Archive for Wednesday, 22nd December, 2010


The one who played a song at me about cock-sucking.  Came out tonight, said ‘God’ loudly, and then did an iron fist/velvet glove act with his friend. 

This psychologically violent and rapacious dog (that’s what a non-Christian might say, I’m not supposed to say it, but a non-Christian could and probably would).  The answer is ‘NO’!!  If you read this and see him you can tell him so, from me.  I’m not sure what he is about, or his friend.  I’m getting frightened to talk about my feelings, because people have started making noises about mental health interventions again.  They always hit me early with that.  Today it was the house of Lords.  They were trying to play self-satisfied, melifluous intellectuals.  I started watching from the beginning, about an hour and a half into it.  Baroness whatever her face started the main business, saying ‘question’ like ‘quistion’.  I find that violent, and it affects the way I hear everything.  But I think they were struggling themselves with my post earlier today, the one about coded communication.  I’m hysterical because of the way the encounter with this guy has left me.  I want to prattle.  What is he/are they expressing?  Ignorant, but eager and innocent hunger, or something else?  It was a bit like a childish game to them. A God game.  Who is He going to speak to?  One plays the hard man and the other the soft.  Between them they take what they want.  My thoughts and feelings and the reactions of my body are my business and my responsibility, but I still left feeling I had been clubbed, people are hooking on to me, and my tongue is tingling.  The God fashion.  Nick someone else’s clothes right off their body if you don’t know how else to do it.  Oh My God!  Why can’t they leave women alone?  And the cocksucking bit.  it might make sense to them, and I think I can see the sense it makes, but it’s still wrong and horribly violent.  Just where do they get it from?  I’ve wondered if that is the way communists dealt with Christians before, as a form of persecution or something.  Knowing neither the language nor the history is not helping me.  I wonder if they are like the Russians, who deny their own bloody history, saying it never happened?  If they are, I’m not going to find out the truth from them.  They had the radio on.  When the headscarf guy laughed and said ‘he’s talking to you’, who was he talking about?  I thought he meant God.  Maybe he meant the man on the radio.  I don’t know, I left trying not to be pawed, and as I did they banged on something (that’s common too).  It’s horrific.  It’s mental rape.  I’m so tired.  I managed to get my shopping today.  This wasn’t how I expected to feel at the end of it.  I had several groups pass me in near silence today, then laugh loudly just as they passed.  That’s what made me start wondering about the communist bit.  Whatever it is to them, to me it feels like hatred.  Maybe I’m just expressing a conscience in trouble.  Maybe it’s witchcraft.  I’m just tired.  I’m too tired to analyse it.  I think writing confuses my feelings more than anything else I do.  Especially when I’m being stalked.  It gives people a hook.  I keep losing my page connection at significant points.  I don’t know if it’s a psychic thing or if I’m getting what they used to call ‘booted’ in the chatrooms I started out on.  That makes most sense to me, but sometimes it happens even when I’m not connected to the internet, also at significant points.  I shouldn’t write like this, it’s trash.  Is it me?  Is it just a personality and a relational problem?  No.  I watched the House of Lords today.  Something was going on.  It might be just me, FOR me, but for other people exactly the same kind of thing is just them?  I will never be able to socialise with most of these people, they are just too weird.  Maybe for ‘weird’ read hungry.  I need to sort my computer out, it keeps crashing after I installed a substandard device.  When I get my head clear, the people who walk past do the weird stuff.  And the cafe is messing with the radio, and playing ‘get God’ games.  I’m writing like this in a desperate attempt to try and recover myself.

Is this place really as evil as I think it is? 96% Christians?  That has to be a lie.  I don’t even know why they would want to be or give that impression, and if they think psychological violence is the way to do it, I wonder who their examples have been.

I picked up my new glasses today.  I hope I can read with them.  They don’t seem as strong as the ones I lost.

Day 2 – the shouting men are here again.  Hence my ‘organised stalking’ tag.

Advertisements

The reason I disagree with this, from people with power and authority towards people who have been through the mental health system, is that my experience of the mental health system is that they insist it doesn’t happen, and if you say it does it is evidence of mental illness.

My experience of the people who use this form of communication is that they do so in order to be able to insist that you respond on their terms and they get involved on their own terms, otherwise they won’t even acknowledge the communication.  They will stand by and look on silently and impassively as they order you to be taken away.

Their assumed right to do this also assumes that they know everything they need to know to make a decision about a person.  Erm . . . that would make them God, then?

I’m in a dilemma over this.  I’m sure that most of them believe that what they are doing is right.  But I would like to e able to say that the reason I feel so strongly against it is that I have fallen prey of evil people who have perverted its use, but those people would not accept that description and assessment of themselves, and neither would most ‘decent, upstanding people’ accept it of them.

I do feel love, I do feel loyalty, I believe very much in obedience to authority.  I think I do, anyway.  So when I don’t respond to this, I believe it says something bad about me, and I think that is how they see it too.

Am I a person being abused, or am I just a rebel who needs to learn to respect those in authority? If I go to the people I rebel against in tears, will they heal me?  I certainly seem to be making life very hard for myself.  That is the position they take.

The problem is, for me and other survivors of the mental health system, the government validates and upholds the system which says believing we are being communicated with in this way is evidence of mental illness.

So what is the definition of mental illness? Is it, for someone like me, that I want to do what I want to do on my own terms, not on the terms of those who use their form of communication to be able to opt out of committment to a response from the person which is other than they want?  To me, it looks that way.

I thought that living in a democracy meant you could do anything you want to, within the law, on your own terms unless, discounting assault, someone with authority stops you with good reason and in an acceptable way, which, to me in a situation like this, would be with the personal commitment of being explicit about what you are saying, about who you are saying it to, and about what you want, so that everyone watching and listening, including the person themselves, knows what you have said and who you have said it to.

I feel I could just go walking up to these people, at the moment, and find myself embraced and accepted.  That makes me feel that I should drop my insistence that people in authority should not communicate with those without power and authority in code, whatever the communication.  I think they would say it is about testing the heart.  When I started writing this I was ready to maintain that it is an attempt to control a person inappropriately rather than to control a situation and recognise the person’s rights to their own terms of action and understanding. I wonder what kind of Britain it is that would be put at risk by recognising these rights and not acting against them.

I believe that no one in authority who upholds the mental health system has a right to use this form of communication with someone who knows that if there response is considered unacceptable they could well end up back in hospital.  I also wish to maintain that they have no right to take an individual out of that group and try and make them feel secure enough to leave the others behind. if they can do it for one, they can do it for all.  I believe the way to do that for this kind of situation is to make it clear that the mental health practitioners are wrong in their assertions and actions towards people who believe they are being communicated with using any kind of code.

Coded communication I am aware of and that I know others are aware of embraces things like parable, metaphor, storytelling, drama – seeds planted that go for the heart and conscience and which bypass the process of logic.  I heard on Premier Radio that it was C S Lewis who said that was the function of his stories, and Premier Radio accepted the validity and desirability of that without question.

My own life experience, and that of many others, I have to assume,  is that that is not something we have been brought up with with any awareness or security or understanding. That being the case, it is wrong to invalidate us and superimpose it on us at will.

I think that, in most situations, employing means to move the will through the heart bypassing the mind is assuming far too much power.  It assumes too much personal purity and knowledge.

I’m Sue Barnett.  I’m trying to survive the mental health system threat, and until people insisted on knowing everything about me, I was a survivor of sexual and other forms of abuse.  I was satisfied that, as a Christian, the new had come and the old had gone, and that there were some things I didn’t need to talk about.   Because other people were not, and were not prepared to say that to me or to tell me what it was they were concerned about, I have been made a victim of the mental health system and of everyone who is happy to have that fear as a form of control over me because it makes their job easier.  I have been made a victim by people in authority who have used this extreme form of force and invalidation to compensate for their own cowardice, anger and unwillingness to be open without taking control.

The truth is, however I feel, the life I could have known will now never exist.  For them, knowing that I have been a victim of sexual abuse makes them believe they need to take another look and try to restore the relationship, maybe try to help me and so expiate their guilty feelings.  Some want to work even harder to cover what they have done, and so present as believing they need to be even more insistent on the form of communication they are using which will not cover the person who responds to it in the eyes of the mental health system, if the communicators don’t find the response acceptable.  They can invest it with whatever tone or expression of love, authority, disapproval, anger, cajoling, humour, twitting, triumph, positive disengagement they want to, the form of communication is still as compromising to its recipient.

If they want me to go home, the right way to communicate that is to tell me so openly and formally, either giving reasons or saying that they can’t, and to tell me what kind of provision will be made for me if I do what they ask me and what else they want to happen and don’t want to happen, in terms of – well, not knowing whether or not they want to arrest me is one of my greatest anxieties.  Will anyone meet me at the airport and, if so, who and for what purpose?  How will I know them, and that they are who they say they are and want what they say they want?

With good reason I am afraid of force and of violence and of being taken into any kind of detention when no one has told me to expect it.  Making people live with that has to be wrong, in most cases, if not all.  They tell us that if we treat them with respect we will be respected.  Hm. A very easy equation to make, and also one which they don’t impose that often on themselves in any kind of requirement to be the first to show respect in a relationship which has broken down.

Christmas is here.  I feel as if I have deprived myself.  But I believe that other people have been watching my actions with cynicism they have attributed to me.  They seem to think I have done some hard and necessary things just because it is Christmas and I want to have a good one, so they are treating my actions and communications with cynicism and not even acknowledging them.  To me, that makes them the problem, because I don’t work that way.  I would not seek resolution of serious issues involving other people with an eye to having it out of the way by Christmas.  I recently contacted the police complaints department for an update on a complaint they have allowed to lapse for several months without communication.  That was a week ago.  In spite of the seriousness and distressing nature of what is involved, I have still received no reply, and I really believe, given the way they have handled all other communication I have made on this matter, that they have decided I can wait until after Christmas because if I thought I should be able to get it out of the way before then they are going to teach me I can’t do things at my own convenience.  I didn’t even think of Christmas.  I did what I knew I had to do at the time.  If this is the approach they are taking towards me, it is their cynicism, not mine, and is completely contemptuous.  There might be another reason but, if there is, they are not exactly showing any human concern.  I haven’t even had an acknowledgement of the email I sent them, let alone an update.  This must be wrong, especially when I first started trying to deal with it back in March 2009 and they have failed to deliver in terms of the way they said they were going to handle it, even after many attempts to get a clarification.  I’m wondering why I am being held hostage in this way and why I, as the person who made the report and has later complained about the way it has been handled from start to finish in the way they have treated me, am being made to feel as if I don’t matter.  It appears to me that they MUST be trying to hide something.  If they are waiting for me to be prepared to deal with it in the way they think I should be, that is awfully patronising and shows incompetence rather than anything else.  I’ve made the report.  I’ve made the complaint.  I am being ignored on one hand and being put under pressure on the other while they wait for – what?  Perfection in the way I go about things and the way I express my feelings over the situation before they will allow any resolution or progress or closure?  These people, whose officers have been exposed for rape and other misdemeanours?  They think they have a right to hold me, someone who went to them voluntarily, hostage?

You daren’t say too much against these people.  They have ways of making you pay.  Violence, neglect, incarceration under the mental health act, leaving you to deal with abuse and vigilantism in the neighbourhood.  Would they take out a contract on my life?  Would they physically have me killed?  I really don’t know.

Edit note: 11.36 am Bulgarian time:

This post didn’t appear under it’s assigned categories and tags for several minutes.  I thought it wasn’t going to, so I contacted WordPress to ask why.

When I finished (perhaps this is what is commonly called ‘paranoia’, but I don’t think so, though I am in the city centre, more or less), a police car came past with its siren wailing.  It stopped and started and stopped and started, sort, long, it felt deliberately timed and mocking, angry, harassing and threatening.

Now I’m angry.  MY anger is not acceptable, so I am also afraid.  In the light of everything that has happened this year – should I just laugh at myself and stop being so precious and pretentious?  It looks as if I am being targeted for deliberate harassment.  If the action is deliberate, harassment might not be their motivation, it is just the quickest interpretation people arrive at. But whatever the motivation, if it IS deliberate, it is experienced as harassment and contempt and provocation, and knowing that might be what they want, I am angry, and sick with fear because of that possibility.  Because when that happens, it is normal, and right, to want to confront the human beings responsible.  But if I did I would come off worst.  That is how people become mentally ill.  Not being allowed to confront what is wrong with what is right, and having to pretend compliance where it is absolutely wrong, in the face of authorities and powerful organisations and individuals who pretend they are not doing what they most obviously and certainly seem to be doing.  I’m afraid, because they might be using this kind of activity towards me to get me to reveal my identity and whereabouts.  Even though my landlord, I think, has to give them that information anyway.  I’m afraid because, when I think I am wrong, I feel it deeply, and they make me feel that way all the time.  I’m afraid because my normal mode is love and respect, and they seem to enjoy invalidating that, or misappropriating it.  I feel stupid.  I think that is what they want me to feel.  Back off and watch a woman being abused and wait until she cries for help, realising how right they really are and acknowledging how wrong she really is.

Um . . .

AOL & About.Me – Booyah!

Look at my post, not the last one, maybe one or two before, that I wrote yesterday about AOL.  This seems so cute.  Seems is the operative word.  The post might be completely innocent and without knowledge, but is its selection?

I can contradict myself out of any conviction these days.

I eventually got round to having a bowl of porridge today, around 3pm. It was the first food I had eaten since Sunday. I’ve not had a decent cup of tea or coffee in that time either, I ran out of soya milk.

I discovered that my ‘nice little stop gap shop’, as I thought it was, is not far away from where I am staying at the moment. They sell soya milk in there. I got there 5 or 10 minutes before they close.

The first thing that happened was the older woman who was there looked disparagingly at my clothes as soon as I walked in, so I gave her a big grin and said hello as if she was a dear friend I hadn’t expected to see. I’d never seen her before. I’ve never been in that late.  She said something rather loudly that sounded like ‘celebrity’.

Anyway, there was a little man in a black leather jacket who started coming on heavy around me. That put my back up. I told him I was looking for soya milk, which they normally have, and he kept saying ‘no’, as if I was stupid even to ask for it. He didn’t even seem to know where to look.

So there he was, giving me the verbal, so I gave it back. Next thing I knew he was grabbing hold of me, and I told him not to and said he was breaking the law. I said I’d call the police. Yeah, right, like they care! If I thought they cared I wouldn’t need to fight a losing battle so hard for myself.

Anyway, he grabbed me again and started dragging me and shouting, so as much as I was desperate for what I had bought, and just as desperate for what I hadn’t been able to, I said, ‘right, OK, I won’t have ANY of it’, and dropped it on the floor. He got worse, I think he hit me, so I hit him back. Nothing heavy, just beating with the side of my fist, I’m not strong enough to do harm and didn’t intend to anyway.  I was just trying to make a point I hoped he would respect and stop what he was doing.

Next thing I know, he’s let himself drop to the floor, and then the old woman started hitting me, and he got up and joined in, and I think there was someone else, another man, joining in as well, and then I was really frightened, because they didn’t seem as if they were going to stop. The young woman who serves there stood outside the door looking alarmed, and I looked at her and saw she wanted it to stop, and said to them, ‘oh no, please let me go’. I didn’t know how far they would go. I wish I wasn’t writing this, I need some support for my tears, and I have none, either here where I am or anywhere, with anyone reading. Real support manifests in action that makes an appropriate difference.

Anyway, he grabbed hold of me again and threw me out of the door, and I was frightened I might end up hurt on the floor. Then I looked back and they were all laughing, and he was making sexual gestures with his fist and saying go fuck yourself. I came to this country with an open heart. Me. I’ve stayed here, in both hope and fear. Is this too melodramatic? Probably. I run with my tears, I believe my tears and my pain, instead of turning it to humour. I imagine people saying, ‘no, it’s OK, it’s not melodramatic, pain and tears are OK’, and wish I was with them to receive the imagined support instead of typing on my keyboard.

They were just there, laughing, when I said it was criminal and I would call the police. I’ve no idea why they were laughing. And he was coming on with the violent sexual gestures and talk. There was a locked door between us. I wanted to fall on them and say, ‘oh no, please don’t do that’. Almost a feeling of ‘please, what’s the matter? Why are you acting like that towards me?’ Everything I said to try and recover myself and some sort of control and communicate to them how bad what they had just done was, they stood there laughing, and it looked so pleasant in itself, it has left me feeling that I want to go back and apologise and ask THEM to forgive ME. Every time your vocal tone breaks through to freedom, they ride hard on the top of it with speech of their own. And I think they seem like such wonderful people, it makes it feel like a good thing and not a bad one, and something I should just accept as the way they do things at this point in their development and maybe always will. And that it isn’t bad, it just isn’t liberal. What’s so great about liberal? Not every country operates liberally, and some of them that don’t seem to be better ruled than we are.

People say Bulgarians are so helpful. That’s not what I saw tonight, and on many similar occasions people just turn away. They refuse to acknowledge anything bad in their own actions. Ever. I’m not England’s rich, I’m England’s poor, the poorest of. I came here hopeful, not avaricious. This is so cruel. It is, it REALLY is, so hateful – isn’t it?

What really got to me was that the woman started hitting me for hitting her husband, so I assumed, when he was being aggressive towards me both physically and verbally. Isn’t a woman allowed to have had enough of that and to stand up for herself in kind? Why would one woman turn on another woman who is hitting a man that has hit her? Especially here, where figures for abuse of women have been presented to me as being so high – 1 in 4, the last I read. I can’t think that she joined in out of fear, her smile and laughter straight afterwards seemed so natural and with such relish.

I just wanted a cup of tea and a slice of toast. That’s all I wanted. I’ve been avoiding going out all day because I thought I’d have to deal with taxi drivers. I didn’t know it was so close. I met the first girl I dealt with from Mirela when I was looking in Sofia for accommodation, she gave me directions. But at the end she gave me a look of open distaste. Maybe that’s why I’m not getting replies to my emails from Mirela.

I was raging through the street all the way home. A girl who had ignored me for 2 minutes as if she didn’t understand turned round and said to me, ‘don’t talk about my country like that’. Why not? I’m its victim got here under false pretences, it looks like.

In the covered arcade, just after I had passed him, a man in a uniform said excuse me. I said no. I thought he was just security and had no right to make me stop. I asked if he was police, he said yes, I didn’t believe him, said arrest me then, but you’re just security and you can’t arrest me because I’m not doing anything to your property. He followed me at a distance and silently in a way I felt intimidated by, then he disappeared for a while, but he reappeared as I got closer to home and managed to get conviction into my voice as I called them scum. As soon as strength, conviction and an end to my lack of self-control came into sight, there he was, still following at a distance. Do they hate me because they think I am rich and privileged? I’m not, though. How can people be so cruel as to be contemptuous towards people who have come to their country in hope and in peace? Not because they think they are owed anything.

The shop is just off Maria Luiza Boulevard, on a street on the right coming away from Vitosha Boulevard. The street is opposite a shopping centre with a clock tower, 2 streets before Tsar Simeon. The shop is on the right, past Costa Coffee on the left, past the mineral water outlets on the right, just across the road. It’s a shop with a green sign, on a corner, the name looks like Boehpe, or something similar. I used to like shopping there. I thought it was a nice little shop and a nice change from Billa. I thought as long as it was nearby I’d never have to go to Billa again.

Duh!

Is this acceptable discipline from a man to a woman in Bulgaria? Is this the right way to treat a woman who obviously is a bit above her station, and has no other man to take her in hand? Is this the right way to treat hypocrisy and refusal to trust and give the love and respect you feel, even in spite of yourself? Is it? I don’t know, but to me it feels right. Will someone with the power to make a difference please stand up and tell me it is wrong, if it is? Because if you allow it without positive action, you might as well say it is right. That’s the message people know I’m getting from you, in everything but words.  I’m saying this to my country’s government.

My landlord came to the house with a police car once, to demand his rent.  I’m not sure, I think I heard something just like it outside where I’m staying.  It blares a bit like a fog horn.  That was in a little village street, the same noise.  From a landlord who already seemed to be telling me he didn’t want me there anyway.

I hope this time it wasn’t connected with me.

When I started writing this and saying today, it was still Tuesday.  Midnight passed here just before I posted.

WAGblog: Dum Spiro Spero

"While I breathe, I hope"

Emerging From The Dark Night

Working through the Dark Night of the Soul to emerge as me.

The Elephant in the Room

Writing about my experiences with: depression, anxiety, OCD and Aspergers

The Sir Letters

A Tale of Love

The Seeker's Dungeon

Troubling the Surf with the Ocean

Seroquel Nation

Onward and upward...

We are all in this together

it's gonna be okay.

my last nerve

psychology | psychiatry | neuroscience | n stuff

A Philosopher's Blog

A Philosopher's View of the World...assuming it exists.