21st Century Gossip

When all of my ‘schizophrenic’ voices are harassing my innermost sanctum, my mind and my soul, they keep egging each other on to keep ranting bull crap over me. “Keep your power up over it,” they say to one another. Apparently, when a consortium of bullies criminally pester a vulnerable brain with no privacy, using thought implantation via electromagnetic weaponry, and steal away the very essence of life (its ability to think, like breathing), it’s called power. All they rant on about is power. Mind-reading and organised stalking isn’t power, it’s cowardly. If I had a sole harasser, an enormous bodybuilder or something, and he tormented me to my face on my doorstep, or came in and battered me on regular intervals, then shat on my bed, I’d respect something about it. But constantly whispering nonsense and chatting bubbles via secretive methods of microwave hearing is nothing like that. The things they say over their evil tech doesn’t resemble what they’d dare say to you in public.

I keep replying back to them that real power is industry and revolution, engineering, building and order in civilisation. I ask them to pick on the steel magnets and the oil tycoons. Why not pick on a wealthy banker, or an architect, or a grand designer? Take a look around, at all the property in the world. Cathedrals, shopping arcades, mega structures, symmetrical neighbourhoods, viaducts, bridges, damns, canals. Then we have warships and fighter aircraft, jumbo jet planes and submarines. The white house. The houses of parliament. Military bunkers. Worldwide conglomerates and businesses and fraternities and institutions. Doesn’t all this reek of true power? The police force. If I were an alien visiting earth, and I was obsessed with power like my voices are, these are the destinations I would first head for. Would you seriously pick on just one mind in a council estate and bombard the living daylights out of it with death threats and torture promises every waking second of its adult life? Would you hire cronies to follow them around, spreading slander and being rude on purpose? Would you illegally enter their property and move things around, to terrify them? What’s powerful about a gang of intimidators picking on a lonely individual and driving it towards induced suicide? That’s nothing more than mere wimpy cruelty. Of the highest order. Or should I say the lowest.

When the non-touch torture, or soft-kill, first begins, you revere your tormentors like royalty. V2K is call the Voice Of God for a reason. I don’t know about you when growing up, but I didn’t believe telepathy was possible. When it hits you bang-slap in the head, you tend to instantly think that you are dealing with a higher power. I never thought that science would ever be able to fathom out what a person was thinking deep inside. Your thoughts are private, aren’t they? They can’t be sensed or heard. I was so wrong. But before I knew I was wrong, and got informed, my mind was completely blown by the technology being used to sadistic effect upon me. Not only could they read my internal monologue of words, but they could see what my Third Eye was seeing, and even control it, so I saw things in my mind which they wanted me to see. Not too bad if you’re in a shotgun communion with beautiful pixies from a distant pleasantly-spiritual planet, but not so great if you’re being interfered with by a bunch of nutters and sado-masochists who drink infants blood for supper. Welcome to psychic warfare and mind control in the 21^st century. I still almost don’t believe some of it myself. I wouldn’t even share it here, because I know that you just wouldn’t buy what I was saying. Invisibility, teleportation, and intergalactic beings sharing your bed with you are only the half of it.

Now I find them difficult to believe because of their stupid petty attitude. Seriously, they are hard to describe. It’s like fighting a gaggle of prepubescent children. I try my hardest to treat them with a modicum of respect, for, despite being inhuman devil’s blood, they are still life form. But any compassion gets flung back in my face. They know absolutely nothing apart from pain and suffering and evil. And being senseless, useless, pitiful cowards. So no, I’m not scared of their cosmic tactics anymore, and I won’t be leaving my home because of their assassins to be driven to desperation in a night shelter or hostel. I’ll be doing zilch, and certainly not spinning round in fearful circles, like I used to. So there. F**k off, evildoers, and take your fake schizophrenia and all the rest of it with you.

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.

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?