Here We are, in 2012, no wonder everything seems upsidedown

Here We are, in 2012:

It is my fear that I was sold into slavery via this Catholic adoption, just to be implanted at birth, so I could be the subject of this horrible, evil mind control, via these implants, so that I could be made to sign that contract, against my will, in order to be a ritual sacrifice for these evil creatures that should get eaten by their own kind for what they've done.
 

I cannot blame Catholic Charities directly, because I can no longer find the article where I saw that they were indicted for child trafficking, although I did see it in a news story on television. Since I cannot back up the claim with any proof, I cannot make the claim.

That being said, most people who have done any research on the subject of mind control have probably seen the Fritz Springmeyer and Cisco Wheeler book that describes how children, who are used in ritual abuse and mind control, are frequently from orphanages and foster homes. Also, there are many speakers on the subject of mind control who I have heard mention that people sell their own children into mind control and ritual abuse programs. It also must be noted that many targeted individuals that I know are adopted or were in foster homes.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_international_adoption_scandals

I guess I’m lucky to be alive right now, considering what I’ve been up against. I was adopted. I have implants in my head (photos below), at each ear, that deliver voices, pain, and strange humming vibrations into my brain, and I don’t know how long it has been going on. They only became consciously audible in 2008, but they might’ve been subliminally influencing me since they were put in. It seems like everyone around me is either in denial, or they know what’s been happening to me and they just don’t want to face the truth. In case you doubt the possibility of me being implanted, please see this: http://www.mindcontrolforums.com/v/robert-naeslund.htm

I am writing this in an effort of self-defense, because I am constantly hearing voices that seem to be judging me in absentia. Who they are, I do not know. I wish they would talk to me to my face though. Without knowing what my life has been like, how can anyone judge me? I am not currently breaking any laws, even though I am in horrible, constant pain and cannot seem to get any real treatment for it because I have no insurance.

I ask the reader to learn a little about secret societies and occult practices before they judge me to be insane. Adepts in the occult are able to manipulate the mundane using metaphysical practices, whether the victim believes in them or even knows about them. Most people will agree that people usually display the traits of their astrological signs. It is my contention that the archetypes of both the zodiac and the tarot are injected in to the collective consciousness, on purpose, to manipulate human behavior on a metaphysical level, which takes away freewill. In my opinion, it is the precise reason why the 2^nd commandment of the Decalogue states “no graven images”: because these images are not only “fraught with danger or harm”, but they have also become “engraven” into the hive mind. Look up the word “graven” as a past participle of the word “grave”, in a dictionary, to further understand this point.

It is easy to mind control a female child who is missing both a daddy and a mommy in her life, especially if she was engineered to be born on a specific birthdate to tie her to an upside-down archetype.

The image to the right, while not from a deck, is a painting done by Ludovica Wing Shuen Price, which seems to illustrate what I have been going through. Her work can be found here: http://www.elfwood.com/art/l/u/ludovica/the_hanged_man.jpg.html

There are at least 2 decks (that have been gaining in popularity over the past few years), that show a serpent at the head of the victim (representing either satan or the serpent class), and an upside-down Ankh (which is the Egyptian symbol for life and fertility). Most people know that the word “live” spelled backwards is “evil”. Could this be applicable in the case of those with the #12 in their numerology? Was this done because someone didn’t like the way the bible featured that number so much? You know: Jesus had 12 apostles; there were the 12 tribes of Israel; the showbread consisted of 12 loaves; during the period of the judges, 12 judges judged Israel; Solomon appointed 12 officers over Israel; etc. I mean, it does seem like someone had a negative intent behind making the 12^th trump of the tarot like this. At least, it would seem that way to someone whose life has manifested in the way illustrated on that card.

With so many printings of over 1000 tarot decks on the market today, with the 12^th trump an upside-down or otherwise crucified figure, is it any wonder 2012 has society in such a mess today? Most likely, there a millions of these decks in existence, with almost every 12^th trump being some upside-down figure. These archetypes have becomes memes that have infected the collective consciousness, causing people to believe and behave in ways consistent with their archetype. I beg that people just become aware of what might happen to a person born on 12/12, given the associated tarot archetype, and the statement at the top of this paragraph. Is it because of my archetype that I was forced to be right-handed, against my natural, God-given left-handed nature? Symbolically, doing this would take someone out of their proverbial “right mind”. By making my life upside-down and backwards, did an archetype, created by human beings, virtually remove my freewill, simply because of my birthdate?

The Hermetic tarot, by Godfrey Dowson is another deck that shows an upside-down ankh and a serpent at the victim’s head, in the 12^th trump card. It is based upon the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn and was copyrighted in 1979, first printed in 1980, according to numerous sources, two of which can be found here: http://www.scribd.com/doc/97228964/Adam-McLean-s-Study-Course-on-the-artwork-and-symbolism-of-modern-tarot-Lesson-13-Magical-tarots

And here: http://www.villarevak.org/ma/c3.html

The card is also called “The Spirit of the Mighty Waters”. The serpent in this deck is much smaller than in the Ludovica painting, yet it is still in close range of the victim’s head. Notice there is a Rosy Cross as well as the symbol for Neptune, a god who is often associated with the devil.

As I have mentioned in my other writings, like, "Symbolism, Mind Control, and Metaphysical Sabotage in Relation to Archetypal Transference and the Second Commandment of the Decalogue", the word, "MUSIC" is made up of two words, mu and sic. Mu is the 12th letter of the Greek alphabet, while sic means "intentionally so written". Given the nature of the 12th trump of the tarot, I have to consider if this is how a muse is made. I know that some may think this is crazy, but when I consider how certain bands and musicians seem to tell stories directly related to my situation, like Depeche Mode's "Wrong", or Kate Bush's "Experiment IV", or Chevelle's "Shameful Metaphors", I have to consider that the serpent at the head of the figure of the 12th trump of the tarot may represent the serpent class, gleaning creative inspiration from other people's suffering.

Most of accepted experts of the occult and secret societies know about the kind of stuff I am writing about in this and other documents. It is my understanding that ritual sacrifices are done in order to promote someone to a higher place, monetarily and possibly spiritually, by using the occult tool known as the tarot, to hold another person down.   

I mentioned a Depeche Mode song on YouTube called "Wrong", and both the song & the video remind me of my life. It shows a guy, asleep, tied up, with a mask on and tape over his mouth, sitting in the driver's seat of a car that is driving in reverse down a road. It starts out, "I was born under the wrong sign, in the wrong house, with the wrong ascendancy..." Sadly, both the video and the song illustrate my life.

As a side note, I would be interested in meeting someone with a 7/7 birthdate, who is in their 40s, to see how their life has turned out. The two trump cards most closely associate with that number are The Chariot (7^th trump), and The Tower (16^th trump=1+6=7). While The Chariot might not look bad, in the Thoth deck, the rider “has cancer”, so to speak, and The Tower is indeed an image “fraught with danger or harm”. The images below are as follows: 7^th trump, Thoth deck; 7^th trump, Rider-Waite; 16^th trump, Rider-Waite; 16^th trump, Haindl; 16^th trump, Thoth deck, respectively.

 
                After everything I have been through in my life, I now have no doubt that I was mind-controlled into signing a contract with an entity I thought was God. It seems as if my whole life has been one, big, engineered experiment. There were people and websites talking about a Sumerian God named Enki, who loved humans and wanted to help us. I most certainly didn’t have a real freewill when this contract was signed, which, to me, makes the contract invalid. I was at the mercy of subliminal messages coming through headphones I used to wear while sleeping.  I am now living in fear every day that I am going to hell, and here’s why I think I have been damned:

Given the “engineered” and upside-down nature of my life, it seems that I was born to be a ritual sacrifice to someone’s very cruel god. I just don’t wanna be. My hope is that the True and Just God of the Universe reads this somehow and saves my soul. Considering what I have been up against my entire life, I know in my heart that I do not deserve to be damned or condemned.

I was mind controlled and tortured, and then forced to endure the process finding out just how this has been done to me, without my consent or knowledge.

Considering the fact that the Vatican has Egyptian obelisks at Vatican Square, it has occurred to me that the Catholics are a pagan organization, and that they are involved in the occult. A quick glance of Catholic rituals show this to be true. I was adopted through a Catholic organization. On the surface, my life doesn’t seem that steeped in occult, but as I’ve said, my birthdate is 12/12 which ties me to the Hanged Man archetype. The occult societies are known for their practice of inducing labor for a child to be born on a specific date. Now I know why. Engineering someone’s birthdate ties the child to specific archetypes of the tarot, based on their numerology. I know this because it happened to me before I ever looked at the first tarot deck. My whole life was affected by the 12^th trump of the tarot, and I never knew about it until 2008/9.

My life story doesn’t seem that strange at face value, however, when all the facts of my life are taken in combination with a knowledge of archetypes and what happened to me beginning in 2008, it is undeniable that I have been the victim of a horrible plot to destroy my life before I ever had a chance, designed to make me angry at God and to make God angry at me.

Lest anyone think I am blaming the various people involved in my life, I am stating right now- that is not my intent. I realize that just as I have been programmed, written by some unknown force, I think that those around me could have also been programmed in a similar way, which will at least be evident in my mother’s case, considering her archetype. Most of all, I am not trying to disrepect anyone in anyway.What follows is what I HAVE MEMORY OF, or what has been told to me by my adoptive family, in date order I am adding to it as more memories come back to me.

12/12/Late 60s:

I am born, and placed for adoption (sold into slavery), through a Catholic Charities. I am adopted into a family that already had a ten year old son, who was often shipped off to private school. By being born on 12/12, I carry the archetype of the Hanged Man, and for some reason, I am specifically connected to the Thoth tarot deck, designed by Frieda Harris and Alistair Crowley, see image to the right. Despite, my not being aware of the tarot or this card in relation to my birthdate, this archetype has effects on my entire life. I will only become aware of this “tarot curse”, after I am abandoned in a house with no power or water for 2.5 years, and a voice tells me to get the Thoth tarot deck.

What follows is what I HAVE MEMORY OF, or what has been told to me by members of my adoptive family.

My father tells me that my parents picked me out of a large group of babies, and that I was picked out special. My mother tells me that she wanted a child (after having my brother), so they matched her up with a pregnant woman who wanted to place her child up for adoption. My adoptive mother was born on 4/4, which ties her to the Emperor archetype. This gives her power, whereas my archetype has me powerless. The same thing that cursed me seems to have blessed her. Her life is bizarrely displayed in the Emperor card of the Crowley-Harris, Thoth deck, which is the deck that seems to show my life in it the most, in all of the cards, but most notably in the 12^th trump, the Hanged Man, which in the Thoth deck, is called the “Dying God”. Is it ironic to anyone that, in 2012, it seems like we are living in a Godless world, in which certain people don’t even think twice before torturing, murdering, mind-controlling, and causing all sorts of untold misery to innocent victims, even at birth?

My mother names me with initials that spell the name of an animal, which serves to dehumanize a person on a subliminal level. I am baptized Catholic. We go to church every Sunday until my parents get divorced.

1970:

At 3y/o, I am found, face-down in the pool, by my mother, and my brother has to shove her out of the way to save my life (as told by my brother). In ritual abuse, the ritual drowning always occurs at 3y/o, and from what I understand, it is to expose the child to demonic influence.

I am scared to death of going to a kindergarten, but don’t know why. Parent’s make me go anyway. Sometimes, I hide to avoid going.

1970s:

My father, a navy man, whom I love with all of my heart, is often away on business trips, and my mother is away for reasons unknown. I am told by my brother that both of them used to pay him to keep their affairs secret from one another.

I am a chunky kid, and my father takes to singing songs about it to me. “Fat, fat, the water rat, 50 bullets in his hat”, and “fatty, fatty, 2 by 4, can’t get through the bathroom door”. When I react with tears, my parents say that I am “too sensitive”. Well, what did they expect, when they named me with initials spelling the name of an animal?

We have these neighbors, the Albirdy’s, who live two doors down from us. Their daughter teaches me how to write. She gets me to go against my natural left-handed inclination by telling me it is evil to be left-handed. Not wanting to be evil, I became right-handed. After seeing studies, and knowing stroke victims, I can see how one hemisphere of the brain generally is responsible for things on the opposite side of the body. Because of this, I think that forcing a lefty to be right-handed in some ways can take someone out of their “right mind”, so to speak, figuratively, and possibly literally.

My parents are rarely around. I take to lying about injuries to get attention from them, and even sometimes trying to injure myself on purpose. This is highly ironic, since now; no one believes that I am truly in pain, even though I am. Once I got into adulthood, I stopped ling to get attention from boyfriends (father figures).

I am exposed to theatre before I reach 9 years old, such as Jesus Christ Superstar and Hair. I am also exposed to movies, such as The Exorcist, The Omen, and Rosemary’s Baby. I have a neighbor who, at 10y/o (while I am 6 or 7 at most), is exposing me to her fetish about pregnancy (I have since met people in mind control forums who have this issue).

I am allowed to play in the woods alone, which I often do, although I am missing memories of that time. It is at this point, that I end up with this strange bump in my leg. I make up a story that I was shot with a b-b gun, because I do remember running away from a kid in the woods who had one, but I honestly don’t know what the foreign object is in my leg.

We go to church every Sunday, and I go to Sunday school. I get as far as my first communion. All the other girls at the First Communion ceremony wear white, while I am made to wear pink (or rose), with some fake roses in my hair. Am I Rosemary? Shortly afterwards, my parents get divorced and my mother doesn’t take me to church anymore.

My brother keeps snakes as pets, and even brings me over to a neighbor’s house (the Albirdys), who have the largest boa constrictor, to send me home to scare my mother with it wrapped around my neck. My brother goes to Jesuit High school. I look up to and love him dearly.

I play Mary in a school Christmas pageant. My dad makes the costume for me.

My mother constantly compares me with other children and cousins, letting me know that I am not good enough for her.

I see my mother, a 5’7” woman beat my 6’ tall brother, who is about 16 or 17 years old at the time. This is the beginning of my mistrust for my mother.

My brother exposes his penis to me in the bathroom, but I don’t remember what happened after that. The memory might have been repressed.

My brother wraps me up in a blanket and tosses me down the stairs. When I get to the bottom, I push the blanket off of me to find my parents, standing there and laughing at me.

My cousin has a memory of my brother chasing us around the house with a butcher knife, but if it happened, then I must’ve repressed that memory, which happens with traumatic memories, as any psychologist worth his salt will tell you.

I have some missing time in my childhood, for example, I remember going to the woods by myself, playing in the woods by myself, but I do not remember coming home.

A cousin on my father’s side of the family moves in with us temporarily. She seems to pay more attention to the cousin than to me.

1976 or 77:

My parents get divorced.  Upon hearing the news, I begin to cry. My mother says to me, “I don’t know why you’re crying, he was never around anyway”. She just doesn’t understand how much I love him, in part possibly because of the way her own father treated her.  My father moves out of state, so now I only get to see him once or twice a year, as opposed to maybe once every couple of months. At this point, I begin to turn negative. Is it because my polarity was switched by forcing me to be right-handed against my natural inclination, or is it because my parents got divorced? Could it be because my mother is fond of telling me that she wishes I was more like my friends and cousins? Is it because I am not given any real foundation to go on? Is it because I was left alone most of my childhood? I cannot doubt that it is a combination of those things, but what is to come causes this negativity to get much worse.

We move into a new place, which my mother decorates in mirrors. Everything is mirrored, mirrors on the walls, the coffee table, the dressers, the end tables, headboards, a pedestal for a piece of steel art, tissue holders, cotton ball dispensers, switch plates and wall sockets, sliding closet doors, shower stall doors, etc. Even the wallpaper was mirrored. No room was missing a mirror. Narcissist? What kind of effect would living in a veritable “house of mirrors” have on a child? How can anyone blame that child for how they end up in life?

1980:

I am a latchkey kid, although my mother doesn’t have to work, being fully supported by my dad. I make myself french-fries in the frydaddy and eggrolls in the microwave (my usual fare, unless I lucked out and got fast food).

I develop a strange habit of chewing the skin around my fingernails, along with a habit of twisting my hair into little knots and then ripping them off. Why would a kid develop a habit like this. Did something traumatic happen in her life??? Hmmm….

My mother takes to calling me stupid, often. Any time I do something wrong in her eyes, I am “stupid, stupid, stupid!” She also likes to tell me that I am never going to amount to anything. Cruelty from the only caregiver I have. I know that on some level my mother loves me; I just don’t think she was equipped to express that love. She just doesn’t know what that did to me. It was as if she was cursing me. Perhaps, my initials spelling “cat”, really did make me “too sensitive”.
 

1981:
 

My mother tries to come up with ways to make money beyond what my father pays her in alimony and child-support. At one point, she tries to grow worms in our garage. Another time, she tries selling road signs. One of her money-making attempts is to sell hot dogs at construction sites with me wearing a bikini to try to attract customers. I was 14 years old.

I still visit my dad in the summer. He takes me to work with him, and afterwards, we go to restaurants and bars. Sometimes, his driving scares me.  I become really good at the arcade video games and pinball in the bar.

I am so sad to leave, that the sadness sublimates into a fear of flying.

1983:

 

I still visit my dad every summer. We make plans to go to England in a year. I am looking forward to it.

I am told by a high school math teacher that I am just a drug addict, even though I had yet to try the first drug, or even cigarettes. Is this some sort of curse? Sadly, when I was in grade school, I was in the top 2% of my class in IQ, but by high school, I end up lucky to get Cs.

I begin to get involved in the “punk scene” when I meet a guy named Eric, who is two years older than me in high school. He becomes my boyfriend, until one of my best friends starts to go out with him. With other members of this “scene”, we do some pretty nasty stuff. For example, we would go to graveyards and take statuettes which I now feel awful for. I have to imagine what the families felt upon seeing the statues missing. I wasn’t the only one who did it though. We would also go driving through neighborhoods and hit mailboxes with baseball bats. This behavior didn’t last long for me though. I now feel horrible about it.

Not long after Eric and I break up, I meet a really smart guy named Dean, who becomes my first real love. Unfortunately, he is very possessive and I have a hard time with this, even though I love him dearly. He is the one I want my first sexual experience to be with, but things won’t end up working out this way.

Summer 1984:

It is time to go on the trip to England with my dad, his girlfiend, her son and her sister. My dad ends up getting married to someone I've never met instead. I go to visit him, and they have a big fight one night with me there. They go out one night, leaving me in the apartment. My dad comes in the door by himself, and locks it behind him. When his new wife knocks on the door, he tells me to answer it, because then, at least she'll think I'm good for something. When I open the door to let her in, she kicks me in the shins, and says, "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were your father." They are obviously very drunk. They proceed to fight, yelling at eachother and hitting eachother, and throwing wedding gifts ver the balcony.

I then fly to England with his ex-girlfriend and her family. I enjoy the trip a great deal, but I miss my father so much, and at this point, I am not fond of my stepmother.

Late Summer 1984:

My brother, who does not live with us, takes many trips out of the country. At one point, he comes to the house for a visit, and gives me a dress that looks somewhat like a short wedding dress, white with lace on it. I know it seems strange, but as a little girl, I looked up to my brother very much and used to want to mary him.


Fall 1984:

At 16y/o, I meet a 21y/o man at a restaurant my mother likes to frequent. It had a bar and a DJ booth. The 21y/o molested me in that DJ booth. A teenaged girl, whose mother had lots of sex toys, I was of course interested in sex. I had a boyfriend at the time, but I was so mixed up. After the 21y/o molested me in the DJ Booth, he comes and visits us at our home, and invites me to dinner. Dean and I are still a couple at this time.

My cousin and her boyfriend drive me to his house. I know he just wants me there for sex, and at first, I want it too, but I am only 16y/o and very confused. I chicken out. He forces me.

During the date rape, I begged him to stop. I even tried to put my hands around his neck, trying to choke him so he would get off of me, but his neck was too big. I begged and begged but he just wouldn’t stop. I don’t try to prosecute or say anything about it to my mom because I feel responsible.

Influenced by the boys around me who are in the punk scene, and in a world of self-hatred, I end up cutting myself. I try to hide it from my mother, by hiding my bloody shirts in my closet. My mother finds one of them and gets angry because I ruined a shirt.

Dean and I break up.

I begin smoking my mother’s cigarettes, which she kept in the freezer for freshness. I also begin to take unknown pills from her prescription bottle, and trade them with some of my friends. We are punks, so we think it’s “cool” to do this and other weird stuff. I smoke pot for the first time with a friend of mine.

Early 1985:

I run away from home, and stay gone for a couple of weeks. Somehow, I still manage to go to school. I am so close to graduating, and I don’t want to fail. At first, I spend nights and the homes of various friends/acquaintances in the punk scene. The last week I am away from home, I spend at a girl’s home. She is a year younger than me, and her family is kind to let me stay with them.

Eventually my mother and I work it out, and I return home. My father tells me he knew where I was at every minute, which seems strange to me.

I meet a new boyfriend, Marco, who comes from a wealthy family. His father is a lawyer. I often walk to his apartment after school. He has lots of parties at his house. He has two roommates and they are in college.

I get my wisdom teeth removed, and the oral surgeon is the same on my boyfriend uses. I remember being given sodium pentothal for the procedure, and I remember them talking to me while I was under.

06/1985:

I graduate high school, lucky to make it with a C average, considering the emotional and psychological damage done on me.  I brag about how I made it even though I was somehow able to skip at least some portion of every day.

My father buys me a compact car for graduation. It is rear-ended about a week later, by a green van going about 50mph, while I am stopped, making a left-hand turn, with my turn signal on. The driver of the van has no insurance. My friend and I are miraculously not hurt, save for some bumps and bruises, but we have to climb out the windows because the frame is bent. If the car hadn’t been brand new, it would’ve been totaled. It is never the same after that, and is in the shop over the entire summer.

08/1985:

I attempt suicide, during a party, on the bathroom floor of Marco’s house, because he dumps me. I guess that was a father figure for me, like every boyfriend is. Somehow, I thought he could help me, and I think he did too. My problems are so deep seated, that I would need a hypnotherapist to really help me. I go into the bathroom, lock the door, and slit my wrist. The floor ends up virtually covered in blood, and I pass out. My now ex-boyfriend calls an ambulance and they bust down the door to get me out. While stitching me up, the doctor tells me I almost died and will have to baker acted into a psych ward of some sort. I end up at a county-run crisis center, where, at 17, I am put into the adult ward. Looking across the unit, through the double doors, I see little children, ages 4, 5, & 6, approximately, in cages, stacked on top of one another, being wheeled down the hall. This has a deep psychological impact on me.

A friend of mine introduces me to LSD. It helps me to see that nothing could be so bad as to justify suicide.

I enroll in college, taking 4 classes: Psychology, Sociology, Anthropology, and Philosophy. I end up receiving the following grades in order: A, B, C, D. I drop out.

At this point, music is playing a huge role in my life (programming?). The artists that connect to me the most are Peter Gabriel, Duran Duran, and Kate Bush. Kate Bush writes a song called “Experiment IV”, which is about a “sound that could kill someone from a distance”. This will hold deep meaning for me much later in my life, when I am being killed with the so-called “no-touch torture”, that many people are going through these days.

06/1985:

I graduate high school, lucky to make it with a C average, considering the emotional and psychological damage done on me.  I brag about how I made it even though I was somehow able to skip at least some portion of every day.

 

11/1985:

My mother, who is a gambler, accuses me of stealing her wallet and calls the cops. Since I was passed out on the phone all night with my boyfriend, Gary, waking up with the phone pressed between my head and the pillow, I know there is no way I could’ve done it. Still, I am brought down to the cop station. Because I am frightened, I of course am unable to pass a lie detector (which is why they are not admitted as evidence), because I am a scared 17 year old girl. The cops make me give a fake confession by threatening to have me locked up. I give the fake confession, but I am a smart ass about it. They accept it. I am a scapegoat. On the day I turn 18y/o, I move in with my boyfriend who is 29y/o at the time. I get a job working at a hair dresser in the mall. I excel at this job, and end up winning lots of benefits from it. I design a dress for a hair show.

 

Mid 1986:

My boyfriend, Gary, is an alcoholic, but I love him. We get engaged, and he gives me his grandmother’s .75 carat diamond, platinum ring. We smoke pot and do acid together, while I go to work at a hair-styling salon, and he works at a drive-in convenience store. At one point, my inability to deal with his alcoholism manifests in the form of a terrible stomach ache that I cannot resolve. It gets so bad, that I have to go see a doctor for it. The doctor gives me a pelvic exam for a stomach ache. He leaves the speculum in and exits the room for over 45 minutes. Upon returning, he says, “Oh, I’m sorry, are we still friends?”

Unable to deal with Gary’s behavior when drunk, we break up. I return his grandmother’s ring. I loved him, but he behaved in a certain way when he was drunk and it scared me. We did have allot of fun together though. I hope he’s okay.
Late 1986:

I begin to hang out with these guys who I met near Marco’s house. One of them, Ched, is seeking a double degree, for Women’s Studies and Mass Communications. I fall in love with his mind. Like me, he loves punk music. This guy will be the person who teaches me how to clean my private parts. When they move out of that complex, I get busted for possession of marijuana and shoplifting a bronchial dilator from a grocery store. I will do pretrial intervention program, and fulfill all the requirements. At the end of it, the judge will declare that the charges will be expunged from my record, but for some reason they are not expunged. They end up getting me in trouble later on.

I end up moving in with Ched, and his two friends, Ray and Charlie. We party allot, drinking beer and smoking pot.

Early 1987:

I enroll at a community college, to become an artist. I work hard at this, and develop a decent technical ability. I receive an art scholarship, because my instructors like my work. I can duplicate anything in charcoal, pastels, or paint, if I have enough time.

I have my first abortion during this year.

Late 1987:

 

In painting class, we are given an assignment to do a copy of an “old masters” painting. I do a painting called, “The Carrying of the the Cross”, by Hieronymus Bosch, (http://www.hieronymus-bosch.org/The-Carrying-of-the-Cross-(detail-of-Christ-and-St.-Veronica).html)
but my canvas is not the exact size of the original, and there is space left over. My painting teacher suggests that I do a self-portrait in the upper left hand corner, where the extra space is, and I do it. 

At this point, I am living with a boyfriend and his two friends, and we are all in college. We live behind a bar, which is coincidentally, the same building where I was molested in the DJ booth, by that 21y/o when I was 16y/o. We frequent this bar, and at one point, I find the top of an old pinball machine, which I decide to paint on. I will eventually win an award for this painting. Looking back on that piece, I now think it was rather hideous. It was indicative of the hell I was feeling internally. It was called “The Universe”, but it was an image of hell, complete with fire. I was following a Mexican “Day of the Dead” theme for this, but it shows just how disturbed I really was.

Early 1988:

I learn how to weld, and do an almost 11 foot tall steel sculpture, called, “Person”, yet everyone calls it “a man”. It ends up at my sculpture teacher’s house. I have talent and skills, and a future. I meet a woman named Mary Jane Skinner, who strangely enough, looks just like the Magi on one of the Magi cards in the Thoth deck. She is somehow able to steal my ideas. She introduces me to Jerome, which ends up distracting me from my career. I have been programmed, like so many other Monarch victims, as some sort of breeder, so that drive kicks in, making me become too sexually driven. It cannot be a coincidence that this woman effectively ruins my career and her name is Skinner, and my initials spell “cat” – “skin the cat”.

Eventually, I will get a tattoo on my back that resembles the winged disk in front of the figure in this card. Is that significant of me being screwed by her? It sure seems that way. While the tattoo is a bit different, everything in this deck is too close to my life for me to deny it any longer. In 1988, though, I have yet to understand that my life has been so affected by this and other tarot decks.

I have my second abortion during this year.

Early 1991:

I win 2^nd place in a student juried art show, and am given a show in the gallery over the summer.

Mid 1991:

When some of the male students hang my “Christ Carrying the Cross” painting, it falls and gets ripped, right across the face of my self-portrait. Foreshadowing anyone?

Late 1991:

I graduate with an Associate in Arts.

Early 1992:

I discover that I am pregnant at the same time that I contract herpes. Jerome and I had some relations with another couple, and I assumed that it was the man, but later Jerome will tell me that he could’ve contracted it before he met me. I end up with a horrible rash all over my body and feel like I am dying.

Jerome and I have a son and place him for adoption. Could this be a sort of repetition of the pattern put in place when I was placed for adoption? I go into therapy for depression over the adoption. About 6 months into therapy, my father stops paying for it, reasoning that “if you’re not over it by now, you never will be”.

Skinner introduces me to heroin about a month after my therapy ends. It is the only thing that relieves my intense sadness, but it eventually ruins my life.

What is the very worst illegal thing I ever did? I did illegal drugs: various kinds, at various intervals. Oh no, I didn’t rape anyone, I didn’t violate anyone physically (although I was raped when I was 16y/o by a 21y/o). I didn’t force my child to wear a bikini and sell my hotdogs at construction sites (which my mother did to me when I was 14y/o), I never stabbed or murdered anyone. I never attacked anyone. I never mind-controlled anyone, although I am unsure as to whether there are laws regarding that subject, AT ALL.

I end up going to work for a printing company that my cousin works for, until it closes a few months later. I am in deep depression that I cannot seem to climb out of. I miss my son, and wish I never placed him for adoption. I know that because of my programming, and because I was not allowed to be left-handed, that I am unable to persevere in the career of my choice, however, it also seems like my entire life has been orchestrated in this manner. It’s as if God himself didn’t want me to be happy. This feeling that I cannot explain becomes my sublimated anger and depression.

Jerome and I end up living in the garage beneath an apartment where his friends live. Living in a garage adds to my depression, and my behavior reflects this. We party with his friends upstairs with LSD and alcohol.

Early 1993:

Jerome and I move into an apartment that my real estate broker Aunt has gotten us into. Eventually, her daughter and her boyfriend move in next door. We end up hearing gunshots almost every night.

Late 1993:

I am still very sad about placing my son for adoption.

After the printing company I worked for goes under, I find a job at another printing company. Jerome and I end up breaking up before long. I meet a man, Jason, at this company who is about 8 years older than me, and has 3 children: 2 teens who live with him, and one grade school aged daughter who lives with her mother. He says he is attracted to me because I use heroin. I know now that, subconsciously, I saw him as the father figure I needed in my life.

In the company I work for, I have this boss who like to molest me from time to time. I do it, because I need the job. My addiction gets worse. Since I am now living alone in the apartment that Jerome and I once shared, I have no vehicle, and my boss has to pick me up every morning for work.

March 2004:

I find out that I’m pregnant. I quit using opiates. I stay off drugs, but am only able to get down to 10 cigs a day (after smoking about a pack and a half), and one cup of coffee a day (I used to drink about two pots/day at work to keep up with a heavy workload).

Fall 2004:

My daughter is born, and the very next month, I have surgery for cervical dysplasia, while my daughter has to have surgery on her stomach (projectile vomiting). Something terrible happens to me during my surgery, but the memory is repressed at that time, because I was under a general anesthetic, and because my mind is unable to process it. This is a well-known psychological concept, yet the psychiatrist and psychologist I will start to see in 2012 will tell me it isn’t real. The memory of the horrible thing that was done to me will come out in 2011 as a flashback. There is a reason why this was done to me. It effectively destroyed my root chakra. If you know anything about chakra system, then you know what kind of psycho-spiritual damage can be caused by trauma to the root chakra. I now wonder if this is why circumcision is routinely performed on boys.

By making people very insecure, they are made to become bigger consumers. They find comfort in spending money, shopping, gambling, drinking, or using drugs. They find comfort in food, in cigarettes, in watching movies, listening to music, or basically taking things in as opposed to giving things out or producing things.

Jan 2005:

My maternity leave is over and I go back to work, but have a really hard time being away from my daughter.

March 2005:

The medical billing company I work for allows me to begin working at home.

Fall 2005:

Jerome talks me into moving into a home we CANNOT afford, costing us $1200.00/mo, while we were coming from an apartment that we paid $465.00/mo for. Despite my begging, and warning him about the housing market which is about to crash, he forces the issue… I have no choice. His father quickly begins work on the house, adding a garage in which no car can park, and ripping up the kitchen and bathroom floors, revealing asbestos tiling. Yay. They spend at least a year and a half working on this house we cannot afford, pouring money into a money pit, at the worst time possible.

At this time, I am still working, at home, for the medical billing company. I find it very difficult to hold down a full time job, at home, and simultaneously take care of our toddler, while the house is in constant disarray for all of the work being done on it. I don’t complain about it though.

I begin to learn about reiki, which is a modality of energy healing, supposedly discovered by Japanese Buddhist Mikao Usui, in 1922, when he went searching for the energy healing modality that was believed to have been practiced by Jesus. I begin to buy books on reiki, crystals, and tarot. I even began to learn a bit about organic home remedies. Looking back on the situation, I can now see that I had business getting into all of this stuff, when I already had too much on my plate. I don’t know what possesses me get into all of this. I think it has something to do with my spiritual search. Unfortunately, I think it opens me up to some negative forces.

When the company I work for tells me I have to come back into the office, though, I decline and give my one month notice, which turns into 4 months before I actually leave. I always like my job, and didn’t really want to leave, I just couldn’t stand being away from my daughter.

2006:

I take up an interest in crystals and tarot, not even considering that they are of the occult. I also begin to learn about reiki, which is a modality of energy healing, supposedly discovered by Japanese Buddhist Mikao Usui, in 1922, when he went searching for the energy healing modality that was believed to have been practiced by Jesus. I begin to buy books on reiki, crystals, and tarot. I even began to learn a bit about organic home remedies.

I learn meditation, and I get into certain so-called spiritual gurus like Wayne Dyer, who seems to be very positive. He talks about books like “Ask and It Is Given”, “The Secret”, and “What the Bleep Do We Know”. These books are largely about a concept known as “The Law of Attraction”. I begin to try to focus on attracting positive things in my life. At this point, I am still unaware of the curse of archetypal transference working in my life, in relation to the Hanged Man card of the Tarot.

Something strange was happening to me during this time, pushing me to want to delve into all these subjects at once. In looking back, I realize it was way too much for me to be getting into at that time.

2007:

Lots of pressure, trying to work and care for our daughter. Feels like I am running around in circles. House is a disaster, while these men spend a year and a half working on a garage that we cannot even park the car inside of. I am simultaneously working on a computer with a toddler running around the house.

While I am learning about tarot, crystals, and reiki, and I often fall asleep listening to binaural beats and various interviews with one of my favorite speakers. I feel that the recordings I was listening to, in combination with the implants in my ears, allowed someone to program me or otherwise insert ideas into my head, that would possibly come out at a later date, as a result of post hypnotic suggestions, or triggers.

I am on a desperate search for God in my life, but I am looking in all the wrong places. Given the fact that I have had a horrible trauma done in my root chakra, and that I have implants in my head (photos below), is it any wonder that I was living a messed up life, searching everywhere for some sort of spirituality, and feeling this unexplainable sadness?

I get involved in some metaphysical groups online to learn more about energy healing. One group had a charismatic female leader, who seems to have been sensitizing members of her group to trigger terms. I also join a hermetic forum, in which I meet a man there who also ends up sensitizing me to trigger terms. I didn’t realize it at the time, but what both these people were doing amounts to mind control.

The female leader of the Shamballa group was using techniques to alter people’s merkabas (which is an extension of a person’s aura). She also said she was using a technique known as “mind-bending” on various people in the group, as well as public figures, such as Hillary Clinton. She had her members doing some strange meditations involving crystals, and I blindly followed them, which I believe further opened me up to demonic influence.

Recently (2012), I saw an online group known as “Freedom from Mindbenders”, which I find interesting, although it wasn’t active when I found it.

03/2008:

I begin to hear voices. I have an event that could be described as a heart attack, but what it felt like was some powerful energy coming up into my root chakra, reaching my heart, then an explosion. For two weeks afterward, I am feeling elation. Voices begin to play with my ego. They start out by telling me they love me, that I am special in some way. The spirits or energies associated with these voices do some sexual things to me.

06/2008:

These same voices are convincing me that I am Mary (of bible fame), or some type of “birth goddess” ala Sumerian lore, and that I will have an immaculate conception. Here, I must mention that Duran Duran song called “Come Undone”, in which he mentions “My immaculate dream…”  Looking back, I can see this as some sort of mind-control, relating to the fact that I was Catholic, and that I played Mary in the school play. They also tell me that I will be reunited with my real family and are coming to get me. This is some powerful mind control, because I had never heard voices before in my life. I think that God is talking to me. The voice calls me “baby”. In 2012, I will wonder how many other females are out there, going through a similar situation. This makes Jerome think I am crazy.

07/2008: I discover the implants on each ear (photos below). I show Jerome and he doesn’t believe they are implants. I have no clue how long they have been there. Jerome thinks I am nuts because of the things I am saying about what the voices are telling me, and we start to fight about this. He has me baker acted into a state-run crisis center. They release me after a day because I am lucid. At one point, I end up staying at the neighbor’s house, when Jerome threatens to kick me out. I begin to have a fear of knives and forks, and the sound of lawn mowers. I file for food stamps and Medicaid.

08/2008: My reaction to the voices becomes unmanageable, prompting Jerome to have me baker acted 3 times, which in turn, causes me to lose my job. By the end of the month, Jerome stops paying the mortgage and leaves with our daughter, Laura, and now since I have no job, I am unable to pay the bills that I used to be responsible for.

09/2008: Early in the month, I begin to feel the most debilitating pain I have ever felt in my life. I have since discovered the name of this condition is vulvodynia, and it is caused by previous trauma in the area. I spend the first month of it literally screaming on the floor. No one seems to care about it, or they just don’t believe me.

While in this horrible pain, the voices start accusing various people in my life for causing my pain. At this point, I have yet to have any flashbacks related to my pain, and since I am all alone and afraid, I believe them. I begin to send some very negative energy to all the people that the voices are blaming for my pain. I only sent that negative energy in an effort to make them stop. Later, I will make every effort to send healing to all of them, when I realize that the voices have been lying to me.

10/2008: The pain becomes unbearable, and I go to a neighbor’s house to use their phone and call an ambulance. I get to the hospital and I am treated very badly. They tell me that I do not have an STD, but they are going to treat me as if I do. I file for disability.

By the end of the month, the power gets turned off. Just in time for winter.

I have to use candles to keep warm, and I use a gutted out toaster oven to cook on, by putting the fire inside the toaster oven, and putting a frying pan on top of it. I begin to have garage sales to try to make a few dollars.

I beg my father to help me to get on the methadone program because my pain is unbearable, and I feel this might help. It does, but only somewhat. Marijuana seems to help, but I cannot afford it. I make friends with a neighbor across the street, but his sexual interest in me is unnerving. I have no sexual interest in anyone because I have been messed with mentally to believe that I am meant for a certain man, whom I admire, who (when looking back on the whole mess) I see couldn’t possibly be interested in me. The voices are so powerful, and at this point I am getting visions and having strange physical experiences. While having some sort of vision of this man I admire, telling me that we belong together, he rolls some sort of etheric energy ball into my root chakra. I don’t know if the implants have something to do with this or if it is just occult magic done to mess with my mind, and to make me appear crazy.

Early 2009:

I am told (by the voices) to get the Thoth Tarot deck because it is “my deck”. I see my tattoo on several of the cards, trumps and others, most notably the Magi card, and the Devil Card, and some of the cards in the Wands suit. It is a variation of the so-called “winged disk”.

I am denied for disability.

My mother has a heart attack while at a craft show. She is moved from the hospital to a rehab, and dies there. I get to see her one time before she passes.

Mid 2009:

I begin to have flashbacks of my mother doing something to me in my privates, but they aren’t totally clear. I just chalk it up to her changing my diaper or something. I do not want to blame her for something she didn’t do.

I end up going to another emergency room for help, and they won’t treat me.

Winter 2009:

I spend another winter using candles to keep me from freezing in the house. Occasionally, I can get a neighbor to let me stay on his couch, but I am made to kiss him. I keep hearing voices promising me that I will be rescued.

02/2011:

I move into an apartment with a friend who used to live at the house where I rented a room. He is schizophrenic, but on some level, I feel like we could be friends. Things get really weird, really fast. He expects me to be some kind of slave for him, and takes to destroying the apartment and making me clean it up. At one point, he disappears. His father tells me that he is in jail after wrecking his car.

09/23/2011:

Jerome is taking classes in electronic engineering, while trying to work full time. I come and stay for a couple of weeks, to help take care of our daughter and to stay for her birthday, allowing him some time to study for his next test.

10/07/2011:

I head back to my apartment, which is about an hour and a half away from where Jerome and Laura are living. While I am constantly hearing voices saying that I will be taken to jail for some crime I haven’t committed, I like having my own place. I am still in constant pain.

At one point, during this month, I will call my brother and when he answers the phone, he will say to me, "You won't live". I will ask him what he said several times, and he will deny saying anything.

10/14/2011:

Jerome passes his next test, and we are speaking about me coming to stay with him to help him with our daughter, so he could have more time to study.

10/30/2011:

He fails the following test, so he has to begin looking for another job. Now I cannot help him in the way I was hoping. It is as if some horrible and cruel energy does not want me to truly help anyone, even my ex or my daughter. I go back to my apartment, with the intent to come back to J’s house around Christmastime, so I can spend the holidays with my daughter.

12/08/2011:

Fearing for my life…. And/or my freedom, and having already bought my daughter’s Christmas gifts, I wanted to be sure she got them, lest she think I am a total piece of garbage, selfish jerk, that these voices think I am. I called Jerome and begged him to come get me at his earliest convenience. I just want my daughter to know I love her and think about her, even though I am in a living hell, and would be better off staying away.

08 & 09 2012:

I am at the same time disturbed and amazed by the lyrics of some of these songs by the band named “Muse”. Almost every song addresses some issue I have. Either they are told what words to put in their songs via those in control of this whole weird MK Ultra thing, or they have been tapping directly into my subconscious mind. They actually have songs called, “MK Ultra”, “Stockholm Syndrome” (which is an actual syndrome in mind control victims, as found in the behavior of Joseph Mengele toward his “patients”). For more info on Stockholm Syndrome, see the book entitled The Illuminati Formula Used to Create an Undetectable Total Mind Controlled Slave, by Cisco Wheeler and Fritz Springmeier, which describes what I went through, but on a different level.

9/11/2012:

Okay… so this is weird: I opened up a music player on the computer, because I got tired of picking each song, one after another, breaking in between my reading or writing. So when I opened it up, the first thing that came up was this phrase from the Blade Runner soundtrack: “Not very sporting of you to fire on an unarmed opponent”. Then it went straight to Mumford and Sons, “I Will Wait (For You)”.  It wasn’t in order, but I didn’t specify the “shuffle”. This indicates my exact situation, in a way.  I have always been unarmed, yet, it seems as if someone has been firing on me, my whole life!

As I write this, I reminded of the date, 9/11, when the twin towers, towers 1 & 2, as well as tower 7, went down, after a supposed attack from Iraq. I am so sorry, but I find it hard to believe, given what I know about the nature of our world, and given what I know about how this world is so infected with lies from those who feel they have the right to control others.

At this point, given what I know about secret societies and the occult, and given that they are in charge of our world today, and have been for so long, I find myself existing in a world loaded with lies, in which one cannot blame me for being messed up in the head, given that I was so sensitive to begin with. I mean, when you name someone after an animal, what do you expect? They say animals are more sensitive than people. It’s as if the archetype of the animal my initials spell is somehow engraven into my head, in addition to the archetype of the Hanged Man (12^th trump) tarot card. I really had the deck stacked against me (pun intended).

Okay, so I was born on 12/12/1967. My heart skipped a beat, just as I typed those words. My address, when I was very young, was 712 Druid Hills Rd. I have to ask the reader to consider their birthdate, in relation to their various addresses, simply because of what I have been through in my life. I want to know if the pattern in my life is in any way indicative of how patterns in people’s lives manifest themselves according to birthdate, numerology, and corresponding tarot cards, or if this has been peculiar to me. For example, after my mom & dad were divorced, my mom moved into a place with the address 4473. Is it any coincidence that her birthdate was 4/4, and that her associated trump from the tarot is The Emperor card? She seemed to have so much power over others, like her boyfriends or my father. Is it any coincidence that my entire life has seemed to be in an upside-down position, when you consider that the trump card of the tarot that corresponds with my birthdate is The Hanged Man?

When I think about what happened on 9/11/2001, and the fact that I was well into a deep drug induced hypno-sleep when it happened, in a hotel room with only a bathroom & a closet, and a cat, I know I was messed up. But that was done long before I ever was even born, via a curse that was put on me, by making be born on that 12/12 date, and relating me to the tarot. I was so busy being sad, that I couldn’t take what was happening in the world. Considering how sensitive I was/am, it’s no wonder I felt the need to do drugs, and to sleep through what was going on in the world. While I wish I could do some drugs now, I am not, because I am simply afraid to break any laws.

Throughout my process of learning exactly how I’d been cursed, I have been viciously attacked with slander, and I wish it would stop. It seems everyone I speak to regarding my situation, is somehow kept from helping me. Like that poor guy in “Tales of the Ubermensch: Hack.World”, I find myself living in a nightmare, from which I have yet to escape, in which it seems that others have been controlling my life. The difference in my story, though, is the fact that my programming wasn’t done to me by someone in person, like Delilah did to Nada. Rather, my programming was all done via implants, through sound waves (see photos of implants below).  It is as if I have no freewill.  While I am suffering from numerous ailments, no one seems to be able (or qualified?) to diagnose them. I have been to three ERs and a couple of clinics, but cannot seem to get any real treatment for the constant pain I have suffered from over the past four years.

I find it bizarre that, while I am currently seeking disability, considering what I’ve been through, that a judge denied me. I mean, I tried to commit suicide at 17, have a documented history of depression, and have been in constant physical pain since 2008, I have self-mutilation scars, flashbacks, PTSD, a history of drug abuse… so what else do you need to see that I have been suffering, on some level, for most of my life??? Yet, I cannot seem to get any real help from the psychological “professionals”, who have, in essence, called me a liar. While they are treating me for schizophrenia, a disease worthy of disability, I am unable to get disability. What kind of world am I living in??? I applied back in October 2008, one month after my constant pelvic pain began. It has now been 4 years since I applied. I have been out of work, with no insurance, so I have been unable to see any doctors who are willing or able to spend a decent amount of time, determining my illnesses.

At this point, I must mention that I have two very obvious implants at each of my ears, but very few people want to believe that they are real, even though I hear noises through them on an ongoing basis. I also get pain from them.  For example, the last psychologist I had, pretty much called me a liar when I saw her for the second appointment, when she said to me, “I already know you like to tell stories”. What the heck is that supposed to mean? That woman doesn’t even know me. I can only imagine that someone who doesn’t want me to get help said something to her. This is the same psychologist who told me that the implants (which are about the size of RFID chips, and can be felt in front of each ear) are keloid scars, which cannot be true, given what keloids look like as compared to what these implants look like.

Here are photos of my implants, and a photo of what keloid scars look like:

As you can see, keloids are on the skin and what I have are under the skin. They are obviously NOT SCARS. Some people try to tell me that they are just cartilage. There is cartilage in my nose, but I don’t get buzzing sensations or voices through that!

I don’t WANT disability, mind you, I need it. I hate the idea that I ever even had to apply for it! I am disgusted by it! I have always worked for my money and supported myself, and feel like the scum of the earth for applying.