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A Quick Note:

There was a time when I believed I owed it to the whole to take the hits for them. Then a friend, who actually ended up not being a friend after all because, as tough as he was, he really couldn’t handle the truth, had told me that I was a sucker for the “liberal” agenda. The truth being he was one of “them.” The truth was outside his comfort zone, his own belief system would be in jeopardy. From that what I came to realize is that it wasn’t just the “liberal” agenda making me a sucker, and that many people with an agenda will use others to do things they don’t want to do. Sometimes this is okay, because we are willing to be part of the team. Other times its not okay because we are actually being manipulated for someone else’s gain. Part of the psychological attack that was done against me included the predator’s convincing me (and others) by what they were doing to me was for helping. Indeed, I wanted to believe it, too, because all good and fair decent people don’t want to think the people we have been given to trust actually are evil. And, yet, they are. Not only that they help to operate an evil network because so called good people are willing to go along to cover their own asses. And this is why I am not going to stop writing the story, even if it is not exciting, that will tell how low the individuals in the system will go to protect themselves. This includes even if they have to collaboratively kill good and fair decent people. The truth is, they do not care, and they hide within the system giving an appearance that they do. They are liars. WITH DOCTORS LIKE THESE WHO NEEDED ENEMIES?

ADDED: I was thinking about an expose from a woman that, to me, revealed something very personal. I wondered how she could do that, expose herself in that way to possible criticism of something that personal. Than, I wondered what it is I’m doing with my own blog. And I realized the difference. I am not personally open. Yes, I talk and share, but my very personal feelings and private event I have always kept to myself. In my blog I’m not talking about something personal. I’m talking about something personal of others that was done to me by them that they don’t want revealed. Yes, they tried to shame me to shut me up. They did terrible things to me, too, that I’m not finished telling about. But none of what they did really was about me, but more revealing about themselves. It did not matter to them who I am or was. What mattered to them was covering up themselves by having access to using and making more false notes to create their own narratives. I know I say these things over and over, but the reality of them is tormenting. I will continue writing until everyone I know gets the full picture of who they are and what they have willingly done. RIP Misty. RIP Rick.

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With Doctors Like These Who Needed Enemies?

So, okay, by December the whole neighborhood including my employer was  put on the push Judy around the game board bandwagon.   I guess it never occurred to anyone at Multicare to keep their mouths shut when asked.  Isn’t that what they’re supposed to do with patients?

Dr. Minehan, the surgeon/OB GYN was actually a neat guy (even if later I learned he could have given me a partial instead of a full.)   Minehan was obviously a family man.  And to give you a picture of what he was like, think of Peter Wolf in the video Come As You Are.  Except minus the post drunken party.  That would be Dr. Minehan.  He wore colorful shirts and ties, talked about his kids, and was generally a pleasant guy.   Kathryn Moschel, having been a doctor’s daughter, knew all the gossip so she told me his first divorce had been a nightmare  drama that had even been written about in the newspapers.   She said during the divorce his wife’s new boyfriend had gone into the clinic threatening to kill Dr. Minehan.  I would imagine it was probably due to custody issues, because he didn’t seem to be a materialistic sort of personality.  Obviously, Dr. Minehan loved kids and seemed to me to be a reliable, trustworthy person.  Right before my surgery he came in to talk with me while I was on my back with the anesthesiologist loading my veins with happy dust.  Dr. Minehan leaned in front of me so I could see his hands trembling while he made quivering sounds with his voice.  I started laughing, than so did he.  He asked, “Afraid?”  I said, “Nope. Not at all.”  He replied, “Okay, let’s do it!”  And so, there we were on October 31st, Halloween, getting ‘er done.

The follow up appointment was on December 5 and, as I’ve already told, a lot had gone on between October 31st and December 5th that was not good.  In my delirium it confused me that Multicare seemed to be reaching out to me in weird way.  Like through Kathryn, and like the boss’s daughter calling out that Multicare was on the line, and like the doctor’s picture being set out on their table, and like suddenly having a client that worked at Multicare helping me find a new doctor.  Yet THE doctor didn’t talk with me.  The message I was receiving was that they were trying to help me.  That’s part of their gaslighting, sending out mixed messages to a target to confuse us.  I didn’t know it at the time, though.  But there was no doubt about that I was confused and being confused.   But why?  I was crawling out of my head and out of my skin.  But why?  I was messed up, that’s why.

So there I was on December 5th, during my OB GYN appointment, when things started turning towards violence.

How that looks is while things were peaceful in Dr. Minehan’s examining room, andsince we all know what a pelvic exam is about, there I was in the most vulnerable position I could ever have been in outside of being with my husband.  Legs wide open, doctor’s face staring in, fingers and tools in my private part.  Dr. Minehan was  speaking positively, and than he decided to confirm with some tests on the computer.  He went over to it and while he was there reading his entire disposition changed.   That scared me.  Than he told me everything looked fine on the tests, but that he had been called out and needed to step outside for a moment.  He said while he was gone I should get dressed.  He was not happy with whatever came across the computer.  He was gone for a long time, so I thought something serious must have happened.  I waited so long that I was just about ready to walk out when the door opened and he came back in.  He told me there were people waiting for me outside and that he’d been ordered to turn me over to them.  He said he didn’t know what it was about but he had to obey, and that I needed to go with them.  Than he left, leaving the door open to them.

There was three of them.  One I knew was Debbie, the administrator.  There was another woman with her and a very large man wearing a security uniform.  They commanded me to go with them.  I asked to where we were going, but they didn’t say.  They led me out of Dr. Minehan’s area and onto a darkened hallway where the lights were off.  I was getting nervous because as a teenager I had been led into a dark place before by girls and boys I knew and was raped.

Debbie, the woman and the very large  man led me into a dark examining room.  There was a bit of light shining through the blinds on the window so it wasn’t completely dark.  They surrounded me against a counter.  Someone handed me papers and told me to sign them.  Debbie said I could not return to Multicare and if I did I would be arrested.  I didn’t want to sign the papers but the man told me if I didn’t than he would arrest me.  I was horrified and mad, too, that they were treating me this way. Especially during an OB GYN appointment.  I wondered what was wrong with those people, and I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could. They wouldn’t let me go though until I’d signed their papers.  I told them I wanted copies first, so one woman left than came back with copies.  Than I signed theirs and ran away.  What they did with me, a very vulnerable patient, was psychologically violent.  What they continued doing to me got even worse.  They were relentlessly evil.  That’s why I’m telling this, so that people learn the truth about what evil they have been doing to patients to cover up.

When I got home I called Jerry McKay to tell him what happened.  He was unhappy because, as I’ve said, we needed Dr. Sargent’s witness for the insurance company about how badly I’d been injured from the wreck. Now, Jerry told me, he probably won’t give it. I didn’t know what to do.  And I didn’t have a doctor anymore, either, to sign the forms or to help me so that I could continue my therapies.  Eventually, the following year I did find another doctor outside Multicare and that turned into a nightmare, too, of which I’ll speak about later.  In regards to the physical and massage therapies, I ended up having to pay for its continuance out of pocket.

At some point Jerry decided I had to talk with Dr. Sargent, to tell him we need his help.  Jerry told me that I must go to the Multicare parking lot, when it was closing, to wait there for the doctor so we could talk.  I agreed to do that.

I don’t remember what day it was.  I know my employer had a Christmas party in Seattle that I went to, and I think it was a day or two after that when I went the way Jerry wanted me to.  For some reason I wasn’t sleeping very well again.   I was still acting deliriously, huge highs and huge lows.

When I drove down to the parking lot that evening I set there for what seemed an eternity.  I tried to fall asleep waiting but was afraid I’d miss the doctor if I did.  I didn’t know what he drove so I’d have to make sure to see him.  I was thinking maybe I’d already missed him, too.  Maybe he’d left early or called in sick that day.  And I was restless, so I moved my truck to get a better view of the side door and what was left of the cars in the lot.  I was a little nervous, too, that security would see me than I’d be arrested.  A security person walked right past me, on the driver side, and I just knew I’d been spotted.  But I wasn’t stopped, so I’d guessed security was okay with my being there.  Everything to me was personal, like they knew it was me and were approving. Totally weird. Anyway,  I watched a janitor in one of the rooms on the second floor clearing cobwebs from the ceilings, and I laughed.  I remember thinking I needed that cleaning for my brains.  I remember thinking that was some kind of a signal from God, that we’d be cleaning some cobwebs from the doctor’s brains, too.   To me that was funny.  I was tired of waiting, though. Tired of entertaining myself on weirdness, so I thought about giving up and going home.

Than there were people coming out of the side door and they looked like Dr. Sargent and Christine Monroe.  Yes, it was them.  They were together as he walked her to what must have been her car.  They remained there facing each other together inside her opened car door, but away from the parking lot’s dim light. They were there for a long time.   I couldn’t really tell what they were doing, but it seemed intimate.  I thought maybe they were praying about a patient, which is why they were holding hands.  Maybe they were praying about me because they knew what they’d done.  Again, I waited for a long time. So long that, again, I was just about ready to give up to go home.  What I saw between the two didn’t bother me.  I wasn’t there for any other reason than to talk with the doctor about my condition, and about what Jerry wanted me to tell him of the legal situation too.

After they finally parted he was fast on his feet to his own vehicle. And because my own truck was running since I’d already decided to leave, I zoomed up and parked kind of alongside him.  He was already in his truck when I hopped out of mine while calling out for him to wait.  He saw me, than rolled down his window just a crack.  He said something like, “Remember what I told you?”  No, I didn’t remember.  I didn’t know what he was talking about.  I think I said something to the affect that I needed to talk with him.  He looked afraid, and I was confused because he looked totally different that night than I’d remembered.  He actually looked like a trapped rat.  I’d seen something I wasn’t supposed to, that was for sure.  Than security ran out from around the back of his truck, and the woman (not Debbie) who had given me the papers on December 5th shouted, “Judy, you cannot talk with Dr. Sargent!”

I was afraid they were going to arrest me, so I jumped into my truck (because its door was still open and it was running) and I drove away home.  “Well,” I thought, “that did not go very well.”

I called Jerry to tell him.  Than by the time of my next mental health appointment I’d decided to leave for the holiday, to get away from the madness.  I would be going to Whistler  B.C. for Christmas.  When I told him, the Dr. therapist told me Whistler was his wife and his favorite place to go and that while I was there I should check out the restaurant Quatros.  That was one of their favorites, too. Than I told him what I’d done, that I’d gone to the parking lot to talk with the doctor like Jerry had told me to.  The therapist called me a stupid idiot.  He couldn’t believe I’d done that.  I was so upset that on the drive to  Whistler I decided to never go back. He hadn’t done me any good, anyway.  My problem was not being mentally ill, anyway.  My problem was those drugs the doctor had bent my mind with that nobody wanted to talk about.

I went home to pack.  Before I could leave Q-man showed up to be sure everything was alright with the hot water heater.  While he was there he told me he’d been volunteering with Homeland Security.   Than he asked me if I knew what happened when they shoot a bird.  No, I didn’t know.  Q-man said that it scares the rest of the flock so they scatter.  Well, that seemed right.  I thought about it, than I told him that they’ll come back when they aren’t afraid anymore, and they will talk about what happened.  Q-man seemed to like that.  To me he was kind of like an angel.  Maybe he was even my own angel, seeing before how he’d handled Kathryn.

 

 

 

Who’s The Laughing Stock?

Yesterday I wrote some about December 2005, but doing that kind of put the cart ahead of the horse.  Because a lot more was going on before then that was spinning me.  A lot that was not good came through Kathryn Moschel’s installing herself into my life.

Yes, I know they tell us to not speak poorly of the dead. But do you know what?  I’m going to file that right along with the notion that to forgive people means that we forget and don’t tell about what they have done to us.  Forgiveness is not about forgetting. Nor is it about not speaking the truth.

When we are alive and of sound mind we make free will choices.  As far as she goes, I have no idea what prescriptions drugs, if any, Kathryn’s own doctor had her on.  Nor do I care.  Fact is, Dorris warned me about her, and Dorris turned out to be right.

I’m not here to demonize everyone or anyone.  I’m only here to tell my side of the story because I lost everything due to other people who were more influential and powerful than me.

I am telling what they did to me so you can decide for yourselves what is what.  I’ve already decided for myself, and I’m pretty sure Misty and Rick would agree.  But  they’re not here to tell it, are they?  Hum.

Last night while I tried to fall asleep that time period around late 2005 kept playing over in my head.  So much was going on at that time from their bouncing me around the game board that sometimes the time frame gets confusing to me.  To say they’d done it before, that they were well rehearsed, would be an understatement.

Just to recap, by mid 2005 I was still going to the mental therapist down on Central in Kent.  Not really sure why I was there, except for that the moron doctor seemed to want to pretend I had mental problems instead of accepting that he was a fricking  quack.  So I was going.  And truth is, the dude wasn’t helping me.   If anything he was making things worse.

Around that time Kathryn was trying to make me jealous.  She’d already gone over to Multicare to get herself hooked up when I’d caught the attention of one of Dorris’ sons, Sandy.  Dorris, my neighbor and baptismal God mother, had two sons. Both were about my age.  One son and I hit if off in a platonic way.  I trusted him because he was Dorris’ son.  Well he was her step son anyway.  Close enough to  be trustworthy, right?

One day he asked me if I would like to go to Newport, Oregon with him. For that I would need to drive to his house outside of Salem, than spend a couple of nights.  I’m a big girl, right?  So I went.   I had a pleasant time and we talked pretty much most the nights, and on the drive to Newport, too. I met his married neighbor from across the street, of whom he showed me he had in his closet some of her lingerie.  I was not interested in exploring that about him or her.  He showed me all of his suits in the closet, also, of which he had many!  Probably 50!  Too many! But, obviously he loved suits.

He also showed me his very well organized tools in the garage, and the porcelain china he’d inherited.  It was all very impressive.  We chatted until late into the evenings.  Than on Sunday he made me breakfast. I thanked him, and I drove home.   It was pleasant enough.  Newport was pretty cool.

As he and I were becoming platonic acquaintances, I guess Kathryn decided to intervene in what she thought might have been a budding romance.  She called me over to show me the guy had sent her an invitation, too, in the form of a pretty Hallmark card.  Shrug.  They’d known each since forever. Whatever.  I was obsessed with the doctor anyway, remember.  Ugh, barf.  And I was just divorced so truly I didn’t want any romances either.

Kathryn created this mail romance with Dorris’ step son that she seemed anxious to share with me. I’m not petty jealous, anyway not in a way that rules my life.  She’d shared with me about her on line dating failure, so I was rooting for the chic.  So when she’d called me over to her house to read whatever was the latest romantic card she said the dude had sent her I’d play along with her fantasy.  Yah, sure, they were going to get married than live in a wonderful farmhouse in Oregon forever and ever. Whatever.

Both of their lifelong dreams would come true all because they’d realized their unrequited love through his and my one platonic weekend in Oregon. Whatever.  Maybe I should have told Kathryn about his blonde bomb shell neighbor’s stolen piece of lingerie that he kept in his closet to masturbate on.  I don’t know. Except I’m not a spoil sport, so I left it alone.

 

Back at the ranch, even though I’d changed doctors I did end up making even more of an idiot of myself over Dr. Sargent.  How it came to be more was that right after my hysterectomy (Oct 31), but before the treatment from the chemo/ MRI before Nov 24) I’d found a card from Rite Aid that I wanted to give him professing my love.  I cannot believe this, but I even wrote him a poem.   Some stupid stuff about his eyes twinkling and  his arms reminding me of my (by than deceased) father’s.   I wrote something in a note, too, about how he’d forgotten me.  I remember at home  I was listening to the BeeGees Don’t Forget To Remember and at home I was still listening to all all of this music while I was insanely dancing all night for the demons.

Whatever I gave him is all in the court case records he and Multicare brought against me.  Funny how their information, my private HIPAA information (because I was still a Multicare patient) was kept public while my own over 35 exhibits proving what they’d done to me were all destroyed.  No corruption there, right?

Anyway, I got that card, wrote the poem or whatever you want to call it, than put in a picture of myself with it and a note telling him to remember me.  Than I took that and entered into the Multicare building right before their offices closed.

In the late hours I searched for the doctor.  I found him in a storage room counting supplies while he was whistling Winter Wonderland.  I whispered his name and when he turned to see me I smiled and handed him the card.  Now that I think about it, its possible I’d gone back twice. Because now I remember a time when I’d found him in the storage room but also there was a time I remember too when I went there and he, Christine Monroe and another woman were working at a computer.  I remember handing him my picture with the note saying that he’d forgotten me.  Both of those times would have been between Oct 31 and Nov 24.   I can’t say for sure the order of those events because I was experiencing those post Ambien highs and lows, and I had just gotten my female parts pulled out too.  And I was working with a Multicare nurse on her home loan, too.  Is it relevant?  I don’t know.  I was starting to plan for Christmas.

Before I could decide about Christmas, one afternoon while I was raking leaves in the yard Dorris’ other son, Todd, and a woman I didn’t know called out to me from Dorris’ side yard where they lounged on Dorris’ outdoor furniture.  Todd was in the process of getting a divorce for the second time from a wife.  The woman with him was not her.  Todd was a lout and a long time fixture with the cronies in town and at my church too . They called me over to them, so being polite I walked over to hear what they had to say.  They were laughing at me, not with me, and Todd told me the woman also knew Sandy who had taken me to Newport  Than the woman told me how Sandy had driven her, for fun, to Newport, too.  I was happy for her, said so, than turned back around to my yard work, while listening to their laughter over my shoulder.   Whatever.

I told myself they did not matter. I had Thanksgiving with the Moschel, and plans for Christmas were uncertain.   Maybe the doctor would want to join me, right?

On December 5th I had an appointment to follow up with Dr. Minehan regarding the hysterectomy.  After Thanksgiving but prior to that appointment my water heater went out.   I called the Q-man for help.  He gave me a list of things to find out about that could save me money on the installation of a new one.  I followed his instructions and got the new water heater into the house.  Than we found out that because of the age of my home versus the current codes even more preparation had to be done.

Therefore sometime between Thanksgiving and December 5th, I remember it came to be that the Q-man and Kathryn Moschel came face to face in my family room.  I know this was the time frame because once he’s installed and finished the hot water heater project, than returned to tell me what more he needed to, the Q-man wrote onto the hot water heater the date of December 5th. That is the same month and day of my only  child’s birth, so I remember that date very well.  For many years when I would need to do a sanity/reality check I would go downstairs to look at that date Q-man wrote, than I would know it was all true.  It was just one of an angel’s affirmations.

So the hot water heater’s going out caused Kathryn and Q-man to come face to face and I remember that while Q-man was downstairs retrofitting the hot water heater Kathryn knocked at the door. As I recall I had not seen her since Thanksgiving. So I invited her in to chat, and she set down on the sofa to hear from me what had happened that day at Multicare. I didn’t even think to ask her how she knew something had happened.  But, as it was, Q-man came upstairs while she sat there waiting.

He hated her.  There was no doubt that instantly he hated her.  Immediately he began a dialogue with her that I did not completely understand.  Than he boldly said to her, “I know why you are setting where you are on that sofa.”  And he pointed over to the mirror in the corner curio. “From where you set talking with Judy, as if you are sincere, you can look at yourself, can’t you?”

I was stunned while she literally growled at him, “Do you know, old man, that you talk way too much?”  Wow.  She was vain and in love with herself and he was calling her out!

But to Q-man I said, “Excuse me, but Kathryn and I have women’s talk to to, sir.  And we have not spoken in a while.  Can you please excuse yourself to leave us for that?”  To which he kindly bowed to my request, than left.  We would talk more later.

Now, I am going to tell you what Kathryn had come over that day to say that was nasty.  After Q-man left, Kathryn took my hands in hers as a confidante.  Than she told me from her sexual experience that men, especially French men, enjoyed putting their penises into women.  Than, once they’d done that, Kathryn told me, they would force themselves into the woman’s mouth to watch her reaction to tasting herself.

I could not believe what she was saying.  I was shocked!  I told her to leave.

I never told Kathryn what happened to me at Multicare that day on December 5th, 2005.  But I did get to tell Q-man, to which later Q-man had more to share.

Its A Creeper

It’s possible the moment “they” realize “they’ve” messed up is when it begins.  It’s also true there are so many agencies, entities and governments monitoring, listening in, following all of us that its easy for individuals in the PsyOp network to slide around slipping in and out without our ever knowing who they are.  Well, I guess that’s kind of the definition of covert, isn’t it?  So, its true, we are dealing on more than one level with many unknown people who in the old days would have had to come right up to our windows.  But not anymore.  Also true is how far they will go, how willing they are to take us out.  In the meantime the average Joe wants to believe its all for our safety or its otherwise just a few low life without much power.  In reality the network its all of the above.  Even the network includes educators.  I mean, someone’s got to teach the next generation of professional gang stalking terrorists, right? And they do.

Well, I wasn’t working because of the wreck and I was doing all of the things to get back to work. Yah, I’d made the mistake of “asking my doctor” because I wasn’t getting well in the time frame GEICO seemed to think I should, so they were harassing and stressing me out.  But I was doing my best.

Going back to before I started working again at Eagle, I’d continued with the Rotary. And because after the Ambien I was so lame, to keep myself moving I began volunteering with many other groups.

Despite not being able to work for income  I kept an active schedule.  I volunteered clerking in my church’s office, worked at the church thrift shop and became a Board member there.  I was on the H.O.M.E. Board working for the homeless. I joined the Kent Downtown Partnership, and the Mayor put me on the Art’s Commission.  I became a member of the El Grullo Sister Cities project, and helped around town with as much as I could.  So if anyone wanted to assert the idea I am or was lazy, am not nor was ever a good worker, or any of the other negative things predatory people spread around to create their own narrative, to that I can say bull.  And it is those kinds of things they will spread around.  They will also spread petty things like whispering we are jealous people, sluts, home wreckers, anything they can think of to cause other people to look down on us is what they will do when we are targeted.  But I’ve always been confident in myself and my abilities, even if my value and work had been capitalized upon by others able to do that.   Sticks and stones, you know?    Let it roll off our backs.

So when the negative gossip first started I didn’t think too much about it.  After all, I was busy trying to re-learn to add and subtract and re-learn how to read, comprehend and/or memorize, if I must, the relevant.

Plus there was the injury that I was having a very hard time recovering from. And, no wonder, considering the night of Feb. 8th, 2005 I flopped around the house like a fish out of water and my POS (now ex) husband didn’t even do anything to help me!  I don’t know if that physically hurt me other than the bruises, but I’m sure it didn’t help either.

Not to mention my moods/emotions had been taken to incredible extremes so that I really did not know from one minute how I was going to be “feeling” in the next.

So I was a little busy that year to care too much about gossip, where it was coming from, or how it was otherwise affecting my life.  But that would all catch up with me, and I suppose its safe to say that’s how PsyOps works.  Its a creeper.

Too, I was helping divide up 28 years of combined possessions, and helping my ex move into his new apartment.  I was still paying Don’s bills like always.  Although who knows how that was even going since I couldn’t even add or subtract anymore?  Ha!

And I was adjusting to taking care of the house all by myself that otherwise always took two, too.  From the latter need I interviewed several people.  I wanted someone reliable, trustworthy and who wouldn’t rip me off on the prices to come out when I needed help.  I found one such person, and he called himself the Q-man.  Right away, with his help, work around the house got done.  The kind of things that when a husband says no it doesn’t happen.  Things like having the heating vents cleaned out.  Things like the taking down a terrible lean to that served no purpose but ugly.  Hah!  And then there was the things like replacing a blown out hot water heater.   The Q-man became my go to guy.

Because of all the therapy appointments, volunteering, becoming part of the church (which most of my neighbors belonged to) my life was filling up with a lot of new people.   My social life was becoming quite the whirl.  I was everywhere, knew everyone, did everything.  By August or September things had fallen apart with my doctor.  At my request they change doctors for me but I was still going to Multicare.  I was having other health problems. One that required a pelvic exam and another that later would require an MRI.  Than I got back to work.

About the pelvic exam, how it all came about that is that I went into Multicare’s OB GYN for the exam.  Within one day afterward, which was Friday, the nurse called me.  When the call came in I was working with Jackie on a volunteer project for the Downtown Partnership. When I saw who the caller was I told Jackie that it cannot be good.  And it was not. It was Erline from Multicare. She said she had bad news for me.  The exam found unusual blood in the uterus and the walls were very thin.  They believed I was in the advanced stages of uterine cancer, and if that was true than I had about 3 weeks to live.  She said they’d made an emergency appointment with me to see Dr. Minehan on Monday, at which time he would tell me the options, if there were any.  I was shocked.  I said good bye for the day, and I went home to plan my demise.

At home, which was only about 5 blocks up the hill, I wrote out instructions for my son to follow upon my death. And as best I could on such quick notice I got everything in order for him. Than I spend the weekend praying, getting next to the Lord, so that with great strength I could handle what was to come.

Except on Monday Dr. Minehan told me they’d made a mistake.  What?! What?! What?!  Hooray!

He said that I wasn’t going to die, after all.  He told me that I had a cyst on one ovary and a fibroid tumor on the wall of the uterus which was stretching me inside making the walls thin, of which he could easily remove via surgery.  My God!  I was so relieved he could have told me the remedy was to chop off my head and I would have been agreeable!  He’d just saved my life!  He was me hero!  Hooray!

Oh, wait!  I’ve remembered another time when I’ve gone off without editing.  I am just remembering this.  I’d slipped around 1995ish and the Multicare doctor told me I was too fat for her to tell if I was injured or not.  That’s right!  I remember now that Monday in Dr. Minehan’s office, 10 years later, there was a current magazine setting on the counter that was a subscription of Diane Reinemen’s. She was the doctor I went off on.  I’d actually left Multicare because of her and found another doctor over that.  Hahahaha!  I’d forgotten all about that.  Wow, another red flag.  I should have seen the subscription and ran out of there!  Wow.  Yes, that’s right. My new doctor put me into a pool therapy.  I wasn’t that injured from the fall, actually.  So about 4 to 6 weeks of pool therapy and I was good to go again.  I don’t know whatever came of that woman doctor but I was sure pissed off at her.  She didn’t even take x rays, which the other doctor did to make sure there was nothing broken or permanent.  It was only at the insistence of my (now ex) husband that I even returned to trust Multicare again.  Anyway. that’s all water under the bridge.  I just happened to remember, and I’m nothing if I’m not about giving full disclosure.

So back to Dr. Minehand’s advice in 2005, he told me he would advise a full hysterectomy. Well, at that time I didn’t know the difference between a full and a partial.  Actually they figure we don’t.  And I guess figure by our being relieved  we will sign on board for whatever they suggest.  Which I did, and the surgery to remove my uterus was scheduled for, get this, Halloween, October 31st, 2005.  Remember the Haunted House I was working on for the Rotary fundraiser?  Life depicting art.  Scary.

(Two years later, while working with a retired nurse, I learned that I had not needed a total hysterectomy. She told me one of the best kept secrets, among many between insurance and medical practices, is removing a woman’s uterus.  She said insurance will pay more to a surgeon to totally remove the uterus, rather than for the surgeon to just remove the problem (the fibroid.)  She said most surgeons prefer to perform the full hysterectomy, too, because it takes less time and less precision.  When I looked into that it was true.  I didn’t need a total hysterectomy, after all.  Yep, Multicare was the just like the Haunted House surgical room I’d designed.)

Ironically for the fundraiser, on October 27th and 28th I was an actress in the Haunted House surgical room where there was a woman on the table being cut apart by a doctor and a nurse.  I and another fellow were tied in chairs, and we were calling out for help to the people going through the House, while we were tied and waiting our turn.

Wow, when I think back on that I’m, like, Holy Toledo!  That’s a nightmare premonition come true I wish I’d have left in the trash bin!  Not that Dr. Minehan did a bad job on the surgery.   Thank God.  Anyway, I was calling out for help so much in the Haunted House surgical room I remember when Lori went by with a woman I overheard the woman asking her who I was. hahahaha.  No, not hahaha, WAH!  Not even Shakespeare could write this stuff.   What a nightmare.  It was the portals of Lucifer’s.

As if their blowing my mind with drugs than yanking out my uterus wasn’t bad enough.  It  got even worse for me with them!  In the meantime I was floating around knowing Dr. Sargent was totally in love with me, and just a torn man trying to protect me from something evil I could not know about. And why did I think that?  Because on one of the lasts appointment with him he played Third Day’s Cry Out To Jesus during the office visit.  Yah, that’s how I knew. I wasn’t out of my mind or anything, was I?  sigh…..yes, I was.  And I was because they had started gaslighting me

At the time I didn’t know what gaslighting was.  But they did it like the creepers they are. It was  in little things like the bosses daughter who worked answering the office phones calling out to her mom in the other room that Multicare was on the phone.

It was like finding set on a table in the office a local publication open to the page with Dr. Sargent and his staff’s  photo there.

Suddenly Multicare had that picture all over the place.  Multicare actually placed it on a 20′ plastic banner and hung it across the front of their building on State Street!

By the following year they even had made a standee made of it for their booth at the Cornucopia. And they came up with their ad mantra “Better Connected.”

At work, coincidentally, a couple came to me for a home refinance and, guess what?  The woman was a Multicare nurse.  I chalked it up to coincidence.  Kind of like the Haunted House surgical room was a coincidence, too, right?

The loan being requested was not going to be easy, either.  On my part it would take a lot of massaging to get it through.   Meeting often, we spoke and she mentioned to me the doctor at Multicare she worked for was very good and kind.  I told her I’d very much like to change doctors.  I didn’t say why but the general practitioner, Dr. Chen in Kent, was telling me what a nice guy Dr. Sargent Jr. was.  And that bugged me.  So in November 2005, because my digestion seemed to have stopped, I went to the client’s doctor and, no, he was not nice.

Looking back, which is now a luxury, I realize he physically hurt me on purpose.  My client was off work that day, and the nurse in the room knew he’d hurt me on purpose.  She’d actually flinched, than sadly instructed me to get dressed.

Yes, Multicare had it in for me.  That reality had not set in, so like a fool I followed that doctor’s instructions for scheduling an MRI.  For the MRI I was injected with something that made my skin peel off worse than any sunburn.  Thanksgiving Day 2005  was spent burnt to a crisp.  By that time the Moshel family had pretty much taken me in, so I spent Thanksgiving with them.  Dee told me it was just the iodine in the injection that I was allergic to.  Although I’d never been allergic to iodine, I believed her.  For a long time on doctor’s forms I wrote in that I had an allergy to iodine. But now I know that’s not true.  Another nurse told me she thinks they’d injected chemo.  Of course, to this day I don’t know what that really was.  Except for me more Hell.

About the Moschel matriarch Dee, she was the retired nurse/wife of a deceased doctor who worked for many years in our town.  Both of Dee’s daughters became very involved in my life just after things went crazy with Dr. Sargent. Kathryn was about 46 at the time and she’d never been married.  And she told me every time she saw me with my (now ex) husband she hated me.  True, she had never spoken with me in all the years I’d lived there and that was true even when she was outside talking with my (now ex) husband.  If I walked up she would cut the conversation than leave.  Red flags.

Even more, for some reason she tried to make me jealous.  I’m not a jealous person.  But when one of the doctors at Multicare left Kent to Bellevue Kathryn came over to let me know that he left her hug him to say goodbye.  Also she was mad, she said, because she wanted to become Dr. Sargent’s patient but she said when she saw him he was an ass to her. Hahaha!  How’s that for a busy body?  More red flags.   At the time I didn’t recognize them though.

However, my baptismal Godmother did.  And her warning came when Kathryn suddenly asked me if she could come to church with me.  In return, she said, I should go to one of her church services.  I was Episcopalian, she was Methodist.  Dorris, my baptismal Godmother, told me she had known Kathryn since she was just a young girl and in all those years (even while Dorris’ husband Jack was the reverend, Kathryn had NEVER been interested in going to one of their services.)  Dorris told me something was seriously up with Kathryn to all of a sudden want to visit our church, and Dorris said she didn’t know what it could be but she knew Kathryn well enough to know it wasn’t good.    Dorris told me to watch out.

I know I’ve told it before, but I’ll put it in this since its kind of an organizing for me of it all.  And it was that Kathryn did come to church with me.  She set there between Dorris and I.  Dorris could not even believe it, and all the neighbors wondered.  Than, of course, the following week was my turn to go to Kathryn’s church.  It wasn’t a nice service like Episcopalian’s.  Anyway, at the end Kathryn told me a friend of hers wanted to meet me.  The friend didn’t go to her church, though, and would be waiting outside for us in the parking lot after the service.  Even to me that was odd.  Red flag.

So, okay, the service was over and we were almost to Kathryn’s car when she said the friend must have changed her mind about coming.  Than we heard a woman’s voice call out from behind us.  We were on the sidewalk, but she stayed in the gutter.  She was introduced to me with a name like Jane Smith, or something close to it.  I guess I’d figured it was the doctor’s mysterious wife whose wedding ring he’d quit wearing.  She was kind of pretty, and didn’t really say much but hi. nice to meet you goodbye.  As we walked away Kathryn told me she’s much prettier when she’s wearing make up.  Like I said, I thought she was pretty as she was.   Seeing pictures some years later of the doctor’s wife, she is rather a mouse.  And her hair is nothing like the woman who went to the parking lot.  And besides, when I saw a picture a couple of years or so later of Diane Cecchittini I knew that had been her.  Than in 2012 when Kathryn was dying she let me it had been the CEO.

Later in the year the massage therapist’s where I’d been going since the wreck, who had become a friend outside her work,  announced she would be going to China in December.  During her absence her father (who was a partner there) offered to take care of some of her patients.  If I was willing he would take care of me, too.  To which I agreed.  Her father was a great guy, probably about 76 or 78 years old, very professional.

Something I came to feel comfortable asking him about was the pain that persisted behind my left breast.  I kind of attributed it to the accident, because its where the shoulder strap would have been across my body during the collision.  Hum, I’m wondering right now why the air bag never deployed. Well, anyway, my therapist’s father told me that of course it was from the wreck. He reached his fingers into my side behind the breast and they touched exactly onto the pain.  I was surprised and happy at least to know it wasn’t a figment of my imagination.  Also, after the way Dr. Sargent had acted when I’d asked him, it was affirmation to me that his reaction was out line being as if I’d wanted him to touch my breast. It was coming to the point where I was questioning my intentions about everything.  

To add to the affirmations, my therapist’s father told me that he knows what “they” are doing.  He said “they” are trying to convince me that I was not as injured as I was.  He told me in his lengthy career I was the second worst case he’d seen.  The worse was an accident where the neck was almost broken, too, but not.  He explained the fascia, and told me the other guy’s was so torn his fascia had slipped off from around his head and down onto the bottom of his neck.  His job was to continue massaging back the fascia until it could be healing.  He told me as torn as mine was would take years to heal but would probably bother me in one way or another for the rest of my life.  That was in December 2005.  He told me not to listen to the insurance company or to anyone else trying to make me think I’m lying or that I don’t know. Because he and his daughter do.  He said its bad and if I’m stressed out it will slow down recovery.  I had what is called very deep tissue injuries.  

As therapy went my massage therapist’s father and I chatted it up, and it came to be that he shared with me about his past when he’d actually had the job to meet a Russian spy in Iceland. There he exchanged for the government $1,000,000 for the Russian plans of a tank.  Wow, for sure he was no slouch.  He shared other stories, too, of intrigue so, of course, I considered him very trustworthy.  And he was.

An amusing thing he did one day was out of nowhere he told me that I am one of the most beautiful women he’d ever known.  He wasn’t coming onto me, either.  He was being genuine.  I know the difference.  He told me like a father like figure (me being close to the same age as his daughter.)  He said he was sure nobody had ever told me because I don’t act like I think I am beautiful.  And he thought that was sad.  And he was right.  Nobody had ever told me that.  I’d always thought I was rather homily, actually.  He told me he just thought I needed to know, because not only did he think I was beautiful on the outside but he also thought I was even more beautiful on the inside.

With all I was going through, true to word, nobody had been kind to me to say that in all my life.  So his words were like a breath of fresh air.  And one day, after my therapist had returned from China, as if to drive it home, right in front of her and everyone else he said it again.  He wanted to say it in front of everyone so that they could tell me too.  Because he still didn’t think I believed him, and he wanted them to tell me too.  And they did.  They all agreed with him that I was beautiful inside and out.

But the creepers were already moving in on me.

Now I’m crying again.

I need to take a break.

Demons And The Doctor

Like I said, as far as I was concerned Don had become a demon.  So getting him out of the house was a great relief to me.  There were still things unsettled between us, but we would work on that in separation.

At this point there is so much coming back to me  I am hoping to condense in all into one or two chapters, otherwise this story might go on forever.  I don’t want it to.  I’ve lived the horror.  It started at the onset of being given those prescriptions and my need of prescriptions just to manage along with the majority of their attempt to cover it all up went on for years.  The truth is I will never recover.  The truth is, I’ve lost 13 years of my life because of “them.” And although I come from pretty healthy stock, I am pretty sure physically and mentally I’ve aged over 25 years at least.  Now I just want to get it all out of my system.

I can’t recall when it was, but in the duration for some reason I was given a brain scan.  I remember the specialist said my brain appeared healthy but there was a lot of scarring.  He could see that by little white flecks.  He said that type of scarring he usually only sees in 70 year old but that was not a problem because it  just means those areas recovered.

Also, I remember at some point during physical therapy I was given another type of brain and sensory exam, too.  I don’t remember when that was.   Unusual to our regular schedule, though, this particular appointment was late in the evening.  I remember it was dark outside, so it must have been during the winter months with the short days.  Anyway, they asked me if they could run an exam that might help them figure out what was taking me so long to recover.    I said, “Sure.”  A woman came in from outside rolling a machine along with her until she got behind me lying there on my back.  I couldn’t see her but the physical therapist, under the woman’s instructions it seemed, began connecting monitors to my head, shoulders, back and even on my chest.  I don’t know why I didn’t ask what it was for.  I don’t know why I was never given its results, either.  And, actually, so much was going on  in my life that I didn’t even remember that was done until sometime afterward.    When I called to ask if the company still had those records they told me they did not.  The brain scan and this monitoring at the physical therapist’s was not related.  I do know that.

What was going on in my life?  I will tell you what was going on.  My behavior was becoming outrageous.  What I mean is that my mood and emotions were running like a pendulum.  I would be going through extreme highs so that I would dance all night long, alone inside my house.  It was not simply dancing to the music, either.  It was extreme, very animated, and very sexual, like I was dancing for the demons.  That high would last for days, than I would go so low I’d literally slide down the side of the tub and onto the bathroom floor (usually) where I would sob uncontrollably for what seemed like hours.  That was not me.

THAT WAS NOT ME!

I was so broken.

Because I’d been so well taken care of at St. Joseph’s I decided that, to get myself together, I would look into volunteering there.  And, I’m telling you, I was tripping.  What I’m saying is that everything to me revolved around that doctor.  During one of the visits I told him how pleased I was with St. Joseph and that I would be taking an introductory to become one of their volunteers.    During that visit I was on a high.  He certainly was noticing because somewhere along the line he told me I’d changed.  I know I’ve said it before that he told me I’d changed, but I want you see it was obvious.  He’d been my doctor for years.  He knew what he’d done because also somewhere along the way he confided to  me being a doctor was hard.  Is that a red flag, or what?  In my condition I didn’t notice it though.  Anyway, I took the one day introductory at St. Joseph to see if volunteering there fit.  Honestly, I was in no condition and I guess I realized it because I didn’t go back.

I continued going to physical, massage and mental health therapy.  Really, I had no idea why I was seeing the mental health therapist except for that Dr. Sargent said I “needed help.”  It would probably make me laugh (or cry) if I could see again the preliminary paperwork I filled out at Gary’s office.

 

The problem was I needed him to act like a doctor.  For one thing, behind my left breast I was having pain.  I wondered if that could have been from the wreck, so I asked him.  I guess he thought I wanted him to grope my breast, because when I asked he acted like a total cluck.

The doctor and I had become estranged.   By that time Jerry, (my attorney), and I became sort of friends.  Kind of like confidantes.  So we were chatting on the phone rather often.   Jerry wasn’t happy about the estrangement because he needed the doctor’s testimony about how badly I’d been injured in that accident.  Without the doctor, Jerry said, there was no way to prove it.

But I was already flipped out, and gone over the top.  Remember, I’ve already told you now about those weird extreme highs and lows I was dealing with?   On top of that, with the one medical assistant’s having called me the doctor’s wife I was starting to believe he was talking about me to them.  Like if he was making plans or something!  Can you imagine?  And, by the way, at the time he was not wearing his wedding ring.  It seemed to me he used to.  That was another red flag. One that was really none of my business.  Except that I was no longer myself but someone else.

So, whew, yah, I was out to lunch.   That said, though, I really wasn’t happy about any of it.  I was mad, actually.  So I cut out a picture of the doctor that was in some ad, and I put a heart around the face.  Ugh, just thinking about that right now makes me want to puke.  Anyway, at the next appointment I took that and when he sat down I shoved it into his face and I asked him why he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring anymore.  He held onto the picture, stared for a bit, than started babbling about the remodeling of his house.  And that was that.  I was mad!

Remember, I was still going there every other week to get a note for my insurance company, and at one of the next appointments around that time the doctor’s medical assistant, Christine Monroe, started talking about what a great guy the doctor was to her.  She was actually gushing over him.   She told me that her husband tends to become a jerk,  and when he’s like that she was able to talk with Dr. Sargent who helped her get through it to get her marriage back on track.  She told me that, come to think of it, her husband was back to being a jerk, so that needed some attention.

For some reason that blew my gaskets.  The doctor wasn’t talking to me, so okay, he must be talking about me.  I thought it through, than decided to talk to Monroe.  So I did.  I called her up to tell her I was having weird feelings for that doctor which I didn’t like.  I told her that the staff acting familiar with me was not helping.  I told her that I needed this doctor to help me, too, to get over that, and whatever else it was going on with me.  I asked her if he was married, to which she said yes. For some reason I didn’t believe her.  For some reason I thought she was his wife.  For some reason I was obsessed with knowing, and for some reason when I’d ask him he would not respond.  What was the problem?  Well, for one thing, I was.  Whoever I was.

In the meantime, I wanted to get back to work.  I tried returning to Countrywide, because that’s where I was employed but on the leave.  There the environment had grown very hostile. So I left, and was given back at job at Eagle by David Floan.  David wanted me to work out of Bellevue.  He really tried hard to convince me to not work out of the Kent office. I didn’t want that drive to Bellevue, though, because in the past I’d driven it for years and the traffic had only gotten worse not better.  And the idea of the costs and the wasted time on the road was something I did not want to deal with. Especially because of all of the medical appointments in Kent, my schedule was pretty tight.  So, he caved and said alright.

Than suddenly I found myself incoherently writing letter after letter to the Multicare administrator, Debbie, like I have done one time before while distraught after Chase ripped me off $27,000 in commission.  I had written like that one time before but with an attorney way back during the 80s.  Back then the attorney was the editor and proof reader so it was under control.  But, this time I didn’t have an editor or a proof reader.

I knew who the administrator was because I’d met her regarding a project the Rotary group I belonged to was planning for a Halloween Haunted House.  I had been put in charge of creating a room in it, so I was designing an operating room of terror.   Multicare was willing to donate supplies to use for decorating the room.  So we (Debbie the administrator and I) met from coordinating that.

Than suddenly there I was writing, writing, writing and sending out letters to her crying help, help, help!!! Please!  Somebody, will you please help meeeeeeee!  I was on my own 24/7 and I had been put over the top.  It was 5 or so months after the Ambien and I was blasted!  For me there would be no coming down, either, and at that altitude there lies a whole different world.

About work, maybe I should have listened to David, because maybe he knew something I didn’t.  Because it just so happened that the Kent office I went to work in was filled with demons and  flying monkeys just waiting for me.  None of whom were my own.

 

Talk About A Nightmare

I guess since I wasn’t working and hadn’t been since the wreck, (although I did try), is why so quickly I was going at the tax returns.  I was one of those weirdos, anyway, who just loved toiling over taxes.

I’d always loved working with numbers, and I suppose that’s why for a career I’d chosen real estate finance.  I loved working pushing numbers around, because in those days it took finesse and experience to qualify most people for home loans. We had to know what we were doing.  For that reason alone the job was challenging and fun.

Additionally, bookkeeping and understanding self employment taxes, because Don and I had a hobby business aside from his job and my own career,  made my life even more interesting. We almost always filed early.  So, really, to be working on the tax returns in March wasn’t unusual and it was something I always looked forward to.  Our hobby side business was something we very much enjoyed together. Managing the financial aspect, for me, was like the icing on the cake.  It was not something I regretted nor struggled to manage.  Suddenly not being able to think for doing that was disconcerting, to say the least.

As it was unfolding, March was turning into a mess, too.    No, now wait a minute. It was not turning into a mess, it was turning into a nightmare.

I think I filed for divorce on the very day I got out of the hospital. At the very least it would have been the first day the courts were open.  Poof!  28 years went right down the drain.  It was over just like that.  I didn’t even blink an eye, either, when I filed. As far as I was concerned my husband, as of February 8, 2005, was an evil demon.

So March was also spent finding Don a new place to live.

March was spent, too, coming unhinged over that I couldn’t comprehend reading, which meant I couldn’t retain it, either, which meant I would probably never work again in my career if I couldn’t calculate numbers anymore.  Stressed out over that, mind blown….again.  Thank you Dr. Sargent, Jr.

Still plodding along with physical therapy, too, one day in March a therapist approached me. She took me aside to say, that “A merry heart makes for good medicine.”  I didn’t know what she meant, so I asked.  She told me they all knew how badly I had been injured.  They were all impressed with how hard I worked to get well.  She said most people who were sent to them didn’t. They were only there because their doctors sent them, and they wanted to get over on their insurance companies, and that was all. She said it was always obvious because they didn’t follow instructions, sometimes didn’t show up for appointments, and were indifferent.  She said I was working hard, despite the obvious pain I was suffering, and they knew it and admired me for my diligence.   She said I always showed up on time, listened to them, never complained and always had a smile and a good word.

I asked where she’d gotten those words from, and it seemed to surprise her I didn’t know. “You don’t know?”   “No, I don’t, but I like them.”  She told me she got them from the Bible.  She said she couldn’t remember exactly which proverb it was, but I reminded her of it.  I thank her and also for the kindness they always showed me.

Hum, I wondered? The Bible?  I had a Bible at home.  A pretty one bound in white leather with gold embossing.     Than I got on with the workout.

Upon my return home I pulled out that little Bible.  Than I went into my room with it and shut the door.  And that was the beginning of my rehabilitation from the Ambien, or so I thought.

The process was a very frustrating and all in all a time consuming experience.   I opened the book to find a scripture.  It was “The righteous Lord loveth righteousness, his countenance doth behold the upright.”

It seemed to take days to memorize that.

Every night I worked on it, too.  Once I had those lines down, I moved on to another.  I found, “stand in awe, and do not sin.  commune with your own heart and onto your bed be still.” Wow, did that resonate?…..”and onto your bed be still!”  Yep, yep, and onto my bed I needed to be still after surviving 19 days without sleep.  

To be totally real about that, for a long time those nights haunted me. So often I was afraid it would come to pass, again, that I would suddenly stop sleeping.  The idea always horrified me when I thought about it.  That horror was just one more that lingered with me, knowing that if it happened again surely I would die.

Rehabilitating my mind seemed to take days and days.  But when I memorized one verse I would forget the other.  Oh no, I thought!  I need to start all over again. And so I did.

“The righteous Lord loveth the righteous…….”  I kept rehearsing it until I had it down again.  Than I went back to the other. But I  couldn’t remember that one after all.  “Oh, no!”, I thought, “this is not going well.”  These were simple phrases, not rocket science, and it seemed like I was back in elementary school, left behind all alone by myself to figure this out   It seemed like what I really needed was some type of professional educated in restructuring from this type of situation.  In hindsight it may have SEEMED at the time but the honest to God’s truth is that I DID need help. I WAS all alone without professional help. And that wasn’t going to change. That doctor wasn’t going to give it to me.  The only thing he wanted to do was to pretend nothing happened.  So it was reasonable that I wondered right then and there if I was ever going to be the same again.

As it was, every night I’d lock myself in my room to recite those verses.  Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until one night I remembered both.

I was thrilled. I remember Don was watching T.V. when I ran out of my room and into the family room where he was to excitedly tell him what I’d done.  I remember that I even recited the verses to him. He must have thought I was nuts, but he expressed happiness for me, was happy for me over what I saw as progress.

Now I’m crying.  I cannot believe how amazing I am.  I can’t believe what a miracle it was for me to do be doing all of that on my own.  Locked up inside my room with only me and God. The memory of it is emotionally overwhelming.

As it was, after sharing the joy with Don, I turned on my heel going back to my room to go at it some more. Memorizing two short verses was not enough.  I needed to do a lot more work than that if I was going to be whole again.

For some reason I decided to do what some readers like to do that I never have.  I went to the end of the book, to read the ending first.  That is where I found Rev. 22.20.   “He who testifieth to these things sayeth and surely I’ll come quickly. Even so, come Lord Jesus. The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ is with all Saints.”

Remember how I told you my white leather bound with gold embossing Bible was worded differently from any others? See? Its true.  I only wished I could find another one like that again.  I really liked it.  I do check Ebay sometimes to see if one is out there for me.

Anyway, I memorized Rev. 22.20, too.  For some reason that was very difficult. But I did it.  Than, guess what?  You’ve got it! The others had fallen out of my head. So now you get the picture, right?  And that’s how it went for what seemed like too long.  Me going back and forth, and back and forth, back and forth, until altogether finally they were memorized.

I’m guessing Don must have moved out on April 1, 2005, because by May I was baptized in the Episcopalian church.

Most of my neighbors were Episcopalian.  Until he’d died, the neighbor’s husband had been the Reverend for a number of years.  Many neighbors  around me were  also Episcopalian.  And because for some reason all of a sudden after Don moved out I seemed to catapult a bit into the center of attention in the old, established neighborhood, it seemed like a new world. So much was I suddenly the belle of the ball that neighbor, Dorris, asked me to go with her to church.  And so I did, and that was that

What I loved about her religion was the recitals.  If you don’t know, during their service Episcopalians are up and down and up and down.  Almost the entire service is group recitals, and during those we are up and down. Kneel and set, stand and set, kneel and stand again, and pray.  For sure its a work out!  But, mostly, I loved their reciting out loud together.  Even more, I didn’t just want to read it from the Common Prayer, I wanted to MEMORIZE it all, and I wanted to say it from memory during services.  I wanted to have memorized the whole service, from top to bottom.  I’m sure you realize its appeal.

Dorris also asked me to join her and some of the other neighborhood ladies who walked together every morning, of which I was thrilled to have been asked.  The walking would accompany the physical and massage therapy I will still going through.  Walking with the ladies was a pleasure. Actually, I’d never experienced acceptance the way they offered.  All the ladies were much older than I was.  All of them being at least 70 to my 49.  They were such pleasant women whom I came to adore.  Still I wasn’t gainfully employed, and that did trouble me a little.  But for the time being I was doing my best to recover and walking with the ladies, getting to know them, was all part of that. And participating in their morning chatter was delightful to me, too. Learning their humor and their manners. These women were not gossips, and I liked that too. Again, the relationship with them was nothing like I’d ever experienced.  They had been friends and neighbors together for many years.  At that time I’d lived in the neighborhood for 13 years, so I was still the newcomer.  It was a neighborhood where once there people rarely moved.  Most of my neighbors were family members, too.  At one time or another 3 of my neighbors had lived in my house.  So, basically, I was the new kid on the block.  Being part of this walking group was something I saw as an honor. The neighborhood fondly referred to them as the Scenic Hill Street Walkers. Than, so was I. And during our walks I met many other neighbors, too, so that I was becoming socially established.

Walking became so good for me that I even began walking alone, too, around town.  During my walks I would stop to talk with neighbors and I worked on reciting liturgies. I memorized the Lord’s prayer, the Nicene Creed, our church’s mission statement, and much more.  It was a gift from God, right? Right!

Except for the demons and the doctor.

 

 

 

 

When does 2 + 2 not equal 4?

I’d like to think 2005 was the worst year of my life.  And probably it should have been.   But it wasn’t.

At the doctor’s office things started getting very strange.  First of all, after he groped my fingers and wedding band while telling me to “get help”, from that I was sure he was in love with me.  Of course I wasn’t in my right mind but who knows. At the time I was pretty hot.

I wonder why I pulled my hand away, considering the drug induced infatuation? I suppose its a testimony to that I loved my than husband.  I think it was true, what the St. Joseph psychiatrist wondered, that perhaps it was too soon for me to think about divorce.  But I was so hurt from his neglecting me, especially on that one night, that it was simply too much for me to bear.  Actually, it was too much to bare, too.   I didn’t talk about it to anyone, I felt so much shame.

With regards to the doctor, for some reason and I don’t remember why it was, I was being required to have my blood pressure checked once a week.  So not only was my insurance requiring I be seen there every other week in order to continue physical and massage therapy but also, for some reason, it was being required that my blood pressure got checked once a week, too. So I was at his office every single week.  And, for some reason, his staff acted like all of this was my own doing when it wasn’t.  Also one of the assistants began referring to me as the doctor’s wife.

Obviously the doctor kept an unprofessional and immature practice.  Ordinarily that is something a patient probably would not notice because we aren’t there enough to be affected by it.  As it was, pretty much I was becoming a fixture there, so that the staff was becoming too familiar with me too, I think, and in my situation that was not good.  In my confused state I was flattered being called the man’s wife.  I was being pulled into more directions that I should have been or would have been by someone mature.

I did take that list of therapists to go through.  Finally one returned my call.  It was a dude who had an office with his wife down on Central.  It didn’t occur to me to be sure a Christian was working with me.  I didn’t realize it at the time either, but thinking back obviously the guy was not a Christian.  During the course of my sessions he told me that if I’d have been a mentally healthy person I would never have married my husband to begin with.  And, considering how pissed off I still was at him, it didn’t take much for me to believe it.  He also suggested my husband was a pedophile. And, for some reason I wanted to believe that was possible, too. Also he suggested on what I called the night of the Ambien perhaps instead my husband had beaten me.  At one point he told me my husband probably watched kiddie porn, and he told me to ask him.  Like a cluck, I did, too.  To which my husband replied that the only porn he watched was of a fat blonde.  I don’t know what he meant, but when I told the therapist what he’d said he seemed shocked and kind of shaken.

As 2005 played out, at some point I guess I told my husband I was divorcing him. Well, I filed the papers in March, not too long after I ‘d gotten home from St. Joseph, so I guess I meant it.  I told Don he could stay at the house until we find him a comfortable place to live. After all, we’d been married since 1978 so it was only right to give him a chance to find a comfortable place to live.

For some reason I assumed since I was sleeping again I was fine.  Truth is I wasn’t fine at all.  How I realized it was I could not comprehend what I read.  Yah.  Even the simplest things I could not understand nor remember.

In March, as usual, I started preparing our tax returns, something I’d always done in the past without problems.  But this time I was really struggling with them.  I couldn’t follow the lines with the instructions.   I went ahead and prepared them, anyway, than set them aside for another evening

Picking up for going back over, nothing of them made sense.  The numbers didn’t make sense at all!

What I’m saying  is that, let’s pretend for now a W2 stated a gross of $1,000 and another said $2,000.  On the 1040 line 7 I’d filled out the number I’d inserted was not $3,000.  It was some number I guess I’d pulled from thin air.

I remember as I looked them over I had a feeling of foreboding.  Why couldn’t I figure them out?  I toiled over those tax returns for days.  Each time I went over them the numbers came out different!  That terrified me!  Suddenly it occurred to me I was in pretty bad shape.

At the following appointment I told Dr. Sargent something was seriously wrong with my brain.  I was very clear, too, about what was wrong.  And do you know what was his reply?  He told me I was getting old.  No, I wasn’t getting old, and I told him so.  I was only 49 at the time.  He just laughed, as if it was that I just wasn’t willing to accept getting old.

Getting old was not the problem, and I knew it, and how it came to pass that I rehabilitated my mind became a gift from God.  Because the doctor wasn’t going to acknowledge the truth, and that meant I was on my own.  There wasn’t going to be anyone to help me.  So it was up to God.

As for the tax returns that year, I just threw it all in an envelope to let the I.R.S. figure it out.  I guess they did.

 

Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack

Sometimes I wonder what that St. Joseph psych ward’s psychiatrist must have thought while he was prodding me about my trying to commit suicide while I pretty much didn’t even acknowledge his asking.  Fact was, I wasn’t there because of that which did not happen.  And I suppose that became obvious to him since I had no other reply but, “Huh?”  So, did he quietly speak to others about that?  Maybe that’s why the staff responded to me as they had, letting me know they knew.  Maybe they all realized Dr. Sargent had lied so they were all talking about it.  Hopefully it was a little seed planted in the medical mental health and pharmaceutical industries that we now know is rife with liars.  In those days I really don’t think people knew.  Certainly, I didn’t. Well how could I?  I would imagine the psychiatrist was given a list of the prescriptions I’d been being given, too, including  with listed the Ambien.  Or maybe not.  But it would seem kind of like he would be given that information for the doctors to figure out how to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.   I just don’t know. So I wonder.

Maybe this is a good place to insert that around this time, probably before entering the psych ward but maybe just shortly thereafter, (now ex) Don had hired an attorney.  That not being anything to do with this matter.  It was to do with the wreck that previous July and because GEICO’s staff was harassing me so badly that we decided to hand it off to an attorney to deal with.  Jerry, the attorney, was a good old boy from a Washington State entrenched family.  A born and bred Catholic, too, who had kind of escaped that trapping and had just returned to an evangelical fold he seemed happy about.  In some ways Jerry was a larger than life character with an ego to match.  All in all, he was a good guy.  Well as much as anyone can being a BAR lawyer.  (No offense.)  So there was Jerry, another albeit reluctant witness too to the train wreck to come.

Going back to that hospitalization, from the beginning I was treated like a Queen.  Well, heck, at that time I had some of the best medical insurances money could buy.  In that regard I was lucky.   But, actually, so was everyone there luckily treated very well.  There was probably about 10 to 15 of us patients.  Some were way out there, truly insane.  Some were extremely depressed and, yes, suicidal.  Some had obviously suffered nervous breakdowns, overwhelmed by life.  And, actually, now that I think back on it, the patients were pretty much all younger people.

During free time I would wander among them, talking to them, and preaching the Gospel.   To one young woman who was so distraught, who said she had lost the Lord in her life, I gave the Bible Don had given to me for Valentine’s Day 1978 not too long before we were married.  He’d asked if I could have anything I wished what would it be, and to that I said I wanted a Bible.  It was a pretty little Bible bound in white leather with gold embossing.  To this day I’ve not found a KJV scripted quite like that one was.

Reading to the young woman, I was compelled to give the Bible to her, too, because for me the sentiments written in it by Don no longer had meaning.  I found a pen, scratched it over Don’s words than offered the Bible to her.  She told me that she didn’t know where she would be going when leaving St. Joseph. She described a few places she hoped she might get to go.  She gave me a number that maybe we could keep in touch afterward, although I think that was against the rules.  She also said that wherever she goes her things are always stolen so very likely that will happen to the Bible, too.  I told her it doesn’t matter to me, and that for as long as she had it I hoped it would bring comfort.

The stay at the hospital which was of about a 5 day duration, so they let my sister bring in my exercise ball and weights and all the things like that so I could continue the physical therapy regime I was still participating in.  Her visits became a special time for me with my little sister.   And, evidently, because they’d realized I was not insane nor suicidal the ward trusted me with my sister allowing us together a visit to the hospital chapel.  We were not taught by the Lord in our home so this was something new and very moving for us to do that together.  As we set there in the pew neither of us knew what to do.  She looked at me and I looked at her, than she asked, “What should we do?”  I said, “Well, I guess we pray.”  So we did, as lame as it may have been. What we prayed, sadly, I don’t remember.   Honestly I think we just cried out to the Lord.  I remember we cried, and it was a little awkward, but something felt good between us.

While I was there at St. Joseph’s I refused visits from both my Mom and Don.  I did not want to see them.  I did not want them interrupting the rest.  I was very unhappy with them.  I was still displease Don had not done anything to help me, and for some absurd reason I was mad at my Mom for being mean to the doctor. More absurdly it was that I thought the sun rose and set on that stupid doctor.   Well, we all know now what the cause of that was which had nothing to do with true feeling for that Jack wagon doctor, and everything to do with those prescription emotional fabricators and exaggerators.    God help me.

Preparing me to go home, the staff suggested it might be good to think about allowing Don to pick me up.  That seemed reasonable, so I did.  He was very happy to see me, more chatty than ever.  But I was not happy to see him.  I remember we talked a lot on the drive back home, but I don’t remember much of what about.  Probably I expressed how good it was at St. Joseph to sleep and to get rest.  I do recall he told me Dr. Sargent wanted to see me just as soon as I got out of the hospital, and that they’d already made the appointment.

If it was that I went to the hospital on February 25th, than the appointment with him must have been on March 3rd.  If it was that I went in on February 28th, than the appointment with him must have been on March 7th.

I don’t even know why those dates matter to me.  What I do know is my own interpretation of the already set appointment was that the beloved doctor wanted to see me right away, missed me, and needed to make sure I was alright.  In reality what he wanted was to start right away his own campaign hoping for damage control.  Remember, I didn’t know yet he’d lied when putting me into St. Joseph?

Right now I wonder why did Don not immediately take legal action against that doctor and Multicare?   For him to send me back to them was completely stupid.

Regardless, (and its been written about by me already in the public records), at that appointment the doctor set me down in a chair and he set down beside me.  He took my left hand in his as he started swirling my wedding band around my finger.  I didn’t understand.  I must have been shaking my head expressing that I was confused, so he leaned in and kind of whispered it, “Get help.”  Still confused, I pulled my hand away from his.  I said, “Dr. Sargent, I’m married!”  I didn’t know what he was doing, or what he was getting at.  What was I there for, if not for help?  I must have asked, because I think he left than returned to give me a print out  list of mental health therapists.  Was that ALL for show?  Was the dude really stupid?  Or was he a pro?

Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack.

 

October, Friday The 13th, 2017

GOD DAMN THEM. God Damn Them.  god damn them.

Those 3 words followers of Jesus (Yoshua) Christ cringe upon, I know!

To be sure, even before I was “born again”, I only used those words once.  And that was to say, “God damn her.”  And I said it about someone who I love(d) very much.  But, I was unhappy she was not trusting me when I really needed her to.  And her not listening ended up being a very unfortunate life changing experience for all of us.

So, when I said it, I was unhappy.  And, although part of me likes to think the words were insignificant, it came to mean to me really they weren’t.  Because as the days moved forward I watched her life unraveling,  and terrible remained the situation for her for a very long time.  As the years passed the memory of what casually I’d said meant to me cause and effect.  So I never said that again.   I despise those words.

To use those words last night or to use them at any time since, historically for me to curse anyone has meant something is seriously wrong with them.

And something IS seriously wrong with the ones who did this to me.  But what those people came to do to has been done on purpose.  It was well orchestrated with a precision only the truly evil could perform.  And whether you like it or not, and whether you like me or not doesn’t matter.   Their “job” is to be liked, to make us appear unlikable, and that is how they operate.  They write the notes that everyone believes.  They smile, slap one another on the back, use the jargon, their words, their connections, their money.  Just like Multicare began advertising after what they did to me….they are BETTER CONNECTED.  I always say, “Yah, better connected to take us out.”

They cover up their character flaws by projecting theirs onto their victims.  They are educated predators given authority to pretend they care.  They do not care.

PsyOps nor psychology was my professional background.   What cracks me up, more than you can imagine, is how even other educated psychology practitioners don’t even see their lies.  Yes, they can recognize certain things.  For example, Jillayne could tell me they were gaslighting me.  But, in reality, she had no grasp on who “they” were anymore than the ladies at King County Crisis and Commitment Services could.  They are all educated to not even see the lies of their own industry.  Its their system.  People have no idea how important what those nurses whispered at St. Joseph meant to me.  The God’s honest truth is that as I was more and more being targeted I had to grab scraps to keep myself stable.   And I am here to tell targeted people that this system is not constructed to throw us scraps.  If anything, it has been built to push us under.  To hate us, to beat us down, to take whatever it can while staying in its lies that we are the problem when we are not.  Understanding that the ones who they system had brained washed me to trust were the same exact ones who were taking me out!  Oh my God.  god help me.  God Help Me. GOD HELP ME!  And he has.

My profession was always pushing around the pencil, calculating numbers while providing sound, conservative real estate lending advice.  I was very good.  Those people are given the pencil, too, but they don’t use it for good.  The overwhelming depth of their evil, calculative, shallow hearts is something most people, even the biggest baddest asses, cannot begin to fathom.  I can understand that.  The reality is horrifying.  I was horrified.  As you can tell, even still sometimes I become overwhelmingly horrified.   They took me out.  They destroyed my marriage. They destroyed my family. They destroyed me friendships. They destroyed my career.  Yes, they did, and they did it on purpose to cover up.  Now I am hearing more people are figuring it out.  And yesterday the librarian said she’s hearing some people are winning lawsuits against them, because they are being able to prove it.  And that is wonderful. Because proving it has got to be the most difficult thing to do. Especially it has been true for me because, as I’ve said, I didn’t want to believe it myself.  And the system is geared to make us not believe ourselves. And that make sit worse.  Therefore, in saving myself, every little scrap I held onto.

The compassion the staff at that time with St. Joseph showed me was one of those scraps. But even St. Joseph Hospital’s people ended up turning on me.  Not those first ones, but later some others.  Because as the doctor’s attack unfolded I ended up landing in hospitals, psych wards and nut houses in what seemed to be a never ending drama.

Taking a moment here  to reflect on it, I believe I was hospitalized at least 5 or 6 more times over the course from December 2005 until November 2012, all due to what they were doing to me.  What they have done has cost my insurance companies (while I had insurance) and myself thousands and thousands of dollars.  It has also cost the State of Washington tax payers thousands of dollars, too.  And that makes me mad, also.  The cost, alone, for Fairfax Dual Diagnosis (and even though that hospital still thinks like the system, being sent there for me was a miracle), was way over $30,000.  And You The People paid for that.  I’m sorry.  Hopefully my story will return that favor.

The truth of the matter is that when I say my only regret is that I did not murder them when I had the chance its true to the extent that God knows there IS a right time to kill.   Alas, I did not.  So I suppose in the long run its better I didn’t.  Otherwise my story would not get heard.  And I do think its a worthy story that tells of the greater ill.

As for last night, I didn’t take a drink after all.  To God be the glory.  Instead, my friends played Word Games with me until I was tired enough to fall asleep.

Than overnight GOD DAMN THEM, God Damn Them, god damn them turned back into god help me, God Help Me, GOD HELP ME!

Overwhelming hysteria redirected.  Thank you friends.

Now today, in my mind, I’m returned to that long ago peace place found on the 11th floor psych ward at the St. Joseph Hospital.   The peace place that gave me 5 night with sleep after 19 days without it.  I love you St. Joseph Hospital staff, wherever you are.  Thank you for the scraps. They were enough to keep me going.

For now let me close this chapter with this, that when the St. Joseph psychiatrist performed his entrance eval had I been in my right mind it would have been a red flag when he asked a number of times why I’d tried to commit suicide.  Another red flag came later, with their wanting to comfort me, and to show me love, the St. Joseph nursing staff told me they were all talking about it.  And it was, they whispered among themselves and than to me, their understanding that I was even more sane than most of them who worked there.  They knew that suicide was not my problem, and it was not really why I landed there.

Had I been in my right mind, I would have prodded the psychiatrist about his thinking I was suicidal, and I would have wondered what compelled the nursing staff to whisper their words  of comfort into my ears.  It did not, nor would it ever have occurred to me that my doctor was lying on the notes.  However, it occurs to me now that they knew.  And maybe their knowing was enough for what needed to be done.

It was years later when I found that out the doctor lied, and that was only through another mental health evaluation where those notes were available to the physician.  I guess when they read the notes they assume we know what’s in them. How could I know?

Worse yet, as it came to be discovered, that was not the only medical matter the doctor lied about over me for his notes.  And I will tell you this, CEO Cecchittini knew, too, they were lying and covering up I am sure she participated in it. And her mistake was letting it be known she was getting involved with the Moschel. Also, I think it was a mistake of both the Dr. Sargent’s wives, Susan and Sharon, to add the pink onto “Hi Judy” cartoon story placed on the pole. One of the pictures I took is not my profile picture on this blog. Originally the pink was not there. It was added. But I suppose they wanted to let me know they were playing too. Its those little details that tell the truth.

So did Dr. Sargent’s nurse know at the time the doctor was lying, unless she was totally ignorant. She was the one he was conferring with in the hallway that day he finally sent me to St. Joseph. Surely they were discussing ass covering logistics. Yep yep. Protect the money maker. You and I know nurses are even more intelligent than doctors. So its just a matter of what they are willing to do to help cover up for the doctor malpractice, because its their jobs.  This common denominator is why many doctors marry nurses.  Come on.  I’d lived among them for years. One former nurse told me that it was not uncommon for their staff to “accidentally” leave open a computer for the wife of a doctor, too, for her to read to get information like addresses and phone numbers while she would be there to see her husband. I remember, too, Dr. Chen said his wife came for lunch every day to his practice there are Multicare. The wives do whatever they want to, and whatever it takes to protect their money makers. Of this I am sure. Their kids fall in line, too. Yep, its a family affair, too.

To hide their heads in the sand too the nurses, while they hope for  either marrying a doctor or for making it to retirement to cleanse their souls, is what a lot of them are doing.  I know this because since than enough of them have brought to me their truths about the medical rackets they have watched over the years but kept silent.  And, as I’ve said, I lived among them for 25 years.  Most of my neighbors were nurses, doctor’s wives, doctor’s kids, and so forth.  I got to see first hand how some of them operate in their network.  I think this was also part of how I managed to survive.  Again, I knew who they were.  I just didn’t want to believe it. That’s all.

Am I bitter? I don’t hide it.   Fuck yah, I’m bitter.  And I’ve got good reason to be.

So, as the reader, I will leave it to you to be your own judge of whether or not they would have deserved it, had I killed them.   I am pretty sure they knew they deserved, too.

Which is why they violated my patient’s rights by publicly filing HIPAA protected information in the courts while removing me as their patient.  They did it to humiliate me, too, to make me go away, and to make me shut up.   It is why they unlawfully whispered slander about me to their “closest” confidantes, too.  For them it became a family affair.

They did not care what happened to me.  They did not care what their drugs had done to me.  They did not care about anything  nor anyone but themselves.  And this not caring is why Misty and Rick are dead.  Nobody can change my mind about this.  And everyone who knows me now knows its not an exaggeration nor some attempt by me to create drama that wasn’t.  The truth is that I was also supposed to die, too.  They expected it, and they planned and pushed forward for it to happen.  They are all complicit in attempted murder, and I’m sure even in some cases actual murder, and I know who enough of them are, and I also know who was and why some were willing.  Yes, their practice includes using the past of some people for extortion.  Yes, they keep records. Even lying records.  Or maybe they are like all bookies, and they keep two records.  One for the clucks, and one that is true.  Hard to tell.  My background has always been in dealing with honest numbers.  That’s why I didn’t sell options arms.  That’s why I’ve never had a formal complaint made against me by past clients.  That’s why to my knowledge nobody I’ve given a loan to has ended up losing their homes to foreclosure.  Oh, well, except for me, right?k  But that wasn’t due to my poor planning.  That’s for sure.  Make no mistake.  Trying to stay alive has cost me a fortune, too.  Including it cost me my retirement assets.  At my age that money doesn’t get made back, either.

So the fact is why the doctor lied in his notes to admit me to St. Joseph, said he was sending me because I was suicidal.  Fact is, he was setting the stage for my eventual demise. Fact is, he would make that happen and his old man and their network would help. And they did. Except I didn’t die.  Oops.

When I showed him on the witness stand the depositions from someone trapped but trying to get away from the prescription drug experiments being done on her by his father and that evil crony State operated psychiatric network at Western State, that is why the doctor could only say its how he learned.  Yep, yep, his old man taught him to look down on the people/patients in their care.  And  his old man taught him how to cover up their experimenting and practicing for Big Pharma, taking us out using slander tactics and defamation of character after they have destroyed us.

Had it not been for my Mom getting ready to kick that doctor’s ass that fateful day in February I would be dead.  We all now know my (now ex) husband did not  lift a finger to help me, and that is why I threw him out.  I told the psychiatrist during the St. Joseph evaluation that I was going to throw him out.  I remember he asked me if that wasn’t being hasty, considering my condition (at the time.)  To that I said, nope, he’s being thrown out.  I love(d) him, but I had to let that go.

If you think this that they do with the drugs and their notes is wrong, I’m telling you folks, what they did got much worse!!!  They ended up infiltrating my life and how they did that through people I will share.  And when I tell who the people are they used, and what they did to me, you are not going to believe it.  And it might even scare you.  It should scare you.  Because, they seem to be just like you and me.  They seem like nice people.  But they are not nice.  So maybe they are not like you and me after all.  I don’t know you.  You will have to decide about yourself.  What I can say for sure  is that they are not like me.  I would never participate in gang stalking.  Not ever.  I would never convince a jury that a surgeon’s removing the wrong leg on a patient is the patient’s fault. And that is what William Kastner Law Firm did to that patient on the peninsula, and they are the ones who through Cheryl Comer, allowed my doctor to set the tone through the court to destroy me, too.  And this is what they do to people day in and day out.  Its nothing new for them.  They are all complicit.   They can run, they can change employers, they can even retire, but they cannot hid.  Yes, I’ve got a very serious axe to grind, and its a damned bitter one, too.  This isn’t about revenge.  Well, wait a minute.  Maybe it is.

Anyway, last night I did not have a drink, and that is good.

Friday the 13th has always been a good day for me.

Friday the 13th is considered an unlucky day in Western superstition.

Thank the Lord, God is not a Western thinker.

To God be the glory.

 

Warning, Personality Shift Ahead

On the 11th floor of St. Joseph Hospital in Tacoma, Washington is heaven.

There is no other way to describe the place that provides rest to a mind and body after 19 days without sleep.  I fell in love with the 11th floor.  I just knew for sure Dr. Sargent was in love with me, because he had sent me to heaven.  And I was so grateful.  Within a very short time I was given sleep.  Wonderful. glorious sleep.

I simple cannot express the hell of having gone 19 days without sleep.   Even now, almost 13 years later, its remembering overwhelms me with indescribable emotions so that I its becoming difficult for me to contain the outrage I am feeling over that doctor.  And its true on my Facebook page, right now it says my only regret is not having murdered them when I had the chance.  And it is true.   What that son of a bitch doctor and Multicare has done is beyond the coping skills of the general populations.  Right now I am so very much triggering that my mind is jumping forward recollecting all that they did to me to cover this up.  God damn them. That is all I can say right now..  God damn them.  As if causing this wasn’t enough, than they put me through 10 years of their terrorizing gang stalking psychological war.  God damn them.

I need a drink.  That’s how I’ve coped since they had me raped.  And before I was not even a drinker.  I have to stop here for now.  I will come back later to tell what I learned at St. Joseph.  Right now I have to gather myself.  Praying to God for strength.  Its been just too much.

My God, what they did to me. Oh my God.

RIP Misty. RIP Rick.