I wake up in my hotel room, No. 5 Nash Ward at the Kewstoke Mental Hospital. I say Hotel Room because the rooms here are absolutely huge, with en-suite shower-room. For comparison, I did stay at Pontins just down the road for one night on a private basis and the rooms there are chalet-style and about a third as big. I can’t complain about the price either way; Pontins was £37 per night including breakfast and evening meal, whereas Kewstoke is entirely free-of-charge at the point-of-delivery, courtesy of the NHS.
Kewstoke is a lovely old Georgian-style cream£ building with 2 or 3 storeys, great big windows, high ceilings and wooden floors. As by far the largest building in Kewstoke Village, it has a commanding view across its lawns to Beach Lane with sand or sea on the other side.
I wish my stay in Kewstoke was just a private matter because I could then negotiate release. However, the system doesn’t work like that. I was on a community treatment order where I’m obliged to take medication as a matter of Law. I checked into A&E where I was suffering from hallucinations, including a fox wandering the streets of Exeter and a bit of fluff piloting itself in all 3 dimensions as if it was landing on the surface of the Moon. After a few hours of observation and discussion, I was clearly in a distracted state and they decided to check me into The Cedars which is the mental hospital in Exeter.
For some reason, The Cedars and I don’t get along. Maybe I’ve been there too many times and they’ve seen too much bad behaviour to be able to cope properly. Either way, the prevailing wind always seems to be hostile and this occasion was no exception. I came out of the bathroom to find a section of paper towel left in the middle of the corridor. This was no random occurrence; this was premeditated and done deliberately to upset me and knock me off balance. I suffer with paranoia quite enough already to be dealt cards in this kind of way.
In the event, the nurses intervened. Because I was extremely cross and putting up some resistance, it took 6 of them to wrestle me to the ground. They even applied a lot of pressure to my right wrist which is still painful because of a Smith’s fracture. I was then locked into the isolation cell and stared at by the nurses as if they’d caught a wild animal. The Cedars is an Open Acute facility and not equipped to deal with the most demanding cases like me. So inevitably I was transferred to Kewstoke which is the nearest Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU).
I have been here 3 times before so I know the routine. I must wait my time for several weeks before I’m let back out into the community, probably on a CTO. In the meantime, walks in the grounds and escorted leave to town are all part of the package deal.
Kewstoke is also familiar in the sense that it’s just down the road from Weston-Super-Mare. My favourite shop is Little Witch and has all sorts of things from sharks’ teeth to crystal balls and Tarot Cards. My first visit to WSM was a private occasion when I’d just had a major argument with my wife. I was intending to catch a plane at Bristol Airport but got side-tracked into a day visit at WSM. I checked into the Premier Inn after breaking the rules by leaving my Land Rover at the Grand Atlantic. For some reason I was unhappy with my mobile phone. It was a Samsung Galaxy S4 and there was absolutely nothing wrong with it, except that it had multiple threads of messages and phone log, all mixed together from both private and work related discussions. So I decided to get rid of it. I gave it to the receptionist and she thought the situation was so weird that she put it in the safe. All of this is consistent with an episode of mania, with high mood, impulsive behaviour, feelings of invincibility and so on. Hence my subsequent diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder. On each of my visits to Weston-Super-Mare I saw the mural of Batman on a side-wall in a back-street. That made me think of the playground joke surrounding my own name (albeit spelled with 2 “d”s). And on one occasion I was given a “God Bless You” book marker when I encountered a bible basher in the street. That was when Charlotte, the young nurse who is 6 ft tall was accompanying me on town leave.
Right now, I feel comfortable in Kewstoke. I’m not sure whether they’ve meddled with my medication, but either way the low-level insidious controlling voices have stopped. So I’m left with peace. Whereas if I was in The Cedars, I’m sure I would be at war. So what’s the difference?
I notice a sharp stabbing pain in my left stomach, which leads me to believe in outside intervention. Most of you will call me Paranoid I’m sure, but this is my reality full of little control signals like the one that has now moved to my right chest. For me, the difference with The Cedars is they are State Controlled and not interested in patient welfare. Rather, they have their own agenda of multiple drugs they would like to experiment with regardless of how well the last one was doing.
Whereas Kewstoke is a private company, funded by the NHS but interested in patient welfare all the same.
At this point I am going to take a leap of faith and I don’t expect many of you will be with me on this one. Based on the experiences I have had, I believe they are employing the latest state-of-the-art technology to experiment on unsuspecting victims. I have heard persistent loud, intrusive voices, seen visual hallucinations, questioned my own sanity and behaved in some spectacularly weird ways, all whilst under the so-called “care” of The Cedars. Whereas with Kewstoke I always recover and get rapidly better, as you might hope for with a hospital.
Admittedly this may all come down to training. In which case the whole of The Cedars should be invited to Kewstoke so they can learn how to do their job. Nevertheless, my belief is that something altogether more sinister is at work and I would even go as far as to use the word Military, particularly since the Barracks are just down the road. As I write this, I hear an alarm going off like a siren of some sort. Is this purely a coincidence or is it synchronous with my use of words? I regularly get into situations like this. Now I’m feeling the start of pain in both ears.
Luckily for me there always seems to be a non-military route of Kewstoke and back to the streets of Exeter. On the one occasion, they sent me via Coombehaven and that was OK. There have been 2 occasions where I took a serious overdose, was taken by ambulance to hospital and then passed out for several days while they revived me in intensive care. I will be eternally grateful for that.
On the second occasion they introduced some B vitamins into my daily medication. This implied I was deficient in some way, but they didn’t say. So I looked it up on Wikipedia and sure enough, a Vitamin B1 deficiency can, in extreme cases, cause psychosis. However, when I next met with my consultant psychiatrist, he was almost dismissive of the whole thing, preferring to put me back on psychiatric medication alone. I put up some resistance and so the status quo was maintained. But it does make you wonder which Doctors are paid to distribute which medication in the NHS (which may as well be seen as a battleground for the major drug companies).
There is another serious point that I’d like to make concerning my 2 stays in A&E. I was out cold, they would have been golden opportunities for military agents to implant me with technology of some kind. I’d have to revisit my notes to be sure of the time (available in my first book “Desperately Seeking Me: The Road to Bipolar Mania). Nevertheless it remains a possibility that I started hearing voices in my head when they switched the machine on.
I won’t go into the full ins-and-outs of what happened because those details remain in my first book. To summarise, I believe they had the following machines:
- Thought Machine with stream-of-consciousness logs
- Pain Machine with laser-guided pointlike pain
- Voice Machine (aka Voice-To-Skull or V2K)
- Remote Vision (and probably hearing as well)
The combination of these things makes Telepathy Real. Perhaps I am being overly generous to the military and some of these things are naturally occurring. I can say with absolute certainty that I have experienced them though, unless you want to take the mega-paranoid approach and assume they can plant false memory too. As I woke up this morning, I asked myself the question “Is the military present?” I got the answer “Ridiculous”. In my experience, all negative or derogatory words like that belong in the Military Protocol, which is basically a set of words they can choose from depending on the situation. Note that they always go with a single word like “Asshole” or “Bastard” and never try to string words together in a sentence. I even got called Bastard once when I was walking my younger daughter to the swimming pool which shows just how low they’re prepared to stoop. I used to go running and cycling a lot and in those cases I would often get a military word on the way out and on the way back. The word Stupid has sprung to mind even as I write this. But I am not stupid and not lying. Perhaps you could call me delusional as part of psychosis, but a lot of this kind of verbal abuse applied before I was ever given a diagnosis. I hear doors slamming and being kicked in the corridor as I write. And now an unpleasant sensation in my right ear. Again I’m not making this up, it is really happening. The word Ridiculous comes out again, as does a pain in my left thigh.
The impression I get is that the military does not want their secret mode of operation released to the general public. Yet they carry on with their abusive protocol, always wearing me down, always making me feel like Jesus up against the Romans, with the end game for them to nail me to a piece of wood. Taken on their own, the words can be dealt with but as a continuous stream designed to belittle me, they can be very damaging.
Depending on which Doctor you speak to, I have one of 5 different diagnoses:
- Bipolar Disorder
- Schizo Affective Disorder
- Borderline Personality Disorder
- Nothing wrong, I’m just making it up
- None of the above but I’m not going to say what
Given the above range, we can’t even agree on the term “mentally ill” although they are always adamant that I must take medication.
The last time I visited Weston-Super-Mare was to go shopping in Little Witch. Even then I was delivered the message “we’re right alongside you” as part of a directed conversation in the middle of the street, intended for me to hear. My first thoughts were “Huh, if you’re that much alongside me then you might actually engage in conversation rather than all this sneaking around, designed to be desirable.” Now I hear drilling in the corridor. Construction work seems to be one of their favourite activities because they can make a large amount of disruptive noise and offend the sensibilities of the subject, all under cover.
My challenge then is to find the military men and women in Kewstoke and identify them. This could be difficult given their propensity to lie. I even asked a fellow inmate if he was wearing a Surfing Top and he said “No, it’s just a Rash Vest” which is crazy because that’s exactly what surfers wear underneath, if it’s cold. I read a book by Michael F.Bell called Implants It’s very interesting to me because it describes a very similar scenario where one man is up against organised stalking and noise. He had evidence for 120 scars and physical implants under his skin including MRI scars and X-rays. On the face of it, his evidence seems compelling. In my case though, I have no scars that I’m aware of. Also you would imagine that a significant implant made during A&E would take longer to heal up than 3-5 days. So unless the latest high-tech implants are available via injection, it seems unlikely that I’m carrying military grade implants around with me.
Another aspect Michael commented on was the use of directed microwave energy from the room next door, resulting in burns and scars. As I’ve not experienced that either, it would seem that the military have changed their modus operandi, assuming we’re talking the same Perpetrators in both cases. The rest of Michael’s book resonates very well with me. The sense of being followed for no readily apparent reason. The use of large-scale resources by the Perpetrators with seemingly nothing better to do with their money. In short, we’re talking Paranoia and each of us has a personal choice as to what is going on. Michael came to the conclusion that he is a victim and so have I, admittedly with less hard evidence.
In fact the only hard evidence I had was when I visited Exmouth, shortly after my first visit to Weston-Super-Mare. I took the train to Exeter in time for work in the morning and after the exit barriers noticed a yellow label with 202 written on it. That was my room number at the Royal Beacon Hotel. The effect it had was very disconcerting for 2 reasons:
- It was clear somebody was watching me.
- It was clear they wanted me to know that fact.
Ever since then, I have been aware of Organised Stalking where people appear in my life briefly and seemingly at random but for a much more sinister reason. Effectively every one involved is delivering a message:
- Dress sense (e.g. colours similar to mind)
- Slogans (particularly on T-Shirts)
- Timing (where they appear at just the right moment)
- Street Theatre (ad-lib, impersonation, false encounters etc.)
I could go on about the number of these that I have received over the last 3 years, but you get the idea and why I’m paranoid, just from the summary list.
Note that I agree with Michael F.Bell that people who are the unlucky ones to receive such behaviour are Victims. Correspondingly, the organisers and stalkers are Perpetrators because what is going on is a systematic intrusion into people’s lives. The only justification for bugging someone’s room or car is via the Police on the basis of suspected criminal activity.
At the time when this all started in 2012 I had committed no crime. Yet I do have a criminal record now because the intolerable pressure I was under exploded into an incident of domestic violence, which was prosecuted. So it’s one rule for me and another rule for the stalkers, it seems.
So I am in complete agreement with Michael F.Bell with the exception of implants and microwaves. Nevertheless these remain as possibilities if technology has improved to the point where implants can be injected or Microwave Energy (known as Electromagnetic Pulse or EMP) can be sent at a low enough level that’s just about noticeable. In fact as I write this, I have experienced pain in my left knee and my left index finger. And there is a man on the ward dressed in army clothes with the label THLA which stands for Thailand.
If I think about the last time I was here at Nash Ward, Kewstoke, I met a man with a leather Navy Seal/Tomcat jacket which looked absolutely fantastic. I have no idea what experience he really had, but his comment (to the sound of a ringing alarm bell) was that Nash Ward was very much like a prison. There are door-door airlocks on each entrance and the grass compound where you can walk or smoke is surrounded by 10ft high metal fencing.
The weakest point appears to be a side-gate which is protected by a single padlock. For some extremely weird reason, a portion of a T-Shirt had been cut off and tied around the bar next to the lock. It said “Kill Star”. Since then I have gone on to buy 5 of their T-Shirts (of which I lost 1 in The Cedars):
- Bird Man
- Weed Be Out There
- Space Grass
However, if this was a symbolic connection of some sort, I have absolutely no idea of its meaning. I got out of Kewstoke via the normal procedure and equally have been readmitted as per usual. If Kill Star means something (nudge, nudge, wink, wink) then maybe it’s to do with The Lodge on the 1st floor, but I’ve never been allowed in there.
I’ve been left with a relatively small bunch of clothes that make me look like a teenager. In fact I’ve had comments to that effect. I’ve had so many comments the last 3 years, from conversations between 2 people directed at me, or similar from a person with a mobile phone. If I had video recorded the whole lot of them I would have plenty of evidence to back up my claim. As it is, I have just 2 bits of physical evidence, even then which I decided not to keep.
So the question is how do I call this one in? According to Michael F.Bell, once you’re targeted, that’s it and you have no option but to put up with the abuse. I’m not sure about that one though. The abuse I receive is much milder in nature, consisting of verbal abuse or mild torture. I would like it if my relationship with the military was a little closer so I can at least ask why. According to Michael F.Bell, this is the one thing Perpetrators will never tell their victims.
At least if the military are spending vast amounts of manpower and resources tracking me, then that limits the number of other people they’re bothering. That’s something.
Beyond that I would like to open up a discussion in one of the following ways:
- Thought Machine/V2K Response
- Talking and Hearing Projected Response
- Meaningful Encounter in the Corridor or Street
- Direct e-mail
Clearly Face-to-Face is the one I crave the most because then I have a Name to go with a Face in future communications. However, this also seems to be the one method you avoid like the plague. Hiding behind cars, vans, trucks and the Police. If that is supposed to be upsetting then it does work at one level. But at another level it doesn’t work at all because I’m aware of what you’re doing. The number and synchronicity of Police Cars is always amazing. Yet you can’t even spare me 5 minutes to talk about it
Right now, if I were to wish for military intervention, then I would want the Navy Seals to break in via Will’s old room and take me through the window. Being more practical, perhaps they could pick me up at the side door in an ambulance-in-disguise. Whatever happens, please can we end this continual course of cat-and-mouse style baiting based on personal information that could only have been obtained illegally?
If this is not possible then the only logical choice I can make is to experience the baiting and organised stalking as psychosis. So in effect I stop believing it’s real and the whole lot gets relegated to the background, a bit like I did with the V2K-generated voices. It sounds like a tall order but I think it’s doable. At that point you will have lost your powers. And if you did subsequently go for face-to-face, I would most likely spit at you. Just look at the downside impact this continual harassment has had on my life.
Battle of Wills
If the military are attempting to perform Mind Control on me then the first question has to be why? On the assumption they aren’t going to tell us why, we’re left with guesses such as:
- My character type makes it easier for them to push me around
- I’m already in misery following the death of my first child
- I fit some criteria they’re looking for
Pretty soon, you have to start asking how? It depends on your beliefs on technology versus naturally occurring phenomena as to which answer you get.
- I choose to believe in micro implants for V2K
- I also believe in technology for Remote Viewing
- And the biggest tech of them all is the Thought Machine.
Given those beliefs, you don’t need to bug rooms or cars because the Perpetrators have all the information they want directly from me. Perhaps this is why they are not scared of the law. They’re above the law anyway but even if they were to be scared, the room or car would come out clean. It could take decades before lawmakers cotton on to what is going on with people. So the Perpetrators have all the information they want even if I don’t write e-mails or stories. Yet I remain stuck on information. All I can do is read the signs and attempt to find a way out.
At this level I have to start asking the question “Do I have free will?” On the surface, the answer may appear to be No. For example when I tried to write “this” as the 2nd word in the sentence above, it came out as “least”. Was this a case of Military Mind Control intervening and entering spurious characters, a bit like you used to be able to do with a network of BBC microcomputers at school? I would say the possibility remains open and I do make a fair few dyslexic-style mistakes in the 1st draft. Either way, I can usually correct most of them on the 2nd pass. Already we can see that Mind Control is a Battle of Wills. Me versus the military (or versus one person who has access to all of the military controls). I notice that I’m dropping random letters as we go along so maybe this is another type of Mind Control.
My belief is that I will prevail. In spite of numerous episodes that are irritating, counter-productive and generally a nuisance, I will complete my book. You can even throw words at me via the radio station playing in the room next door. Like “Sod, Fixit and What Are You?” Temporarily you have my attention but that won’t last long. If I have free will then the military will never exert total control over me. Except that I will acknowledge the information and techniques developed via torture in warfare. In that case, it would seem a part of the individual being taken away altogether, rather than reprogrammed per se.
Likewise I will assume that everyone in the military also has free will. Yes they are trained to take orders, but I believe all of us have limits beyond which we are not prepared to go. Perhaps the obvious exceptions to this rule are the psychopaths. In Kewstoke, I am less aware of military intervention than in The Cedars or out in the community. I am reading this as a good thing, on my road to recovery in the eyes of the professionals. Actually I think I’m already there and it’s taken less than a week. I would rate The Cedars as the most intensive military environment based on the experiences both in my room and out in the corridor.
I note the layout of The Cedars as North-South, East-West with the West axis slightly truncated. I also note “Word Record Territory?” That was a sentence just fed to me by the radio so I will acknowledge temporary loss of control on that one. What I meant to say was that I note the numerous military-grade crazy experiences I had going up and down those corridors, or dreaming about them.
In the deepest, darkest experience, you visit one room for every number on the number line and have a different but related experience, like Twister or something like that. You get seriously depressed about how long it is going to take, but then the belief that each one will take slightly less time takes over and it ends up taking a finite time after all. When you’ve done it once, you can go to infinity in any direction and get back again without fear.
My vision for a new 3D mental hospital would be to take a monument like the Eiffel Tower as the Up-Down direction and plant The Cedars half way up as a kind of cable stay bridge to give it the North-South and East-West directions. Perhaps more practically, we could just enhance The Cedars with a skyscraper and a mine. Who knows, with enough training in these bizarre military-controlled environments, I might learn enough to stay one step ahead of you so that I will always be in control of you and not the other way around. I am hearing voices and experiencing small pains which suggests an acknowledgement for what I’ve just written. So maybe Kewstoke isn’t military-free after all.
Visiting these dark foreboding places, like:
is something I’m familiar with and can talk about it. Visiting other dark places like:
may not be on the cards for me, unless hypnotherapy can unlock something for the week I lost in The Cedars, albeit off medication.
For this reason I visualise mental hospitals as mines, particularly for PICU wards because you have a 2-step process to get back to reality.
I did have a particularly vivid dream at the end of my missing week in The Cedars. It was dark, as you would expect, with no way out. We were trying to communicate up to the surface and presumably they were trying to communicate down, but we couldn’t be sure. The rooms off the corridors represented offices where people worked. They were not rooms where people slept, which helps to explain why I got caught on the Female Wing in the East direction a number of times. In my mind I had a job to do as did many of my co-workers. I worked as a surgeon, using the latest in high-tech equipment with some very subtle unusual-looking controls. My son who had grown up and was in his 20s, worked in a separate room trying to find the direction Up.
I heard a telephone ringing at that point, bringing me back to the here-and-now. I’m going to decline the phone-a-friend option. The other main person in my dream was Albert Einstein. However, it was a young Albert, before he’d done any of his papers and the tension with Germany was palpable.
I’m getting lots of knocking in response to that comment Either way, the concept of getting people to learn things by locking them up in a confined environment seems to be valid. I call it information mining. I’m sure you have a different name for it. After all, you were the ones who built The Cedars as a military training ground. That could explain why I’m so loath to give it another go. If you put in 10 storeys of Up and Down then I’d give it a go
Effectively I’m at the lowest place I can go. Stuck in a PICU at Kewstoke. I can’t see the point in building ever more levels of mental hospital when after a while, they turn into jail. That is not a place I want to go. Point blank refuse. However, we could be creative and lock a dozen of us down a real mine for a week. That could be a serious learning experience.
So I’m currently in Nash Ward, Kewstoke, PICU. I’ll most likely then go to Sandford Ward, Kewstoke, Open Acute. After that I’ll be released to the mental hospital that is Exeter. Then it’s just a question of how likely before you put me back in here again. I’m assuming the “million a month” and “living in America” fantasies remain as just that – fantasies. Given that I see all of you as hallucinations and part of psychosis, it will be interesting to see if any of you have the courage to burst that bubble.
I have developed my own method of getting through difficult situations, particularly those that are potentially violent.
I don’t have any boxing, martial arts or other combat training. Yet I noticed that whenever I did try to assert myself physically, most of my opponents became scared. Because I wasn’t particularly scared of them (mostly) I found that I could stay and fight more often than not. So yes, I have traded punches and other blows in the playground. I learned what it’s like to be ganged-up on and my chosen method was to pick on the weak link and scare the hell out of them in return.
I got arrested and made to spread my hands on the bonnet in a case of mistaken identity with the Police in Sunbury-on-Thames.
I got pulled over and had my car searched for drugs by Customs and Excise on the British side on the way to Belgium.
I got barged by a bunch of youths in Cambridge, one of whom had a knife.
More recently, I encountered a can-throwing idiot in the Sawyers on Cowick Street and a drug-induced idiot jumping up and down on the roof of a car in Coles Mews.
I survived it all and was only really fearful with the knife incident. So when the time came for me to be “arrested” in The Cedars, I can imagine me making it difficult but without it becoming particularly dangerous because I wasn’t particularly scared. I believe this then happened 3 times in The Cedars (where I ended up in the Isolation Cell) and only once in Kewstoke (where I ended up back in my room). I have to say, the experiences are like chalk and cheese. For some reason I seem to have a deep-rooted adversarial relationship with The Cedars, but not so with Kewstoke. If these are pointers to a future encounter with the military, then I would much prefer Kewstoke-style. On that thought, I did encounter 2 men in army outfits, walking the towpath opposite the Water Works. They made the comment “You don’t need to slow down for us, mate.” I really wasn’t sure what to make of any of that. It was like my journey out was crossing successive boundaries, until I got to the outer boundary which was military. On this occasion I was greeted with a decent conversation rather than a swear-word from the adversarial protocol. I wish I’d been able to make more if it. Particularly seeing as I thought I’d seen a hallucination of Bill Clinton on the other side. It would be nice if we could switch our mode of communication to open discussion across the board. I’m guessing this is not totally practical and you reserve the right to police the boundaries that really matter.
How I lead My Life
It would seem that you’ve had rather a lot to say about how I go about my business he says to the sound of closing doors. I recall when you said “She’s a fucking cunt that one,” which of course I took on board like the predictable lab rat I am. It did lead to the Weston-Super-Mare and Exmouth experiences which I count as valuable. But it did make life particularly unpleasant at times.
Then more recently I visited Sue with her camper van at Cofton Camp site. You sent me a bright yellow dump truck which is a pretty clear symbolic representation of your intentions. And you also had a couple in a tent opposite so you could make direct comments like “Is this revisiting the same old stuff again?” Which is a bit rich since you’re always seemingly searching on journeys to revisit significant places. Like the Powderham Crossing and the yellow Network Rail NMT. Any way, one thing led to another, I stuck to my guns in the discussion regarding my eldest and that was the end of that. Surely only a criminal would defend what Sue did to Harriet on the sofa as reasonable? Sue physically barged her when she’s a fully grown adult at 5′ 7″, yet my daughter only became fully grown years later at 5′ 4″. This was the ticking time bomb that was already in place when we went to Sanford Place. I tried to deal with it in my direct verbally-abusive style in my first book. But that didn’t work because Sue simply rejected the whole lot because it contained words she didn’t like.
Anyway, it would appear to be all over. Sue made her decision and I went on my way. I encountered a woman in black at the Kenton roadworks. She seemed to be “turning her back on the whole thing” and that is what I propose to do. Unless Sue decides to tunnel back into my life somehow, in which case I will deal with her again.
I notice that I’m wearing an Obsidian ring that I obtained for the unbelievable price of £2 at Glastonbury. It seems that it represents a kind of marriage to myself. So it’s one of those self-referential loops. If you’re prepared to look past my mental health record, then I’d say I’m young, free and single. Of course I do still have some responsibilities with my children.
I have come across Obsidian on 2 other occasions.
- Ordered a pyramid on eBay, then challenged by the staff
- A shiny mirror, waiting for me at Little Witch
Maybe I’ll get a small crystal ball too but I certainly don’t want a big heavy one like last time because my irritability at the time led me to associate it with violence in the form of The Devil.
I do see visual disturbances from time to time. I have no way of knowing whether they’re real or part of psychosis so I choose to sit on the fence:
- flashes of light
- flashes of dark
- spots of light in primary colours
- shimmering effects
- full-on animals in unusual places (like a fox)
In fact I chose to have that last one checked out, which is essentially why I’m here. I thought the fox was a hallucination, they thought it was real. The combination of no sleep for that night, missing my medication, thinking the fox was a hallucination and ten tons of issues associated with A&E was enough to bring me down. And of course no stay is accomplished in days, it always takes weeks and months. Here we are a few days later and at least I have my faculties back. I can walk, talk, eat and sleep and am not particularly preoccupied either.
In normal life, we don’t need to worry about boundaries too much. We each have our own personal boundary, which other people mostly respect by not intruding or worse. Civil boundaries like parishes, towns, counties and countries are all defined on maps. Even where there is disagreement as a result of (say) war, it’s usually clear which bit is under contention.
However, if we live in a new world where voices in your head are delivered by V2K technology and are not simply part of psychosis then we have some real thinking to do. As a first approximation, we would say that the 3D space occupied by our bodies represents our own individual Personal Space. Given that time travel is only currently in the remit of Dr Who and Back to the Future, it seems unnecessary to go Personal Space-Time.
Assuming that my intuition is correct and my experiences are the result of top-secret military technology and not naturally-occurring then we need to draw up some legal agreements for how this works. And I got multiple knocks for the word Legal To start with, we should, I believe be in a situation where only people who sign up for the scheme should get implants, treatment etc. The converse that we want arbitrary people to have them whether they wanted it or not would presumably have to come under anti-terrorism laws. Either that or we would have to pass a law saying that everyone is implanted at Birth. Unlikely to succeed with that one.
Then when someone has an implant, the government retains ownership of the device, chip, whatever and is therefore responsible for maintaining communication, if that is what is required. So it’s a bit like the US Embassy in a foreign country. It’s there by mutual agreement and it’s clear who has to paint the walls and mow the grass.
I should also point out that there was another aspect to the dream I had whilst in the Mine at The Cedars. Essentially it was in black and white, a bit like an early video game. Except this was no game. I was piloting an Alien Spacecraft using strangely-shaped controls, similar to what was happening in surgery. The controls were very sensitive and I could pilot the craft to a safe place. As I’m not one normally to believe that my DNA is alien, this was a particularly challenging situation. Right now I remain neutral. I believe I was born on planet Earth, so if the dream has substance then it must point to a past life memory of some sort, or perhaps an extrapolation into the future.
As an aside, I was just asked the question “Direct Harm?”
The answer to that has to be No. It’s one thing to threaten with words but it’s quite another to ignore a myriad of other options and go for physical harm.
But what constitutes harm? If the words in the Verbal Abuse Protocol are harmful then we’re in trouble
This morning I awoke to a Battle of Wills. Normally I would stay in bed until at least 8 a.m. but here I was awake and with it at 5.45 a.m. The reason for my waking was a man praying in the Islamic Style.
This prompted me to join in with a towel as a prayer mat and facing towards the painting in my room which I calculated as roughly east. I prayed in the traditional way, on hands and knees and with my forehead on the ground. I then prayed to Allah with my hands together, before moving them apart into my more Alien-like pose. In this context, it seems that praying to you as Allah is met with resistance, whereas if I appeal to a third-party Allah external to all then that is acceptable to everyone. It also gives me an External God, which, given my belief in the Internal God residing in each of us, is an interesting thing. I’m not sure whether I need to treat the Christian God and the Islamic God as separate entities. We’re all supposed to worship God after all, which includes the Jews and the Old Testament faith. I will leave these questions aside and go with my External God as distinguished from my Internal God. That will do for now and possibly a lot longer.
Coincidentally, I noted a flash of light to the left at that point. My attention is drawn to doors opening and closing in the corridor with people creeping around. I can also hear a radio, albeit much quieter than last night. I hear that I’m scaring you? I don’t know why. All I’m doing is showing my return to the Present after my period of preoccupation writing the previous page. Surely being in the here-and-now is something we can all buy into, even if it’s difficult for some of us.
Now I’m listening to a bird’s song.
Now I’m listening to movement upstairs.
I’m imagining there are still obstacles between us.
Surely nothing that can’t be resolved by a visit to Kewstoke? Clearly I am unable to attend elsewhere because of the Section 3. Speaking of which I must progress.
If there are other legal obstacles between us, I am unaware of them. It would appear to be procrastination on your part that prefers to keep us separate, with never-ending protocol testing in between. I could be Dead by the time you’re done with the Tests. Is that what you want?
Other people have commented on my mental health. It ranges from “you look well” to “you seem preoccupied”. Or as my brother used to put it “Earth to Planet Mark”. From my perspective I believe that my mental health is my responsibility. Yes, I can listen to help and advice from others, but at the end of the day when I’m musing about the day’s events, I can seem preoccupied as judged by others. Actually I’m still lucid and fully functional, it’s just that a high priority has been assigned to processing tasks in the background and there’s less of me available to respond in the foreground. In my own psychological model, I define the following 4 places:
I think balanced is the best place to be because you can then choose to visit the others at will. Note that I don’t promote the Present as the best place to be because there is a danger associated, as with Past and Future:
- Present can lead to Mania
- Past can lead to Depression
- Future can lead to Neurosis
On occasions when I seem preoccupied, my take is that I’m spending too much time dwelling on the past or worrying about the future. However, I think we have to accept that there will be days where a great many beliefs change all at once, or that one very deep belief has changed that shapes my personality in a fundamental way. On those occasions, my belief is that I just need an extra day or 2 for the reprocessing to be done so that I land in a good place again. There is a great danger during these periods that if I visit A&E or a close relative that they will refer me directly to mental hospital. Here I am at Kewstoke a week later and I’m fine. I honestly think 2 quiet days at home would have done the trick, but here we are with me on a Section 3 and an optimistic release schedule of 6 weeks. The system is broken. Any assistance in fixing it would be greatly appreciated. I heard the comment “it’s crap”. I take it that you agree with me then.
The reality for me outside mental hospital, when I get that far, is Organised Stalking. At least, that’s how it feels to me. I get followed by people, cars and vans. Adverts on T-shirts and vans seem targeted towards me. I often experience Directed Conversations where the words seem relevant to me. And I experience swear words at seemingly random moments, presumably when I’ve crossed a Boundary of some kind. As I have no a-priori knowledge who is who, I have to be suspicious of everyone and alert to their every move. This puts me on Edge and makes me highly Paranoid. Those of you reading my book may make the decision that I’m Paranoid and that the whole lot is junk. All I can say is that if you lived the life I lead, you may have a better view.
I would like to change the nature of the relationship between myself as Victim and the people stalking me as Perpetrators. At present I get paid absolutely nothing for the things I do, with the exception of my 2 books which sell just a few copies. If we are to carry on in a healthy way, I believe I should be paid for doing this. Please can we do whatever is necessary to sort this out.
Otherwise we will be left with the Michael F.Bell universe where the Victim is perpetually stalked by the Perpetrators with seemingly no gain for anyone. Or to put it another way we can take a lesson from game theory. If we both cooperate we share the highest average gain between. But if one of us cheats, the other gets nothing.
I put it to you that I cooperate every time, yet you cheat because that is the best answer for you. So I am forced to cheat in return. I don’t think you liked my second book and my impression is you will like this third one even less. Go figure.