1. Alan Springer. Psychologist. He now lives in Salt Lake City, UT and his public job was working as a school psychologist for Moses Lake Public School District, in Moses Lake, WA. His religion is Mormon. He lived next-door to me and was 100% involved in government programming and experimentation and observation of me. I remember specific things he did.
2. Pamp and Barbara Maiers. Moses Lake, Wa.
3. Dr. Robert Fallon and Marty Fallon. Moses Lake, Wa. They moved to Boston, Ma.
4. My Mom and Dad. I think they were forced to do it, but also, there are twins of them and one set got it worse than another, I believe. I am not sure if one was working more for Middletons in the UK.
5. Jim and Shirley Sandberg. Moses Lake, Wa.
6. My Aunt Locklyn Guzman. She knew about it, but I don't know how much she participated. I cannot say very much for sure, aside from taking me out to have Shirley Temples and having my ears pierced. I believe she had my ears pierced with a gun, with the gold studs, when I was 4, for a reason. It was not just something she did on a whim. It was the shape of a gun, held to my head, and I was told not to move, and this was done in the Wenatchee Mall. The woman who did it had brown hair and I faced the entrance-exit of the store when it was done, as I sat in a chair. The store had glass windows in the front (full size store windows), and this is what I faced. I turned my head at first, and then they told me not to move, or I did after the first shot but I remember I moved my head. There was another woman there from the store standing there, but it was only one of them that held the earring-gun. If I'm correct, they were 2 14k gold stud earrings and I remember they were gold because they were saying it was less likely there would be an infection. I know for sure they were little gold balls, or "studs" as they said, and I am pretty certain the gold content was 14 karat. I am pretty sure 14k because that's standard and I remember it was talked about there.
When they disappeared, it was one at a time. First one gold stud was gone, lost in the carpet I thought, and then the next, and then the same thing happened to my mustard seed earrings later when I was older. I do remember I had both of them in my ears up until when I told my Mom I wanted to try some other ones and she looked disappointed. I liked dangling earrings as a pre-teen and teen, and hoops (I bought them at the Fairgrounds in Moses Lake mostly). I got my hair caught in the hoops and snagged my earlobes with them though, and I tore my ears on them. I wore them all the time and they were one of my favorite pair but they were large and thin hoops (I had different kinds but the snagging ones were larger) and they tangled in my hair and snagged things because I was so active and I finally set them aside to not wear anymore as being "too dangerous". The only other earrings I did this with were really heavy ones that dragged my earlobes down. I actually remember the last time I wore them was before my mother snagged one on purpose. At the time, I was totally crushed. My heart sank and I was shocked right to the heart over it. I don't know which Dicksie since they're triplets. I was snagging them all the time anyway, at school and while playing. My sweater arm would catch them, or the trees I played near, or a brush, or a kid at school walking by. I don't know why I liked them so much but I loved them. They were thin and light and these huge hoops (it was the 80s), about the size of a dollar coin at least or a little larger and almost touched my shoulders. My Mom and I fought sometimes about things but then one day she deliberately put something through the hoop as I was walking by, and it caught the hoop and tore my earlobe down. When I looked at my Mom, she had this sadistic smirk on her face and I knew she did it on purpose. My shock was immediate. I never wore the earrings again and I never forgot what had happened. I said "Ouch!" loudly and my mother didn't say anything but I looked at her and I had seen her before she did it and she aimed. I mean, she made aim to be sure my earring caught and then she was happy about it and I took them out. I never wore them again. I may have been being "bratty" at the time or something, or haughty--I don't know, but it marked me, definitely. I wore them even when kids seemed to deliberately brush against me to clip an earring or when I played and did things by accident but after my Mom did this, and I was in so much pain from it, I never said a thing. I just took them out. I think I then offered them to my Mom and said she could have them if she wanted them because they tore my ears.
I didn't see that kind of earring again until CPS worker Michelle Erickson decided to be photographed in them for her official photo.
When I arrived in Coquille, Oregon in 2011, I noticed my mother had a pair like them too, which she wore until I started talking about Katie Middleton and how I knew she was involved in torture of me and my son and connected to people who were.
I used to ask my mother about wearing her wedding dress when I had my own wedding and she used to put me off saying it wouldn't really fit me. I used to say why wouldn't you let me wear yours? and I used to ask to try it on and it was never around and she kept claiming she had put away somewhere and I've never seen it. The last time I saw it was in Moses Lake, Washington where it looked like it was being packed up to go somewhere else. She tried it on again, once, the same way she was trying on all of these feathered and netted hats she was buying, and then it was gone. I was told, "Maybe you could wear Granny's dress." Then, as it turned out, Kate Middleton designed her dress to look like my mother's wedding dress except with a sharper neckline, maybe as a tout to the instruments used to cut the hell out of me.
I know Granny foresaw what was going to happen and I'm not sure if the reminders were placed out for me to see because of this or because someone was also forcing her to do this, so that later I'd remember all the "signs" and know how some horrible things were planned against me from the start.
There's 6 families, or minus Locklyn, 5, that were involved in programming me. I also remember the woman from the store here in Coquille, Oregon who had something to do with torturing me, and a nurse from Central Washington Hospital in Wenatchee that showed up the day I tried to commit suicide when I was 30. I also know Mexicans were involved. The training of turning my feet inwards with my toes pointing together and heels out, and in rolling my feet onto the sides and looking down, may have been from training by Japanese from the military base in Moses Lake, Wa. I was taught to look down or glance downwards and to roll my feet to the outer sides. The entire "shy Di" thing, via MK Ultra.
7. Melanie. The babysitter. She was another one.
The only reason Raul Bujanda knew anything about my programming was because of the same
"Mormons" he ridiculed. He made a snide comment about them, when he was getting part of his information from them, through the FBI. He lived near Robin Bechtold, who was in business with Mormons in Sherwood before he moved to Texas, and the Mormons there that worked with Bechtold and government, knew the ones from Moses Lake, from my childhood.
They played a major mind game--pretending they didn't like each other or the other's groups.
Also, Alan Springer not only lived on property that adjoined ours, he was the school psychologist. It was in 2nd grade that I was being beaten, brutally beaten. I believe one incidence was in 1st grade, but the principal of the entire elementary school took it upon himself to consult with the psychologist and then beat me in the privacy of his office with no one else present. I told my Mom about it and she said she didn't like the fact he just "spanked" me without permission from the parents. It wasn't a spanking--it was a beating. The psychologist was Mormon Alan Springer.
So when Mormon cops didn't respond to my reports that my son Oliver was being beaten and tortured and showing up at CPS visits with bruises all over--they had major conflicts of interest, along with Sibel, who was a Mormon and tried to kidnap my son from me before he was born.
The principal did not just use his hand to beat me, and humiliated me by asking me to expose my rear end to him, or turn to him, so he could beat me. I screamed but of course no one entered the room. I remember being so shocked and stunned, that this man who was supposed to be the leader of the entire school, took me into his private office and beat me.
Later when I ran away from that school, that same administration told me I had to speak to their psychologist.
I can tell a LOT of stories about government employees.
Return my son.
Here's the other thing. Before the public school beat the living daylights out of me, I was told no one has a right to spank a child except for the parents and that it was illegal if they did. So basically, the U.S. wanted to build my sense of trust in authority and then crush me.
Later, when I had my own son and was trying to report abuse and torture by state and federal officials and employees the Mormon cop and other cop stared at me and smirked, calling after me, "Ms. Garrett. Have you had your psych eval yet?" This was after they saw the evidence and tried to discredit me by calling my mental health into question. This is what the U.S. has been doing to me and my son. This comment reflected FBI Raul Bujanda's comment about his psych eval, and the fact he knew Mormons that were connected to the same people who programmed me in Moses Lake and tortured me there.
As far as I know, I still have a right to report child assault unless the statute for that is different from rape. It would go against the Moses Lake Public School District, Alan Springer, and the Principal at that time. The psychologist they later sent me to when I ran away from school--one of them was a woman.
So as I've said, going back decades, I have a LOT of dirt against a lot of individuals and government organizations. Which is how they all know eachother and spread information about me to target me repeatedly, and which is why the and their families, churches, and associates, have had a serious motive to try to kill me and to torture me and keep me out of money.
They are traitors and none of them lost work during any kind of "recession".
Oh, look what I found, while looking up the Moses Lake School District! Fowler.
Transportation Facility Nears Completion
Work on the Grant County Regional Transportation Cooperative Building is heading into the final months. Slated to open in time for the start of the 2013-2014 school year, the contractor, Fowler Construction of Richland, is working to coordinate those final details necessary for completion of this complicated project.
Sited on property owned by the school district just south of the athletic fields of Moses Lake High School, the Transportation Cooperative will share access to Yonezawa Boulevard with the Columbia Basin Technical Skills Center, another state funded project that looks like a giant erector set right now. Each of these projects is being funded through a combination of state and local funds. Other than the land, the total cost of construction of the Skills Center comes from the state. Funding for the Transportation Cooperative comes from the 2007 bond that also built Sage Point and Park Orchard Elementaries and the Chief Moses Middle School gym, along with a 90% match from the state. This match is available because of the cooperative working agreements with other local districts.
Within a few weeks, a finished exterior will replace the bright covering of the Transportation facility. When completed, parking will be available for the MLHS football fields, as well.
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UPDATED 8/9/13. I mention the Fowler Construction because it would be interesting to know if they are related to FBI Agent In Charge of Oregon--Gregory Fowler. Gregory Fowler is from NYC, where my recent batch of bad water came from that tasted like meat and was delivered to the only store in town I had been buying water from, and this deal with Fowler Construction was made by the Department of Transportation, which is being run by someone I know personally who screwed me over: Annette Sandberg. Her parents Jim and Shirley live in Moses Lake, Wa, where this construction is being done and where I grew up, and she became Chief of Police in Washington state and then took the top position with Transportation in Washington D.C. where all of her coworkers are former FBI agents. So obviously, I wonder about this.
I just got a reply from an officer recently, about who hit my car in 2003 and I was never given reports by my insurance company (Farmers) or the cops but I did remember the name Willenberg coming up later. The cop is telling me the person they identified is Byron O'Neil Willenberg but then they never prosecuted him--at all. I was never given a chance to see his photo and identify him or not, and I don't know that this is the Mexican-Hispanic man who ran into me, because that man was identified to me first as being "a Mexican uninsured driver" and he looked Mexican, and took off in the direction of where Raul Bujanda was living. They caught him supposedly because he went to an ER over his own injuries and I was told his wife owned a house and to go after her in a civil suit and no one would give me records. I would have to see the photo.
I remember the entire thing was completely shady. If it was this Byron person, and he just looked sort of Hispanic or something, I will know by seeing his photo. The other thing is that his name matches the name of one of CIA defector Edward Howard's aliases: Bryan Shannon O'Neal--something like that. It was one he used. So if this guy who hit me is an O'Neil, there was an O'Neil in Wenatchee,Wa who was horrific and also Christa Schneider's best friends were O'Neils. It is obvious that someone wanted this name of Byron O'Neil Willenberg out there for a reason, but what I was told first is the man was Mexican, and I didn't mix up that information.
So even if it was Willenberg and they picked him up on something else, I still had a right, as a victim, to see his photo and identify him and have records. I remember his face because he made a point to look at me hard, with this crazy, wild, gleeful look, as he aimed for my car, saw me ahead of time, and then rammed into it. Then, I'll never forget the look on his face as he backed out of my vehicle, grinning wildly and excitedly, making sure I got to see all of his teeth in his grin, and his red eyes, before he took off. He wasn't smiling, or smirking. It was a wide open mouth laughter. Crazy man who targeted the person he was assigned to "hit" in this job. It was a hit job and he did it and then thought it was hilarious. And he did this, right after I talked to Christa Schneider, who is best friends with O'Neils and asked me which direction I was going, where, and how long it would take. My opinion is that they might have thought it would be funny to cover over an actual person whose tracks led to the Department of Justice employees and use someone else as their scapegoat. But who knows. I will know with a photo.
So the other thing about the Principal of Garden Heights who beat me--he used a very hard yardstick as one of his instruments in beating me. It wasn't a short ruler, it a long stick he had in the corner. There was something else too, which I won't go into yet because I intend to make a formal report. Not sexual abuse, but more about the beating.
When I was made to see a psychologist or be interviewed by people after I ran away, I believe they hypnotized me at one point. Not while asking the questions at first but later, or drugged or medicated me. I know they asked me why I ran away, where I was going, why I was going there, did I talk to anyone, and did anyone ever hit me or spank me at home.
The people who gave me the "heads up" information that it was illegal for anyone but the parents to spank or hit a kid, were my parents. They kept mentioning this and talking about it and referring to it. So when I was there in his office and he was about to start hitting me I told "You can't do that, you're not my Mom or Dad" and he beat me. Basically, I had made my Mormon babysitter Tiffany "cry" by saying I wasn't going to bed on time because she couldn't tell me what to do because "you're not my Mom" and next thing I was being beaten to a pulp at a school with doors closed and no one responding to my screams. Why would my Mom and Dad make a big preface about how it was illegal prior to my being targeted? then the school was wanting to know if my Mom or Dad ever spanked me. The school beat on me, and then they wanted to know about my parents?
It seems to me, from the adult perspective I have now, that the school and my parents were playing "security" games of "you tell on me, I'll tell on you" as they both beat me up.
I wasn't being beaten my entire life. About the time Edward Howard defected from the CIA, I was beaten. I know there is evidence I was tortured as a baby and toddler, but then from about age 3-7 I was not being beat. I had a small swat or spanking occasionally, but not beating. All of a sudden, I was being beaten like someone came out of hiding and decided to thrash on me.
Also, after the Garden Heights school principal beat me in his offices, and I was beaten at home, it was about the same time Edward Howard was arrested in New Mexico for shooting holes into a car when men beat him up and the school had me punching holes into a tin pie plate that said "Home Sweet Home" on it.
I was beaten by my mother with a hairbrush, the hard back of a wood hairbrush, after several wooden spoons were broken on me. They tried various things. It was only "spankings" to the rear end and not slaps to the face, but they were beatings and instead of slaps to the face there were secretive methods of harming me, like tearing an earring out of my earlobe. Or not out, but down, to where it bled. My Dad first used a spoon too and then switched to a belt. It was a leather belt or a spoon when I was spanked. However, what was occasional spanking when I was a kid, and hardly nothing, turned into beatings. My Mom used to say, "Wait until your Dad gets home" and then I would be beat "harder" by him as if my mother didn't want the job. She was too busy finding ways to tear earrings from my ear. A few times my mother would scream around the corner and say something like "Bob, Bob, what are you doing? stop!" and then say it was a beating not a spanking. I thought my mother was rescuing me when I screamed, "Mom!" I think she was too busy setting up Kate Middleton's "hope chest". While they beat me they told me to "Hold still!" "If you don't hold still, it will hurt more." Beatings were between 6 and 30 strikes, depending on what was used and how hard. A "spanking" which I had occasionally, was up to maybe 5 strikes, with a bare hand. Occasionally, if the strikes were very hard, and with an instrument, that was also done later, but the beatings lasted longer. A spoon with holes on my bare rear once and left red dots all over my backside. My Mom used the spoon with the holes a few times and my Dad didn't and he used the belt later when all the spoons were breaking and my Mom tried using the belt but then had my Dad do it. The spoon with holes was a wood one with maybe 6 holes and the steel one had several. She has since denied ever using even the wooden spoon with holes on me but I remember it because I cringed with that one because it stung more. She used on my bare rear end a few times. One time when I was about 15 my Mom went after me and I held her arm to keep her from hitting me and said "Don't hit me" and then my brother later kicked holes into that wall we were near for some reason when he was mad. I did this with my Mom once and was beaten by my Dad.
I remember very clearly, being "set up" by my Mom to strangers...people who were strangers to me. She tried to tell them or told them directly, that I did that to the wall, as if I had assaulted her and knocked out parts of the wall in the process. What is odd, is later Monica Allen, who was supposed to be my "friend", in a totally different state (but still with government kids) did sort of repeat of this, I think based on information she got. I remember it was when the house was being shown to people or someone else came to look and asked about the wall and I was implicated and I had not been the one to kick a hole in the wall. My brother was, and he punched a hole in the wall once and kicked it in once, and oddly enough, he did this after I told my Mom to quit hitting me. Based on my understanding that there could have been audio surveillance at our house, and an attempt made to possibly "frame" me as being some horrible kid, it is actually possible my own brother was part of trying to set me up. It is possible because he was already holding up knives against me for one thing, which I didn't do back to him. The one time I kept my Mom from hitting me, it was next to that same wall and I can't remember what the noise was at all. I know maybe a year earlier ? or so, I had come home from school...it was in jr. high, and kicked off my slip-on flats and they had a hard heel (1/2 inch or so) on the bottom and it flew up and hit my Mom in the eye while she was on the phone, and that was the only time of a "kicking" event from me, though I was only kicking off my shoes and not aiming or trying to hurt anyone. After this, my mother found a way to lance one of my earrings from my ear, using a hanger she'd straightened out for some other reason to do it. It was like where you try to toss the ring around the ring-holder but instead, she used this hanger thing as a joust or ring holder to slip into the ring of the hoop in my ear and have it catch to drag it down, and it made a cut and I bled from it. I was horrified. She did to have me suffer with pain but she didn't think I'd notice and look back when I did as she aimed. If she had done it knowing I knew, I'd wonder what the point was, but instead, she was secretly trying to hurt me, and her aim was impeccable, and she did hurt me. It caused me to tilt my entire head to the side from the snag and the pain and when I checked in the mirror, I had a tear in my earlobe and bleeding. Instead of having two little dots where I had holes for my earrings I had one dot and a line on the other.
Then when I offered the earrings to my Mom, in the palm of my hand, she looked really guilty and I just said, "I don't want them". I think she didn't know if I had seen the look on her face or what she was doing before she did it. Chris Dabney's Jew-Bitch later wore the same kind of hoop earrings into the workplace when she knew I was there. The same ones my mother had torn from my ear. No one was wearing them over there in D.C. but her, and then when I got back to Washington, Michelle Erickson was wearing them and my mother started wearing a pair.
So when my brother got into a rage and kicked-punched holes into the wall later, after I kept my Mom from hitting me one time, I thought it was just a rage but I was shocked because he didn't do things like that. If he was already up to no-good, he was acting and using it as an excuse to put damage in the walls for my Mom to later suggest to others, was the result of my holding her arm by that wall to keep her from hitting me. My mother not only suggested it by word, but I remember the looks she gave people in our house, when they asked about it and she slowly looked over at me and then at them and nodded. Even though I couldn't have been more than 14 or 15 years old, I distinctly remember feeling shocked and panicked, like "Why is my Mom trying to suggest I did THAT?!" It was the same kind of shock as when it was hinted I should set a fire. I never forgot that my Mom did this to me, and wanted others to think I did the damage and I feel the only way to do this, if there is audio to it, is to edit out parts where I say, "What about Levi kicking in the wall on purpose?" (which, by the way, I remember Jim and Shirley Sandberg thought was GREAT). What it came down to was someone vandalized the house (my brother) in an act of "supposed" rage or anger and then I was set up to be blamed for it and what I think is conspicuous is the location. I think it was possibly being inferred somehow, somewhere, that this was what occurred during a "scuffle" against my own Mom, which is not true. Later she was even saying he never did that to the wall. So when I was in Sherwood, Oregon, right before I moved away from Sherwood to the East Coast, when Monica knew I was moving, she claimed she got mad at her Mom for wanting to divorce her Dad and punched in the wall. She punched it out in the same places where my brother had approximately. That wasn't like Monica either, and if anything, shows me she was definitely working with the government by that time, and Robin Bechtold (I know) had already recruited her brother, Nathan, and both Nathan and my brother (Levi) were friends with Eliza Bechtold. I also know the U.S. Army (or Marine) retiree who was an Art teacher, Mr. Douglas, loved my brother and smirked over at him a lot, but hated my guts. I can see why Mr. Douglas liked my brother because while he was stealing my paintings and giving them to people or selling them, my brother was stealing my school photos and yearbooks and giving them away and keeping them. I know for a fact that the Sandbergs encouraged my brother to work against me, and they rewarded him by doing special deals for him, while on the other hand, they used their influence to put ME in jail on false arrests and to be drugged and toxed out on Haldol. I say this because I specifically remember them laughing and joking and chiding him over it while then it was used to frame me. I can think back on it and even remember he wasn't that mad when he did it--he just did it. I said to him, "You are in BIG TROUBLE" when he did it, and then he never got in trouble. It was used to create a false idea about me instead. My brother was acting like an early-recruit Mossad agent by the time he was 12 and holding up knives against me. He's sneaky and he was also the one hurting me and then lying and saying I hurt him so I would be beaten and he wouldn't.
I have no doubt the U.S. would use him against me and because he resented some things I did when we were kids, he likes the ego boost enough to do it for others for certain reasons. I think he and Carmen probably both said bad things about me to CPS and state and government officials. It is even possible he'd try to help out on an assassination attempt against me and I don't know whether he knew Tony Roos or not. I have never trusted him around my son.
So my Dad started saying something to preface the spankings and beatings and it was to make a sad face and then say, "This hurts me more than it hurts you." First it was just beatings and then it turned into justified and more controlled beatings with "This hurts me more than it hurts you" and who was he saying this to? when I was the walking "surveillance ghost"? I mean, maybe he was hoping the message got relayed to someone else who would hear that I was being beaten to retaliate for "hurting" someone in the U.S. I have no idea. I finally screamed one day when I was maybe 11-13, "No it doesn't! It doesn't hurt YOU At ALL." I was tired of hearing "This hurts me more than it hurts you" as I was beaten forced to endure pain of beatings, courtesy the U.S. government. I was told "This hurts me more than it hurts you" and "You wait until Dad gets home", and before every beating, "Bend over." When I was elementary school aged I sometimes was told to "pull your pants down" so it was over my nude rear end, and the beatings were almost always in the middle of the living room. Later that wasn't done, at most of the beatings were in Moses Lake, because by the time we got to Sherwood, Oregon, I was 15 years old and still being subjected to "spankings" and I said "If you touch me again I'll call the police." I said 15 years old was too old to be spanked and it was abuse. So basically, then the U.S. was trying to kill me, and when that didn't work, they started torture by technology weapons instead, figuring if I couldn't be beat anymore, they'd use other methods. They included premeditated rape with that. Most of the extreme beatings were between age 7-13.
A few times I padded my pants in the back, so it wouldn't hurt as much and I was allowed to do this a few times, with magazines or several layers of pants when I was being told to "expect Dad when he's home". I even used books.
All that to say Ms. Reading of U.S. Welfare and My Child Labor Funds padded her bra out on her wedding day in a dress designed after my mother's dress. After all the years of my mother telling me to wear a padded bra, maybe Katie wanted to wear one just to show my mother and father her appreciation. My mother used to tell me, one of the excuses, for not wearing her wedding dress was that it would be too big in the bust for me.
I'm pretty sure some of my money from my forced work on a paper route at age 11 was going to her. Which would mean I was paying for Little Katie's nose wipes, while, of course, I was being encouraged to pick my own nose and eat my own boogers.
I mention being beaten because there were specific times it happened more than other times. I think it was part of the U.S. government torture against children routine and I do not believe it was just a family matter. The people beating me were doing it to control me over small things, and to punish and horrify someone who must have been told about it. One beating was by my Grandpa Baird, which I never forgot because it was so extreme and unexpected and he looked at me with hate before he did it. He was former U.S. Army. The other person was the Principal of the elementary school. My parents were the other ones. When my mother broke spoons over me, I laughed.
Later, it got to the point where I was beaten so much, when she broke the spoons, I felt laughter bubbling up and would laugh and laugh, and laugh.
Like God wanted me to be spanked. Bitch. One time she looked shocked and started laughing with me and couldn't continue spanking me.
They used solid wood spoons and wooden spoons with holes in them. I think once a metal spoon but not usually. Then it was the back of a hairbrush that looked like a dog grooming brush. They'd say, "Where's the spoon?" or "Where's the hairbrush?" or "Where's my belt?" One belt was broken over me too and that was quite a feat.
I am using this word "bitch" here because this was also used against me when I once used it about my Mom. They beat me, my property was stolen from me, and I forced to work in child labor, as I was starved and forced to sneak food at night, and doled out candy one at a time while the rest was eaten openly in front of me by my Mom, while my future was handed to someone else, and then I wasn't allowed to swear, while they had me sold out as a slave to the United States Government, if I barely thought of one small thing I could think to myself now and then, as a response, it was to think "bitch" and I didn't know they were psychic, but I'm sure it didn't endear me further to them. I didn't ever hate my Mom and still don't.
I remember enough things to put Katiekins in Jailee-kins for a long time because she's colluded with the same people who tortured me and my son.
Because I remember things, it was also motive to "get rid of" me by even my parents or a set of the twins-triplets.
If Edward Howard is really my biological Dad, I wonder if the "gypsy ghost" idea for Halloween was a way to photograph me with a sheet over my head as a threat from the U.S.
Spanking and beatings started, our Halloween costumes and trick-or-treating ended, and most of the fun things we did ended around the same time, which is about when Katie Middleton was born. Also, the U.S. instructed my parents, as I've said before, to have me start different 'lessons' and then force me out as if I was a quitter and to make it impossible for me to have any lessons. I wanted to be in ballet and that wasn't an option so I was also interested in gymnastics, and explained what happened the first week there, and it was the same thing no matter what. Then the piano lessons weren't by someone very good or with right material, and then on top of it, here is how I was allowed to practice: "Cameo, have you practiced? have you practiced piano today?" and nagging to practice when I was reading or doing something I enjoyed but then when I sat down at the piano, I was told, "Stop that noise." I was allowed to practice some, or to think of my own ideas, but other times I was told I could not practice because no one wanted to listen to it. Then we had a horse too and I got on it myself by climbing the fence and getting the horse to stand still next to it, and throwing my leg around her. Once or twice, I pulled up by her mane from the ground. I rode bareback and then I was told I couldn't ride either. It became something my mother did and I couldn't do.
I would also like to know why Katie chose Eliot ? Gould or Gouldings song "Your Song" for their first song at the wedding reception. For one thing, my Dad used to play a song he said he wrote for me, when I was a kid and he always said, "This is your song!" or "Here's your song!" and it was personalized about my name. It was about being a "reflection of God" and I've asked where it is and all of a sudden, my parents are saying, "Why do you want to know?"
God had the HELL beaten out of him.
Another person who beat me was Jim Sandberg, Annette (FBI-cop) Sandberg's Dad. He used switches cut off from trees to do it and no one had done that before. It was like a white willow tree. I also remember that for some odd reason, once at their house I was in front of their mirror in their bathroom and I had this instinct to write with a red lipstick all over it, while they were there. I can't imagine why I would do this unless it was because my subconscious remembered something that they were part of and I repeated the action there at their house. I remember this: part of my programming involved use of scripture verses from the Bible and they had memorization scripture verses there next to that mirror. It's possible I read one and the idea came to my mind to then write on the mirror in red lipstick, so obviously there was a trigger of some kind.
Another part of my programming is the exact same thing the U.S. has done to my son Oliver, with deliberate attempts to distort an actual pattern, disorder it, and mess it up, and then go back over with the pattern as it was. And use of reverse psychology and then switching it unexpectedly and punishing and torturing kids for not going with the switch-up.
The Bechtolds, in 1992, made a coy "offer" to have me live with them at their house, saying I should because I wasn't safe at my parent's house, and because they felt it was best for me, however they were never looking out for my best interests. They were mocking me over assassination attempts against me later, encouraging their son to rape me, and mocked me happily to my face saying "It's SO terrible you're HOMELESS now, Cameo" when I never said this of myself and Janet just felt good making the snide comment in 2004, after Edward Howard and Grandpa Garrett had died. Janet didn't come up with that comment until after my mother had threatened me with homelessness. So she was almost making a point, after my mother had angrily said something similar, about what she "could do" if she wanted to. I am not saying Janet and my Mom were friends, but it's possible Janet just fed off of what information she overheard.
ABOUT HOWARD GARRETT: Also, my Uncle Howard had something important to say about what was happening to me or he wouldn't have suddenly died from an attack by the U.S. that killed him. I am not 100% certain what angle he meant or what he was implying, but he said only a couple of things to me right before he was attacked and he never talked to me but asked to speak to me. I had told my parents it seemed like they just gave me a $10 whenever they wanted to get rid of me, or indicate they were done, which is what some motorcycle person did once and then it was repeated after. I'd done something that made them mad recently and my Dad said there's your $10 on the table and I had just picked it up when Howard called up. When I talked to him, he said how are you and I said fine and then he told me a joke that was racist, about Michelle Obama and Barak and how she looked or some joke about it. And then he, Howard, had said something to me about "a 10" or to do with 10 which spooked me because how did he know my Dad had just told me to take the ten dollar bill? When Howard said something about 10 I then realized for the first time ever, "My Uncle Howard is psychic too?" I was shocked. I was then tortured to have my tooth blown out later, after he died. If Howard was trying to tell me something, the only possibilities are something to do with Obama, or the 10 (I'm done) with a racial joke indicating my Dad (as my Dad makes those jokes and had just told me to pick up the 10), something to do with Hamilton, whose face is on a $10, or the idea of Middleton rather than Hamilton and something between her and my Dad or her and Obama. I looked up Hamilton and there was a Russian defector by that name, but it's probably more to do with my Dad or Obama. Or my Dad and Middleton possibly. That's if Howard was trying to go off of what set of information he thought I had, but if he thought I'd look up more about the 10 I can only think of the 10 corrupt judges someone talked about once who wanted to kill me, the $10 Richard and Helen demanded I leave for gas money one time (don't think that's it) or the fact that Hamilton worked with Japanese in Seattle and engaged in illicit sexual and programming routines with U.S. military personnel and defected (or was assumed to have). If it's 10 corrupt judges that wanted to kill me and the black man who told me this, combined with a racist joke about Michelle, ...
I know without any doubt my Uncle Howard gave me information that the U.S. thought he was divulging that would hurt them so they killed him. Yes, he had health problems, but that was an excuse.
I also know without any doubt he is psychic, even though he was supposedly an alcoholic and smoker (and was), but there is a very unbelievable and extraordinary capability that's run in my family (or my caretakers if I'm not biologically related) that has had them at the top of the psychic charts. This is something the U.S. will murder millions over. The U.S. would murder a million non-psychics to "possess" and control one valuable psychic because that person can make them billions of money and win wars and track races, and gambling bets, and corporations. The U.S. will also murder one person who threatens a psychic's existence, that works for them, for this reason, so if Howard suddenly said something they thought was too close to a mark, they'd kill him and get it over with.
I'm not a psychic--I'm just an incidental who deserved to have a normal life and not be used as a punching bag for the U.S. to get what they want. I want my son returned to me. It is very obvious I have a case against the U.S. of international child abduction and hostage-taking of myself and my son, for purposes of torture and trafficking and I can make claims with evidence all the way into my infancy and childhood.
My Uncle Howard had a bunch of Playboy magazines in the basement of his house in Spokane, even one with Marilyn Monroe. A whole stack of them. So I'll show you a miniature basement and a pin-up I have for my guinea pigs.
Like I've said, the webcam on this computer isn't worth anything but I'll explain the photos.
Here's the concrete block where the guinea pigs like to go, next to the papers I put down earlier today. I had it set up with the block underneath and a house on top but moved the house to clean.
Here's a photo of pin-up I taped to the door before Kipper had her babies, which Francis (the boy) especially liked looking at while he was eating his grass. It's from National Geographic (August 2011) and of a white "black" bear from Canada, and it says "mother of two cubs" and he eats grass facing it and looking at it.
Both Kipper and Francis are solid black colored so then it was a surprise they had 2 white ones and one caramel colored one. I put it up with branches and grass to give it a woodsy effect because they liked the grass and resemblance to the outdoors so I thought I'd add a photo and Francis loved it.
Someone in Russia had the same idea and was photographed with their fox in St. Petersburg.
Francis looks at the white bear pin-up the exact same way as this fox looks at the woman. Pretty intently.
So what do you think it was that my Uncle Howard was killed over?
And maybe someone could figure out how to return my son to me from an illegal kidnapping by the U.S. too.
((Oh yeah, and I forgot about Luann from Wenatchee, who spied across from my house on Methow where I was with my son. She got a brand new car out when she was leaving and it's when my son and I were first tortured there. (I just thought about it bc of the comics I looked at--anyway, something to write about later)) I only noticed because it was along the same trajectory of a string of people who spied on me and ended up with brand new vehicles out of it and that was being done in Oregon first and then in Washington too so someone knew people in both states. She had no teeth.)
On Katie Middleton:
Chris Rozollo is a Jew, in my opinion, not a Catholic. He told me he was Catholic and I believe he was lying. I do not believe he was lying about being in the U.S. Army however. He raped me, and he did so by date-rape of over-intoxication with red wine first. Then he stole my white coat from me. I can't say my white coat made it's way over to Middleton, but he stole it. I bring him up in connection to her because I believe he was pulling favors for her based on his Jewish and military contacts. He had two pairs of shorts and told me to choose one to sleep in when I had no housing. Both pairs had a "hidden" thread of a color inside of them. One pair had a red thread sewn into the inside when there was no red in the shorts or stitching, and the other pair had a blue thread sewn into it. He said, "You're SO observant! MOST people would never catch anything like that. SEE, you notice things other people don't."
I think Katie's little "blue line" she had sewn into the underside of her wedding dress, if this is true as reported, had nothing to do with Irish "luck" and was more of a thank you to cops. My parents had a movie at their house called "The thin blue line" about Canadian cops and how they all knew of a crime and concealed it. They had videotaped it onto a VCR years ago and kept it. A Thin Blue Line is also a British show about British cops, or cops for England. I think it was Katie's way of saying thank you to everyone in the U.S. and Canada, who tried to murder me, defamed me, tortured me, and lied, and paid her money and took money from me to give to her.
Chris Rozollo did not support the idea of my son being with me because my mothering and appearing stable was a threat to his group's political strategies. Also, they were already torturing my son and hypnotizing him and abusing him per the U.S. government.
Granny said to me, in 2004, "I have already put you in my will because I have told everyone I want you to have something. I want you to have the house because you don't have anyone." I asked her what she meant and she said "You don't have anyone to look after you." I never asked for, or discussed the "will" with her or inheritance but she brought it up often and then some of the family got extremely jealous when I actually cared for her and helped her. I never expected anything. What I wonder is if she meant I don't have anyone because Edward Howard had died, or if she was referring to something else.
I mean, what DO I have?
This country used my own family against me. Then they kidnapped my son from me. I don't know of anyone else that has been tortured and forced to suffer like this, in the U.S., as a U.S. citizen that had no part of their games.
When I was told to see Barbara Greenman, because she had some man from California who wanted to see me, it was like a big joke between them. He was talking about Disney but not really. She was just mocking me and my mother started crying as I sang for him and then they discussed me with him saying to Barb, "I can see her as a Snow White or a Cinderella". I said something about other characters and thought ("What about the little mermaid?") but no, he was set on Snow White or Cinderella. I didn't realize it was part of their ongoing Jewish Joke against me. It was a joke over one of my earliest photos of me in a witch costume next to my cousin Rory in a clown costume to make "Witch Clown?"
If you listen to the song from Cinderella, "Bibbity Bobbity Boo" the fairy godmother says something about "now, which gown?" Anyway. Which Gown was made into a joke of Which Clown.
Which is what this country has done to me and they want to do this to my SON?
GO TO HELL
Oh, and about Barb Greenman and that man, who heard me sing at the Assembly of God church, it isn't as though they didn't know about the photo of me and my cousin and weren't making jokes over it. I am not sure what the joke was? I should be Snow White, i.e, a ghost and die? I should be "Cinderella" and burn with military technology? They knew about the "Witch Clown" photo and then they had Suzanne Bozo calling me up to rent a room from me in 2002-2003. Like Bozo the Clown isn't a joke on its own, and she was from Hungary, and went to the Assembly of God church, which means she would know people who knew Barb Greenman, the Jew that knows and supports the Middletons. I had spies living with me all the time. Later, I found photos on Alvaro Pardo's computer, of him wearing a clown wig and all these people laughing in what I saw, in those photos, an anticipatory malicious way. They couldn't wait. They couldn't wait for me to get set up with their Bozo the Clown Pardo. Then Pardo was asking me "Are you a witch?" all the time when I never said or signified anything to do with it. He said it out loud for the amusement of others listening in, not me.
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Some of the child abuse against me by the U.S. that I've described included beatings by my parents (through U.S. instruction), and state and federal employees. It also included something that caused me to vomit and throw up all the time when I was younger. I didn't have seizures and this was never defined so I was throwing up for other reasons and it wasn't flu. I was also cut with knives and razors. I had guns held to my head. I was given LSD to trip on, after MK Ultra hearings concluded that program was "over". I had items inserted into my body for trafficking purposes for the U.S. government. I was put on forced starvation to the point that I had to steal food at night from our cupboards to sleep. I was blindfolded and tied up. I was electrocuted. I was tortured through technology weapons and remote accessing of microchip implants and wires the U.S. put in my body, to cause severe aching pain so I couldn't sleep. I was drugged. I was hypnotized by several individuals on several occasions. I had earrings deliberately torn from my ears. I had knives held up against me in threats. I was pushed through glass windows. I had a massive head injury from deliberate pressure at birth. I was raped and forced to perform oral sex for others as an infant and toddler. I was targeted by military technology to fall which broke my arm. I was targeted by military torture while sitting in front of my heater, to cause delayed speed reading. I was confined in a very small space for long periods of time as a toddler. That was some of the childhood physical torture. That was all before the age of 15.
Psychological torture and verbal abuse used against me as a child included the following:
(to be updated tomorrow)
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UPDATED 8/10/13
I am wondering which of the Dicksies is my mother because I remember her aiming to tear an earring out of my ear, aiming at me from the window when I fell from the tree and broke my arm, and cutting me with a razor or knife. That's on top of spankings/beatings by both her and my Dad and a few others. I do remember I gave her the earrings, but I also did confront her about when they were torn out and I said to her, "You did it on purpose" but I didn't say this when I was giving her the earrings. So after I let her know I knew she did it intentionally and talked about how one of my earring holes was a line now, she kept watching to see if they'd heal up and not be noticeable. Then someone gave me, or I got, some heavy earrings that dragged down and she seemed happier when they started to both go into more of a line appearance instead of the obvious line scar on the one ear where she tore me.
The first time, aside from both of them suggesting I set a fire, that I noticed her trying to set me up was over the damage or vandalism done to a wall, where she looked at the person who asked the question and redirected his attention to me, and stared at me and when he looked mad at me she looked at him again and nodded, as if to say, "Yes, she did that." I was shocked by that. While the beatings were not as bad when I began writing a diary at age 13, other forms of retaliation continued.
I believe I must have witnessed torture of adults along with myself being tortured, when I was very young. I think it was in a military or federal or Pemberton "underground hospital" setting. I've already thought this, but today I was looking for a place to board a horse and saw a man who had a mark on the side of his head and almost passed out. I would say, rather, I felt this sense of grotesque disgust and then nausea and a horrible bad feeling. The mark on his head was a round red dot. I would say, a little more than round, on him it was sort of oval, longer to the side, sort of like where the scars are on my temples by my forehead on either side. It was a surface redness of the top layer of skin appearing to be gone as if burned off and exposing red skin and blood (but no scab). I don't know how to explain I recognized that mark. It made me feel a sense of horror and extreme disgust as if it was so gruesome but I see worse than that and it doesn't bother me. To add to it, he was jabbering his lips around like someone who was losing control (a little) of their functions, and I felt nauseus as he talked. His voice was slightly like someone who had an affected gay accent, but not extremely affected maybe. The more he talked, with that wound on his temple, the sicker I felt, and I felt that way for about 10 minutes after talking to him. He also said the neighbors were Messerles (pronounced: mess-er-lee) and I felt more sick but that was possibly coincidental because I'm currently reading a book by Edward Lee Victor Howard, not to mention I could have had a connotation to something else for a reason). My reaction to seeing and hearing him--It made me think yes, I know I was electrocuted, and there is something about his voice that bothers me, but who else did I see, who was almost dying maybe, from being electrocuted by someone? And why electrocute ME and some man too? And have me SEE the man who was being electrocuted but maybe partly able to talk? I am positive I witnessed a grown man being tortured the same way I was.
Basically, it reinforced my feeling and belief that this country has treated me as an enemy my entire life, and my son as well, and they have had nothing better to do than violently and cruelly destroy us.
Then I was walking after this and two men in solid medium tan-brown, sort of khaki colored from head to toe and carrying a red cup and the other with something bright red, alarmed me and I crossed the street from having a bad feeling about them, which is possibly from subconsciously remembering seeing men walking together in pairs, wearing the same thing, in the area where I witnessed torture and was tortured myself.
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UPDATED: 8/11/13.
As you can see, I am not writing about all of this in a straight-forward linear way, but it's a way to put down some of the things that happened which I can draft over and rewrite later.
I was making coffee today and noticed the Torani that my mother took me to a store to buy specifically, several months ago, and this morning I noticed a ring around the castle drawing and that ring is about the same size and thinness of the earrings I wore that my mother tore out of my ear. They also did not have a regular back where you push the backing, a rubber or metal hole, into the earring part, but were the kind that hook and link so there was no chance of the back popping up with pressure, and any pull on it meant it tore through the ear. This is why the tear was so bad and nothing came off in the back of the earring to release it.
I feel, based on violence I've experienced by my own mother, she and her sister Holly and others would harm my son for the government, or some other group, the same way they harmed me. This made it easier for them to lie along with the state and police and others who tortured my son when he was removed from me.
The "pen-knife" Princess Diana potentially alluded to was, in one sense, or possibly, a knife my mother used to cut me because I remember her doing this. My arms are also all cut up and my belly button is, and I find it odd Robin Bechtold was the one who tried so insistently to have me get a piercing there. If I'd pierced there, it would have tampered with evidence of my having had an incision made there. It was Robin Bechtold who repeatedly attempted to convince me to have one done. My mother also received, as a gift from my Grandpa Garrett every year, "stationary". Blank paper to write on. She used to comment out loud that she didn't like it how Grandpa Garrett sent her stationary and sent my Dad money. She said, "He sends you money, like it's just you alone, and then he sends me a box of stationary." My Dad used to laugh and wave it in her face as a joke. I remember it because it was always coming up at gift times. So why would he send her stationary unless it was to imply she should use paper instead of the skin of her daughter to write on? In that sense, she was using a knife as a pen to both mark me and possibly use me for the U.S. to lay out the psychic prediction map or to send messages. I do remember my Dad's face maybe once, and he had to have been involved, but the person around all the time, if it wasn't my Dad beating me, was my Mom. It was no big deal to target a hit on my earring from my ear, when she was an experienced kids-skin-cutter. It wasn't just her, I'm sure. And like I said, there is more than one of the Dicksies, so I'm not sure which one. But it is a fact and also, when I began remembering these things or speaking out loud about it, it was motive to set me up to look bad or like I was violent, criminal, or dangerous, even as a kid. Why else encourage me to start fires or accuse me of being the one that put holes in a wall?
Believe me, I was so beaten down, the only person I physically hit was my brother, and usually, he was getting sneaky enough, he was finding weird ways to hurt me and then when if I defended myself or hit him for it (as a kid), he would run to my Mom and she would spank ME. He was actually very devious as a little boy. He was cute, and not prone to violence in general, and preferred to lie down on a soccer field and look at the bugs in the grass more than compete to a goal, but he was devious because he was already figuring out ways to hurt me and use it to his advantage. Later, he came out with knives to my face, and that was not secretive but it was only done when my Mom or Dad were not around. So she would say she "didn't believe it". Then when he did it in front of her, and I said, "Did you see that? I told you!" she didn't do anything about it.
One time, and I'm not sure why this was, but I had a camera and I liked taking pictures a lot when I was a kid. I had mostly disposable cameras and I don't remember ever having a real one, but I started buying them myself. I do think someone gave me the first one and it was 24 exposures. I took pictures all the time. I took them of family, of my room, of friends at camp and of my brother and pets. I took one once, of my brother while he was sleeping and thought it would make a good photo to put a bunch of play money in his hands and all over his bed. So I covered his bed with money like he was rolling in it. I later showed my parents and they loved it, but then years later, they would comment about it and I piped up and said, "I was the one who put all the money there!" and they didn't want me to say this and my Mom acted like I wasn't supposed to have staged it ever. I thought it was strange that if I said I had staged it for my photo, it was a big deal at all--why should my Mom care whether or not it was done naturally or I put it there myself for a photo? I remember my parents were telling this to the Sandbergs, years later after I did it, and they were saying how one time they walked in and Levi was covered with money and the Sandbergs were laughing over it, and then I piped up and said, "I did it." I said, "He wasn't playing with the money. I put it there for my picture" and I remember Shirley quit laughing and looked at me with an extremely uncomfortable sideways look. My parents said no, you didn't and they walked in and I said, "No, I put it there. I thought it would make a funny photo and I showed you the picture after I did too." And my parents were saying no you didn't and there was no such picture. The entire time, the Sandbergs were not laughing at all--especially Shirley. I had gone in, put money in his hands, all over him on the bed, took a photo, and waited for my parents to find him that way too, because I knew it was amusing. Then I was the one who had the photo from my camera and everyone knew I took it. My brother was maybe 7 years old, or about/almost the same age as when I got him his tubby bear. What I thought was odd was that years later, in recalling the story, no one wanted it to have anything to do with me. And I remember how weird Shirley acted, which I thought was strange. Then later when I mentioned the photo I took my Mom claimed she never saw it and I never took one and I did, because everyone thought it was so cute. It wasn't a mean photo, it was very cute and my brother liked it too. I didn't tell anyone I staged it, for a long time, because it was my own inside joke and amusement for myself but everyone saw I was the one that took the photo. I was laughing so hard as I put money all over his bed, I kept having to run out of his room to go to my room, laugh out loud, and then silence myself and go back to do more and take the photo. I was worried my laughing would alert someone. I also remember it wasn't the play money from the monopoly game. Someone had given him a stack of play money that was green and looked more like real money and that was what I put all over. I made sure he had some in his hand so it looked like he was holding onto to it too, because that made it funnier. My thought at the time, was to make it look like he'd been counting his money or got all this money and fell asleep while happily contemplating it. Sort of like the rich duck from the Donald Duck series that has all this money piled up. A "raining money" thing. I don't know--as a kid, it was hilarious. I also remember he had some kind of a football trophy on top of his headboard to the bed that someone gave him but I don't know what it was from. I remember Shirley Sandberg was not happy at the idea I spoke up when they were all talking about it years later, and I gave my own version of events.
I had tons of photos and I also had a sticker album even though no one really wanted me to have one. I probably would have been a stamp collector if someone had allowed it. I collected a bunch of stickers and saved them in an album and I don't know what happened to it. Someone stole all of those photos and all of the negatives for everything I ever took pictures of. I never threw them away--they were disappearing. I also never once took a photo and kept it a secret from anyone. When I took photos at my own house, my whole family saw them, and friends, and when I was a nanny, if I ever took pictures, I showed the parents all of them. I hid nothing from the parents of the kids I was a nanny for and had nothing to hide. So my photo taking was never for any reason other than that I enjoyed it.
So some of the psychological and other abuse I believe the U.S. government ordered against me, was as follows:
Holding me back academically, deliberately. While I could say, at first thought, that some of the things my parents did were just from normal parental "laziness" as any parent has, or "just doesn't feel like it" or whatever, which is completely understandable, this, combined with the fact my homework was stolen from me so I couldn't turn it in or get the grade, proves I was being deliberately dumbed down and held back from what the U.S. knew my potential to be. By age 4 I repeatedly asked my Mom to teach me how to read. I remember distinctly begging her, at age 3 or 4, to teach me the alphabet and go over ABCs with me and teach me to read. She refused and then when I finally learned some ABCs in preschool and she refused to teach me to read, it was always while she was reading herself, sitting in the large sofa chair, while I sat on the floor at her feet. My babysitter "Melanie" also had me sit on the floor at her feet, while she sat on the couch. I remember acutely, how many times my mother refused to teach me, because I wanted so badly to learn and because she was always flipping through a magazine or reading a book right there and talking to me from the side when she told me no. I finally asked why not and she said, "Just wait until school." She sat in the big sofa chair with a lamp on a table that was on top of a large speaker that had a top large enough to be a small table. She put her coffee cup there sometimes, and the reading light was there, and then I used to sit on the floor by the speaker, next to her, and ask. "Pleeeaaasse" I would say. It was the same location where I would sit with my legs stretched out in front of me because my knees would hurt so bad from "growing pangs". I sat to the right side of both my Mom in her chair and Melanie on the couch. I think I had a photo taken, later, of me sitting on the couch normally with my Dad and brother and a big smile on my face and I am wearing a shirt with a dog (or a kitten?) on it. I was basically being forced to sit to the right of my "master" like a dog, as a toddler. So in the one photo where I am sitting on the couch like normal with my Dad and brother, I am beaming with a big smile and I was about 4 years old. I must have felt really special, to be able to sit on the couch instead of on the floor like a dog. I'm on one side and my brother is on the other side with my Dad's arms stretched out across the back of the couch and an orange berry tree that I was targeted to fall from later, showing from the window that looked outside behind.
Later, I don't know that this was "holding me back" but I know when I looked at Christmas catalogs, I didn't just want girl-things. I wanted dolls and barbies and especially always wanted the Barbie car for my barbies, but I wanted a lot of scientific things. I wanted the bake ovens because it came with kits and things to bake in a "real oven", but I also wanted a microscope set with tubes and flasks and chemicals. I remember the grimaces from my parents over it. They didn't want me to have anything to do with science like that. I wanted the sea monkeys so I could see how they grew, and the x-ray glasses to see if it was really possible and worked, and the microscope and science experiment kits with all the chemicals. I wanted to create things with chemicals the same way as with baking. I wanted a microscope to see things closer-up. I also wanted the growing crystals to see how they grew from a solution. I used to read from the whole chemistry list and drool over it the same way I drooled over food baskets and imagined how great it would be to get a package of food every month with all kinds of cheeses and sausages and crackers and things. Anything with microscropes, slides, chemicals, tubes, vials, chemistry charts, ant farms, growing crystals, sea monkeys, bug collection kits, rock collections, and anything scientific like that was put out of my reach. I was not "allowed to want" those things. I could ask for a doll, yes. But I was not allowed to ask for the other things. I was told, flat-out, "no". And I did ask and point those things out. No matter how many times I said I wanted a chemistry set, I was told no or given such a harsh look of disapproval, I knew it was no. I also wanted different kinds of guns: water guns, target guns, and wasn't allowed those from a specific time either. It was okay for me to like money and play "pretend bank" though, and to like some artistic things. At some point though, someone was wanting me to use copy sheet (tracing) paper and paperdoll plates where you just rub out the design and not encouraging my own designs.
Next, my math was being discouraged deliberately to hold me back. I was one of the best students and I was as intellectual in math as in reading. I mostly did it all myself, but I sometimes had homework with question and asked my Dad to help me so he did. I liked sitting at the table with my Dad and working on my math problems, and then one day he said, "I don't know how to do it." I said, "Yes you do!" and he said, "No I don't." He was showing me to do it wrong, and I said, "No, it's not that way." Then he acted like he didn't know at all, when he did, and it wasn't hard math and said, "I can't help you anymore." My Dad told me he couldn't help me anymore around the same time my mother was suddenly using psychological pressure to tell me math wasn't for girls and why was I wasting my time studying math when I would never use it. She said, "All you need to know is adding and subtracting and maybe some times and division and you won't ever use the rest." I was pressured not to learn math or do my homework, or study, or be interested in it. The psychological pressure against my continuation in math was severe and I remember both my Dad said he couldn't help me anymore and my mother was using gender pressure excuses and saying how I didn't "need" it at the same time. This is when I was winning the top awards in school in math.
After 3rd grade, in 1983, which is the same year the CIA fired Edward Lee Victor Howard, and which is 1 year after Katie Middleton was born, I was being pressured out of math, and by 1985 it was severe pressure and my math studies were basically over, and then I was pulled out of school and didn't learn anything for a year. Prior to this, I was tied or #1 in the entire grade, in math, and they had different levels of math they put students into: "high math", "medium" and "low" and I was in the "high math" class.
I was a real "flyer".
I guess I've said in the past I was doing well enough in math then, or that I was "one of the best students" but actually, I was the #1 student in math. I wasn't in the "top 10"--I was #1.
At the exact same time, we were encouraged not to brush our teeth anymore either. In about 1983, all of a sudden, the bedtime routine of having to brush our teeth before bed, and in the morning, was gone. We were told not to and allowed to not brush when prior to this, we were made to, every night. I thought it was so strange...that disappearance of the U.S. Pentagon command, like clockwork, of "Time to brush your teeth!" "Time to get ready for bed! did you brush your teeth?"
We didn't have teeth anymore.
I was allowed to read and that was it. Read, play barbies, sing, make roads and tunnels and rivers in the dirt outside, and ride bikes. Later, they tried to push the most saccharine kind of reading by halfway-house authors like Janette Oak. Or the "Mandy" books which I liked at first and they took a weird turn.
At the same time I was being forced out of math and science, and from being the top student, I had my homework being stolen from me, which I began noticing, about this time as well.
I don't see how that can be "CLASSIFIED" as anything other than deliberate anti-competition and abuse of kids with revenge and hate crime motives. They even had their principal beat me privately in his office on one occasion while my parents were encouraged to take on beating me more at home and then all of them kept eachother's 'secrets'.
Because I know how far ahead of schedule my own son's development was, and how the U.S. tortured him, I know without any doubt that this country is bent on self-destruction. I was a "U.S. citizen" when they tortured and abused me as a kid, and practiced deliberate anti-competition against me, not just in elementary school, but then carrying it on as far as to federal and state courthouses when I was an adult. They did the exact same thing with my son. The United States is not blessed by God and is not a nation "under God"--they have some of the brightest or even some of the not as bright children, being raised to sit at their feet like dogs.
Other things that happened when I was a kid, was I was getting beaten so badly, all of a sudden it seemed, that I started trying to hide under my bed. I remember my Dad pulled me out by my legs, and then beat me.
I had some kind of a fear when I was a kid, at night, of an "alligator" or monster grabbing my legs from under the bed so I used to stand as far back from the bed as possible and jump into it so no one could grab my legs. When I now remember how I was being dragged around by my legs, from under my bed, to be beaten, it makes sense that I was afraid of "something". He used to say, later, when leaving for some reason: "See you later Alligator" and I was supposed to say back, "After Awhile Crocodile". I don't know if that was to hint that somehow, we're alike, but we are also different.
When I was throwing up all the time as a kid, I don't think all of it was psychosomatic or a reaction to seeing blood and remembering torture. I think some of it was because I was either being targeted by the U.S. government with technology that caused it, or I was being given something in food or drink that made me throw up. I do not believe it was all about "PTSD" as a kid because it wasn't happening when I was 3-5 as much as I remember it happening when I was slightly older, so the throwing up was started later and possibly around the time of 1982 again. If I threw up from seeing blood, I would have had that reaction earlier, not just throwing up later, though I don't dismiss this might have triggered nausea.
(UPDATED 8/14/13. Around this time I was throwing up, was mostly in the summer when it reoccurred. I wasn't in school. I remember throwing up something orange a lot. I also remember that around the time Edward Howard defected and Kate Middleton was born, my brother and I were not allowed to eat steak anymore. My parents still did, in front of us. I remember because they knew I loved steak and they were still grilling it for themselves but started giving me and my brother hot dogs. They had steak every week, a couple of times a week if I remember correctly. Around the time they began eating steak in front of us my mother was also eating candy in the car when we never got any. She ate m&ms, good & plenty's, skittles, raisinettes, and bit o honey. She would eat an entire bag in the car in front of us and if I asked for some, she'd give us maybe 3-4 pieces at most, rarely a little more than that, and usually, she'd pick out one single candy and drop it into our hand and say, "There. You have one." Several minutes later, watching her eat them, I might say, "Could we have more, please?" and we would literally be reduced to begging for a piece of candy and she'd then, after eating most of the bag, give us each one or two more. It was all the time. It was why, when I was asked what I wanted for my birthday, the only thing I could think of was to ask for candy. This was not something that happened once or twice, but more than once a week, and with a point of dropping as few as possible into our hands while we had to watch and smell her eating the rest of the candy in front of us. My brother was younger and sat right behind her but I sat in the back to the side of her and saw everything. In church, when my Dad had a roll of lifesavers, or mints, we all ate one at a time, and in the car, with my Mom, on a regular basis, she ate the entire bag, giving us only a couple so it was pretty mean to a kid, to see 2-3 times a week. It was all at the same time they told us we couldn't have sirloin steak anymore, but continued to eat it themselves, in front of us. They knew it was a big deal, to separate us from eating what we liked and were used to, to being forced to watch them continue eating what we liked, while we were downgraded to hot dogs. I spoke up about it at the time, saying, "I like steak. How come you used to let us eat steak with you all the time and now you're making us eat hot dogs when they're not as good?" The response was something like, "It's too expensive. You don't get to eat steak anymore. YOU get to eat hot dogs." "But I don't LIKE hot dogs. I like STEAK." "Tough. If you're hungry, you can have a hot dog." "How come YOU'RE still eating steak if it's too expensive?" And they sat there and ate steak in front of us, with the A-1 and Heinz 57 sauce, a few times a week. And I hated hot dogs and we were not offered anything else and around this time we had our caloric intake reduced anyway, to the point we were begging for food while they ate candy in the car. The food thing is not unusual as it's true of a lot of families, but with everything else, it was a bigger deal.
It was also when I was throwing up, without explanation, and my brother wasn't. It was only in the summer, not during the school year and usually in the middle of the day or early morning, not at night. I don't remember ever throwing up at night. I also remember around this time my mother used a letter opener that sliced open the top of the envelope. Whenever I used it, I didn't get a clean slice and it crinkled up the paper at the top, and then for some reason, my Mom quit letting me use it and then she quit using one and started introducing a long emery board for filing her nails instead. The letter opener looked like a pen and had a cap that went over it. The emery board was metal and shaped like a letter opener or slim knife, and had a pink handle. I know my Mom wasn't the only one to cut me because I remember my Dad doing it once and I saw him and was shocked by it because I was older. I think I might not remember the other times because I was trained not to look at him when he talked to me. My Mom I looked at, but not my Dad. I looked down, always. The times I remember they cut me it caught me by surprise and was something very small, either a razor concealed in the hand or a pen-knife where I didn't expect it to be something that was going to be used to cut me. I don't remember the rest and I think I maybe passed out after it happened because I remember nothing but shock and then nothing later. The letter opener was a big deal to me because it was a novelty I liked and I liked how it opened the envelopes so I used to open all the mail just to use it and my mother didn't like it. It was kept next to the mail on right side of the kitchen counter in a top drawer.)
Of course, when I was fleeing this country, for political asylum, Canada already knew about most of this. Canadians are as guilty as the U.S. for abducting and facilitating torture and treason against me and my son. They knew I did not just "go nuts" and start talking about torture in 2005 after reporting the FBI. They knew what was involved when I was a kid too and they knew what was done to my son Oliver.
There is no "room" or way around the fact that the U.S. is guilty of treason and torture, and they used my own parents to facilitate some of it.
Going back to yesterday's comments about feeling sick seeing the red dot on the man's temple and the mention of "mess-er-lee" I thought, maybe it's close to Mr. Lee, Monsier Lee," or "Miss Loree". I don't know. Maybe just Mess Loree. I have no idea.
Another thing done was I was told all the time, "This is a mess!" or "your room is a mess!" but it really wasn't that often and maybe was a way to try to erase another phrase someone thought I might remember. I know Halea Meyers, whose mother works at a prison, called me "Miss Cameo". Later Robin Bechtold, who is a government brat and rapist, wanted to bring up the movie "Misery" all the time around me. I think it was closer to mess-er-lee. My mother also said, "This is a pig-stye" and "clean up this mess!"
The other forms of psychological abuse were to implicate me as a slob. I am right now, because I have no space and I'm tortured and have no one else I live with. My actual nature, is a tendency to clean and yet my whole life, I was being put down as a "slob", and keeping my room a mess, and not taking care of things or returning them in worse shape than they were. "You don't take care of things." As a kid, I wasn't that bad and it wasn't until I was 18 and lived on my own that I realized it was all a lie to degrade and downgrade me.
The exact same thing was done regarding my professional abilities, with my mother saying, "You couldn't be a realtor because it's too much paperwork." So basically, Katie Middleton could handle paperwork, but not me. My mother constantly said I wasn't organized enough in my paperwork and couldn't handle the paperwork when I then went on to handle 3 lawsuits and the paperwork, single-handedly and had a file cabinet and labled files that were organized as well, until the U.S. began assaulting me again with military technology.
What the U.S. was doing to me as a child, they did to me in the same way but with worse measures, when I was an adult. They repeated themselves and repeated the cycle of systematic abuse and torture.
I also had nightmares as a kid, of violence. I had dreams of someone trying to kill my Dad for one. I also had dreams of adults--men and women, who behaved like monsters.
After my arm was broken to coincide with the day the President gave a speech about "strategic disarmorment", if I wasn't quietly reading in my bedroom, or not in school, I was told to be outside with my brother all day. At one point, when we were a little older, when I was maybe 11 or so and my brother was 8 or I was 12 and he was 9, we were told to leave the house in the morning, and find something to do outside and don't come back until dinner time. I used to say "What about lunch?" and was told, "You can come back for lunch and then you're out again." So we had breakfast, went outside and rode bikes or did chores or whatever, and then had lunch for a half hour and then we had to go back outside until 5 p.m.
What I remember with being trained like a dog, was even carried out to what side of the car I sat on. My car seat was placed on the right side in the back and I was sitting on the right side until one day, for whatever reason, my Dad wanted to switch it and told me to sit behind him and my brother was sitting on the right even though he had always been to the left. For me, it went with my being told to sit on the floor to the right side of my "master" like a dog would. From there, my babysitter Melanie sometimes even took out the stethoscope she had in her bag with her and put it around my neck. She would sit up on the couch, and then while I was forced to sit on the floor by her feet, she'd bring out the stethoscope. I now remember the animal on the shirt from the photo where I'm sitting on the couch with my Dad and it's of a kitten with whiskers sticking out to the sides. In our house dogs weren't allowed on the furniture but cats were. My Mom and Dad used to sing "How Much Is That Doggie In The Window" as well.
My mother's family is as much a part of this government game as my Dad's side has been, which is why I don't want my son with them. As you can see, they have blocked me from any contact with my son at all, while allowing each and every other member of the family, and total strangers, around him.
Some of the things my Dad used to say to me, was "Why can't you do anything right?" and "Can't you do ANYTHING right?!"
Most likely, since my mother told me, in my presence, to my face, about how I should be tested for giftedness, she was probably trying to relay a message by surveillance, knowing I was wired, about Katie Middleton. While my homework was being stolen from me, and I was being held back from things, one day my Mom said to me, in 1983, when Katie was a year old, "Mrs. Rosenow thinks you are gifted and should be tested." Later she brought up to me, when I asked why they didn't test me, or have me in the gifted program, I was told, "You don't do your homework. When you do your homework Mrs. Rosenow says you are gifted but you need to do your homework first."
So basically, the message that was sent through me, the "surveillance machine" was that someone else should be tested for giftedness which most likely went to Katie Middleton, about Katie Middleton and giftedness either meant intellectual or psychic. It was at that same time Katie Fallon was introduced to me as an excuse for being able to say the name "Katie". The message was in two parts, first that "Mrs. Rosenow thinks you're gifted and that you need to be tested" and then I was told "You can be in the gifted program but you don't even do your homework".
So it would be interesting to know who started testing Katie Middleton in 1983-1984 and/or began coaching her because my suspicion is that I was being deliberately dumbed down while she was getting personalized stationary.
To my knowledge, I was never "tested" for anything. I ran away from school after being beaten up by the school principal and then was forced to see a counselor, and that was before the comment by Rosenow. They beat me after Katie was born. With a yardstick. Maybe the pun was with "Yard-lee" like the brand Yardly and I was the dog in the yard.
Avon decided to celebrate Middleton and torture of me with their perfume "Flor" violetta which had a first ad that said "FLOR, violetta" and then the model Kate Del Castillo staring (who even looks like Kate Middleton from the front of the face). It was made to have it appear like Kate was telling violetta to go to the floor. Which, we can all guess where that idea came from. Katies idea of the little doggie that sits on the floor. Alvaro Pardo and his friends were the ones taking photos of me as a little girl in a violet frame, but only those who knew about my abuse would know how I was forced to sit on the floor and about my earring being torn out and other things. Avon is a magazine Granny had and sold for. It's sort of like Castillo for castle and Castillo for cast steal O and cast ee o, almost like my Mom casting the hook to snag my earring.
So what I'm wondering, is when Katie was being offered work in NYC, why she wanted to distance herself from NYC and be seen in California instead?
When I mention things from my childhood, I am not including normal things that kids go through, like how many times I fell or bruised my knee or scabbed something, or stepped on a nail or a bumblebee. That is normal and part of growing up--what I'm describing is what is obviously not normal and is government-sponsored and has been abuse and torture.
When I went to Canada, with my son, and they forced me into a dog crate, and told me to bend over to go into their dog crate, it was more abuse along the same lines, with those Canadian officials already knowing how I had been abused and treated as if I were literally a dog. My mother had a t-shirt that said, "The more I know men, the better I like my dog", and used to go downtown shopping in it with me next to her (but not my brother and I asked her once about it), and my Dad gave her one that was baseball style and white with two purple sleeves that said "30" on it, for her 30th birthday.
I guess actually, that shirt I wore had a puppy on it. The tail was short, not a cat's tail, but it had a face like a cat with long whiskers. It had a short dog tail though, so it was definitely a dog (puppy) shirt. I remember the day of that photos because I thought I was going to sit on the floor again and did, and then my Dad said to sit on the couch with him and I was so happy about it, that I got to sit on the couch! He patted the couch and said to sit up there and I remembered being so thrilled whenever I got to sit on the couch. I was used to sitting on the floor. What is odd, is that I was being told I could sit on the couch with my Dad, and I had a picture taken of me, beaming proudly, while wearing a puppy shirt, after I'd been forced to sit on the floor like a dog I guess most of my life. I think I still was told to sit on the floor even after this though, because I believe Melanie babysat after this time but maybe not. I know it was before school started that I was sitting on the floor next to my Mom's chair and by the couch with Melanie because I wanted to be taught to read and was told wait for school. Also, I was still sitting on the right. I sat on the right of my Dad on the couch, because that's how I was "trained".
Later, when my Grandpa Garrett married a 3rd time, we all heard about "How happy Belinda was because in Malaysia, the women have to walk 10 paces behind the men and Grandpa wanted her to walk right next to him, and she was really happy about that." My Mom and Dad talked back and forth to eachother about it in front of me, with my Dad saying something about "I guess in Malaysia the women walk 10 paces behind the men so when he wanted her to walk next to him, and said, 'come on! you can walk by me' she was surprised." My Mom said, "Boy she must have thought it was a pretty big deal!" and they talked back and forth about it. It was like they talked about this, in front of me, when the exact same thing was done to me but in the U.S. She also got married to him wearing a stack of bracelets up and down both of her arms, up to her elbows and I have scars from cuts in the same places. It is fairly amazing that my Grandpa chose a bride from another country that would represent what was done to me in some way. While some could say it was to counter what I would remember or was documented, it only reinforces the fact for me because I remember all of it. I remember the exact feeling I had when I was photographed wearing the dog shirt on the day I was told I could sit up on the couch and didn't have to sit on the floor. Maybe this is why seeing the photo of people sitting at Diana's feet in India impacted me and I didn't know why.
I remember when I was being told I could sit on the couch the seat was patted with a hand, the way a dog is told it can go somewhere, and then I began doing the same thing if I wanted the dogs on the couch--I'd pat the seat but my Mom always said, "No dogs on the furniture". The U.S. and Canada treated me like a dog, literally, for as long as they thought they'd get away with it. I think it's a little odd that William and Katie Middleton were photographed in public one day, both wearing dog cartoons on matching sweatshirts while chaining up their bikes. Like they really wear dog shirts for normal attire. When I was being beaten or spanked in the house in Moses Lake, I was told to bend over, which meant on the other side of the wall was the bathroom where the toilet was.
Granny used to tell me my birthstone was "opal" but I always thought of it as pink zircon. Then Katie named her dog lupo which is opal in reverse.
I am not sure why some in my family didn't want me to have kids of my own but I don't think they did, sometime after 2004. I know my parents suggested I abort my son, and Granny never wanted me to ever have children, saying, "It would be too hard on you". I used to say why was it fine for any other relative to have kids but not me?
I sometimes think it would be just great to discover I am directly connected to the throne of England and have a right to it over even William and Harry because that would be hilarious. I don't think this of course, but when people are repressing me from my own children and trying to steal my eggs and not telling me about my genealogy, it makes you wonder. Not to mention, even if americans don't care about English (or other) thrones, I am sure there is a natural right, by ancestry to the throne whether one is a citizen of that country or not. Which makes it really interesting for those royals who fled Europe for different reasons, to escape prejudice or persecution or death, who are more "royal" than some who took their places and papers. Any one of those individuals, if they found out or could prove they were the closest line, could take over the position from others there now. Most Americans wouldn't care or want to, but those who value their royal prestige or others who are American and prefer to feed off of and breach off of those they have assigned now, wouldn't like it. What if Joe, down the street, popped up and said, "Guess what everybody? I'm the heir. The rest of you, are sort of 5th and 6th in line, and I'm bringing my family in."
I don't think this is what it comes down to, but I am positive there is someone in the U.S. or more than one, who, if they wanted to, could take the seat of someone royal in a heartbeat.
My personal feeling about those who don't want me to have children or my own son, is they think they own me but can't control me and they don't like the competition because regardless of who I'm related to, they have been working very hard to dumb us down, in THIS country, out of hate crime, my entire life.
I feel that since one of the twin Bobs and triplet Dicksies have been involved in abuse against me, and I am the one punished and blocked from contact with my son--where people tried to get my entire family to isolate from me after 2004, there is obviously something amiss. It's obviously that very thing that "You don't want to know" about.
What is assumed, that I really don't want to know, about "how bad it is" already has something to do with part of what I do know and remember.
So why can't someone tell me the rest? What is left, that could really shock me? I already know some things about my family and I remember things, so what is so much worse than what I do already know?
Also, I had a flashback just now, from thinking about the photo of me on the couch next to my Dad, and I believe I was on a plane. I thought about the way my hands and arms were on the couch and remembered it was the way I sat during take off on a plane, like I thought we were going for a ride. I might have been traveling with my Dad on a plane back and forth from somewhere. This would be one of the Bob twins, and it would be before the age of 3. I can see and remember it from the expectancy of my face in the photo and my memory of that photo which I looked at so much. It was the take-off position or something and I was the same distance apart from my Dad as I would have been on a plane. It is possible I was being trafficked back and forth secretly from somewhere, up to the age of 3, and I would say it is also possible I was being carried back and forth in a dog cage or something first, before getting out and being allowed to sit on a plane seat or other seat.
I was small enough that I could have been made to sit with my arms around my legs, sitting, or curled up cradle-style in a suitcase, but if I was sitting at someone's feet all the time first, and then allowed on the couch or chair, it means carry-on luggage. Or, it means torture, with doctors above me, and then being on a plane or going somewhere. I had both my arms down and hands on the seat the way I had when getting ready for a ride at the carnival or fair, on a moving machine, but it's not how I sat in a car or truck. It was only other kinds of machines.
Because of the proximity to the airport where I lived, I'm sure the flights were international, and we were also going to Canada and could have easily taken a flight back and forth from inside of Canada as well. Which, from Canada as a Commonwealth, would make me part of the "royal flyers" club. Where the flights were going I'm not sure, but I didn't like the sight of men in tan brown with red at the waist. Whether that was military police, or the idea of other uniformed men, I had a reaction to it and one held something red at his waist level and the other had a bright red large plastic cup held at waist level, and the sight of these men locally where I'm at, triggered a feeling to move away from them and I said as I did, "You both have bad energy." The idea of two of them walking together suggests military because they buddy-up most of the time. I think, however, this is why the Mormons, in their 2-men teams, have enjoyed approaching me a lot and I think some of them have known all along. It's like they later showed up in my life, in other colors, to detract from the reality of what I experienced with abuse and torture and my seeing the two men in tan-brown with red and/or carrying cups towards me. So obviously it was some kind of a uniformed place where I was either afraid of because they were pilot or airplane people, or uniformed soldiers.
The U.S. is incapable of protecting me and my son, or has at least confined all their information and torture within a few organizations. The idea that it is contained information, however, is impossible, because media, movies, books, and advertisements have used information for partial inclusion of references to some of the extreme things that have been done to us. It is as if the information is considered so dangerous and "privileged" and illegal, that some who are connected to it, enjoy setting out a few references or inside jokes to "reward" those involved with "wink,wink" nods and jokes that they know will satisfy the appetites of sadists. It also feeds the egos of those who want to feel included in something secretive or who would feel more powerful or believe they are more powerful to be included.
This kind of grotesque knowledge of the worst things done to me, for example, were obtained by people like Robin Bechtold and even Monica Allen, who just seemed like normal high school kids from the start, or go back farther to Stephanie Maiers even, in jr. high...who would imagine? They were no different from my brother who was tested at how well he secretly pinched me or hit me and was able to make it appear as though I was the perpetrator, and then these government kids were rewarded with personal information about me that they were encouraged to exploit and use against me--for a feeling of satisfaction, inclusion, better work, and money. People like Robin Bechtold took information about child abuse done to me and then plotted to coordinate multiple rapes against me later, on top of everything else they knew. Josh Gatov? There are no other definitions for "predators" than people like this.
When I left this country for political asylum, anyone knew I had a right to it, and so did my son. We still do, and my son is not safe here. How safe is my son when he is with people that work for the government or are in such horrendous bondage to the government, torture and abuse is committed only by kicking his own mother to the curb.
My mother once said "That's where it started" when I mentioned going to the Netherlands. She meant euthanasia, as we were on the topic, but I later also intuited more about the comment later, because I know I was sexually abused as a baby and toddler and I believe that was also occurring in the "Netherlands" (so to speak, slang) before I was being electrocuted. However, I do not believe the electrocution was from someone jacking up a car battery and rudimentary home-bomb devices. It was professional and there is no doubt about it. The cutting could have been done as a group by anyone. Some of it is finer work and other parts are scratches. There is evidence however, of obvious "incision" marks in my skin that look identical to surgical incisions I've had for arthroscopic surgery and bone grafts. Also, the marks from electrodes do not look like amateur marks and are placed in a surgical way, in parallel measures, on my body. It was obviously a trained surgeon and doctor that had access to doing this. Yes, I have scars from cutting and I know my parents did some of it because I remember. But my parents are not surgeons and doctors and I have evidence of professional work that was done on my body that was to harm me.
I also have no other explanation, aside from the idea I am Edward Howard's biological child and not fully my Mom and Dad's, for why I am not psychic like the rest of them. All of the people on my Mom and Dad's side are psychic. Not a few--all of them. Except for me, and I don't know about my brother but never thought about him that way. I am the only one who is not a full-blown gifted psychic and there is no explanation for the anomaly except that I might be only half-biologically theirs (Howards, as they say, ELVH's) or it's because of the extreme electrocution and poisoning. I also know someone in my family had a major blow to the head, in 1979. To my knowledge, no one in my family had such a thing happen, unless my Dad got knocked out by a 2x4 once, hit on the head, and I do have some memory of someone hit like this once. Aside from this, I would be the one who had a blow to the head because of this country and it is likely the reason I am not psychic. 1979. I was 5 years old. I know things were done before then, but something happened to me potentially, in 1979. I was also about 5 years old when I had my guinea pig Squiggy, as well.
I am the only one who loves Oliver Garrett.
Not only that, I am the best argument against "capitalism" that anyone in the world could hope for. Not only has the U.S. proved it is not a democracy, it proves capitalism is a failure entirely and the entire basis for a political system in the U.S. is fully corrupt. It proves that instead of rewarding "hard work" and "competition" this is a country that punishes those who work hard and who are most skilled, intellectual, or gifted. It proves the U.S. is a military state, where the military and NASA are the only competitors. This is a country that has tortured me, one of their own citizens, when I had assets and valuable skills and talents to offer and enrich the country with. Instead, they impoverish themselves. They expect to do the same with my son, and already have to some extent, taking an extremely early-learner and intellectual and happy little boy and torturing him to reduce his potential and ability as they try to use him as a rubber doll for themselves instead, to cast off to the side of the road as they jump into their getaway car out of the Constitution and Bill of Rights and their "duties".
Don't blame a CIA defector for reflecting your own worth by throwing out a mirror so you can see yourselves for what you really are.
As long as this country has kidnapped my son from me, they reduced my time with him, secured him as a hostage with a family they already controlled, and then blocked me from having any and all contact with him while they threw a few photos now and then to show me and prove to me they continue torturing him.
Is that what they did with Edward Howard as well? I'm sure. "How much is that doggy in the window?" "The one with the waggley tail"...that's what they were singing into the surveillance ghost microphone.
"I do hope that doggie's for sale."
How much did the United States of America and Canada sell out for?
I just wrote a section about equality and how the U.S. does not have this any longer, and I was tortured while I wrote about it and then the section was deleted because these are people who are chickenshit, moral cowards who have less ability than those they torture and use the only thing they have at their disposal which is weapons. The U.S. concept of "equality" in case you forgot, is not about "leveling the playing field" with weapons when your kids turn out to be not as "bright" as the past generations have proved, as someone else's family. Equality means each person comes into the world with what they've got, no matter what it is, and has an equal and fair shot to do the best they can with that, and to make something of it. It doesn't mean going on hit squads to take out legs and arms of the best competitors because you're happy you're riding the military state's tank. It also doesn't mean you collude with a bunch of government kids to rape a woman who pissed you off because she made you feel inferior when you were a high school punk.
Anyone can see, by some of what I've described was done to me as a kid, that the goal has not been "intelligence" or security aims. It's been degradation of people who you always worried would be better than you, and were, even with your best efforts of repression, and who still are which is why you're so pissed all you can think about is how to get your next "torture fix". I will always be better than this country. My son will always be better than this country. There is no chance this country can even make it past my shins, without more than the military telling them to pull themselves up by their bootstraps.
Freedom of speech is an absolute right and no one changed that law. Torture and assault have never been rights. You can torture me and cut me up and assault me and rape me and use me and then act "angry" if I insult one of your kids or use a verbal attack because of things you've been pulling with me, but I am always within my legal rights. I am cloaked with Freedom of Speech and it's legal, while you drip in blood that says "innocent victims" and commit crimes against your own citizens with no legal right.
The minute I quit reporting on factual events, this country (the guilty who I switched to addressing) began torturing me again, figuring if I'm done with those facts and that's what I have to report now, they are done with the facts, not interested in my political lecture that chills their bones, and they torture me. They can't stand anything remotely "oratory". It reminds them too much of when I took their asses to court.
They also don't like my bringing up the fact they are now engaged in warfare and torture against a little boy named Oliver Garrett who the United States of America hates. The United States detests and loathes Oliver Garrett and they hate him more than they hate enemy combatants in foreign countries. The United States and Canada hate every single hair on my son's body and every cell he is made of, and they want him a living martyr, like Middleton of England does. They don't want him to be a moral martyr and have sympathy, they want him frying alive and want to have the smell of his skin wafting into their nostrils.
That is how much the U.S. hates and loathes my son Oliver. This country and Canada, began targeting my son and torturing him before he was even born...they imagined his existence and what he would be like and hated him and every single demon in the Pentagon, NASA, and White House cringed when they found out how smart he was after he was born, even after what they'd already done to him with torture in the womb and at childbirth. Malcolm Butler looked at him and all he saw was something to kill. There is no possible way anyone can claim the U.S. is "disinterested" in Oliver, or that "they like him". They do not like him. Their behavior is not that of a country that "likes" its citizen. They are also not "disinterested" when they put millions of dollars into targeting him before he was even 1 year old. The United States hates him and wanted my own eggs exterminated or sold to them as government-seized property for the U.S. Marines who have sought revenge for Robert Garrett Sr. going AWOL ever since he left in the 40s. They HATE him. They HATE Edward Howard. They hate ME with every government bone and marrow and blood running through NASA and the NSA. Jews, who are supposed to be more 'sympathetic' on account of their own historic suffering, see me as phenomenal threat against them and hate me. They have tried to assassinate me more than one time. These people who hate me and my son, are not halfway-haters. They hate with only one motive and idea running in their minds to excite them and that is to have us tortured and suffering and to work out and devise the best plans for the most cruel forms of humiliation and disgrace.
This country has used my mother's family to separate me from my own son, and block him from having any contact with me, and they used my father's family in the same way. They did this, knowing they could control my parents when my own parents used knives on me when I was a kid.
My own mother, or one of the Dicksies, even worked out some bizarre idea of throwing what looked like urine across her arm at me before Katie Middleton's baby was born, in an angry form of retaliation over comments I made about Middleton. She opened the door, and tossed it out to fall over her arm like a waterfall or "muff" of gall. As she did this, she made a comment or made it clear to me why she was doing this and what it was over. It was one of her hurrahs at the idea of a comment I made on a blog post a long time ago, about reading about some voodoo woman who said she could "overthrow" the best of the best. My mother threw what looked like urine or gall over her arm, from her waist, and I knew it was intended to me and then my Dad had me read some scripture referencing it later, when the baby was born and then the name turned out with the acronym GAL.
When I have a mother, one of them, who is trying to frame me for things when I was 13 or 14, and aiming for me from the window when I was 8 so I slipped and broke my arm (not voodoo--military) and a Dad suggesting I get myself into trouble by setting a house fire, and when they were setting me up to be disappointed in authority and government from the start, by first telling me it's illegal for a stranger to spank a kid, and knowing the school principal would then beat me while I had this belief,...
What good do you think this country EVER had in store for me? They made promises to Edward Howard, I'm positive. And to one other person maybe. But this country has deliberately set me up to be isolated and removed and hunted by my own family.
What kind of country sets up a newborn baby to be hunted against by their own family?
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UPDATED 8/9/13. I mention the Fowler Construction because it would be interesting to know if they are related to FBI Agent In Charge of Oregon--Gregory Fowler. Gregory Fowler is from NYC, where my recent batch of bad water came from that tasted like meat and was delivered to the only store in town I had been buying water from, and this deal with Fowler Construction was made by the Department of Transportation, which is being run by someone I know personally who screwed me over: Annette Sandberg. Her parents Jim and Shirley live in Moses Lake, Wa, where this construction is being done and where I grew up, and she became Chief of Police in Washington state and then took the top position with Transportation in Washington D.C. where all of her coworkers are former FBI agents. So obviously, I wonder about this.
I just got a reply from an officer recently, about who hit my car in 2003 and I was never given reports by my insurance company (Farmers) or the cops but I did remember the name Willenberg coming up later. The cop is telling me the person they identified is Byron O'Neil Willenberg but then they never prosecuted him--at all. I was never given a chance to see his photo and identify him or not, and I don't know that this is the Mexican-Hispanic man who ran into me, because that man was identified to me first as being "a Mexican uninsured driver" and he looked Mexican, and took off in the direction of where Raul Bujanda was living. They caught him supposedly because he went to an ER over his own injuries and I was told his wife owned a house and to go after her in a civil suit and no one would give me records. I would have to see the photo.
I remember the entire thing was completely shady. If it was this Byron person, and he just looked sort of Hispanic or something, I will know by seeing his photo. The other thing is that his name matches the name of one of CIA defector Edward Howard's aliases: Bryan Shannon O'Neal--something like that. It was one he used. So if this guy who hit me is an O'Neil, there was an O'Neil in Wenatchee,Wa who was horrific and also Christa Schneider's best friends were O'Neils. It is obvious that someone wanted this name of Byron O'Neil Willenberg out there for a reason, but what I was told first is the man was Mexican, and I didn't mix up that information.
So even if it was Willenberg and they picked him up on something else, I still had a right, as a victim, to see his photo and identify him and have records. I remember his face because he made a point to look at me hard, with this crazy, wild, gleeful look, as he aimed for my car, saw me ahead of time, and then rammed into it. Then, I'll never forget the look on his face as he backed out of my vehicle, grinning wildly and excitedly, making sure I got to see all of his teeth in his grin, and his red eyes, before he took off. He wasn't smiling, or smirking. It was a wide open mouth laughter. Crazy man who targeted the person he was assigned to "hit" in this job. It was a hit job and he did it and then thought it was hilarious. And he did this, right after I talked to Christa Schneider, who is best friends with O'Neils and asked me which direction I was going, where, and how long it would take. My opinion is that they might have thought it would be funny to cover over an actual person whose tracks led to the Department of Justice employees and use someone else as their scapegoat. But who knows. I will know with a photo.
So the other thing about the Principal of Garden Heights who beat me--he used a very hard yardstick as one of his instruments in beating me. It wasn't a short ruler, it a long stick he had in the corner. There was something else too, which I won't go into yet because I intend to make a formal report. Not sexual abuse, but more about the beating.
When I was made to see a psychologist or be interviewed by people after I ran away, I believe they hypnotized me at one point. Not while asking the questions at first but later, or drugged or medicated me. I know they asked me why I ran away, where I was going, why I was going there, did I talk to anyone, and did anyone ever hit me or spank me at home.
The people who gave me the "heads up" information that it was illegal for anyone but the parents to spank or hit a kid, were my parents. They kept mentioning this and talking about it and referring to it. So when I was there in his office and he was about to start hitting me I told "You can't do that, you're not my Mom or Dad" and he beat me. Basically, I had made my Mormon babysitter Tiffany "cry" by saying I wasn't going to bed on time because she couldn't tell me what to do because "you're not my Mom" and next thing I was being beaten to a pulp at a school with doors closed and no one responding to my screams. Why would my Mom and Dad make a big preface about how it was illegal prior to my being targeted? then the school was wanting to know if my Mom or Dad ever spanked me. The school beat on me, and then they wanted to know about my parents?
It seems to me, from the adult perspective I have now, that the school and my parents were playing "security" games of "you tell on me, I'll tell on you" as they both beat me up.
I wasn't being beaten my entire life. About the time Edward Howard defected from the CIA, I was beaten. I know there is evidence I was tortured as a baby and toddler, but then from about age 3-7 I was not being beat. I had a small swat or spanking occasionally, but not beating. All of a sudden, I was being beaten like someone came out of hiding and decided to thrash on me.
Also, after the Garden Heights school principal beat me in his offices, and I was beaten at home, it was about the same time Edward Howard was arrested in New Mexico for shooting holes into a car when men beat him up and the school had me punching holes into a tin pie plate that said "Home Sweet Home" on it.
I was beaten by my mother with a hairbrush, the hard back of a wood hairbrush, after several wooden spoons were broken on me. They tried various things. It was only "spankings" to the rear end and not slaps to the face, but they were beatings and instead of slaps to the face there were secretive methods of harming me, like tearing an earring out of my earlobe. Or not out, but down, to where it bled. My Dad first used a spoon too and then switched to a belt. It was a leather belt or a spoon when I was spanked. However, what was occasional spanking when I was a kid, and hardly nothing, turned into beatings. My Mom used to say, "Wait until your Dad gets home" and then I would be beat "harder" by him as if my mother didn't want the job. She was too busy finding ways to tear earrings from my ear. A few times my mother would scream around the corner and say something like "Bob, Bob, what are you doing? stop!" and then say it was a beating not a spanking. I thought my mother was rescuing me when I screamed, "Mom!" I think she was too busy setting up Kate Middleton's "hope chest". While they beat me they told me to "Hold still!" "If you don't hold still, it will hurt more." Beatings were between 6 and 30 strikes, depending on what was used and how hard. A "spanking" which I had occasionally, was up to maybe 5 strikes, with a bare hand. Occasionally, if the strikes were very hard, and with an instrument, that was also done later, but the beatings lasted longer. A spoon with holes on my bare rear once and left red dots all over my backside. My Mom used the spoon with the holes a few times and my Dad didn't and he used the belt later when all the spoons were breaking and my Mom tried using the belt but then had my Dad do it. The spoon with holes was a wood one with maybe 6 holes and the steel one had several. She has since denied ever using even the wooden spoon with holes on me but I remember it because I cringed with that one because it stung more. She used on my bare rear end a few times. One time when I was about 15 my Mom went after me and I held her arm to keep her from hitting me and said "Don't hit me" and then my brother later kicked holes into that wall we were near for some reason when he was mad. I did this with my Mom once and was beaten by my Dad.
I remember very clearly, being "set up" by my Mom to strangers...people who were strangers to me. She tried to tell them or told them directly, that I did that to the wall, as if I had assaulted her and knocked out parts of the wall in the process. What is odd, is later Monica Allen, who was supposed to be my "friend", in a totally different state (but still with government kids) did sort of repeat of this, I think based on information she got. I remember it was when the house was being shown to people or someone else came to look and asked about the wall and I was implicated and I had not been the one to kick a hole in the wall. My brother was, and he punched a hole in the wall once and kicked it in once, and oddly enough, he did this after I told my Mom to quit hitting me. Based on my understanding that there could have been audio surveillance at our house, and an attempt made to possibly "frame" me as being some horrible kid, it is actually possible my own brother was part of trying to set me up. It is possible because he was already holding up knives against me for one thing, which I didn't do back to him. The one time I kept my Mom from hitting me, it was next to that same wall and I can't remember what the noise was at all. I know maybe a year earlier ? or so, I had come home from school...it was in jr. high, and kicked off my slip-on flats and they had a hard heel (1/2 inch or so) on the bottom and it flew up and hit my Mom in the eye while she was on the phone, and that was the only time of a "kicking" event from me, though I was only kicking off my shoes and not aiming or trying to hurt anyone. After this, my mother found a way to lance one of my earrings from my ear, using a hanger she'd straightened out for some other reason to do it. It was like where you try to toss the ring around the ring-holder but instead, she used this hanger thing as a joust or ring holder to slip into the ring of the hoop in my ear and have it catch to drag it down, and it made a cut and I bled from it. I was horrified. She did to have me suffer with pain but she didn't think I'd notice and look back when I did as she aimed. If she had done it knowing I knew, I'd wonder what the point was, but instead, she was secretly trying to hurt me, and her aim was impeccable, and she did hurt me. It caused me to tilt my entire head to the side from the snag and the pain and when I checked in the mirror, I had a tear in my earlobe and bleeding. Instead of having two little dots where I had holes for my earrings I had one dot and a line on the other.
Then when I offered the earrings to my Mom, in the palm of my hand, she looked really guilty and I just said, "I don't want them". I think she didn't know if I had seen the look on her face or what she was doing before she did it. Chris Dabney's Jew-Bitch later wore the same kind of hoop earrings into the workplace when she knew I was there. The same ones my mother had torn from my ear. No one was wearing them over there in D.C. but her, and then when I got back to Washington, Michelle Erickson was wearing them and my mother started wearing a pair.
So when my brother got into a rage and kicked-punched holes into the wall later, after I kept my Mom from hitting me one time, I thought it was just a rage but I was shocked because he didn't do things like that. If he was already up to no-good, he was acting and using it as an excuse to put damage in the walls for my Mom to later suggest to others, was the result of my holding her arm by that wall to keep her from hitting me. My mother not only suggested it by word, but I remember the looks she gave people in our house, when they asked about it and she slowly looked over at me and then at them and nodded. Even though I couldn't have been more than 14 or 15 years old, I distinctly remember feeling shocked and panicked, like "Why is my Mom trying to suggest I did THAT?!" It was the same kind of shock as when it was hinted I should set a fire. I never forgot that my Mom did this to me, and wanted others to think I did the damage and I feel the only way to do this, if there is audio to it, is to edit out parts where I say, "What about Levi kicking in the wall on purpose?" (which, by the way, I remember Jim and Shirley Sandberg thought was GREAT). What it came down to was someone vandalized the house (my brother) in an act of "supposed" rage or anger and then I was set up to be blamed for it and what I think is conspicuous is the location. I think it was possibly being inferred somehow, somewhere, that this was what occurred during a "scuffle" against my own Mom, which is not true. Later she was even saying he never did that to the wall. So when I was in Sherwood, Oregon, right before I moved away from Sherwood to the East Coast, when Monica knew I was moving, she claimed she got mad at her Mom for wanting to divorce her Dad and punched in the wall. She punched it out in the same places where my brother had approximately. That wasn't like Monica either, and if anything, shows me she was definitely working with the government by that time, and Robin Bechtold (I know) had already recruited her brother, Nathan, and both Nathan and my brother (Levi) were friends with Eliza Bechtold. I also know the U.S. Army (or Marine) retiree who was an Art teacher, Mr. Douglas, loved my brother and smirked over at him a lot, but hated my guts. I can see why Mr. Douglas liked my brother because while he was stealing my paintings and giving them to people or selling them, my brother was stealing my school photos and yearbooks and giving them away and keeping them. I know for a fact that the Sandbergs encouraged my brother to work against me, and they rewarded him by doing special deals for him, while on the other hand, they used their influence to put ME in jail on false arrests and to be drugged and toxed out on Haldol. I say this because I specifically remember them laughing and joking and chiding him over it while then it was used to frame me. I can think back on it and even remember he wasn't that mad when he did it--he just did it. I said to him, "You are in BIG TROUBLE" when he did it, and then he never got in trouble. It was used to create a false idea about me instead. My brother was acting like an early-recruit Mossad agent by the time he was 12 and holding up knives against me. He's sneaky and he was also the one hurting me and then lying and saying I hurt him so I would be beaten and he wouldn't.
I have no doubt the U.S. would use him against me and because he resented some things I did when we were kids, he likes the ego boost enough to do it for others for certain reasons. I think he and Carmen probably both said bad things about me to CPS and state and government officials. It is even possible he'd try to help out on an assassination attempt against me and I don't know whether he knew Tony Roos or not. I have never trusted him around my son.
So my Dad started saying something to preface the spankings and beatings and it was to make a sad face and then say, "This hurts me more than it hurts you." First it was just beatings and then it turned into justified and more controlled beatings with "This hurts me more than it hurts you" and who was he saying this to? when I was the walking "surveillance ghost"? I mean, maybe he was hoping the message got relayed to someone else who would hear that I was being beaten to retaliate for "hurting" someone in the U.S. I have no idea. I finally screamed one day when I was maybe 11-13, "No it doesn't! It doesn't hurt YOU At ALL." I was tired of hearing "This hurts me more than it hurts you" as I was beaten forced to endure pain of beatings, courtesy the U.S. government. I was told "This hurts me more than it hurts you" and "You wait until Dad gets home", and before every beating, "Bend over." When I was elementary school aged I sometimes was told to "pull your pants down" so it was over my nude rear end, and the beatings were almost always in the middle of the living room. Later that wasn't done, at most of the beatings were in Moses Lake, because by the time we got to Sherwood, Oregon, I was 15 years old and still being subjected to "spankings" and I said "If you touch me again I'll call the police." I said 15 years old was too old to be spanked and it was abuse. So basically, then the U.S. was trying to kill me, and when that didn't work, they started torture by technology weapons instead, figuring if I couldn't be beat anymore, they'd use other methods. They included premeditated rape with that. Most of the extreme beatings were between age 7-13.
A few times I padded my pants in the back, so it wouldn't hurt as much and I was allowed to do this a few times, with magazines or several layers of pants when I was being told to "expect Dad when he's home". I even used books.
All that to say Ms. Reading of U.S. Welfare and My Child Labor Funds padded her bra out on her wedding day in a dress designed after my mother's dress. After all the years of my mother telling me to wear a padded bra, maybe Katie wanted to wear one just to show my mother and father her appreciation. My mother used to tell me, one of the excuses, for not wearing her wedding dress was that it would be too big in the bust for me.
I'm pretty sure some of my money from my forced work on a paper route at age 11 was going to her. Which would mean I was paying for Little Katie's nose wipes, while, of course, I was being encouraged to pick my own nose and eat my own boogers.
I mention being beaten because there were specific times it happened more than other times. I think it was part of the U.S. government torture against children routine and I do not believe it was just a family matter. The people beating me were doing it to control me over small things, and to punish and horrify someone who must have been told about it. One beating was by my Grandpa Baird, which I never forgot because it was so extreme and unexpected and he looked at me with hate before he did it. He was former U.S. Army. The other person was the Principal of the elementary school. My parents were the other ones. When my mother broke spoons over me, I laughed.
Later, it got to the point where I was beaten so much, when she broke the spoons, I felt laughter bubbling up and would laugh and laugh, and laugh.
Like God wanted me to be spanked. Bitch. One time she looked shocked and started laughing with me and couldn't continue spanking me.
They used solid wood spoons and wooden spoons with holes in them. I think once a metal spoon but not usually. Then it was the back of a hairbrush that looked like a dog grooming brush. They'd say, "Where's the spoon?" or "Where's the hairbrush?" or "Where's my belt?" One belt was broken over me too and that was quite a feat.
I am using this word "bitch" here because this was also used against me when I once used it about my Mom. They beat me, my property was stolen from me, and I forced to work in child labor, as I was starved and forced to sneak food at night, and doled out candy one at a time while the rest was eaten openly in front of me by my Mom, while my future was handed to someone else, and then I wasn't allowed to swear, while they had me sold out as a slave to the United States Government, if I barely thought of one small thing I could think to myself now and then, as a response, it was to think "bitch" and I didn't know they were psychic, but I'm sure it didn't endear me further to them. I didn't ever hate my Mom and still don't.
I remember enough things to put Katiekins in Jailee-kins for a long time because she's colluded with the same people who tortured me and my son.
Because I remember things, it was also motive to "get rid of" me by even my parents or a set of the twins-triplets.
If Edward Howard is really my biological Dad, I wonder if the "gypsy ghost" idea for Halloween was a way to photograph me with a sheet over my head as a threat from the U.S.
Spanking and beatings started, our Halloween costumes and trick-or-treating ended, and most of the fun things we did ended around the same time, which is about when Katie Middleton was born. Also, the U.S. instructed my parents, as I've said before, to have me start different 'lessons' and then force me out as if I was a quitter and to make it impossible for me to have any lessons. I wanted to be in ballet and that wasn't an option so I was also interested in gymnastics, and explained what happened the first week there, and it was the same thing no matter what. Then the piano lessons weren't by someone very good or with right material, and then on top of it, here is how I was allowed to practice: "Cameo, have you practiced? have you practiced piano today?" and nagging to practice when I was reading or doing something I enjoyed but then when I sat down at the piano, I was told, "Stop that noise." I was allowed to practice some, or to think of my own ideas, but other times I was told I could not practice because no one wanted to listen to it. Then we had a horse too and I got on it myself by climbing the fence and getting the horse to stand still next to it, and throwing my leg around her. Once or twice, I pulled up by her mane from the ground. I rode bareback and then I was told I couldn't ride either. It became something my mother did and I couldn't do.
I would also like to know why Katie chose Eliot ? Gould or Gouldings song "Your Song" for their first song at the wedding reception. For one thing, my Dad used to play a song he said he wrote for me, when I was a kid and he always said, "This is your song!" or "Here's your song!" and it was personalized about my name. It was about being a "reflection of God" and I've asked where it is and all of a sudden, my parents are saying, "Why do you want to know?"
God had the HELL beaten out of him.
Another person who beat me was Jim Sandberg, Annette (FBI-cop) Sandberg's Dad. He used switches cut off from trees to do it and no one had done that before. It was like a white willow tree. I also remember that for some odd reason, once at their house I was in front of their mirror in their bathroom and I had this instinct to write with a red lipstick all over it, while they were there. I can't imagine why I would do this unless it was because my subconscious remembered something that they were part of and I repeated the action there at their house. I remember this: part of my programming involved use of scripture verses from the Bible and they had memorization scripture verses there next to that mirror. It's possible I read one and the idea came to my mind to then write on the mirror in red lipstick, so obviously there was a trigger of some kind.
Another part of my programming is the exact same thing the U.S. has done to my son Oliver, with deliberate attempts to distort an actual pattern, disorder it, and mess it up, and then go back over with the pattern as it was. And use of reverse psychology and then switching it unexpectedly and punishing and torturing kids for not going with the switch-up.
The Bechtolds, in 1992, made a coy "offer" to have me live with them at their house, saying I should because I wasn't safe at my parent's house, and because they felt it was best for me, however they were never looking out for my best interests. They were mocking me over assassination attempts against me later, encouraging their son to rape me, and mocked me happily to my face saying "It's SO terrible you're HOMELESS now, Cameo" when I never said this of myself and Janet just felt good making the snide comment in 2004, after Edward Howard and Grandpa Garrett had died. Janet didn't come up with that comment until after my mother had threatened me with homelessness. So she was almost making a point, after my mother had angrily said something similar, about what she "could do" if she wanted to. I am not saying Janet and my Mom were friends, but it's possible Janet just fed off of what information she overheard.
ABOUT HOWARD GARRETT: Also, my Uncle Howard had something important to say about what was happening to me or he wouldn't have suddenly died from an attack by the U.S. that killed him. I am not 100% certain what angle he meant or what he was implying, but he said only a couple of things to me right before he was attacked and he never talked to me but asked to speak to me. I had told my parents it seemed like they just gave me a $10 whenever they wanted to get rid of me, or indicate they were done, which is what some motorcycle person did once and then it was repeated after. I'd done something that made them mad recently and my Dad said there's your $10 on the table and I had just picked it up when Howard called up. When I talked to him, he said how are you and I said fine and then he told me a joke that was racist, about Michelle Obama and Barak and how she looked or some joke about it. And then he, Howard, had said something to me about "a 10" or to do with 10 which spooked me because how did he know my Dad had just told me to take the ten dollar bill? When Howard said something about 10 I then realized for the first time ever, "My Uncle Howard is psychic too?" I was shocked. I was then tortured to have my tooth blown out later, after he died. If Howard was trying to tell me something, the only possibilities are something to do with Obama, or the 10 (I'm done) with a racial joke indicating my Dad (as my Dad makes those jokes and had just told me to pick up the 10), something to do with Hamilton, whose face is on a $10, or the idea of Middleton rather than Hamilton and something between her and my Dad or her and Obama. I looked up Hamilton and there was a Russian defector by that name, but it's probably more to do with my Dad or Obama. Or my Dad and Middleton possibly. That's if Howard was trying to go off of what set of information he thought I had, but if he thought I'd look up more about the 10 I can only think of the 10 corrupt judges someone talked about once who wanted to kill me, the $10 Richard and Helen demanded I leave for gas money one time (don't think that's it) or the fact that Hamilton worked with Japanese in Seattle and engaged in illicit sexual and programming routines with U.S. military personnel and defected (or was assumed to have). If it's 10 corrupt judges that wanted to kill me and the black man who told me this, combined with a racist joke about Michelle, ...
I know without any doubt my Uncle Howard gave me information that the U.S. thought he was divulging that would hurt them so they killed him. Yes, he had health problems, but that was an excuse.
I also know without any doubt he is psychic, even though he was supposedly an alcoholic and smoker (and was), but there is a very unbelievable and extraordinary capability that's run in my family (or my caretakers if I'm not biologically related) that has had them at the top of the psychic charts. This is something the U.S. will murder millions over. The U.S. would murder a million non-psychics to "possess" and control one valuable psychic because that person can make them billions of money and win wars and track races, and gambling bets, and corporations. The U.S. will also murder one person who threatens a psychic's existence, that works for them, for this reason, so if Howard suddenly said something they thought was too close to a mark, they'd kill him and get it over with.
I'm not a psychic--I'm just an incidental who deserved to have a normal life and not be used as a punching bag for the U.S. to get what they want. I want my son returned to me. It is very obvious I have a case against the U.S. of international child abduction and hostage-taking of myself and my son, for purposes of torture and trafficking and I can make claims with evidence all the way into my infancy and childhood.
My Uncle Howard had a bunch of Playboy magazines in the basement of his house in Spokane, even one with Marilyn Monroe. A whole stack of them. So I'll show you a miniature basement and a pin-up I have for my guinea pigs.
Like I've said, the webcam on this computer isn't worth anything but I'll explain the photos.
Here's the concrete block where the guinea pigs like to go, next to the papers I put down earlier today. I had it set up with the block underneath and a house on top but moved the house to clean.
Both Kipper and Francis are solid black colored so then it was a surprise they had 2 white ones and one caramel colored one. I put it up with branches and grass to give it a woodsy effect because they liked the grass and resemblance to the outdoors so I thought I'd add a photo and Francis loved it.
Someone in Russia had the same idea and was photographed with their fox in St. Petersburg.
This is from National Geographic, of a fox in St. Petersburg looking at a picture of a woman pulling her white shirt open at the chest. (March 2011)
Francis looks at the white bear pin-up the exact same way as this fox looks at the woman. Pretty intently.
So what do you think it was that my Uncle Howard was killed over?
And maybe someone could figure out how to return my son to me from an illegal kidnapping by the U.S. too.
((Oh yeah, and I forgot about Luann from Wenatchee, who spied across from my house on Methow where I was with my son. She got a brand new car out when she was leaving and it's when my son and I were first tortured there. (I just thought about it bc of the comics I looked at--anyway, something to write about later)) I only noticed because it was along the same trajectory of a string of people who spied on me and ended up with brand new vehicles out of it and that was being done in Oregon first and then in Washington too so someone knew people in both states. She had no teeth.)
On Katie Middleton:
Chris Rozollo is a Jew, in my opinion, not a Catholic. He told me he was Catholic and I believe he was lying. I do not believe he was lying about being in the U.S. Army however. He raped me, and he did so by date-rape of over-intoxication with red wine first. Then he stole my white coat from me. I can't say my white coat made it's way over to Middleton, but he stole it. I bring him up in connection to her because I believe he was pulling favors for her based on his Jewish and military contacts. He had two pairs of shorts and told me to choose one to sleep in when I had no housing. Both pairs had a "hidden" thread of a color inside of them. One pair had a red thread sewn into the inside when there was no red in the shorts or stitching, and the other pair had a blue thread sewn into it. He said, "You're SO observant! MOST people would never catch anything like that. SEE, you notice things other people don't."
I think Katie's little "blue line" she had sewn into the underside of her wedding dress, if this is true as reported, had nothing to do with Irish "luck" and was more of a thank you to cops. My parents had a movie at their house called "The thin blue line" about Canadian cops and how they all knew of a crime and concealed it. They had videotaped it onto a VCR years ago and kept it. A Thin Blue Line is also a British show about British cops, or cops for England. I think it was Katie's way of saying thank you to everyone in the U.S. and Canada, who tried to murder me, defamed me, tortured me, and lied, and paid her money and took money from me to give to her.
Chris Rozollo did not support the idea of my son being with me because my mothering and appearing stable was a threat to his group's political strategies. Also, they were already torturing my son and hypnotizing him and abusing him per the U.S. government.
Granny said to me, in 2004, "I have already put you in my will because I have told everyone I want you to have something. I want you to have the house because you don't have anyone." I asked her what she meant and she said "You don't have anyone to look after you." I never asked for, or discussed the "will" with her or inheritance but she brought it up often and then some of the family got extremely jealous when I actually cared for her and helped her. I never expected anything. What I wonder is if she meant I don't have anyone because Edward Howard had died, or if she was referring to something else.
I mean, what DO I have?
This country used my own family against me. Then they kidnapped my son from me. I don't know of anyone else that has been tortured and forced to suffer like this, in the U.S., as a U.S. citizen that had no part of their games.
When I was told to see Barbara Greenman, because she had some man from California who wanted to see me, it was like a big joke between them. He was talking about Disney but not really. She was just mocking me and my mother started crying as I sang for him and then they discussed me with him saying to Barb, "I can see her as a Snow White or a Cinderella". I said something about other characters and thought ("What about the little mermaid?") but no, he was set on Snow White or Cinderella. I didn't realize it was part of their ongoing Jewish Joke against me. It was a joke over one of my earliest photos of me in a witch costume next to my cousin Rory in a clown costume to make "Witch Clown?"
If you listen to the song from Cinderella, "Bibbity Bobbity Boo" the fairy godmother says something about "now, which gown?" Anyway. Which Gown was made into a joke of Which Clown.
Which is what this country has done to me and they want to do this to my SON?
GO TO HELL
Oh, and about Barb Greenman and that man, who heard me sing at the Assembly of God church, it isn't as though they didn't know about the photo of me and my cousin and weren't making jokes over it. I am not sure what the joke was? I should be Snow White, i.e, a ghost and die? I should be "Cinderella" and burn with military technology? They knew about the "Witch Clown" photo and then they had Suzanne Bozo calling me up to rent a room from me in 2002-2003. Like Bozo the Clown isn't a joke on its own, and she was from Hungary, and went to the Assembly of God church, which means she would know people who knew Barb Greenman, the Jew that knows and supports the Middletons. I had spies living with me all the time. Later, I found photos on Alvaro Pardo's computer, of him wearing a clown wig and all these people laughing in what I saw, in those photos, an anticipatory malicious way. They couldn't wait. They couldn't wait for me to get set up with their Bozo the Clown Pardo. Then Pardo was asking me "Are you a witch?" all the time when I never said or signified anything to do with it. He said it out loud for the amusement of others listening in, not me.
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Some of the child abuse against me by the U.S. that I've described included beatings by my parents (through U.S. instruction), and state and federal employees. It also included something that caused me to vomit and throw up all the time when I was younger. I didn't have seizures and this was never defined so I was throwing up for other reasons and it wasn't flu. I was also cut with knives and razors. I had guns held to my head. I was given LSD to trip on, after MK Ultra hearings concluded that program was "over". I had items inserted into my body for trafficking purposes for the U.S. government. I was put on forced starvation to the point that I had to steal food at night from our cupboards to sleep. I was blindfolded and tied up. I was electrocuted. I was tortured through technology weapons and remote accessing of microchip implants and wires the U.S. put in my body, to cause severe aching pain so I couldn't sleep. I was drugged. I was hypnotized by several individuals on several occasions. I had earrings deliberately torn from my ears. I had knives held up against me in threats. I was pushed through glass windows. I had a massive head injury from deliberate pressure at birth. I was raped and forced to perform oral sex for others as an infant and toddler. I was targeted by military technology to fall which broke my arm. I was targeted by military torture while sitting in front of my heater, to cause delayed speed reading. I was confined in a very small space for long periods of time as a toddler. That was some of the childhood physical torture. That was all before the age of 15.
Psychological torture and verbal abuse used against me as a child included the following:
(to be updated tomorrow)
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UPDATED 8/10/13
I am wondering which of the Dicksies is my mother because I remember her aiming to tear an earring out of my ear, aiming at me from the window when I fell from the tree and broke my arm, and cutting me with a razor or knife. That's on top of spankings/beatings by both her and my Dad and a few others. I do remember I gave her the earrings, but I also did confront her about when they were torn out and I said to her, "You did it on purpose" but I didn't say this when I was giving her the earrings. So after I let her know I knew she did it intentionally and talked about how one of my earring holes was a line now, she kept watching to see if they'd heal up and not be noticeable. Then someone gave me, or I got, some heavy earrings that dragged down and she seemed happier when they started to both go into more of a line appearance instead of the obvious line scar on the one ear where she tore me.
The first time, aside from both of them suggesting I set a fire, that I noticed her trying to set me up was over the damage or vandalism done to a wall, where she looked at the person who asked the question and redirected his attention to me, and stared at me and when he looked mad at me she looked at him again and nodded, as if to say, "Yes, she did that." I was shocked by that. While the beatings were not as bad when I began writing a diary at age 13, other forms of retaliation continued.
I believe I must have witnessed torture of adults along with myself being tortured, when I was very young. I think it was in a military or federal or Pemberton "underground hospital" setting. I've already thought this, but today I was looking for a place to board a horse and saw a man who had a mark on the side of his head and almost passed out. I would say, rather, I felt this sense of grotesque disgust and then nausea and a horrible bad feeling. The mark on his head was a round red dot. I would say, a little more than round, on him it was sort of oval, longer to the side, sort of like where the scars are on my temples by my forehead on either side. It was a surface redness of the top layer of skin appearing to be gone as if burned off and exposing red skin and blood (but no scab). I don't know how to explain I recognized that mark. It made me feel a sense of horror and extreme disgust as if it was so gruesome but I see worse than that and it doesn't bother me. To add to it, he was jabbering his lips around like someone who was losing control (a little) of their functions, and I felt nauseus as he talked. His voice was slightly like someone who had an affected gay accent, but not extremely affected maybe. The more he talked, with that wound on his temple, the sicker I felt, and I felt that way for about 10 minutes after talking to him. He also said the neighbors were Messerles (pronounced: mess-er-lee) and I felt more sick but that was possibly coincidental because I'm currently reading a book by Edward Lee Victor Howard, not to mention I could have had a connotation to something else for a reason). My reaction to seeing and hearing him--It made me think yes, I know I was electrocuted, and there is something about his voice that bothers me, but who else did I see, who was almost dying maybe, from being electrocuted by someone? And why electrocute ME and some man too? And have me SEE the man who was being electrocuted but maybe partly able to talk? I am positive I witnessed a grown man being tortured the same way I was.
Basically, it reinforced my feeling and belief that this country has treated me as an enemy my entire life, and my son as well, and they have had nothing better to do than violently and cruelly destroy us.
Then I was walking after this and two men in solid medium tan-brown, sort of khaki colored from head to toe and carrying a red cup and the other with something bright red, alarmed me and I crossed the street from having a bad feeling about them, which is possibly from subconsciously remembering seeing men walking together in pairs, wearing the same thing, in the area where I witnessed torture and was tortured myself.
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UPDATED: 8/11/13.
As you can see, I am not writing about all of this in a straight-forward linear way, but it's a way to put down some of the things that happened which I can draft over and rewrite later.
I was making coffee today and noticed the Torani that my mother took me to a store to buy specifically, several months ago, and this morning I noticed a ring around the castle drawing and that ring is about the same size and thinness of the earrings I wore that my mother tore out of my ear. They also did not have a regular back where you push the backing, a rubber or metal hole, into the earring part, but were the kind that hook and link so there was no chance of the back popping up with pressure, and any pull on it meant it tore through the ear. This is why the tear was so bad and nothing came off in the back of the earring to release it.
I feel, based on violence I've experienced by my own mother, she and her sister Holly and others would harm my son for the government, or some other group, the same way they harmed me. This made it easier for them to lie along with the state and police and others who tortured my son when he was removed from me.
The "pen-knife" Princess Diana potentially alluded to was, in one sense, or possibly, a knife my mother used to cut me because I remember her doing this. My arms are also all cut up and my belly button is, and I find it odd Robin Bechtold was the one who tried so insistently to have me get a piercing there. If I'd pierced there, it would have tampered with evidence of my having had an incision made there. It was Robin Bechtold who repeatedly attempted to convince me to have one done. My mother also received, as a gift from my Grandpa Garrett every year, "stationary". Blank paper to write on. She used to comment out loud that she didn't like it how Grandpa Garrett sent her stationary and sent my Dad money. She said, "He sends you money, like it's just you alone, and then he sends me a box of stationary." My Dad used to laugh and wave it in her face as a joke. I remember it because it was always coming up at gift times. So why would he send her stationary unless it was to imply she should use paper instead of the skin of her daughter to write on? In that sense, she was using a knife as a pen to both mark me and possibly use me for the U.S. to lay out the psychic prediction map or to send messages. I do remember my Dad's face maybe once, and he had to have been involved, but the person around all the time, if it wasn't my Dad beating me, was my Mom. It was no big deal to target a hit on my earring from my ear, when she was an experienced kids-skin-cutter. It wasn't just her, I'm sure. And like I said, there is more than one of the Dicksies, so I'm not sure which one. But it is a fact and also, when I began remembering these things or speaking out loud about it, it was motive to set me up to look bad or like I was violent, criminal, or dangerous, even as a kid. Why else encourage me to start fires or accuse me of being the one that put holes in a wall?
Believe me, I was so beaten down, the only person I physically hit was my brother, and usually, he was getting sneaky enough, he was finding weird ways to hurt me and then when if I defended myself or hit him for it (as a kid), he would run to my Mom and she would spank ME. He was actually very devious as a little boy. He was cute, and not prone to violence in general, and preferred to lie down on a soccer field and look at the bugs in the grass more than compete to a goal, but he was devious because he was already figuring out ways to hurt me and use it to his advantage. Later, he came out with knives to my face, and that was not secretive but it was only done when my Mom or Dad were not around. So she would say she "didn't believe it". Then when he did it in front of her, and I said, "Did you see that? I told you!" she didn't do anything about it.
One time, and I'm not sure why this was, but I had a camera and I liked taking pictures a lot when I was a kid. I had mostly disposable cameras and I don't remember ever having a real one, but I started buying them myself. I do think someone gave me the first one and it was 24 exposures. I took pictures all the time. I took them of family, of my room, of friends at camp and of my brother and pets. I took one once, of my brother while he was sleeping and thought it would make a good photo to put a bunch of play money in his hands and all over his bed. So I covered his bed with money like he was rolling in it. I later showed my parents and they loved it, but then years later, they would comment about it and I piped up and said, "I was the one who put all the money there!" and they didn't want me to say this and my Mom acted like I wasn't supposed to have staged it ever. I thought it was strange that if I said I had staged it for my photo, it was a big deal at all--why should my Mom care whether or not it was done naturally or I put it there myself for a photo? I remember my parents were telling this to the Sandbergs, years later after I did it, and they were saying how one time they walked in and Levi was covered with money and the Sandbergs were laughing over it, and then I piped up and said, "I did it." I said, "He wasn't playing with the money. I put it there for my picture" and I remember Shirley quit laughing and looked at me with an extremely uncomfortable sideways look. My parents said no, you didn't and they walked in and I said, "No, I put it there. I thought it would make a funny photo and I showed you the picture after I did too." And my parents were saying no you didn't and there was no such picture. The entire time, the Sandbergs were not laughing at all--especially Shirley. I had gone in, put money in his hands, all over him on the bed, took a photo, and waited for my parents to find him that way too, because I knew it was amusing. Then I was the one who had the photo from my camera and everyone knew I took it. My brother was maybe 7 years old, or about/almost the same age as when I got him his tubby bear. What I thought was odd was that years later, in recalling the story, no one wanted it to have anything to do with me. And I remember how weird Shirley acted, which I thought was strange. Then later when I mentioned the photo I took my Mom claimed she never saw it and I never took one and I did, because everyone thought it was so cute. It wasn't a mean photo, it was very cute and my brother liked it too. I didn't tell anyone I staged it, for a long time, because it was my own inside joke and amusement for myself but everyone saw I was the one that took the photo. I was laughing so hard as I put money all over his bed, I kept having to run out of his room to go to my room, laugh out loud, and then silence myself and go back to do more and take the photo. I was worried my laughing would alert someone. I also remember it wasn't the play money from the monopoly game. Someone had given him a stack of play money that was green and looked more like real money and that was what I put all over. I made sure he had some in his hand so it looked like he was holding onto to it too, because that made it funnier. My thought at the time, was to make it look like he'd been counting his money or got all this money and fell asleep while happily contemplating it. Sort of like the rich duck from the Donald Duck series that has all this money piled up. A "raining money" thing. I don't know--as a kid, it was hilarious. I also remember he had some kind of a football trophy on top of his headboard to the bed that someone gave him but I don't know what it was from. I remember Shirley Sandberg was not happy at the idea I spoke up when they were all talking about it years later, and I gave my own version of events.
I had tons of photos and I also had a sticker album even though no one really wanted me to have one. I probably would have been a stamp collector if someone had allowed it. I collected a bunch of stickers and saved them in an album and I don't know what happened to it. Someone stole all of those photos and all of the negatives for everything I ever took pictures of. I never threw them away--they were disappearing. I also never once took a photo and kept it a secret from anyone. When I took photos at my own house, my whole family saw them, and friends, and when I was a nanny, if I ever took pictures, I showed the parents all of them. I hid nothing from the parents of the kids I was a nanny for and had nothing to hide. So my photo taking was never for any reason other than that I enjoyed it.
So some of the psychological and other abuse I believe the U.S. government ordered against me, was as follows:
Holding me back academically, deliberately. While I could say, at first thought, that some of the things my parents did were just from normal parental "laziness" as any parent has, or "just doesn't feel like it" or whatever, which is completely understandable, this, combined with the fact my homework was stolen from me so I couldn't turn it in or get the grade, proves I was being deliberately dumbed down and held back from what the U.S. knew my potential to be. By age 4 I repeatedly asked my Mom to teach me how to read. I remember distinctly begging her, at age 3 or 4, to teach me the alphabet and go over ABCs with me and teach me to read. She refused and then when I finally learned some ABCs in preschool and she refused to teach me to read, it was always while she was reading herself, sitting in the large sofa chair, while I sat on the floor at her feet. My babysitter "Melanie" also had me sit on the floor at her feet, while she sat on the couch. I remember acutely, how many times my mother refused to teach me, because I wanted so badly to learn and because she was always flipping through a magazine or reading a book right there and talking to me from the side when she told me no. I finally asked why not and she said, "Just wait until school." She sat in the big sofa chair with a lamp on a table that was on top of a large speaker that had a top large enough to be a small table. She put her coffee cup there sometimes, and the reading light was there, and then I used to sit on the floor by the speaker, next to her, and ask. "Pleeeaaasse" I would say. It was the same location where I would sit with my legs stretched out in front of me because my knees would hurt so bad from "growing pangs". I sat to the right side of both my Mom in her chair and Melanie on the couch. I think I had a photo taken, later, of me sitting on the couch normally with my Dad and brother and a big smile on my face and I am wearing a shirt with a dog (or a kitten?) on it. I was basically being forced to sit to the right of my "master" like a dog, as a toddler. So in the one photo where I am sitting on the couch like normal with my Dad and brother, I am beaming with a big smile and I was about 4 years old. I must have felt really special, to be able to sit on the couch instead of on the floor like a dog. I'm on one side and my brother is on the other side with my Dad's arms stretched out across the back of the couch and an orange berry tree that I was targeted to fall from later, showing from the window that looked outside behind.
Later, I don't know that this was "holding me back" but I know when I looked at Christmas catalogs, I didn't just want girl-things. I wanted dolls and barbies and especially always wanted the Barbie car for my barbies, but I wanted a lot of scientific things. I wanted the bake ovens because it came with kits and things to bake in a "real oven", but I also wanted a microscope set with tubes and flasks and chemicals. I remember the grimaces from my parents over it. They didn't want me to have anything to do with science like that. I wanted the sea monkeys so I could see how they grew, and the x-ray glasses to see if it was really possible and worked, and the microscope and science experiment kits with all the chemicals. I wanted to create things with chemicals the same way as with baking. I wanted a microscope to see things closer-up. I also wanted the growing crystals to see how they grew from a solution. I used to read from the whole chemistry list and drool over it the same way I drooled over food baskets and imagined how great it would be to get a package of food every month with all kinds of cheeses and sausages and crackers and things. Anything with microscropes, slides, chemicals, tubes, vials, chemistry charts, ant farms, growing crystals, sea monkeys, bug collection kits, rock collections, and anything scientific like that was put out of my reach. I was not "allowed to want" those things. I could ask for a doll, yes. But I was not allowed to ask for the other things. I was told, flat-out, "no". And I did ask and point those things out. No matter how many times I said I wanted a chemistry set, I was told no or given such a harsh look of disapproval, I knew it was no. I also wanted different kinds of guns: water guns, target guns, and wasn't allowed those from a specific time either. It was okay for me to like money and play "pretend bank" though, and to like some artistic things. At some point though, someone was wanting me to use copy sheet (tracing) paper and paperdoll plates where you just rub out the design and not encouraging my own designs.
Next, my math was being discouraged deliberately to hold me back. I was one of the best students and I was as intellectual in math as in reading. I mostly did it all myself, but I sometimes had homework with question and asked my Dad to help me so he did. I liked sitting at the table with my Dad and working on my math problems, and then one day he said, "I don't know how to do it." I said, "Yes you do!" and he said, "No I don't." He was showing me to do it wrong, and I said, "No, it's not that way." Then he acted like he didn't know at all, when he did, and it wasn't hard math and said, "I can't help you anymore." My Dad told me he couldn't help me anymore around the same time my mother was suddenly using psychological pressure to tell me math wasn't for girls and why was I wasting my time studying math when I would never use it. She said, "All you need to know is adding and subtracting and maybe some times and division and you won't ever use the rest." I was pressured not to learn math or do my homework, or study, or be interested in it. The psychological pressure against my continuation in math was severe and I remember both my Dad said he couldn't help me anymore and my mother was using gender pressure excuses and saying how I didn't "need" it at the same time. This is when I was winning the top awards in school in math.
After 3rd grade, in 1983, which is the same year the CIA fired Edward Lee Victor Howard, and which is 1 year after Katie Middleton was born, I was being pressured out of math, and by 1985 it was severe pressure and my math studies were basically over, and then I was pulled out of school and didn't learn anything for a year. Prior to this, I was tied or #1 in the entire grade, in math, and they had different levels of math they put students into: "high math", "medium" and "low" and I was in the "high math" class.
I was a real "flyer".
I guess I've said in the past I was doing well enough in math then, or that I was "one of the best students" but actually, I was the #1 student in math. I wasn't in the "top 10"--I was #1.
At the exact same time, we were encouraged not to brush our teeth anymore either. In about 1983, all of a sudden, the bedtime routine of having to brush our teeth before bed, and in the morning, was gone. We were told not to and allowed to not brush when prior to this, we were made to, every night. I thought it was so strange...that disappearance of the U.S. Pentagon command, like clockwork, of "Time to brush your teeth!" "Time to get ready for bed! did you brush your teeth?"
We didn't have teeth anymore.
I was allowed to read and that was it. Read, play barbies, sing, make roads and tunnels and rivers in the dirt outside, and ride bikes. Later, they tried to push the most saccharine kind of reading by halfway-house authors like Janette Oak. Or the "Mandy" books which I liked at first and they took a weird turn.
At the same time I was being forced out of math and science, and from being the top student, I had my homework being stolen from me, which I began noticing, about this time as well.
I don't see how that can be "CLASSIFIED" as anything other than deliberate anti-competition and abuse of kids with revenge and hate crime motives. They even had their principal beat me privately in his office on one occasion while my parents were encouraged to take on beating me more at home and then all of them kept eachother's 'secrets'.
Because I know how far ahead of schedule my own son's development was, and how the U.S. tortured him, I know without any doubt that this country is bent on self-destruction. I was a "U.S. citizen" when they tortured and abused me as a kid, and practiced deliberate anti-competition against me, not just in elementary school, but then carrying it on as far as to federal and state courthouses when I was an adult. They did the exact same thing with my son. The United States is not blessed by God and is not a nation "under God"--they have some of the brightest or even some of the not as bright children, being raised to sit at their feet like dogs.
Other things that happened when I was a kid, was I was getting beaten so badly, all of a sudden it seemed, that I started trying to hide under my bed. I remember my Dad pulled me out by my legs, and then beat me.
I had some kind of a fear when I was a kid, at night, of an "alligator" or monster grabbing my legs from under the bed so I used to stand as far back from the bed as possible and jump into it so no one could grab my legs. When I now remember how I was being dragged around by my legs, from under my bed, to be beaten, it makes sense that I was afraid of "something". He used to say, later, when leaving for some reason: "See you later Alligator" and I was supposed to say back, "After Awhile Crocodile". I don't know if that was to hint that somehow, we're alike, but we are also different.
When I was throwing up all the time as a kid, I don't think all of it was psychosomatic or a reaction to seeing blood and remembering torture. I think some of it was because I was either being targeted by the U.S. government with technology that caused it, or I was being given something in food or drink that made me throw up. I do not believe it was all about "PTSD" as a kid because it wasn't happening when I was 3-5 as much as I remember it happening when I was slightly older, so the throwing up was started later and possibly around the time of 1982 again. If I threw up from seeing blood, I would have had that reaction earlier, not just throwing up later, though I don't dismiss this might have triggered nausea.
(UPDATED 8/14/13. Around this time I was throwing up, was mostly in the summer when it reoccurred. I wasn't in school. I remember throwing up something orange a lot. I also remember that around the time Edward Howard defected and Kate Middleton was born, my brother and I were not allowed to eat steak anymore. My parents still did, in front of us. I remember because they knew I loved steak and they were still grilling it for themselves but started giving me and my brother hot dogs. They had steak every week, a couple of times a week if I remember correctly. Around the time they began eating steak in front of us my mother was also eating candy in the car when we never got any. She ate m&ms, good & plenty's, skittles, raisinettes, and bit o honey. She would eat an entire bag in the car in front of us and if I asked for some, she'd give us maybe 3-4 pieces at most, rarely a little more than that, and usually, she'd pick out one single candy and drop it into our hand and say, "There. You have one." Several minutes later, watching her eat them, I might say, "Could we have more, please?" and we would literally be reduced to begging for a piece of candy and she'd then, after eating most of the bag, give us each one or two more. It was all the time. It was why, when I was asked what I wanted for my birthday, the only thing I could think of was to ask for candy. This was not something that happened once or twice, but more than once a week, and with a point of dropping as few as possible into our hands while we had to watch and smell her eating the rest of the candy in front of us. My brother was younger and sat right behind her but I sat in the back to the side of her and saw everything. In church, when my Dad had a roll of lifesavers, or mints, we all ate one at a time, and in the car, with my Mom, on a regular basis, she ate the entire bag, giving us only a couple so it was pretty mean to a kid, to see 2-3 times a week. It was all at the same time they told us we couldn't have sirloin steak anymore, but continued to eat it themselves, in front of us. They knew it was a big deal, to separate us from eating what we liked and were used to, to being forced to watch them continue eating what we liked, while we were downgraded to hot dogs. I spoke up about it at the time, saying, "I like steak. How come you used to let us eat steak with you all the time and now you're making us eat hot dogs when they're not as good?" The response was something like, "It's too expensive. You don't get to eat steak anymore. YOU get to eat hot dogs." "But I don't LIKE hot dogs. I like STEAK." "Tough. If you're hungry, you can have a hot dog." "How come YOU'RE still eating steak if it's too expensive?" And they sat there and ate steak in front of us, with the A-1 and Heinz 57 sauce, a few times a week. And I hated hot dogs and we were not offered anything else and around this time we had our caloric intake reduced anyway, to the point we were begging for food while they ate candy in the car. The food thing is not unusual as it's true of a lot of families, but with everything else, it was a bigger deal.
It was also when I was throwing up, without explanation, and my brother wasn't. It was only in the summer, not during the school year and usually in the middle of the day or early morning, not at night. I don't remember ever throwing up at night. I also remember around this time my mother used a letter opener that sliced open the top of the envelope. Whenever I used it, I didn't get a clean slice and it crinkled up the paper at the top, and then for some reason, my Mom quit letting me use it and then she quit using one and started introducing a long emery board for filing her nails instead. The letter opener looked like a pen and had a cap that went over it. The emery board was metal and shaped like a letter opener or slim knife, and had a pink handle. I know my Mom wasn't the only one to cut me because I remember my Dad doing it once and I saw him and was shocked by it because I was older. I think I might not remember the other times because I was trained not to look at him when he talked to me. My Mom I looked at, but not my Dad. I looked down, always. The times I remember they cut me it caught me by surprise and was something very small, either a razor concealed in the hand or a pen-knife where I didn't expect it to be something that was going to be used to cut me. I don't remember the rest and I think I maybe passed out after it happened because I remember nothing but shock and then nothing later. The letter opener was a big deal to me because it was a novelty I liked and I liked how it opened the envelopes so I used to open all the mail just to use it and my mother didn't like it. It was kept next to the mail on right side of the kitchen counter in a top drawer.)
Of course, when I was fleeing this country, for political asylum, Canada already knew about most of this. Canadians are as guilty as the U.S. for abducting and facilitating torture and treason against me and my son. They knew I did not just "go nuts" and start talking about torture in 2005 after reporting the FBI. They knew what was involved when I was a kid too and they knew what was done to my son Oliver.
There is no "room" or way around the fact that the U.S. is guilty of treason and torture, and they used my own parents to facilitate some of it.
Going back to yesterday's comments about feeling sick seeing the red dot on the man's temple and the mention of "mess-er-lee" I thought, maybe it's close to Mr. Lee, Monsier Lee," or "Miss Loree". I don't know. Maybe just Mess Loree. I have no idea.
Another thing done was I was told all the time, "This is a mess!" or "your room is a mess!" but it really wasn't that often and maybe was a way to try to erase another phrase someone thought I might remember. I know Halea Meyers, whose mother works at a prison, called me "Miss Cameo". Later Robin Bechtold, who is a government brat and rapist, wanted to bring up the movie "Misery" all the time around me. I think it was closer to mess-er-lee. My mother also said, "This is a pig-stye" and "clean up this mess!"
The other forms of psychological abuse were to implicate me as a slob. I am right now, because I have no space and I'm tortured and have no one else I live with. My actual nature, is a tendency to clean and yet my whole life, I was being put down as a "slob", and keeping my room a mess, and not taking care of things or returning them in worse shape than they were. "You don't take care of things." As a kid, I wasn't that bad and it wasn't until I was 18 and lived on my own that I realized it was all a lie to degrade and downgrade me.
The exact same thing was done regarding my professional abilities, with my mother saying, "You couldn't be a realtor because it's too much paperwork." So basically, Katie Middleton could handle paperwork, but not me. My mother constantly said I wasn't organized enough in my paperwork and couldn't handle the paperwork when I then went on to handle 3 lawsuits and the paperwork, single-handedly and had a file cabinet and labled files that were organized as well, until the U.S. began assaulting me again with military technology.
What the U.S. was doing to me as a child, they did to me in the same way but with worse measures, when I was an adult. They repeated themselves and repeated the cycle of systematic abuse and torture.
I also had nightmares as a kid, of violence. I had dreams of someone trying to kill my Dad for one. I also had dreams of adults--men and women, who behaved like monsters.
After my arm was broken to coincide with the day the President gave a speech about "strategic disarmorment", if I wasn't quietly reading in my bedroom, or not in school, I was told to be outside with my brother all day. At one point, when we were a little older, when I was maybe 11 or so and my brother was 8 or I was 12 and he was 9, we were told to leave the house in the morning, and find something to do outside and don't come back until dinner time. I used to say "What about lunch?" and was told, "You can come back for lunch and then you're out again." So we had breakfast, went outside and rode bikes or did chores or whatever, and then had lunch for a half hour and then we had to go back outside until 5 p.m.
What I remember with being trained like a dog, was even carried out to what side of the car I sat on. My car seat was placed on the right side in the back and I was sitting on the right side until one day, for whatever reason, my Dad wanted to switch it and told me to sit behind him and my brother was sitting on the right even though he had always been to the left. For me, it went with my being told to sit on the floor to the right side of my "master" like a dog would. From there, my babysitter Melanie sometimes even took out the stethoscope she had in her bag with her and put it around my neck. She would sit up on the couch, and then while I was forced to sit on the floor by her feet, she'd bring out the stethoscope. I now remember the animal on the shirt from the photo where I'm sitting on the couch with my Dad and it's of a kitten with whiskers sticking out to the sides. In our house dogs weren't allowed on the furniture but cats were. My Mom and Dad used to sing "How Much Is That Doggie In The Window" as well.
My mother's family is as much a part of this government game as my Dad's side has been, which is why I don't want my son with them. As you can see, they have blocked me from any contact with my son at all, while allowing each and every other member of the family, and total strangers, around him.
Some of the things my Dad used to say to me, was "Why can't you do anything right?" and "Can't you do ANYTHING right?!"
Most likely, since my mother told me, in my presence, to my face, about how I should be tested for giftedness, she was probably trying to relay a message by surveillance, knowing I was wired, about Katie Middleton. While my homework was being stolen from me, and I was being held back from things, one day my Mom said to me, in 1983, when Katie was a year old, "Mrs. Rosenow thinks you are gifted and should be tested." Later she brought up to me, when I asked why they didn't test me, or have me in the gifted program, I was told, "You don't do your homework. When you do your homework Mrs. Rosenow says you are gifted but you need to do your homework first."
So basically, the message that was sent through me, the "surveillance machine" was that someone else should be tested for giftedness which most likely went to Katie Middleton, about Katie Middleton and giftedness either meant intellectual or psychic. It was at that same time Katie Fallon was introduced to me as an excuse for being able to say the name "Katie". The message was in two parts, first that "Mrs. Rosenow thinks you're gifted and that you need to be tested" and then I was told "You can be in the gifted program but you don't even do your homework".
So it would be interesting to know who started testing Katie Middleton in 1983-1984 and/or began coaching her because my suspicion is that I was being deliberately dumbed down while she was getting personalized stationary.
To my knowledge, I was never "tested" for anything. I ran away from school after being beaten up by the school principal and then was forced to see a counselor, and that was before the comment by Rosenow. They beat me after Katie was born. With a yardstick. Maybe the pun was with "Yard-lee" like the brand Yardly and I was the dog in the yard.
Avon decided to celebrate Middleton and torture of me with their perfume "Flor" violetta which had a first ad that said "FLOR, violetta" and then the model Kate Del Castillo staring (who even looks like Kate Middleton from the front of the face). It was made to have it appear like Kate was telling violetta to go to the floor. Which, we can all guess where that idea came from. Katies idea of the little doggie that sits on the floor. Alvaro Pardo and his friends were the ones taking photos of me as a little girl in a violet frame, but only those who knew about my abuse would know how I was forced to sit on the floor and about my earring being torn out and other things. Avon is a magazine Granny had and sold for. It's sort of like Castillo for castle and Castillo for cast steal O and cast ee o, almost like my Mom casting the hook to snag my earring.
So what I'm wondering, is when Katie was being offered work in NYC, why she wanted to distance herself from NYC and be seen in California instead?
When I mention things from my childhood, I am not including normal things that kids go through, like how many times I fell or bruised my knee or scabbed something, or stepped on a nail or a bumblebee. That is normal and part of growing up--what I'm describing is what is obviously not normal and is government-sponsored and has been abuse and torture.
When I went to Canada, with my son, and they forced me into a dog crate, and told me to bend over to go into their dog crate, it was more abuse along the same lines, with those Canadian officials already knowing how I had been abused and treated as if I were literally a dog. My mother had a t-shirt that said, "The more I know men, the better I like my dog", and used to go downtown shopping in it with me next to her (but not my brother and I asked her once about it), and my Dad gave her one that was baseball style and white with two purple sleeves that said "30" on it, for her 30th birthday.
I guess actually, that shirt I wore had a puppy on it. The tail was short, not a cat's tail, but it had a face like a cat with long whiskers. It had a short dog tail though, so it was definitely a dog (puppy) shirt. I remember the day of that photos because I thought I was going to sit on the floor again and did, and then my Dad said to sit on the couch with him and I was so happy about it, that I got to sit on the couch! He patted the couch and said to sit up there and I remembered being so thrilled whenever I got to sit on the couch. I was used to sitting on the floor. What is odd, is that I was being told I could sit on the couch with my Dad, and I had a picture taken of me, beaming proudly, while wearing a puppy shirt, after I'd been forced to sit on the floor like a dog I guess most of my life. I think I still was told to sit on the floor even after this though, because I believe Melanie babysat after this time but maybe not. I know it was before school started that I was sitting on the floor next to my Mom's chair and by the couch with Melanie because I wanted to be taught to read and was told wait for school. Also, I was still sitting on the right. I sat on the right of my Dad on the couch, because that's how I was "trained".
Later, when my Grandpa Garrett married a 3rd time, we all heard about "How happy Belinda was because in Malaysia, the women have to walk 10 paces behind the men and Grandpa wanted her to walk right next to him, and she was really happy about that." My Mom and Dad talked back and forth to eachother about it in front of me, with my Dad saying something about "I guess in Malaysia the women walk 10 paces behind the men so when he wanted her to walk next to him, and said, 'come on! you can walk by me' she was surprised." My Mom said, "Boy she must have thought it was a pretty big deal!" and they talked back and forth about it. It was like they talked about this, in front of me, when the exact same thing was done to me but in the U.S. She also got married to him wearing a stack of bracelets up and down both of her arms, up to her elbows and I have scars from cuts in the same places. It is fairly amazing that my Grandpa chose a bride from another country that would represent what was done to me in some way. While some could say it was to counter what I would remember or was documented, it only reinforces the fact for me because I remember all of it. I remember the exact feeling I had when I was photographed wearing the dog shirt on the day I was told I could sit up on the couch and didn't have to sit on the floor. Maybe this is why seeing the photo of people sitting at Diana's feet in India impacted me and I didn't know why.
I remember when I was being told I could sit on the couch the seat was patted with a hand, the way a dog is told it can go somewhere, and then I began doing the same thing if I wanted the dogs on the couch--I'd pat the seat but my Mom always said, "No dogs on the furniture". The U.S. and Canada treated me like a dog, literally, for as long as they thought they'd get away with it. I think it's a little odd that William and Katie Middleton were photographed in public one day, both wearing dog cartoons on matching sweatshirts while chaining up their bikes. Like they really wear dog shirts for normal attire. When I was being beaten or spanked in the house in Moses Lake, I was told to bend over, which meant on the other side of the wall was the bathroom where the toilet was.
Granny used to tell me my birthstone was "opal" but I always thought of it as pink zircon. Then Katie named her dog lupo which is opal in reverse.
I am not sure why some in my family didn't want me to have kids of my own but I don't think they did, sometime after 2004. I know my parents suggested I abort my son, and Granny never wanted me to ever have children, saying, "It would be too hard on you". I used to say why was it fine for any other relative to have kids but not me?
I sometimes think it would be just great to discover I am directly connected to the throne of England and have a right to it over even William and Harry because that would be hilarious. I don't think this of course, but when people are repressing me from my own children and trying to steal my eggs and not telling me about my genealogy, it makes you wonder. Not to mention, even if americans don't care about English (or other) thrones, I am sure there is a natural right, by ancestry to the throne whether one is a citizen of that country or not. Which makes it really interesting for those royals who fled Europe for different reasons, to escape prejudice or persecution or death, who are more "royal" than some who took their places and papers. Any one of those individuals, if they found out or could prove they were the closest line, could take over the position from others there now. Most Americans wouldn't care or want to, but those who value their royal prestige or others who are American and prefer to feed off of and breach off of those they have assigned now, wouldn't like it. What if Joe, down the street, popped up and said, "Guess what everybody? I'm the heir. The rest of you, are sort of 5th and 6th in line, and I'm bringing my family in."
I don't think this is what it comes down to, but I am positive there is someone in the U.S. or more than one, who, if they wanted to, could take the seat of someone royal in a heartbeat.
My personal feeling about those who don't want me to have children or my own son, is they think they own me but can't control me and they don't like the competition because regardless of who I'm related to, they have been working very hard to dumb us down, in THIS country, out of hate crime, my entire life.
I feel that since one of the twin Bobs and triplet Dicksies have been involved in abuse against me, and I am the one punished and blocked from contact with my son--where people tried to get my entire family to isolate from me after 2004, there is obviously something amiss. It's obviously that very thing that "You don't want to know" about.
What is assumed, that I really don't want to know, about "how bad it is" already has something to do with part of what I do know and remember.
So why can't someone tell me the rest? What is left, that could really shock me? I already know some things about my family and I remember things, so what is so much worse than what I do already know?
Also, I had a flashback just now, from thinking about the photo of me on the couch next to my Dad, and I believe I was on a plane. I thought about the way my hands and arms were on the couch and remembered it was the way I sat during take off on a plane, like I thought we were going for a ride. I might have been traveling with my Dad on a plane back and forth from somewhere. This would be one of the Bob twins, and it would be before the age of 3. I can see and remember it from the expectancy of my face in the photo and my memory of that photo which I looked at so much. It was the take-off position or something and I was the same distance apart from my Dad as I would have been on a plane. It is possible I was being trafficked back and forth secretly from somewhere, up to the age of 3, and I would say it is also possible I was being carried back and forth in a dog cage or something first, before getting out and being allowed to sit on a plane seat or other seat.
I was small enough that I could have been made to sit with my arms around my legs, sitting, or curled up cradle-style in a suitcase, but if I was sitting at someone's feet all the time first, and then allowed on the couch or chair, it means carry-on luggage. Or, it means torture, with doctors above me, and then being on a plane or going somewhere. I had both my arms down and hands on the seat the way I had when getting ready for a ride at the carnival or fair, on a moving machine, but it's not how I sat in a car or truck. It was only other kinds of machines.
Because of the proximity to the airport where I lived, I'm sure the flights were international, and we were also going to Canada and could have easily taken a flight back and forth from inside of Canada as well. Which, from Canada as a Commonwealth, would make me part of the "royal flyers" club. Where the flights were going I'm not sure, but I didn't like the sight of men in tan brown with red at the waist. Whether that was military police, or the idea of other uniformed men, I had a reaction to it and one held something red at his waist level and the other had a bright red large plastic cup held at waist level, and the sight of these men locally where I'm at, triggered a feeling to move away from them and I said as I did, "You both have bad energy." The idea of two of them walking together suggests military because they buddy-up most of the time. I think, however, this is why the Mormons, in their 2-men teams, have enjoyed approaching me a lot and I think some of them have known all along. It's like they later showed up in my life, in other colors, to detract from the reality of what I experienced with abuse and torture and my seeing the two men in tan-brown with red and/or carrying cups towards me. So obviously it was some kind of a uniformed place where I was either afraid of because they were pilot or airplane people, or uniformed soldiers.
The U.S. is incapable of protecting me and my son, or has at least confined all their information and torture within a few organizations. The idea that it is contained information, however, is impossible, because media, movies, books, and advertisements have used information for partial inclusion of references to some of the extreme things that have been done to us. It is as if the information is considered so dangerous and "privileged" and illegal, that some who are connected to it, enjoy setting out a few references or inside jokes to "reward" those involved with "wink,wink" nods and jokes that they know will satisfy the appetites of sadists. It also feeds the egos of those who want to feel included in something secretive or who would feel more powerful or believe they are more powerful to be included.
This kind of grotesque knowledge of the worst things done to me, for example, were obtained by people like Robin Bechtold and even Monica Allen, who just seemed like normal high school kids from the start, or go back farther to Stephanie Maiers even, in jr. high...who would imagine? They were no different from my brother who was tested at how well he secretly pinched me or hit me and was able to make it appear as though I was the perpetrator, and then these government kids were rewarded with personal information about me that they were encouraged to exploit and use against me--for a feeling of satisfaction, inclusion, better work, and money. People like Robin Bechtold took information about child abuse done to me and then plotted to coordinate multiple rapes against me later, on top of everything else they knew. Josh Gatov? There are no other definitions for "predators" than people like this.
When I left this country for political asylum, anyone knew I had a right to it, and so did my son. We still do, and my son is not safe here. How safe is my son when he is with people that work for the government or are in such horrendous bondage to the government, torture and abuse is committed only by kicking his own mother to the curb.
My mother once said "That's where it started" when I mentioned going to the Netherlands. She meant euthanasia, as we were on the topic, but I later also intuited more about the comment later, because I know I was sexually abused as a baby and toddler and I believe that was also occurring in the "Netherlands" (so to speak, slang) before I was being electrocuted. However, I do not believe the electrocution was from someone jacking up a car battery and rudimentary home-bomb devices. It was professional and there is no doubt about it. The cutting could have been done as a group by anyone. Some of it is finer work and other parts are scratches. There is evidence however, of obvious "incision" marks in my skin that look identical to surgical incisions I've had for arthroscopic surgery and bone grafts. Also, the marks from electrodes do not look like amateur marks and are placed in a surgical way, in parallel measures, on my body. It was obviously a trained surgeon and doctor that had access to doing this. Yes, I have scars from cutting and I know my parents did some of it because I remember. But my parents are not surgeons and doctors and I have evidence of professional work that was done on my body that was to harm me.
I also have no other explanation, aside from the idea I am Edward Howard's biological child and not fully my Mom and Dad's, for why I am not psychic like the rest of them. All of the people on my Mom and Dad's side are psychic. Not a few--all of them. Except for me, and I don't know about my brother but never thought about him that way. I am the only one who is not a full-blown gifted psychic and there is no explanation for the anomaly except that I might be only half-biologically theirs (Howards, as they say, ELVH's) or it's because of the extreme electrocution and poisoning. I also know someone in my family had a major blow to the head, in 1979. To my knowledge, no one in my family had such a thing happen, unless my Dad got knocked out by a 2x4 once, hit on the head, and I do have some memory of someone hit like this once. Aside from this, I would be the one who had a blow to the head because of this country and it is likely the reason I am not psychic. 1979. I was 5 years old. I know things were done before then, but something happened to me potentially, in 1979. I was also about 5 years old when I had my guinea pig Squiggy, as well.
I am the only one who loves Oliver Garrett.
Not only that, I am the best argument against "capitalism" that anyone in the world could hope for. Not only has the U.S. proved it is not a democracy, it proves capitalism is a failure entirely and the entire basis for a political system in the U.S. is fully corrupt. It proves that instead of rewarding "hard work" and "competition" this is a country that punishes those who work hard and who are most skilled, intellectual, or gifted. It proves the U.S. is a military state, where the military and NASA are the only competitors. This is a country that has tortured me, one of their own citizens, when I had assets and valuable skills and talents to offer and enrich the country with. Instead, they impoverish themselves. They expect to do the same with my son, and already have to some extent, taking an extremely early-learner and intellectual and happy little boy and torturing him to reduce his potential and ability as they try to use him as a rubber doll for themselves instead, to cast off to the side of the road as they jump into their getaway car out of the Constitution and Bill of Rights and their "duties".
Don't blame a CIA defector for reflecting your own worth by throwing out a mirror so you can see yourselves for what you really are.
As long as this country has kidnapped my son from me, they reduced my time with him, secured him as a hostage with a family they already controlled, and then blocked me from having any and all contact with him while they threw a few photos now and then to show me and prove to me they continue torturing him.
Is that what they did with Edward Howard as well? I'm sure. "How much is that doggy in the window?" "The one with the waggley tail"...that's what they were singing into the surveillance ghost microphone.
"I do hope that doggie's for sale."
How much did the United States of America and Canada sell out for?
I just wrote a section about equality and how the U.S. does not have this any longer, and I was tortured while I wrote about it and then the section was deleted because these are people who are chickenshit, moral cowards who have less ability than those they torture and use the only thing they have at their disposal which is weapons. The U.S. concept of "equality" in case you forgot, is not about "leveling the playing field" with weapons when your kids turn out to be not as "bright" as the past generations have proved, as someone else's family. Equality means each person comes into the world with what they've got, no matter what it is, and has an equal and fair shot to do the best they can with that, and to make something of it. It doesn't mean going on hit squads to take out legs and arms of the best competitors because you're happy you're riding the military state's tank. It also doesn't mean you collude with a bunch of government kids to rape a woman who pissed you off because she made you feel inferior when you were a high school punk.
Anyone can see, by some of what I've described was done to me as a kid, that the goal has not been "intelligence" or security aims. It's been degradation of people who you always worried would be better than you, and were, even with your best efforts of repression, and who still are which is why you're so pissed all you can think about is how to get your next "torture fix". I will always be better than this country. My son will always be better than this country. There is no chance this country can even make it past my shins, without more than the military telling them to pull themselves up by their bootstraps.
Freedom of speech is an absolute right and no one changed that law. Torture and assault have never been rights. You can torture me and cut me up and assault me and rape me and use me and then act "angry" if I insult one of your kids or use a verbal attack because of things you've been pulling with me, but I am always within my legal rights. I am cloaked with Freedom of Speech and it's legal, while you drip in blood that says "innocent victims" and commit crimes against your own citizens with no legal right.
The minute I quit reporting on factual events, this country (the guilty who I switched to addressing) began torturing me again, figuring if I'm done with those facts and that's what I have to report now, they are done with the facts, not interested in my political lecture that chills their bones, and they torture me. They can't stand anything remotely "oratory". It reminds them too much of when I took their asses to court.
They also don't like my bringing up the fact they are now engaged in warfare and torture against a little boy named Oliver Garrett who the United States of America hates. The United States detests and loathes Oliver Garrett and they hate him more than they hate enemy combatants in foreign countries. The United States and Canada hate every single hair on my son's body and every cell he is made of, and they want him a living martyr, like Middleton of England does. They don't want him to be a moral martyr and have sympathy, they want him frying alive and want to have the smell of his skin wafting into their nostrils.
That is how much the U.S. hates and loathes my son Oliver. This country and Canada, began targeting my son and torturing him before he was even born...they imagined his existence and what he would be like and hated him and every single demon in the Pentagon, NASA, and White House cringed when they found out how smart he was after he was born, even after what they'd already done to him with torture in the womb and at childbirth. Malcolm Butler looked at him and all he saw was something to kill. There is no possible way anyone can claim the U.S. is "disinterested" in Oliver, or that "they like him". They do not like him. Their behavior is not that of a country that "likes" its citizen. They are also not "disinterested" when they put millions of dollars into targeting him before he was even 1 year old. The United States hates him and wanted my own eggs exterminated or sold to them as government-seized property for the U.S. Marines who have sought revenge for Robert Garrett Sr. going AWOL ever since he left in the 40s. They HATE him. They HATE Edward Howard. They hate ME with every government bone and marrow and blood running through NASA and the NSA. Jews, who are supposed to be more 'sympathetic' on account of their own historic suffering, see me as phenomenal threat against them and hate me. They have tried to assassinate me more than one time. These people who hate me and my son, are not halfway-haters. They hate with only one motive and idea running in their minds to excite them and that is to have us tortured and suffering and to work out and devise the best plans for the most cruel forms of humiliation and disgrace.
This country has used my mother's family to separate me from my own son, and block him from having any contact with me, and they used my father's family in the same way. They did this, knowing they could control my parents when my own parents used knives on me when I was a kid.
My own mother, or one of the Dicksies, even worked out some bizarre idea of throwing what looked like urine across her arm at me before Katie Middleton's baby was born, in an angry form of retaliation over comments I made about Middleton. She opened the door, and tossed it out to fall over her arm like a waterfall or "muff" of gall. As she did this, she made a comment or made it clear to me why she was doing this and what it was over. It was one of her hurrahs at the idea of a comment I made on a blog post a long time ago, about reading about some voodoo woman who said she could "overthrow" the best of the best. My mother threw what looked like urine or gall over her arm, from her waist, and I knew it was intended to me and then my Dad had me read some scripture referencing it later, when the baby was born and then the name turned out with the acronym GAL.
When I have a mother, one of them, who is trying to frame me for things when I was 13 or 14, and aiming for me from the window when I was 8 so I slipped and broke my arm (not voodoo--military) and a Dad suggesting I get myself into trouble by setting a house fire, and when they were setting me up to be disappointed in authority and government from the start, by first telling me it's illegal for a stranger to spank a kid, and knowing the school principal would then beat me while I had this belief,...
What good do you think this country EVER had in store for me? They made promises to Edward Howard, I'm positive. And to one other person maybe. But this country has deliberately set me up to be isolated and removed and hunted by my own family.
What kind of country sets up a newborn baby to be hunted against by their own family?
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