So You Could Say...

That times were interesting when I was younger. They were certainly a lot more interesting than they are now, although they were also a lot more traumatic.

That werewolf spell experience from my childhood would serve me amusingly later when I was living in Schenectady, New York.

A lot had happened to me by then. I'd married, been cheated on, been left, been reprimanded by the handlers, been discriminated against while living in New Jersey, had to send my children away to my abusive ex-husband to protect them from the discrimination in New Jersey, you name it. So I was living in Albany New York with a man who claimed he wanted to be my boyfriend that said he'd help me get back on my feet after I'd lost everything in New Jersey.

This was just before 9/11. The house I was living in was a two story that was divided into two apartments. The young man said I could live in the bottom apartment. It was a nasty house, to say the least. I mean there I am with fragile lungs (I was also recovering from serious walking pneumonia I couldn't get any doctors to take seriously) and he had these long-hair cats he and his roommate never cleaned up after, and he refused to open any windows to allow fresh air inside even though the screens were secure and the cats could not in any possible way have gotten out. I grew up with cats and I was pretty sure I knew enough about them to know an open secure window was safe, fresh air was healthy, and cleaning up after them was a must.

I won't go into the clique activities in that house - they're not important, and they're all Otherkin related anyway. The petty incidents with one of his "friends" who came only to get him to help with homework and was nasty to me when he was out of the room is basically something out of a movie about high school spoiled rich kids. The important parts are what he did to me - although some of it may have been good intentioned I still can only view him as evil these days.

He spent money on me, I'll give him that. He got me some new clothes to find a job in, which I found almost immediately being as I'm highly skilled. He got a friend of his set up to babysit my daughter for me while I worked - boy that was a mistake. That horrible woman soon proved to be resentful, petty and prone to take things out on my daughter, so I soon found myself looking for someone else on the side. Not fast enough, though - the bitch picked an argument one morning and quit on me thirty minutes before I had to go to work, causing me to lose my job.

The young man, I guess I'll call him Fred, also would do past life readings for me. He had a skill called scar reading: he would lay hands on you and read scars your soul has from past experiences. They were amusing stories he'd tell me, and I loved to hear them. They validated my existence when I needed it so very badly. One day after one of his friends had come to teach me how to fight with swords but spent that time telling me how since I was obviously a split personality that meant I didn't exist (only a nightmare for splits everywhere) he used the readings to make me feel better. I look back on the pattern that was around me: everyone around him treating me horribly when he wasn't there and him picking up the pieces every day and I recognize a particular training pattern.

The problem with that particular pattern, you see, is that I was already MKultra and didn't know it. Oh, he knew I was "manifesting" from the trauma I'd faced and was having a shift inside of me. He obviously didn't know why or how. I don't know if I've talked about it before, the Black Princess programming, but that's when this was finally fully awakened.

You don't tamper with a Butterfly's matrix, especially not to reprogram. The pattern I was thrown into there wasn't a matter of being handled or reinforced. It was a matter of fresh programming being laid upon me: it was tampering. That's stupid and dangerous to do to anyone, much less a Butterfly. I know that now. Of course back then I only knew I was in a world of pain, confusion, and felt cornered without really knowing why.

I don't know how it is for the others, but when I'm pushed into feeling a certain level of angst I forget that I can't do things and just take it for granted that I can. So my "powers" came out on dangerous levels. At first it was little things - being able to predict what someone was going to do next - and it moved on to bigger things like self defense.

Fred's true form isn't human. I don't know what it is... it has a lot of tendrils that he attaches to people. In fact it's where I learned the skill, but with him I don't think it was a matter of conscious thought so much as that was what he is. There was this time I was washing dishes (SOMEONE had to clean) and he walked up behind me. My senses caught hint of this monster and I quickly turned, automatically throwing energy throwing darts at him with my right hand. They went out as bright points of white that my 6th sense saw and melted into him.

I was so proud that day, bouncing around him saying, "Did you see? Did you see? I remembered how to do that!" I had no idea what doing that really meant in the grand scheme of things. I thought it meant that my past life self - the Malek persona - was finally reawakening fully and I was going to manifest into that phoenix I'd waited for all my life. Fred nodded and didn't congratulate me as much. He claimed the energy bounced off his armor.  And the next day for several days he was very sick; couldn't even get out of bed.

At about that time the observant bits of me started to catch on, and I found myself separating internally from the stories Fred would tell me. By then I was breaking inside completely from what was happening around me. One day Fred told me this lovely story about my past life and a love. I can't remember the full story now, nor do I want to. I remember he said my past body had six fingers on each hand and he described this form that matches some popular conspiracy theories. But I, after hearing it, contemplated the information he gave me. I realized I didn't remember any of it, and because I couldn't remember it that meant I couldn't validate it. This is a skill you must exercise to keep from lying to yourself, and I probably will talk about it over and over again in this journal.

When I sat down that evening to record what I'd learned in my past life journal, I omitted Fred's story. He noticed and was furious. I was confused at the time, of course, as to why he'd be so angry that I had not taken his tale as gospel. And there was another part of me that said, "See? He's manipulating you."

Halloween: I wanted to hold a party, so we did. Man that house was disgusting to clean. I was picking up three year old cat puke in corners, I kid you not. Omigod. But the point behind that is while cleaning Fred's room I accidentally came across a compartment in his floor; it wasn't secured very well. And inside were about half a dozen books on how to manipulate people. I just sat there on the floor looking at these books. My inner selves wanted me to pick them up and read them, but I wouldn't touch them. No way. I just filed their existence away in my head - as obvious as the situation could have been to an outsider, things sink in slowly for me somtimes. And I knew this was a blatant red flag that everything else was bad bad bad. But I was also trapped and maybe didn't want to acknowledge it.... but I'll have to tell more of the story next post.

While doing research trying to rediscover the information about blind alters, I came across a blog post by someone talking about Katy Perry's "Wide Awake" video. The blogger cautioned the reader to look at the "Alice in Wonderland" imagery, that it was a definite statement about Katy Perry's entrapment in the MKultra program (because only famous stars are MKultra slaves).

So I watched the rather entertaining video and what I saw was not Alice in Wonderland imagery. It was straight Jim Henson's The Labrynth. Yes, falling into the Green World such as the character in Labrynth or how Katy Perry does in her video does can be construed as Alice in Wonderland imagery. Wonderland is a very bright and fantastical dream world and it's well known that the book was used in MKultra programming.

But one mistake I see people making repeatedly is instantly pointing fingers at something fantastical and calling it a conspiracy shot because it has butterflies, colorful images, and things our culture associates with a magical world. Sometimes that's just not the case whether you like it or not. Shakespeare was writing about falling into magical worlds long before Alice was a twinkle in her father's eye. Before Shakespeare there was the mysterious poet who immortalized Beowulf for us. Sometimes a fish is just a fish, no matter how much you try to descale it.

It's like the HAARP fad a couple of years ago. HAARP was blamed for everything; a dust devil, high tide, your baby burping up it's juice. Whatever it was, HAARP did it. Omigod, seriously.

Look. I think this is probably another important part to getting to the truth about yourself. You have to keep to the scientific process and remember that ability to reason your god gifted you with. Maybe Katy Perry is a MKultra diamond. Maybe not. I haven't looked into her enough to know for sure. If you're going to try to reason one way or the other, use your brain and get to know the material first.

Which means being able to tell the difference between a movie reference and a classic children's story. Yes, that also means knowing the difference between Satanism, Devil Worship, and Zen. Not being biased just because you're Christian and assuming everything else is evil. Not being biased just because you're athiest, etc.


The information we give each other is so confused and muddled because of the people out there feeding us with mixed information. You want to defeat this problem? Work to beat that, first.

Loyalty

Researcher has talked to me a little bit, but it's strictly business. So it goes. I wait to see what happens and carry on. The hole inside of me isn't her doing. It's from everyone before her: people at the dinner theater I worked with who treated me like an idiot and used me for a scapegoat, or others who pushed me away, and lastly the folk singer who acted like she wanted to have a conversation while peppering her statements with things like, "Can't you go make friends somewhere? Go make friends, get out, do things!" and finally telling me she was breaking contact.

I'm not the most astute person when it comes to social nuances, but it seems to me that if you carry on a conversation with someone you're not exactly encouraging them to go away. And this folk singer... I love her stuff, and I still listen to it from time to time. But when I hear of some protest she's making or some statement she has to make about the state of the world, I no longer believe it. She apparently doesn't know what it's like on the other side - if she did she'd have understood it when I told her I couldn't afford college classes among other things. But she didn't. She just kept on. And so her credibility with me as a "revolutionary" died.

My first husband left me and my two small children in utter poverty. He never paid child support, and I was alone. I didn't qualify for food stamps because I made too much money, being as I worked at McDonald's 20 hours a week. My only line to the world back then was the telephone, and when it was lost I was submerged in an ocean of overwhelming loneliness. I had only one friend.

So one day I walked the miles down with the kids to the payphone to call her and talk. The payphone was in the parking lot of a closed down business; there were no cars or anything driving through. Which means it was safe for me to stand there talking a little while with the kids there playing.

While they played tag - not going far I might add - this woman drove through with her car glaring and staring at me. I watched her as I talked because I wasn't concerned about her blame. She was just one of the many who didn't truly give a shit except in spite and thus was unimportant.

After a while the kids were getting too unruly. "I can't take anymore," I told them exasperatedly and made them sit down politely by the phone.

They were sitting there being good when the police car came. Seems that woman made a phone call. "You're letting the kids play in the street," the cop had told me.

They had been playing near me in a vacant abandoned parking lot. Hardly looked like a street. I told the cop to give me his badge number and told them go ahead and call child welfare. They'd find out what a "spite call" was and like all the other times the case would be closed.

It never went anywhere. But I never forgot that woman's hateful eyes. She probably regarded herself an upstanding wonderful mother and good loving Christian. But I'll always remember her as a self-serving bitch with plenty of rocks to throw into other people's windows.

All sorts of incidents happened like that while I lived in Georgia. I couldn't even take my son to town and have him scream because I couldn't buy him a toy without some hag crawling out of the woodwork to yell at me and tell me how I should do this or that with my children. Not one of them offered to buy the toy I couldn't afford, or the food, or help with child care, or even to get back and forth to work when my car died. (There were no buses there,and I lived 3 hours walk outside of town.) Everywhere I turned there were people pointing fingers at me for not staying in my abusive marriage, for being a single mother, for not qualifying for welfare, for not having any money, for him not paying his child support, and for simply breathing.

And the gods know all I did all of the time was my best. I was tired and I still did my best. Even to the point I sold my body to buy the children food: I couldn't do any less than my best. I had to provide for the kids, that was all I knew.

And through it all is this echo of how horrible it felt, to be the villain without knowing why.

When I moved away from Georgia, the sheriff there was soon shot and killed for selling cocaine out of his barn among other illegal scandals. Which just goes to show who the villains really were. Pointing fingers at impoverished single mothers only works so far.

While taking a shower the other day and these thoughts ran through my mind the way they want to constantly do, I thought of my childhood. My mother's sister never let me and my older brother into her trailer, and when she had her house built she would only let us in the back door on the back-porch like we were servants or less. She yelled at me all of the time and I never felt welcome over there. Is it any wonder I grew up to hate her?

And I realized, Oh. That's why I looked forward to being picked up, to my fantastic dreams, that overall sense of belonging I was given when I went on a mission after the System found me. They didn't yell at me. They told me I was special. Even when I was a single parent abandoned with two small children, there was still that element of "The outside world hates you, but you'll always be loved in here."

And I think maybe that's why I'm not eager to "deprogram" the way folks say I should. Why should I listen to them? They call themselves revolutionaries and when I don't do what they say and how they want it, they throw me away.

But inside I wasn't thrown away for stealing air ships, or my daughter back. I was praised for the things I could do, recognized for what I am, and reminded that I could still be human and a worthwhile being.

So yeah. My loyalty is earned. Well earned.

And that's why if you want me to deprogram you'd better be willing to go with me into the journey of my head, to recover my memories, and find a damn good reason why I should leave them.

There's nothing wrong with my desire to remember my other life. My old handler told me so, and I was told that these memories will be the key to my survival. I'm not breaking any code for remembering who I am, to gaining a greater capacity, for expanding myself.

There's nothing wrong with making up my mind based on experience and what I know rather than following the deprogrammers blindly, either. In fact, I think those that preach about knowing the truth should recognize that me finding the truth first is the wise way to go.

It's not a matter of rationalizing the pain away or trying to come to terms with the grief in my heart. I'll do that in my own time.

Damn if you're going to get me to go back on important pieces of myself unless I feel it's right.