inside I was thinking, I’m CARISSA. Period. THAT’S my name, and the ONLY name I will ever respond to!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Carrie…..pssshh….stupid name…. >:(

Don’t ask me where that was coming from at only the age of 6/7. !!! (Once again……intensely strong ego core, and even at that young age. And maybe it was triggered by already existing MK programming that was going on under the radar, of which I had indications of, and which was trying to fragment the mind. So that was my six year old self’s effort to “hold on to ‘ME’. “NO! You can’t call me by another name or tell me I’m somebody else!! I’m ME!! I’m CARISSA!”)

The dominating alpha over the other sub personas that at best, are allowed to have their own traits based on what’s needed when taking over the body…but nothing else. “I’M ME!!! NOT YOU!!!!” And most of the time while NOT actually blacking out. They’re allowed to take over….while the main personality is still operating, responding to “Carissa.”

I’ve experienced this as well on a couple of occasions, creating a LITERAL split mind operating at the same exact time. The closest thing to describe it would be like a “split screen” on a TV show. It’s wild. In one instance one personality was bawling its eyes out hysterically while the other had no idea that was even happening. Bawling hysterically to my bestie Mike, who was also one of my roommates, in December of ’95. I was 21, and my car had gotten destroyed in a nasty car accident earlier that afternoon on the 5 freeway, just south of L.A.   Car started out in the far left lane, and wound up three lanes over, in the far right lane after being knocked around like a freaking pinball from another idiot driver. Came to a rest almost completely backwards, tires popped, front end destroyed….directly underneath the exit sign for “Florence Avenue.” The name of my dead Grandma. Emerged from my car in a daze, standing smack in the middle of the 5 freeway in the middle of rush hour, gazing up at that sign with Grandma’s name in wonder. Until a nice Hispanic UPS guy still in his brown uniform on a motorcycle pulled over and led me to the side of the freeway by my arm, concerned, and a 40-ish brown haired White woman in the passenger seat of a car said to me out her open window as they slowly passed by me, “Are you okay??!” I just gazed back at her, not responding.

NOT my fault, accident ruled in my favor by the responding officer on the scene after examining the physical evidence, which corroborated my version of events: the young female driver of the other car clipped the rear right bumper of my car with the front left bumper of her car like a complete idiot when trying to pass me, and sent me careening into the guard rail, repeatedly, over and over between the rail and her car to my right, sandwiching me in….then after she finished “passing” me my car continued its out of control careering all over the f’ing freeway. I completely gave up trying to control any of it, squeezing my eyes shut in helpless 21 year old kid panic, listening to the horrible sound of crunching fiberglass, thinking over and over “please don’t let me kill any little kids….please don’t let me kill any little kids….please don’t let me kill any little kids….” just over and over. Until finally it was over, and my car was in the far right lane. Miraculously not hitting a single other car despite jam packed rush hour south of L.A.   A total impossibility. It was like there was a bubble of protection put around my car.

The responding officer calmly listened to my version of events (the other girl/idiot driver had no explanation, unlike me, who calmly and methodically laid it out), frowning, then without a word ambled to the back of my car, bent down to look at the rear bumper, then over to her car, bending down to inspect her front bumper, then returned to us, making notes on his pad, but not saying anything to either of us. Later as he drove me to the Santa Fe Springs police station to wait for a ride he told me he was going to rule the accident was not my fault. The evidence matched up. Her car’s blue paint was on my rear right bumper, and my car’s burgundy paint was on her front left bumper. It was nice to be vindicated. So I got the full insurance pay out, with an extra $100 on top of that. Not sure what that was for though. Mike was the one who came to pick me up from the station. He let me know that the freeway was in full “Sigalert” by that point, according to the radio, due to the accident creating a back up. And when talking to the responding police officer at the scene, dealing with the chick who hit me, being driven to the station, calling Mike, being driven home, and into the rest of my night, I was completely emotionally flat and numb, expressionless, speaking monotone. Detached, disconnected, yet paradoxically completely alert.

But later that night, when hanging out with Mike, I had no idea I was even crying about the entire situation, because I was still “seeing through the eyes of the other personality.” Everything looked normal to me. We were just hanging out. So when I heard him go “oh no!!! Don’t cry!!” all concerned and suddenly looking alarmed, leaning in towards me with wide eyes, I thought to myself, completely puzzled, “What is he talking about??” Truly mystified. Seeing the room through normal, non-crying eyes, feeling fine. Then a few seconds later “I” merged in with?/fully switched over to? the other side of me that had apparently been losing its shit over the accident. “I” had no idea though until Mike told me. And now I was sobbing hysterically, just crying and crying and crying and crying, unable to stop. “I” would have kept operating in some false reality that thought we were just hanging out, talking, totally chill, having no idea that I was actually bawling my eyes out. THAT’S disturbing. O.o If I was able to do that then, for a short period of time………then what’s the limit??? How long would I be able to operate in a delusional state, “seeing” a false view of myself navigating through a world that’s not actually happening if I’m not being interrupted and jolted back to the true reality?!?

That’s what I mean by the weird “split screen” phenomenon and how intense the ego core is, and how it’s refused to fully relinquish control. And the part of me that devised the cayenne pepper solution is also the same ego core part of me that still had that fight, still trying, trying, trying to gain the upperhand on whatever was trying to defeat me into oblivion.

Related to this, I’ve also seen how in abductions when I’m drugged/tranced up and They’ve been trying to get me to do ick things, I’m fighting back. Despite the drugging/hypnotic trance. My core ego self is still fighting/pushing through with everything it has, and saying “NO!….NO!……” A fighter of epic proportions. (which also explains the banged up marks I’ve gotten on my body out of nowhere. Go to bed fine, wake up with fight marks. Or get fight marks in the middle of the day out of nowhere. Scuffed up knuckles, scratches, including large, freshly formed and barely coagulated scratches, bruises, raw fingernail gouges, the pics of which are included in the attached link; waking up with a severely messed up back when I went to bed just fine, and which lasted for over 3 weeks. I almost thought my back would never be okay again, that’s how bad it was. Waking up with a severely messed up left shoulder/upper ribs area when I also went to bed just fine. As if somebody had pinned my arm behind my back, and inflicted additional pressure onto my back at the same time in a very violent way. Waking up with severely messed up legs when I went to bed just fine, as if somebody had made me do 1,000 squats, or forced me into a very painful and prolonged bent/squat position that severely damaged my legs, leaving me almost unable to walk for a full week after. You name it. The nocturnal abduction and programming-related violence/injuries has increased noticeably since 2021 for me. Sometimes Tom wakes up with injuries on the same mornings I do as well, be it leg injuries, scratches/gauges, etc., indicating that whatever it is, it’s going after both of us. Though I have REALLY been on the receiving end of the brunt it. These things f’ing HATE me. O.o )

But all of which means, for a full blackout to happen, where I’m walking around in a zombified stupor with no recollection of any of it later on, something truly next level needs to be going on.

Even in my journal from 12th grade I referenced blacking out, with regards to my “mom’s” behavior. Wrote one time about how, as usual, after one of her extremely abusive tirade rampages where she was saying the most horrific things that no mother should ever say, and for no reason, that’s the most important part – these rampages would just happen out of nowhere, for no discernable reason – I just “blacked it out,” as I noted. So within ten minutes of it happening my mind had already “deleted” whatever she’d said. So I knew something REALLY bad had happened, we’d had yet another fight, but my mind had no recollection/knowledge of any of what she actually said, as I wrote in my journal, feeling far away and numb. So when I think of the things that I do remember – as bad and completely next level as they are – I have to realize that it’s still not as bad as the shit that I was instantaneously deleting. Can only imagine what those things were.

I think it could actually has to do with referencing the things I talk about here. Who knows. It’s something I’ve said to Tom, when trying to figure out WTF would have been worse than the things I actually remember her saying. Because it was nasty shit. So what could have been worse than a mother saying “I hate you and everything about you!!!!” wishing that she “could go back and not HAVE you, OR your brother!!!” (By that point she refused to refer to Joe by his name, as mentioned. It was always “YOUR BROTHER!” Never Joe. Just “YOUR BROTHER! YOUR BROTHER!” Like he was MY deal. My problem. Not hers. Which was fitting I guess, considering that Joe had point blank told me at age ten, in the kitchen in Connecticut, “I consider YOU to be my Mom, not Mom.” Joe was my deal, according to her by 1992 in SoCal. My problem. Mine. Something that belonged to me. Not her. Even though she made him, carried him in her body and birthed him. He was mine apparently. Not hers. Something he also saw/felt. Same as me, who didn’t even hesitate to step in and become his substitute mom when she refused to feed him, buy him clothes, or do anything in the way of actually being a mom.) Calling me a “piece of shit!!!” and every other nasty name/cuss slur she ever called me, always having temper tantrum rages because I still existed/was alive and was living under the same roof as her, screaming that she wanted me out of her life forever, wanted me to be far, far away from her, while always threatening/blackmailing to kick me out……and simultaneously extorting money out of me so that I could be allowed to stay.

By the end in 12th grade it was pretty much a daily occurrence of the most vicious verbal abuse, insults and name calling, as well as minor physical abuse, always aimed for the head and face. Wanting to claw off my face in a rage, while screaming like a banshee, trying to hit me in the face, threatening to punch me in the face, throwing heavy objects at my head, grabbing a fistful of my hair and slamming my head into the car window with her right hand while she was driving with her left….pissed because I wouldn’t take her fight picking bait, and remained silent. Just set her off. Demons like her don’t like to be ignored and will get violent if they can’t get a reaction. She wanted to bash in and destroy the face and head. i.e….the pretty teenage face that she felt overshadowed her, and the brain that was truly more than twice her IQ level. (me being smarter than her since early childhood was a massive bone of contention for her. I’m not kidding when I say she was operating at about a 70-80 IQ, MAX, when you do the research into what the capabilities are for each IQ level. No higher.) Not a day went by without abuse in some form or another. Not a moment of peace while at “home.” She even began marking up all her food with marker lines to keep track of the levels to ensure that neither Joe nor I would dare take any for ourselves. Luckily I had money to get my own food since I was always working, but Joe wasn’t so lucky.

But that’s the thing….I remember all of this. So maybe, possibly, the things she was saying that I would immediately delete in my mind had to do with referencing the things that I allude to here in this write up. Stuff that was so next level I just shut down when I heard it. Just “deleted it.” Because I remember the insults. I remember the hate. I remember the violence. I remember the extortion threats. So what could be worse than that? oh wait………………..that’s right…………………..yeah………………………… References to the other maybe.

Cue the instant delete.

I don’t know. It’s just theories. So there’s an established history of me doing this “black out” and immediate erasing of horrific stuff thing for anything that was “too much to handle.” I’m VERY good at this, apparently. Mentioned another instance of doing this in Part II of “Chasing Phantoms” as well. Something very horrific was said by “Them”….and I IMMEDIATELY deleted it, because it was just that bad. I remember the first thing they’d said, which was still next level as far as most people would be concerned. But apparently not as bad as what came after. O.o The second thing they said, whatever it was, shocked me into full mental meltdown. Instant delete. And I remember what the full mental meltdown felt like, eyes bugging out as I stared straight ahead, hearing the words that were shocking me to the core of my being….and then that split second where the brain just goes “NO” unable to deal….and shuts it off. But I can’t remember what was actually said. And considering what I’ve woken up in the night hearing them say during nocturnal MILABs programming, and which I do still fully remember despite how bad it was (mentioned in CP, but where I didn’t get into the details because I don’t want to talk about it) means again….what the hell was being said that was any worse than that?? O.o

As it was, around the same time the church “dreams” started happening (memories resurfacing?) around 32, 33, I started also spontaneously remembering very inappropriate sexual related stuff that my dad had said to me when I was 15/16. All of it suddenly started appearing in my mind around the same time period. It’s weird. On the one hand it could be false memories/programming being remotely instilled in me. But I later did pendulum dowsings (about the churches thing), then tarot readings on it all, which said otherwise, and which I’ll be getting back into.

It’s been said in the world of MK research that once a person hits 30 and beyond the memories start to surface for whatever reason. That’s apparently the basis for the whole “getting thrown from the Freedom Train” ritual sacrifice thing at the age of 30. Get rid of the MK’d slave before they start to remember things. So maybe it makes sense why I started remembering weird, suppressed things during this time, post-30. I was still alive. (despite numerous near-death instances throughout my life leading up to that point, most of which had direct, counter intervention happening, sometimes right before my eyes, to undo some massive freewill violating no-nos.)

But when those memories of my dad resurfaced around 2007, my face immediately got hot with embarrassment/shame, as if it was my fault that he was saying those weird things to me. I remember the full context of where we were and why he was saying what he said, what the conversation was that lead up to it, which indicates they’re real memories and not fabrications. But I buried them for years. They’re also completely him, based on the rest of his personality. They’re exactly the types of things he would say. Very realistic. It’s also in line with bizarre things he liked to tell me about when I was little as well. Just zero social and emotional intelligence on his part, zero knowledge of how you’re supposed to raise kids, but especially little girls. You don’t tell little girls all about how Catherine the Great, who was one of the rulers of Russia, apparently liked to fuck horses, and how she would have them brought into her bedroom and hoisted with ropes and pullies over her bed so she could get down. You also don’t tell little girls in great detail all about the doings of Vlad the Impaler, who liked to kill and eat people and drink up their blood. I was probably about 9? 10? when I learned about Catherine the Great, and about 6 when he decided out of nowhere that I NEEDED to learn all about Vlad, because that one happened when we were still living in Massachusetts, and we left Mass when I was 7. Literally wrote out this two page or so explanation thing about Vlad, and his history, and everything he did, on yellow notebook paper and made me read it. O.o That’s how I know I was bare minimum at least 6, since that’s when I learned to read. It only took me about two weeks to learn how to read (via Phonics) and once I did I took off on an insane reading obsession, reading everything I could get my hands on, voraciously. So by the time I was 7/First grade I was at a level that was already several grades ahead. Which is why I could fully read and process his weird, handwritten nonsense. But I can still see it in my mind, standing there in the kitchen in Westfield, the sun coming through the windows, and his handwriting, on the yellow pages, just the whole deal. He loved to tell me about things that he knew would scare me/freak me out as a little kid, and just sit back with a smile, enjoying the fear.

Another time, when I was about 5-6, he decided out of nowhere that I needed to know that Guess what, someday the Sun is going to go Nova. And explained what that meant, and what it would do to Earth. I remember my 5-6 innocent little kid self panicking at everything he was telling me and asking, “Can we dig down into the ground to hide???!” [from the sun expanding and engulfing the entire Earth.] Nope! he gleefully told me, reveling in the worry/panic this scenario caused me. And just leaving me sitting there on my bed, wide eyed, realizing “There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.” :/

(As an adult I can assure that he was 100% wrong, and my “stupid little kid self” at only 5-6 years old was actually 100% right, in that you absolutely CAN “dig down into the ground to hide.” And it’s exactly how countless people have actually survived past extreme cataclysms on the surface of Earth, whatever they may be from, and lived to help continue the existence of the human race. He may have gleefully proclaimed “NOPE!” in a sadistic, self-satisfied, socio/psychopathic/Reptilian/Demonic way, but guess what? He was wrong. The Hopi Indians were taken underground by the “Ant People,” as we all now know, to survive what was happening on the surface. There was also Derinkuyu in Turkey, and multiple other underground installations that archaeologists have since found/excavated, designed to house tens of thousands of people and domesticated animals underground to apparently survive some long term calamity happening on the surface. And now most “conspiracy theorists”/Truthers are well aware of the myriad of government/military/“OTHER” (alien, etc.) underground bases located all over the world. Fully stocked, self sustaining, complete with seed banks, DNA banks and roads/highways and vehicles that don’t rely on gasoline, ready to go in the event shit hits the fan on the surface. So my 5-6 year old little girl self was a f’ing genius actually to put emotions aside and immediately hone in on the #1 most viable solution, like a problem solving adult boss or leader – dig underground. The idiotic low level human possessed by some demon or Reptilian masquerading as my “Dad” was a flat out liar to say NOPE! for the sake of energy/fear/loosh feeding.)

As far as anything I’ve remembered, and determined via pendulum dowsing later on, he never actually touched me. But he said some things that to this day, at 47 years old, I’ve never repeated outloud to anybody, feeling embarrassed/shameful and like it’s somehow my fault. Even though I was just a teen. It’s because of this that I fully understand when abuse victims say they feel shameful, and like it’s their fault. I get it, completely, and I wasn’t even a FULL ON sexual abuse victim. But I definitely still get it.

I decided to do a pendulum dowsing on the church thing though after returning back to Virginia during that summer of 2007, to try to get to the bottom of things.

Pendulum dowsing for those who may not know involves using a pendulum, usually constructed out of a semi-precious stone and/or actual quartz-based crystal that hangs from a chain, while asking questions. You establish what direction “YES” “NO” and “MAYBE” will swing in (vertical up and down, side to side back and forth, and/or clockwise/counter clockwise circles) and then proceed to ask the questions. Ideally your subconscious takes over, and makes the pendulum swing in the correct correlating directions……and consistently. That’s the key. And ideally you should also FEEL “connected.” Because there have been times I’ve attempted pendulum dowsings where I wasn’t feeling truly connected. And then times where I was. You should ideally be able to feel the very obvious difference.

The pendulum I was using was purchased at the then-Quest Books in downtown Cville ~2006, a pretty pink Rose Quartz deal hanging from a silver chain, that I still have to this day. I once used it, along with a homemade pie chart numbered 0-9, to divine the winning Pick 3 Virginia Lotto numbers, winning $1,000. Tom was there when I divined the winning 3 numbers, where the pendulum kept giving me the same three numbers, in the same order, over, and over, and over, and over. (Despite the fact I was having a full on conversation with him at the same time, off to the side!! I was literally doing two things at once, and the whole “divining the winning Lotto numbers” thing was secondary to the conversation I was having with him. So I remember I kept looking down at the homemade piechart as we were chatting, noticing that the pendulum was giving me the same three numbers, in the same order…..and again…..and again……..Finally I pulled myself away from the conversation and realized Okay, maybe this is legit……let’s go play these numbers…….) And he was there when I purchased the tickets at the Shell gas station on Pantops (both “exact three,” and “any combination” just to cover all bases). And he was there when I suddenly burst out “OH MY GOD….!!!!” when looking at the Virginia Lottery results on their website for the 9 p.m. draw, and the way I started bouncing all over the entire living room, freaking out. But then it never worked again after that, because I became so freaked out when using it that it affected my ability to work with it. ;D (my hand was literally shaky, just so freaked out that IT HAD ACTUALLY WORKED!!!!! HOLY SHIT!!!!!!! O.o )

But the first question I asked the pendulum when dowsing the answers to the whole “Church Mystery” was, Was I actually really brought to these places??

YES. Got that several times during my line of question.

Was it during 9th and 10th grade?

YES. Got that several times.

Was my mom involved?

Maybe…. Got that several times. Maybe…. Maybe….. Maybe…..

If it’s not a full YES, but not a full NO either then it means the answer is something not so straightforward. Think…..keep digging. So, possibly she wasn’t in her right mind when she did so??….

YES. Got that several times.

Another possibility is that she would just drop me off and leave me to the wolves. And a “dream”/memory I have from age ~5, mentioned in “Chasing Phantoms,” where my mom was talking to the “White Coats” while I waited off to the side, in some facility, matches that idea. (Will return to that in a little bit.) So while she was “involved” she wasn’t actually participating.

Was my dad involved? Did he know about it?

NO. Got that several times. Interesting. But makes sense I guess. He didn’t have anything to do with church, and just worked all the time during those two drawn out years of the divorce from hell, trying to stay out of the house as much as possible. This lack of Dad involvement also correlates to the most recent dream I had in October 2024, added in earlier above. My “mom” was in my childhood bedroom doorway as I sat depressed on my bed, in the dark, wanting to take me to some “bible study” thing thing that had me absolutely despondent and begging to not have to go, meanwhile my Dad was not there. He was at work, doing a 3-11 night shift, and wouldn’t be home for at least 4-5 hours. He wouldn’t have known. So that “dream,” which may have been pulling from real life memories, is actually quite accurate in that sense. (The reason I include this dream is because again, it happened out of nowhere. I ran it by Tom, confused. I’m not kidding when I say that despite writing out this entire document I can’t fully accept what I’m saying. He’s helped in terms of me trying to make sense of things. His verdict? Yeah, it seems to be pretty damn real. :/ Especially all the stuff that correlates/aligns per Google Streetview. I went on Streetview to try to disprove what I supposedly “remembered,” only to get validation at every turn. And he understands, probably better than me, why and how my mind was able to erase most of it. He’s seen the after effects all around the situation that manifest with me, which probably help to reinforce his belief that Yeah, this happened.)

So, was it all through my mom?

YES.

The pendulum dowsing in this particular session was strong, clear and defined, and consistent in the answers. It isn’t always so, which is why I even entertain the possibility that what it was saying was correct. The pendulum moved in a strong defined way between the Yes, No and Maybe answers, always answering the same way to each question.

*****

Now regarding my so-called mom: Flashback to 1996, when I was 21 and working as a front desk clerk at a hotel in Anaheim, California, right next to the main gates of Disneyland. (Which I’ve STILL never gone to once, to this day. I’ve always had an inexplicably intense distaste for the idea of Disneyland, and wanted NOTHING to do with it. [Possible tie-in holdovers with MK programming, which utilizes a LOT of Disney, and which I have evidence of in my own personal situation, from Peter Pan and Tinkerbell to the Disney cartoon version of Alice in Wonderland, and so on.] And even though ironically I had to know everything about the place for my job, which was selling Disney vacation packages as one of their hotel booking deals. So in 1996 if I was checking you in and handing you your custom vacation package with tickets, and brochures, etc., that you’d spent years saving up for so you could take your family to southern California on your “DREAM VACATION!!!” I could tell you everything you needed to know about Disneyland with relation to our hotel: “THE SCRIPT” that I repeated verbatim, over and over, hours a day, to most everybody I checked in. From Disneyland’s operating hours, to the parking, and/or the free shuttle, depending on your choice, to info about the then-Electric Light Parade, to the nightly fireworks show, to you name it. Yet, had never been there once myself, and DETESTED the idea. Weird burning hatred for even the word “Disney,” let alone “DISNEYLAND” that nobody around me understood.)

So I tried asking my VERY psychic Filipino boss Edwin, who was the Front Desk Supervisor and whom I was buddies with, about my so-called “mother” and what was going on in that situation, because it was just so next level bizarre.

Edwin was 48, and I viewed him as kind of a substitute dad figure. (What I was thinking all at once, but not actually conveyed to him, was the way we never had a bond, even when I was a baby. The way her touch made me cringe/feel revolted, by the age of 6. The way I wished she was gone by the time I was 9, while also fantasizing at that age about being able to get away from her and be living on my own, in a “running away and hiding” scenario. The way I proclaimed to my friend Mary at age 10, on the swings on the playground in 5th grade, about how when I’m an adult I’m going to kick her out of my life and I will never see her again!!! She was this hideous thing I needed to escape from.)

Edwin didn’t know these details due to anything I’d already told him. But he didn’t have to. He’d already demonstrated several times over his beyond freaky deaky level “ALL KNOWING” psychic abilities that just got inside your head. And important to note, he normally never had any issues revealing (innocuous) tidbits about my life, including predictions and such. (He predicted Tom, confirming my own later independent vision about Tom coming into my life, down to the age/time period when it would happen; as well as accurately telling me that I would never get married, nor ever have kids. Which was already my plan. Even though I was great with kids, babysat for years and kids loved me [because I never forgot what it was to be a kid, and never forgot how they perceive the world, and what makes them happy and the things they think are fun] I didn’t want anything to do with any of it. In large part due to what I was witness to and subjected to growing up. But also because I knew “it wasn’t what I came here to do” / would interfere with my life mission…..though I never told Edwin that either.)

However in this instance Edwin just got this tense look on his face when I asked about my “mom,” and looked away, avoiding eye contact and instead focusing on his computer. He refused to even GO there, wouldn’t touch that subject with a ten foot pole.

Normally Edwin got a bit of a kick talking about psychic stuff and being able to reveal his abilities. (Only to me though. Out of all the employees at that job I was the one he bonded with/clicked with, which kind of mystified my coworkers who puzzled over our weird dynamic. With me only he openly talked about his psychic abilities and past life stuff, because he knew he could, because he knew I was different.)

But not this time. Edwin totally shut down. I tried to press, but he just shook his head, continuing to focus on his computer, frowning. The tenseness is what got me. Edwin had never looked like that before with any other subject we’d talked about. Whatever was going on with her was so bad he wasn’t even going to go there. Not even a smidge.

There was another incident, when Edwin and I were talking about past lives. He revealed that this life was supposed to have been a “clean slate” for me, his phrase, since I’d been beating myself up lifetime over lifetime for things I did long ago (details which were independently confirmed by another intuitive friend I had years later). And instead this life has been the absolute “worst of all” in terms of what I’ve allowed to be done to me, as he said.

As he told me that his eyes filled with tears, seeing/feeling everything that had gone on – things I now realize that I didn’t consciously know at that time, due to a fragmented/compartmentalized mind. But he SAW. He knew, and it affected him intensely. He turned and ran off, embarrassed about starting to cry.

There was more he and I discussed about that supposed life, and all the supposed trickledown effects it’s had on every incarnation since then, where I’ve chosen shitty circumstances for myself to beat myself up forever and ever, never forgiving myself. In a way “counseling” me on it, which I’ve taken to heart all these years later. So those talks weren’t for nothing, and Edwin may be a large part of what helps me finally “break the pattern” on a soul level. (What’s funny is that when I was telling Tom about it he said the exact same thing, verbatim, that Edwin said…..but which I’d forgotten until he said it. But it was something to the effect of, How I’d blown that past life situation out of proportion. It wasn’t as bad as I’d made it out to be in my spirit self, so therefore the ongoing self punishment wasn’t necessary. When he said that my eyes got huge, because I remembered that Edwin had said the same exact thing, 20 years earlier. Edwin said it due to actual psychic knowing about what had happened. Tom said it due to intuitive ideas/sensing.)

Another time I brought up to Edwin the way in which I REALLY feel like I should be able to move objects with my mind, and do all this other psychic stuff. But I can’t!! And it’s maddening!!!!! He frowned and immediately confirmed like a stern parent, with his slight accent, “YES! You DID used to be able to do that!! But you ABUSED it!!!!! So it was taken AWAY from you!!!!!!” In the same way Tom has “joked” that he could easily imagine me psychically throwing pyramid blocks at people’s heads who’d pissed me off back in the day. (Tom’s wry “jokes” are usually always based on real psychic intuition and/or straight up premonitions.)

Me and Edwin were a riot together though, that’s all I can say. ;D But whatever’s gone on with my “mom” it was obviously something to a WHOLE other, extremely nefarious level that Edwin wasn’t prepared to discuss, and he didn’t even want to GO there.

*****

Factoring everything together:

• “Dream” when I was 5 (more like vivid memory; it was abnormal for me to have “dreams” like this at this age – this was the only one of its kind ), where I was in a facility, standing around waiting for the adults to lead me where to go next. This was mentioned earlier in this piece, as well as in Part II of “Chasing Phantoms.” I look over to my right and see a Caucasian guy in white coat (the “White Coats” as I call them)……talking to my mother. My dad’s not there. But whatever this is, she’s clearly involved in it/voluntarily working with Them. More details of this memory are in “CP.” This was the same exact time period, ~5, when I awoke in bed one morning and felt something funny going on “down there.” (Also discussed in “CP.”) And upon investigating I found some dried amber colored crusty stuff on me. NOT normal for any little girl. Mystified, I picked it all off, but did report it to my “mom” later. My ~5 year old self wasn’t sophisticated enough to realize that I should have left it all on there before telling her, so she could see it for herself, as proof.

When I was later discussing this incident with Joe in Portland, OR in early 2002, when he was 21, he immediately recognized what I was talking about, and said it was dried iodine. Then proceeded to discuss how he knew this and what he remembered seeing of the procedure being done to other females during his abductions/MILABs happenings. (Also discussed in depth in “CP,” which is available as a free downloadable PDF, so, not trying to make a buck or something.) He said it had to do with being implanted, something he claimed to have witnessed “Them” do to females, and where they do it internally, to hide it. The iodine would have been used as a disinfectant in the procedure, and again, the details of which he provided.

During the same time period when Joe explained what had gone on to me with the implant/iodine he created a signal detection devise using an old style rotary phone. The phone base was what could detect the actual signals, due to the magnetics and electronics that he repurposed, and the receiver is where you could hear any signals being generated. [in the write up on my site called “The Vortex” I talk about Joe’s inexplicable and genius level knowledge of all things electronics and radios after I got him back in my life in 2000; he never studied the subjects a day in his life, just “knew” everything there was to know about it all, like it had all just been downloaded into his head, which I discuss in much more detail in the Vortex write up.]

I later ran the details by Tom, who’d majored in physics and electrical engineering at university, on a full scholarship, and he confirmed that Yeah actually, that’s legit what Joe did with the phone, it could actually be converted into a signal detection devise. And meanwhile when Joe moved the phone base over my entire body from head to toe the only place that generated a signal was when Joe hovered the phone base over my uterus area. I was fully expecting up by the head/ears, but……nothing. Only in front of the uterus/reproductive organs, every time. O.o We both looked at each other like, whoa….wtf?! Wow!

Probably also explains why I was so convinced as a kid and teen that “something was wrong with me” with regards to my reproductive system. I was just convinced I was damaged, broken, you name it in there, even though I was perfectly healthy. But I always felt something was really wrong in there. I think I was subconsciously remembering stuff poking around in there as a kid during abductions, and my innocent little kid mind who had no idea what was going on or why, and internalized it all in an alarmed way, thinking my female parts were all messed up and broken. Maybe they even told me lies about it all, who knows. But I carried that with me well into adulthood, just assuming that I’m all messed up in there, even though I actually wasn’t, and for zero logical reason. And now at 50 I actually am messed up in there. :( Tumors/fibroids, from what I can feel. Big ones. In the same area that set off the signal detector back when I was 27. I’m still skinny even at 50, so it makes them pronounced and able to be felt very easily, versus in women who are chubby/fat/obese, who don’t even realize they have them because they’re buried under a lot of fat.

Joe also explained the other strange things I remembered seeing in this same facility “dream” with the White Coats, things that were later corroborated by research papers online, which he would have had absolutely no way of knowing about. For instance, I remember looking up and seeing a long row of black squares rimmed in silver, where the top of the wall met the ceiling. That’s what got my little kid attention enough to create a focused memory in the first place. When I relayed that detail to Joe he immediately “recognized” it as being squares/blocks made out of the mineral Mica, used for dispersing U.V. rays since underground facilities don’t have exposure to the sun. They artificially pump in U.V. rays and filter them through these rows of Mica blocks. The silver was chrome used as a decorative frame/seperator basically, from what he relayed. I frowned when I first heard this, like “wtf?!!” As readers can imagine. That was a ridiculously specific and wildly “OUT THERE” sounding explanation. Because the Mica I remember seeing as a kid was mostly clear sheets. Maybe a light gray smoky color at best. But later research would turn up research papers posted online about using Mica – which in its dense form appears all black in color – to diffuse U.V. rays through. Mica separates out the dangerous aspects of the U.V. and only allows the good aspects through. O.o It was a 100% spot on match to everything Joe had claimed…..off the top of his head, immediately. As a 19 year old uneducated criminal hoodlum who’d spent most of his teenage years in lockup. Joe didn’t hang around online, and certainly wasn’t reading scientific research papers in his free time. He was a professional MK’d criminal. Like I wrote in “Chasing Phantoms,” even if the explanation for my “dream” isn’t accurate, bare minimum that anecdote showed that this kid was running around with knowledge in his head that he should have no way of knowing.

• An incident when I was about 16, when we still lived in Connecticut. This is what I left out of Chasing Phantoms, but realize in retrospect that I shouldn’t have. Me and my “mom” were outside at the picnic table in our backyard during the late spring/early summer on a sunny warm late afternoon. Would have been ’91, just before we moved to SoCal. Normally I did everything possible to avoid having to interact with her because she was such an unpredictable/mood swingy, viciously abusive nightmare. So I have no idea anymore why we were together at the picnic table. Seems we had been eating out there, since it was the spring/summer and all. But she decided to broach something to me…… about how there was a guy (supposedly) from her past (whom she refused to name or provide ANY details about) who, because of “who he is” was always going to be watching us for the rest of our lives, and would always be able to find us, no matter where we lived.

It was a doozy of a revelation that made zero sense, so I naturally pressed for details. Who is this guy? How do you know him?? WHY is he going to be following us for the rest of our lives??! How is he able to find us??!! All to no avail. She just looked at me with her giant, cowardly, “deer caught in the headlights” look, refusing to say anything more, only just reiterating that he was out there, watching us and would be following us forever. Just decided to drop this bomb revelation teaser carrot……..then bail out. :/ Something that absolutely pisses me off. If you’ve got something to say then fucking say it, or GTFO, is my attitude. Don’t play around. So I never got anywhere with that revelation. But that was my “mom.” Scared, chickenshit, piece of shit coward bully. Too scared to say what needs to be said, too weak to stand on her own in life without a man, so weak she’ll do ANYTHING for a man – including male Thems – and abuser of kids in order to get her power back.

I decided to leave this out of Chasing Phantoms because back when I was originally writing the book I was still marginalizing my “mom’s” role in things. And there was zero answers and no follow up to speak of on this. So I just left it out. Now however I realize this is one of the most important pieces of information that has ever been given to me. I literally have one parent directly confirming, in a scared state, that there is “some guy” (maybe more) out there that is monitoring and following us…..for forever. And who’s in such a high up position in this reality that he can find us anywhere, anytime. It doesn’t get any more “holy shit”/direct confirmation than that, and it means that I’m NOT imagining what I think has gone on in my life. I’m NOT crazy or delusional.

• “Dream” (also in “Chasing Phantoms”) about a black heli that overlapped a real life black heli incident that was starting to happen outside our apartment in Fort Lauderdale in 2003, when I was 29. But in the dream “They” showed up in their black heli, wanting to know where the “Three Way Radio” was that connected Me, Them, and my so-called “mom.” O.o Hello. So apparently the “radio connection” among all three of us was now broken/lost. (good….another indicator I was doing things right in life. By that point I was finally fully aware that there even WERE “Thems” in my reality, and actively at war with these things/Thems.) I woke up from the dream…only to discover an actual real life black heli harassment beginning to happen overhead. O.o So the “dream” wasn’t just a dream, it was a projection of what was really going on outside. And whatever was going on, It/They wanted to know where TF their Three Way Radio had gone.

• A dream when I was in my 30s, though HIGHLY symbolic and meaningful, where I was sitting in the driver’s seat of my then-Mazda Protégé as my adult self…….but in our old cul-de-sac in Connecticut. OF course. It’s a gray, cloudy day. My “mom” is sitting in the passenger seat next to me. Then a “Them” black helicopter shows up overhead, intense and threatening/harassing, like a hornet. It’s “THERE FOR ME,” honing in. And like a weak coward my “mom” opens her door and quietly ducks out, leaving me to Them. !!!! O.o !!!!!!

The scene jumps to when it’s over…whatever “it” is. Now she’s back in the passenger seat. I frown at her, in my full adult state of mind, and lecture her with a finger wagging mentality that “When They show up you’re not supposed to leave!! You were supposed to protect me!!” That’s where the “dream” ends. (synch as I was typing that sentence – playing my Classic Rock playlist, as always, and “Hope your dreams come true” from “Goodbye Stranger” by Supertramp lined up.)

 

Think it’s pretty obvious what happened. Even if my conscious mind has blocked it all out. It’s something I didn’t realize back when I first wrote “Chasing Phantoms,” or when I did the first big edit in 2010. I’d started to realize it by the time I did the next big edit in 2013, but left it out because it was too much, and too confusing and ambiguous to get into. I wanted to keep the book’s focus on what I did know, even if mostly, and that which could directly help and empower anybody reading it……not on REALLY far fetched side tracking hearsay about mysterious church dreams and idiot “moms” who say weird shit then duck out of the responsibility of explaining themselves.

So do I have ANY actual memories of inappropriate sexual anything with strange men? Something that gives actual credence to this strange and sordid tale? Since it needs to be asked.

Yes.

Multiple memories, of multiple strange, older guys, intermittently surfacing over the years, in different circumstances, and prior to that magical age of 30 and beyond. Back in my early to mid 20s, years before I even knew anything about MILABs or that I was an abductee, making it even more valid. :/ I mention a couple of them in “Chasing Phantoms.” But there were more than what I revealed there.

How far do they seem to date back to?

Possibly my teens, that much I can deduce. And they’re not sexual fantasies, because A) I’m not getting anything out of the situation in any of them; And B) they’re not guys I’m attracted to, AT all. All of them are much older than me from what I can see in the memories.

Even Joe tried to later tell me one day out of nowhere in early 2002, while we were roommating together in Portland.   That what I think was my “first time” (at 18) definitely wasn’t.

He looked nervous and bug eyed as he dropped this revelation on me. I just froze up when he said that, going numb. Then slowly turned away, resuming whatever I was doing, like “lalala…..” tuning it out. We never spoke another word about it.

But regarding the whole “not getting anything out of it” deal……it ties into what Fritz Springmeier and Cisco Wheeler wrote about in “The Illuminati Formula for Creating a Totally Undetectable Mind Control Slave.” I’m performing like a perfect little porn sex ‘bot…….but it’s all an act. I feel nothing. And just like they wrote about the MK trigger command of scratching under the chin to trigger an MK’d slave into their sex kitten alter, I have the memory (as discussed in “Chasing Phantoms”) of laying on a table, seemingly paralyzed, as I’m surrounded by a group of leering and jeering guys, one of whom, a white brunette guy, is laughing as he scratches under my chin. I’m paralyzed and scared. It’s all EXACTLY as Fritz and Cisco wrote.

Another indicator of the MK sex-related programming that gives credence to this is how, whenever I’d be having sex with my ex Steve (whose dad was career NSA, and who displayed major MK programming indicators himself) I’d always disassociate. Steve was an artificial/forced/manipulated pairing that shouldn’t have happened, being that I wasn’t into him for the entire first year and a half that I knew him. Even though he was the “Alpha Leader” of the house, and considered good looking. Definitely the best looking guy out of all the male roommates, hands down, the guy who always got the girls where all the other guy roommates failed miserably. But he wasn’t my type. At all. And I clearly saw the red flags with him long before we hooked up. Which contributed to exactly WHY I couldn’t find him attractive in that kind of way, despite his objective good looks and being the leader.

And yet despite all that we wound up together. And as soon as he had me he did something he’d never done with the girls before me – immediately decided to shut down the house, the whole roommates situation that had been going on for the guys for several years, and whisk me away to get our own place together. Remove all the other guys out of the living situation. So within months of us officially becoming a thing he had us both out of there, into our own place. The closest thing to “locking it down” as you can get, for a guy who was anti-marriage, same as me. (It was all very primal/anthropological male behavior. With even more than what I’m choosing to get into here.)

But he became a detrimental verbal/psychological abuser and major energy vampire who did his best in the five years he was in my life to pound me down and wreck me. But every time we’d be sleeping together I’d disassociate to where I’d see myself in my mind looking upward at a giant tree, with all the branches and vague leaves and such, and my legs were wrapped around the tree trunk. I didn’t do this ever with the previous two boyfriends I’d slept with. Only ever with Steve. This tree thing went on for years, but I didn’t even fully consciously realize it while it was happening. (hence….disassociation.) Only when I was with Tom after Steve did I fully-FULLY realize, marveling at how clear and present I was with him….. no more tree!!!!! No more of my mind just “fading out”!!!!! The whole tree thing is definitely another major component of the MK programming, in terms of the “systems” that are embedded in the mind. Fritz and Cisco talk about it in their book “The Illuminati Formula…”

The other noteworthy thing about Steve is that, like me, he had some interesting bloodline stuff going on in his lineage. But whereas I know what mine is, his was something mysterious, tying into his German line. Something about a German royal/high up whatever he was, having bastard offspring with a commoner. His lineage was the spawn of the side offspring. He used to love to mention this with a “I’m so cool!” hehehe! dopey look and grin in his face, until one day I matter-of-factly was like Huh….I have an interesting lineage too….and then mentioned what mine was through my dad’s English line, via his mom. My great-great-great and a few more greats Grandfather was Colonel George Eskridge in the 1600s, who took custody of Mary Ball when she was orphaned at age seven, because of “WHO HE WAS.” He was some big deal apparently, loyal to England and King George III, and complete with his plantation in Virginia and a whole staff of slaves working the field and the house. The rest of the Eskridges back in England all apparently worked for the King/royal family, as lawyers, doctors, etc. So while not royalty themselves, they were “one step removed” in the sense that they were good enough to be on the inside, working in close proximity, surrounding the royals. Mary went on to name her firstborn son in honor of her guardian: George Washington. Eskridge was my dad’s mother’s maiden name. She was a direct descendant. As my dad told me when I was sixteen, his sister was the designated person in the family to keep track of all births and have it logged in some museum somewhere, obsessively tracking the Eskridge bloodline or whatever. I remember hearing that at sixteen thinking “what the…..??!” So my name is in this museum thing on the list? I asked. Yes, he noted. ummm……okay……. insert more confusion.

Still to this day don’t know what the museum thing is. Things were absolutely BIZARRE in my so-called family by the time I was told this in 10th grade at sixteen in Connecticut, as readers have clearly seen in this write up. So I didn’t press for any kind of followup information. Most any convos with either of my parents during this time period during the divorce from hell were extremely weird/off kilter and even stressful. When weird shit was said or told to me I usually felt like I needed to get out of the situation ASAP and go back to either hiding in my room or taking off on my bike. But the smile left Steve’s face and his eyes got huge, like WTF?? when I relayed all that to him. ;D I wasn’t trying to shut him down, but I did. He apparently had some mysterious German lineage that was a big secret in terms of who this German royal was that was spreading his seed around with commoners, but I at least had a more defined situation.

Now, here’s the thing…..Steve is a dead on ringer for George Bush Sr. and Jr. In a scary way. I’ve seen black and white pics of a young, 20-something Bush Sr. and it’s dead on. It was almost exactly what Steve looked like in his 20s. The mouth, the nose, even the look/expression in George’s eyes and face was the exact same as Steve’s. Same with Dubya/Jr. The noses are different with Dubya and Steve, but the rest is a dead on match. It’s unbelievably eerie. So there’s Steve quietly bragging about his secret royal/high up German lineage (when meanwhile the Bushes are English and German), with his NSA dad and his very obvious MK programming and meanwhile…he looks exactly like the Bushes. O.o

I didn’t realize it at the time though when we were dating, because by then Sr. was older, and so I wasn’t recognizing a similarity, and Dubya Jr. wasn’t yet president. I wasn’t paying attention to anything election-related in 2000 because A) I wasn’t into politics at all back then as a 25 year old, and B) I was completely consumed with my own life dramas at that time, which involved breaking up with Steve and then the situation with Joe, and bringing Joe to California to come live with me so I could “rescue him.” Didn’t realize the uncanny similarities until many years later. Once Steve was older, and I saw his various pics on Facebook, where he was now almost the same age Dubya was back when he was elected president in 2000, NOW it was extremely evident. Once I finally saw it, thinking “holy shit…..!!” I began researching pics of George Sr., and came across the pics from when he was in his 20s, and was just blown away. The way he’s looking over his right shoulder at the camera in the above linked pic, with that look in his face and eyes, and those facial features. “That’s Steve!!!” O.o

Funny enough Dubya battled heavy substance abuse/alcoholism for years when he was younger. (Which is probably what scrambled his brain, making him sound like a complete f’ing moron everytime he opened his mouth.) So didn’t Steve. Unlike Dubya however Steve was sobered up by his teens, having started at the ripe old age of nine, drinking, inhaling and snorting anything that promised to make him drunk or high. O.o By sixteen he was already an old pro, seasoned druggie/alcoholic in recovery, which he maintained. Never relapsed, and was always known as the sober one in our group of friends/roommates.

So if people are wondering what Steve looks like, especially back when I knew him….Just look up pics of the two Georges, at all ages. Mash it up together and there you go. (Though Steve’s hair was different. It was blond when he was a child, same as me, and was a dark blond/light brown when I knew him, and wavy, though he kept it very short, whereas George Sr.‘s was brown and straight.) But it means Steve’s dad also looked like the Georges, since that’s who Steve took after. And no doubt, both Georges in their youth were good looking guys, Dubya even more so, regardless of what one thinks of their politics and behavior. And that’s who Steve’s a dead on match for. But it wasn’t my type, AT all. Which is why the pairing had to be forcefitted. It would never have happened on its own. And meanwhile this was the guy that “Stuff” wanted me to be paired up with, and hopefully impregnated by. Which didn’t go quite as planned. But I know that was the plan. I’m assuming for some “convergence of the bloodlines” thing, as well as both of our trauma-based MK programming backgrounds (hence Steve’s heavy duty addictions that started in young childhood….trying to mentally escape from what was being done to him and continued being done to him for several more years from multiple sources/angles) and our abilities for disassociation.

I consider me finally waking up and breaking up with Steve after being in my life every day for a full five years, and being his girlfriend, as my Great Escape. Truly. It was an escape from something that other forces were desperate to force-fit together. Even though the moving out process was actually super simple and drama free. Very straight forward and quick. But it required that “I’ve f’ing had it, I’m done” end of the line mental snapping, willfulness, strength and independence to take that leap, which many females don’t have. They get absorbed and overcome. I never did. Other girls do often get overcome though, and especially if they’ve been with a guy for long enough since a relatively young and impressionable age, where he can really go to work on their psyche, which was the situation that was trying to happen with Steve and I. *I always maintained Edwin’s prediction though, about how I would “meet someone” [my “THE ONE”] when I was 26. Which corresponded to a psychic vision I myself had a month into me and Steve’s relationship, in April of ’97, where I saw Tom in my mind, and knew that this guy was going to be coming up about five years in the future. I was writing in my journal in the middle of a sunny afternoon, at some train tracks in El Toro/Laguna Hills, thinking on the me and Steve thing that was new and just starting to blossom. And I suddenly had the vision of Tom. Of looking up at this tall, black haired guy looking down at me, feeling everything around the situation, showing me that No, Steve isn’t it. This other guy was my THE ONE. I was 22 at the time. And I did indeed meet Tom at 26 years old, in September of 2001. And we were officially a thing in June of 2002……five years after my vision. Matching both what I saw and what Edwin told me. I pushed forward with my vision to see who else, if any, came after this guy? What’s beyond? And there was nobody. He was it. The last one. There was nobody else after him. Which means either he and I together until one or both of us die, or we would break up but I would never be with another again. The entire time I was with Steve though I always “joked” to myself that I needed to be broken up with him by 25, to be single and available for when I meet this other guy at 26, whom both Edwin and I saw. It wasn’t a joke though, let’s be real. I trusted what I saw, and believed what Edwin said. And we were broken up by the time I was 25. It was officially done in the first few months of 2000….after I turned 25 in November of ’99. And I did meet this other tall, black haired guy at 26. And it all worked out. And here we are, 23 years later. But the funny part is, I didn’t realize any of this in the middle of me and Tom happening. Only after the fact, when remembering back on things. So it wasn’t force-fitted.

But had I not gotten out then me and Tom – the true destiny – would never have happened. And everything I ever did with my website, book and interviews would also never have happened. I would have disappeared into abused oblivion…..just like “Stuff” wanted.

I’d always marginalized my “mother” because she was literally one of the stupidest, craziest, unstable and most unlikable “people” I’ve met in my entire life, hands down. So understandably it led to me dismissing “its” role in ANYTHING….even when it was right under my nose. So much so that I don’t even consider “it” a person. “It’s” just a bizarre, inhuman, Demon-in-a-Meatsuit, whatever TF that was. Which is still how I refer to it. But by this point I realize its role in things…..and it may have actually been more than my dad, who had the direct NSA connections. Edwin knew too, IMO. That’s why he wouldn’t touch it with a ten foot pole, and why he had such a soft spot for me, and just latched onto me like nobody else who worked at the hotel, and even though he was actually slightly older than my dad. White Knight Syndrome, thinking he loved me, as he confessed the last time he ever saw me in life. My 22 year old self didn’t know how to process that bombshell that I wasn’t expecting. 22 year olds aren’t in love with 48 year olds.

I still think that whatever was going on, which I now realize CLEARLY involved “It,” aka my “mother,” was still something tied into my dad/the NSA/military intelligence shit. Because there was no accounting for how it could have been on Their radar otherwise, as far as I can tell. It was a total nobody, from a nothing family, and again, one of the stupidest “people” I’ve ever known, thanks to its heavy duty drug and alcohol use as a teen, which fried its brain. Though despite being a nothing family she still had very good genetics, that actually may have been of interest to Them. She was English, Irish and Scottish, with fair skin, freckles and auburn hair in her youth, and was born with Rh- blood, that was switched to + with a full blood transfusion when she was born in 1953. Her family was good looking, with very strong British Isles genetics, with again, that red haired Rh- bloodline going on, so, maybe that was of interest to Something.) But I do believe that it became on the radar due to being the spouse of my Dad. And then it cooperated with Them as an MK target Itself. And it knew it on some deep down level, which is what it was trying to tell me at the picnic table on that one summer afternoon with huge, deer-caught-in-the-headlights eyes.

But the way I see it, If you’re cognizant enough to tell somebody about something that is supposedly monitoring and following them forever and forever and out to get them, then you’re able to say No, and step up and protect your damn kids. :/ You can’t have it both ways, where you play along, but then give some random “moment of clarity” carrot teaser warning, then go back to playing along. (synch – once again listening to my classic rock playlist as I was going back and re-reading this and editing, and the word “play” from the line “Pick up my guitar and play” from The Who’s “Won’t Get Fooled Again” lined up.)

But it may have actually been more of the key than my own Dad was. Because it seems that it gave permission to these things to do whatever they wanted to its own kids. And it watched on the sidelines. It was there. And my 5 year old self remembers. It, with the White Coats, in some strange facility, talking casually to Them. As I passively and trustingly waited for where They were going to take me next. At its full permission and cooperation.

But that’s why it will always be referred to as an it in my own mind. (And I mean that sincerely…..believe me when I say that when I think about “her” in my mind I always call “her” it. O.o I truly on a deep down level don’t think of it as a person due to a lifetime of what I witnessed and experienced of it doing to me and Joe, and our pets. Dreams of which haunted me for years. To this DAY, in 2022, I’m STILL having dreams about my childhood pets, things that happened in the 80s, because of how it treated them.) It isn’t even a person and doesn’t deserve the designation of a being called such. My six year old self was repulsed by its touch, recoiling/leaning away with an angry frown, as even evidenced in some “family” photos from that age. (She had us all posing for staged pics on the couch, and when she tried to put her arm around me in one pic and pretend we had any kind of a normal relationship and bond that was the response she got from me….me recoiling with an angry frown…..immortalized on film. I didn’t want it touching me, even at six. In the pics with my dad I was relaxed, smiling, happy and totally normal.) In those same series of photos, which took place when Joe was about six months old, Joe had started crying and fussing. Our “mom” tried to get him to stop but it didn’t work. And I swear to God I was the only one who could get him to stop crying, and even start smiling. Me at six, with my golden blonde hair with bangs, in red “Goody” brand barrettes, and my glasses, and little fancy dress with tights and buckle shoes, looking down at baby Joe next to me on the couch in a baby carrier, both of us smiling adoringly at each other. All I had to do was lean down in and start talking sweetly and smiling at him, and he just stopped crying, and was smiling up at me. In retrospect I do feel like I was exerting some sort of “mind control” on him, not even kidding, even at six years old. :D There was a conscious thought of “Don’t cry…..it’s okay……” and he just….obeyed. “Okay!” smiling up at me. Something our “mom” couldn’t do. She just made him cry harder. O.o And by nine years old I was desperately fantasizing about permanently getting away from it.

And it’s why when Joe was 10 he told me in the kitchen in Connecticut, “I consider you to be my mom, not mom” as mentioned. So even he knew as a kid. His child self didn’t even consider it his mother. It wasn’t human. Even Edwin wouldn’t touch the subject of it with a ten foot pole. So…..there you go.

*****

Recently I did a tarot card reading of sorts asking about “It,” specifically asking what Its role was/who It was to me in this life…..something I’ve never actually asked before. Surprisingly enough. Figured it was obvious what It was. But then I realized…….Well, let’s see what the tarot has to say. The tarot always works for me in an uncanny, freaky deaky way.

The very first card I turned over after shuffling and cutting was the Devil.

I rarely if almost never get the Devil card in readings, so it’s very much NOT normal. Traditional tarot interpretations like to say the Devil has to do with ego and vices and the bonds of physicality, etc. etc. blah blah blah. But guess what? Sometimes it just straight up represents “The Devil.” Demonic forces being around you, or at work in your life, or operating through people.

The next time I ever got the Devil card in a tarot reading? When I finally got around to asking about who/what my dad was. And along with the Magician and the Chariot cards was the Devil, and then a fourth card, something with Swords. But the Devil was the second card I turned over. The Magician was #1. I understand what the other two cards are about with relation to him and are so spot-on that it’s uncanny, especially considering all my dad’s psychic powers and abilities. That’s the Magician, all the way. He comes off as quiet and low key, but is actually a very powerful, scary dude when pissed off. And he’s a force to be reckoned with in life in general. He was the Big Boss Man at his jobs going back decades, and he’s the guy that Makes Shit Happen and Gets Shit Done, with momentum. That’s the Chariot. You don’t mess with him. In our other/original timeline where we never left New York, he went on to be a New York City police officer. So yeah, talk about power and somebody you don’t mess with. When I was a baby he passed the tests/requirements for the NYPD, on the heels of his four years in the military, but changed his mind last minute and we left New York altogether….inexplicably. New timeline, here we come. I’ve glimpsed the alternate timeline, and in that one he’s a total asshole that I didn’t have a close relationship with as a young child, the way I did here. As much of an asshole as he could be here in this timeline it was nothing compared to how he turned out over there. That’s what being a cop in NYC during the 70s and 80s, pre-Guiliani, will do to a guy. O.o Over here he ran a factory, taking it from the bottom to the top, #1, of the four factories being run by that company. Still a power player, but a lot more mellow.

In an interview I did in 2020 about neg entities and such I briefly touched on the way in which my dad was telling me years ago, in this innocently mystified way (he genuinely couldn’t put it together) about how anybody who’d ever tried to screw him over in life wound up dying shortly after doing so – prematurely, and very violently and bizarrely. He said he even sat down at the kitchen table and wrote out the list of people it was so long. Decapitations, shark attacks, fires, just crazy, abnormal, scary stuff that smacks of demonic activity. When you do the research into demons that’s their classic mode of operation. Vindictive deaths/attacks that go straight to the top shelf level of shocking, brutal violence.

So yes, it definitely seems he has some major demon attachments at work in his life, for that reason alone, but others as well that I’ve been witness to. (synch – My classic rock playlist was going, of course, and “Dream Police” by Cheap Trick was on, and the line “I try to sleep, they’re wide awake, they won’t let me alone…” lined up when I was re-reading and making edits; which is also a double synch that a song with the word “police” came on when I was adding/editing this bit about my dad being a cop in another timeline.)

That’s why when he started to indirectly invade my reality back in 2021 (coming up in a moment, when he “SENT” a guy named Dan to reach out to me via email….) I prayed to everything high that I could, God, Jesus, Angels, total Mayday, intermittently all night long to keep the all around “realm breach” that was happening to me (of which included him, among other things), out/away. Make sure this does not go further. The first time I ever did such a thing in life. And they responded, loud and clear by morning. Which shocked the hell out of me. I truly wasn’t expecting that, but I never gave up. All night long, any time I woke up I’d send the panicked Mayday, until falling back asleep again. [synch – sigh….I almost can’t even with this. But the lyrics “….gonna dance with your daddy all night long” from “Black Water” by the Doobie Brothers on my Classic Rock playlist lined up perfectly when going back in and re-reading and editing. Along with that secondary layer of the lyric involving Daddy.] I repeated the Mayday over, and over, and over for hours. And they showed up by morning, and calmed me down, and took up positions around me.

(They didn’t appear in the form of human looking beings. They appeared as animals. Which was also a surprise, but maybe not really. If I was a higher being I would probably send animals to me, not beings that look like people. First there was the giant beige colored Panther face filling up my entire field of view. As soon as I saw that my first reaction was “whaaaat the fuuuuck is this shit……” in a :/ resigned kind of way. Ready to brawl matter-of-factly if need be, since I’ve had to go up against neg entities at night in the astral for years. Except the Panther leaned down to give me a friendly nose bump, just like Kitty would always do, to convey positive and loving intent. Not here to attack. (funny enough “Panther” was Joe’s original nickname for Kitty.) I looked back at it, surprised. The Panther seemed to be the main being in charge. Then I saw the Tiger, stalking a fierce and restless perimeter around me in the astral. Around and around and around, pacing and on alert. Followed by a white Horse, whom I threw my arms around its neck for comfort. Then a medium sized, longer haired, cream colored Dog with a worried/sad look on its face that got partly in my lap as I sat down, so I could hug onto it and get comfort.) So in the end it was all good. Not a peep of anything to do with him since.

But this reading confirmed what I’ve known for years about him – he’s got Demonic energy/forces operating through him, and especially in relation to me. (So much I’m not getting into here, about his verbal and psychological abuse. When he’d be in Demon mode he hated me with the passion of thousand suns, just full of inexplicable rage, like I’d done something to him when I haven’t, and would say very nasty, UGLY things to me that are completely out of place. Which is another reason I had to give him the permanent boot out of my reality.)

Recently I was remembering an incident when I was 12, in 6th grade, when we were alone in my room and he said something apparently so abusive and/or horrifically inappropriate that I just started screaming hysterically. O.o VERY uncharacteristic for me who by that point was stoic and controlled/contained. Because by that point I’d learned. :/ So that’s what makes this incident so notable. But once again I have no recollection of what was actually said. Only that it was horrific enough to elicit immediate hysterical screaming. So I see/remember the situation around it, including his hateful face, except what was actually said. But I definitely remember the afterwards, of me running out of my room screaming, and screaming, just hysterical, down the stairs to the kitchen to get away….STILL screaming in the kitchen, having a VERY out of character meltdown that was childish for my mature 12 year old self. (Within a year I’d be a little professional babysitter of sorts, advertising locally and everything, taking calls in the middle of dinner from new prospects, grabbing a pad of paper and pen to take notes while I moved to the phone in the livingroom, answering their questions as well as asking my own). So I was BEYOND mature for my age, and had been for years. And I remember his surprised reaction. Because he’d gotten complacent. Thought he could get away with whatever he’d said. Then later my “mother” wondering what the hell had happened. But getting no answer. His initial look of surprise turned to frowning disdain, coupled with my “mom’s” look of frowning confusion. They both left me alone and didn’t pursue answers or punish me for my outburst and the way I’d dared to “fight back” in some way against either of them, having my own ego. I wasn’t allowed to speak up or fight back against either of them ever, and all displays of resistance, talking back or displaying my own ego was always punished. Not this time though.

But the last time I ever got the Devil card in life was the Spring of 2012. Before I knew Kitty had cancer and kidney failure, and where I had to put her down in September. Kept getting the same three cards in my readings, over, and over and over, and over, and over, and over. The Devil, Death, and Three of Swords. (Three swords stabbing through a giant heart in the Rider Waite deck.) Had no idea what it meant at the time in May of 2012. But by June I did, once the fatal cancer diagnosis came through, via the vet.

It’s not normal for me to get the Devil, ever. So when I do………..take heed. And if the tarot’s #1 card choice that summarizes my “mom” and her role in my entire life is that card, and the #2 card to summarize my dad and his role to me in my life, well then………there you go.

Despite all that it was still a bit surprising (synch with my classic rock playlist, the line “It comes as no surprise” by Asia, from “Only Time Will Tell” lined up when re-reading and editing this) to get such blunt confirmation like that, not gonna lie. But also not really. I don’t remember specifically what the follow up cards were after that one in my “mom” reading. But it kind of doesn’t matter anyway I guess, after getting the Devil. !!! That’s straight to the top shelf, absolute worst card in the whole deck, so does it really matter what the other cards were?? I only remember that their meanings all had to do with “betrayal” and “shady shenanigans” basically. Hello. So again, very obvious. Just reinforcing the Devil card.

And that’s who my “mom” was, and how It could be summarized as, according to the Tarot.

I then started reflecting back on me and Joe and our childhoods. I started thinking about the pictures he was drawing at age 7/8 or so, showing people being stabbed to death with the knives, and the blood, and being put into graves, etc. We weren’t allowed to watch horror movies in our house, which is good actually, no complaints about that. But all of which means, there was no way to account for where all this imagery/ideas was coming from with him. And in case people don’t know – he was NOT an evil kid. Not at all. He was a genuinely good soul. Kind and sensitive. The guy who actually beat up the bullies, going back into grade school, defending the weak kids and underdogs. Always. Quiet, unobtrusive, holding back on the sidelines, keeping a protective eye out for anybody who needed protection. Including animals, a few of which he’s rescued over the years. He’s the reason I even had Kitty. And if he saw a kid getting bullied he’d step in. That was his instinct – protector. So this was not his own imaginings, coming from a place of just being some “bad seed.”

My parents had no knowledge of these pictures that he showed to me (I was 13/14 at the time). I saved a whole batch of drawings that he did during this time, including one depicting the whole death/murder/blood/corpses thing. And which I still have to this day, despite my numerous moves, living in motels or with friends, throwing shit out, leaving shit behind, stuff in and out of storage, you name it. I made sure to never lose ANYTHING relating to Joe, no matter what. So I have every last bit of anything pertaining to him, to this day, decades later. Photos, letters he wrote me when we got separated in life, pictures he draw, anything. Another involved a UFO, when again he also had no real exposure to anything involving that. And it was during the same time period I had a “dream” involving a UFO parked over our house in the middle of the night while I stood off to the side in our cul-de-sac, watching from a detached standpoint. So…interesting “coincidence” there. (synch – listening to my classic rock playlist while editing this, and “Achilles Last Stand” was on by Led Zeppelin, and the word “dream” [“Oh, to touch the dream”] lined up perfectly.)

As I held the tarot in my hands I reflected back on Joe’s drawing, realizing that for anybody who knows anything about such things his pictures are major MAJOR red flags of Satanic Ritual Abuse. It doesn’t mean for sure that the kids drawing them are victims of that……but it’s absolutely a red flag. Especially if the kids in question don’t watch horror movies. So if I was an investigator into potential SRA cases I would definitely hone in on any child drawing pictures of people being stabbed with knives, with blood drops, and graves/corpses. ESPECIALLY if I also knew that they didn’t watch horror movies.

My tentative theory up until this moment though had been that maybe a neg entity was feeding these images into his head, since he’d been experiencing all kinds of paranormal harassment since he was a toddler. Totally makes sense. So that’s what I was thinking it most likely was as I consulted the tarot, shuffling the cards.

I know for a fact something absolutely has happened to us/been done to us, even if it’s “only” MILABs, or whatever the “White Coats” were that I saw in my mind at age five. So I asked, What was it for Joe? What was he used for? Was he witness to, and/or even involved in, anything “ritual abuse” related, where stuff was being sacrificed?? O.o If the answer was Yes, and he was involved in that/witness to that in ANY way then I’ll get a card that reflects that. If not then I’ll get a benign card that’s nonsense. Because that’s how it’s always worked for me, and it’s what I intended as I shuffled.

Shuffled, then cut the deck three times. The card I turned over was Death.

O.o

I just sat there staring at the card, like, oooohhhhkaaayyy. holy shit. Wasn’t expecting that.

Then I shuffled again and asked about myself, and what I would have been used for, if anything. Something I’ve never actually consulted the tarot about. If I was never used by anything for any reason then I’ll just get a nonsense card. If I was, then I’ll get a card that reflects what it was.

Shuffled and cut the deck three times. The card I turned over was the Lovers. O.o The naked image of the male and female. The closest card in the deck that can represent sex.

oooohhhhkaaayyy.

But just to be sure in this case, asking about what had been done to me, I reshuffled while asking the same question again. Cut the deck three times. Turned over the card. The Lovers, yet AGAIN.

I don’t know why I’m always surprised when the tarot works for me. It always has, since my literal first attempt at a self reading at only 15. Had never touched a tarot in my life, and yet it was like I’d been doing it my whole life when I did my first reading by myself. All I knew from the little book that came with the tarot deck, which belonged to my friend Mary (the same Mary mentioned earlier in this piece that I was friends with back in 5th grade/10 years old) was that one layout you could do was to flip over seven cards in a row. That’s it. There was no direction beyond that, other than the booklet that comes with the deck explaining how to interpret each individual card. But not how an entire seven card spread should be interpreted both individually, and as a whole.

Yet despite the lack of additional direction I could see straight away that the left two cards went together. I could see that the middle three were their own grouping; And then the far right ones also went together. It reads from left to right as well as far as I can tell when staring at it all before me. Based on “left to right” the left two tell a story of what’s been going on in the recent past. The middle three tell the story of what’s going on now, with its own sub-story within the story, as you read those three left to right, from what I could see. And the far right seems to be saying what the future outcome will be, with the last card being the ultimate final outcome.

Only to find out after the fact that this was 100% spot on. That is exactly how to read a seven card spread, if everything’s working correctly and you have it. Which apparently I did, at only 15, first try, straight out the gate. As I figured out, it should read like a story, like you’re reading words, that together form a sentence. That’s the best way to describe it. I would later do readings for others and could always tell from the moment I was flipping the cards over whether the other person had really been thinking about the question, or were distracted. (They were often talking to others on the side while shuffling the deck, so…..not truly focusing. And the results reflected this.) It was either total gibberish, or the cards “went together”/flowed, completely coherent, telling a story like actual words and language that I could “read.” If it came out as gibberish I’d have them reshuffle, and encourage them to focus…..really think about your question……[i.e.….don’t talk to anybody else around us while shuffling!!!]…….then the redo would always be actual “words/sentences/language.”

But that’s the thing about the tarot for me. When it works, and I’m getting a valid reading, it REALLY works. Which means I will also keep getting the same card over and over, no matter how many times I shuffle, cut and redo, as already illustrated with the whole “Devil, Death and Three of Swords” bit mentioned earlier. Sometimes the card quite literally jumps out of the deck, flying out onto the floor if I try to ignore the results. And will do so multiple times. Flying out over, and over, and over. [The “flying out of the deck” thing has become an actual method of doing tarot readings because it’s happened to such an extent for me. I’ll rely on that first and foremost, before resorting to actual cutting the deck and turning over cards.] One time it was like five or six times (the upside down Tower – i.e., total impending calamity, but which I’m in denial about, which I was, too much of a story to get into here, and which was ultimately narrowly averted), no matter how much I reshuffled and cut. This was back in 1995, in SoCal. Kept turning the card over and getting THAT one. Out of desperation I even put the cards on the floor and spread them all around that way, mixing them up in my efforts to get different results. See….total denial. “NOOOOO!!!!!” Didn’t matter though. Put the cards back together……. cut……and got the upside down Tower YET AGAIN!!!!! It’s just not statistically possible. And sure enough……..the upside down Tower happened later that night, with an upside down vengeance. O.o Almost all of my roommates arrested, including me, in the back of a cop car handcuffed, with our Miranda rights read to us. Until Divine intervention happened to get me out of the situation. Cop suddenly changing his mind in a weird, tranced out sounding state, uncuffing only me specifically, and letting me go, into the night. (synch – when going back and re-reading/editing – the song “Rhiannon” by Fleetwood Mac lined up on my playlist: “Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night ….”)

But the tarot truly wasn’t kidding. When it tells me “HOW SHIT IS” it needs to be respected, I’ve learned. Since Day 1, age 15.

*****

While on my Connecticut trip in 2007 I decided to pay our old neighborhood/street/house a visit, again to make peace with everything. (synch: when typing that sentence the song “Carry On Wayward Son” by Kansas was playing on my playlist, and the line “…they’ll be peace when you are done” lined up. It’s not just the word alignment in itself that is the synch, but the entire meaning behind the line.)

I purposely visited in the morning, because I needed to reenact something to-the-letter, in order to get it to stop in my dreams. I needed to visit the corner bus stop, where I was terrorized five days a week by the older bullies, two of the three of whom were boys, and older than me by three, and even five years. :/ But I was only nine when it started. The boys (named Paul and Mike) were 12 and 15, respectively. The girl (Donna) who was Mike’s sister, was 11 when it started. There was another neighbor boy, a year and a half older than me, named Chris, who had been the previous target of the guy bullies, but whom sided with the bullies once they honed in on me……in order to get the attention off of himself. :/ Up until the moment the bullying started Chris and I had been actual friends. Playing together one-on-one without any of the other kids, riding bikes together all the time, and me over his house playing Atari and other random things – Donkey Kong, Frogger, Q Bert ;) – and even being invited by Chris to go mini golfing with him and his mom’s boyfriend one time, getting ice cream afterwards. In looking back on it all I can safely say Chris enjoyed hanging out with me more than the other kids. Which is why we became friends straight away after I moved in and why he was hanging out with only me much of the time. I was a friendly, outgoing, energetic though sensitive and aware/mature kid, always down for adventures and fun (true Scorpio, Year of the Tiger, Life Path 5 energy ;) ) , so I always got on well with boys in particular.

But while Chris never directly bullied me like Paul and Mike – kind of hard, considering how we’d been actual friends-friends :/ – he laughed about anything they said (looking down at the ground in a guilty way while doing so, ALWAYS avoiding eye contact with me, meanwhile as I was looking at him for backup/help but never getting it :/ ) and never defended me, keeping quiet. So he was just as bad in his own way, revealing himself to be a wormy little beta coward. The total opposite of who Joe would end up becoming. If Joe ever saw such a thing happening, especially to a female, there wouldn’t have been any words. Just a straight up beat down to the bullies in question, no warning, no messing around. (Joe’s thing even as a small kid was being completely still/calm/stoic/blank….then out of nowhere a sudden punch to the face that the guilty bully perpetrator didn’t see coming, immediately gaining the upperhand.) Joe at the time my bullying started was only three. Though he delivered his first smack down at five/Kindergarten. ;D To an older, 3rd grade bully, no surprise. Kid came up to Joe thinking he could push him around. Joe was playing with cars and trucks in the sand. Calmly stood up, blank….and punched the kid in the face. Kid never saw it coming, which is why he kept standing there as Joe calmly stood up. Then Joe calmly sat back down and went back to playing like that hadn’t just happened. O.o As Joe relayed to me at the time, the 3rd grader ran off and tried to tell on him to a teacher, but when he pointed out who’d hit him, and it was five year old Joe, the teacher just kind of laughed a little and shook her head, not taking action. Gotta love it. :D That was the beginning of Joe taking care of business. It never stopped from there.

The bullying only happened at the bus stop and on the bus by the older kids, not at school. Once I got to school and was in the classroom surrounded by all the kids my own age everything was fine. Had my friends, both boys and girls, played together on the playground, passed notes in class, went to each other’s houses for birthday parties and also just because, had the boys I liked, who weren’t always the same boys who liked me ;D as life goes. Though sometimes it did align. ;) And the girls all talked on the phone at night and life was mostly good. But at home and at the bus stop and on the bus where the older neighbor kids were…that was a whole other story. Traumatizing nightmare, truly.

Things got so bad I’d be crying and begging my mom to not make me go out there every morning. (Another synchronicity – when originally typing that sentence “….don’t you cry no more” from the same Kansas song lined up. Later on I’d added another paragraph of clarification in between, but originally the timing of the above paragraphs lined up with the song progression. So weird.) But she did NOT give two shits, and would just be pushing me out the door into the wolves den, because as always me and/or Joe were interfering with her TV time. She had all her little Good Morning America type shows to get back to. :/ She could have easily driven me to school, it was literally only 5 minutes away by car, max. There was absolutely no need or reason for me to even be riding the bus. !!!! But she refused. She did-not-care one bit what was being done to me once I was outside and out of her sight, even by boys that were 3-5 years older than me. There was one incident after we got dropped off by the bus after school the boys were behind me as we walked, heckling me in a nasty way the entire time, and when I refused to look at them they threw a couple of small rocks at me, as a nine year old. So I had rocks whizzing past me, and one or two hit me. Didn’t matter though. Back out to the wolves den I was pushed every morning.

Over and over she demonstrated for years not only a complete lack of maternal instinct/love/protection, but actually going out of her way to harm me and put me smack in the path of danger and predators. Starting with letting me roam around by myself for hours at a time beginning at 1 ½ – 2 years old in Massachusetts. (By the time I was ~4 in Mass. I was already going to stores by myself, on foot, navigating traffic, with money she gave me to get rid of me/get me out of her hair. Standing in line at the AM/PM Mini Mart amongst grownups ahead of me and behind me who were way taller than me, understanding how money works and how “buying things in stores/waiting in line/paying the cashier” works. Reaching my arm up to hand my dollar to the guy behind the register, and just the whole deal. Acting like a teen, at 4. Buying whatever candy I wanted, then getting my first cavity at 5, ‘cause she was just such an awesome, responsible, mature and wise parent. Then navigating traffic again to get back home. And as crazy as that sounds that’s not even the half of it, truly. I was walking multiple blocks to and from Kindergarten at only 4 and 5, navigating traffic, without adults. And even worse situations beyond that. But how mature and responsible is that for a young child?? It never even occurred to me to deviate. I knew where I was SUPPOSED TO GO!!! at 4 and 5 years old. And did it. Without question. Day in and day out, both ways. Always showed up to school on time, and always returned home back in one piece, on time. [Thank you to Higher Stuff for overseeing it though. Truly, sincerely.]

Meanwhile my dad had no idea any of that was going on, since he was at work. Nowadays she would have been arrested. And meanwhile there was me as an adult, who would never have even let my CAT play alone outside. Always was out there with Kitty, on the sidelines, whenever I’d let her out to poke around and have some fun. When I’ve thought back to what my “mom” did with me I’ve actually experienced panic, until remembering…okay, calm down! That was you, and here you are right now! You’re alive, you’re safe, it all worked out! Then I’m like “okay, whew…” But my heart was racing, and I was feeling that awful panic feeling at the idea of seeing some tiny little girl wandering around alone for extended periods of time in urban suburbia like that…for years….)

But since I was at the bus stop in the morning as a kid in Connecticut when it happened then that’s when it needed to be re-enacted as an adult. And I’d driven hundreds of miles to create the re-enaction.

Headed out from the motel in the early morning, and to our old neighborhood, which was only a couple of minutes away. Parked my car in the cul-de-sac in front of the house we lived in for nine years on Cottonwood Drive, and began walking around.

There’s a lot to say about that whole deal, but eventually I walked up the street by the light of the summer morning, “HEADING TO THE BUS STOP.” The exact scenario I’d been dreaming about for years.

The idea that I would have driven hundreds of miles to get back to my childhood home as an adult to re-enact verbatim a trauma to get it to STOP!!!!!!…..…I don’t know if I should laugh, cry, or what.

But on a side note, this is when I realized unexpectedly that our sun had changed. Even though it was roughly the same time of the morning as when I went to the bus stop as a kid, the sun was WAY more bright, glaring and white. Not as soft and yellow as it was back in the 80s when we lived there during the same time of year. I’d read people online claiming that our sun had changed, but my attitude had been Who knows. Now I knew for certain. This was not the same sunlight we had 25+ years ago. It took going back to my childhood home and trying to recreate a scene from my childhood to see it.

I arrived at the bus stop, aka, “THE STREET CORNER” at Cottonwood and Butternut Lane. Stood there at 32 years old, on a quiet, hot and humid summer morning, looking around, by myself. Thinking about my horrendously bullied little girl self, being terrorized by a group of all older kids, and mostly boys. In essence what I was doing was something a then-internet (and very psychic) acquaintance named Leslie would have referred to as “collecting up soul pieces.” There were pieces of my soul that had probably fragmented off during this time period. I was here to get them back I guess, and leave on a positive note, no more baggage. Tie up the loose ends.

I cannot tell you HOW-MANY-DREAMS have taken place there, on Cottonwood, Butternut, and Dow Road, which was the other main entrance road into the neighborhood. It’s ridiculous. Hundreds of dreams over the years, I’d wager. But that’s why I was there in the first place. To get it to stop. But the bus would enter via Dow Road, where there was a bus stop at Dow and Butternut, continuing to Maple Shade, until working its way through the neighborhood, and eventually down through Cottonwood. My bus stop at Cottonwood and Butternut was the last stop. So I could either walk down to Butternut and Dow, which I often did, to get on at the beginning of the route when the bus was empty and non threatening……….or wait at Cottonwood and Butternut. And get on at the end. When the bus was packed. Depended on how late I got out the door.

So that’s exactly where I was visiting now, in 2007. Cottonwood and Butternut, the end of the line, when things were the most threatening. Where ALL of my “bus” dreams took place.

Interestingly enough not long after arriving at the old bus stop at Cottonwood and Butternut I saw a school bus arrive into the neighborhood and head up Dow Road, via the old bus route that I knew years ago.

hmmm, I noted. When I’d lived here there had NEVER been any busses in the summer. I figured they must have some kind of new summer school going on now that they run busses for?? I don’t know. Weird, but, okay. I continued my poking around and contemplation and “soul fragmentation gathering” (as I now realize) on this peaceful morning (with glaring white sun). Then it was finally time to leave.

Got in my car and started to take off…….then noticed the same bus from earlier now approaching behind me on Butternut Lane. I took off with it right behind me. Headed down Dow Road, exiting the neighborhood, with it right on my heels. Decided to detour into another neighborhood that was halfway down Dow on Colonial Road (once babysat for a family that lived there) in order to get this bus off my butt…..except it followed me into there too. !! O.o And continued to follow me through that particular neighborhood, then out again and all the way down the rest of Dow Road, onto Route 12 and beyond. COULD NOT GET RID OF THIS THING.

Only once I got back to Virginia did I realize the interesting “reverse symbolism” meaning of all of this. For years I’d had these dreams that took place at the bus stop of Cottonwood and Butternut, as mentioned, but where I was running in slow mo, fighting with everything I had to run up Cottonwood and “catch the bus!” in time. Which symbolizes being a child, being weak (can barely move/slow mo, relying on this “exterior transportation” driven by somebody else, on THEIR schedule, not mine, and which I need to adjust MYSELF to, etc.) And always “behind the 8 ball” so to speak, while forever reliving my personal traumas connected to that bus stop, and on the bus itself, with the same bully predators.

And now here I was as a full fledged adult in my 30s, back there, deliberately ……..in front of the bus. In my own transportation. Completely in control of myself. I’m not chasing the bus. The bus is behind ME, “chasing” me, and I’m trying to get AWAY from it. !! :D So how freaking funny is that?? To me it indicates that progress had been made on another, higher level. Everything had been reversed.

Sure enough after getting back to Virginia I went many months without dreaming about “my old house in Connecticut,” or anything affiliated with it. So this entire trip wasn’t for nothing. And it was NICE. It was like a mental vacation, oh my God. !! It did eventually seep back in……..but NEVER to the level of before, which had been every day practically, and completely out of control. An actual subconscious trauma, with left behind soul fragments. Now it was only every once and awhile, here and there. At this point when I’m compiling this in 2022 it’s not even an issue. And definitely haven’t had some traumatic “bus” dream in many years either.

A couple of times over the years in recent times when I’ve had dreams trying to pull any sort of bullying anything with me, including pulling from various mean girls I knew in my childhood, I remembered in my waking state and realized I need to reprogram my subconscious to not fall for it. So I did. Won’t sidetrack onto it all here, but let’s just say it worked. So the next two or three times those dreams tried to happen again I immediately became aware and gave it all the smack down. BAM! BAM! BAM! One by one by one. A form of lucidity. And then those dreams eventually stopped as well. Because they no longer worked. And now I have zero “bullying dreams capitalizing on subconscious trauma.” :)

And in real life the second I encounter anybody, male or female, pulling any sort of “nasty/rude bullying posturing bullshit” with me (like at work, with coworkers, delivery drivers, tenants, etc……even bosses…….) I’m immediately on it without even a second thought. It’s immediate/automatic now, no thought, gaining the upperhand, quietly but firmly and confidently turning the tables and dominating them. (Where I watch their “!” surprised reactions, then watch them look down, dodging eye contact, voices getting lower/softer/weaker, and just backing down in all ways in general, submitting.) So this is reflected in the absence of dreams that try to pull the same shit when I’m sleeping. A reprogramming at the core subconscious level has now taken place. This is possible for EVERYBODY. All that’s required is awareness. You can’t fix something if you’re not aware of the problem in the first place.

Though actually…..I had a random dream recently that indicated even more progress, complete with even more “reverse symbolism” involving the “Connecticut bus,” AND bus driver for that matter.

The bus driver in question was an early 30s brunette woman who drove good ol’ bus #11 …..of course. :/ Of all the numbers. 11/ “The Initiate,” in Esoterica. From 1987-1991, until we moved. She used to buddy up to the older kid bullies in a desperate attempt to be seen as “the cool adult!” But she would grin, and laugh, and even join in with wry commentary to the bullies, delivered via the mirror positioned above her head.

So as a kid I learned….even the adults won’t help you. Not your own mom, not the bus driver, nobody. In fact the adults are either joining in, laughing, thinking it’s awesome…..or the perpetrators of it themselves. But Bus Driver Lady, can’t even remember her name by this point, would appear in my dreams occasionally for YEARS…..even as an adult. That’s how much of a trauma it was for my kid subconscious self that wasn’t healed, and was still reliving it all in the dreamtime.

But this recent dream took place here in Boca Raton, Florida where we’ve lived for 10+ years now, and with me as my current age. That was a first for this type of dream.

I was completely in control in that dream, wise, mature and fully aware of what was happening, of who I am, what time it currently is, my current age and where I currently live. The bus pulled up to my left, opening up the doors, as I walked along the sidewalk in front of where we lived. The brunette childhood bus driver woman was behind the wheel. I glanced over at her, on what was a golden sunny and beautiful morning. (synch – when re-reading that sentence during the editing process the line “…the sun is shining, it’s a new morning…” lined up from the song “Baker Street” on my Classic Rock playlist.)

“No thanks, I’m fine,” I told her calmly, barely even looking at her, continuing to walk. Not even feeling the need to tell her off/chew her out for her immature behavior as a supposed “adult” back in 1987-1991, helping to perpetrate bullying against a kid, grinning, laughing…….joining in. Driving a bus while trying to be seen as “cool” amongst junior high and early highschool kids, in a small, poverty-riddled total nothing town in rural eastern Connecticut, like a weird, emotionally stunted loser. I was already home. [in a very ritzy area of Palm Beach County, tropical south Florida as an aside, that I’d moved myself to, and succeeded in.] Don’t need a ride. And she truly doesn’t matter. Don’t care.

She closed the doors and pulled away.

The one and only dream of this kind ever in my life. The ultimate positive ending and closure. And that was the last time she’s made an appearance in a dream since.

“Bus” symbolism according to dream dictionaries represents following the crowd, and as mentioned, weakness and dependence in general. Even though I’m not weak and dependent on the outer level, there was still an issue on the inside, but which that recent dream showed was finally resolved on the larger scale. It wasn’t even about some childhood trauma thing at this point, it was about me in general in LIFE. And which recent life situations proved were resolved….matching up to the dream, which also showed that.

*****

ADD-ON JANUARY 2025: Some people may be wondering what the PS to the story is with regards to my so-called “mother.” Well, I can say that it didn’t end well for it. In fact I’ve noted that it’s the biggest Karmic Comeuppance example I’ve ever personally heard of in my life.

The thing that tried to call itself my “mother” died alone in a motel room in downtown San Diego, on ~July 7, 2019 at the age of 66. That’s the best the San Diego County Coroner’s Office could guess, based on rate of decomposition, coupled with when employees of the motel think they last remember seeing it around. The smell reached a point that eventually the police were called, and they forced entry into its room, already knowing exactly what was waiting for them inside.

The last email from it that I chose to respond to happened in 2002, when I was about to turn 28 and was now living in Fort Lauderdale. Its second husband Ray had recently died at only 44 years old in August, from prostate cancer, something it never expected when it married him nine years before, thinking it was now set and had it in the bag.

But this is why it decided yet again to try to reach out to me. It didn’t mention him directly, but I knew he’d died, and how, thanks to my Dad filling me in, since he and I were still in contact at this point. (there was a two year period where we weren’t, from January 2000 – February 2002, but we were in contact again from February 2002 – February 2003, before I broke things off for good.) So I knew why it was suddenly trying to reach out again, innocuously. It was now suddenly alone, looking around, seeing that it had nobody left. Husband’s dead. Its kids were nowhere to be found and wanted nothing to do with it. It had no friends, and no family. oooops. Drove everybody away over the years with its abusive, batshit crazy nutjobbery.

I wrote back to it, the last time in life I chose to do that, and reminded it of one of the many bizarre and cruel things it would randomly say to me back when I was forced to live under the same roof with it – Remember how you said you’d always choose Ray over me and Joe? How’s that working out? :/

So even though it didn’t mention Ray in her email to me, the guy who kicked me out six weeks before graduation, I let it know in my response that I knew. My email was short and to the point. Basically pointing out that it has nobody. There won’t be anybody for it at Christmas, Thanksgiving, Mother’s Day, its birthdays. There won’t be any visits from me and Joe. No grandkids. I emphasized that we get back what we put out. And I finished with the very simple and matter-of-fact, “You will die alone.”

And it did. Exactly as I knew it would. From what I gathered in my internet research years after this, and also thanks to a temp job I had in 2013 for a company that produced what was at that time, the most powerful personal investigative/skip tracing software available on the mainstream market, putting all the miscellaneous pieces together I deduced:

Ray’s premature death seemed to set off a chain of bad financial events. That led to filing for bankruptcy (probably his medical bills it couldn’t pay, and debts it inherited), which led to ruined credit, and it not being able to rent an apartment. It also began getting liens and judgments as I saw, for unpaid bills and financial obligations, also contributing to its ruined credit and inability to procure an apartment. This led to a downward spiral of moving into hotels/motels….then eventual homelessness. At some point it dropped Ray’s last name, and changed it to its grandparents’ last name, and even changed its middle name from Ellen to the very Irish Moira, since it was way into the idea of our Irish heritage. (Internet records will link ALL your known names together however. You can change things all you want, but the internet remembers forever.) It then left Tracy, CA up north and moved back south, choosing San Diego (as opposed to Orange County, where we used to live), where it found itself living in at least three homeless shelters as I saw online in its address history, and relying on various UPS stores in San Diego for PO box mailing addresses. I didn’t learn about the hotels, motels and homeless shelters thing until 2019 however. Eventually it made its way back into a motel, in the Gaslamp District, and that’s where it finally died, at 66, of a heart attack according to the Coroner’s office.

If it hadn’t viciously abused its own children into the ground for years with absolutely no remorse, as well as cooperating with the White Coats as I call them for whatever MILABs programs we were handed off into, and later who knows what with potential sordid church trafficking nonsense, then none of that would have happened. It’s as simple as that. But that’s who it was. So that was the ending that it received.

The reason I call it Karmic Comeuppance is because every last negative thing it tried to do to me or get to happen to me during my most vulnerable years in life as a kid/teen, ended up bouncing back and happening to it….during its most vulnerable years in life, as an older widowed woman. During my teen years it used to do this thing where it would gloat/rub it in/try to convince me that I had no friends and nobody would help me if needed. You know, trying to imply that I needed it to get by in life. (I documented in my journal at the time one such attack from it, where it was so sure that if it didn’t provide me rides home from work, where I was a hostess/cashier at a restaurant, then I would have none, and therefore not be able to work. I would take the bus to work after school to work the dinner shift, then of course it would pick me up when my shift was over, after 10. So it was trying to weaponize this “favor” that it was granting me, one more thing to threaten to take away if I didn’t just stand there and let it abuse me whatever way it wanted, either verbal or physical. But I calmly retorted that I had multiple friends at my job who had already offered to help out with rides home if I needed, and were happy to do that. And it was the truth. And it could tell by the way that I said that I wasn’t lying. It had nothing to say after that.)

So yes, I had friends, and boyfriends between 11th – 12th grades, regardless of what it was always trying to convince me or portray me as to others. One of those boyfriends gave me a place to stay when it and Ray decided to boot me out. (not only did it and Ray boot me out, but they tag teamed me with an aggressive campaign of trying to convince me that I needed to drop out. I was forced to sit at the kitchen table while they stood over me, taking turns with ugly frown faces, berating me. Don’t even bother trying to graduate. You’ll never be able to finish school if you’re out on your own. Just drop out. You won’t be able to do it. Drop out. You can’t do it. Drop out. Why would you even try. It’s too much. Just drop out. The berating went on for like a good ten minutes. There’s no words for something like that coming from one’s own “mother.” But even my then-boyfriend K___ saw through it, getting passionate while telling me “You can’t drop out because then she’ll win! That’s what she wants! This way she can finally say that she’s better than you!” So even a teen guy understood one of its core motivations – constant competition with me, feeling inferior, need to find a way to finally be “above me.” As he went on to say, fired up and angry at her, She’ll get to brag that at least SHE graduated highschool, meanwhile gloating that I was inferior as a dropout.)

It also would relay these types of abusive sentiments about me to Joe when I wasn’t around, always putting him in the middle of her sicko toxic abusive obsession with me. Which, as I later figured out, was very detrimental to him. He was powerless to do anything about any of what he saw happening to me, most of which included psychotic rampages where she would lose her mind at me out of nowhere, sometimes chasing me around trying to attack me, and then screaming/yelling/insulting/verbally abusing me for extended periods of time, serving as her punching bag, and I was mostly powerless to do anything about most of what had happened to him. So the abuse issues with us wasn’t just about what was done to each of us individually, it was being put in that position to have to watch what was happening to each other, creating an additional layer of trauma. So after they gave me the boot it snarled to Joe that I was a loser, and a loner with no friends, and “Watch, she’ll come crawlin’ back with her tail between her legs in a week!” Because that’s what it desperately needed me to be, in order to feel better about itself and to try to get its illusory power back. When in reality, “crawlin’ back” was something that it once actually had to do, when I was a baby, only several months old. It tried to leave my dad….but it had to “crawl back” literally one week later with me in tow, because it wasn’t capable of surviving on its own, let alone with a newborn baby. I’d say that I’m very lucky it didn’t try to directly kill me as a baby, since it hated and resented me so much, but for all I know it actually did. (and it tried to when it willfully ignored all my bacterial Meningitis symptoms when I was 1 1/2 and just….put me back in the crib, so it could get back to its all important TV watching. God forbid I interfere with that with my fever of 104, vomiting, stiff neck that I couldn’t turn and repeatedly passing out. But I know for a fact I had very powerful protection. And that powerful protection literally screamed in its ear “MENINGITIS!!!!” as I was later told after it tried to shove me back in the crib and willfully ignore what was happening. It’s amazing that it could tell that story with a straight face, feeling zero guilt, shame or remorse for ignoring my symptoms and just thinking this was some regular thing to relay to me. O.o So it finally got on the phone and called a doctor, who immediately recognized the symptoms, telling it to get me to the hospital NOW, very alarmed. And as it was when they finally verified through a spinal tap what was going on it was pretty much already too late because it had lackadaisally waited too long. They let the it thing creature know that they would try their best, pumping me full of high doses of antibiotics, and hope for the best, but they advised it that my chance of survival by that point was very small. But I did pull through, and was hospitalized for almost a month, spending a chunk of time in quarantine. I don’t even like to tell people in the everyday world that this happened, because anybody who knows anything will immediately become quizzical, pointing out that kids who get Meningitis pretty much always wind up deaf and cognitively impaired. And here I am, alive and well and just fine. But I was told by an intuitive years ago who didn’t know of my Meningitis that one of the things that “stuff” has done to me during abductions was to restore my hearing as a child.

But it never saw me for who I actually was – very smart, powerful, take charge, competent, brave/fearless, independent, determined and a formidable go-getter. (Scorpio, Year of the Tiger all the way.) It could only project onto me its own shortcomings and failures. The only thing it understood was what it itself was. If it wasn’t capable of something….then neither could I possibly be either. Right?? If it was weak and hapless then so am I…..right?? “You’re sick! Sick and twisted! Sick in the head! You’re SICK!” “You have no friends!” “She’s a loser! She’ll come crawlin’ back in a week….” blah blah blah. < eye roll > Projection at its finest on all levels.

But no, I never came back. So it and Ray weren’t at my graduation six weeks later. Nor my dad, back in Connecticut. Had no parents at my graduation, same as my friend Julie, whom I wrote about extensively in “The Vortex.” That was what bonded us together as friends – being in the exact same abused, parentless boat and being on our own before our peers. But it wanted me to be isolated, alone, weak, financially helpless, hated, alienated, friendless and failing life at every turn, and did everything possible to try to make that happen. Including talking shit and lying about me behind my back to Ray, and my dad, and even its coworkers at its job as it would gleefully relay, get them to not like me and/or view me as this terrible creature, and it as this put-upon saint. (Meanwhile constantly talking shit about my dad to me, because it hated him too.) By the very end, before I cut it out of my life, I was also forbidden to speak to Ray. “Don’t speak to him! Don’t even look at him!!” it hissed to me. Behind his back, of course. :/ So he had no idea. That’s how insecure and threatened it was, thinking my little 18 year old kid self was going to steal away its ugly man. It was like some mean girl in high school, and I was its enemy. In reality though it was worse than that. It was a demon.

So everything it wished for me and obsessed about doing to me and tried to get to happen to me…………..wound up happening it. To an even worse level. Almost “times three,” you could say, a concept that I know practitioners of magick believe in. “Everything you do comes back to you, times three” they say. And who knows, maybe it does. It certainly did with it, because unlike it I never actually wound up homeless-homeless, having to crash out in scuzzy shelters mixed up amongst violent and mentally ill men and women off the streets of San Diego…a huge “Border City” right up against Mexico. It did. I however actually had friends, boyfriends and even multiple coworkers and female bosses who helped me out when I was in my most vulnerable position in my 20s, without me even asking, and who cared about me. To the point where Higher Stuff would even send in people at key points in my life to help me out. It didn’t. It’s interesting though that it tried so hard to convince me that I had nobody/no friends and was a loner loser. And meanwhile that was the ending that it itself experienced. There wasn’t a single person on this planet who even realized it was missing/not around after it died. Nobody noticed. Nobody cared. Not to mention that during the time period when it was always trying to convince me I was alone and loner loser it didn’t have a single friend going on in its own life. No actual real friends at work that it hung out with outside work (versus me, who did in fact have that at multiple jobs over the years), nobody that came over to visit, nobody calling it on the phone, inviting it to go out and have fun, nothing. But it was so dumb and crazy it couldn’t see the hypocrisy of projecting onto me what was in fact its own situation.

The thing about winding up in a multiple homeless shelters with scuzzy, violent, dangerous mentally ill street people kills multiple karmic birds with one stone. It’s the blowback from always threatening and emotionally blackmailing me with getting kicked out onto the street as a teen. Gleefully reveling in that threat. And it’s also the blowback from the way it would force Joe and I to sit on the couch late at night – on school nights – listening to it psychotically rampage on us, verbally abusing us up and down and in and out, reminding us with “the script” that if we dare say anything back it will round up all of our things in trash bags and have us on the next plane back to Connecticut. Once I turned 18 in November of my Senior year the script changed to rounding up all of my things in trash bags and tossing them on the front lawn and kicking me out into the street.

So we were forced to sit there and listen to its rampages for literally HOURS, until Midnight…1 a.m…..I’m not even kidding, on school nights as well, as it stood before us saying every insane, evil thing a mother could say about her kids, while we were never allowed to say a word back. Joe would mentally disassociate, his eyes glazed over, going to some other happy place, not even listening. So Joe was next to me, but not actually “there.” So that’s why I imagine being forced to live in homeless shelters amongst every crazy, dirty, druggie, criminal, etc. lowlife under the sun, male and female, being subjected to them all around you, and where there’s nowhere to go, and you have to just sit there or lay there on your dirty homeless cot (If they even get a cot, I don’t know….) and take it, feeling threatened and in danger, is a MAJOR form of karmic blowback. But again, in an even worse, “times three” sort of way.

It’s also karmic blowback from what it did to our pets. It was particularly fond of always targeting one of our cats, a very sweet male named Percy, and literally throwing him down the flight of stairs into the basement “rec room” to “get him out of the way.” A dark cold rec room where there was no real furniture other than a card table and two folding chairs, no pillows, nothing soft or warm, so he would have to “sleep” on a thin foot wipe rug. For what reason, Joe and I never knew. It made no sense. It would just get a hair up its butt and next thing you know it was scooping up Percy and throwing him down a flight of stairs into the cold dark. Joe would later imitate the sound to me when we were adults of him stumbling/falling all the way down. The pets thing is something that haunted me as an adult for years, right up until the 2020s as I write this. Still have dreams about “pets in the basement.” Everything I ever did for my own cat Kitty years later as an adult was 1000% born out of trying to somehow right the wrongs of the treatment I was forced to see our pets go through as a kid. Obviously I always knew that spoiling Kitty rotten and lavishing her with love and attention, treating her with the respect of an actual person, versus an animal, and being as opposite as possible from our so-called “parents” wasn’t going to fix what was done to our pets by them, because what’s done is done. But I was compelled to do it anyway, as if it could fix something, somehow.

The other more minor karmic comeuppance aspect of winding up homeless at the end of its life, having to crash in multiple shelters or living in a motel, is the way it didn’t appreciate what it had house-wise when I still lived under the same roof with it, making me its little “cleaning slave” you could say. But where nothing I did was ever good enough. It had this thing where there was a checklist of stuff that needed to be cleaned, straightened up and flawlessly perfect when it would arrive home from work every evening, and as soon as it would arrive home it would stalk around the house, stone faced, like a demon, checking everything on the checklist. Everything had to be perfect and in its place, not a thing out of place. Couch cushions on the couch in perfect place, the magazines in the basket holder perfectly placed, TV needed to be cold, not warm, indicating that we hadn’t been watching it after school, and it would place its hand on top of the TV to feel the temperature, no dust on anything, and it would run its fingers over things to test that too, carpet needed to be vacuumed, all dishes washed, not a single thing in the sink, kitchen table and counters wiped down/clean, place mats in perfect position on the table, all chairs pushed in……It took great joy/glee in charging about the house “CHECKING EVERYTHING” every evening, touching things, running fingers over things.

Then came the day there was a butter knife left in the kitchen sink, because I’d fixed myself a bagel after school but forgot to wash the knife when I was done. Total raging, demonic meltdown. About a single butter knife. There are no words to describe the utter irrational lunacy and taking everything for granted, with zero grasp on reality or the concept of what actually matters, and The Bigger Picture. Always upping the ante, where nothing was ever good enough and the list of demands/expectations got longer and longer. Simply for the sake of power and control. Always abusing power, because it could. Always trying to see how far it could push things, and whether I would continue to comply.

Between the constant “I hate you and want you out of my life forever” verbal abuse messages and the domestic slave labor that was never appreciated and never good enough, no matter how perfect I made things, means that winding up in homeless shelters with no home, and with no help from me in life, was another form of karmic comeuppance. Because it wanted me out of its life means….I wasn’t there to catch it when it fell in life, and prevent it from winding up homeless, looking after it, being there for it like a doting daughter. And it not only didn’t appreciate what it had with its house and kids back when it had it, but it fully exploited the house thing as a form of abusive power and control on several levels. Sit/stand there in absolute silence and tolerate its abuse on all levels…or else get kicked out of the house. Give it my money from my minimum wage jobs or get kicked out of the house. Tell anybody about its abuse and get kicked out of the house. Its house (safety, security, love, family, protection, etc.) was one of its greatest weapons against me for every last thing back when I was forced to live under the same roof with it during the most vulnerable time of my life. So the privilege of having a house, with everything that goes along with that, was taken away from it when it finally found itself in its most vulnerable position in life. “No house for you. You grossly abused that nicety in life so you can go without it for the entire end of your life. You can live in dirty shelters with violent, dangerous, mentally ill street people or money draining motels where if you don’t find a way to come up with the money every day you’re out on the street in a second.”

As crazy as it demonstrated itself to be, I also witnessed it demonstrating that it knew better. It KNEW that it’s behavior was abusive and would get itself into trouble if anybody else saw or heard about it. Hence how it was able to turn it on and off like a light switch when others were or weren’t around, being sneaky, and why it repeatedly threatened/blackmailed me and extorted me into keeping silent about its behavior. It knew full well. It was fond of randomly working it into its rampages that “You better never DARE say that you’re abused either, because you’re not! You don’t know what abuse is!” Interesting, because I had never even mentioned the word “abuse.” But it would randomly, pre-emptively, bring up that word first. So that was a major contributing factor to the permanent cutting of ties on my end, in addition to the way it never demonstrated a single shred of guilt, shame or remorse for its actions towards Joe, myself or the pets….and actually hated me even more, the nicer and more subservient and helpful I tried to be to just get along and keep the peace. There was no keeping the peace with it. There was no “just keep your head down and stay out of her way and hide out in your room” or “just do everything she asks then she’ll be happy” or “do extra stuff for her to help out and that should make her happy.” It was just evil energy. There was no pleasing it or doing anything right. The more I tried, the worse it got. It resented the goodness.

But if I’d seen that she was truly-TRULY batshit, unable to hide her abusiveness towards me and Joe in a sneaky way, then I could have forgiven it. It would mean she’s truly lost all control, and it’s not her fault. “She’s literally like this to everybody. She doesn’t hide it.” But that’s not how it was. It knew. It was sneaky. It could turn it off and on at will. It was all about doing things behind others backs, and backstabbing and shit talking. Crazy people who’ve truly lost it can’t do that. They can’t control things at will and be manipulative, devious and sneaky.

This is why again, it’s story is one of the most spectacular Karmic Comeuppances I’ve ever witnessed. Everything it did came back to it….with a vengeance. It took years for circumstances to come together. I permanently cut ties with it at the end of December, 1993, a month after turning 19. But when circumstances did finally come together years later, Ray the Pawn’s premature death was the trigger. Then everything else fell into place, all the connected dominos toppling one after another. O.o

I used to wonder how it managed to survive in life after Ray died, because from everything I’d ever seen it wasn’t capable of taking care of itself. It needed to leech/mooch/lean on and even extort from others. It had never once truly lived on its own, while simultaneously supporting its own self in life, until after Ray died. It went from living at home with its mother as a teen, to going straight into marriage with my dad at 19. Traded a parent for a husband. Was with my dad for 17 years, being taken care of, until the divorce. And even though it was now single again and living in SoCal it was doing so on its 50% share of the sale of the house, plus child support. Money that my dad had earned. The house sale profits was never its money. It was all his earnings from his years of hard work, sometimes at two jobs even. It lived on that money for a full year in SoCal, going to community college, until finally getting itself a job. But there was still some house sale money in the mix, and it was receiving child support……which it always stole for itself. So me and Joe never benefited from it. And then while also extorting additional money from me. Give it some of my money that I earned at my various minimum wage/low paying jobs, or else get kicked out. (including the time it didn’t pay the electric bill, because it had taken the latest child support check for a shopping spree at the mall. So it demanded the money from me, because the power was about to get shut off, according to the bright orange notice hanging from our front door doorknob.)

Then I was 18 in November of ’92, which was one less child support check. This was the same month that it started dating single father Ray from three houses down. A total rando pairing. Then Ray moved him and his two kids into our house in March of ’93, after only four months of dating, contributing to rent, bills, the whole deal. So it had that safety net. Then I was out on my own altogether by May of my senior year, so it could no longer extort money out of me that way either. Then in August of ’93 Joe begged to move back to Connecticut to live with our dad. So now it was down to zero child support. But it had Ray contributing. And then they actually married in November of ’93. Perfect transition from one thing to the next. Back to being fully cared for, guaranteed, by an actual husband. That union lasted nine years, until he was 44 and it was 49, when he died, leaving it in debt.

So it went 49 years without ever once having to truly TRULY take care of itself in life without the help of a parent, husband, a boyfriend-turned-husband, child support that it used for itself, or extorting money from me. Just a blackhole leech of epic proportions. It’s something I can’t even conceive of. I’ve spent more of my life taking care of myself, including looking out for others, than not, and which also involves extensive charity/volunteer work as well. Something that wasn’t modeled to me as a kid, it’s just something I’ve done on my own volition.

But for years I would wonder here and there to myself how somebody like that could even survive after Ray died. I saw how stupid it was, and the complete lack of sense it displayed. The crazy scrambled brain, the irrational fear and paranoia. All the times it would revert to psychotic two year old toddler behavior. But only in sneaky private to me and Joe when nobody that mattered (like Ray, etc.) were around. Well….I found out. It didn’t survive. Its life completely fell apart without husbands, child support, house sale money it didn’t earn and extorted money from its daughter. It wasn’t capable of taking care of itself. I’m guessing the reason it even got itself back into a motel at the very end of its life and off the streets/out of homeless shelters was due to Social Security payments kicking in once it turned 65. So that would have been extra money suddenly appearing in its life every month.

Meanwhile after I learned that it had died, and when, I went back and reviewed what was going on in my own life during that same week to see if I picked up on anything, or whether there were any overt signs that had bled over into my reality. But no, nothing. I combed through my Flickr, looking at whatever pics I’d posted during July 2019 and it was nothing but beautiful nature and cute critters, tropical palm trees, the ocean, boats, and me and Tom’s nice little life here in south Florida. There was zero psychic connection between us, and zero indicators in my reality during that week she was lying there dead, unknown to anybody. That’s extremely telling for something that was supposed to be my mother. I’ve experienced multiple psychic connections in life with not only friends and boyfriends, but even casual acquaintances and coworkers…AND strangers I’ve communicated with on the ‘net. !! Like, HIGH level psychic connections, in all those situations. But not with that thing.

The marriage between it and Ray (who was equally as empty and abusive to his own two kids and Joe), was not a happy one. Same as the it thing creature Ray also only had a stone face. He ran in two modes – blank, or “fired up,” where his eyes were bugged out, full of fire, with his face fixed in place. The guy had no personality to speak of. Zero humor. Always spoke in a monotone, low key way. These two were made for each other. Two inhuman robot alien demons. Ray’s thing was to run things with fear and quiet tyranny. If he saw his oldest son Steve (who was 10/11 during this time period and in Joe’s class), even so much as smiling/laughing or seeming to have humor at the dinner table he took it as a major sign of disrespect towards him and his authority. His eyes would bug out, face full of quiet, intense fire, and do his usual schtick of quietly, intensely, challenging Steve to a fight in the backyard. Because that’s what grown men do. They fist fight/brawl with 10/11 year old children. :/ But Ray was a skinny, pale wormy little bully shit who relied on heart meds to survive every day, so it makes sense. Bully males don’t fight males that could kick their ass. They go after children (or animals, the elderly, women, etc.) And meanwhile Steve was terrified of him. But as noted in another write up, Ray tried to pull that shit with Joe but it wouldn’t work. Joe was afraid of nothing. He could never get that control with Joe because Joe had no fear. (due to several head injuries as a child that damaged his frontal lobe. Damage to the frontal lobe results in various types of learning disabilities and lack of fear, which then leads to risk-seeking and sociopathic behavior, all of which Joe displayed. Nothing Ray could say, do or threaten to Joe made a dent. He was impervious.)

I was aware of the marriage issues secondhand from my Dad, as well as one of my cousins named Debby and her husband Shawn, who had noted that they’d both been subjected to its crazy behavior during the 90s. It had been convinced that “Ray is going to kill me!!!” with its big crazy eyes, as I was told, and had devised these elaborate secret phone call codes where it would call either my dad, or Debby and Shawn, and let the phone ring a certain amount of times, then hang up and call back again, letting it ring another certain amount of times. This would be their “secret code!” so they’d know it was her, and depending on how many rings/hangups/rings would determine whether she was in distress or just calling in secret. :/ There aren’t enough eyerolls. And it expected for Debby and Shawn to be ready at a moment’s notice, 24/7, to come get it with Shawn’s pickup truck if need be. Talk about narcissist.

At that time in the 90s Shawn and Debby were living in Long Beach, CA (just south of Los Angeles) on military housing, due to Shawn’s career military job, while it was living in Foothill Ranch, and I was in nearby Rancho Santa Margarita with my ex Steve (NOT to be confused with my step brother Steve…..) Foothill and RSM are both in south Orange County. Debby and Shawn entertained its nuttiness to be polite, out of family obligation….but definitely thought it was batshit. Eventually Debby and Shawn left California when Shawn got stationed in Florida, where Tom and I also currently live, so that put an end to their involvement in its neverending insanity. For many years now they’ve lived “up the road” so to speak from Tom and I in Melbourne, also along the coast, while we live in Boca Raton, 140 miles to the south, though I’ve never sought out contact with them. Chose to leave our contact back in ’99, in SoCal. Weird though how Debby and I kept following each other like that, considering we originally started out in the northeast.

(Debby and Shawn clued me in back in ’99 about how the rest of our family, my other cousins, aunts and uncles, all saw it as well, now that it had reached back out to its family post-divorce to try to re-establish a connection. Nobody liked it, in a nutshell, and my other cousins didn’t want to engage with it. There was something very, very wrong with its behavior that anybody real with a working brain could detect in two minutes of interaction. The fixed, stoney face with big crazy eyes, the lack of humor, the nutty shit it would say that didn’t align with the conversation and/or wasn’t the way normal people socially interact, the actual cognitive stupidity that was dumber than a bag of rocks, the hyper amped up energy that “blows into a room like a tornado,” as Debby described it, with all its self involved narcissism, wanting everything to be about it, and unable to integrate in with others, the way it never took responsibility for anything or admitted wrongdoing about ANYTHING, and I do mean anything, just very extreme, and would get stiff, icy cold and haughty when other family members would call it out, etc. Just NOT human behavior. Several of my cousins had gotten into it with it, as Debby relayed, having words, and deciding they were done interacting with it.
Debby and Shawn however tried to hang in there as best they could, until they finally moved to Florida when Shawn was transferred.)

But, that was “it” for you. Completely batshit crazy. Always with a stone face. Blank. No expression. Rarely laughed or smiled. Just never looked normal in the face. And with Swiss Cheese Brain, as I liked to call it. Delusional, divorced from reality, always strutting around putting on cold, haughty airs (with that expressionless stone face) trying to act like it was rich/upper class while treating me and Joe like inanimate objects/dolls that were just there to reflect her/make it look good, but where it didn’t want us to speak. Just sit/stand there, silently, looking and behaving perfectly, and make it look good and like it has a perfect life. Because it truly believed that this is what impresses other people. That’s how divorced from reality and clueless it was about real human behavior. Then there was the whole deal with not understanding what others were saying half the time, so as a young child I was having to step in and “re-explain” things to it when we were out running errands – at the drugstore, at the supermarket, in the food court at the mall, you name it – and take whatever the cashiers were saying and repeat it in different ways so it would finally “get” it. (Which embarrassed me even at 9, 10 years old, because I could see the “WTF” looks on all the cashiers’ faces.) Imagining things that never happened, while forgetting big things that did. Always using wrong words and spouting wrong information and facts because its brain was a confused mess….something I recognized by the time I was only six, and was already always having to correct it. So you can imagine how THAT went over for this hyper sensitive, humorless demon, getting regularly corrected by a small child……and where guess what, the tiny child is always right. O.o The last batshit crazy email I got from it in 2007, still trying to give it another go of coming after me, had spelling errors and wrong info in it, as always, along with attempts at very negative manipulations involving what it termed my “step sister.” It’s my half sister. It’s not step anything. We’re genetically related. Same dad. I just ignored the b.s. and didn’t respond. I’d already said my peace several years before in Fort Lauderdale, when I told it that it would die alone. Not really much else to say after that. O.o

However it also sent Tom a batshit email at the same time. Didn’t mention a thing about that though in its email to me, of course. I only knew because Tom chose to tell me. Tom only read the first few lines, enough to get the idea of where it was going (shit talking me, playing the victim, I’m the bad guy, she’s innocent, he needs to hear her side of the story, etc. etc.) then scrolled down and saw how the email went on…and on….and on….and on….a novel length diatribe of insanity that was suddenly forcing itself on him out of nowhere, landing in his inbox for no reason. He said he could feel its creepy energy, “tentacles” basically, and it was HELL no. Clicked off the email and deleted it from his inbox, never reading beyond that first paragraph.

Why it felt Tom NEEDED to hear its side of the story – a total stranger whom it had never met and never would and where we were living 3,000 miles away – is bizarre. It makes sense however when you realize it was trying to break us up. It saw from its online stalking that we were together, and if its going to be alone in life with nobody, suffering, then dammit, I should be too. Try to destroy me and drag me down to its level, so I would be alone just like it, suffering the same fate. I’ve discussed in my article entitled “Interference” how me and Tom’s relationship received an enormous amount of negative attention and attempts to break us up during those first few years. This incident, however minor compared to the other attacks, would still qualify as one of those attempts. Didn’t even come close to working though. I will say this – I was actually glad she sent that email to Tom, and I’ve even told him that, because it gave him the chance to see for himself. I always appreciated that he believed my version of events, supported me about the situation and didn’t question anything, but I also understood that he could never truly KNOW, 100%, because he never met her and never spoke to her. He was always just taking my word for things. But that email proved what I was saying. (As if how Joe turned out in life wasn’t enough proof of things.) The words and the gross “tentacle” energy coming out of them were validation. No normal mother would ever do something like that.

And then there was always a hefty dose of unwarranted paranoia and negative suspicion about everybody thrown into the mix of a long list of other cognitive issues, something that dated back to my early childhood. Everybody was out to get it, all our neighbors in Massachusetts were spying on us and eavesdropping on any conversation we were having when we were outside – including my convos, as a six, seven year old kid O.o – everybody was pumping her for information! as I also heard it say, everybody had ill intents and was “playing games!” with it, trying to trick it, engaging in underhanded “bait and switch!” Just everything was viewed through a negative, paranoid lens. It couldn’t get along with anybody for more than five seconds.

Nowadays it would have been a prime candidate for the “targeted individuals” phenomenon, which is unfortunately often comprised of people who are truly mentally ill and cognitively impaired. They’re humorless, taking themselves and life deathly serious, they’re paranoid and suspicious, believing the world is always out to get them, and that they’re being followed and spied on 24/7 from all angles. It was ahead of its time in that regard. (eye roll.) But it’s also why it changed our phone number at least four times in the nine years we lived in Connecticut. I have childhood friends from the 80s whose parents are still alive and well and living in the same houses in our old neighborhood, and who are STILL using their same landline number from the 80s. Meanwhile we went through at least four number changes during our nine years, and would have continued having more if we hadn’t moved. As it was, in the middle of the two years that our house was for sale and it was preparing to move us to SoCal it changed the number AGAIN. Didn’t matter that we were about to move.

I did a Gab post about several aspects of its death. Including the supernatural stuff. But yes, as mentioned above, authorities could only estimate its day of death as being 7/7, because it had nobody in life that even noticed it was missing. It was dead for almost a week before they found it. So it was a pretty gruesome scene it seems. Not pleasant. They found my dad’s phone number written on a piece of paper in its belongings and called him, since that was their only lead, and followed up with a written letter to him as well. He let them know that I was the next of kin. This lead to me receiving an email from him out of nowhere at the end of July – in the middle of a bright and sunny and pleasant south Florida afternoon while I was at work – with the subject line “your mother’s passing.” O.o Those exact words, written just like that. The above linked Gab post (a multi parter that continues in the attached comments) outlines how that went down. So that’s how I found out, 3,000 miles away.

The situation showed that my dad always had my email address all these years to reach out, try to mend fences, get to the bottom of things – in a NICE way, not an evil way, something I’ll be touching back in in a short bit – if he’d wanted to, but he never did. He was content with moving on and pretending me and Joe never happened. He could never reconcile me and Joe with the new life and new wife, and couldn’t deal with both at the same time. That’s why he increasingly turned his back on us, wouldn’t reach out to call me, and got increasingly more cold, indifferent and hateful towards me, hoping I’d do exactly as I eventually wound up doing…..dropping him, and cutting off contact and moving on with life without him in it.

The first email contact from him regarding its death however was not under his real name. He used some alias email address called “Robert Zales.” (??) Didn’t refer to me by name, and didn’t sign off as himself. The email just mentioned coldly that my mother had passed, and I needed to reach out to the San Diego County Coroner’s office to make arrangements since I was the designated next of kin, passing along the name and contact person of who I needed to speak with.

I didn’t respond, seeing if I could just ignore this situation due to the above reasons.

And him being the Magician tarot card that he apparently is, as noted earlier in this write up, wrote back again 24 hours later. This time using his real email address, under his real legal name, addressing me by name, including an attached copy of the letter from the Coroner’s office, with a handwritten note from him to me on the letter….along with his unmistakeable signature at the bottom of Bob, in his handwriting. The tone of the second email getting…..agitated, as I could see, probably because I’d dared to ignore him for – gasp! – 24 hours!!! A whole day without responding!! OMG!!! How dare I contradict his ego!!! You respond to me IMMEDIATELY?!! Know your place!!!

So, he’d read my thoughts on the matter it seems, noting my list of specific reasons why I felt I didn’t need to respond (of which I’d vocalized to Tom in a conversation), and responded accordingly, making sure to correct every single one of those points to ensure I DID respond. NOW, dammit. :/ And I could feel/sense when I read the second email how his rage was going from 0 to high levels. He’s a very dangerous person psychically when enraged as noted earlier, and just because he was turning 70 in December of that year didn’t mean his power has diminished. He’s very egomaniacal, very tyrannical. And age hadn’t mellowed that at all. A big part of his distortion is having been a Big Boss Man for decades, in charge of everybody and everything, having that level of power over people, whether they get a raise or not, if so how much, and whether they can even keep their job or not, or will get fired. Commanding respect and fear….even though from everything I could gather people didn’t like him. He’s a very strange person, not a normal guy by any means, as people reading this have already guessed I’m sure. He doesn’t have friends. But having that level of Boss Man power and fear distorts a person. In his case he CAN NOT handle anybody talking back to him, let alone vocalizing ANY criticisms of him. Don’t even look sideways at him. Keep your mouth shut and give absolute respect at all times. (Readers can probably see why it chose Ray as its second husband…..Ray was an even worse variation than my dad. But at least my dad, unlike Ray, could display humor and charisma, whereas Ray had absolutely none.) This is why our issues could never be resolved. He was incapable of hearing what he may have done wrong or taking responsibility for any of it, let alone feeling guilt, shame or remorse. He simply doesn’t care, and his ego won’t have it. As I’ve described it in other writings, he only runs in two modes: Mode one is dippy, dopey dad, who is passive, disconnected and far away, coming off as soft, and acts “self deprecating” and friendly, even charming and funny and charismatic. But only self deprecating about nonsense that doesn’t matter. Surface level. Nothing real, serious, dark or ugly. It’s easy to “joke” and poke fun of himself about silly shit. Not the REAL stuff. And then there’s the other mode he can suddenly snap into, which is nasty, judgmental, hyper critical to the point of can never be pleased, nothing is ever good enough, hateful, angry/rageful and downright demonic in terms of the things that come out of his mouth. That side just f’ing HATED me and Joe. And that’s the side that was coming out now in his second email I could see.

So I decided to respond to get him out of my reality. Was very polite, and simply said,

“I’ve got it. If they continue to send you letters just tell them that you ceased to be legally connected to her almost 30 years ago via divorce. There’s no reason they should continue to send letters and pursue legal/financial obligation to anybody who is no longer legally connected.

- Carissa”

Play nice. Be cooperative. Avoid a psychic attack. Get him TF out of my reality so I can move on.

He wrote back, calming down,

“The letter was a one time attempt to find out if I knew next of kin. My name and address was discovered among your mothers personal effects. There are no financial obligations, I imagine there are personal effects and disposition of the body which as “next of kin” is your call.

dad”

I rolled my eyes when I read that thinking, That’s nice. Don’t care. Moving on. And I didn’t respond. End of convo.

I did have to reach out to the Coroner’s office however, coordinating the calls for the middle of the night since I’m in Florida, on East Coast time, and San Diego is three hours behind. And the contact person in Coroner’s office for its case only worked the overnight shift. So I was on the phone at like 1:30 a.m. my time, explaining that she was me and my brother’s abuser, and I had no relationship with her in 26 years. Do I have to do anything about this…..?? (Meaning….do I have to fly to California and claim the body?? O.o )

The contact woman Jessica was pleasant, just very matter-of-fact and non judgmental, saying no, I didn’t. She explained that what happens now is that they give it 30 days from this phone call, and if the body remains unclaimed they will cremate it and spread the ashes in the ocean with a pastor of some sort.

“Oh, well okay….that sounds nice…..That’s fine….” I said.

Great. Problem solved. I don’t need to do a damn thing. Otherwise for me to have had to take a week off work and fly to California to deal with this would have truly drained every last dollar I had. Airline flight both ways, hotel for a week, rental car for a week, gas, eating out at restaurants for a week, cost to identify and claim the body (and whatever paperwork), cost to have it transported from the morgue to the funeral home for cremation, cost of cremation ….just on and on costs. And then do what with the cremains?? O.o I don’t want them.

And what was interesting financially speaking was that the pLandemic was coming up just around the corner. I would find myself being laid off in April of 2020, when my job decided to close its doors to all in-person business and had to start laying off any employees who couldn’t do their jobs from home, or who didn’t want to agree to a work-from-home schedule. I was the first on the chopping block, as the front desk receptionist admin chick who answered the switchboard. I needed every dollar I had after that, to get me through a four month period of unemployment when everybody overreacted with panic to what was happening. The job I’d been at didn’t reopen for in-person business until August of 2022, as I later saw on their Facebook page. Almost 2 1/2 years. Just ridiculous. And even then they never resumed normal operations prior to 2020. To this day it’s still mandatory for all employees to operate on a rotating hybrid schedule of both in office and remote, and the front desk receptionist position was permanently eliminated. So four months after getting chopped, in August of 2020 I landed a new job that was work-from-home, through Tom and the guy he was working for at the time, but which was a 45% pay cut. But there were no other options. The world had gone batshit. But I’ll take the part time, work-from-home job with the 45% paycut to tide me over until the world gets back to normal, thank you. The job still covered all my monthly costs of living and still provided some profit. And I got through it. Never ran out of money.

But had I fallen for the “oh, be a good daughter and ‘do right by your so-called mother’ no matter how evil and abusive she was!” ?? I would have been drained to $0, setting off a chain of events once the pLandemic and unemployment happened nine months later, and which would have devastated both Tom and I equally. Because at that time Tom did not have enough money saved up to cover for both of us indefinitely. And once I would have run out of money – and I absolutely would have, guaranteed – we’d both be screwed. O.o Very interesting timing for when the demon decided to drop dead. :/ Kind of like neg forces were trying to give it one last go at “getting me” and taking me down, through her, even in death. O.o

And if this sounds bizarrely paranoid….it’s kinda warranted, is all I can say. It, and the neg forces operating through it, never stopped operating in an “I’m gonna get you” mode for my entire life. Since I was a very young child. In any way it could try to get me. A great example being that infamous 2007 email from it to Tom, mentioned earlier….13 years after I’d kicked it to the curb and had long since moved on with my life, 3,000 miles away. It-would-not-leave-me-TF-alone. And it would NOT stop trying to get me. At one point when I was in my late 20s in Fort Lauderdale I learned from my dad that it had proclaimed to him over the phone in her usual alarmed/worked up manner that it was going to hire a private detective to hunt me down!! Acting like I was a teenage runaway that needed to be found and rounded up!!! Versus an actual adult, on my own, who it had kicked to the curb over a decade earlier. The thing with the “private detectives!” was its way of feeling like it could get power back over a situation. It used it against my dad as well during their divorce. Making sure he knew it had him tailed 24/7.

So, that’s why it doesn’t surprise me that this could still have been the case even in death. It had an obsession with needing me back, in its sphere, under its total control, so it would have that punching bag to abuse. All of its behaviors towards me as a kid and teen were all about constant abuse of power and control. Always finding petty reasons to ground me. Very punitive, always trying to act like I was a bad kid that needed constant punishing. It’s favorite go-to offense was if it heard me and Joe even making so much as a noise up in our rooms when it was “TAKING A NAP!” (on the couch in the livingroom) I would be grounded, sent down to the basement rec room for hours, alone in the cold, trying to find ways to amuse myself with the games in the rec room closet, often with one of our cats who was also always being banished to the basement (literally thrown down stairs) or given “written punishments.” There wasn’t a weekend that went by where it wasn’t me having to write “I will not…..” hundreds of times. If Joe so much as made a noise when it was “WATCHING TV!!!!” like leaving his room to use the bathroom, and she heard the toilet flush, she’d run upstairs, spank him, then barricade him in his room by blocking it with furniture. Joe would resort to peeing in his bedroom corner, or standing on a chair to pee out his bedroom window. She had these moments where she wanted absolute silence, ZERO indicator that we were alive and existing. Or it was the whole thing with giving me something…..just so it could take it back, with a devious smirk and the glint in the eye, having a feed fest on the intense emotions that would generate from me. Dangling figurative carrots….that it would never deliver on. Threatening to kick me out. Extorting money. And always trying to find ways to punish me. It was all about control, control, control, because it was such a loser that was all it had. And when it lost that, after I left home, it could never get over that. I was its only way to be some all powerful dominating Queen in life. Joe meanwhile was a complete non entity to it. He didn’t exist. Fixated to the point of obsession with me, while completely ignoring him altogether.

However, it remained in the freezer at the morgue, unclaimed, because I refused to fall for what was happening, and I presume it was burned and disposed of the way they said they would. Who knows. Not my problem, is how I look at it.

As noted in the above linked Gab write up about this, the number 1 feeling overall for me with regards to its death was “Now I’m finally safe.” Even though it had been out of my life for over 25 years by that point, with the last communication being its psycho emails to Tom and I in 2007, and even though it lived 3,000 miles away on the literal opposite coast, there was still always the chance that Tom and I could get more emails from it. That somehow it would figure out where I worked and would call me up randomly in the middle of the day….which it actually did once, back in ’94 when I was only 20. O.o It figured out the hotel I was working at in SoCal because by chance one random morning it happened to find itself next to me in its car as I drove the hotel shuttle van on Moulton Parkway/Irvine Center Drive, in the Irvine Spectrum. A completely improbable alignment.

Once it saw me behind the wheel of the shuttle it went totally berserk, waving/gesturing wildly while repeatedly swerving its Chevy station wagon in front of the shuttle. I guess thinking I was going to pull over or something, so deluded it was with its perception of its own importance and control over me, along with zero impulse control and basic common sense in general. Multiple times it swerved its car to the right, in front of me, then back to its lane…..swerve to the right in front of me, then back to its lane. The elderly woman hotel guest I was driving was like, “Oh my god! What is that car doing?!!?” I just played dumb and continued remaining calm, making sure we didn’t impact each other. To say it was a total retard is putting it mildly.

But since this encounter got it nowhere it then noted the hotel’s name and phone number on the outside of the van….and proceeded to call me the next day in the middle of my shift. I answered the switchboard at the front desk and heard its trademark hissy, breathy, deathly serious voice, “Carissa….!….it’s your mother…..!”

“Please hold….” I said calmly, just sticking it on hold. I told my boss Phyllis (who was 38) who it was, and she stepped in to handle it for me. Phyllis picked up the line and in a polite, but confident/commanding voice explained that I wasn’t available at the moment, offering to take a message. ;D And still, it kept it going. It showed up to the hotel in person the day after that, trying to hunt me down in person. Luckily it happened to be my day off. So Phyllis handled that as well, looking concerned as she relayed this to me during my next shift. Phyllis could tell my “mom” was a nutjob, just something was NOT right about it, the look in its face and eyes and its behavior. Not sure what else Phyllis may have said to it, but it didn’t pull any more workplace stunts after that luckily.

From that point on I had to make sure my dad and Joe back in Connecticut never gave it any phone numbers for me, and I kept myself unlisted for the rest of the time I ever had a landline phone in life. Then there was the intermittent emails it would keep sending to me over the years, trying to stalk me that way. I’d block it, then it would eventually email me again under another email address it had created, until I’d block that one too. And so on and so on. Once the internet and company websites really became a thing post-2000s I had a personal policy that I would never work at a company that required employees to list their names and post their pictures on the company’s website, because it would be an avenue for it to find me and do who knows what. And of course there was always that chance Tom and I could receive something in the mail from it. Or that it would show up on one of our social media pages. And as it was, it had already threatened to hire detectives to follow me around in life. O.o

So even though things had gone silent for years, the sad fact was, as long as it was alive I was never going to be truly safe in that sense. There was always that possibility it would pop up out of nowhere, someway, somehow. So that was probably the biggest conclusion for me after learning it was dead. I’m safe now. It’s gone. You don’t have to worry anymore.

Those emails from my dad however weren’t the last time he would invade my reality. :/ In May of 2021 I received an email from a guy named Dan, because of my website. The subject line of his email? “BOB SENT ME.” In all caps. Just like that.

O.o

When I saw that subject line out of nowhere in all caps dinging on my phone on yet another bright and sunny and pleasant south Florida afternoon my heart stopped, and I even said outloud “ohhhh NOOOOOOO!” Tom was sitting next to me at his desk and said “What?” curiously and concerned. I just held up the phone, showing him the notification. I documented the full story of this on my Gab as well, if readers are interested. It’s a multi-parter, that continues in the attached comments, and gets into the multiple layers of it all.

In the end Dan was a good guy, just some 27 year old who’d gotten to know my dad due to working at a Stop N Shop in southern Connecticut, where my dad was a customer. He had no idea about the truth of my dad and his real personality behind closed doors, the things I’ve outlined in this write up, which still isn’t the half of it. As he noted in the opening of his email, “I’m a huge fan of your Dad….” and just thought my dad was this cool old guy who would smoke with him on breaks and shoot the shit about stuff, including “the weird.” That’s why my dad referred him to me and my website….you know, his daughter that he hadn’t seen since 1995, or spoken to on the phone since February 2003, and had no interest in seeing or being in contact with again. O.o The last time I’d ever heard from my so-called Dad was November of 2004, when he sent me a hateful email one night out of nowhere…… on the full moon, no less. Of course. :/ We’d been out of contact for good since July of 2003, 16 months before, when I cut things off with him via email, and that had been that. Or so I thought. Now here he was, reappearing out of nowhere one night 16 months later, totally random, and completely popping his top at me. I had no idea what he was even going on about in the email or why, and it was just so evil and ugly sounding that I didn’t finish reading it. Read like the first three sentences, enough to get the idea, then clicked off of it and deleted it. I didn’t want that energy even sitting around in my inbox. It’s amazing when people think you’re going to actually read their unsolicited vitriol in full. Talk about ego and arrogance. Same deal as my “mother’s” insane email to Tom, mentioned earlier. My dad just didn’t get it….he’d been fired a long time ago.

I did let Dan know though all the basics of the situation with my dad, so he’d understand and really get a better picture of who he actually is. Including that last bizarre, evil email communication out of nowhere on the full moon in November of 2004. And thus why him being “a huge fan” of my dad doesn’t go over well with me….though NOT that it was Dan’s fault, as I assured him. Explained to Dan that he may pretend to be some totally cool guy who likes to smoke and shoot the shit with the 20-somethings, but he’s a very nasty person who verbally and emotionally abused his kids, and with pseudo sexual abuse in the form of VERY inappropriate talk with me, though never fully crossing any physical lines. He’s so clueless and out of touch with me that he apparently doesn’t even realize that I speak and write very negatively about him on my website and in at least one interview that’s been posted on my website since 2020. O.o He doesn’t even really understand what my website is about apparently. Can’t be bothered. My dad did Dan dirty by not disclosing the truth of our situation before “sending” him to me, causing Dan to look foolish by gushing all these compliments to me about him and embarrassing himself. So it’s completely on my Dad, not Dan. Guy has a chip missing. That’s why I just refer to him as a biological relation at this point. He’s not family. Dan and I ended on a positive note though, which is good, with me profusely apologizing to him for being put into this situation, and ultimately that’s all that matters as far as that situation goes.

And that’s why I’m also fond of saying, I wasn’t raised by humans. “I don’t know what that was, but it wadn’t human….” O.o

*****

I don’t know whether the church dreams?/memories? really were what they seemed to be, or what the pendulum says they were. I have another pendulum dowsing experience though that was just “NEXT LEVEL,” showing the capabilities of this medium for getting answers.

In that instance it was the only time when the questions were not only being answered in a clear and consistent way, but where “Something Else” actually took over the process, feeding me actual moving images in my mind to explain/illustrate the situation, along with a telepathic “voice,” since pendulum dowsing that relies on me coming up with the correct yes/no line of questioning wasn’t enough to convey all the details in an effective way. The details related to MK/MK programs that kids are born into or put into…..and specifically involving me and my high school friend Shirley from Israel. Because according to this session she apparently was being used in Israeli programs.

Shirley and I weren’t supposed to cross paths, but we did, as I was shown in my mind. (“Supposed to” meaning in terms of 3rd density Powers That Be. It wasn’t something that was planned at all by “Thems” on either side. Though ultimately on the highest spiritual levels it was probably in fact planned and allowed.) I was shown a sea of people in a big crowd, all passing by each other like ships in the night, viewed from above, looking down at them below. That’s what it should have been. (Again, in terms of 3rd density Powers That Be, who have their MK’d target pawns inserted in around the world.) But somehow we connected, as I was told. And I do know why and how, didn’t need the pendulum to explain that one. It’s because we both wound up in the same “New Student Orientation” group, since both of our last names started with C. (I was new to California in general; Shirley was originally from Israel, born and raised, but had moved to the States in 9th grade, first attending 9th and 10th grades in a neighboring city, then transferring to our school starting in 11th after her family moved to Mission Viejo. So she was now living in an apartment complex directly next to the housing tract where I lived, both of which were maybe a half mile from the school.)

And it should have ended there. Just because we attended the same orientation together doesn’t mean jack. I forgot all about Shirley after orientation was over, and would never have thought about her again. She didn’t forget about me, however. She glommed onto me in those crowded high school hallways during that first week of school, instead of just letting me pass on by, and none of her other friends knew why. (They were other girls from the Middle East that she’d befriended in her new apartment complex.) Not even me. I was puzzled by it. In fact the first time she called out to me by name in the halls, standing in front of her locker, smiling, I stared back at her in a puzzled daze, wondering who she was and why she seemed to know me. ;D O.o Then I started to remember…..oh yeah…..orientation……

I was just wishing to be left alone, to drift through life in my far away (disassociated) daze. In retrospect I’m glad she didn’t let me. She’s what singlehandedly turned it around for me during that time period from hell, behaving as an angel in human form almost.

Obviously Shirley psychically sensed something being “the same” about us, despite outward appearances and backgrounds being nothing alike. She had her own little group of friends from the Middle East (Iran and Israel), and where she was free to speak her native Hebrew with at all times. (Her Iranian bestie spoke Farsi, Hebrew and English.) Which means she didn’t need me. But in a sea of very foreign, English speaking White American kids I was the one to “!!!” latch onto for………other reasons. Reasons that her Middle Eastern friends didn’t share, despite their physical and cultural same-ness.

I was deep in my own head however, cut off from everything, alone on an island and so used to that, that I wasn’t looking either consciously or unconsciously for somebody to be friends with. I wasn’t trying to reach out in a desperate way to find somebody “like me” in the crowd to provide some sort of comfort. I truly didn’t need comfort. I was able to be It for myself. And I say that sincerely decades later, looking back. I always had that abnormally developed ego core, mentioned earlier. So I was fine being completely alone in a big high school with 2,000+ kids. I didn’t even notice it. I spent so much time alone growing up – sitting on rocks next to brook in the woods behind our house listening to/absorbing nature, walking through the woods alone, sitting at a nearby pond alone watching the dragonflies and listening to/absorbing nature, biking around by myself getting into adventures – that it was the normal, preferred default. The woods in question BTW are what’s now known as the “Haunted Pachaug State Forest” of eastern Connecticut. (Do a Google.) And so many houses in our neighborhood, built within the forest, had “A STORY.” Like, bizarre stories. Houses that were too new to be haunted, including our own, were haunted. But the extremely haunted woods of eastern Connecticut apparently accepted me without issue. ;) Kind of like the Oracle in “The Neverending Story.” “YOU SHALL PASS.” !! So I was always able to walk and sit in peace.

So me without other people was an established norm. The preferred norm. So Shirley was like a hand reaching out and desperately grabbing onto my arm, figuratively and literally, to pull me over to her as I was obliviously drifting on by.

We weren’t part of the same program/group, but each of our respective sides for the U.S. and Israel became aware of each other due to our friendship that was just by chance, as I was shown/told during that pendulum session. A friendship that was riddled from the start with high level freaky deaky psychic/mind reading abilities with each other (of which Shirley found fascinating, and devised little experiments to test it on a few occasions). As well as the ability, years later, for me to find her and meet up with her in the dreamtime, despite her having moved back to Israel and the fact we hadn’t seen each other in person since ’97 or ’98.

In one of those dreamtime meetings in 2002 it was 6-6:30 a.m. my time in Fort Lauderdale, and about ~1-2 in the afternoon her time in Israel. Even without knowing the time difference between both countries I could tell as I stood there in her livingroom, looking around calmly, that it was early afternoon, based on the lighting coming through the multiple big windows. Turns out there’s a 7 hour time difference as I learned later that day after I got to work and researched things online. So my guess was correct. Shirley had been sleeping on her couch, taking a little nap it looked like. As soon as I arrived she “woke up” you could say and got up, smiling big, heading towards me across the room. From there we started chatting and playing catch up. At that point she was now married, and I was intrigued by her more mature and subdued personality since the last time I’d seen her in real life, five years before. Shirley had always been a bit immature and childish for her age, something that was exacerbated by being the baby of her family, but now she was finally maturing and was more of a match to who I’d always been. She talked about how she wanted to leave Israel, which I immediately already knew and fully understood was a HUGE deal for her. As she explained, “America was always just this place where I went to school….” but now she wanted to leave Israel and get back here. I understood what she meant. She went to school here for four years, because this is where her parents moved her to, but in that time she never stopped pining away for Israel, and couldn’t wait to get back after graduation and enlist in the military. Which she did. She went on to explain, seeming sad, that her husband didn’t want to leave, this was his country and he was extremely loyal to it, and I telepathically sensed his very masculine, Israeli alpha energy.

There wasn’t much else to the meeting. Just her going on about herself, as always. ;) But that’s how it had always been. So yes, I do speak of her as behaving as an angel in human form in many ways, but there had always been a self absorbed quality to her, which is why she never had a problem with talking at me, with my role as the quiet, attentive listener. In early ’94, before she moved back to Israel (she did a gap year here in the States, interning at a company of a friend of her parents, learning graphics design work) she would call me on the phone late at night, like 10:30, even 11 p.m. to go on about how she worried that she was too fat, she’s never going to get a boyfriend, blah blah blah…..always the same old stupid, shallow script. Meanwhile after I’d just put in a 16 hour day at two very intensive jobs, back to back, with no car, so I was walking everywhere, and doing it all only 4-5 hours sleep, tops, and not enough food. Seven days a week. Unrelenting. Full time hotel front desk clerk at a VERY busy hotel in Lake Forest, 7 a.m. – 3 p.m., 40 hours a week, which also included driving the insanely busy shuttle van up and down the SoCal freeways, and waitressing five to six nights a week, also in Lake Forest, with shifts usually starting at 4-5 p.m. and going anywhere from 9:30 – 11 p.m., depending on business, so that was ~30-35 hours a week. And at one point there was a third job in the mix, as a hostess at a steakhouse in Laguna Hills, filling in the blanks with an additional 15 hours a week. Tuesday nights, Saturday nights and Sunday Brunch. But there was never once any care about my situation or true comprehension about anything I was going through in life, living on my own, no family, no help, no car, dirt poor. It was just always about her. Though she always called late because she knew that’s when I’d be home. So she knew on some level about my schedule, obviously. But there was no regard for how tired I must be, and the fact I had to get up early. She was the youngest of five kids, the baby of the family, whereas I was the oldest, and helped raise Joe. She’d never gone without or been abused. I had.

At that point in early ’94 I was still patiently entertaining the nonsense though, too tired and worn out to protest. I’d let her go on, and just say all the right responses, until she’d settle down and feel better about herself and the calls would end after about 30 minutes. Then it was off to bed for me, getting barely 4-5 hours sleep, up by 5:30, to start it all over again. And again, and again and again.

After Shirley completed her gap year and moved back to Israel in ’94 she was psychically seeing what was happening to Joe back in the States, after he’d moved back to Connecticut to live with our Dad. He was now 13. Shirley and Joe had an immediate gravitation bond as well from the moment he met her, since I always included Joe with whatever friends and boyfriends I had throughout 11th and 12th grade in SoCal. Treated him as an equal despite the six year age difference. Joe was absolutely part of the group as I saw it, and which I modeled to those around me, and which he appreciated. Shirley adored him and thought he was cool. She wished he was older while he wished she was younger. ;) So she was telling ME all about what even I didn’t know about Joe at that time, since I was living 3,000 miles away in SoCal. It was all later verified by my Dad via phone. She saw everything, down to the letter. Visions of Joe in various classes, mouthing off to teachers, goofing off, clowning around, not taking anything seriously. Ditching class. Not doing his homework. Failing all his classes. And all of it was true as my Dad later confirmed. Every last bit. And Joe wound up being held back in 7th grade exactly because of it. But she already knew, halfway across the world.

She was now enlisted in the IDF, and for all intents and purposes shouldn’t have even be giving Joe a second thought. Some kid she knew back in the States for two years, who was the little brother of one of her friends, and who she would never see again. Why would she be so in tune with some rando kid to that level? To be able to remotely see in live time what he was up to…….on another continent?

Because of who we all were, apparently. And the psychic skills and connection we all had with each other as a result.

In 12th grade Shirley and I randomly ran into her older brother while at lunch one time in the plaza across the street from our school. (He was about 30, since Shirley was the youngest of five as mentioned, but I forget his name.) As he sat there in the driver’s seat of his idling car he reached his hand out of the open window to shake mine, looking me straight in the eye with curious interest, giving me a nod.

Shirley flipped TF out about this for the next half hour afterwards. “He shook your HAND Carissa! Why did he shake your hand??! I can’t believe he SHOOK YOUR HAND!!! HE SHOOK YOUR HAND!!! My brother NEVER does that!! He NEVER talks to my friends!! Never!! Why did he shake your hand?!?” ;D Just on and on and ON, long after we were back on campus.

Shirley’s older brothers – both of whom ran one of those infamous “Israeli Moving Companies” we all now know about that served as a front/money laundering operation? for Israelis infiltrating the U.S. in the years leading up to 9/11 – normally refused to have anything to do with any of Shirley’s annoying high school friends, whether they were Jewish, and/or from Israel or not. So it wasn’t something that had to do with Jews vs. Gentiles, or Israel vs. America, or English vs. Hebrew. It was just they straight up looked down on idiot teens, no matter where they’re from or what their religion is. Her own words: They were both assholes. Wouldn’t look or speak at any of her friends when she brought them home and they happened to be there. Even the hardcore Jewish Native Israelis, who spoke Hebrew when they were all together. So for one of her badass, asshole Israeli brothers who fought with the IDF to shake my hand while looking me dead in the eyes…….there was no words for her.

So my pendulum channeling addressed this specific situation. Shirley’s “side” became aware of me and my “side” and what I was, is the answer I got back. I was the American version of the same or similar programs that she was in. And maybe he somehow knew this, I don’t know. The pendulum channeling didn’t specifically get into why he shook my hand. One can only guess, based on all the evidence around it.

When I relayed this story in person to a female reader of both me and Tom’s websites, when we were meeting up here in south Florida back in 2013, she smiled to herself in that IHOP on Federal Highway in Pompano Beach as she focused in on it. The intuitive answer that came to her, sitting across from Tom and I in that booth, was “respect.” A neutral, and almost begrudging, “mutual respect.” What she got was that we actually weren’t on the same side. But he had to give props/respect where it was due. That’s what the nod and handshake while looking me dead in the eyes was all about according to her. Acknowledging somebody who’s on a slightly different side, but who’s still in the programs, and is still is above the average normie. So hey……….good for you. Don’t get to meet one of you everyday.

Considering that years ago I had what seems to be several nocturnal remote experiences that I was able to remember where MILABs “stuff” was plugging into me remotely while I slept, and where I was viewing things going on with Israel and Iran, means……….yeah. :/ In one of those sessions I was “standing” in the wreckage on the ground (viewing?) of a passenger plane that had been purposely taken down. With a :/ frown I watched as Israeli soldiers wearing black garb and black masks armed with rifles made their way through the rubble and bodies, finding any that might still be alive and putting bullets in their heads, one by one. Take out an entire plane to get to the few you want to assassinate, and leave no witnesses. In another “dream”/session I was sitting passively/tranced out in the back seat of a car with suited “Thems” up front, as we drove on the expressway of Tehran, and I gazed out the window at the skyline and the smoggy blue sky. I don’t know if I was the girl in the backseat, or if I was seeing through her eyes. In another extremely vivid memory/scene I was sexually serving a brown skinned guy in a suit. My knowing was that he was middle aged and Middle Eastern. Performing like a literal prostitute in a deadened/flat way, just matter-of-factly doing what I was “supposed” to. I knew who this guy was and what his specific desire was, the way he liked to be serviced, so I was doing that. Again, don’t know if I was the girl in question, or if I was being made to see through somebody else’s eyes and what they were engaging in. Either way the sudden, very vivid memory/imagery was dehumanizing because it’s not anything I would be voluntarily doing on my own.

It’s funny how when we’re young and don’t know any better we often just roll with the variety of beliefs and ideologies that surround us, especially if we have a varied friend group in life, which I always did. My adult self however? I’m very much against Israel. And after spending ~15 years of my life living in south Florida it’s safe to say that the people of the Northeast Jewish persuasion in particular are one of my all time least favorite, most loathed groups of people to ever deal with in life. So I look back at my friendship with Shirley, which involved a whole lot of pontificating about Israel, and Jewishness in general, and wanting to take me along to Temple (which I passed on) and my adult self wouldn’t be able to just sit there and quietly absorb it neutrally. I know too much now. Just so many very ugly things that are beyond the scope of this write up. It’s the difference between being 50, and being 16, 17 and 18.

Being fair though there was a reason I always passed on tagging along with Shirley to Temple, even at 17 and 18. It’s the same reason why, when we were at the beach one time in our Senior year and came upon one of those “bible thumper” Jesus preachers standing on the sand, preaching, and Shirley recoiled at the mention of Jesus and literally turned tail and actually started running the other direction, that I stopped, sighed to myself…..and immediately sent out an apology to God and Jesus. ! Not just apologizing to them, but conveying that she doesn’t know any better. ie…..please forgive her.

I look back at that and chuckle. Not in a derisive way but in a “awww, what a cute kid you were” sort of amused way. Despite whatever negative under-the-radar church happenings may have happened to me as a teen, it never impacted for me back then that deep down knowing about the truth and validity of God and Jesus. You could almost say I was born already believing and knowing. I never hesitated to question or even outright reject things my parents or school taught me as a young child – and we’re talking as young as five. I “KNEW” what I already knew coming in here. And the idea of Jesus, Christianity in general, which my parents referenced here and there (but where again I never had any formal churching) always got the immediate, assured nod in my mind. I recognized that. I already knew that. This wasn’t new or foreign in any kind of way. It’s why I would excitedly point and say “Turch! Turch!” at three and four years old whenever we would drive by a church….even though I had no memories of ever being in one. It’s why I kept pestering my parents to bring me to church, right up until about seven, until I finally gave up because they wouldn’t. It’s why I excitedly pointed at the TV at about five or six years old when I saw a Nun appear on the screen, proclaiming that I was going to be a nun when I grow up!!! recognizing what a Nun even is. O.o My parents were stunned speechless, looking at each other.

By the time my “mother” did bring me, and now Joe, to church when I was 15, trying to crash course me through the Catholic curriculum, it wasn’t something I wanted to do anymore. Definitely NOT with her/it. Mostly that was issue…..being forced to do anything with it. The church thing itself – and I’m talking about the above board stuff, not the under-the-radar stuff that was apparently blocked out – wasn’t the problem. It was its involvement in the whole thing.

I was later told by a very intuitive acquaintance that I was VERY religious in a past life, maybe even several. When we reincarnate we bring with us remembered truths, and also bring with us instinctual rejections of whatever we’ve learned is wrong, but especially concerning wrong behaviors. We learn as we live each life. And if this thing involving the entity of Jesus wasn’t something that I’d learned was indeed real after getting to the Other Side after previous incarnations then I wouldn’t have recognized it as the Truth as a young child in this life, and nodded and agreed, is all I can say. As it is I knew that my dad’s version of how the afterlife works was WAY wrong, and laughed to myself at five as he tried to explain it to me. “okay dad!” ;D ;D Though I also knew that the afterlife was in itself VERY real. It just doesn’t work at ALL like he thinks it does. But it’s funny that HE think that’s how it is! ;D ;D

So when Shirley ran away full of Jewish repulsion to the mere mention of Jesus my instinct was that immediate apology to Jesus. I entertained her religious differences without a second thought, but I myself knew I would never step foot in a Jewish Temple in some sort of “open minded, with the implied agenda of eventual conversion” thing. nooooooooooooooooooooooo. It’s all wrong on all levels. There could also be a “cellular/genetic/ancestral memory” thing going on, being that everybody on both sides of my family all the way up the line going back who knows how many hundreds of years in Europe were Catholic/Christian. Part of my journey this go around would involve me trying to go full Atheist years later in my 20s, thanks to my ex Steve. The idea being…..there are so many unanswered questions, things that don’t make sense to me, things that seem to not line up, so life would just be a whole lot easier if I rejected all of it and went Atheist. There. Problem solved. Now you don’t have to worry about the discrepancies and questions.

Except it didn’t last, due to my personal proof for souls and the afterlife. Can’t force yourself to hold onto a lie. Truth is the truth. Just because I don’t understand everything yet and don’t understand how it all works doesn’t mean it’s not real. That’s bad logic actually…….ironically enough. Because so-called intellectual Atheist skeptics pride themselves on their supposed logic, and think they’re being logical by rejecting spirituality and the belief in anything beyond a simple five sense material-based reality. What was interesting was the way Steve tried so desperately to get me converted to Atheism, long before we even hooked up and were just roommates together with the other guys. He set to work almost from the beginning of us being roommates. Always chip chip chipping away at me. Quietly reeling me into “debates,” trying to prove how whatever I was saying made no sense, prove me wrong, instill doubt. Chip, chip, chip….. It was truly a mission/project for him, something I’ve discussed in “Chasing Phantoms,” as well as several articles and at least one round table panel interview. It was downright disturbing in retrospect. He was clearly an MK’d puppet pawn of something else, something I elaborate more on in other write ups. His “BIG SCRIPT” that he’d always repeat with empty, glazed over eyes was how we have no soul, there is no afterlife, we’re just pieces of meat and when we die that’s it, lights out…..we have no soul, there is no afterlife, we’re just pieces of meat and when we die that’s it, lights out…….we have no soul, there is no afterlife, we’re just pieces of meat……

blah blah blah. (eye roll.) Very disturbing though. That script went on for several years. It’s obvious looking back that it was something he was mind controlled to believe, based on the glazed, far away look in his empty eyes and the monotone way in which he’d always repeat these words, in the same order.

After I broke up with him the only negative complaint/grievance he had with me as a now former girlfriend? “You were never really an Atheist!” said with total hate face. Like it was the worst offense I could have possibly committed against him. Nothing else mattered. Only that he’d failed to truly convert me and get me to abandon all belief in the spiritual. Talk about dead giveaways. Something I did come to figure out because of Steve in a total lightbulb “dingdingding!” sort of way, and which I’ve also mentioned elsewhere, was “He’s trying so hard to convince me that there is no God or soul or an afterlife so it must mean………there is.” Classic case of negs trying so hard they totally overshoot things, and give themselves away. So, in a weird way I have to credit him for making me take a stand once and for all about which side of the fence I was going to be on.

The telepathic communication during that next level pendulum dowsing happened because doing so wouldn’t negatively affect me or be a freewill violation, I take it. The one and only time something of that level has ever happened during a pendulum dowsing. But showing that the process absolutely has validity (as if delivering winning lotto numbers wasn’t enough validation…..) and that when it works…..it REALLY works. O.o So in that instance where I had full on images and a voice helping to explain things the “pendulum dowsing” turned into full on “channeling” with my Higher Self, the likes of which I’ve never experienced before or since. It’s good to mention since it fills in even more blanks of this story, and helps give further credence.

At any rate I just present this crazy story for consideration. I hope people reading it can get something useful out of it. My ultimate final conclusion about why I would have agreed to come here, and allow the things that have happened to me to be done to me, as Edwin relayed, is that maybe I knew it could also be used to transcend – to help others with. Every negative thing that ever happened taught me about what was really going on in this reality, and what this place really is, and which I’ve tried to use to help and teach others with. So hopefully it wasn’t all for nothing.

Articles in this Section

• » Astrological and Numerological Energies - Or in other words….Artificial Personality Stamping by a “Matrix Control System” Program - 12/31/23
• » Of Mysterious "Dream" Churches, “Demonic Ewoks” and MK Ultra - Updated January 2025 and October 2024
• » Being Out of the Flow - and other Random Weirdness often Mistakenly Attributed to Gangstalking - 11/9/2023
• » Conspiracies in the Workplace - a Microcosm of the Greater World "Matrix" - June 2020 (Updated 5/14/22)
• » INFJ - June 2020
• » Gang Stalking vs. Hyperdimensional Matrix Attacks - Updated 9/4/16
• » Detecting Charlatan Tricksters, Hoaxers, and Delusional People in the World of Woo-Woo - Updated 2020
• » The Hidden Puppetmasters - July 6, 2014
• » Interference - Updated June 8, 2014
• » Florida Synchronicities - November 18, 2012
• » The Higher Self - Updated 5/30/11
• » New Age Love and Light Fallacies - Updated 11/7/10
• » When Everybody's on a Different Page - (revised 10/19/10)
• » On Skeptics - updated 5/19/13
• » Veils of Awakening - Revised/updated 12/5/08
• » How to Emotionally Detach from the Pot Stirrers and Energy Drainers