End Of Block - Part 4

It's Easter, and it looks like I am finally out of here on Thursday. This ten-month sentence has come to an end. At last! All I did was get mentally tortured by methods of microwave harassment and then lose my liberty when I complained about it to the authorities. Hows that for a bum deal? That's what this modern society does to torture victims – lock them up. I should have received hugs and cuddles and compensation. Not so. My psychiatrist asked me what I thought of mental health services. I don't know what he expected me to say. I think he was expecting some kind of glowing review. I told him that psychiatric units are the very worst possible kind of prisons; detention centres where no crime need ever be comitted, soul-destroying places where they forcibly administer poison on a daily basis. That pretty much sums up my humble and honest opinion of the whole system. It absolutely sucks.

It's far worse than the prison system. Far worse. Take it from me, because I've been in both. And I'm lucky in a sense that I am getting out relatively fast. These horrible sections are indefinite and I'm surrounded by certain hopeless chaps who have been incaracerated for years and years. Let me reiterate – I have never suffered from a mental illness and it took them ten months to release me. I've never displayed any worrying symptoms to reinforce their suspicions that I'm a nutter. I refuse to believe that the mythical illness 'schizophrenia' even exists. It's certainly fictional in my case. My psychosis wasn't drug-induced, it was electromagnetically-induced via the microwaves of electronic harassment. Let me just say: I can and always have been able to handle my drugs. Bombing speed and necking pills was never a problem. Far be it from me to make idle boasts,  but I've done it copiously in the past with nothing more than a mildly depressive comedown/hangover to deal with afterwards. I felt guilty and hollow after my drug sessions, but never psychotic. Drugs can do a lot of things, but they can't make you physically hear voices. It takes evil gangstalkers with mind weapons to do that (implanted chips and satellites). But of course, all this talk about people plotting against me only comes across to the doctors in the form of an elaborate delusion. Those strangers follwing me around are just my paranoia. The neighbours making my life hell is just part of my condition. Perhaps the most disapointing part of the whole shebang is the fact that not a single person believes me. Now that's a lonely place to inhabit.

Still, there's hope in the TI (targeted individual) forums on the web. I've recently connected with other victims on Facebook groups. They understand. They have been through it. They fund my research as I dive deeper into the rabbit hole. Targeted individuals are real. We are not all suffering from some imaginary mental illnesses. We have, and are been, tortured for crying out loud. It is among these people that I learn the truth about what is happening to me. The targeted individuals I have met in hospital are misinformed. They are not intelligent enough to search for, and much less understand the truth, so they go along with the misconception that they are unwell. I seem to be the only one I know who knows. I long to meet another TI in the flesh who is actually aware of what is going on, as I am. I long for that fellowship with similar enlightened victims. The ignorant TIs I know from hospital think that the voices are bad spirits. I know for a fact that it is other people. Real people. Bad people. Bad people who enjoy transmitting their own voices into the heads of innocent undeserving citizens via the voice-to-skull weapon (V2K). The voices in the head are the very worst part of gangstalking. It's quite literally impossible, even for someone who excels in self-expression through the medium of words, to fully explain what the suffering is like. V2K, quite simply, is demonic. Using a phenomenon calling Voice Morphing, they can impersonate the voices of family members. They can then play out scenarios of your loved ones in pain. It's convincing as fuck. When you hear the disembodied voice of your loved ones screaming in agony from the room next door, then your natural instinct is to presume that it really is happening. Remember, not all the voices are inside the head: they come from outside the head too, through the fucking ears it feels like (the truth is that Silent Sound is an electrical signal that bypasses the ears on its way to the brain). It's so cleverly sophisticated, it's unreal. It's fooled me many times over. I've heard my family members begging with me as they get tortured literally time and time again. I've actually lost count over the years of my harassment. It's pretty damn awful, let me assure you, and that's why they refer to it as mental torture.

So, I'm nothing but a torture victim who is about to be let back out into the jungle. The harassment has all but dissipated during my spell in hospital. It's only the controlled dreams which have stayed the course. They're bad enough like. That's a genuine infringement of your most simple earnest liberty, having your dreams infected. But I'm used to them, because they go back years and years before my targeting became open. I'm worried about my neighbours, however, I'm worried about gangstalkers following me from pub to pub, and I'm worried about the voices coming back. Some lowlife heartless miscreant harassing me via V2K I can handle, but the torturing of the family scenarios have a distinctly disabling effect. As they would with anyone, I suppose. I consider myself strong, and I still buckled from its voodoo power. For someone of a weak disposition, I gather that kind of abuse would make them insane in a hurry. It's not fair. Nobody deserves it.

I am also worried about Directed Energy Weapons (DEW). These can be mini laser guns which you can buy on the internet. They work through walls and cause all kinds of sicknesses. Somebody could have one pointed at you from next door, killing you softly, and you would never know. Scary. I've been a victim of this. On one occasion I couldn't move, I was paralysed, and the only way to describe it appropriately is to say that I felt like Superman in a beam of Kryptonite. There really are some disgustingly vile creatures that pass for human beings out there, and I for one can't understand them. The bottom line is that they worship the devil, I guess. On the bright side I have a change of address lined up. I am being considered for a new house. I have never lived in a house before, only council flats. Hopefully my circumstances might never be as bad as to lead me to want to nearly jump of Runcorn bridge again, but until then, I'll keep writing the truth. Don't forget to do your bit and carry out a bit of your own research regarding the topics I mention. There is a silent holocaust approaching and the more people who know about it, the better. Thank you.