Sunday, September 8, 2013

Edward Lee Howard and Torture of U.S. Citizens by U.S. (5)

...(9/10/13:  also, someone deleted a whole section about my parents holding a gun to my head, and my finding correspondence between my Mom and Katie and Mike Middleton and Edward Howard, so I have to go back and write about this again, and my section about the attempted assassination of me and who was involved, including Judy Roark knowing about it, is gone so if it seemed odd I brought up Kate Middleton out of nowhere, it was after I wrote about what I found between my parents and her)

E.H. says he left Washington and returned to first loves of economics and New Mexico (NM).  In June they rented out their Washington home until it was sold, packed the car, and drove to cattle country.  Who knows what the underlying message is.  money and drugs-meds? I mean, if he's referring to someone else?  He says, pg. 52, there was a mix-up with his passport and indicates more than one time, some significance of 16 days after he was fired, it was still sent to him.  It established a connection of diplomacy credentials with the Soviets so he kept it.  It was on pg. 5 that it said Department of State , Washington.  (He never mentions D.C., just Washington) and that the "bearer is abroad on assignment for the foreign service in the U.S.".  I suppose it also sounds like another way of saying, "The woman who bore the child or whose child it is is a "broad" that's on foreign assignment for the U.S."  I say this because my Dad (Bob Garrett) used to refer to some women as "broads" or "that broad".

E.H. then says while in NM he became depressed and turned to drinking, which caused friction in his marriage.  The only strange thing I would say is that the car we found returned had beer cans all over it and empty motor oil bottles in it. He says there was a lot of drinking for awhile and I don't remember anything from my past like this.   He then got a job in June with Curtis Porter and Philip Baca and they sold the VA house and move to Verano Loop in El Dorado.  My comments would be I think this is about the time Granny changed her name from Constance Beverly to Amythyst D'Oro and I notice 108 was his house number there. He says they had parties there and he sometimes drank too much (pg. 53).  He says, pg. 54, on October 20, 1983, he went to Washington and sat down on a park bench and thought what if he just went in and told everything he knew but, he says, everyone has fantasies and most never act on them, and he was going to and debated whether he'd be taken seriously or "thrown out as a crank" and the possible benefits and liabilities.

For me, I think about how this was 2 days before my 9th birthday and I had asked for a 2 foot tall doll that would "walk" with me if I held it's hand. I had a list of a lot of things, and got everything I asked for that year, but I remember I was surprised I got the doll.  I saw her in a catalog, and it said she walked next to you and I wanted it.  She was hard plastic and her arm went all the way around but if she stood on her feet, and you held a hand and moved it up, it made her feet go forward.  It was sort of a crank-arm type of thing, that got the feet to move, and she had blond hair with bangs, blue eyes and I decided to name her Crystal.  I always held her left hand with my right and found she didn't walk as fluidly as they showed in the catalog but it was okay, and I was happy I got her. 

So when E.H. mentions everyone has "fantasies" and a rubber doll is one to some people, in that other context, and for me it was to have a sister or this doll I asked for, if I'm related to him, as I'm told I am, I would say he remembers when I asked for this doll.  Which would be a way to let me know he remembers me.  Of course, a lot of people in the U.S. read this book, U.S. employees, and used it to hunt me down with and make jokes over. 

I almost barely remember someone coming to our house and asking me if I wanted to live with him but it must have been someone leaving a party and joking but I remember someone at our front door vaguely and I was too afraid to go with him.  I remember he sort of looked like my Dad (one of the Bobs) but a little different and he wore a long coat that went past his knees.  He visited us at night.

He says he didn't visit Soviets until he was in Helsinki  and then he mentions the most embarrassing event of his life.  With this I would say I remember visiting the Devil's Punchbowl, a waterfall and small lake beneath it, and says it was an event that haunted him the rest of his life.  What I mean, is with the mention of Helsinki I think of visiting the Devil's Punchbowl, not that that is the most embarrassing or haunting event.

I think possibly his haunting event was either the shooting he next describes or, since it's at the end of explaining how he sat on a park bench and didn't know what to do, maybe he is referring to this time.  As for the man, I only remember one time really, and a card or something and it was about my birthday.  It wasn't like I remember someone coming and going at night all the time--not at all.  I very vaguely remember telling my parents there was a man watching me from a park bench too, from behind the chain link fence while I was on the school playground.  He didn't seem mean--I just didn't know why he was watching me and told my Mom he sat on a park bench that faced the school yard.

With the doll Crystal, I had been pleading with my Mom to have another baby so I could have a sister to play with and I liked my brother but thought I could do some things with a sister, like play Barbies and other things.  I was told no and then I liked dolls and stuffed animals and science things but I saw this one doll that said it walked with you and it had a photo of a girl holding her hand and walking with it.  It gave her a name or a title that had to do with walking and 'lifesize', so when I got her, I tried walking around with her.  She was dressed in black velvet knickers, as in 3/4 pants that buttoned at the calf.  They were not tight but shirred and sort of puffed out a little, and then had a band around the calf that was tighter, with a loop and then the button and then the waist was a band and flat and they buttoned in the back.  She had solid white stockings under this and then plain velvet flats.  Her blouse was solid white and buttoned in the back.  Her entire outfit was only black velvet and white.  I think there was a black cape or jacket that went over it.  I believe she also had a plain black beret.  For some reason the cap and cape disappeared at some point but the blouse and pants and stockings and shoes were always there.  She was dressed sort of like a French riding doll or artist.  My Mom offered suggestions of names but I said, "I'm going to name her Crystal" and I went to my bedroom first to think and then decided and went out to the living room to tell everyone.  She said why and I said, "Because her eyes look like crystals and she has blond hair."  I had pretend tea parties with Crystal, tried to make her new clothes by draping things around her, and mostly, I walked around the house with her, in my room and elsewhere, trying different surfaces and I tried her other hand and arm too, but it didn't work as well.  I think I told my Mom I wished her other arm worked too, or something like that because when I tried the other way I ended up dragging her a little.  When I was done playing with her I had her standing next to my bed.  I put her in the corner once to prop her up but it didn't feel right, so I had her standing right next to my bed with a hand on the bed frame or my dressing table seat that I sometimes put at the end of my bed.  I remember one day my Mom walked in and something spooked her with Crystal.  She jumped and gasped and I said, "What?!!  What?!" and she said, "Why do have her standing like that?" and I said "Like what?"  and I couldn't figure it out and my Mom never told me. I think that was the time I had raised one of her arms so it looked like she was waving, and she faced the door, so my Mom opened the door and there was Crystal, waving at her with another hand on the bed.   Sometimes I had her at the head of my bed and sometimes at the foot.  I used her for a body double but I'll explain that later.  I felt too shy to talk to her very much, out loud, as to a real person, because I kept feeling what if someone is listening or can hear me?  So I didn't have as much pretend conversation as I might have.  I used to say out loud, "Come on Crystal, let's go for a walk" and then walk around the house with her.  After awhile, talking to Crystal as we walked in the living room and kitchen bugged my Mom so she said why don't you do that in your room? and I said, "There isn't as much ROOM to walk in my room!"  My room for walking was getting cut down and I said, "I can't walk with her like normal in my room.  It's too small.  I need to be able to walk in the living room and kitchen too."  Something was bugging my Mom over things I said to Chrystal while walking with her and I think having me walk around everywhere, all the time, spooked her.  A few times, my brother would be sitting on the couch and say, "What are you doing?" and just stare, even though he was only 6 or so.  I used to whisper in her ear in front of my brother and then have her pretend to talk to me and then I'd say to him, "She says..." or "Crystal says..." and then he wanted to walk around with her so I let him try but he dragged her so then I wouldn't let him and my Mom said I could only walk with her in my room if I wasn't going to share with Levi or because it bothered Levi to see me walking her if he couldn't.  I let him hold her other hand sometimes but there wasn't enough room for it.  They basically didn't like the idea of my brother wanting to walk with Crystal. My brother was out there with my Mom anyway, and why should she have cared if I wanted to walk around with Crystal in front of my brother?  He was watching t.v. or playing with my Mom and I was told the only place I could play with her was in my room.  She didn't walk on grass because it was too uneven and I tried.  This specific event has become a weird replay in Coquille, where if I walked the larger loop it was fine but if I took a smaller one with the idea of looking out for the house, it reminded them of their pushing me into my room.  I don't know why it was so important for me to walk with her everyday, but that's how kids are I guess...and it might have had something to do with remembering when I was younger when I walked with my parents and they held my hand.  Then at the beach they'd both take a hand and let me jump and swing and I remember it as being a particular time of social contact.   I guess she was sort of an imaginary friend.  Someone once brought that up, "Did you have any imaginary friends as a kid?" and I said no, because I thought of them as being invisible ones, but I guess in a sense, she was.  I really did have some unconscious "feeling" someone might be "listening" to me when I talked to her--like, as a kid, I didn't know what a bugged house was (or body) but I sensed it so I didn't talk to her or say and pretend nearly as much in conversation as I might have.  When it came down to choosing to sit with my brother and watch t.v. or go to my room and be with Crystal, I chose Crystal.  On a psychoanalytical level, my brother was live person who didn't want to play and was watching a machine (t.v.) whereas Crystal was a machine (toy) and I could make up playing with my imagination.  I couldn't force my brother to interact with me, but I was able to play pretend interaction with her, and that was playing.  My idea of playing was not watching t.v., though I did like cartoons and movies.  When my Dad got home from work he'd say, "Why don't you come out here and join the rest of the family?"  I pretended she was my sister and I was teaching her things and taking her around with me, she was a play friend, and then a couple of times I switched the pretend to have her be my Mom and I was the kid.  I never had her sitting when I wasn't playing with her because her legs didn't bend and her waist didn't.  So she either had to lie down or stand and I had her standing.

I had no idea other people in the government were privy to my entire childhood because later, a joke was made with having me sing the song "Walk With Me" and I remember Shirina Edwin smirking and handing me a cassette tape that said, "It's your song" and I listened to it and my voice had been altered and slowed down.  It was even slightly deeper.  I even sounded off-key in parts and since she was the audio person I had wondered why she deliberately made my voice sound worse than it was.  I had seen and heard what she could do so I knew it was because of her technique, not how it came out.  I said thanks, but I sensed a kind of rubbing it in then and didn't even pick up on the joke over my walking doll and the song (sang for a wedding) "Walk With Me".  Also, when I worked at Helzberg Diamonds and the manager said, "Let's walk" (everyday) I never thought, "He's saying this every day because he thinks it's maybe funny or maybe he just knows I walked Crystal all the time and I like to walk."  I don't know, but with Shirina I knew something was up.  It's sort of funny, but I felt very creeped out when I discovered CPS was releasing and recording all of my visits with my son to the public in Wenatchee.  I mean, this is after the CIA and military made enough use of me and then they violated my son's privacy.

pg. 55.  E.H. says he went into the desert for target shooting.  Knowing what the weather is like in New Mexico, I don't blame him because they have some really extraordinary mornings and evenings.  He says he put the gun under the seat of his jeep.  This would bring memories for me of putting things under the front of the car seat but mostly, if the keys weren't in the ignition, they were there, or I also remember a box under the seat.  It was never a "key box".  I wasn't supposed to find it one day, but I put my hand under the seat and felt something and pulled it out and it was some kind of a metal box with knobs on it.  I said, "What is this?" and I could tell it was something I was not supposed to find.  I was told to put it back and then a box of bee-bee pellets replaced it.  It was a box full of ammo and I'm sure, for a pellet gun by how they looked, but I'm not sure.  The box I found was not really a radio because I would have known it was a radio if it looked like one.  It was some kind of electricity box.  There was no speaker sensor on it or anything that would emit sound and it looked like an electrical box.  Later, it was replaced, right after this, with a box of ammo, which I was told to find or find something behind it so I would see that more often than the first thing I had seen.

E.H. first says he was a licensed gun owner and then he also specifically mentions he was a licensed gun dealer and brings up the licensed gun dealer a few times.  Then he mentions putting his gun under the seat which brings to mind what I found under our seat.

If he's suggesting something, if it's a box that conducts electricity for purposes of torture, licensed gun dealer would interchange with license-to-kill.  Or torture.  The U.S. tortures kids for fun actually.  He also mentions with this gun he shot out the roof of a car.  If a car is a person, the roof would be the head.  My Dad worked on cars himself until, he says, "They got electrical", meaning, "digital".  I recognize a Mag Pro 44 electrical points box as being similar to what I found, except for the color.  I would have to look at a few boxes to know.  However, I looked up something with 44 in case it was to indicate the type of electric box used.  I know my Mom later quizzed me, in the 90s, to see if I remembered anything about that box from the late 70s-early to early 80s.  She also freaked out when I gave her a fridge magnet and I didn't know why.  It said "Bee Happy" on it.   I know that was a song my Dad was singing around the house a lot, and playing, at one time.  Be calm.  backwards that's mmlac (mm-lock).  Nothing like lock-jaw from electrocution.  Be galmm!  I was told not to step on any nails to not get lock jaw, but grates and boxes that conduct electricity are worse, I promise.  After my own experience with torture, the show Magnum P.I. was on air.  The name itself is sort of a combination of magnetic electricity and being "numb".  Which is why E.H. would refer to the gun under the seat as a Magnum .44 and not another one he had in his collection.  What I saw was a kind electrical conductivity/circuit box that was portable.  Also, I know my Mom got weirded out if I stood over a grate that was for the vent in the floor, which I did if I was cold, for warm air, but she didn't like, and Granny noticed a couple of times and said the same thing and didn't like it.  So how does Granny know about torture?  I also know Mormon Geoff Rasmussen, whose Uncle is in FBI, knows something because he vomited profusely after seeing me put my feet up on a grated heater on the bus.  I could tell it bothered him and then he threw up all over and he never did that for any other race.  I specifically saw the look on his face and wondered what in the world was wrong with him, and he kept staring and acting weird and distanced. I saw his expression and it was one of hatred towards me and yet worry over getting caught over something.  It was the look someone might have before doing their first professional "hit" job. He was focused on looking at where my feet were.  I never told anyone about it, how he acted, ever.  This was my Senior year, after someone had tried to kill me on the road.   I just noticed and then what's weird is after I saw him looking this way at my feet, he came down with anklyzing spondilosis.   I think it comes down to people worrying that if I repeat something similar, I might remember or someone else will be tipped off as to what was done to me.

E.H. mentions a "crank" such as one would use for a generator (though of course, I can also think of the doll context), and then a 44 Magnum under the seat (which could apply to a metal box I found under a seat that I wasn't supposed to find), and then mentions a hole blasted in a roof (voila...the inspiration for Fallon's skylight) and how it would be fun to "screw the CIA".  In context of cars, weapons, license to kill, cranks, 44 mag, ...a screw might not mean sex abuse and could be another part of a mechanical apparatus used for torture.  I know without any doubt what my fear level was at the Central Washington Hospital when a woman who first whispered something in my ear, went to the counter to get a "weapon" while I was strapped down in a chair, vomiting.  I'm putting this link here just to save and look at tomorrow bc I had an idea about something in the article, made me think of another thing.  So...tomorrow then.
UPDATED 8/26/13

I just remembered.  The Crystal doll had a black velvet ribbon (band) for her head, not a cap.  I also think she possibly didn't have the jacket, but just this pretty blouse, velvet pants and shoes the velvet ribbon in her hair.  She also had a one-piece undergarment that had a v shaped slit in the back and one snap button for the closure.  Then, I used to try draping different clothes and fabrics and didn't have anything else for her to wear or material to hand-sew with, so for variety I had my white and pink lace dress with pink ribbon in it that I'd picked out when I was given a choice of dresses, and I used to put my Cameo necklace around her neck.  The dress was long on her.  On me it was just below the knees but on her it went to the ground, and the Cameo necklace was a long gold chain with little knots in it (sort of a twisted gold chain)--I guess not knots, but the twisting gave the appearance of it, and an oval pendant with a carved white Cameo face in it with a peach-sunset pink (not dark coral) background.  It was about the size of a half dollar coin, larger than quarter size.  On the back of the pendant it was flat gold plated with a scratched criss-cross pattern to it and a very small insignia at the bottom but I don't remember what it was.  It was tiny. To describe the criss-cross pattern, it was like "brushed gold" as they say, but in a distinct criss-cross, both ways, at a diagonal.  If you turned it over then, and looked at it straight on, sort of diamond pattern from the criss-cross, not squares.  The insignia was carved into the metal so it was slightly indented, not just a stamped label or something.  It came to just below my sternum when I wore it and on Crystal it was longer. I had other necklaces but this is the only one I put on her.  I had two Cameo necklaces like this.  One was in black and white (with gold) and the other was in coral pink (with gold).  I think the black and white one had the criss-cross actually, and the other one was flat gold.  The first one was possibly my mother's and then she gave it to me and then the other one I got as a present.  I wore the black and white one with the criss-cross in the back, in high school, and I wore the coral pink one in Moses Lake and on Crystal.  I wore the black and white one for my 10th grade school photo. You can't see it, because the pendant is below the frame of the picture, but you can see the gold chain to it, and it went in a v shape to the pendant which went right to my sternum.  I actually remember more than one Cameo necklace and one was stolen from me.  I first remember a sort of antique, beautiful Cameo that someone gave me.  It was very high quality and it was a present to me.  It was made of the shell stone and real materials and was stolen.  Then I was given the coral pink one (which was not real materials and larger and I noticed the difference in quality even as a kid) which I put on Crystal.  And then there was the black and white one that had been my Moms (I think) which I wore mostly in high school.

I remember when I got the second one, which was larger and not of the real materials (ivory) or as refined, why I was getting duped.  I wasn't duped, but I wondered why the one had disappeared and then I had this other one that wasn't as nice and was a little clunkier to replace it--it was more commercial and not as artistic or refined, but it was still feminine so I said thank you and my feelings were sort of hurt that I didn't have another one as nice as the first one given to me.  Then, I didn't wear a lot of pink or peach in high school so I wore a vintage black and white one.  I have no idea who stole my first one.  The first one was smaller (maybe nickel or quarter size but oval and not as wide as a quarter), more delicate, and real materials; the next was a huge half dollar or dollar size or larger pendant; and the black and white one was a little larger than quarter size and oval.  Aside from this, I had a small cameo on my dress for my newborn dress and I had a pin and earrings that were peach colored which I wore for a school photo in 7th grade but were never favorites.  I only remember 3 necklaces total and I never got another after the black and white one disappeared.  All were made of hard plastic (or other synthetics) except for the first.  Possibly there was also tortoise shell in the first because it wasn't this coral pink color the next one was.

When I got the Crystal doll, one of the first things I did was take the velvet band off of her head. I think probably it was an unconscious reflex after possibly seeing people tortured with devices around their heads or on my head.  I don't know.  My mother didn't look happy and said, "Why did you do that?!"  I said, "I don't know".  I wanted to brush her hair for one thing, and I couldn't do that with her headband on.  Later (year or more) when my Mom gave me her bottle of Emeraude perfume, she took the cap off and I felt displeased because it didn't look as nice--it was just a nozzle, and I didn't know why my Mom had done that, but it's possible someone else did it maybe.  Oh, and I was given this velvet choker band with some kind of green oval stone in the center later as well, but I sensed something wrong with the idea.

Other things I remembered this morning which I want to write about before commenting further, is that if E.H. is really my biological father, it was in 1993 I was told to sing the duet "Unforgettable" by the deceased Nat King Cole and his daughter and it was commented how neat it was that she was singing in between her dead father's song.  It was after the first assassination attempt against me in Sherwood, Oregon.  So I sang it at the retirement home in 1993 where my Dad took me to sing.  It was me and Nat King Cole on the background tape.  I think of this song because my comment "I remember things", to my Mom and Dad, was not taken lightly.  Since I was hypnotized and tranquilized or electrocuted sometimes as well, and things were covered over, it was hoped I'd remember nothing.  Then at the same time Robin Bechtold was playing the Metallica song "Unforgiven" to me all the time and had made a cassette tape with this song on it which I played at my house in 1992.  He had recorded "Unforgiven" and "You're My Angel" (aerosmith) and a couple of other songs, prior to the assassination attempt of me.  So between Robin and my Dad I was getting the opposite of "forgive and forget"--they were playing "Unforgiven" and "Unforgetable".  It says Natalie recorded it in 1991 and I don't know the release date.  I sang it because my Dad recommended it and took me to sing at a retirement home.  The assassination attempt was before or after this event and then after the attempt, my Dad said he was going to give me all of his music equipment and was thinking of having me be the performer and he could do back-up for me.  Instead, he decided to keep everything and never did back-up with me or had me sing with him again.

The other thing the U.S. did to me was try to downgrade all of my music.  After I was pressured to give up acting, I only sang around the house and a little at school. As soon as  I started singing and was being noticed at my grade school, I was pulled out of school and home-taught.   In jr. high I began singing openly more, to the shock of all, and then the same year people realized I could sing, and Will Wagler said, "I had no idea you could sing like that" I was moved out of the school and out of state.  What I did not realize was that some of my singing and music was being listened to, but through surveillance, and then passed on to music artists that made money off of it.  No one was supposed to know I was a real singer and songwriter and the source of some of the ideas.  By the time I sang publicly in school for a talent show "Love In Any Language" the first attempt to have me kill myself with "brake failure" was planned.  After this, I noticed, for example, for Senior graduation, I had specifically said I didn't want to sing at the highest range because my voice sounded much better at a lower-high range, and Geoff Rasmussen, the same one staring at my feet on a rounded heater under a bus seat after a failed assassination attempt, jacked up the system to have it start high and force me to sing at a range that was not the best.  So I did.  Then it was Shirina, ex-Marine who dubbed down my voice to sound off-key and slow and low.  And at the very worst examples, my voice was being recorded.  So instead of keeping "public" recordings of an impressive voice, downgraded recordings were made to make me sound not as good, while people continued to steal my music privately and wanted others to think there was nothing special about my abilities.  I heard another one from the Assemblies of God church where Barb Greenman was there with the guy from CA.  If anyone had heard those, instead of how I actually sounded, I would have never had a chance in music, and that's what was going on.  The exact same thing was done with documentation of how I kept my house and if I was a neat and organized person or a slob and unsanitary.  I found out efforts were made to create the worst possible impression of my upkeep of property and personal ownership, as if I ruined everything I had or returned it in poor shape.   I was being called "messy" verbally where no one could see what was true, and then later, the greatest efforts were made to document the worst possible conditions, I guess, to make me look like I couldn't be trusted with anything and didn't take care of things.  I don't know what the motive was with this.  It is possible they thought if I didn't kill myself or get murdered, they would use this to create a reason for kidnapping a child from me--I'm not sure.  Or they didn't want me to be trusted with assets and property.  My homework and intellectual abilities were also downgraded from what they actually were.  So my organizational skills, intellect, and talent--all things which I could use to support myself and be financially independent, were being scrubbed down to nothing.  Not only that, documentation was being made to make it appear as though the truth was in the record so the government didn't look like they were lying about me and oppressing me.

Seriously.  If I had died successfully, in a successful "brake failure", is that when the photos of the house in Moses Lake with the kicked in walls were going to surface and be blamed on me, not my brother? 

What better blackmail is there, for the U.S. government, than to have parents locked into evidence that proves they were involved in premeditating and programming the eventual murder or "suicide" of one of the kids they raised?  They clearly wanted my brother in the loop.  For my part, I never planned, organized, participated, or thought of any kind of harm for them, aside from being angry enough to say they lied about some things.  I am the only one that is not a criminal, but this country rewards those who degrade the country.  That is why this country has lost it's savor.

The other thing is I believe this one man who came to the door one night in the long coat, he gave me a card and then he asked if there was anything he could get for us and I piped up and said, "I'm hungry."  Typically I wouldn't say anything.  I used to go to Granny's, and be very hungry and tempted to ask for something and I never did.  My cousin Rory opened the fridge whenever he wanted, and said what he wanted and I never said a word about what I wanted or being hungry.  I always waited until someone offered first.  Maybe when he offered I thought that was what he meant to ask, I'm not sure.  He said he'd be back, left, got a bunch of hamburgers, and gave them to us and left.  I don't know that that man was E.H.  It was possibly some other man, and he only did this, showed up like that, one time from what I remember.  He sort of had a little bit of a smirk I thought, as a kid, when I said I was hungry so I thought he didn't like what my response had been but then he got the hamburgers and didn't stay to eat with us, staying at the door, and left.  I almost think he wanted me to go with him and then when I said no when he asked, being too afraid, maybe then he asked what I wanted and I said I was hungry.

The U.S. was doing some really abusive things with switching back and forth from one thing to the next, so it was very much like being in a war camp.  I wasn't obsessed with food--I was truthfully very hungry.  I remember my Dad looking very disappointed and down, and my mother crying.  I know he looked concerned and I had been told I could go live with him but I didn't know who he was and was afraid to go with him.  I don't know if he had a smirk or it was disdain over something.  I had the complete and full impression they were all serious--if I wanted to, I could leave with him right then and there. 

I believe my Dad quit as second pastor to the Presbyterian church at that time, after this I think,  and took a job at Burger King.  I'm not sure why.  Maybe someone thought if my Dad brought home burgers and things, I'd confuse the two and not remember the one man, but I never forgot that night, whoever he was.  I was shocked my Dad quit the job at the Presbyterian church actually.  I had been in my first play there as a chipmunk singing "If you ask him to, he'll take care of you."  That transitioned to being screamed at and told "you don't take care of things!" and this bizarre sudden boot camp experience.  I even remember the hamburgers, plain with ketchup and mustard and I think no pickles for me but I used to get pickles and give them to my Mom.  At one time in my life I didn't like them and then I did.

pg. 55 E.H. says he was badly beaten after stopping at a restaurant, and that 3 men beat him and he pulled out a gun to scare them and it went off, shooting a hole through the roof of a car "belonging to one of them."

I sort of remember a beating or fight or gathering up of about that many men in our house and someone getting beaten up.  It almost seems like it could have involved that man who came to the door but I don't remember.  It was like some guys who were hiding out in our house then came out from around the corners and they exchanged words and someone was told to get out of there.  It wasn't men outside of our house that I remember, it was men who were called up to be inside of the house and then confronted the other one.  I believe one pulled out a gun but I never saw a gun held by the man at the door.  Who knows.  Maybe someone pointed the gun at my head.  Or came out with a shot of tranquilizer.  I actually remember one time where my mother came out with such a shot, in such a situation.  Another time, years later, it was my Dad who shot me with something or injected me, when I was in the hallway.  But it was my Mom when there were other people around me and I don't remember why--maybe because I was screaming, talking, or saying I would go with that man after all.  It wasn't Wayne Freeman or anyone I was used to seeing but I was being beaten and verbally abused all of a sudden so I possibly said the wrong thing.  In that case, I wouldn't have heard a gun shot or anything if one happened.  I was facing the front door from inside of the house when I remember my mother with the shot, and I was in the hallway going to my room when I saw my Dad behind me with the shot or some kind of injection (maybe smaller).  I know a hole appeared in the glass for the front window that was by the front door but I don't know when that happened.  Both my Mom and Dad approached me with a shot from the left, to the left shoulder or back of it.  What is also odd, is I have this scar tissue that forms in one spot in that place, to this day.  I guess ...I don't think ?...I've thought (maybe I have) about how it might be from getting shots there more often than I realize.  I'm positive.  I fully remembered and just almost had a panic attack.  Also, the spot on my shoulder is where someone might get shots, but I had developed a strange callous there and hardened spot.  I thought it was a pimple every now and then, like one buried under the surface but it always stayed sort of swollen up and hard.  One day, after being in D.C. I think, someone gave me something that made it go away so I didn't have it anymore and for whatever reason it comes up and then goes away but not like before.  I also think cops have been trying to override the memory of what was done to me, because the injection to my wrist, on one arm, in Knoxville, TN, was done to me at the federal holding facility, on my left arm, after they yanked it to my back. 

Alvaro Pardo freaked out over a black and white photo of me from 1993 where the photographer told me to look back at him over my left shoulder.  So I did.  I didn't think anything of it.  The photographer said he liked my jeans and with my hair down, look over my shoulder.  It was taken for my Senior year pictures in Newberg, Oregon, and then after I got them done, all of them were stolen or disappeared from my parent's house.  I really have no idea why Kate Middleton would throw the same look, over her left shoulder, at her wedding, after Alvaro saw my photo.  I raised an eyebrow for it.  When I was getting drugged and held hostage in Nashville prior to her wedding, it makes me wonder--that along with then being hand-printed and injected in my arm.  Alvaro took that photo of me when he found it, and turned it upside down on a table, along with turning a fish upside down that had a title "how to catch a fish".  When I think about it, Diana was looking over her left shoulder before the car drove into the pillar or post.  I know my Mom knew I had remembered her injecting me (sort of like the CIA's "knife in the back" but "don't take it personally") because I brought it up once and she didn't react well.  It's possibly why they wanted me to remember my Dad doing it to me later, hoping I would confuse times and facts.  I remember when my Dad was gathering up people, one time saying, "Call Larry" (who worked for police) and the time I remember my Mom there injecting me I think Jim Sandberg and Tom Garrett (my Dad's brother) were there possibly.  Tom was there once for something but I can't remember what and then I think the time there were different men I didn't know who all of them were, but they were cop types.  Alan Springer wasn't there or I'd have remembered him.  It was like my Dad, one man I recognized, and another I didn't recognize.  Larry wasn't there.  Larry was a black man and he wasn't there then.  Shirley Sandberg sent an email to my mother after I was assaulted and injected in Tennessee, joking about the "long arm of the law".

There is no injection or vaccination that I received that caused the bump I've mentioned, on my arm.  It showed up in high school and I didn't have vaccinations then, and then it was more pronounced or I noticed it more later.  I don't see how they could hit the same small "site" repeatedly, that many times, to cause scar tissue over the years, but who knows.  I know with my Dad it seemed to be closer to the base of my neck on that side when it was done.  When I was in the hall, and looked back, I looked behind my left shoulder and when I was facing the door and it was Mom coming at me, I looked behind my left shoulder.  I looked behind my shoulder because I saw the shocked expression on the man's face in front of me, so I wanted to see what he was seeing, and it was my Mom wielding a weapon against me.

Of course they all wanted me to die.  What do YOU think?  One time, after someone gave me a card, I do remember my mother trying not to cry over something.  The other time, when the man went to the restaurant and came back, I believe this is when he looked alarmed and I looked back and it was my Mom.

My Dad said to me, a week ago, "Don't do that.  Don't peek.  That's how you get shot." I felt this whole part of myself drop to the ground as I walked away and I didn't know why.  I was thinking shot gun and I tried not to cry as I walked to the store, but I think it's because I remember the shock of remembering what my parents did to me.  I saw them do it.  I can't remember if my Mom followed through  or not but possibly she was too shocked that I'd looked back, and saw her, she dropped her arm and pretended nothing happened as the shocked man walked away.  I know she didn't expect me to turn and see her.

When my parents did this to me, either they were acting to look like they hated me and were angry and injecting or harming me out of this anger and grim determination, or it was real. 

Also, I would add where he says something about being thrown out as a "crank" (would he be), when I was in Wenatchee, my mother's hometown, the cops there did their best to drop me outside on my rear after a disagreement with one of my cousins.  The criminal aspect of cops colluding against me has gone on as long as I was a kid. 

E.H. says he had to get a lawyer, was in jail for a night, and went to counseling and couldn't leave the state unless it was official business trips for the state.  This is also about the same time we were no longer taking trips to Canada and my Mom drove me and my brother to Washington to drop us off with Granny for a week now and then, but my Dad did at first, and then it was just my Mom.  He says he went on a trip to New Orleans where he met an old friend "Fred Johnson".

I should add here, before commenting, the person who had access to "tranquilizers" and other drugs and medications was Mormon "psychologist" Alan Springer, who lived behind our house.  I also think it's possible his wife, Tami, was Jewish, even if they were Mormon, but maybe not.

I was just thinking about the situation at the door and with my Mom, it may have been a small knife or gun she held at me.  I will have to think about it more but it is possible the reason I confuse it with the shot is because my Dad used a shot later.  It was a lethal weapon but I'll think about it more.

Other comments around that time that my Dad made, or catch-phrases, were "you're stubborn", "don't be cranky", "I'm just teasing you", "don't make such a big deal out of everything", and "she's a neat lady", "she's a sharp gal".  The "gal" was always "sharp" and the "lady" was always "neat".  My mother used those terms too "sharp gal" and "neat lady".  It came into their comments later though, later in Moses Lake or not until Sherwood, Oregon.

pg.  56.  Right after the weapons incident he mentions Fred Johnson and talked about visiting the Soviet embassy but he says he was just joking around and never had plane tickets or anything.  He says the FBI twisted it into a story that he was already a KGB spy and wanted to bring Fred in with him.  July 85' he says he visited Fred on South Padre Island, Texas.  The one thing that stands out to me here is the acronym, maybe coincidental, but it's "spit" and my mother used to spit on her hand and rub my face with it.  She did this, she said, if I had something on my face, but I always protested and said I'd wipe it off myself.  She did this a lot when I was a kid and it got to the point where I started crying over it because I was tired of having her spit all over my face.

He then says he bought 5-6 bottles of wine that were expensive, not the usual cost of $5 or $6 but more like $15 or so and put them in the fridge and Fred asked him, "Where did you get all the money to spend on wine?"

This reminds me of when I came up with my own book ideas to make money.  I wasn't allowed to sell candy and my Mom wouldn't help me make any to sell to kids on the bus so I drafted book order forms and charged about $.25 per book or "story" I wrote for them, which was much less than how much regular books cost at about 5 or 6 dollar but I priced them at what I thought kids on the bus could afford.  Somehow my Mom found out, I think because I was jingling my change together and asked "Where did you get all the money to spend on..." because I think I said I was going to buy gum or something to drink or something with it.  I said, "I write stories for kids on the bus."  I hadn't told anyone--not my Mom or Dad.  Only the kids knew.  She said to give her my money and "How much do you have?" and I said, "I don't know" and she looked shocked when I brought it to her.  She said, "You got all of that from kids on the bus?" because she started accusing me as if I took it from her purse and I didn't.  I said, "Uh-huh" so she counted it out in front of me and it was about $7.50.  I had nickels, dimes, quarters, pennies with me.  She said, "How much are charging per story?" and I said, "25 cents".  I had written and sold that many stories.  I had a BOOMING business.  I had been writing and illustrating tons of little stories for kids, catering to what they wanted.  They loved them, so when my Mom told me I had to quit, I was totally crushed.  I cried and had no way of making money then.  I remember even my Mom was shocked when she found out how little I charged and how much money I had made because it meant a lot of kids were buying them.

At the time, I got my inspirations from Scholastic Books (the book order form idea), kid's books, creative ideas, and a little bit of romance (I was sneaking her Harlequin romance novels and reading parts of them).  Also, after writing a selection and letting kids choose which ones they wanted, I got the idea to write short stories that included ideas about them, individually and of course, the kids loved that because then they were hearing these nice stories about themselves.  They got to choose from genres as well, "adventure", "romance"...

I know the parents of one kid called my Mom about it because I overheard parts of the conversation, so I knew someone was trying to "tell on" me to quash my business.  Kids were giving me their lunch money probably.  Hhahaa.  At least their milk.  That's how much milk was, a carton of milk was 25 cents.  It is how I figured out what to charge though, because I didn't think I should take all their lunch money, but a lot of kids, myself included, got at least money for a carton of milk to go with their cold lunch, and if they wanted to spend it on a story instead once, that was something they could afford.

I first said a kid on the bus gave it to me once and then when she saw how much I had she asked further.  E.H. says he made a joke about getting the money from his Soviet case officer and then found out Fred made it into a serious report against him in an FBI report.  He says if he'd been serious about committing a crime to get the money, he wouldn't have joked about it that way, but he said Fred made an affidavit as a statement of fact against him and that the FBI spent the next 2 years building a case of "nonsense" against him.

I may have even joked out loud, "I got it out of your purse" at first because I was sitting on the passenger side of my Mom's car and she looked through her purse first and then set it down next to me, open, in between us.  But then I told her it was from kids on the bus and my stories and she asked how much I was charging and counted the money.  And that was the truth.  It wasn't hard for me to write a short story that the kids liked, I liked doing it, and I was fast but also put some time into illustrations.  I think that was 2nd grade because in 3rd grade the teacher said we were going to all write "stories" and bind them in book covers as in book production.  It was between me and another kid and I was told the other kid won the best book prize because mine was downgraded for not have sharp edges when I cut the hard board for the book.  So they said my content was better but I was "docked" for my craftsmanship on the cover.  I remember thinking it wasn't fair and who cares about the cover, which any factory could produce--it was the content and storytelling and illustrations that sell an idea.  I thought they were being unfair and not very "sharp".  In a way, I knew even as a kid, it was some weird way of downgraded my abilities, from standing out in the crowd, to being not as good at what I did as I was.  It was sort of a way to knock me down for having the idea to sell books and make money, and give credit to someone else.  It was also at this time, they stole my real cameo necklace and gave me one that was clunkier.

I just remembered something more positively while walking and the black and white cameo that I wore in high school and later was the one with a smooth surface in the back and the larger one I put around Crystal's neck, which I also sometimes wore myself, was the one with the criss-cross etching or brushed gold and it had the engraved tiny letters on it.  The first cameo necklace I remember having that was antique I believe, was at least made with real materials and smaller and I think it was shell pink and ivory but the next one was such a brighter kind of synthetic coral there was a noticeable difference to it.  The color wasn't as delicate.  So I remember the necklaces better now (I think the exercise helped!).  Before the cameo necklaces I mostly remember a locket with photos but I don't think it was mine.  It was my mother's and she showed it to me.  I think the one I put on Crystal sort of symbolized some of the cutting and engravings done on me, from how the back of it was. Very possibly the black and white one had the initials engraved but I know the back was smooth because I thought about it and turned it over and would feel it with my fingers when I wore it.  I don't remember for sure if it was my Mom's or if I bought it at one of the Sherwood antique stores, because I went to a few of the ones in town, and they had glass cases with jewelry and I did buy some vintage clip-on earrings and things there so I possibly bought it for myself.  Most of the vintage earrings I liked had clip-on backs but maybe a couple were regular backs, and then I possibly got the cameo there and used a chain that was my mother's for it, and I bought some of the antique pearl necklaces there.  Nothing I bought was antique-antique...I mean, it was more vintage stuff:  1920s-1950s jewelry except for the cameo pendant, which was possibly newer than that--I thought 60s or 70s.  The engraving on the back of the pendant was C.M. I think.  I'm about 99% positive.  It wasn't actually an "engraving" but more of a factory kind of stamp in it that was indented.  I think that was on the black and white cameo on the back because the one Crystal wore had some indentation too small too even make it out at the bottom (possibly it was A.S.), and then the etching and criss cross.

I know when I wore the black and white one in my school photograph, I had wanted the picture to show it and was surprised it was cut off.  I remember someone looking at it and seeing the initials and asking me why I had it or something seemed to shock them over the initials.  I was asked where I got it and I didn't know what the big deal was.  At one point I had an email address with AOL that was and I remember people making a big deal about that too.  I never thought about how it matches some of the initials in the cameos until just now.  I picked it at random, after scouring some scientific names for flowers, because I wanted something unique.  I am pretty sure I had this email address in 1997 when I got my home computer but it wasn't the first thing I had because I had one closer to my name.  Possibly I used this address a year or two later. 

As for my selling stories in exchange for the price of a carton of milk, when I was told I couldn't anymore, or around the time I was selling, the lunch ladies at the cafeteria began giving me sour milk.  I asked the other kids if their cartons of milk were sour and they said no, so mine were being "warmed" or left out especially for me when I paid the 25 cents at the cafeteria.  I remember telling my parents about it.  Around that time, I didn't think about the connotation, but my Dad started calling me "sour puss".  He would say "Don't be a sour puss".

Right after E.H. talks about the "nonsense" and how no one would take such a comment from a former intelligence officer seriously as he's putting wine bottles in the fridge.  I think of the wine bottle at the back of our fridge and it was Gallo vermouth.  So between "neat lady" (NL) and "sharp gal" (SG)comments by my parents--not sure what the idea is.  I guess it makes me think my mother, who sounds similar to "Fred" asking where I got the money, was discrediting me already to the FBI and that they were already building a case to discredit me, for any reason.  I know my mother wasn't the only one to say not to sell stories, but she's the one who opened her purse up and set it close to me, prompting my joke, which, taken apart from the rest of the conversation could be incriminating--however, she was also getting a call from someone about my selling books so it wasn't just her own directives.  E.H. says he returned from "Washington" and was visited by George Morgan, his former boss at the Soviet CIA desk.

Another expression my mother used to use, as it's come to mind, in conversations over the phone was "Well gol-LEE!"  I guess George Morgan doesn't ring a bell for me.  GM?  E.H. says he and Bernard Malloy (CIA psychiatrist) came to see him for several reasons.  E.H. visited Morgan's home to discuss his firing, they also came because he had filed a workman's compensation claim for counseling after his firing.  They took him to lunch and gave him an envelope with cash and asked him to sign under his old CIA pseudonym, Edward Houston. 

I remember someone visiting our house once, and it was possibly the same time I saw that man who left to get burgers and came back, but I also remember he asked me for my autograph.  I think it was when he gave my parents the card for me and then he asked me to sign my autograph on something and I did and then I got the card.  I remember later, I couldn't figure out why people asked for my autograph all the time, like a joke.  For the plays I was in, people asked for my "autograph" so I didn't think it was unusual for this man to ask for my "autograph" either. 

I do remember I had one of the worst beatings of my life before he showed up.  So when he asked me if I would leave with him, I suppose everyone was either shocked I didn't go, or figured the Stockholm Syndrome situation was pretty easy to do with a kid.  It's remotely possible there were two separate events but I mostly remember one night with a break in between to get burgers and then he even said there had been a problem when he got back, with where he went. 

He says, pg. 57, the CIA said they'd give him more counseling and he saw someone named Michael Dudelczyk (MD) in Santa Fe.  I suppose that could be translated Saint Fe or as Iron (Fe) Saint.  I think of this because if he was going to see Michael Dudelczyk in Iron Saint I might think about how my parents later drove to my place in Oregon after I hadn't seen them a long time, and gave me a cast iron bed that my Dad said looked like a mental hospital bed and I had said the same, and I might think about the iron shaped scar on my back that is the same shape as the bottom of an iron one uses on an ironing board.  It is the exact same size and shape.  I mean, exactly.  Something like this--having a hot iron pressed into my back, while I had to have been lying down, might be something you later have to conceal with skin lightener.

This sounds really odd, but Michael Jackson, known for the skin lightener on his face, had his nose job done to look like the iron scar on my back.  It's not a regular nose job, and if you look at photos you can see it wasn't a "mistake"--he had one or more jobs done to make it look like an iron shape and then when he got this look, he started using skin lightener.  I've looked at the scar on my back and it's barely visible and if someone hadn't used skin lightener, I'd have a darker impression or something to show for it. 

So when E.H. chose to get counseling from "Michael" in "Iron Saint" (alluding potentially to Iron Maiden, or a woman who has an iron print on her back) he wasn't picking at random.  He says himself he chose very carefully.  If I was lying on my stomach, I'd have an iron shape on my back and then two lines from my rear to thigh with a dot on either side.  I mean, someone had to have been worried, especially when he used skin lightener on his face, that this man was about to burst out with the secret.  It was written on his face.

Also, I began questioning why I had strange back pain in between my shoulder blades where the iron print is, before someone tried to kill me in 1992 and then again tried in 1995 and broke my neck, giving an excuse for some of the pain.  I had a horrible aching feeling between my shoulder blades sometimes and didn't know why.  This also makes some of the reactions to my ironing seem odd.   Also, Granny's ironing board that used to be in the kitchen is gone and replaced with shelves now and it used to be a pull-out ironing board.  It was there when I was a kid and I even used it.  But it must have eventually had a bad memory with it and with what was done to me, obviously, in Canada at Pemberton 'underground' or some other hidden facility.  The fact that I have an iron shape on my back is enough reason for Dan Gatti and Greg Smith's walking-on-eggshells suspicious looks when they said "Why did you put that there?" when I added an arrow with the word "truth" to my legal dossier.  Seriously, you can barely see the mark.  Someone worked in a professional way and then was extremely cautious to remove any and every visible trace of what was done to me.

I was just looking up some things, and thinking about how the FBI and a lot of people wanted to refer to "Jackson" in their own way after Michael Jackson died.  I don't think his death was an accident anymore than Dianas and they're probably connected by at least one thread.

Another expression my Dad and Mom used all the time was "Sassy".  "You have a sassy mouth".  "Don't be sassy".  "Are you sassin' off?"  "You keep sassing off that way you'll be spanked".  "You have the sassiest mouth of anyone I know." 

I am not on anyone's side if I don't know them so I have no idea about Michael Jackson or the man who was his doctor.  Some of the things MJ did look more intentional and symbolic for him than is admitted so I don't know.  I'll go into that more later.  I don't think he would have made sure to have some of his last words as "I feel cold on one side and hot on the other side" unless it is remotely possible he knew about the assassination attempt against me and how breaking my neck left me "cold on one side and hot on the other side" when getting into the tub with my Mom there.  I never thought about his nose shape symbolism along with the skin whitener, but this had to have been part of what was done to my back to make sure there weren't marks or to even things out. 

I should add, I am not always totally sure what fits where so some of this is ideas and not concrete conjecture.  I am making facts though, for myself.  It's not my imagination, in other words.  But I also realized, when thinking about how E.H. "coded" some of his book, I realized it isn't a set rule to follow--it's almost like he planned for connections to be made or triggered by associations, even tenuous or loosely held associations.  So for me, when I was thinking if it works one way the rule has to follow the rest of the way--that's not, in my opinion, how some of the underlying suggestions or triggers or associations for me, come through.  It's intuitive-based in structure and that is my opinion.  For me it brings things to mind that work in one way here, and then the next moment work another way.  It's like having my Crystal doll and not thinking of her as just a "pretend sister" but taking on roles of other pretend figures.  What I mean by this, is it's not a firm rule but one that is flexible and shifts and can be understood on an intuitive basis, but that doesn't mean I am correct about his ideas of where to lead, it just means that what I think of, out of it, can possibly be as enlightening to me about my own past, or help me to remember some things, or remember how they are slightly different while reading his own story.  So this is all to say I'm not nuts and making wild associations but obviously I'm not nuts.
UPDATED 8/27/13. 

It was a gun. My Mom held a gun against me.

I had started to think it was a shot because of what my Dad did later, and how I looked over the same shoulder, but I remember the impact of why it was such a big deal, was that it was of the highest and most extreme level of a weapon held against me and as a kid, I was shocked.  I brought it up later, and mentioned it, which is possibly a time my mother than yanked one of my earrings out of my ears when she was mad that I brought it up.  Then somehow, someone must have given me major drugs or hypnosis, and then used various overlays, like my Dad using a medical shot and that kind of thing, to try to mix it up and have me forget.

I think it's part of when I later realized, maybe that was why my Mom and Dad were trying to discredit me, and have me look like a dishonest or criminal kid, so if I testified no one would believe me and say I had a pattern of theft and/or lying, and/or arson and that kind of thing.

She didn't hold it to my head so I saw her doing this directly.  The man was in front and I looked back and saw my Mom with this weird look on her face, holding a small gun, and the gun was pointed at the back of my head.  The shock of it was that 1. someone was holding a gun to my head and I knew it was a lethal weapon and not for making holes for "earrings".  2.  it was my Mom and I had never once seen her holding a gun before and I was shocked she even knew how to hold one, had one in her hand, and...that had the psychological impact of an explosion of white light.  It was the last thing I ever expected to see. 

When she saw I looked at her, her expression changed and she dropped her arm so the gun was out of view behind my back.  It was like she didn't totally want to drop the gun, but didn't want me to keep seeing her holding it to my head.

I do not remember any kind of gun "going off" accidentally or being shot.  I know there was a bullet hole in the glass for the front window by the door but unless there was a silencer or something, there was no loud shot sound at that time, that I remember.  If I was being used as a body-shield, that's possible, or if someone had killed me then (probably not) I guess they could blame that man that came to the door who might have taken off later.  I don't know.  I was just stunned with the idea my mother had a gun.  If I am correct, it didn't look like the gun I had seen my Dad hold so I thought she must have her own gun.  She also held it with only one arm and I want to say it was her left hand, not her right, that held it.  It was all coming from a left arm line and held to the back-left side of my head (where, coincidentally, I later began getting my migraines when the U.S. started triggering those to occur).

I also remembered thinking, when I found out my cousin Rani's first husband held a gun to her head, why did he do that and did he know what my Mom had done to me when I was very young?

I believe my Mom used her right hand with the hanger to yank down an earring in my earlobe, but she was holding the gun with her left hand and not using both arms and hands.

Another thing my Mom and Dad did to "test" my responsiveness to being programmed to panic, which was to trigger my reaction in a car of hitting the gas instead of the brakes, was around the time I was 8, 9, or 10 or so and they drove into the mountains one day.  Sometimes we drove into the mountains and hiked and took a packed lunch.  This day was different and an extremely narrow road was chosen. There was no reason why we had to keep going on that road.  I got extremely scared.  I was sitting on the right side of the car, behind my Mom, where I always sat.  It was so narrow and my Dad kept making comments about it and I said, "It's too narrow.  Dad!  The cliff is right there!  Please Daddy, please...." and I had a full panic reaction to the feeling of being too close to a drop-off on the right side.  I possibly unbuckled my seatbelt and moved to the middle of the car but probably I would have been told not to.  I think I did this and was asked what I was doing.  It wasn't just sort of narrow and I was terrified.  My Dad kept saying there was plenty of room. 

Around that time, I have no idea why, or what was going on, actually, I think it was years later, but my Uncle Valentin's cousin was driving a truck in the mountains in Mexico and went over a cliff. I think it was actually one of his brothers and my cousins all knew him and were crying about it and I remembered thinking it was strange.  I was told it was a narrow road and in the mountains and he went over the cliff and no one knew why.  It was maybe a decade later that that happened.

So my Dad said, when we were on that road in the mountains, or my Mom, one of them, to give them my hand and then I was asked why it was all sweaty.  I think it was my Mom, and I sat right behind her and she said give me your hand so I reached over the seat of the car and draped my arm over and she commented on how sweaty my hands were.  My "panic" level was being checked.  I also rolled the window down and they said roll it up and I said, "I can't breathe!"  So something I started using, for "sweaty hands" was white talcum powder. 

So decades later, after the U.S. held me hostage in Nashville, with the excuse it was for "mental health" evaluation when it wasn't and they interrogated me and drugged me, when I went to the post office to have my photo taken for my passport to leave the U.S., having a woman come out to "powder my nose" was not normal.

When I was a kid, I bought a small bottle of white Johnson & Johnson's baby powder one day and put it in the glovebox with my Mom in the car next to me.  She gave this uncomfortable look and said why did you put baby powder in the glovebox? and I said, taking it out to sprinkle some on my hands and then put it back, "For my when my hands get sweaty."  My powder was possibly a French kind from the place where I ordered from France, in a smaller bottle, but I had the idea because at one time my mother had a bottle of Johnson & Johnson's herself that she kept there and when I was very little, used to use.   I was given body powder, with a powder puff, after this, after I was already used to using it on my hands, which was before I ever took gymnastics too.  I got the body powder with powder puff when I was pretty young, maybe 7-9 years old and before that, I knew about powdering the hands but not sure why or what it was for.

When I fell from the tree, it wasn't panic because I was used to swinging on that branch all the time and there was no reason for panic.  I saw my Mom with something in her hand and looking at me and I guess, it was either technology or a deliberate trigger known to create sudden panic and sweaty hands, but I think it could have been some kind of device.  They were checking my hands all the time, for my panic reactions to things but I didn't know that's why they were doing this.  I was constantly told to give them my hand and they'd hold it a minute and then let it go.  Always checking at different times, prior to even 1982, to see when they were sweaty and a panic impulse was triggered.  In the summer when it was hot of course, it was taken into consideration with the rest of the body and the heat. 

I cannot even tell you how "routine" this kind of a check was.

I know on the day my mother asked me where I got my money from, I had just opened up the glovebox and used talcum powder to powder my hands.  She said I didn't need to keep it in there and I said, "Why not?  YOU used to keep it in here!"  I remembered when she had kept baby powder in the glove box.  She looked uncomfortable and said nothing.

I know Rani acted like she didn't like me when she found out I wanted to talk to her ex, Jason, because I was curious, and Gardenia got suspicious after her brother went off a cliff in Mexico and had this quiet disdain for me that I noticed later at Grannys, Alita was mad I said something about the Catholic church, and Valente didn't like my asking questions to get to know them, but I never disliked them. 

E.H. says in 1984 and 1985 he made 3 trips to Europe which the FBI criticized.  They claimed he met with KGB and passed them information during one or more of the trips, and he says it is not true.  He says no one had a single shred of hard evidence that he colluded with Soviets before Helsinki in September 23, 1985.

When I think of this I think about this being around the time I opened letters with a letter opener or pen-knife.  I also think I was threatened over commenting about the gun later, by being cut on my forearm because it was around that time I remember being cut.  I wasn't cut, at that older age, regularly to where I would remember, but something came up and I was cut and then blacked out or don't remember what happened after my shock that there was a knife there to cut me with.  It was very small.  I don't remember ever being cut by one of the kitchen knives used for cooking--it was much sharper.  I think it had to have been a pen-knife, exacto knife, or something like that.  It was something you could hold and it looked normal and then all of a sudden, there was a sharp blade.  I don't remember it being an entire packed pocketknife with all kinds of gadgets to stack it up.  It was a single knife-blade deal.  I was shown a pocket knife at one point, with all the extra things you could pull out on it and I didn't have a real reaction to it, but to the exacto knife I did.  I was afraid if I was even within a few inches of it, it could jump up and attack me on its own.

pg. 58 and 59 he describes the 3 vacations he took to Europe and says in Zurich he bought a Rolex.  I remember around that time my Dad bought a nice Timex watch.  I think my Mom did too, but it was smaller and not as technical.  He mentions Munich, Oktoberfest, the 22nd, sort of together and says he didn't contact the KGB in Vienna.  I suppose it makes me think of my parents in Munich, my birthday, and wondering if I was ever refered to, in code, for someone, as "the KGB".  Like a Russian spy but I don't assume this, or wouldn't for every occasion.  Why KGB anyway?  MK Garrett Baby?  Krystal Garrett Baby?  Chatty Kathy Garrett Baby?  KGB for Russian, i.e., Russo, i.e, "red" for redhead?  because I picked up the Russian language?  because I have a Russian connection?  because I was potentially going to be used against or for someone who had something to do with Russia? because I was stolen from a Russian hospital?  Because my real name is Mary Katherine Howard or just Cameo Howard or CLH (which sounds like clue). 

Here's something odd...very tangential and not to go with these comments, but last night around 9:10 p.m. someone solemnly, quietly said, "She cracked the code".  A young man said it.  I was then picking up guinea pig papers and the first one had an announcement of Kate Middleton having a baby and next to it, some black guy named Michael in sentencing phases and it had nothing to do with cracking a code and then I turned it over and it was a cartoon.  It had a sign for F&E Diner, a menu board that says:  "Special Eggloo" and then a man sitting at a counter tapping on a mound on a plate with a fork and the  words "tink, tink" to indicate the fork sound and looking at the chef who says to him "This Eggloo is a frozen omelette!"".    I guess it came to mind now because of the acronym to my name if it's Howard, of CLH (clue).  It was right on the back of the little blip about Kate Middleton and a black Michael charged with murder.  As I said, this doesn't have to do with the E.H. comments but is something I'm mentioning since it came to mind about something else entirely, as I am not switching to making a bunch of post specific to topic at this time and am working on just this post. 

I can comment more on pgs 58 and 59 later.  On pg. 60, E.H. says Aug. 1, 1985 (I was almost 10 years old) began the most painful period of his life.  He says Vitali Sergeevitch Yurchenko walked into the U.S. embassy in Rome and requested political asylum, was driven to Langley CIA headquarters, and then to a safe house in Virginia.
It is still 8/27/13 but I wanted to add, about being questioned about where I got all the money, one time I was questioned, when I was getting baby powder out of the glove box and my Mom had set her open purse next to me, it was in that car and then another time it was when my Mom (or one of the Dicksies) was getting something out of the refrigerator and had the refrigerator door open.  I say this because if someone was listening or surveillance played, and you just heard audio, you'd hear the hear of something opening, which someone could think was a fridge or something, but it was the glove box and I got the Johnson & Johnsons baby powder out.  I am positive it was that kind because later I had the other kind.  This was when my Mom asked me the question and rummaged in her purse and then set it, open, in the middle of the seat, which prompted me (possibly a trigger) to joke flippantly, "From your purse".  Then I believe another time I was asked and my Mom had the fridge door open and as she stood there with the fridge open, and I think was rearranging things in it, she asked me where I got the money or how much I charged or something about the same thing.  I remember both occasions.  E.H. says Fred Johnson was an ex-CIA officer who made an affidavit to FBI making it sound like he was stealing, and that the FBI started building their case against him.

The other thing is that whoever the man was that came to our house, on one instance, or once when he was there, he seemed to like me or think there was something wrong and then by the next instance I had a feeling somewhere along the line, that even after seeing my Mom hold a gun to my head, he was more amused than anything when he left, and I remember all of the adults looked at eachother strongly when I was first beaten and then said I didn't want to leave (because it was all I knew) and they seemed surprised that I would choose to stay at a place where I was being verbally abused and beaten.  Maybe it was a signal that I had been tested and was "suicide-worthy" and all my programming was in place for my future brake failure.  I can't imagine why my mother would leave the living room to go to the kitchen and come back with a gun, but for some reason I almost think she went to the kitchen to get the gun and then I looked back when she was next to me again, after this, and saw the gun.  I almost want to say she had her arm extended out and the gun pointed at the back of my head and that she was wearing her 2 tone shirt that said "30" on it but I could not be 100% positive.

I had battered kids syndrome basically.

Now, I think it is odd the U.S. knows the only people I was ever bonded to, who raised me, were involved in trying to kill me and yet they have stolen every option from me for anything different, and defamed me.  I basically have no friends or family because all of the people the U.S. set up against me, are family (but I think I deserve to know the results of the DNA tests) and "friends" who showed up deliberately to hedge me in.  They cornered me, my entire life, to control me.  When I left for political asylum with my son, we had every right to it and still do. 

This country has held me hostage and abused me and my son as long as we've been alive.  I can honestly say I love my family and parents and don't wish harm to come to them, despite what they've done to me, so I have never hated them.  But I know they worked to have me killed off, and make it look like I did it myself if someone else didn't do it.  If they are not biologically my parents, then obviously they have done this for another child that is theirs.  If they are biologically related or one of them is, they did it for money or, in the instance of a group like Mossad, whose politics override even family ties, they did it for politics.  My Dad, or one of the Bobs, even began copping some kind of "defense" for himself in Sherwood, first saying "No one talks to me the way you do" and then later, it was changed to "No one treats me the way you do" and when I was the one telling them, in high school, that no one treated me the way they did, or said the horrible things they said, and that people liked me, they said it wasn't true, and then said okay it was true, so "If you can be nice to all these other people why can't you do that with us?"  and then after this, it changed again to not wanting to have anything to do with me at all, and then finally, "No one abuses me the way you do" and even comments about how I "verbally abuse" my Dad, from my Dad, to make it sound as though he's the victim, not me.  This is when they were the adults, in charge of raising a child, and verbally and physically abused me, allowed me to be sexually abused, and programmed me to kill myself and to have panic responses that would result in  programmed response to do the wrong thing, and die.  Then, they even conditioned me not to fight back against rapists, so while I actually love my parents, and hope maybe even one set of them is decent, the facts are laid bare, that they did not shirk from their decisions to facilitate premeditated murder of me.

This is why I believe many in my family and some so-called friends who were just government "plants", participated in defaming me secretly to steal my son and my son has been exposed to the exact same people and programming I was exposed to, and he has a right to political asylum outside of this country.

I don't know who to contact, that can help to present a case to prove his adoption is illegal and invalid but because Canada and the U.S. colluded in their crimes, and because we were no longer with the U.S. and my son wasn't in their jurisdiction, I feel he must have an angle or some international lawyer must know of something that can be done.  I would prefer to not be tortured, and have the defamation cleared, my name cleared up, my son returned to me, and a chance to live like normal in the U.S. with my son, but from what I've gathered, the U.S. has been paying my parents and others to do all these things to harm us.

When my Dad says to me, "The U.S. doesn't owe you ANYTHING" he is sort of speaking for himself, as if he and the U.S. are one-and-the-same and he is going to defend the U.S. because he works for them and they defend him.

It is possible one or more of them are political prisoners in some way or that they tried to get out or back out at some point, but nothing was ever said to me about it. I remember expressions on their faces when I was a kid or teen that would indicate some of it, at least by some of them was voluntary and enjoyed.

UPDATED 8/27/13

One thing I remember which I've mentioned before, is that later cops would suggesting to me there was a gun and a shot was fired. I remember at the time of the suggestion and pressuring, they were attempting to make it appear like the bullet hole that later showed up in our front glass window was from that time, and I knew later it was because they'd hoped I would agree and then they, who had the audio files, could say, "See, she claims a shot was fired and there is no such sound on the audio--so she doesn't remember."  At the time, not realizing how much bugging of our house (and myself) was done, I assumed they were trying to frame my parents or make the suggestion they fired a gun in the house.  I never agreed with them because it wasn't true.  I later realized the entire attempt of suggestion was to discredit ME, and my claims, above all.  If the cops tried to get me to say a shot was fired, of all the weapons that could have been wielded against me anyway, the one that would make a sound, which they could use to show I said it was there and it wasn't, was a gun shot.  You weren't going to necessarily hear a knife or injection or gun that wasn't fired, and therefore they couldn't prove or disprove I was correct.  If the cops framed me into agreeing with them that a shot was fired, they had evidence to prove no shot was fired, and anything and everything I said was out the window.

I had also thought, at the time, it was odd it was cops making the suggestion or trying to put the idea in my head or have me agree with them, and I know it wasn't a report I made, but some casual conversation that came up and I thought, "Why are police trying to get me to agree with them that a gun was fired?"  To my knowledge at that time, it had nothing to do with police.

So who were the cops that needed the 'cover' and wanted to ruin my testimony?

I'm trying to tell you something new, but...Well here's something.  After I was telling Crystal, "Come on Crystal!  Let's go for a walk!" and all of that, my Mom got this horse Aspen and began lunging her.  What this means, is you take the horse on the line and stand in one place and have the horse walk, trot, or gallop, canter, whatever, in a circle around you.  It's to get them used to the vocal signals.  "Walk!"  "Trot!" "Canter!"  "Gallop!"  Most people don't "run" a horse in a circle because that's not "lunging".   Most of the time, it was "Walk!"  or "Trot".  So this came up later, after I had Crystal and maybe it reminded my Mom about horses and training, I don't know.  I also lunged Aspen myself.   I lunged her whenever I was allowed to.  So I sort of got used to her and training her a little which was why I suspected "something is up" with when she began to back up or side pass when I tried to jump on her by foot.  I also used a saddle and got on with stirrups, but that was only if my Mom was around.  I didn't put her saddle on myself though I did use the reins and learned the bit later but didn't use that much, and there was a crop and a whip.  The crop wasn't really used for anything but the whip was used for the sound effect because it got the horse to move.  I didn't ever see her being whipped though.  It was a long whip.  I always liked to ride at the faster speeds of canter, gallop, and running.  There were a few times I was able to get the horse in a full speed run and then to stop abruptly and I had to not fall off.  I fell off, maybe once on my own or twice and I always got back on.  The only time that scared me was when she accidentally stepped on my feet and I realized the weight of the horse.  The first horse I rode was Sally and then there was a gelding too.  But mostly it was Sally.  The woman I mentioned who had a horse I rode, that worked at CTR, when my neck began to hurt but it wasn't from the trotting, was Sue, not Sally.  I think I said Sally once but her name, the blond's name, was Sue.

I don't remember when this was, but I remember one time really running with a horse and it wasn't on our own property with the fenced-in area and it wasn't the time the horses ran that belonged to the Maiers, it was a nice sleek horse who moved very smooth, and I raced her in a big field with lots of room to race.  I don't remember where it was but I remember racing with her and then a lot of canter and gallop, but I kept wanting to race.  This was when I got a feel for how a horse should move and what the difference is between a smooth riding horse and a lumpy gallumpy ride.  We went so fast, this one horse and I, that my face felt soft afterwards from the wind rushing against my cheeks...Sue's horse was seriously a Lump.  It was a Western saddle, which I've always found tilts back and forth and isn't my kind of seat.  It's possible this was because it wasn't a kid's saddle or fitted to the horse properly, but all of my experiences in the Western saddle haven't fit correctly.  Maiers' horses were Lumps (they'd been sitting around)  but much better than Sue's and I don't remember the saddle being all over the place.  I think I was riding bareback when I raced the horse.

When I was a kid I had someone observe me for riding lessons, and I was sort of an older kid, and I was just okay, but I remember the trot on that horse was not very nice.  Possibly that was Crystal, a woman I didn't name the doll after, but there was a woman at one point too, who watched me in an English saddle.  She was evaluating my "seat".  I always remember the one horse I raced with in a large field, and then Sally, who was fun in our fenced area, and Aspen when I could jump on her.  The time I raced the one horse I think my parents were on horses too or outside talking with some people.  The only time I was on a "runaway" horse was one time with Sally but it was still fairly controlled, and then an out-of-control time was the one time I rode the Maier's horse and we were on a narrow gravel road without a lot space and one horse nudged the other or moved into it on the side, and my horse spooked, and took off at charging like it had a burr under the saddle and would not stop.  I remember being upset that Stephanie acted happy about it or satisfied in some way, and I was shaking because it had occurred on a road with a high hill to one side and a cliff on the other side, and gravel is not the best thing to be on when a horse bolts.  I didn't fall off, however, which I was glad about, and the more I said "STOP!" the faster it ran.  I was screaming "STOP!  Stop!" and "Whoa" is usually what you say but either it came to my mind to stay "Stop!" or Stephanie yelled to tell it to "stop" and I did.  It was potentially another time my reaction and response to programming for killing myself with "brake failure" was being tested, and that was with the Maiers family.  Everything my parents knew about my programming, the Maiers knew, I've come to realize.  Because Stephanie was the one to be involved in that incident, where she was the one turning her horse into my horse's side, and because she was also involved in telling me to go down the "slippery slide" naked, I am positive someone trusted her, for some reason, to keep government secrets about me.  So my "best friend" who made pizza with me all the time and played Super Mario Bros with me, was waiting for me to be killed.  The horse ride was not until right before we were moving out of town.  I was 14 or 15 years old, and it was within a month or so of the same time I was told to go naked down the slide.  She was also doing this "feeling" my hand kind of thing but she was grabbing my hand sometimes just the hand, and other times, sliding up the arm to check the difference between my palm moisture and the rest of my body.  I would never think, as a teen like that, that this friend was doing such a thing, just because she grabbed my hand a lot, but because of the other two things she was involved in, in being a U.S. government instrument for testing my programming reactions, I don't have any doubt she might also be told to check to see if I was nervous around her for any reason, because that would be a bad sign and might mean I was onto her.  Altogether, I can remember 4 specific tests to see how I responded to programming and to check my panic responses and make sure everything was there, prior to the official "hit".

Other things I wouldn't know about.  I think she found out I was prone to hemophilia which is why she dumped a TON of garlic and onions into her salad when Robin went with my visit.  Other vulnerabilities might have been that I showered with them and I do remember them looking at my back and rear end a lot and I think it was because of the scars and maybe Stephanie wanting to know if they could be seen.  We used to shower in their solid square white-tiled room, all the time.  I loved it because I loved showers and steam and sometimes when they got out I'd stay in a little longer, but I remember turning around and seeing Stephanie wipe her eyes to cover the fact she was staring at my back and backside and I never interpreted it as a lesbian thing.  It seemed to be something else.  Aside from the gifts and the post cards from Europe, and the fact she was getting information about what was in my personal diary at my house (somehow), the only things that connect her to knowing about my government programming early-on would be the slide thing and the "stopping" the horse turned into the side test for my reaction.  She was only 14-15 years old, as old as me or a little older, and I never once would have thought someone that young was a government employee.

One time when Stephanie came to visit my house, which was later, and shortly before we were going to move, she and my mother talked in whispered tones together in the living room and I remembered thinking what are they talking about together that they don't want me to hear?!  I'm my Mom's daughter and Stephanie's best friend!  I didn't see anything but I had a feeling my Mom gave something to her or something was exchanged when I was still in my bedroom.
Still 8/27/13.

I think what the cops were worried about, and why I couldn't figure out why they kept bringing up a gun and that it went off, or maybe a silencer was used, was possibly the context of the time when this came up and the need to cover it or confuse me, and the desire to switch what kind of weapon was held and what was done with it. 

I believe the reason she went to the kitchen was to "get something to write with".  This was a common phrase of hers, because she was on the phone a lot and she'd say, "Okay, let me get something to write with" and the pens were in the kitchen, in drawers or in a round can that was painted later.  I think the only reason she'd leave a small group, with a man standing at the door, and go to the kitchen, would be for this reason, and this is probably why I was shocked that when I looked back, it wasn't "something to write with".  But maybe she didn't say anything. I don't remember that part.  At least not right now, the full detail isn't as it sometimes is.  It's like forgetting a name and then remembering it later...I'm sure it will come up but I know some effort has been made to bury it.

When E.H. mentions Yurchenko, it's when I realize I haven't been following the news with Russia or U.S. spies at all.  I remember the name but, just looked up the wiki on him, which is sparse--I know nothing about him.  I wasn't sure if he was the soup guy or the one who went to Canada guy or what.  I could try to think of how his name sounds in English but I really don't know what it would have to do with me. 

In August at that time, I would have been getting ready to go back to school or in school already.  If I was almost 10, I'd had Crystal for awhile, and probably it was that entire summer I was trying to walk her around the house because it was during the day so we were home from school.  I believe I had Mischief then, my next cat, but I am not sure.  Possibly it was Mittens.  The cats all died fast.  I was heartbroken over all of them so I was told, "No more cats" because we lived near a busy road and they kept getting hit.  I think it was one per year, like when I was 10, 11, and 12 maybe.  I am trying to think if I had a cat when I was 9 and I don't remember any kitten or cat, just Crystal.  I do remember (total tangent) pretending to be a nurse to her one time and I laid her down for it but I had the weirdest feeling, as a kid, for some reason, about having her lying down if she was "awake" and I was playing pretend that she was really alive.  At night, she was standing by my bed (for the most part which I'll get into later) and I remember this very uncomfortable feeling turning her face down because she couldn't turn her head to the side that way and I didn't like it.  Then even lying down with her face up, I felt this empathy or sadness or something for her.  So my pretending she was my patient times were very short and not that many. I think I did arm surgery on her and I know I did heart surgery on her because I had heard my Grandpa had a heart surgery so I knew there was such a thing.  I think I also put clothes on her forehead or pretended she had a headache.  But I had a weird feeling about her lying down.  I had this miniature wooden rocking chair and I think I tried to have her lean against it but she couldn't sit.  I do also remember I put a red plastic fireman's hat on her one time, because I got one or my brother had one and I put it on her (temporarily).  My Mom really did not like that look.  I put it on her head forwards and backwards and it was always sliding around.  I was so preoccupied with Crystal and I was so preoccupied with kittens I don't think I had them at the same time.  But possibly I had mittens in 2nd grade and then she died and then Crystal, and then I tamed Mischief.  I know I began asking about the scars on my arms when I had Mischief.  As for painful times, I know I was being beaten, and verbally abused, and I would say this is remember the growing pangs the most.  I was told they were "growing pangs" but extreme ache and pain was affecting my knees (which on x-ray look to have an implanted microchips in them, so if the U.S. chose to target me, they did) and I had some nosebleeds for the first time around then, though it is possible I had one in 1st grade, I mostly remember a big one later.  One was just profuse bleeding and actually, it happened often enough I was told to just put toilet paper in my nostrils.  It wasn't regarded as a big deal, but one of them was just fountains of blood and scared me.  There was nothing we ate that should have affected me really.  We didn't use garlic, and I occasionally had aspirin with sugar mixed in it for my growing pangs but that was it.  I remember Walla Walla sweet onions, but I wasn't a kid who loved onions unless they were onion rings or on a hamburger and that was a later developed taste.  I guess we had liver and onions with the sautéed onions and I hated that and we didn't have it much.  Then there was the peas, carrots, pearl onions veggie mix we got at that time.  Before it was just all peas and then all of one kind of vegetable the next night and so on but we started having the pearl onions almost every night.  That was it for blood thinners really--pearl onions in a mix for dinner. 

My Dad started sleeping on the couch and he said his back hurt but it was possibly a little later he did this, or right around this time.  Given the fact it appears on x-ray that I have a microchip in my knee that has never been opened up or operated on (supposedly), whereas the other one has been operated on and possibly something was removed and/or something new added, it means the U.S. had the technological capability to torture me if they wanted, and could target me, and as a kid, I would have just accepted the grown-ups explanations.  It was every single night almost, and if I was not sitting on the floor with my legs stretched straight out, I was curled up in bed in the fetal position with my legs tucked in under me, my arms under my chest or bent to the side, with my thumbs tucked into my fists.  Someone would come into my bedroom, straighten out my legs, and I'd curl them up under me again.

I'm not saying this was all due to spies moving around or Yurchenko or anything--I'm just commenting on a painful period, since E.H. brought up painful times, and then using that date to think of what was going on.

E.H. says, pg. 58, when the FBI interrogated him, he said if you want to track someone down look at their Express card receipts and if you think I'm hiding anything, just look at my American Express card receipts and they'll tell you where I've been.  What I would think of is that I got my clothing for school at a place called "Express".  A lot of my clothing had "Express" for the label, but I remember this mostly after I was about 13 years old.  I also know when I asked police and FBI to do the same for me on a matter, they refused.

I note he says he stayed at the Movenpick Hotel, a Swiss hotel.  When I looked it up I see it has 2 red dots above the o and the reason I looked it up was because I thought the idea of a "moving pick" (like an ice pick, or a knife, or anything) was interesting.  It also might be like "move and pick" like "choose".
8/28/13.  I have more to add or revise about the weapon scene, with my Mom behind my back and seeing her.  I remembered I actually DID try to report it to police, and it wasn't casual conversation, because that's how I knew they were cops and then why I wondered how they seemed to already know about it or wanted to make their own suggestions.  I also remember they refused to make a report even though I was reporting a crime, and there was no allegation of my being "mentally ill" or anything worked up against me at that time.  I remember things that happened later looked like retaliation from state sources for my attempt to get help.  There were 2 cops, both male--both bigger guys (not short and thin types).  I don't remember any kind of woman around.  The cops were incredibly insistent and shrewd--they were almost identical to the Mormon FBI agent from D.C. and the one from CA--like the Mormon one in how they tried so hard to change my testimony.  I guess though, I haven't noticed a really big difference between regular cops doing this (Sgt. Austria) or FBI--although Austria wrote a statement and tried to verbally work around and argue against my facts, the real masters of trying to coerce an altered testimony or working at suggestion or twisting words, have been the FBI.  It is like they get a special training for how to ruin lives and change a story.  Some of the psychological effort at suggestion and twisting words or getting a different reaction, seem more like CIA interrogators or people who are trained to go in on top-priority matters to get a full cover for the actual story.  It's one thing to suggest one or the other fact and ask which one or to try to find out what the truth is, but it's another thing to deliberately pressure someone to agree with them, to create new facts for purposes of confusing or concealing the truth.  I called it in over the phone and they met me in person.  I said I wanted to know if it was some kind of crime if my mother had done ____ and they started to try to interrupt and began working right away to override what my testimony was.  I didn't do it because I thought, "Maybe I can put my Mom in jail" or "I really hate my Mom" at all.  I remember at the time, I had not even thought about all of the other things done to me, but I knew something was really wrong and that efforts were made by my family to make me into more of a scapegoat.  It was Portland police that I asked.

About the pocketknives, I remember when I was around 8 or 9 or so, possibly a little older, we had a few different kinds of pocket knifes or Swiss Army knife types in the kitchen and I had noticed about those, that all of them disappeared.  I sort of remember a wood case one, a miniature Swiss one, and maybe a black one.  I know I thought, as a kid, "Why did we have all these pocket-knives and now we have none?" and "What happened to all of our steak knives?"  I also remember when the knife holder of all of our black handled kitchen knives was replaced with a wooden set.  I remember I said something out loud, and that it was after the incident with the man at the door and she looked uncomfortable and tried to say we didn't get any new ones, or we never had the other kind and as a kid I thought why is lying about this and doesn't want me to remember?  I remember also thinking it was weird that some of the pocketknives matched the kitchen cutlery set on the counter, but they weren't part of the set.  I remember I commented out loud about it once, when I found a pocket knife that looked like it matched part of the cutlery set that we had.  First all of the knives of any kind were inside drawers and then a kitchen cutlery block was set out on the counter and there were at least 3 of those.  One was black handled knives, one was wood, and one was plastic brown (or a set of steak knives were) and then there was a set with tortoise shell marbled kind of handles, including a large roast fork.  The black and wood handled ones had flat surfaces, the brown semi-rounded and a light texture to the handle, and the marbled ones were round handled at least on the roast fork and after the set disappeared, it was just the roast fork that was left.  There were other steak knives too and I barely remember an olive green handled set or pocketknife that goes back further than the other ones.

Also, I decided to look at the back of the one knee that I got an x-ray of which shows a microchip and there are a few scars from incisions or cuts to the back of the knee.  I can also see chicken pox scars on the top of the knee to my right and something very small that might not be a chicken pox scar, but the scars are at least as old as those or older and I got those in kindergarten or first grade I think.  I also think I have found at least one dot shaped scar on top of my head that is about the same size as dots I've found other parts of my body where electrodes or something were placed, but it's hard to find because it's under my hair.

As I was writing about the knives, I remembered a little more.  After that man left, I remember I went to the kitchen drawer and kept looking in at the pocket knives.  I don't mean that same night, but later, I began sneaking in and carefully opening the drawer hoping no one could hear it open, to look at the pocket knives.  I kept checking them, and looking at them.  Then I opened the drawer one day, with my Mom in the kitchen, to get a screwdriver for something.  She looked aside at the drawer and snapped at me, "What are you doing?" and I said, "I'm looking for a screwdriver."

I also remember my Dad put a gun in that same drawer and it disappeared.  However, when I noticed the gun was gone and was looking at the pocket knives, one day after always saying I was looking for a "screwdriver", (all the time--for putting inside cassette tapes to roll up the tape if it started to come out in my player and get tangled, before I was shown to use a yellow pencil, and for screwing and unscrewing the mirror on my vanity and different things as I moved my furniture around in my room) I said out loud, "Where's the pocket knife that was here?"  My Mom said, "What knife?" and I said, "The one in the pen drawer, the ____ one."  (I'm leaving out a few details to fill in at a later time).  The pen drawer was the one closest to the phone and had paper for notes, and pens, and there was a screwdriver and scissors and pocketknives.  Then it became more of a utility drawer and a hammer and other things were added.  There was also, I think, sort of a top pen and paper drawer with a utility drawer beneath it for awhile but it turned into a cookie cutter drawer at some point.  She said, "There wasn't one like that" and I said, "Uh, huh, because that's the one you used when...._____________ " and I added, "I remember."  She did not look happy and then my Dad did not look happy about me either.  The part that confused me sometimes was that either my Dad made sure I saw him putting a gun in that drawer before the man came over, and I looked over my shoulder and saw my Mom, or he put one in that drawer afterwards, and had me notice it was there.  I know the entire reason I went to the drawer the next day was to have a better look at the weapon wielded against me.  When I was asked what I was doing, I said, "I'm looking for a screwdriver" or "I'm getting the screwdriver" and sometimes I really was and other times I used it for an excuse to look.  So then the first two men to rape me, Josh Gatov and Robin Bechtold, were U.S. employees who knew each other and knew about all of this.

I have to delete my idea that maybe I met the cops casually in Portland, Oregon.  The cops I told, in a "casual setting" were Mt. Angel cops.  It was in 2000 or 2001, right after the police "Scott" told me their department had me on their "board".  I was taken to a warehouse and then Scott talked to me while sitting at a desk like no big deal, as if it was the only place to talk that wasn't a police station, and then after awhile, this other cop came from out of a side room and walked in, looking like he'd been hiding there all along.  He had dark hair and Scott was blond.  It was around that time, but I think before I met them in the warehouse, I had talked with this red haired cop who drove next to me and then Scott was there. I know I had said something to him about it, before I was in that warehouse and the man came around the corner, and I remembered how it was done exactly as the men did who were inside of my house when a man came over (possibly a different occasion for that).  I had disappointed my parents by being pressured to agree that I would pretend no one was in the house to find the man in order to lure him in or be caught off-guard when they came out from the shadows (or behind the walls).  They told me he'd done something wrong and they didn't want me to say anything, and that time I believe it was Alan Springer and another guy I didn't know.  So for being willing to "catch someone" they punished me.  I remember at first I said nothing.  Then I saw my brother getting rewarded for doing this one time so later they tried me again and said they'd give me something for it, like they gave my brother, so I did.   So then why has it been cops and FBI that have been retaliating against me and replaying the same scenarios ever since?  THEY were the ones setting me up to murder myself and to be killed by their assassins.  Both the U.S. and Canada colluded to disparage me with that "game".  The Mt. Angel cops did (in 2000-2001), and set me up to have someone coming around the corner the same way, and then telling me they were not making any report (after suggesting I should change my story), and the Canadian RCMP at the Border Patrol offices did this (2007-8), except they had 2 men saying I was going to jail, forcing me to sign something, and having a 3rd man in the background come out and say I could go now that I'd signed a false confession. 

I say:  So are we REALLY going to keep playing the "rape is fun" game gentlemen?  ARE you gentlemen actually or are you just a bunch of snot-nosed losers with badges of authority who use it to terrorize little kids you can't bump off successfully.

 I was a kid who had damning testimony against them. 

I didn't see anything else on the paper I signed for the one man at my house except for blank paper.  Maybe I'm wrong, but as a kid, I just saw paper for putting my autograph on.  If I'm wrong, and it was a form, I didn't read it first and by that age, I think I would have known what looked like a paper for an autograph vs paper for signing something else, though we did sign autographs across and on top of printed programs for the Annie play. 

I was raped by Josh Gatov in 1998 and then I wasn't raped by Robin Bechtold until after I talked to the Mt. Angel cops, who were  at that time working with Mt. Angel Abbey.

OKAY!  I have spent some time cocooning and thinking about the knives, and events and I think this is how it went.  I had confused some parts, but it's understandable given the different weapons switched in and out.

I will still continue to think about it and try to systematically go over each thing as it occurred, but what I remembered is that yes, at some time I think I saw my Mom with a gun, in my life, but I don't think it was then.  I did see guns, and I'll explain the context.

But first of all, what I remembered was when I started checking that drawer, as a 9 year old, old enough to remember, and looking at the pocket knives and things was that I was saying I was looking for the screwdriver or getting the screwdriver, to cover for what I was looking at.  When I asked out loud where the one of the pocket knives went, my Mom said there never was one like that and I said yes there was because that's the one you were holding when I turned around and saw you with a knife...I remember.  After I said this, my Dad didn't look happy about me and my Mom kept denying the knife.  So while I was in the kitchen one day, my Dad knew I was there and made sure I was watching and pulled out the drawer and put a gun in it.

The points for my remembering these things is that when my Mom denied the knife, it stuck with me, like a shock of "My Mom LIES?!"  And I felt sort of like, how could she not remember it when it's the one she held at me behind my back?  So I insisted and said, "Uh huh!  I remember!"  So then my Mom didn't look happy and said your memory is wrong or something and my Dad wasn't happy later but he was quiet.  He came in with the gun later, and put it in the drawer and then I was opening the drawer and seeing it but I didn't touch it for a long time because I was too afraid.  I did think, "Whose gun is that?!" because it wasn't the gun I saw my parent's with most of the time.  I don't remember that I ever picked it up entirely but I may have and I know I at least touched it.  Right after I touched it, it disappeared from the drawer.  I remembered my Dad put the gun in the drawer after I brought up the knife, because even though I was only 9, he had a dour, determined and grim look on his face and looked mad at me so when my Mom said there was no gun in the drawer or something, after I possibly brought up a gun, I thought maybe it was over what I said about the knife and he was trying to make it over a gun and not a knife.  I thought maybe they were punishing me for saying I remembered the knife there, by putting a gun in the drawer and removing it, and then saying, there was no gun and possibly if I'd been asked what it looked like, I would have given a different description out loud for the gun I saw than the gun they owned.  So I'd sound confused, in hindsight, if there was audio surveillance running.  The other thing is I later hoped if my fingerprints were on that other gun no one was going to try to frame me over something.  It came to mind because I wondered why it was gone right after I'd touched it.  How anyone would know I'd touched it, I have no idea because I had thought I was alone in the kitchen when I did.

So they were saying I didn't remember things correctly but I did, and I remembered these points mostly when I recalled the emotional feeling I had about why would my parents be doing this? It is the first time I ever got suspicious of my parent's motives, that I can remember.  It would be one thing to hold a knife against me, or at me, but to lie that much, knowing I knew they were lying, was when I wondered what was going on.

I thought about it today and I am not sure if my Mom went to the kitchen and said she was getting something to write with or not at that time.  I know I turned and saw she had a knife near my neck at the back of my head, but I was sometimes confusing this with seeing her with a gun at possibly a different time.  I believe I said out loud, "Why do you have a knife Mom?" and then possibly she said, "I don't."  Maybe she said she had a pen, or maybe someone verbalized something at that time, but I don't remember.  This all happened with the man who asked for my autograph so possibly something was said about a pen, or possibly nothing was said.

If I think about it, I can't imagine my Mom slitting my throat to kill me, but then again, I can't hardly imagine my parents being involved in programming to have me kill myself with brake failure or suicide with pill or drug overdose either.  I do remember her in the shirt that said "30" on it because of the occasion of that man being there, but it's possible my memory of her in that shirt with a gun is of a different time but I don't know when because I did target practice with pop cans with my Dad now and then, but never saw my Mom with a gun.  From what I remember, she held the knife in her left hand but I might be wrong since the main thing I was shocked by was the weapon and then I made a comment.

If she had slit my throat, or killed me, I am not sure what the objective would have been.  Maybe it was just a message behind my back, but pointed at me, but if she had slit my throat, my Dad was there, that man at the door was there, and I don't remember who else in that moment, right now.  Her fingerprints would be on it, and possibly mine if I struggled, unless she had latex gloves on and I'd have to think about it.  I don't know that I could remember that much but I might for some reason.  So I can't imagine who it would be blamed on except for a "strange man at the door" and since no one was there at the exact moment my Mom decided to get the knife or held it up or I turned and saw it, it was confined to the adults there and me.  Me, my Dad, my Mom, the man, and possibly Jim Sandberg and some other strange man but I blocked all of it out except for seeing my Mom and that man.  I also remember, whatever happened next, I had turned left and looked back to my left and the man in front of me turned right, slightly.  Actually, it was his left and I saw it as my right.

I know my Mom did buy clear disposable latex gloves at one point, but it was maybe later and I can't remember right now if I noticed anything else unusual at the time.  The pocket knife I asked about was either green or natural wood colored and she said there wasn't one like that.  I think I said green, but whatever one it was, we DID have it and then it was gone.  There WAS a carmel colored pocket knife that had a glossy finish or laquer or something over a marbled (or wood-grain look) solid red-brown color that was around forever, but I don't know that it was that one.  It was something like that or an olive green one.

The only confusion would be if my Dad first had me see him put a gun in the drawer, I turned and saw my Mom holding a gun at me, and then when I spoke up and nothing happened, I went to the drawer to look at it and it wasn't there.  Then I possibly was looking for the gun and wondering what happened to it all the time, and asked about it and was told there was never a gun there.  I would have said yes there was.  Then I could have been looking at knives because I was cut as a kid and the emphasis on never having a kind of knife that disappeared when we did, would have gone with the gun to claim they were both never in the drawer. 

So when I was later raped, the joke with Josh Gatov and Robin Bechtold was that Josh wielded 2 knives when he raped me and was the "knife" person and Bechtold, who had been smoking the night he raped me, was the "smoking gun".  To them, it would have been sheer joy, hate crime, and a great joke between them.  Either way, even if it was that it was the knife I saw and the gun was later, with my fingerprints on it, their "inside" joke on behalf of the U.S. government, which supports rapists, would have been the knives-smoking gun joke between them.  It was not an accident or a mistake.  It was premeditated, just like the programming of me to kill myself with "brake failure" was premeditated.

Robin's comment after raping me was "That was awkward", and he's German and knows the German for "ach" or "acht" and would have known about Edward Lee Victor Howard.  It was a deliberate expression used to be recorded for purposes of causing intentional distress to those who loved me and for making a sick government joke to the U.S.

I'll clarify more about that night and what happened later.  I guess I am not sure about how much to make exact on this blog post when I already tried to report it to police and they attempted to change what was done.  Obviously, this is all part of a larger crime.  All one needs is 2 persons conspiring against someone in a criminal way for a RICO action, and the "adoption" of my son is a lie--it was a kidnapping and is invalid.  What is important is that crimes were committed against me, planned and premeditated, and everyone from Josh Gatov to Stephanie Maiers to Robin Bechtold....and so on were 100% involved, all the way, feet first.  My own parents were involved in testing my responses to programming, and these others were given complete access to my personal records, encouraged to have me kill myself, to assassinate me, to rape me, and to lie and defame me. 

(I had to take a break from all of this and get back to work.  In the meantime, I played with the guinea pigs of course, and Kipper jumped over my legs for the first time, feeling secure enough with me now to try.  They all have unique personalities I'll write about sometime.  The last thing I said aloud to them as I was laying down new paper, before getting back to this was, as it was a horoscope I was laying down, "How horrible would it be for someone who really reads their horoscope, to find out they don't even have the one they thought.  I mean, for someone who really pays attention to those things, it would be a big deal.  "I'm not a Capricorn????!"  I tied up a bag of old papers and added, "PEE-Yoo!  that stinks!"  I did an errand and then came back as they were around my feet and said, looking down, "Hello vultures...  (In a "Hello Newman" kind of way),...what are YOU looking for?  Carry on, carry on!"  Before that, I was in the truth-telling chair, telling them how would it be to be like Joseph with the coat of many colors and your family that sold you out is coming to you for help with apologies and then they think, "He forgot we sold him" so they revert to all their bad ways--what does Joseph do then?  So he's in the basement still or dungeon and they think they'll be nice because he's about to get out, but OH! he forgot the magic password!  so then, not getting out, who cares" and as I said this, a huge great commotion and noise and I said, "What are you guys doing?!" and I looked and they'd knocked the whole house (one of the houses I have built up for them) to the side and I said, "You are in the leaning tower of Pisa?!"  and I laughed and laughed because well, you know, the transition of my talking about Joseph and then the leaning tower of Pisa, and well, you know, the sheaves of wheat (weet on you weeters).  Anyway, the new papers came up after that, but, so you know, the guinea pigs had invigorating conversation this country never appreciated so I am looking for a legal team actually, for me and my son). 

Oh this is weird.  I was making a drink and caught a moth flying around in one of my hands while it was flying and then I looked at it in my hand and it flew off, so I let it go and then I looked, and it was caught in a spider web instantly.  I broke the web a little and let it go.  Then I caught it again with just my forefinger and thumb but released it.  What was odd was how instantly it was caught.  I took a photo of the mark it left on my hand.  Anyway, I had been looking at it thinking, I would like to catch it for a moment and show it off, a regular moth, in the best setting possible for a photo and then it ended up in a web.  And I was listening to this when it happened:

Pretty much another reason for demanding serious compensation from the American government.  What I mean by this, is nothing to do with the moth, which was an impromptu scientific observation I will cut out and put elsewhere when I am done with this post, but which I put here since I'm not moving from this post until I'm done with the comments about the book.  I am referring to the symbols in this video, which I recognize, as he's talking about "electric eyes" and "breaker on your head" and then the flashing circle in the back with the zig-zag mark through it.  I found these marks, scars, on top of my own head, underneath my hair today.  It was the first time to find them, so seeing this, even though I like Bowies artistry, does not give me confidence about the U.S.  I mean, how many entertainers did they bilk for money?  the United States has gone way overboard. What I think are scars and not hairlines (it's hard to tell, so on this, yes, I might be wrong!!!!) are where I didn't have the stitches for head surgery for the auto collision.  It looks like a vertical "lightening" scar was made in the center of the top of my head, with dots from electrodes to the side, and my Mom was given a horizontal "lightening bolt" scar across the top of her forehead later. 

On one hand, the U.S. has extorted my parents for whatever they want through their blackmail of my parents into cooperating with the CIA and Army for programming me (to kill myself even).  It is powerful blackmail.  From there, they can do whatever they want, and continue doing whatever they want.  On the other hand, I have seen things from at least one of the sets of twins that looks like they really wanted to bump me off.  And while I think of the incident with the weapon behind my back as some kind of accidental thing, the truth is that I was like the man in The Man Who Knew Too Little and had no idea some of this was real.  What was rape by Josh Gatov and Robin, for example, supposed to be, "acting"? 

pg. 58.  E.H. says they stayed in St. Anton, just over the Austrian border and any mention of Austria and Vienna is a total surprise to me.  I suppose it makes me wonder if this is why the U.S. freaked out when I wanted to go to Vienna.  I was planning a trip there and didn't realize my check was a different one (long story).  I had no reason to go there aside from doing some research and thinking it was a place that had coffee shops and readers and I liked the idea of having a hot cup of cocoa or coffee or tea and spending time there.  It gave the impression the coffee shops were like pubs and gathering places you could stay awhile, and they had a huge scientific archive which I was interested in after reading some books, and I had seen photos from a European calendar I had and thought it looked beautiful.  I was planning to travel in my black suit with a shirt and had my whole wardrobe for travel lined up.  Realizing later I am related to him causes me to think I probably came under some suspicion then, even though I'd never heard of "Edward Howard" before.  He says he and Mary had a fight because he wanted to go out and she wanted to stay in and he left and was back in an hour.  This sounds a lot like me in the sense that I often wanted to go out, even for an hour or so, maybe coffee or dinner, and my parents were always in, or with Monica, it was back and forth.  I can't remember right now why his plain comment there sounds so strangely familiar but there is something to it I might remember later.  It is like something I wrote in a last line for a poem, or something else...

pg. 59, he says various allegations we made he contacted the KGB.  I've already commented on the October significance or insignificance, and on the watches.  He says she sold the huacos at Merrin Gallery in Zurich.  I remember all we had was a canning jar of ashes from Mt. St. Helens.  My Dad had some, my brother had some, and I wasn't supposed to have any, but I got some and saved it a long time.  If I remember correctly, I had some kind of a vial or something that I put a little into, or some kind of jewelry.  I know my Mom or something was disappointed when I got rid of it and then I wanted to bring in more (it was there, just under the dirt) and I wasn't allowed to.  I remember I had a sad feeling like I had made a mistake when I did.  So then he says he returned to the U.S. with proceeds of the sale and it was supposedly "$10,000" in the desert the FBI suggested was from KGB.

I have no connection to this section at all, or money in the desert.  We never had any and I didn't find any coins buried around my house, although I did check under the seat cushions of our couch for "lost change".  I can only think of ten thousand or ten mil, and Milan as in "Meal on" or "Meal" because I was hungry around then.  By 1995, after my car accident when I had to research how to store money from a P.I. claim, I researched all the different securities and options and found out you can legally hide $10,000 at a Swiss bank account and legally not report it to the U.S.   So I read about stocks, bonds, money markets, Swiss accounts, annuities, real estate, and other investments but it wasn't until after I was made an offer for compensation that I ever even got a book about this topic.

pg. 60. I had backed up to the previous pages and now am back to the Yurchenko topic.  He says he'll describe the affair in more detail later, but will be brief here.  In the first week he says Yurchenko said there were 2 moles in the U.S. (Americans working for Soviets).  One had red hair, worked in communications in Washington in a suburb of Washington and was Ronald Pelton. 

The one thing I can think about here, is my brother and I were pelted with rotten red tomatoes around this time and I didn't know why.  I think it was just bratty teenagers and probably had nothing to do with this Ronald guy, but with the name Pelton, if someone heard about it, who knows.  I worked out in the garden with my brother all the time and one day this 80s sporty low-rider 4 door sedan drove past us and I mean, TONS of tomatoes.  I was so shocked.  I could not believe someone was literally driving past us, aiming at us with huge tomatoes.  Maybe it was larger-than-life then to me, but I would say a dozen or so tomatoes, and one of them hit me.  Actually, I dodged them all, but I somehow remember thinking I got hit on the side or on my shoe or something.  So I ran in and told my Mom (not crying though).  My brother was with me and he wasn't hit at all.  We were near the front of the garden, which was closest to the road, at the raspberry patch or inbetween other plants and those.  It probably has more to do with my getting sour milk from the lunch lady at the cafeteria, who didn't like my making money writing books.  I still remember that lunch woman (give me a photo and I'll nail 'er).

The other person E.H. identifies as "Robert" and says he was a disgruntled CIA employee assigned to Moscow whose assignment was canceled.  This would, of course, sound like my Dad (Robert Guy Garrett) or another Robert possibly.  I never heard my Dad say anything "Russian" however, as Dr. Zhivago was a movie that got me as close to Russia as I'd ever been and ever was.  I had thought to study Russian on my own once, at zero prompting from anyone, as it was with French, and my other ideas.  My Grandpa Garrett was also a "Robert" and I never heard anything Russian from him. The closest thing about Russian from him was talking about how close the huge bears got to his cabin, or seeing one on a hike.  I saw them too, on a hike with him.  Big bears.  Maybe there were grizzlies around, and brown bears, but I remember seeing some black bears, however, it could have been too far off at a distance.  So anyway, I didn't know anyone who knew any Russian but I can see where a "programmer" could come under suspicion.  I did think my Dad had "changed" in the sense that first he was kind and patient and then he flying off the handle and beating me and verbally abusing me, from a specific time, but then so was my Mom, though she wasn't quite as out of control (or took that appearance).  She was a real beater until she decided to let me Dad do the harder work and stay in the background on that.  I think it was programming because it was this major sudden shock.  It was like taking me out of a normal home, that seemed normal for the last 3 years at least, to going to a very abusive foster home.  Which is something the U.S. cherishes actually, and does on purpose to some kids.

In my mind then, I was first extremely shocked and catatonic and surprised and then it became this fear and constant worry and I thought maybe my parents had short tempers, didn't like me anymore, or had a bad day at work.  Then after constant fear and pain, I became angry and resentful, naturally, and maybe this is what the U.S. wants from little kids, before they bump them off, so they don't feel as guilty.  Nothing was "fair" and then sometimes I was then told, "Okay, I'll give you a head start" and what the U.S. was doing, was knowing I already had a head start naturally and then they slammed me down, abused me, and electrocuted me.  When I say I slept in the fetal position at night, I don't mean only when I was 4 years old.  Part of it might have been that my legs hurt, and I did later learn to sleep on my stomach or side stretched out, and sometimes naps on my side during the day were natural, but I mean, I was sleeping in the fetal position almost every night, up to age 10 or so, always on my stomach and always with my legs tucked under me like a ball, thumbs inside of my fists.  After awhile, almost every night, when I was almost asleep or had just fallen asleep, my Dad came into my bedroom and pulled my legs out to stretch them out from this.  He would sometimes say, if I said, "Don't!" "You can't sleep like that".  Sometimes he'd stretch them out and leave the room and as soon as he was gone, I curled them back up under me.  I had my arms in close to my body as well.  He used to say he would tuck me in at night and sometimes he did, at one time, he did and I was lying on my back in bed and he'd tuck me in.  Then I ended up in the fetal position for years. 

Just because the United States is a self-promoting Lie Machine that tells everyone, "We're the best!"  Basically, I got "tucked in" at night (age 3 or 4-8) and then later when the abuse started again, I was tucking myself into a ball and being "untucked".  Occasionally my Dad would say, if I wanted to play, "I'm tuckered out right now." 

This country, this U.S.A. did this to me and this is what they've done to my son, and worse.  No one has any idea how horrific the crimes against humanity are that the U.S. perpetrated against me and my son.  The U.S. and Canada bound me as well, but I am not sure how.  I was so young when they did this to me, and probably drugged and electrocuted and blindfolded, I don't remember.  However, the positions I was taking naturally, while at my house taking a nap or waiting for someone, specific things I remember, I know indicate I was confined to very small spaces and tied up at my wrists and also at my ankles, separately, as well as my wrists and ankles tied together (hog-tied).

It is 2:46 A.M. 8/29/13 and the U.S. is torturing me again, specifically targeting the metal stent they put in my heart, and they've shocked me with electrocution shocks 3 times in the last 10 minutes.  Before this, the U.S. NASA and DOD were targeting the metal stent to have my heart feel burning and lithium battery vibration kind of feelings, constantly.  The U.S. had quit torturing me when I started working on comments about this book again, and then for the last 3 days or so, every single night they have done the same thing by targeting the metal stent in my heart.  They electrocuted me 3 times just now, hard enough to stop my breathing and cause my body to move, and I have no heart problems.  This is something specifically from what they did to me in Maryland in a surgery for D&C where they did other things that are illegal.

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