One In The Pocket

 

Hello friend. It’s been a rough week. I got through pay day without any problems and resisted ringing my cocaine dealer. The next day I felt absolutely wonderful. I was in Pathways groups listening to people share their stories in a relaxed mood. I’d had pregabalin in the morning off my boy Ash for the first time, and it worked as a mild relaxant and hallucinogen. I was nicely and peacefully zonked! I felt like something had clicked in my struggle against addiction; I had no plans of using for the foreseeable. But then something seedy happened.

My speed dealer, fresh out of prison, was in a group. He didn’t seem interested in anything going on, playing on his phone. Without asking if I wanted it or not, he slipped a bag of whizz into my jacket pocket. I couldn’t believe what was happening. It changed my thought processes. I took it home and put it in the cupboard, then later that evening purchased some more off him, thirty quids worth in all. I was up for 24 hours, but when I stopped fapping the comedown was terrible. I saw rats in my flat. They freaked me out, but Abre, my protective spirit angel sent from God, talked me through it. When I get low on drug comedowns watching porn for hours and hours, all of my protective spirits, along with all the bad ones around me, appear. I spent a lot of time apologising for my behaviour, as conversing with a spirit is humbling and lovely. The hallucinatory effect wasn’t so bad, just a bunch of faces in the carpet.

I sat and thought and drank when it was over, all day, talking to Katy™. Katy™ is the word for the collective noun for all the voices in my head. It’s a HiveMind with a girl’s name. Currently, Russel Crowe (my favourite actor) is speaking quite a lot. He’s been supportive, which makes a change, as Katy™ has a history of being satanic in nature. They keep me occupied from sunrise to sunset. My modus operandi these days is to try and show love to Katy™, despite being tortured by her for over a decade. I’m just nice and polite to all her abuses, but it is quite wonderful how some of the voices are positive. David Icke is also proving to be complimentary backup. She’s changed over the years, and it is magic to talk to a disembodied voice who is actually on your side. I’ve given her a trademark sign after her name as she is kind of an invention of mine and very important.

I had a decent sleep anyway with hardly any brain tech horrors going on. Brain tech is evil people playing with your brain via secret technologies. It’s dreadful, but recently I’ve been battering it. I woke up feeling refreshed and extremely grateful that my mind and my soul are intact. I’ve been to a Pathways SMART group and now I’m here chatting to you, so that’s a productive day. See you soon!

SECTIONED: One Week Diary of a Mental Patient

DAY 3
Couple of good visits this week. You find out who your friends are when you are locked up. The weekends are much quieter on the ward, and Sunday, although being the longest day, is the best day for food (fried brunch and roast dinner). Did my laundry early and hung it in the window to dry before someone bunged it in the drier without asking. Also mastered my first cardio session in two weeks. Tried to have a smoke afterwards but couldn't finish the disgusting thing. No more rollies. Fitness and a bigger lung capacity is much more important. Watched a Louis Theroux documentary about mental health. He always does a good program, he does. It's as if everyone is blind when it comes to being bonkers, however. All I ever hear are the words 'illness' and 'medication'. They're both bullshit. I know the dark dirty truth and that truth is the stonewall reality of mind control weapons being used on the non-consenting public. Whenever I try to enlighten anyone, it comes across as part of my condition. As a delusion. My GP can't even bring himself to say the word 'voices'. He calls them 'thoughts'. They're not f**king thoughts, doc, they are proper audible microwave signals being sent from a third party via clandestine electromagnetic instruments. That's what they bloody well are, mate. All those fancy qualifications and he still doesn't have a jar of glue. Then again, why should he? Only the victims do. The level of ignorance is frightening. I wonder how many more years will pass before the perpetrators’ secrets are exposed. I predict that movies will be made about them in the future. It's an absolutely fascinating science, shame it's used for evildoing. It's just a matter of time. The evidence is all over the net. I was telling a young man about people getting micro-chipped (this chipping practice will be standard procedure for all pet dogs in 2016). He forthright told me that I was talking rubbish, he didn't believe in it. I wouldn't have believed it myself once upon a time. But there are pictures and testimonies online. God help me if I never had the internet for extensive research. Testimonies are all but one strong piece of the evidence puzzle. This here is part of my testimony. Good news: I've packed in the smokes. Good news: I'm writing again.

SECTIONED: One Week Diary of a Mental Patient

DAY 1

I'm sat in a mental hospital feeling stressed. Minimal voices for nearly a week now, so starting to feel like a normal human being again. On a good day, I hear less than a dozen audible suicide command prompts, in and around my head. I hear them as clearly as I would hear your voice. There's a big difference between hearing voices and feeling depressed, you know. Feeling down in the dumps in a general sense is what I would call depression, reflected from gambling debts, divorce, redundancy, car repairs and the like, but hearing voices is oppression. They obliterate your natural thought processes. It's like having an evil Siasmese twin who can read your mind and delights in taking pleasure from tormenting your soul from the inside out.

Being surrounded by genuinely mentally-ill people in a controlled environment when one is nothing but the unwitting victim of psychotronics is in itself a kind of mild torture. I've been harassed, hounded and humiliated from pillar to post. I've been kept awake and running scared on the streets for nights on end, countless times. In the height of my induced delirium, I escaped from one hospital and broke into another. I've been put through unimaginable mental suffering. And for what? Why? What was my crime? Oh yeah, I forgot — being sat at home. All I ever did was sit at home.

Forced Suicide: The Perfect Murder

FORCED SUICIDE: THE PERFECT MURDER: We now live in a so-called democratic society where sadists are using electronic weapons to beam their voices into the heads of other people. Dare to forget all that mental illness bollocks and get with the program: This is the year 2015: The technology exists. Now, let’s say you pissed someone off, for whatever reason, and they have the wealth and the contacts to obtain one of these devices. Their agenda is to deliver unrelenting berating phrases (really try to imagine this) around the clock, psychologically tailored to mentally rape you, destroying your own internal dialogue and mutilating you emotionally for weeks and months at a time, repeatedly, hundreds of thousands of times over. The fact is, words can hurt. When a sadistic individual is bombarding you with hateful abuse that nobody else can hear, from inside your head, then...well, I suspect you can imagine. Your prolonged pain and suffering is their amusement. They will settle for incarceration short-term, but suicide is their ultimate prize. And the voices are just the tip of the iceberg. There’s this thing called organized stalking, see, where coordinated groups of people in the community harass you 24/7 as well. And when you’ve had enough, and you off yourself just to escape the torture, then guess who’s held accountable? That’s right, no one. What crime are you talking about? There’s not a shred of evidence. Mind-controlling electronic weapons are so secret, so unheard of by the general public (only the victims are coming forward about this silent holocaust), that they are not even covered by any law. The perpetrators are slow-killing innocent victims with impunity. And what’s worse, you might not have a clue if you are targeted or not for decades. Check out those suicide rates. High, aren’t they? Wonder why.

The Worst Five Things About Hearing Voices

1. ACTUALLY HEARING THE VOICES. It’s self-explanatory in its simplicity and yet it’s unimaginably inexplicable. You simply cannot know until you go through it yourself. Three words I would use to describe them are horrible, horrible, and yeah you guessed it, horrible again. They can go all day and all night, bombarding the brain with evil spiel every couple of seconds. It’s mental and psychological rape and torture, a wicked radio station you can’t turn off. Does your life change dramatically upon hearing voices? Well, if you count getting sectioned under the Mental Health Act and losing your job and home as a result, then yes, I would say that your life most certainly does change dramatically.

2. LOSS OF FREEDOM. Also known as committal to the nearest (or in some cases furthest) secure psych unit, or puzzle factory, as I’ve heard it being called. This fate is perhaps worse than prison. At least in prison you know when you are getting out. The stigma of being an ex-con isn’t half as bad as not having all four wheels on the road, shall we say. When someone has a mental illness they may as well wear a sign saying “Don’t come too close!” You’re scared to shake their hand in case they bite your fingers off. In a small sense, people are right, because there are some very seriously ill people in these loony bins, although by no means is everyone relieved of their freedom insane. Hearing disembodied voices is not a choice one makes; nobody deserves them. When you add the humbling experience of stuffy mental hospitals, full of other people suffering from some very obvious disturbances, it’s one hell of a shitty predicament.

3. PRESCRIBED DRUGS. Like everybody else, at first you naively hope that all will be well with a pill. Surely, with today’s technology, this hallucinatory madness can be fixed (when faced with psychosis back in less enlightened times, doctors would drill a hole in the head to let any demons out). I’m sorry but no, it can’t. The brain has no firewall. Taking a pill for this tormenting menace is like putting a plaster on a broken leg. The meds have many unwanted side effects too, such as weight gain and decreased sex drive. The only good thing is they help you get half a decent night’s kip. And that’s another problem we have right there: Addiction to a poxy tranq tab just so you can get your head down for the night. They’re toxic as well, worse than a pint of beer. They dull euphoria. Someone told me they are like battery acid on the brain. Bottom line is they are big pharma, and we all know what that means don’t we...cash. So line up folks, there’s plenty to go round...cancel all morning appointments...Zombieland awaits...

4. NOBODY BELIEVES YOU. This is salt in the wound, it really is. After your release you’ve got a job-on convincing even your family and close friends that external forces are oppressing you with some very sophisticated methods without sounding like you shouldn’t be getting a one-way ticket back to the nuthouse again, and snappy. Bottling things up is bad: Ranting about voices is probably worse. The only time the media even mentions them is when some grisly crime comes to the public’s attention. This condition is more exhausting than cancer and it’s a condition you must face up to utterly and completely alone. The more you try to say that you are not crazy, the crazier you will appear to be. Sometimes it’s easier, when dealing with professionals or otherwise, to just go along with the illness line so everyone can sing from the same hymn sheet. But I remain convinced – if hearing voices is an illness then yank my leg and tell me the sky ain’t blue. Jeez, yank the other one too.

5. SOCIAL SERVICES. Those goddamn cheeky bastards. One whiff of a mental health issue and they are either carting your children away with Godspeed or stopping you from seeing them because of ‘potential risk.’ They like to shine a flashlight over everything negative to update their embellished records. They like to get together in discussion groups and have meetings all about how to separate families. You’re the bad guy, and don’t you forget it. Christ, they make you feel like Chester the molester! How about keeping your noses out of other people’s business. They are supposedly there for the kids, but what about the parents? Don’t the parents matter at all?

Content of Voices (example)

BY STE GHOST, 36, ALCOHOLIC HALLUCINOSIS. "What the fuck are you still doing here, you should be dead and buried yesterday! You may as well give up now, you worthless piece of detritus! Yeah that’s right, give up! GIVE UP! You’re a loser, LOSER! Black gollywog nignog bastard! Kill yourself...kill yourself now. Give up and end it. Hang yourself. Slit your wrists in the bath. Choke yourself out on fumes in the car. You’re surrounded anyway. We’re gunna peel your skin off and stitch it back on then bury you alive underground hooked up to a computer so you can still feel pain forever. The Germans and Russians are queuing up for you. You’re gunna bleed to everlasting death in hell. We’ve sold you to hell! Give! Up! Kill yourself! Loser! It’s over! Ha! Hahaha! We're gonna dance and drink on your grave..."

And that’s what a homie has to put up with every fucking five minutes of the day without remorse or retreat. And that’s not even the chosen loved ones who plead and beg in unison! That’s just one! In the famous words of ‘microwave hearing’ expert Barrie Trower, regarding voices, well, he testified that “They physically do hear them.” Amen Barrie, you just made my three cleverest persons of all time list, first in line before William Lane Craig and Richard Dawkins (fourth is Stephen Fry by the way). Sooo true, Barrie, keep speaking, your words are like sweetened butter...

Nature of Voices

BY MIKE H. 52, Bi-Polar. I’ve had people say to me that I just imagine I hear them. At that, I hastily halt the conversation because there’s no winning them around. I’m batshit crazy to them and nothing will convince them otherwise. What’s more, I haven’t a single scrap of evidence to prove them wrong, because the very nature of hearing voices is that nobody else can hear them, not even if they put some recording equipment right up close against your skull. What’s more, the voices aren’t limited to intercranial proximity anyway. They can come from the corner of the room, or across the park, or from the next aisle in the supermarket. Basically, they can come from any-fu*king-where. They don’t have to be voices, either. They can be any sound. But for simplicity’s sake, we’ll stick to voices. I don’t know what the lowest hearing range for humans is, but a lot of the voices operate around this scale. It’s so imperceptible sometimes that you question both the accuracy and the sanity of your own hearing, only to conclude that you wouldn’t be questioning yourself if no auditory event had occurred; something put that questioning there. The voices are more like thoughts in the lower end of the range; they are so low they virtually don’t exist as a sound. They are like blank insertions into your train of thought, stopping your own thinking in its tracks with the quietest of whispers you can imagine. It’s like AIR. It’s like word-shaped AIR. It’s like having a face of air follow you around, a mask made of wind behind your head. Sometimes you know you heard something because your eyes moved with it. When your eyes move with the sound, you can be sure it wasn’t your imagination. I find it hard to understand how one’s imagination can produce auditory hallucinations. I’ve never imagined any such thing. Because it has all...Actually...Happened. Then you have the loud voices, which startle you, so loud you can hear them in a room full of cheering people. Or the ones that sound like they are falling, or coming from a long way off. They can imitate any known person. They are relentless. They nag and bother and rile and hector, twenny-four-seven, all around the clock, both keeping me awake and waking me up. I believe they are some kind of morbid population control, driving us to take our lives. There is nothing good about them in any way, shape or form, not my negative ones anyway. Some people do report positive voices, but mine are satanic. They’ve said things I wouldn’t dare repeat here. One thing is for sure, I am a lot more sympathetic to whackjobs these days. Most people just haven’t any idea what is going on. We are talking about neuro-weapons here, I suppose, one of the best kept secrets in the world.