Notes.

My father, very briefly, was involved with the early Psychic Corps. I know I've said so before, but I can't recall to whom. He hasn't told me much. I imagine there isn't much to tell, and his story changes. One minute he only participated in the beginning to get his super powers tested. The next he was with them for years as something like a freelance informant and even got a check once in a while. Mind you my father is really good at "Indian bullshit". The story of being involved hasn't changed, but the circumstances around it have as you can see. I got the book Psychic Spies by Jim Marrs; I wanted to see if Dad were mentioned. He wasn't; the names of the earlier testers aren't there at all.

I wanted to see for myself so I remote viewed to the past. I was in a room with a round metal door, it was dark and bare with only bricks. A woman was coming down the hall outside giving a tour. She and a younger version of my father passed by outside. I can't remember what she said the room was for. Then she closed the door. It closed with a metallic bong and shook me from the view. Couldn't get it back either. When I told my father of the room he didn't let me finish. He got very excited and said, "Yeah, that room!" and finished describing it to me.

So my husband was deployed to Afghanistan and I was stuck behind and handed to this little prick. I hated him, and he radiated hatred for me. And for the next year I was kept on edge and pissed. If it wasn't the first sergeant refusing to allow the people in my husband's very small unit use phones to call home while everyone else got to or not allowing them guns so they could protect themselves (the FOB was nearly run over shortly after my husband moved on to where he was going), it was First Sergeant using the military wife group to pick on me. That man seriously has a hard-on against happily married couples. Anyway, yeah. This kept me angry, which is when I do things best.

And then the prick handler would come, get me, and do things to agitate me. The drawback to activating me like that is that I also gain better memory recall.

When my husband first deployed, I went to "work" and was in one of the underground bases. I was not guarded (for once - that came after I got moved from that unit) and there was a general standing nearby speaking to some people. So I walked right up to him and told him, "You send me to Afghanistan, too."  He said, "No." And the argument between us began. There were no sirs or ma'am, no saluting, nothing to indicate he saw me as inferior or superior. And our argument, although not heated, tells me that "me" isn't afraid to throw her weight around. Finally we had to just split and agree to disagree, so I walked away seething. I was SO ANGRY when I woke up the next day, because I remembered clearly that I'd been told by some dude that I had to settle for being left behind.

Then the McChrystal (sp?) matter happens maybe a week or two after that argument. At the time I was pretty sure I didn't know anybody high ranking from a hill of beans, but when I first saw McChrystal's photo in the news, I had to point and say "OMG that's HIM!"

Things got worse after that. I was having visions left and right, probably spawned from not wanting to be left behind. Who can say... but astrally I was over there nearly all of the time. I burned myself out within 6 months; ran out of resources and couldn't do much anymore. My husband called me every day as much as he could, and the picking upon we endured cracked down. I got to the point I was having waking visions, and every day I'd tell my husband "they're going to attack at this hour. They're going to come from such and such side. This is the location of the cave they're living in." And it would happen. I also pinpointed where Bin Laden was and reported it to him (knowing our conversations were being monitored and all); it wasn't hard. My husband's FOB was on the edge of the border so it was only a short distance hop in the scheme of things.

The worse things got the more I was angry, so I promised myself that every night (I was going to "work" nearly every day) I'd start pushing to get the cave system daisy chain bombed and flatted. They did it within a week of me demanding it. Nice coincidence. It only helped a little. It was fun listening to Tim tell me about the smears of blood from the enemy that were still outside. And I know, I'm supposed to be all nice and go "all that life wasted"! But, you know, they were trying to kill my husband.

At one point I had a vision of something that was going to happen. I knew they'd been planning a certain of maneuver - when you're all eyes and data collection while covering an entire war zone it's kind of hard to miss - and what I saw woke me up in tears. A bunch of guys were going to die. I had to warn someone, anyone, and put a stop to it. I couldn't just call Fort Campbell, it had to be someone who touched on it. My friends helped me find the old director to the Stargate program - I can't remember his name - and of all the people I tried to contact he's the only one that called me back. At first he told me he had no contacts left and there wasn't anything he could do. Then I told him my vision. And suddenly he had someone he could tell. Then he asked "Who's your father?" when I made a small mention of the psychic programs. I told him, "George Joyner." He cried, George JOYN-! I mean, is that your maiden name?" So yeah. My father isn't completely lying.

What I can't figure out is when I told him the scenario had been narrated in the dream, Stargate Guy didn't like it. And I'm just not sure why.

I like to think me turning on the waterworks made a difference. Shortly after that the plan went down. My husband was on his way home and happened to be where he could talk to the survivors. So he'd be all nice, get the info, and come to me. The ambush hadn't been completely thwarted: not 100% died. But it was still a disaster.

One of the last things I did for the "war effort" that I can remember is I was taken to an airport. The jerk handler was there, provoking me. By that point though I'd watched him all year and figured out he wasn't my husband as he kept claiming to be. So I'm standing there listening to him tell me that he's going to back to war and die and not being as provoked as he wanted me to be. And then my target walked past.

It was like I lost touch with the entire world EXCEPT for this man's robes. He went past the boarded gates and as soon as he was out of sight, I turned to my handlers and told them I knew where he was going. They showed me a map that was on a wall and I pointed out the man's travel path while being slightly confused. The map wasn't of Africa. It was of the Middle East area (I think), yet I drew a path with my finger and told them he was on his way to a remote village in Africa.

And I'm pretty hopeful I got the prick handler fired There was a training exercise; one of those test. He was being a prick to me as usual. He threatened my family. Which... only makes me want to get rid of you more you know. So when another handler, whom I recognized, walked up in civies I turned back on Prick and told the other how badly I was being treated. I explained his little guy had no business in his position and then outlined every little thing showing how he can't handle people. I never saw Prick again.

And this is why I didn't want to tell you. I'm pretty sure my involvement, as a MILAB or as a volunteer, would remain super top secret confidential for at least a lifetime more. I'm not just any MILAB. I'm an asshole MILAB. All of us have it in ourselves, you know, so I can't say I'm THE MILAB. That's just silly. But.  They were picking on us so hard when my husband was finally coming home, that I finally lost my temper and threatened anyone who was eavesdropping that if things didn't stop I was going to break up any of their planes I find in the air. I was going to find my handlers and my handlers' handlers and I was going to stop them all.

Within 24 hours the bs stopped.