Monday, 30 July 2018
We were in a scrapyard, me and my mates, dossing about. Suddenly someone shouted, “There’s a rattyatty!” so I run and jumped on a wall. “You blagger, you’re just scaring me!” I shouted back – but, unbelievably, there was not one but three giant rats roaming around the scruffy floor. My stomach lurched. I felt sick and scared. As I looked down, I realised that my hand was on top of a rat. I screamed and fell off the wall, straight into a deep black well. My mates followed me down the well to help me. At the bottom of the well was a steep hill. We started running up the hill that led into a bright countryside. In the countryside was a high fence. We climbed up and looked over and saw loads of busy village people all working away like the Amish. We found a hole in the wall and sneaked thru towards a bunch of older kids playing football. One of them said let the little kids join in, so we joined in, but the first time I kicked the ball it froze in midair. “Game’s paused,” one of the older kids said, so we stopped playing. “Hey, let me show you my favourite teachers,” he added. He was a big boy. He led us into the local school and escorted us into the staffroom. It was full of sofas with teachers on them just lazing about. They looked so relaxed and peaceful. I stood there admiring them with total respect and reverence. “These are all my favourite teachers,” the big boy stated. “I’ll never forget them when I leave.” But just then the headmaster came in and cleared the room. She chased me and my mates away into a small dorm. I climbed onto the top bunk and started eating some biscuits that were up there. The headmaster phoned the armed police to get me down. Soon I was surrounded and being issued scary orders to come down and receive punishment. My mate climbed up with me and shouted down, “Stop telling him what to do. Let him come down in his own time.” Then my mate went back down because he said his girlfriend was pregnant. As soon as he went down some beautiful Amish girls come up and asked me to help them organise some photographs. They have many photographs which we start arranging into piles. I am on some of them. In one, I am in a family portrait, even though I don’t have a family yet. In another, I am posed in front of a wall of all my artwork. The photographs are glowing, as if they have their own natural light. “Come down and meet my newborn baby,” my mate calls up to me, so finally I do go down and start playing with his baby. The baby is walking around and copying whatever I do. He is also pooing everywhere. My mate follows him around, cleaning up the poo. “I’ll give you a lift back now,” one of the beautiful Amish girls says to me, and we get in her car. She plays the music very loud, and we drive very fast all the way home.
Sunday, 29 July 2018
Firstly, they can put voices in your head. You hear these as clearly as if someone is speaking next to you. They can originate from inside the head, or they can come from any direction in the air. Above, behind, from the distance, from the sky, or from right over your shoulder. These voices can be anyone you know, living, fictional, or dead. They can mimic any voice, and you can hear multiple voices at once. They can even convert your own thoughts into a voice, so it sounds like there is an echo in your head. They can also put any other type of noise in your head. Dogs barking, alarm clocks, taps dripping, burps, farts, anything. They can play these sounds on a continuous loop to induce insanity. They can even implant sound into your immediate environment. In your office. In your bedroom. In your toilet. Footsteps on the carpet as you doze at night. You can hear these noises even as you sleep.
They can induce physical hallucinations. A goblin or ghoul walking around your house. A snake on your pillow. When you’re wide awake, you might be wise to it, but when you’re half-asleep, you think they are real. Not only can they see the Mind’s Eye on a video screen, and read your verbal thoughts to the letter, but they can induce images and movies straight into the visual cortex of the brain. This means that you see their shit even when your eyes are tight shut. They can play horror simulations with sound effects. They can give you nightmares of their making.
They can make you feel things that aren’t there. This might be a pair of hands molesting you when you are half-asleep, or someone sat on top of you. The body physically feels this as a result of motor cortex manipulation. You could get stabbed by a hallucination you can see, hear and feel. They can literally create any torture scenario imaginable, and you go through it as though it were really happening. This is virtual reality.
This is a very brief overview of what they can do to the human mind, rendered from personal experience. There will obviously be a lot more I am not aware of.
Monday, 23 April 2018
Timmy Dawson is a 40 year old single man who lives alone on a council estate. Bless him.
This report is based off me meeting with Mr Dawson for five minutes now and again, during brief interviews in an outpatient clinic in April 2018. He had a dishevelled appearance and stunk of alcohol. His beer belly was busting out of his shirt.
Mr Dawson heralds from Widnes and is an only child. He had no contact with his father growing up as the guy wanted absolutely nothing to do with a young waster like him. His father was a pot washer in Wetherspoons. Later it appears he met his father at the funfair and attacked him for deserting him. His father later got revenge by ignoring him even more.
He did crap at school and spent his time eating chalk at the back of class. He did have a talent for cooking and one of his teachers encouraged this. He was also very good at rugby league, because he enjoyed getting stuck into people. He obtained ten GCSEs and started studying for A Levels but did not complete them because he decided to use drugs in the daytime instead.
He has held down a number of dogsbody jobs over the years in various derelict deadbeat sweat pits, but has been out of recent employment for over a decade.
He is not currently in a relationship and has zero children (luckily for them).
He is not entirely dumb. He has been reading since his first visit to the library and continues to research conspiracy theories online. He has a keen interest in the delusion of mind control.
Mr Dawson has a criminal history. His earliest conviction was attempted murder in 1997. This led to an early admission into the local nuthouse. The records say that he trapped all his family in their childhood home and tried to torch the place with gasoline. He ran away from the scene saying that his family had been hijacked by demons and that it would be better if they all perished. He was treated with heavy medication on the ward following this episode and had been inhaling creamy buckets of hash at the time. There was a conviction for him assaulting his dad for which he served a custodial sentence. He has been guarded regarding this, but records indicate that he was tanked up at the time, and that his dad pissed him off royally. The records also indicate that he assaulted a number of police officers while getting arrested.
Mr Dawson has a long history of substance misuse. He started using drugs in his mother’s womb. His first offence of attempted murder was in the context of cannabis misuse. He has a history of misusing cocaine because he simply can’t get enough of it. He is under the influence of cocaine whenever he has the funds to afford it.
Mr Dawson’s psychiatric history began with his first conviction and admission into the nuthouse in 1997. The next recorded contact appears to have been in December 2013 at Daresbury Custody Suite. He was positively off his barnet at the time. Due to his extremely disturbed behaviour, he was delivered to the nuthouse in an ambulance with flashing lights. The records indicate that he could not be safely managed at the police station. He was eventually transferred to a less secure nuthouse and made informal. The diagnosis was that he was off his tits due to an overdose of cocaine. He had been snorting big fat stripes off a handheld bathroom mirror prior to his time of admission. It is also noted that he twatted fuck out of the arresting officers around the time of that admission. After discharge from the nuthouse he did not engage with the home treatment team. After New Year 2014 he was brought back to hospital under section 136 and agreed to an informal admission. At that time he reported crazy goings on under the influence of legal highs. He reported taking the drugs because he was bored out of his mind and needed something to do. He described that he was being followed by an invisible anus that was hovering above him like a cloud and putting farting noises into his mind 24/7. He sincerely believes the government has created this anus using secret classified mind control technology. He escaped from the ward shortly after by booting the door down and never returned. He was consequently caught on the run in the next town drinking special brew and brought back into the nuthouse yet again.
During the rest of 2014/2015 there were a shitload of more admissions. In the summer he was caught on Runcorn Bridge experiencing suicidal thoughts. This appears to be yet another psychotic experience regarding the invisible anus. Mr Dawson claims that he was drowning in electromagnetic shit. He wanted to jump onto the concrete below and splatter his brains apart so the government couldn’t preserve his body and hook him up to the invisible anus in hell. There was a diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia recorded. His solicitor asked for a change of consultant because he believed his doctor was ‘in on it’ and he was transferred to a different nuthouse. He remained there for a year until discharge and has since been on a community treatment order, which basically means that we will never let go of him.
I have now met Mr Dawson a number of times, and his beer gut continues to protrude at an alarming rate. The diagnosis by his previous Responsible Clinician was that of Chronic Drug Induced Psychosis. On reviewing the records I have decided that he is indeed a truly raging schizo of the highest order since he very clearly is a rampant lunatic. In my opinion, there is no hope for Mr Dawson apart from very heavy medication delivered into his bottom via weekly injections.
Mr Dawson is now back at home and very unhappy about being there. He has been at his address for approximately eight years. He does not feel safe there when he is psychotic. During drug use, he hears a wide variety of farting noises both inside and outside his head, in 3D high-definition sound. He claims this is government torture and not very funny at all. He says that he is no longer using cocaine or legal highs, but I don’t believe him. There have been some issues with the neighbours. He kicked down their front door and gained unlawful entry while holding a kitchen knife. He appeared in court for a public order offence. These neighbours have now moved away but he says the new neighbours are just the same as the old ones.
Over the times I have seen Mr Dawson he has been scruffy, sloth-like, and stinking, although he does engage in a wide range of activities including going to the gym and going to a Hearing Voices group in Liverpool. He has hardly any friends as very few people can stand his bad hygiene. There has been one significant incident leading to a short informal admission in July 2017. In brief, he approached a local nursery and began banging on the doors saying that he had to protect the children from predatory Satanists. He was very agitated, shouting, and head-butted a window. The police were called and he was swiftly spirited away to the nuthouse. On admission he reported that he was hearing God’s voice telling him to protect all minors. An increase in heavy medication did him well. He blamed the incident on twenty double shots of Vodka and Red Bull. He did not have a clear recall of what had been going on, and was unhappy about the increase in weekly depot injection. He became quite hopeless about the situation, and an anti-depressant was offered but refused. Since that episode there have been no further incidents. He has avoided illicit drugs and has given up spirits for life. He claims that they are called spirits ‘for a reason’. He does not accept any psychiatric label and maintains that the government is mind-controlling him. He therefore has very limited insight into the true nature of his illness. He would not accept any medication at all if it wasn’t forced into his butt by law once every week. So I conclude that he should be kept on heavy medication for the rest of his natural life.
Mr Timmy Dawson is a 40 year old man with a long history of psychotic illness necessitating numerous admissions into the nuthouse. My opinion is Paranoid Schizophrenia, which he thinks is a big blag. In fact, he does not believe in any kind of mental disorder, apart from depression, which he says is a natural reaction to life. Without medication, the invisible anus in his imagination would be a lot worse. His illness would quickly deteriorate and he would pose a substantial risk to both himself and others. Plus, he would probably want to chuck himself off the bridge again.
Dr D Black
Monday, 2 April 2018
Six weeks or so ago I had yet another complete nervous meltdown caused by voices and hallucinations. It was truly horrible and no words I possess can adequately describe the mad schizophrenic torment I was put through. Since then I’ve kind of bounced back with a new appetite for life. I’m staying clean and sober and have even quit smoking. As a result, I can now do my weightlifting and cardio without feeling like my lungs are completely clogged with tar. My training is going well again after a long layoff. My goal is to be a bit bigger than the average bloke while maintaining a decent level of stamina and fitness. I’m watching my diet for the first time in years, as I gained a bigger waistline during my long stint in the nuthouse, and I’m attending four or five therapy groups a week, including church and narcotics anonymous. I’ve been a functioning addict for twenty years. I am currently battling drug addiction, porn addiction, alcoholism, tobacco, schizophrenia, depression, anxiety and the most disturbingly grotesque night terrors. That’s an acute workload for anyone. But I’m not doing too bad.
I’ve never had a career, but there is more to life than just work. I’m trying to make a life for myself, even despite any employment opportunities. My faith has been growing for the better. I’m talking to God again for the first time since my twenties. I never prayed for ten years, because I’ve forgotten that prayer is a weapon. Prayer is like making promises to yourself. I like praying for other people too. It’s all you can do to help sometimes. You never know who might be listening. You'll never find an atheist in a crisis. I have problems with God. I’m not a holier-than-thou perfect Christian. I struggle with the concepts of suffering and eternity. I don’t take all of the bible literally. Plus, I enjoy the benefits of Buddhism too, much to the chagrin of my fellow Christians, who declare Buddha to be a false idol. But I can’t help but adore the teachings I attend by the local monk. Buddhism has removed every ounce of anger and bitterness from my psyche. It takes an awful lot of stress to make me lose my temper. I’ve been writing rather well. I’ve found my niche in twenty-thousand word novellas. I’ve got a dozen of them in print. Just waiting for a book signing somewhere now. A book signing means nothing, but it’s nice for the ego, and has always been a small personal goal of mine. Who knows? Maybe one day. I’m also doing a little bit of artwork again. It’s good fun tinkering with biro sketches on Photoshop. I’m the worst drawer in the world but I don’t let that stop me one bit. If I want to create, I will create!
The hardest things to deal with are not the voices anymore. Sure enough, they catch me off guard when I get them in the pub out of the blue, but the mind gets used to them eventually. The hardest things are the porn, the nightmares, and the depression. Catching sight of an attractive woman in tight clothes can evoke the database of porn enmeshed in my brain. There are triggers all over the place, especially in the summer. It’s in your face all the time and there’s no avoiding it. My download history is shameful and diabolical. I’m not into any weird stuff, like feet fetishes, but any kind of porn is sin. With the nightmares, going to bed every night is a lottery. I simply do not know what to expect. I experience a lot of tactile hallucinations during sleep, and they can be extremely distressing. I’m at the mercy of the devil when I dream. I read Psalm 23 to protect me. And the depression can stop one functioning in the world. It can keep you trapped under the duvet, not wanting to make breakfast or get dressed. It can make you not want to be here. As Job said in the bible: If only I had never come into being. That’s one of the most powerful lines I have ever read.