Category: Christianity


Christianity and Veganism – Either/Or?

Today I went to a Zizzi restaurant in Newark.  All I wanted was a glass of wine but I thought I had better at least buy an Italian bread bucket, as it is a restaurant not a pub.  As a vegan I was not thinking that the fining process for the wine had probably involved the use of animal or fish products.  I wasn’t thinking, all I wanted was a glass of wine after over two weeks not drinking anything.  In the end I had two glasses of wine, sea bream and tiramisu.  Some vegan I am?  Yes, absolutely.  I keep wanting to ‘eat normally’, ie, not vegan, and sometimes I give in to the urge.  The last two or three months I have given in a few times.  Until tonight, over the last two weeks I have been OK and stuck to the straight and narrow path of being a vegan.  It’s been better for my digestion as well.

Today, before this, I was thinking that the reason I am a vegan is that eating non-vegan harms animals, even just using their products, given the farming methods used, and that it brutalises people, especially at the extreme end of those who work in slaughter houses.  I wanted to be a vegan because I wanted to affirm myself as a human being who does not harm or cause suffering to animals and is not in any way involved with it.  There are people who say they would never harm a fly who eat meat and fish and their products regularly.  They are in denial.  Other people are being paid to do the dirty work for them and they buy the sanitised product at the end, and obviously recognise no link between themselves and any harm or suffering caused to an animal.  If they say they would never harm a fly and mean it, their thoughts and feelings lack clarity.

At the moment, though, I could joyfully abandon veganism.  I often crave foods that are not vegan, the vegan equivalents are just a bit harder to get hold of and a bit more expensive, and there have been times when I have eaten seitan when I have wanted to cut into some real flesh.

Christianity and Veganism – either/or?  Apart from two years in my teens I have always considered myself a Christian.  Even during the first years of being hospitalised I sometimes had difficulty seeing myself as Christian, but in those days I considered myself to be in a bad place in my life.  In my teens I embraced a life without God for two years.

The one thing we know about the things Jesus ate, if we believe the Bible, is that he ate fish.  For a few years now I have held to a position in my thinking if not always in my practice, that abstinence from all things animal is morally superior to indulgence.  So I was asking myself earlier today, where does that leave Jesus?  If it is better not to eat flesh or any of its products, where does that put the Saviour of the world, morally?  I get embarrassed when I don’t eat vegan.  I would be embarrassed to give up my vegan position, and have often seen my slips as sin.  If my slips are sin, did Jesus sin in eating fish?  Yet I have seen my veganism as part of my Christianity.  I have thought a great deal of the vegans I have met, robust and beautiful people.  Is it enough to say that Jesus was a man of his time and ate flesh without sinning?  I think vegetarians and vegans existed in those days as well.

I don’t know about veganism, but vegetarianism is an important part of some Eastern religions.  When the apostle Paul wrote to the Romans he recognised that some people did not eat meat and saw them as the weaker brethren with weaker consciences, and said that if his eating meat caused any of them to stumble he would never eat meat again.  There is no reason in the text to believe he did not mean this and it seems possible that he might have become vegetarian himself, because undoubtedly there were people who would have been stumbled by his eating meat.  I’m wondering if I am making too big a thing of this in believing that holding to a position that veganism is morally superior and preferable is incompatible with me calling myself a Christian in the traditional sense.  The kind of Christianity I have believed in says that Jesus was sinless, yet He ate fish, at the very least.

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Hillsborough Report

On Wednesday it was reported on Radio 4 that around 100 police statements were altered following the Hillsborough disaster and the situation was made to look like the fault of the public rather than the police.  Someone speaking on Radio 4 said that they did not normally believe conspiracy theories but that this time it was evident.

But that fact has taken all these years to be established and be reported.

To me it seems reasonable to believe that there are many other conspiracy theories which are equally true, including the conspiracy of the mental health system and its brutal approach to helping people to deal with their mental health problems, relationship problems, emotional problems.

I say therapy which is therapy is consenting, and nothing involuntary can fit that description or be ultimately therapeutic (unless it is shock therapy or reality therapy, but then is it really therapy, or just more repression/suppression and ‘learning your lesson’?).

Twenty-three years after Hillsborough this has come out, though the event is over and done with.  For people enmeshed in the mental health system it is ongoing and some do not survive.  People have been killed by inappropriate restraint methods and application, as well as by death at their own hands for others, preferring, I suppose, to die at their own hands rather than to keep going through the seemingly endless cycle of crisis and hospital admissions where the facts they know of their lives, better than the mental health service staff do, are often invalidated and contradicted by the insistence on a mental health diagnosis. 

I have recently felt hopeless and helpless and that, if I were a different person, I might kill myself rather than continue to go through this cycle.  I did deliberately overdose once, in 2003.  I took almost 100 paracetamol and lay down to sleep, not caring whether I woke or not.  I woke and stumbled into the kitchen and vomited.  The church I was going to at the time didn’t know this, but it was just before I was confirmed.  I ended up in hospital on a drip.

I have heard since Wednesday another programme on Radio 4 talking about the IPCC (Independent Police Complaints Commission) and the experience of some that it has failed to deliver for them.  I have only approached them about one thing and I didn’t follow it through to the end.  I tried, but the police service was not very co-operative and I ended up leaving it because of other more immediate pressures.

I spoke to one of the nurses recently and told her that the support I needed was legal support in the community when situations arose which I had not contributed to in the locality and which were a disturbance to me.  I mentioned that the police are supposed to do something after the third report from one individual, and she said that what they did would not necessarily be what the individual wanted and that they would not necessarily interpret the situation as the individual did.  She also said that the police are a law to themselves, a statement which could be interpreted her evasion of the issue, among other possibilities.

Started chapter 2 and realised it is not one story but several, a collection of short stories.  Very sad.  I am not sure, I do not think, that I would have been mature enough to read them at the time I was supposed to, in my first years at grammar school, but there is no way I can tell now.  I hardly went to school in those depressed years following my father’s death.

Depressed and angry years they were, too.  I used to stay at home reading Christian paperbacks, mostly, trying to work out how to belong.  I wanted to join Teen Challenge and work woith drug addicts.  An irony occurs to me here.  I’ve spent most of my life wanting to be up to and fit for the job and it feels as if – you pick it up, and develop yourself in the job, as you practise and go along.  I am looking down my nose at jobs I used to want to do – social worker, drug addiction outreach, etc.  What would I have become if I had got into those jobs earlier instead of thinking that office stuff was all I was fit for?  I didn’t know about gaining experience through voluntary work which would count as experience, and I seem to remember they all wanted qualifications anyway, specific to the role.  So you had to be a qualified social worker to be a residential care worker.  I’m not sure what my position would be now, especially having developed a disdain for the way psychiatry has worked in my life.

Still have nurses vocally tagging me and slipping in linguistic mickey finns.  Latest went “she-she-she-schitz”.  I can’t see that the question ‘why’ really matters.  When I think I should be justifying it I am thinking that it is a way of getting to my heart to develop trust.  The church uses parables.  So after my initial resistance I find myself wanting to justify them and thinking of myself as ungrateful and arrogant.  I am very tired at the moment.

I have just had my block leave increased from 3 hours to 5 hours, and the 3 half hours for local stuff stopped, so effectively I have half an hour longer than I had before, but the longest I can stay out at any one time has increased from 3 hours to 5.

Dr Fahy and I had a set to this morning.  I ended up arguing that she must think that the flash mobs and the harassment and violence were part of my mental illness, that that was what she was saying, but that I disagreed and that she could no more appreciate everything that I knew gave significance to what I was saying than she could unpick the Bayeux Tapestry and appreciate that.  She said that she believed it was part of my experience and I walked out because I thought she was saying I believed it was part of my experience but was all in my head.  That is what that response has come to mean to me over the years.  She might have meant she knew it was real.  If that is the case we are not communicating well with each other.

I don’t mind being tired as long as I am allowed to rest during that time.  I believe that is what I need, and the reason I have not wanted to stay on the ward is that it is just the same as what was happening at home, the shouting, the violence, except there is little here I can do to alleviate it short of go out.

A while ago I made a new blog out of the blog entries and forum posts that I had copied and saved from my Premier Radio blog, which was where I started blogging.  I’ve been meaning to put the link up for ages so here it is: http://premierchristianradiorejects.wordpress.com/

There is a big thing about veganism and me trying to think it through as a Christian who since my teens was brought up to believe in the sacrificial death and atoning blood of Jesus.  It hardly seems necessary for me to say now that I don’t believe the death of Jesus was required arbitrarily by God as a thing in itself, but that it was necessary for Jesus to give Himself up to death as an act of love.  At least that is how I was thinking.  I’ve begun to see it more politically recently.  That when Jesus said that no prophet ever died outside of Jerusalem He wasn’t being acerbic or sarcastic but was speaking a fact, and that that was what He meant when He said no one takes my life, I lay it down myself.  He laid it down by going back into Jerusalem when He knew they wanted to arrest Him.  If we believe in a literal resurrection, though, that was a miracle of God, in a way that His ability to give or withhold His life once they had Him was not, given that He did not call angels to stop the whole thing.

That was my favourite discussion topic that I started on that blog.  Without looking I don’t remember what else is there.

I??? Think???

Ever tried to write without any kind of privacy in a world where everyone always seems to react to you?

I’m back in hospital in Nottingham.  Section 2.  I’ve been thinking it is more like a boot camp than a place where people can heal, and people are the best managers of their own healing, I think.

Not much time.  I get 2 hours out twice a day.  Having tried to work my way through the anger of impatient and clever-clogs librarians and twitterers, I have 13 minutes left of my original 30.

People want me to come into line, but if I come into line with what I have, they would reject me, orsomething which to me would be meaningless.  So why can’t people just respect my privacy and my right to be who I am in the first place without using their job to do whatever it is they are trying to do which is, in my opinion, in breach of that?

What else was I going to say?  I started off with so much rthat shoulod have filled so much time, now I can’t think how to fill the time I have left.

I was on the bus just now.  Saw a man who looked like Gordon Ramsey.  I wondered if he knew or had been told or if that was what he was trying for.  Then I had a thought I might have had before.  If someone is trying to look like someone else, they might not be happy with who they are.  So saying to someone ‘do you kinow you look like . . . ?’ is not a very helpful thing, even and especially if that is what they are trying to do.  I decided I would not say to people again, with a pleasurable smile on my face ‘you look like . . .’, because even if that gave them satisfaction, it would be satisfaction in the wrong thing, and it wouldn’t last long, because they are not that person.

I decided any pleasurable comment about a person should be about who they are, not who they remind you of.  Also they might be sick of being told they look like someone else and feel about this the same way that I am writing now.  That they want to be a pleasure, or affirmed, for who they are, and not who they remind you of.  At root that is what everyone wants, whether they know it or not.

4 minutes left.  Time to tag and run.

Excuse Me, Can We Talk?

When I was young, this is how I understood you approached a person for a relationship or conversation.

The current trend, which everyone seems to do to me all the time, is to grab your ear without engaging you in conversation, then fire little bits and snippets to try and ascertain if ‘you are the one’.

This is not a form of conversation starting and finding out I am open to, and when it happens I feel stunned and detained for another person’s purpose against my will and I feel powerless and abused, because all they want is to satisfy themselves that I am the one they have heard about.

Yet, someone is ill or injured on the street and people walk by.

Recently, appropriately or not, I want to collapse, just give up, let my legs stop   holding me up and fall to the ground.  Just stop trying, not even necessarily lose consciousness and that is what I anticipate might be the problem, because if I am not supported in that moment and if people leave me I might end up in the hands of the mental health services as has happened before, unless there is someone who will stay with me and insist that doesn’t happen.

So I can’t stop, I daren’t and everyone wants to use probes to find out if I am who they think I am and what they have heard is true, but they don’t care about me as a person and coming up to me and saying,’are you all right, can we talk?’

No one knows or cares, unless I say so, that I am in a violent situation and my stomach hurts and I feel sick and as if I have to deal with the situation myself because when I ask for help nothing is actually done to change the situation.  Therefore I feel as if I need to buy a cheap dinner service and ask the violent and harassing ones round for a meal, while I am actually living in fear day and night, then when I get away from the flat feeling embarrassed because I think I am being immature and over-reacting and it is all my fault and who do I think I am and I should know better.

And I write far more than I want to on posts like this because people keep grabbing my ears and life in that way and I get so angry I lose control of where I am going.  I’m a paying customer and it feels like harassment and extortion, not to mention personally invasive and disrespectful.  It makes me feel trapped by their assumptions, unable to back out of things then accepting responsibility for a choice which was eventually not made completely happily, and I feel, right now, as if I am under exam conditions, using an internet cafe, and panicking because I feel as if I am being expected to stop writing this and talk to the proprietor at his insistence and expectation.

I have no boundaries of protection that are respected.

This has been how it is for years, and I feel sick.

More slamming doors, incorporating my speech pattern into his speech, clearing his throat and employing a tone towards me as soon as I walk in.  I do not have my own voice.  These people are deliberately stealing and demanding my right to myself and what is mine to give, and I suppose I have to pay for having used the service as well.

He is angry, among other things, but he will never say so.

This is the only internet cafe I know in Nottingham.  But I feel hurt and everything.

Another Home, Another . . .

She keeps screaming hallelujah, day and night, several times a minute during the day, they are violent . . . talk about deja vu!  I’ve written to the council.

Guess who is feeling responsible again?

Someone knocked on my door this afternoon.  Twice.  It was an official-sounding knock but no one spoke or announced themselves, so I don’t know who it was.  I’ve decided not to do deja vu on the way I treat knocks at the door.  If they don’t announce themselves as police I won’t automatically assume they are or act out of a knee jerk feeling that they are.  I’ve decided not to answer the door if I’m not expecting anyone and I don’t know who it is.  If they say they are the police I will answer, but I am still nervous.  I never know what decisions they are going to make about me and I am scared.

They can hear my radio when I have it on, a small DAB radio.  She hallelujahs at the end of every song, and every time a song mentions baby they are they conferring together saying ‘hmm, yes’.  I’m trying not to panic, but in the circumstances it is hard.  I’m more afraid of the authorities than I am of them.

I’ve got temporary council housing in Nottingham.  I’ve been in it for 2 weeks, I don’t know if they are going to house me permanently and if it would mean a change of address if they do.  I’ve been under pressure to collect my belongings for ages and have just learned that an estimate given by a removal man’s business friend in storage was very underestimated.  I was violently ejected off a campsite in Wales by an ex-police owner.  Almost 3 weeks later and the bruise on the inside of my arm is almost vanished.  My uncle lent me money which I decided to use for breathing space rather than make a decision under pressure to enter into a contract.  The campsite owner kept all my belongings and the camping equipment I had just bought, saying I didn’t own anything anymore.  I think I left with just the clothes I had on.  I had told him that one of his staff had touched me and been harassing me, and instead of dealing with it responsibly and professionally, he dealt with it that way.  I’ve asked twice for a social worker and heard nothing.  The council here knows what is happening, I have told them.

All told I feel sick with apprehension and embarrassment.  I reported the campsite incident to the police in Swansea, under the misapprehension that Neath came under Swansea.  All told I was there from around 4pm to around 11.30pm, and while I was in the interview room I was treated like a circus act and barracked and heckled from officers in nearby rooms, and they were laughing.  They were getting all the dirt they could about me and letting me hear it, and when I joked about my wellies from Tescos being a bit too tight for me because my right leg was too fat with a couple of the female officers, one of the male offcers said ‘that’s more like it, a friendly joke, not assaulting a police officer’, as though he had a right and that was the whole story and as if he did not know the abuses I have been through myself in my life.

I’m frightened of the police and mental health services, and I have asked the council for support I haven’t received or had the request acknowledged, at least I have received no letter.  My mobile phone was among the things the campsite owner kept hold of.  I can’t afford another right now.  I’m wondering if this situation is going to be used again to frighten me with mental health admissions.  I’ve already had several assessments in the last few months where it was decided I didn’t need to be in hospital, but not having any money or security and having my stuff taken from me left right and centre and another bout of 24 hour harassment is freaking me out.  Because before, in London, they said it was all in my mind and kept putting me under a section.

The woman I last spoke to at the council seemed to be trying to be understanding and sympathetic and human, but I have heard nothing and I don’t know what is happening or what decisions are being made and why.  I have told them so much which historically has been used to section me.  And people are reacting all over the place, as before.  It seems as if everyone has an expectation that I should tell them everything.  I’m thinking about the people’s courts under communism.  It is really terrifying, not least because I don’t feel free to express how offensive I find it.  If you confront people with their behaviour they can get really nasty.  They like to pretend they are not doing anything.

I think I’ve got £15 until next Thursday.  I made sure I topped up my bus pass for a week so I can get around.  I’ve got a fair amount of food.  I feel crazy with pain and fear and anger I daren’t express, and not knowing.

But my neighbours seem nice.  I feel treacherous and stupid.  I haven’t lived in Nottingham for ages, and I don’t know what is normal and what isn’t.

As I said in my letter to the council which, all being well, they should get tomorrow, I keep feeling as if it is me that is being perverse.  I’m wondering if she has learning difficulties, but sometimes it feels like a complete wind up, and as always, her timing is impeccably uncanny.  I’m not sure of the spiritual mechanics of it, but it is.

Sometimes they seem really nice, and one of the guys up there seems emotionally upset by it all.

I’ve told the council we need help and support.  I said we, not just I.  I haven’t heard a thing.  It is a week ago.  She said she ‘insisted’ that I stop reacting as I was breaching the terms of my contract.  But after agreeing with her, I now feel and believe that the terms of the contract were not written to inhibit understandable human reactions from people who are in a situation like this one.  But I did agree, saying also that if I agreed to stop then we needed support. . .

I’m frightened of the police.  I feel I have to go through a charade with them to communicate and try to get help, and it feels humiliating, because I often feel they are being deliberately ride and obstructive when I try.  I have so much anger built up, and I often hear them getting details on me and the fact that I have a history with the mental health services.  I know that is meant to help them have some idea how to assist, but it usually doesn’t feel as if that is what it is for at the time.  I always see it as a threat when they start talking in those terms, even though rationally I believe now that seeing it that way is a mistake.

But if their idea of helping me is to refer me to mental health services . . . that is what I am frightened of.  Their own conditioning which they act on without question and resent it if I question it.  I am frightened of the powers they have which I cannot resist.

I miss Max.  I’m really upset.  I liked him and felt as if I could trust him from the first time I heard him speak.  I’ve not stopped thinking about him, but it is now over a month that I walked away feeling unable to cope.  I didn’t mean to stay away at the time.

Memo to self

To achieve anything of importance you need your own private space.

With what is happening around me when I try to use a computer in a public space, or even stand and look out at the fountain I walked beside after my degree ceremony and reconstruct memories and remember who was with me, I can’t even remember what it was I considered so urgent that I needed an extra hour on the internet before I did anything else.

Officials have been so unethical and unprofessional in their handling of my situation and the way they try to access it that they have left me vulnerable in every way.

I’m going to get a tee shirt made up saying ‘Am I the only person who is not allowed to cry and scream in anguish without being arrested or put in a mental hospital?’

If anyone else wants to use it, feel free.  Your design will be unique to yourself (or your company, if you will go that low).  If anyone wants it for company purposes I might hope that they would approach me so I can share their profits.

Basically the police seem to be standing back and letting things get out of hand until I crack and start giving it back to my aggressors, at which point the police move in to take advantage of the situation to establish a contact with me which, because I do not accept where they want to go or yield, ends up in me being arrested.  They stand back while trouble develops then take advantage, rather than making an honest approach to what they want from, for or with me.  I still have bruises on my wrist from Monday night before the clearing of St Paul’s, which is 9 days ago, and no handcuffs were used.  There was no need for force, apart from making my opinion of what they were doing to me known verbally, I offered no physical resistance.  They acted in anger and malice.  Also dishonesty, I think.  They told me not to go back to my tent, supposedly by that time knowing that clearance was scheduled, so even if I hadn’t been arrested I would have been in breach of their instructions if I had gone back to my tent for any reason, even though it was the only place I had to sleep and had no money for anywhere else and they probably knew I would need to get my things.  As it is I seem to have lost everything I had in there.  The City of London police told me anything unclaimed had been taken to Heathrow and I should contact the Metropolitan Police about how to get it, but a CAB staff member phoned them for me yesterday and they say they know nothing.

On Sunday morning 5th February between 9 and 10 am I was in the O2 Shopping centre at Finchley Road, NW3.  I have never been in there before or got off in the area for years.  I had noticed an express hotel while passing on a bus and although they had no rooms, they were happy for me to buy tea and coffee through the night and buy breakfast.

I decided after standing at the bus stop for a little while that I would go in and see what was there, see if I could get a cup of coffee.  I went into Starbucks at just after 9am.  A young policeman came in directly behind me and as soon as I had finished asked for a fuckochino.

I’m sitting in Caffe Nero at the moment fighting for emotional possession of what should be mine to possess, where they have repeatedly looked at me as if I am a nuisance since I came in, and they are trying to do some sort of operatic thing behind the counter.  I’m finding it distracting and an act of sabotage, at least in terms of emotional connection, so my writing is hurting me.  I heard something recently which makes me feel that the police might have leaked a photograph of me to people and places like these, or maybe this is just the way they deal with people they really don’t like the look of and don’t want around.  I say again, schizophrenia is imposed by ruling dishonest savages and is not inherent in the person.  They advertise free internet here, but seem to be doing everything they can to distract me in my use of it.  It is not supposed to be their creative space to the distraction of the customers.  If I wanted opera I’d pay for it or find it on the internet.  I certainly don’t want to be involved in an angry psychic improvisation in a way that totally grabs at and demands my attention, for whatever reason.  It is 8.07 am at Canary Wharf.  It seems there is a wave they grab at with singing every time I start to think and feel.  I feel fear and distress and hurt and anger.  Betrayal and discrimination.

But back to Starbucks in the O2 shopping centre at Finchley Road.  And if I don’t manage to write all I know is in me to write, I might hopefully be able to come back to it later.  These coffee bar people seem to think they are the new 5 star hotel staff or the aristocracy themselves, but that goes for all service staff everywhere, in my experience.  Always imposing themselves, no discretion or sensitivity.  They have the rights, they say in writing, and their power is always upheld.  But we are paying and they are the paid.  So if they distract or impose themselves it is an act of theft, as much as anything.  I know my recent writing must have done the grapevine, and they are deliberately trying to distract me.  That is harassment.  I’ve never been in here before.

I asked the policeman if he had asked for a fuckochino, and his mate (3 or 4 others had joined him, including a woman.  I only remember one but maybe there were two) said to him ‘did you ask for a fuckochino?’ and he said ‘yes, I did’, and they made a joke of it.  I talked about verbal assault and harassment and went and sat down with my coffee.  I sat in a corner as far away as I could manage in the hope that it would keep them away from me, and also there was an electrical socket to plug my laptop into, which was what I needed.

Anyway, they sat level with me, but on the other side of the room.  They sat there effing and blinding loudly for ages and no one challenged them.  They were talking about crazy, crazy cat and vegan frappacino, which is something I had quite a lot in Starbucks when the weather was warmer.  They have told me their syrups are all vegan, so I have it made with soya milk and without cream.

Shortly after they started this a man came in with his young daughter.  I think from memory she was around 10 years old.  I had noticed her on the escalator earlier.  She had lovely long red hair.  They sat in front of me facing me, and I hoped they wouldn’t leave as I saw their presence as my safety and protection.  But these officers must have gone on for about 20 minutes or more in this vein, and eventually one of them said something about the position being clear.  They seemed to be watching my reaction and gathering from it that I was not going to get involved, but blog.  Soon afer he said about the position being clear I said my position was that I didn’t like them sitting there harassing me and using that language, which anyone else might have been arrested for, and talking about crazy.  Although they went quiet as I was speaking they didn’t acknowledge me, but I think they left in a sort of silence a minute or two later, no apologies to me or to anyone else.

Afterwards I sat there confused, feeling as if the attention was a positive thing and that it would be treacherous, unreasonable and perverse of me to find anything wrong with it and to try to expose it.  I thought they were trying to centre with me, perhaps, and stripping themselves of all decency to make me feel secure and communicate that they wanted to talk to me and wanted me to trust them.  What else, after all, is supposed to be communicated by their lovely smart uniforms and their clean, fresh appearance?

Then I thought what if it was someone else being treated like that?  If I accepted it as positive for myself it would be saying it was OK to do to someone else.  And at Heathrow I was arrested for swearing.  Mine was in desperation and anger but theirs was a constant stream of non-stop, jocular, almost barrack room stuff.  And there was a little girl and her father hearing it all.  Recently they have been saying to me that there are children around when I have been angry with them, and I have said that I didn’t care.  In the situation it was emotional blackmail.  These officers did not care that this little girl was party to this behaviour.  I’m not sure they thought about her at all.  They could see her.  When they have challenged me with the statement that there were children around, I couldn’t even see them.

I was thinking last night about something I have read quite often, that there are people with such low self-esteem that even negative attention is seen as something to be desired.  That is me.  In the presence of such a clean image, even if they are acting like that, I feel like such a low life that I deserve it, or that they are even engaging in an act of kindness to tell me that they are approachable.

But yesterday I thought (I have just looked at the girl behind the counter.  She looks very angry and defiant of me.  She knows as well as I what they are doing) would anyone want their mother or grandmother or wife or daughter or any other female to be treated that way?  If I ‘OK-ed’ it for myself, would anyone else thank me for that?

I stopped to think just now and when inspiration began to come, when I started to level out with my own emotions and thoughts, one of the girls behind the counter said ‘here we go again’.  It is a deliberate act of control and sabotage.  They have just started singing again in the same harassing way.  I was not going to write about them, but since they are taking from me the things I am wanting to write about, they have brought it on themselves.  I’m not sure who they are doing it for.  Every time I stop to feel an emotion they whine it out.  That is a statement of fact, not hatred speaking.

I can’t go into it in depth in these conditions, I can’t access depth language and expression or thought or memory reconstruction, but I was feeling that I have lost my sense of where the boundary lines ought to be, that I felt guilty about not accepting their behaviour with gratitude in the first place, and that I still do.  The officers were completely inappropriate in their behaviour, and it would have been equally inappropriate with or without the presence of the child, and whether it had been public or private.

So that is it.  That is that incident from Sunday.  There were about 4 or 5 others over the course of the weekend, but this one was completely unsolicited in a place I have never been in before.  I’m almost afraid to make such a categorical statement, but I believe it cannot be OK.  However extraordinary the situation, proper procedure and approach should always be adhered to.

I told the girl’s father that I loved her red hair and thought it was beautiful.  I did think it was beautiful, and I wanted to say so, because there are so many instances of redheads being bullied and I read about one recently, and I wanted to affirm her.  Afterwards I felt as if I might have been stupid.  I tried to stop the father as he was leaving and apologise if my comment had been stupid, but although I think he heard me say ‘excuse me’ he didn’t stop.  At the time I only saw them as being a protection for me.  I didn’t think about them being equal victims of the situation at all.

A few minutes ago the girl behind the counter said loudly, angrily and challengingly ‘I’m spiritual’.  She has loudly said ‘sorry’ a couple of times, but not to me, though it was meant for my hearing.

A few weeks ago I read and commented on a blog called ‘disable me’.  I feel as if I am being conceited even to mention it and to say this is a deliberate attempt to disable and control.  The way she is talking at the moment I have an image of someone parading themselves angrily on a platform and insisting on being acknowledged and looked at.

Finished 9.32 am

She has just said ‘baby’.  And now she is singing Cum by ya, and has gone into mocking singing.

Edit 9.42  They are openly and derisively miaowing at me.  It is savage.

Continued from ‘Police Stop and Search Slashed’ post.

Some time after 6am I found myself confronted by two police women asking me what I was doing there and, as I tried to explain, they talked me down and I thought they were rude, so I persisted in trying to explain until I got upset and they said I wasn’t being very nice.  They said they were trying to help me, all I could see was that they wanted to move me on, and I felt as if I had been a specific target.  I just thought they were really rude and unintelligent in the way they communicated and I was trying really hard to make them understand how I was feeling and how this was not a permanent or particularly chosen situation for me to be in, that I had tried to get a crisis loan and the systems had been down, and everything else I said in the post I referred to in my opening line.  They were pointing at me and being really provocative and aggressive.  Not violent, aggressive.

The next thing I knew they were calling backup, and 2 male officers arrived.  The way they looked at me and treated me and teased me about the way I was behaving, I lost it.

There was a male member of airport staff with a white shirt sitting opposite me, he had been there for about half an hour.  He had been speaking, it seemed to me, for my hearing, even though he must have been about 25 feet away.  He was lounging backwards and eyeing me and his body language was challenge and domination.  He continued to watch and listen intently, almost as if he was theatre audience or in a court room, while these police women were talking to me, and he was freaking me out.  I told the police I wasn’t going to talk to them anymore while he was sitting there doing what he was doing and until he was removed.  He was just eyeing me determinedly, but they refused to deal with him.

One of the male officers said loudly at some point, ‘all women are crazy’ and I wanted to make it stop and make it unsaid and take him to task but there seemed to be no way to do it.  I didn’t know how to handle it.  I was horrified and couldn’t believe he had said it.  Eventually they were dragging me out of the airport and he was continuing to be provocative.  I was objecting and he was saying ‘no one cares’, and it felt like a personal and emotional invalidation.  I had recently heard on The News Quiz on Radio 4 that 700-900 officers in the Metropolitan police have criminal records, including GBH.  Someone has told me since this incident that people with criminal records are not allowed to join the police and the records might have been gained while with the police, but I don’t know.

Anyway, I was wound up and swearing, and the same man said ‘if you swear once more I will put you under arrest’.  So I said, not feeling able to back down at that point, ‘OK then, fuck off’.  It was funny, he should have laughed and seen how inappropriate he was being himself.  The woman officer at the station I told as i was leaving laughed when I recounted it, and that felt like a real relief.  But instead he just said straight away, ‘right, you’re under arrest’.  At some point he put handcuffs on me.  My right wrist was black and purple for almost a week afterwards.

I said they were acting illegally, and that while I might be on the wrong side of the police, the police were on the wrong side of the law.  I said they were illegal, he said contemptuously ‘we all know what you are.  I asked him what and he wouldn’t answer.  I kept pressing him for an answer and he wouldn’t say.  I started shouting the odds again about the figures for police with criminal records, addressing the people around me, and he kept saying ‘no one cares’.  I said that wasn’t true.   I get one incident mixed up with another so I’m not sure how much I said on that occasion.  So I won’t make it up as if I can.

Every time I spoke they were speaking into and over me, if that makes sense to people.  I said they had killed my father, that he had committed suicide, but that I wasn’t going to commit suicide, I was going to blog.  At the same time that I was saying I was only 11 years old when my father committed suicide, he was saying, ‘I bet he killed himself because of you’.  I’ve heard that only one other time in my life, from a class mate straight after his death.  I was outraged, like an animal in pain.  He had no right to say that, but no matter how much I objected and kept trying to say they had no right to do what they were doing, they just kept mocking me and talking me down.

When they took me out of the van they gave a skewed account to the desk sergeant about what had happened and I said it was a misrepresentation.  They were being strict and confrontational, I said I had an appointment with the housing people about getting emergency housing at 11am (it was between 7.30 and 8am) and the sergeant said ‘I think you are going to miss it’.  I said ‘I bet you’re going to keep me here until it is too late for me to get a crisis loan today as well, aren’t you, so I will have no money tonight either, so what do you expect me to do and what good do you think you are doing?’

I felt I was being treated unfairly throughout and was angry and trying to be heard, but they were deliberately ignoring me.  I’m not sure if I had mentioned the harassment and vigilantism at this point or not.  But somehow it came about that the man who had been saying the things I have written started saying with seething anger, ‘she is going to come up to the desk and talk to you like a lady’.  I said ‘I will start acting like a lady when you start acting like a decent man’.

They insisted I take my watch and therapeutic magnet off.  I said I didn’t want the disorientation of not even knowing what time it was, but in the end I relinquished them, and my necklace which I won in a Crisis at Christmas raffle, because the way they grabbed my hands it felt as if they might break my fingers if I didn’t.

At 8.10am they put me in a bare cell with a bed shelf and mattress, a blanket and a toilet.  There was no toilet paper.  They said they would get me some breakfast but I got nothing until lunchtime, by which time I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything or been to the toilet for over 12 hours.  I had not been offered a drink during this time.

They told me at the beginning of the morning that I could see a duty solicitor.  I left without having seen one.  They were reading something at the beginning while I was upset and shouting and they said ‘that’s a no, then’ to something I didn’t hear.

Soon, after not having slept all night, I started to fall asleep on the bench.  As soon as I did I heard a male voice shout out, and they were banging.  This happened several times, that one of them shouted out as soon as I began to fall asleep.  I felt desperate.  I later saw that there was a camera on the ceiling pointed straight at my bed.  I wondered how closely they had it trained on me.  Over the last 2 days I have thought seriously that they were deliberately using sleep deprivation and I believe I am right.

Their idea of a vegan lunch was chips and some vegetables, no protein.  I gave up trying to eat it, I was so upset.  I asked if i could have a cup of tea with my soya milk, but they said no, I couldn’t have anything which had come from outside the station, even though they had no soya milk and didn’t offer to get any for me.

Several times, at least through the afternoon, a male officer would walk up to my cell door, stop outside and cough hard and significantly, and walk away again.  It frightened and angered me.  I kept feeling screaming and hysteria rise into my throat which I had to control, because I knew expressing it would do no good.  I kept wanting to speak to them like friends and ask for their help.

On the ceiling inside the door there was a sign that said there could be a monetary reward for anonymous information leading to crime.  When I saw it I said something about bribery and corruption.

I have felt over the last couple of days that they had me there expecting me to ‘talk’.  But they never asked me any questions.

Later in the afternoon I said something about a cup of tea and that I was a vegan and didn’t drink dairy milk.  The officer was angry and rude and dismissive.  He brought a cup of tea, even though I had said i didn’t want black tea, and I also didn’t want water, which was all they would offer me instead.  So when he turned up with this I wondered what it was and asked him if it was black or if it had milk.  He said it was powdered milk, and put it down on the floor rudely saying ‘it’s tea, do you want it or don’t you?  You either want it or you don’t’.  I ‘said’, ‘I’m a vegan and have been for 4 years.  That is my life choice and you are being abusive and disrespectful’.

There were no books, nothing to write with, nothing was offered, and I was harassed constantly and not allowed to sleep.  I was a wreck.  After all that and everything they had put me through in the morning, I think at some point I asked them when the solicitor was coming and what we were waiting for, and the officer said we were waiting for a doctor, because they thought I needed a mental health assessment.  I started shouting angrily and hysterically, saying after everything they had done to me and without having seen a solicitor, they wanted to subject me to a mental health assessment, and I said all they were really interested in seeing from me was naked fear.

When the doctor came I was taken to an office with an open door, and as we were talking the police started to interfere again in the same way as they had been doing before when I was speaking, but pretending it had nothing to do with me.  I had asked for the door to be closed for privacy, but the doctor had refused and said it wasn’t necessary.  When the interventions came I started to be afraid and panic, and they kept them coming until I was unable to control my fear.  The doctor refused to recognise what was happening, and he ended the interview telling the police, after I had gone, that he thought I needed a mental health assessment.

I didn’t find this out until several hours later when I asked again what we were waiting for and when the solicitor was going to arrive.  All day I was not told that I would not be seeing a solicitor.  They said we were waiting for a mental health team because the doctor had believed I needed an assessment.  Again I became angry and hysterical.

Before my father died we had a dog, which survived his death by a few years.  When he was alive my dad used to take him out with a big stick.  I think there was a nail in the stick at one point.  I used to tease my dog with the stick and thought it was really funny when he went running under the settee screaming.  I have realised in recent years he was terrified and been really upset at myself for what I did.  He would come out all docile and upset and exhausted, qlmost as if he was crying and telling me he was upset.  Loving and trusting me and telling me, his tormentor, that he was upset and frightened and taking comfort from me.

That is how I felt when they started talking about mental health teams.  I thought they did it to make me scream, and they got that much, at least.

The mental health team decided I didn’t need to be in hospital and told me the offciers were going to try to find me somewhere to stay that night.

When the evening shift took over a woman came to my cell.  She seemed nice and sympathetic, and when I told her what the offcier had said about my father killing himself because of me, she seemed genuinely shocked and said he shouldn’t have said that.

I can’t remember all the order of how the last part of the day happened, but she told me that, because I had been arrested, they had the power to take my DNA and fingerprints.  I believed that saying she had the power was not the same as saying it was something they HAD to do, so I asked her if she was going to do it.  She said a male officer was going to do it.  She said he was a ‘good lad’, and I wondered what that counted for with people like the police.  What would this ‘good lad’ do with people who were not me?

I didn’t believe there was any point trying to resist or persuade, and I don’t know how I let them do it.  I knew throughout that it was unjust and an assault and although she kept trying to keep it light, I felt as if I was standing there having to pretend it was OK for them to rape me and believe the people doing it were ‘good’.  I couldn’t lash out.  They forced it through knowing as well as I did, I believe, that they had no right to be doing it and it wasn’t OK.  It was all a pretence and they were demanding a pretence of me. I was not at liberty to say how repulsive and abusive it was, although we all knew it.  I had to stand there and pretend that this enormity was a small and inconsequential thing, not an act of illegal subjugation and domination.

Afterwards, when I was standing at the desk, I saw a male officer behind a glass screen sitting in front of a computer.  I wasn’t sure if he had been there all day, he was acting as if he was part of the next shift.  I started watching him while he was watching his screen, and wondering what he was doing or reading or looking at.  My attitude was open, and as I watched, I saw him begin to smile and his smile got bigger and happier.  I thought he was reacting to me and I looked around and saw a camera immediately above the desk.  I realised he was watching me and immediately switched him off and turned away from the camera.  As I did his features darkened.  His number was ID 24.  A few minutes later he came out and said he was leaving and finishing his shift.  But I realised he was observing me at the desk through the camera.

After he went the woman officer tried to contact the out of hours crisis loan office, but there wasn’t one in that area, and no loan could be arranged.  Also they couldn’t arrange somewhere for me to spend the night.  Before I left she started talking with her colleague who was going to run me to the bus station.  She was talking in ways I felt I recognised, about ‘her 2 year old’ and that she was ‘vain’.  She seemed to be commenting on my bodily reactions that she could see from behind.  She talked about something being ‘back breaking’.

I had already talked to her about people talking in code.  I believed she was talking about me.  I thought she must be, she couldn’t possibly be calling her own child ‘vain’.  I couldn’t, at that time, believe she would do that.

Her colleague ran me to the bus station in a van exactly the same as the one I had been brought to the station in, and I sat in the back, exactly the same as before.  I felt it was a deliberate re-enactment, reversed, of what I had been through in the morning.  I almost felt as if they were saying that, if I had responded differently, I could have received (more) help.  I thought they had said I could hang around the bus station with everyone else, because there were people there all night.  But when I sought to clarify this as I got out of the van she said she hadn’t said any such thing and that I could be picked up for doing so, that it would be best if I didn’t.  But she knew I had no money and nowhere to go.  I wondered if she had been trying to get a last second capitulation from me.  I wanted to go back to the airport, it felt like the right thing to do and my right, but I was afraid and didn’t, I got on the tube.  I was upset and disorientated.

They had held me for 14 hours in sensory deprivation conditions, constantly harassed and banged at and coughed at and deprived of sleep, deliberately, I believed, and subjected to mental cruelty and torture.  In all that time I never saw the solicitor I had been told I would see.

11.41 am.  I’m blogging after more police harassment at Starbucks, 99 St Martins Lane, WC2.  I want to laugh now.  I think I bring it on myself by not responding to their attitude and insistence on getting the last word with a sense of humour.  I think it shows I am not a good citizen, not having a sense of humour when they behave this way.  I’m not sure how they would react if  I were to laugh instead of outdo them and get upset and tell them they have no right to do what they are doing, etc.  I might feel better myself, if I could approach it with a sense of humour.  I feel I should say I am sorry for not respecting them in their job, and just laugh, then it would all be behind me and the world would be all right again.  That if I had done that years before I might not now be a 51 year old menopausal woman having to come to terms with the fact that I have not had children.

After 4 nights without a bed and people keep coming at me psychologically and leaving me feeling assaulted, I committed the crime of falling asleep after a cup of tea and a bag of nuts, which is all I can eat in Starbucks.  A little while before the police came I heard someone banging things around me, and that was obviously their idea of trying to wake me up.  I don’t respond to that kind of thing, though.  Also I find it hard to stay awake at the moment anyway, being aware, as I am, of the kind of psychological harassment I am getting from sales and security staff, let alone ‘ordinary’ people in the street.

The police woman, CW 2598 or 3598, with subsequent things from them after I got her number ‘m not sure if I have remembered it right, came in and told me I couldn’t just sleep there.  That it was coming up to lunch time and I couldn’t just occupy a seat without buying anything.  I said I had had a cup of tea there and I buy quite a lot of stuff and no one had tried to wake me.  She said they had.  I suggested I could go to the toilet and get another cup of coffee, then, as they do, she turned control of the conversation back round to herself by asking me what my plans were after I had just told her, and when I told her again she said OK and just stood there.  I asked her if they were going to stay there while I bought the coffee and she said yes, that they wouldn’t be doing their job otherwise.  So I was expected to buy a cup of coffee, hand over my money to these people, under police watch.  I snapped out of my drowsiness and said I would rather write to the company and complain about harassment, but that I was going to the toilet first.

I went in, used the toilet, brushed my hair and brushed my teeth.  Before I was finished the male officer (there were 3, 1 man and 2 women) knocked on the door and asked me if I was going to be long.  I said no.  When I came out they were all sitting there waiting for me.

I passed them and went up to the cafe staff and told them they hadn’t spoken to me or tried to wake me before calling the police.  She was acting as if she didn’t understand what I was saying, and said they had tried to wake me.  I said I was prepared to buy another cup of coffee, if they asked the police to leave first, that I was not prepared to do it under police watch.  Someone said something and I said I had the right to buy another cup of coffee.  One of the officers said the staff there also had the right to ask me to leave if they wanted to, so I asked them if they wanted me to leave rather than buy another cup of coffee, and they said they wanted me to leave.  The police then took control as I tried to walk past them freely and dsimiss the situation and walk away with some dignity, the woman whose number I have mentioned kept ‘backchatting’ me, so I went up to her to look at the number on her lapel.  I couldn’t see the letters, they were hidden, and she didn’t offer the letters, so I moved the strap, and then she began to get defensive and angry, saying I couldn’t just touch her strap to get her number (why not, after everything they do to me?  This isn’t just about doing a good job, is it?)  So we had a small argument and in the end I told her to stop the sass and the attitude and began to walk away, and as I did she kept it coming.  The male officer started making mocking gestures at me.  He kept it up for about 5 minutes.  I stopped in the street and said that I was not now acting illegally, just standing by a lamp post, and they stood there with me. They did not want to leave me in peace or in control, or acknowledge my rights with any semblance of real recognition or sympathy.

They crossed the road, still making gestures, and I shouted after them, saying they were supposed to defend the weak, not harass them, that they were supposed to be a service to the whole community, not just the money makers, I said they despised us and we despised them (where are all the people who hate the police when I am the one getting harassed?).  I said they were hand in glove with the money makers and the mafia, at which point the male officer making gestures looked as if he was about to come back over, but stopped.  I thought he looked angry.  I believe I spoke the truth.  He went back to the gestures, with a couple of men standing between us and just looking in my direction smiling and finding it ammusing, even though I was obviously distressed, and I shouted at him that he was not supposed to be standing there mocking me with his gestures and that he would have gone to a Victorian insane asylum and mocked people there, as was the sport in those days of a Sunday afternoon.  That is the way it was opresented to me, anyway.  Maybe it wasn’t just the Sunday sport.  Maybe they could do it any time.

People talk about putting the mockers on people.  The Bible says that God will mock, and that he who sits in the heavens will laugh.  I have often wondered down the years if this mockery from people in authority that I have been taught to respect and trust is actually a legitimate part of their approach to people in some circumstances, and thought that my problem with it shows I have a problem with and a bad attitude towards authority.  That my heart is wrong and my dispositon is wrong and that I am rebellious and ‘a bad lot’.  I have thought on many occasions that they would have turned and done everything they could to help me, if only my attitude had been right.  I feel that, over the years, I have, in pride and arrogance, rejected my own redemption from all these wondeful people in society that have said they want to help and that I have accused of harassment and stalking.  How arrogant and selfish of me.  That these people, who are also suffering with me and trying to reach out to me for themselves, for me and for others being caught up in my situation, should have arrogant, proud, independent, ignorant, selfish, power-loving little me shake my naughty fist at them and say ‘no, it is stalking and harassment, you have no right and unless you come to me with the words of your concerns openly I will not respond to you’.

I’ve offended my leaders, i’ve lost Tommy, so it feels.  I want to see his face loving me, and can’t see how he could be anything but ashamed and disgusted with me, as well as hurt for himself.

i burn with shame.  I think I have played an unforgivable and selfish game, and that the consequences I am now suffering in final loneliness and childlessness are my own fault.  I think I am on the scrap heap where my leaders said the disobedient end up.  Yesterday I felt the problem was me and always had been, and had never been anyone else’s.  To some extent and in some respects that has to be the truth.  They used to say that you can’t just think of yourself as being as good as everyone else.  But that was what I did in my teens.  I used to think, look, I  can speak in tongues just like you.  I used to sing the songs and as I was singing them think this isn’t the way it is for me, but I never voiced that to anyone.  Except I think I did to Diane.  I can’t shift this self blame, and no one can help me to.

 

Police Stop And Search Slashed

The Evening Standard, Thursday 20th January 2012.

There it was, sitting on the front page of the Evening Standard, and I wanted to read it and knew I had to pick one up.  It is a free paper these days, so that was not a problem to me, even with under £20 guaranteed me to live on for the next 7 days.

I noticed several people within a minute doing the same thing, and smiles on faces.  Quiet smiles, but undeniable happiness and joy, nevertheless.  A tangible relaxation and relief.

“Police Stop and Search Slashed”, it said.

I couldn’t understand why everyone was not shouting on the streets with joy.

That is the power of a headline for you.  The keyword was ‘slashed’.  It didn’t say ‘ended’.  It was about an hour later, after making a happy fool of myself and parading my newspaper down the streets and shouting out like an Old Testament prophet (for I felt that was the power of the spirit within me) that we should all be having parties in the street and organising a whole month of street parties to celebrate a victory for civil rights, that I realised we had not all been sprung out of prison after all.

Singing and dancing in the streets.  Expressing and perpetuating the happiness and relief that was obvious in the people around that newspaper stand.

——————–//——————–

The whole and actual story is that the aim, at the moment, is to reduce the number of stop and search incidents and make the facility a more effective tool, perhaps concentrating on geographical areas of high crime.  The goal is that the ratio of searches to crimes detected should change, with the former coming down and the latter going up.

It is acknowledged in the article that there are many community leaders who still see stop and search as a valuable policing tool, without which violence and crime might increase.  Interesting, given the evident joy and relaxation on people’s faces.  That was how I saw and perceived it at the time.

We need to celebrate every small move in the right direction in the restoration of civil liberties.  I think organised street parties would not be a bad way to show that we are onside with this move and that we are happy about it.  Happiness does not produce violence, and from what I saw, we are happy.

When weak people resort to violence it is an expression of fear and outrage, in my opinion.  In physical powers for violence and the authority to allow certain officers to get away with abusing those powers, at least temporarily (some of them might hold the opinion that being brought to justice later for those abuses is a price worth paying for the ability to carry them out in the first place), the police are not the weak party.

The article also said something about the fact that the police should be calm and professional in carrying out searches.  This much should be obvious, and it should be obvious that any officer who is not able or willing to meet those standards should either not be working on that day, or should be relieved of their position permanently.  If it doesn’t happen already, I believe that a daily assessment should be made of an officer’s state of mind, maybe family circumstances etc, and their ability to operate those powers responsibly and respectfully with everyone they approach.

We, the people, need to allay the fears of our leaders, insofar as they are real fears, by showing appropriate joy at this development.  As far as the fears are hypocritical in themselves, we need to disarm the people who tout them dishonestly.  We will not resort to violence, we will show our approval and joy at this decision.  Our joy unbridled disarm people using this excuse hypocritically, and in some cases expose them, and that is necessary.

Personally I wonder how far the presentation of this decision as being intended to improve race relations is truthful and accurate.  I know this is not just a race issue.  This is a police and people issue.  All races suffer and have suffered from the employment of this power.

To bring the story back down to my sad, sole self again, as is my habit, twice this week, on two consecutive days, I was an object of unwelcome police attention.

The first time was Tuesday morning at Heathrow airport.  I was there the first day because I had tried to apply for a crisis loan at about 2.30 pm on Monday afternoon.  Without it I could not afford a roof over my head that night.

I had held the line for about 20 minutes waiting for the phone to be answered.  By the time I got through I told the person I thought it might be too late for the application to go through anyway.  She said her systems were down and it wasn’t possible to start an application and to call back in an hour.  I said that, by that time, the offices would have stopped making payments, and she told me that alternative arrangements would be made for paying out, since their systems were down.  I asked her if she knew that and what the arrangements would be, and eventually she withdrew that assurance, saying she had spoken to a supervisor who had told her that it was not possible to make alternative arrangements for paying a crisis loan for that day.

So with the little money that I had I looked on the internet for a cheap dormitory room.  The best I could come up with for the price was a mixed dorm, which I would rather not have if sharing a dorm is a necessity.

After paying the online deposit I realised that the hostel did not accept cards for payment of the balance.  That was a problem for me.  It was 6pm, I did not have any accounts with the minimum of £10 that would make it possible to take money from a cash point.

I checked the money in my pocket and realised I was 65 pence short of what I needed to pay the balance.  So I went to the Co-op nearby, where I knew I could get some bread labelled vegan and that I would enjoy eating, and bought some food with my card, which was the best and most practical thing it was good for at that point.

While I was in there I hatched the idea of asking someone if they would let me pay for one of their items with my card and them give me the cash, if they had been intending to pay by cash, but no one that I asked had been intending to pay by cash, so I gave up asking because I felt embarrassed.

Eventually I wondered into Charing Cross tube and rail station and walked up to a food outlet.  I saw a man getting money out to pay for his purchase, and asked him the same question, explaining my situation.  He just said he would give me the 65 pence, and actually gave me 70 pence.

Even then, I realised I did n’t have enough money for the key deposit, which is usually about £5 or £10 per stay, and I hoped that the proprietors would be sympathetic and understanding and allow me to stay anyway, given that I could pay for the room itself.

However, when I got there one of the first men I encountered was a staff member whp came up to the desk referring to someone being a ‘stupid, dumb cunt’.  When I told him a minute or two later that I had found it disturbing as my first encounter, he said someone had put an empty plate into the microwave and something about a fire or a fire hazard, and passed it off that way.

After he had gone I discussed my situation with the girl on reception, and she asked for ID or some sort of security.  I said they could look after my laptop, if they wanted to.  That was after I had suggested one of my account cards as identification.  She rejected both of those suggestions.

She said I needed government-issued photo identification, like a driving licence or a passport.  I pointed out that I was British and that this had not been necessary anywhere else I had been over the past 4 months, and that I didn’t drive and that I had lost my passport which, as a UK citizen, I am not obliged to possess anyway.  I told her I could pay for the room but not the key.

She said it was the rules that there had to be photo ID.  I didn’t remember seeing that on the listing and also said that they didn’t have the right to impose stricter rules than the law itself imposes on a UK citizen and that I thought they were acting illegally.  She had already told me that I couldn’t stay and checked it with her manager at my request who confirmed that, and I left with nowhere to go and not enough money to book something else.

So I headed for the airport, and I have already written about what was happening there in my last post but one.

(To be continued)

The New God Squad

We have a new God Squad, you know.  It used to be Christians, but now it is all the people, a never ending sea of them (around me, at least) who are constantly saying ‘Oh my God’ and ‘Jesus Christ’, etc, mostly without even believing in Him.

Cool, they can do that.  Maybe I’ll start snatching their husbands away mid-conversation as well, and sleeping with them.  That should be OK, shouldn’t it?

Moan, Moan, Moan . . .

I need to abandon this.  She has just, this minute after 2 hours at now 4.30 am, stopped talking.  I was eating a sandwich and drinking a small bottle of wine and every time I took a bite or lifted the co-op plastic party goblet to my lips, she screeched out or otherwise marked me.  It completely ruined it for me.  What should have been a pleasant late meal and a drink turned into a desperate, defiant act.  I felt I was acting like an alcoholic.  I need more than ever in my life to control the direction I am taking, and all I ever get is spoilers on my case.

So abandon ship.  The conversation ended as soon as I wrote the title and completely changed where I was going to go, which was to start off by saying that I am writing this morning out of my unredeemed self at 4.30 am taking an ear bashing and ball game type marking from an American baggage.  She had actually got up to go, but she has just re-appeared.  A couple of times in my unrestrained open talking to myself she said ‘yes no’ and it was interesting how and when.  I have adopted a position of not being intimidated into silence by the fact that other people are in 2s and I am alone.  If people are playing the psychological bouncing game I have a right to talk out loud to myself about what they are doing.  And I don’t have pretend mobile phone conversations to do it, I just do it.  No props.  I just comment and moan and pontificate aloud.  I don’t lose the right to speak just because I am on my own.  People in 2s and groups have been playing that card for too long.

Almighty Gob, to whom all ears are open and from whom no privacy can be hid.

OMG I hate steam rollers.

Now I should abandon and delete this because it isn’t helping me change my attitude.  The lady, having gassed while others were trying to sleep or focus on their own stuff, has no laid down to sleep.  I feel like disturbing her.  If I don’t turn this crap off in my speech and writing I can’t turn off the emotions that I start off thinking excuse it and make it a good post.  Of course no one wants to see this dilemma in a post they are reading, not spelled out.  At the moment I am putting what I have written in this post and the cleverness I wrongly think is expressed in it, before my own peace and character.  That is why I am not trustworthy myself.  If you don’t allow a change in your own nature when the choice presents itself, you stay as you are.  You can’t produce what you are not just because it is needed.

Good Point, Melvyn Bragg

Why DID Jesus tell the disciples to take a sword and say ‘it is enough’ when they said they had two?  What did they need them for?  We aren’t told they used them.  I heard that and thought my whole anti-war argument was demolished.  I felt really embarrassed and wrong.  So did Jesus’ teaching contradict itself?  Did Jesus require obedience, or did he teach by tests and by allowing people to discover themselves to themselves?  He said ‘if you love me, keep my commandments’, so what commandments are we to keep? ‘Render to no man evil for evil but overcome evil with good’, or ‘take a sword’?

On Thursday morning I felt I had a moment of painful but completely cohesive understanding.  The writer of Hebrews (who I thought of as Paul, even though I know many if not most scholars reject that, but I had forgotten, so most of what I was thinking falls in regard to Paul) says in Hebrews 6:4-6 that it is impossible for someone who has tasted of the heavenly gift, if he falls away, to be renewed to repentance, as he has put the Lord to an open shame.  On Thursday morning I was thinking that it would be better if that had never been said or written.  But I was thinking of it out of context.  Its context was the return of Hebrew Christians to the old sacrificial system.

But I was thinking that verses like that as they are often understood and feared are the reason  for so much bandstanding when it comes to disagreements between Christians and insisting that we, really, love God.  I think so.  I think it is verses like these, coupled with some of the more heavily directive and dogmatic teaching that can be heard in church, that make us afraid to embrace ourselves and our thoughts and experiences and trust God that, if we face and handle and accept who we are, as and when in every aspect, that God will bring us through.  Rather than saying, ‘no, no, no, I love God’ without even allowing the thing we fear in ourselves to fully present itself.  We try to push it away rather than let it present itself fully to our perception to be ‘naturally’ rejected by us as Christians, recognised after a good long look, after exposing our inner eyes and ears, and just expelled by the whole person as foreign, rather than battening down the hatches and nipping even the thought and perception in the bud before it can develop to be understood and recognised.  If you don’t understand what you are rejecting, how can you REALLY reject it?  Is that why we so often struggle over and over with the same thing, because we won’t let it manifest in the first place to our recognition so it keeps coming back, because we are not rejecting it in the first place but closing our eyes in stubborn fear?

And the bitter arguments and the fear of each other, the denunciations, overtly or covertly.  It seems to me they are born of a fundamental fear, rather than a trust in the love and faithfulness and goodness of God.

For years I stopped telling God I loved Him.  I believed it was an assertion of something which was barely true.  Sometimes I would tell Him I obviously DIDN’T love Him, or I couldn’t do or be as I was.  I affirmed HIS love for ME and refused to lie, as I saw it, by saying I loved HIM.  Consequently I think pleading and asserting our own love for God in a discussion, conversation, disagreement or confrontation, or even in a public act of individual worship, can be an act of abuse and manipulation and a hindrance to humility and openness.  I think focussing on our love rather than His is a hindrance to deep and lasting change, more often than not.  Change is about more than performance.  It has to be initiated from outside of ourselves and should be something we submit to, not something we try to produce as an angst-ridden proof.  That is what I think.  Lasting change is a response to a truth which we know won’t move or change.  The truth puts pressure on us and we yield.  We don’t need to invoke God.  He is in the process and reveals Himself in the process.  In the process itself He draws us into relationship, with Him and with others.

I’m thinking a lot at the moment and having conflicting thoughts, but at the moment I would say I know this much is true, and that is where I will stop in this post.

I Agree With HIM!

“When I see bacon, I see a pig, I see a little friend, and that’s why I can’t eat it. Simple as that.” –Paul McCartney

I tried to post this comment on AOL in response to the article found here.  I don’t know why it has not appeared, but I am posting it here to both register it and preserve it.

“Children exposed to abuse and domestic violence react the same as soldiers. I suppose there is nothing unusual or revelatory in that. My question is why is it only these two groups which are compared with each other? I would imagine that anyone faced with or experiencing threat to themselves or others close to them react the same way, and that those reactions become entrenched in their behaviour and responses if their situation is not addressed and they are taught that, generally, they are safe, if that is a true thing to teach them.

Is this just another study to show how ‘necessary’ the mental health services are? I have not felt so powerless since I was a child in a violent home as I have over the last 20 years, since my contact with the mental health services began and I was inextricably involved with and locked in to their abuse and intimidation and dishonesty.

Since it has been raised in this article I will assume it is not off-topic. It is not OK to take non-consenting adults, or children, that have not been informed of the cause for concern or involved in conversation about those concerns, and lock them up and drug them like animals with which we cannot communicate. I propose that if the individual does not feel served, ultimately the community is not served. And in this situation, if the individual does not FEEL served, they are NOT served, nor is their family, whatever power games and denials are involved.”

My Imaginary Friend

I have a friend, at least in my imagination, that I always want to contact with sensitive and intimate information.

On Friday I was walking along Queensway/Bayswater Road and for some reason I was remembering the time when an old lady died who had always been in Church, never said much, or anything at all, that I remember hearing, but always, without fail, had a smile on her face.  I thought she was lovely and beautiful and serene.  I know nothing about her life.

I was remembering that, when I heard she had died, I went back to my grandparents’ house crying my eyes out.  When they asked me why I was crying and I told them, one of them said ‘what are you crying for?  She wasn’t family’.

I can’t remember who it was so no one can be betrayed by me saying so.  I can’t remember if and how I answered the question.  I know my feelings and crying were not affirmed.  For a moment in Queensway I felt the pain and the emotion again, and I wanted to write and tell my imaginary friend.

I believe my imaginary friend reads my blog.  Imaginary because we have never had a close up relationship, and imaginary because, except for when things seem very simple and obvious in his favour, I feel and believe and know that things are far too complicated.  It is imaginary because I am in denial, even having it as imaginary.

But there is pain in my heart as I am writing this, and it is always him that comes to mind when this kind of thing comes up and I want to tell him.  I used to write to him a lot.  Almost always, as soon as I started, I had to push through my ambivalence and anger to do so.  He knew that, I told him so.

I once heard him saying, in answer to someone’s question, that if someone attacked him (or something like that) he would hold them in a bear hug.  On my side there is often so much resentment, and on his there must be some exceptions, that even if no attack was involved not everyone would be treated equally.  Even if there are no exceptions for him, I think, apart from my imagination which tells me I am wrong in the strongest possible terms, that I would find it awkward and difficult.

 

 

My Autism And Me

This programme is 14 minutes long and part of BBCs Newsround series of programmes about/by/for children.

It is available until 4.59pm Friday 18th November, which as I write is almost 2 days.

The link is http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b01773m7/Newsround_My_Autism_and_Me/.  Please catch it.  This is a subject close to my own heart and experience, in that I used to think I might be autistic myself, especially during my 20s.

I now believe I am not, and that it is another label we have been taught to accept which is a disservice to everyone involved.

I will write more later.  Although my blog is still on Bulgarian time because I am afraid if I change it it will change the dates on some of the posts I wrote in Bulgaria, it is 10pm here in the UK and I haven’t eaten yet today.  There are no cooking facilities where I am and I want to find some food.  I am posting it now because I want my readers to be aware of the programme and have an opportunity to watch and preferably record it before it is taken down from the site.

One thing.  The girl talks about feeling words.  Bleuler, who coined the term ‘schizophrenic’, said his senses crossed over so that he smelled sounds and saw smells, or something.  But Bleuler was a major psychiatric contributor and definer of people and psychiatric conditions while these kids are autistic.

Excuse me?

Edited:  written after midnight.  Some of my tag categories do not reflect the changes today.  Sometimes they do, but not today.  Angry, me?  Hurt at inconsistency, me?

1.  Yesterday morning on the bus to Heathrow (nearest tube), somehow I remembered the Gilbert and Sullivan line, “If everyone’s a somebody, then no one’s anybody”.

Many creeds and philosophies, including Christianity, insist that we are all someone in the eyes of God.  I don’t know the whole operetta or the context of these words or the writer’s intention, but there have been times when I have thought of the ‘madding crowd’ and taken these words as a contradiction of the ‘we are all equals’ position.  I have thought ‘yes, that is true, and how sad, that so many people press to be somebody that true greatness/quality/dignity is suppressed/frowned on/not recognised and respected’. But this time I thought of the quotation and berated myself/felt ashamed for being such a snob.  I thought ‘if everyone’s a somebody, then no one’s anybody – yes, exactly, and thank goodness for that.  That is the point.  Everybody IS somebody and no one is more special than anyone else, and that is a good thing’.  I am sure there must be a balance.  Recognising you are a somebody and pushing to be somebody are two different things.  When you push to be somebody you often put other people down in your own need to shine.  But when you know you are somebody and also that so is everyone else, you can let people be.

2.  The other one was the Bible, Psalm 1

1Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful.

2But his delight is in the law of the LORD; and in his law doth he meditate day and night.

3And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper.

4The ungodly are not so: but are like the chaff which the wind driveth away.

5Therefore the ungodly shall not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous.

6For the LORD knoweth the way of the righteous: but the way of the ungodly shall perish.

Especially verses 1 and 2 I was thinking of.

I was watching the BBC News Channel and thought that retrospectively I understood why I had thought of those verses.  There was a lot about the situation at St Paul’s Cathedral, and I thought they were playing the role of the fool or court jester of Shakespeare’s time, mocking and mimicking.  Two of them were even wearing harlequin ties.  I felt sorry for the staff of St Paul’s and for their confusion.  I am sure they are intelligent people and know they are being mocked in the media, on reflection.  At the time I felt sorry for them because I thought they were getting confused being exposed to the mockery and not realising what it was, but they must do.

I don’t know any of the people there, but I can’t understand why the Dean felt his position there was untenable given the circumstances, and why he felt he had to resign.  I can’t really understand all the confusion they seem to be feeling and am personally sorry that he has resigned.  Maybe he felt torn between the demonstrators and the people objecting to them being there.

There have been times I wanted to go and join the demonstrators myself.  I have felt it would be an honour to be evicted from the property for what they are demonstrating over.  I’ve also wondered how much I am being manipulated by the media into thinking that way.  Apparently drink and drugs are involved now and I wouldn’t want to be associated with that.

All the news people going with the WWJD angle, as if it really matters to them, and the people being interviewed coming back with easy answers like he would be out talking to the crowds and wouldn’t call the police.  Apparently it isn’t the church that is seeking the injunction anyway.  The church should be this and the church should be that . . . but in a situation like this it is probably not so cut and dried.

I felt sorry for the Dean when he said he found it hard that the demonstrators seemed to think that he didn’t believe what they believed just because he didn’t express it the same way, and the man to his left started whispering into his girlfriend’s ear and messing around.  I saw the way he looked at them afterwards.  He seemed to feel frustrated.  The man was not for listening and was all for distracting his girl.

I would like to be there with the demonstrators, though.  The only way I could know if it is what I really want would be to go there.

We talk about Chinese and Communist Propaganda, and the Chinese talk about Western Propaganda.  In the middle of all that are people like me who hardly understand what good values are anymore.  People in the UK moan about their lot, and so do people in China.  Homogenised international standards and all that.

I don’t understand economics and economic theory.

But I was on the tube the other day and looked at the paper of someone sitting beside me and saw the headline and my computer (my brain/mind) started to work all on its own.  I thought that China only had wealth to loan in that way because it depends on slave labour of a class which is kept in shameful poverty and without opportunities and that the money should be going to their own people.  The wealth comes from people who have bought the products of slave labour, often people in the west who have bought them, and now the people in the west are going back to that same nation of China for further financial benefits/aid, at the expense of the Chinese slave class, so they can continue in their comfort which, while dependent on abject poverty and slavery, is illegitimate and immoral.  I thought, ‘we said we don’t believe in slavery’, but here we are again, looking to a country which uses economic slavery for its prosperity to help US.

Those are my thoughts.  If they are right, as much as I have come to enjoy the benefits of modern technology etc here in the west, I do not want the EU or my country getting aid from China.  Today I heard them on the news saying that China would be requiring a shift in attitudes towards their present culture and economic and governmental system, and towards human rights issues.  Are we in the west just so pampered that we think people who see themselves as OK in China are really victims of injustice and economic and human deprivation, or are these people really, as we have said in the past, slaves kept in appalling poverty and exploitation?  While it might, possibly, maybe only just, be laudable for some of them to be feeling that they are making sacrifices for China’s future (that’s what happens to people who are exploited by their fellows, they are later hailed as heros and loyal and sacrificial and selfless).

To my country’s leaders, to EU leaders, I for one ask you to please hear the cries and screams and outrage of your people, including me, the crying sense of betrayal and moral compromise into which you would take us, if you soften your attitudes towards China with regards to slave exploitation so that we and you can benefit from the gains of that exploitation.  I know it is easy for me to say this while there is still security and we still have our comforts, but please don’t take us there.  Please let our whole western system crash rather than take us back to such blatant reaping of benefits from slave labour.

I’ve said this before, I don’t understand economics, but I do know that a monetary deficit does not decrease the availability of the earth’s resources.  I don’t understand this.  It hurts not understanding, I feel stupid and as if I could be verbally demolished, but the resources are there, in the earth.  Food, building materials, materials contributing to creativity – But the man-made monetary and economic system is saying we are going to have to tighten our belts and live without them unless we can get a bailout, even from somewhere like modern day China?  With its pollution issues, its human rights issues, etc?

The Lord appeals to you, David Cameron, Christian, and to others (that is my way of saying my emotions are too painful to put into words with this medium) please don’t go there and please don’t take us there.

I’m thinking that, in the Bible, when Israel demanded a king to be like all the other nations that had rejected God – I’m thinking it is time to pull back and rethink and repent and think of a new way to do things.  Internationally we have all been keeping up with the Joneses.  China now is justifying its enormous pollution problem by saying it has a right to catch up with the rest of the world when it comes to manufacture and production.  We need to have different kinds of international relationships based on co-operation and benefiting each other with what we have, and less on competitiveness.  Competing to produce and sell the same trinkets really is laying the earth waste and wasting the earth’s resources, and it doesn’t appear to me that it is doing us much good either.

I am all for luxury.  But I think we need to revise our understanding of what luxury actually is.  If it depends on pollution and wasting the earth’s resources and creating such desperate underclasses and so much stress and fear among those who do not consider themselves to be the underclass, I think we have obviously got it wrong.

If everything the UK has ever said about our shame over past slavery is more than political posturing, we cannot take this route.  If everything you have told us about China is true you must not make us their debtors, for our own sakes as a nation and for everything the EU is supposed to stand for, and also for the sakes of the people being exploited by their own system.  People who can see no choices for their lives.  Not by their own fault, but by what they have been born into.  If we have hearts that function properly, we cannot do this to them, if we have been right about China in the past and our understanding has been given no reason for change.  If, on the other hand, China’s willingness to loan to us is an expression of their own recognition that they need to change, that might be a bit different.  But we need that made clear and explained to us.

China’s economic success is not a factor to be taken into consideration if all that is meant by that is that the government has a lot of money to lend while the people whose labour they depend on are struggling for their lives.  Economic success is only good if it does not make those who do the work for it suffer in that way.  This has to be accepted and understood.  We have to accept and understand that. Otherwise we are accepting blood money.  And like God said to Cain when he killed his brother, ‘your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground’.

Although I am selfish, I care.  I don’t want my lifestyle to depend on the fruits of such suffering, and I don’t want that compromise to be available to me or, as feels more to the point at the moment, forced on me.  I need an alternative.  I plead with my leaders for an alternative to what looks to me like such an atrocious possibility, that our economy should be bolstered by the finance from China as it is today.

‘Land of Hope and Glory
Mother of the Free
How shall we extol thee
Who are born of thee?

Wider still and wider
May thy bounds be set
God who made thee mighty
Make thee mightier yet’

May our bounds be set wider and wider, not through prowess and economic convenience and exploitation and compromise, but by restoring the gift of freedom and justice and dignity to all, and degrading and demeaning no one, or knowingly benefiting or accepting aid from someone else doing so.

God who made thee mighty (in whatever ways that is true)
Make thee mightier yet’

Thank you, UK, for every way that God makes you mighty to and for me.

God is love.  We are made in His image.

I love you, England.

Of course some fire is random and other is not.  I was just listening to Melvyn Bragg and his guests on ‘In Our Time’ discussing Delacroix’s painting of Liberty Leading The People, and the woman contributor pointed out that a woman used to be seen as a blank canvas on which to project any ideal, and to round off one of the contributors said you only have to look at the painting to see what kind of revolutionaries they were, and my eyes were immediately drawn to the two guns in front of her and behind her.  My first impression was that one wanted to shaft her while the other wanted to shoot over her head.  On second sight I thought they might both be more hopeful and supplicatory, wanting to draw Liberty to them.

I thought about something I read in William Blake in my Romantic Poetry class, about letting something fly as it passes otherwise trying to control it you lose it altogether.  I can remember an old man with scissors in his hands and somehow, either in the poetry itself or in Alan’s commentary on it, the idea of clipping people’s wings was disapproved.

Clipping wings.  I don’t know.  On a winged animal is that something anyone would ever do for the animal’s benefit?  I think not but I might be wrong.

Surely it can’t be done for the benefit of a thought or emotion either.  I keep coming back to discovering that if I don’t censor my thoughts and emotions to myself, even if I don’t express them outwardly, after allowing the thought and the emotion which I might instinctively want to censor and letting myself think or feel it without trying to repress it, I will come back into my own equilibrium.  That obviously doesn’t apply if I think the people around me are hacking my computer, in my writing I hardly ever recover my equilibrium, but on my own while out and in my own self that no one sees I do regularly.  I just wrote that bit about hacking and the woman downstairs said ‘yeah, baby’, with a derisive laugh, and they have been interjecting all the time I’ve had my headphones on.  But yesterday all the women screamed just before I went to turn my light out, and that decision all happened in my head.  But they have all been on at me all the time I have been here, they have no respect for anything most people consider decent.  When I leave I will say which hostel it is.  It is London, 12.15 am.  But they haven’t stopped all night and probably don’t intend to.  They are saying hallelujah and dobre and coming out with all the old accusations and harassment and violently striking surfaces.  I know who is violent and it isn’t me.

I was thinking today about the law and not having to implicate yourself in a crime.  I think that should change, if you know you have committed one.  You should confess immediately when asked, in the presence of a solicitor, and not to do so should be considered to be wasting police time and public money and changing your plea half way through to guilty if you have dishonestly maintained your innocence to that point should not lessen your penalty or punishment, since those are the terms we still think in.

A criminal should not be entitled to the defiance of not implicating themselves.  Nor should the police and other authorities be allowed to get away with the dishonesty and misuse of power which makes people say it is preferable that guilty people should have the right not to ‘implicate’ themselves.  I think the experience of the abuse and misuse of power often comes before an individual decides they need to protect themselves that way.  I don’t know, which came first, the chicken or the egg?  Whose underhandedness was winked at first?

When a community knows that someone is guilty of a crime they disapprove of, and that the person is protected by the present legal right not to implicate themselves and therefore see no action being taken, in some cases their anger can be a legitimate thing.  Obviously if it gives rise to violence or vigilantism or reciprocal crime that isn’t true, but a good community should not be expected to bear the brunt of the criminal’s present right to withhold information unless asked.

As a consequence, our society has tipped over into a really unhealthy place.

I can’t write more.  The screaming last night as I went to switch the light off sounded like what you would expect a gaggle of witches to sound like and there was obviously a spiritual dynamic to it. I wanted to write more, but I am going to wait.  And then it might not come out the way I intended.  Because we are now rife with violence and witchcraft in our country.  Threat, harassment, spiritual theft, intimidation, vile, savage mockery and defiance and disrespect.  Both men and women, rulers and ruled.

I’m having an awful time at the moment, as far as being a vegan is concerned.

I keep wanting to give it up and go back to ‘normal’, happy, easily sociable and available eating.  The only reason I can’t and don’t is that I believe in my reasons for having become vegan in the first place.

So miserable!  I believe in my reasons, that I have no needs that require the death or utilisation of any other animal.  But recently I have wanted to rush straight back, with great joy, to being omnivorous.

I say ‘only one reason’, but that isn’t quite true.  Also my stalkers would never let it rest, and having made such a big thing about the rightness of veganism, I would be embarrassed.  I’d be confused myself, though, and I would also be doing an act of violence to myself to go back to being omnivorous.  People might get all chummy with me about having seen the light of omnivorism, and the error of my ways in trying to be vegan.  And sitting here writing this, right now, I can’t say for sure that I could never agree with that.  That would be saying that the life of an animal doesn’t matter so much that we can’t eat it, which is what I was brought up with, that we have God’s blessing to take an animal’s life for food.  I would like to believe that is true and feel I am just being proud and rebellious saying it isn’t.

I feel mesmerised, and also that I just can’t be bothered being a vegan anymore.  But as ever I don’t know what I feel and think as soon as I try to put it to print and think about it.  The same stuff is still happening.  I can’t tell the path from the scrub.

Internal tapes:

1.  Animals are for eating

2.  Christian Fundamentaslism is good or

3.  Christian fundamentalism is convenient because

4.  I want to eat what I can eat with fundamentalist, right-wing Christians

5.  I AM a fundamentalist, right-wing Christian.  If God says I can kill for ease and appetite, I CAN, and thank God for that!  If he says it I don’t have to think about it.  (what is this resentment I have against those who will not kill?  What is this need, what is this love, this strong emotion, I feel for and towards those who will not kill to eat?  It must be admiration, and more.  That the position of these people is where my heart is, the place I am challenged to recognise as right.  I would hate to convert someone from veganism/vegetarianism to being omnivorous.  I would hate to bring them down from their high place to such a place of shame.  And I would hate to have them validate my own).

6.  I AM a fundamentalist, right-wing Christian, in many ways, but also being a vegan, I could never fit in.  I would be teased all the time for being a vegan, and if I objected, it would be MY holiness called into question, and not theirs.  It could be fun and humorous, but there will also be those who go, in absolute conviction, for the fact that the Bible says that after the flood, God gave permission to eat meat, and re-asserted it later in the NT.

At the same time, in many arguers, there is a secret wanting to see it the same way as you do yourself.  It’s about liking and trusting and feeling safe, to some extent.  I was thinking last night that if someone says ‘thank you’ and a Christian says in response ‘it’s a blessing’, what the Christian is really saying is ‘I like you’.  It’s/you’re a blessing = I like you (or any other ordinary affirmation and expression of positive feeling/perception).

God IS, and we are dependent on Him.  But we are also dependent on air, for example.  We just breathe, it is automatic.  We don’t keep the air in mind and keep bringing it up AS need and essential.  If we did, it would demonstrate insecurity and that perhaps our supply was somehow threatened or contaminated.  In ordinary everyday life we don’t make constant references to the air to facilitate breathing or ANYTHING.  Or to our own bodies.  We don’t need to.

King David – Camera Snap From a War Zone

David said, ‘Let a righteous man strike me, it is a kindness’.  Is this the truth, or is it, like his affair with Bathsheba and ordering her husband to be killed in battle, a sign of emotional sickness?

Poor little guy, one of many sons, the youngest and despised, sent out every day to look after the sheep on his own.  With nothing but his target skills and his harp and singing and his idealised idea, in his loneliness, of his relationship with God, to keep him going.

When his father Jesse was asked by Samuel to get all of his sons together because he wanted to anoint one of them to be king after Saul, neither Jesse nor the rest of his sons gave David a thought.  He was out there with the sheep.  Samuel got to the end of everyone who was in front of him, the story says, and God said ‘no’ to all of them, and he had to ask if there was another son.  When Jesse said yes, he said yes but, not oh yes of course.  Samuel had to insist on him being brought in.

Later Saul kept trying to kill him, and he and Jonathan agreed a code that Jonathan would use to tell David that he needed to flee, if he thought so.  And David fled.  He got to a city and pretended madness, he lied to cover his tracks and people were killed in the wake of that.  Yet he said he would not fear.  He was very afraid and in denial, whatever his affirmations and confessions.  He said he was convinced of his own righteousness and that God was with him and knew him in his righteousness.  It seems to me his suffering and isolation had pushed him over the edge.  He felt he had to be perfect or something to be loved and approved of, and so he asserted that he was, exulted in it, and told God he was a perfect and righteous man.

And my teachers have believed his reported self-assessment.

It seems to me this is faulty interpretation and exegesis and shows no understanding of human psychology.

They are as much in denial about him as he was about himself, and as the prophet might have been who said God had said David was a man after God’s own heart, who would fulfil all of God’s desires.  And yet God had to tell David, when he wanted to build him a temple, that he was not the man to do it, because he was a man of blood.  He went around killing people and cutting off foreskins for trophies.

The Bible, reportedly, shows people as they were.  It doesn’t say that everything that came from his life and pen and lips were God’s truth.  The Bible, if it is true, is the truth about the people in it, and what they say is from God is not necessarily from God at all, and it is undiscerning and maybe a bit afraid to look at every word the people who are called God’s servants say and think they are all right and perfect and can all be synthesised into being truth in themselves, just because they are in the Bible and came from people who have been made, historically and by the will and judgment of men, both at the time and since then, into heroes.

When the Bible says God was with him, does it just mean that people loved and protected him?  The Bible was written by men, and men said that God was with him – because they had a warrior mentality?

David said I am for peace but they are for war.  So why did God say he couldn’t build his temple because he was a man of blood?  He was holding David responsible.  Or Nathan’s prophetic spirit and internal workings were.  Later David prayed ‘deliver me from blood guiltiness, Oh my God’.  So what was Nathan’s bag?  He put a real heavy on him, and made him live without formal punishment, which was obviously a psychological need and would have been appropriate.  (thought: unless man of blood is just referring to the thing with Uriah, then of course I am just being arrogant and proud again deciding it was about his killing sprees, which in the eyes of Israel were worth eulogising – Saul has killed his thousands and David his tens of thousands.  That was why Saul wanted to kill him – he was jealous.  It says the hand of God was with David because he was killing so many people.  Whose judgment was that?  Was it REALLY God’s?)

When it says the glory of the Lord filled the place and the priest’s could not go about their work, does it mean there was a sudden emotional and psychological crisis felt by all that no one knew how to handle? So they fell on their faces and worshipped until – what – released them?

I’m sure this could be taken much further.  I love the fact that it can.  But then who is God?  Who are you?  Who am I?  And what is good?  And how can we free ourselves of this evil and hero protecting mentality to pursue what is right and good, and not what is safe and cosy and cronyistic and cliquey and maudlin?

 

Link here.  Why is this not showing, WordPress?  Censorship, harassment, terribly cynical of someone, inhumanly so.  Frightening.  What is the agenda here?

Edit note:  It’s been taken off the Christianity page as well, and it was definitely relevant.

Look, this is embarrassing for me and it should also be embarrassing for you.

It should be embarrassing for you because you say you stand for free speech, freedom, openness and open society – don’t you?  Those of us who are regularly censored know that is not the whole truth, if the truth at all.

It is embarrassing for me because I believe in open authority and politics.  Anything less says the populace is somehow inferior or not well enough informed and doesn’t have the same right to information.  It casts secrecy over things which should not be secret.  The ‘wrongdoer’ sometimes doesn’t know that is what they have been identified as, rightly or wrongly.  It allows one group to identify itself as right against another they identify as wrong, including in international politics.

It says that the person or people the various authorities identify as wrong are the whole cause of the problem and the authorities, and those who establish, employ and use them, are good and right-minded people, and also pure in word and action, or at least justifiable and ‘not guilty’.  People are criminalised just by the approach of the authorities to them, whether they know it or not, and whether or not they are actually criminal.

I believe in openness.  We are all as good and all as bad, we are all to blame and we all have the same rights and responsibilities.  Mistreated people are angry, and some angry people do harmful things.  Unequal relationships are a form of mistreatment.  Unequal vulnerability, unequal disclosure, people in authority or positions of influence who see themselves as being authority rather than serving in administration of what is appropriate to their job.

This is all old hat and I believe all right-minded people agree with me.  With me.  (I said it twice because I couldn’t decide which would communicate most effectively, bold or not bold).  Every day WordPress and other media still use language and material packaged together in a way that is relevant to me in constantly updated ways.  This creates a feeling of obligation and relationship which, I believe, is inappropriate to my actual situation, especially where nothing explicit, by way of committed communication, is ever entered into.  My neighbours know this too.  Hence the violence and harassment, even if it is inexcusable.  To have this kind of fluffy, feel-good, earnest or even comedic communication in the middle of a violent and undefined reality is not appropriate and not helpful.  It makes the problem worse.  Sometimes it isn’t comedic, sometimes I believe I know it is downright sinister.

So you are playing with my mind and reality.  Me, one individual who writes my blog.  The problem is, you do this in domestic and international politics as well, and your designated baddies know that, some of them are vulnerable and some of them are not, some of them have power and in their rage or confusion with this kind of communication can do catastrophic things.  I’ve written about Gadaffi before.  He is in the news at the moment.  I watched a film recommended by a friend, called Zeitgeist, which talked about the language used by the media and politicians around 9/11, and watching the news I’ve been observing the same thing here, at least with CNN, the channel I can get on my TV here.  It is an agreed, asserted view for presentation which is short of whole and little short of legitimised playground bullying and retaliation.  A club for fighting cats and dogs and gossip circles and sending to Coventry.  Ooh, nasty.  I have news broadcasts in mind.  We are all influenced against the love that we are by watching and listening to this.  Some of us are targeted to be influenced, as individuals and groups, and not just what we believe.

People say he is detached from reality.  I felt sorry for him, he looked confused.  Is he detached from reality?  He’s been made the baddy for years and years, and the media says he is detached from reality when he says all his people love him.  But I don’t believe that.  I believe all his people do love him, even if many of them oppose him.  I believe that love is the basis of all emotion and behaviour in every human being.  Most of us don’t understand that, we are not taught to.  The Bible says God is love and that we are made in His image.  Therefore love is also the foundation of our personalities, if not the whole of who we are (as it is for God, in whose image we are made), whether we realise it or not.  When that knowledge is undermined, not recognised about each other, or otherwise becomes emotionally and behaviourally perverted, that is the problem.  Yes, Gadaffi’s people all loved him.  Yes, they fought him (it is a psychological truism to say if you fight with someone you love them.  They have power with you somehow.  Somehow they matter to you.  All emotion, at root, is a manifestation of love, even if it manifests as guilty political manoeuvring and fear of loss of power and position or anything else, or of exposure.  Even if it manifests as anger or hatred or violence.  It is all a sign of our basic feeling and knowledge of connection).

I cried, a little, at what I saw on the television about Gadaffi last week.  I think presenting the news in that way, without the human angle and understanding and acknowledgment on the part of the controllers of communication of their own contribution to the awfulness, is in itself dangerous to society and inhuman.  It helps to make the poor despots what they are.  They are not playing for sympathy. They truly are worthy of our sympathy (they feel like we do, feelings which should not be put down as being out of touch with reality, and wrestle with issues as we do), and our own acknowledgment of how we have contributed to who they are, rather than helping them, through identification with them rather than setting ourselves apart or thinking ourselves better or wiser, to become something different.  Politics should be personal, right to the top and across nations and ideologies.  We need to be able to understand each other’s ideologies and converse and debate and argue with knowledge and respect.  We have to understand each other’s versions of reality so we don’t say someone has lost touch with reality when they don’t conform to our own idea of what reality is or should be.  The view that someone of a different culture and religion or ideology has lost touch with reality should never be put out through a news agency, even if only said in frustration.  It is my belief that this is often, if not always, just a manifestation of ignorance, of not knowing and not understanding, and not knowing how to set about finding out.  Or not caring, which, moralising as I sound here, must be worse.

Christian Life College, where I used to go, talked about two different sonship states.  One, we are sons of God by creation, and for some, we are sons of God by being born again.  That is how it was presented.

I would say that even if we believe in heaven and hell and that Christians go to heaven after death, we are all the children of God by creation at least, if that is what we believe, and if we believe that, we have to know that, on earth, we all have the same rights, whether we have the same religion or not, and an obligation to respect other people and make sure we recognise those rights in all our dealings with them. Including the right to intimacy and vulnerability, and openness and full disclosure, to expect it and to give it, both ways, in every relationship which involves power and authority.

The New Testament letters of the Bible, written to Christians, says honour all men (includes women and children), and that if you do not love your brother who you have seen, how can you love God who you have not seen?  We all share the creation sense of brotherhood.

So we need to be more open, when it comes to power and authority.  You choose your friends, but in your established authority and power relationships you have no choice, either party, unless the person in authority is able to lose and give up their authority and power and everything that goes with it.

That is far more than I wanted to say, but it is now said.  And that is why I for one don’t like my mind and conscience and emotions being played with by the removal of potentially sensitive posts, whether ostensibly for my protection, better criminal-catching, or any other reason, especially when the only direct communication I get from the same authorities is that which takes away from me.

O . . .

(Public Health Warning: more mangled blood and guts, but also an attempt to address the issue of goading and chain-yanking, failed, unfortunately, on the whole, and I’m not the sort to incubate a post and try again.  I talk about the guy who got water thrown in his face by Spurgeon, I think, when he told Spurgeon he was perfect, and he got angry, which I think might have been the perfect reaction to Spurgeon’s mischief and therefore did not disprove his statement).

That is my open mouth, made silent with hysterical fear.

I’m living in Sofia now.  The woman above me screams hallelujah in the most hateful voice every time I feel I have a good communication and I can communicate it.

I want to scream for help and I can’t, it is that psychologically, emotionally and spiritually abusive.  I can’t express anything without feeling dishonest or that I am going to disintegrate or, if I am angry, be attacked, even physically.  She makes me feel she is my friend and I should ask her to forgive me and help me, whatever I feel she voices differently.  I said that because . . . well, if you read this blog, you know.  There is a man from whom the only vocalisation I hear is an angry or frightened throat-clearing.  That feels to me like part of the illusion, if it is an illusion, of their goodness.  If he spoke it might not persist.  But his vocal silence is also part of the oppression.

She is attacking my soul and spirit with razors and bludgeoning me with hatred which feels like a physical mallet to the head.

Combined with the banging . . .

So is this orchestrated, because it is happening everywhere I go.  Who is behind it?

The most torturous thing about this for me is the church’s dishonesty and use of these things.  Someone on Premier was talking about chain yanking this morning, and that is what she is doing and that is what Premier and the church have been doing for years – the way they have kept saying ‘crazy’, for instance, and pushing psychiatry.  This man said so this morning, he pointed it out himself.  What they have been doing is sadistic, cruel and abusive.  That must always have been obvious to them, surely, and if it hasn’t been . . . either way they are not fit to  hold ministerial duties of any description.

I don’t know if I’m imagining that when my recording was interrupted near the end this morning, John Pantry became annoyed because his attempt to build a bridge had been interrupted.  How would he have known, without illegal access to my computer?

Sometimes it feels like protection and I feel unworthy and shameful calling it criminal.  But it isn’t really.  It isn’t really protective.  They are keeping me imprisoned by their evasion of responsibility, procrastination, holding on to power, refusal to apologise officially, if not openly.

I don’t want a bridge back to the world where leaders are not first prepared to own their wrongdoing before I cross that bridge.  Own it where everyone can see, in a committed way. . .

One of the ministers involved, I think it was R T Kendall, but I’m not sure, told this story of someone who said to Spurgeon, I think, that he, the person speaking to Spurgeon, was perfect.  That he believed he was perfect.  Spurgeon (if it was him) said ‘oh, really?’ and threw a glass of water at him, and the man became angry, and everyone laughed at him.

The same chain-yanking.  That is hardly perfect, is it?

Now, was the man expressing imperfection to express anger in that situation?  Is anger a sign of imperfection?  But the Bible says Jesus was angry.  Our teachers have had it for ages that Jesus’ anger was different, that it was perfect and righteous anger.

It doesn’t say, though, that He ever pulled anything like this self-righteous, judgmental, proud, debasing, mischievous and malicious chain-yanking.  At least, not on true seekers and people who expressed something they thought they had grasped as a truth.

An exception comes to mind, possibly, in Mark 7.

Jesus Honors a Syrophoenician Woman’s Faith

24 Jesus left that place and went to the vicinity of Tyre.  He entered a house and did not want anyone to know it; yet he could not keep his presence secret. 25 In fact, as soon as she heard about him, a woman whose little daughter was possessed by an impure spirit came and fell at his feet. 26The woman was a Greek, born in Syrian Phoenicia. She begged Jesus to drive the demon out of her daughter.

27 “First let the children eat all they want,” he told her, “for it is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.”

28 “Lord,” she replied, “even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.”

29 Then he told her, “For such a reply, you may go; the demon has left your daughter.”

30 She went home and found her child lying on the bed, and the demon gone.

I’m not supposed to criticise this man, but what was he about here?  If he wasn’t being provocative, it could be put down to insensitivity because of tiredness, or some sort of irritation.  Our leaders say He was correcting her attitude.  But if it wasn’t that, if it was a lack of perfect response, where does that leave us in terms of my Friend Jesus’ perfection?  He;s my friend, I can’t talk about Him and theorise about Him like this.  But I just have, and for the usual reasons it has to remain.

But back to the perfect man who got angry when the person he told threw a glass of water at him.

In the Bible David said that God’s enemies were his enemies, and that he hated them with a perfect hatred.  I’ve heard it said that David did not have the complete revelation that we have today.  Would they say that of this occasion?  No, not all of them.  There would be different opinions backed up with chapter and verse and personal experience they felt was surrounded with the approval of those that matter to them.  I know for sure there would be some who agonised more over the truth than to be satisfied with that low standard of agreement, potentially low, at least, but I don’t know how many.

I got to this stage with St Barnabas’ Church.  They opposed me in every way, locking down on me and preaching at me.  I had read a book recommended by a Christian counsellor, on boundaries, which said that negative emotions were a sign that something was wrong.  I was going home, time after time, feeling devastated, and one night in bed I was frightened by a feeling of hatred.  I was also angry, I thought they were opposing what God was doing in my life.  I find that a bit embarrassing now.

But that was the verse which came to my mind, and I embraced it, because I couldn’t get rid of the feeling of hatred, so I actively justified it.  Hindsight says if I had done this or that . . . but nothing within me which is saying anything gets much chance to be heard at the moment, it is silenced by the violence around me, and as soon as I can strongly own and express anything from within, the harassment starts without and I am left too hysterical to cope.  I’m trying to argue something when I want to scream and beg and cry, since every time I feel I can and should surrender I refuse it.  I feel I should go up to them, apologise and ask what the problem is, then we could begin to sort everything out.  That is what I see and what I feel condemned by.  Her hallelujah makes me feel joy, but what about the rest?  It is chaos.  It is also illegal, and they know what I think of that.  It is the word I am reacting to, not the people or their activity.  I feel she even steals, with her occult violence, the tone of joy which would be in my own voice if I said it myself.  That must be where the confusion comes in.  I can’t validate this, it is so wrong.  I’m not the only one who hears them, and not everyone rejoices, I am sure.  I don’t want to be patronised by people saying poor Sue, come home.  I want people to focus on the issue of chain-yanking, and if I could focus on it myself it would help!  I try to be serious and have to be humorous.  Why?  I feel thumped in the head and I can’t cope with the pain.  There is no point waiting for a better time.  It never happens.  Don’t get bogged down in the circumstantial stuff that comes pouring out just because I don’t know how to edit it away. They seem to feel it when I calm down and start justifying them in my mind, and I hear them say dobre with a smile.  But I know what they are doing and it isn’t OK?  Or is it here?  Is this a valid and acceptable expression of Christianity here?  If it is, I’m out of step.  I feel as if I want to join in, like a party.  Go up and say hello and bubble along with them.

It’s a form of psychological harassment and censorship.  Who wants to read the silage that I insist on letting pour out of me, or allow by default, instead of being a normal, generous, kind, forgiving, friendly person and neighbour?

The point I was going to make was that I think there is something wrong with the theory and theology of leaders who can make a good and positive thing out of this incident of cruel chain-yanking in one of their traditions major heroes.

If that anger from the man came out of a damaged emotional place, it was incredibly cruel for him to expose it in that way.  Granted I don’t know the whole story, maybe it was just a bit of robust male joshing. I don’t know how the man took it after his anger was over.  But what if it wasn’t from a damaged emotional place?  What if it was the perfect reaction to such mischief and malice towards what he believed God had said to him?  Then who is the laughingstock?  If there should be one at all.  If our emotions are appropriate to the situation then they are perfect in that situation, aren’t they, so what he said wasn’t disproved at all.  In a sense we are perfect, and not just by imputation.  In a sense, as individuals, we are perfect, if people don’t interfere with us.  But they do, when we are too vulnerable to resist or realise.  I can’t do this, I’m tired and hurt.  I can’t think and write it through.  I’m mixing everything up all over the place when I started out believing I knew exactly what I wanted to say and where I wanted to go with it.  I’m already editing after first reading, and that isn’t doing me much good either.  I am ill and traumatised, I must be, to put this abortion out.

Another thing:  I believe this thing we call robust joshing is itself a manifestation and denial of pain.  Or is it just a healthy switching off every now and again?  It must be.  It must be me that is crazy.  So someone invite me to come and have some fun?  To live your whole life in the perfect therapy session and healing moment after healing moment, at least one participant has to be perfect.  And where have I got this idea from that therapy and healing is all about deep and querulous and earnest talk and tears and quietly and meditatively going about your business? ‘Tain’t, is it?

But what if, instead of throwing water over him and laughing at his anger, he had accepted the statement with respect and watched his friend over a period and tried to understand what he was saying and learn something instead?

It is thump in the back salvation.  I’m wondering if I am being a pathetic wimp if I object to that.  The people I have felt close enough to to love over recent years, and want to model myself on, I am thinking possibly I have only seen them awkward and afraid and desperate and making an effort, because of me and my situation.  Maybe they too are back thumpers and I have just not seen it, and I myself need to enter the real world of rough and tumble where people do not always treat each other with reverence and respect and it is OK.

????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

OK that is it.  That is my communication after being butchered by upstairs and everything knowing my account/computer is being hacked is doing to me, turned into a bucket of unmentionable stuff and screaming.

Enjoy!

I left a comment on Tommy Boyd’s blog on Friday, about how the way people treat me sometimes makes me feel, emotionally, that I want to hit back.

At the time I left it, I was aware, listening back, that it seemed as if my comments were being tracked by the radio hosts I was listening to.  When it got to the time that I left that comment, the host who was on at that time said something sarcastically and derisively about unfailing love.

Apart from the obvious fact that it is God who is perfect love, and not me, I wasn’t aware he had access to my unpublished comments in the middle of me writing them anyway.  Well, I was, and have been for ages.   Unless it is a psychic thing, and I don’t think it is.  Sometimes, but probably rarely.

So it is stalking and harassment.  Hostage-taking and keeping, maybe.  And they love bomb you like a cult.

That kind of sarcasm, if it factored in something in Biology, for example, would be called an inhibitor or a limiting factor.  It is something I came across when I got interested in vegetarian food and was given a couple of books which went into detail about it.  Talking about available protein.

If I remember it right, proteins are made up of amino acids, the composition of which can be pictured as a star shape with unequal protrusions, the shorter ones limiting the availability, release and utilisation of the rest, and therefore the amount of available protein.  It was presented as a part of the idea of complementary protein, where, for instance, rice and beans complement each other and make more protein available when eaten together than is available if you add them up separately.  Wheat and milk is another one (that was vegetarianism, not veganism).  And there are others.  Some people say that is an outdated theory now, but the diet and nutrition industry being what it is, who knows?  I suppose if it was scientifically proved it must still stand.  It isn’t something which depends on individual metabolism, it is the protein available in combined foods, and that is testable in a laboratory (I think!) before the food enters the body.  Although thinking about it I am wondering how the necessary blending of the foodstuffs would take place apart from digestive breakdown, but that probably shows the limitation of my own knowledge due to inadequate study and experience.

But in relationships, I don’t want people behaving as inhibitors towards me in that way and thinking it is good or clever.  He went on to say something about ‘don’t cry, woman’, or something like that.  But by that time I wasn’t open to anything else which came from him, and I stopped listening.

PS – the WordPress system has just informed me that this is my 275th post and called me a dope.  Honestly!  “Dope!” – just like that.

I noticed yesterday that the tags I clicked on my blog only led me to related content within my blog.  I read on a forum today that this is universal at the moment within WordPress, and it is not clear whether this will be permanent or not.

I refer you to my page ‘How to Global Tag Search‘ for instructions on how to access material from other people using the same tags and categories I have used.

Actually it is really simple.  Click on the tag which will still confine you to my blog.  In the browser it will say https://suebarnett.wordpress.com/tag/(name of tag).  Delete ‘suebarnett’ in the browser so you have http://wordpress.com/tag/(name of tag), and that will take you to the global page where you can see everyone’s posts under that tag.

Apologies, I don’t know why this is happening.  Someone suggested it was permanent and someone said it is just WordPress soritng out their code.  I emailed WordPress before I realised it is a universal problem (it is a problem and severe inconvenience), but I haven’t had an email back yet and don’t expect to because they must have had countless emails on the subject.  If anyone knows or becomes aware of an official announcement please provide me with the link.  In the meantime I hope it is just a coding thing that needs to be sorted out.

I heard this term used in the news a short while ago in relation to something to do with US politics.  But you can have a satan sandwich, but it isn’t spelt that way, it is seitan.  It is also not supposed to be pronounced that way, the word is Asian in origin.  It is a vegan wheat gluten meat replacement, and I just found out it is sometimes referred to as mock duck.

I’ve been meaning to do this for ages, I just made myself a steak sandwich using seitan and the usual trimmings, and it was delicious.  For all the world, having eaten it, I can’t tell it wasn’t a traditional steak sandwich that I ate.  I made it with seitan from Kring, natural style, I think.  They also do spiced and chicken style.  Kring is a restaurant (full menu here) in Sofia which sells its products on the premises and also in some shops, in Sofia, Plovdiv and Ruse.  Their products are delicious, and for me as a vegan they are one of the saving graces of Bulgaria.  If you guys at Kring read this – hi, I love you, thanks for my great steak sandwich lunch!  And thanks for who you are too.  I really love you.  And I very much appreciate the addition of your gorgeously light vegan chocolate cake to your menu.  I haven’t tried the carrot cake yet, I am sure it is as good.

I get embarrassed trying to say ‘seitan’, because the obvious way appears to be ‘satan’, but that isn’t right.  But if you are insistent on trying to say it the right way people can think ‘methinks the lady doth protest too much’.  I bought a vegan cookery book when I first became a vegan, and it had a recipe called ‘seitanic’ something or other, and I was offended.  I like seitan, but I wish it was called something else.  As I said, I was offended, but now I wonder if using it in that way was just a way of emphasising the awkwardness and embarrassment and turning it into humour.  Seitan isn’t an English word.  It wasn’t designed to invoke ideas of satan.  I just read its most likely origin is Japan, which would make it a compound of two words, sei, meaning ‘to be’, or ‘to become’, and tan, meaning ‘protein’.

Obviously in England you can use the word subversively, and maybe that is where my embarrassment comes from, because there have been times when I have felt a certain glee in being able to do so, to express my own brassed off-ness, and be aware of the ambiguity and the fact that it is the name of a vegan food stuff.  People use those kinds of ambiguities all the time, as I have said elsewhere on this blog.  That is why, in serious situations where I feel people could use their power to hurt me, I tend not to trust them unless they state their wants and intentions in a legally recognisable and accountable way.  Sometimes there is too much at stake (no pun intended but immediately recognised) not to insist on that.

OK I’ll stop there.  I seem to have come to a standstill and I don’t think there is anything else I wanted to say in this post.

Start Again

By Chris Bowater.

Start again, Lord, start again
In my life please start again
Take me, shape me , Lord, remake me
I’m in your hands, start again.

Start again, Lord, start again
In my life please start again
No more struggling, no more striving
I’m in your hands, start again

I’ve tried having my say, doing my thing, going my way
All my hopes just seem to have drifted astray
Start again . . .

Broken promises, faded dreams
Sacred moments in life’s devotion through mists of time
Can barely be seen
Start again . . .

Read it here in Scottish or English.

I was watching yesterday’s news coverage of Osama Bin Laden’s death, and found myself thinking, ‘A man’s a man, for all that’, and I knew it was a quotation, but I wasn’t sure where from, so I looked it up.  I was thinking it not to belittle a man and say he is dispensable, but to exalt him as a creature of intrinsic worth and nobility.  I was thinking it for Osama Bin Laden.  I was disagreeing with David Cameron and other world leaders who have expressed satisfaction over his death.  By extension I was also thinking it for the rest of us, including those of us who have found justification in holding the bitterness and unforgiveness that can allow us to say of a fellow human being, ‘good, he is dead’, rather than expressing regret that his killing was a necessary part, so we are being told, of bringing justice.

I believe that kind of expression of that kind of feeling brutalises and degrades us and makes us less than the ‘man’ that our own nature demands we should be.  The Bible says, in one of the Psalms, that we are gods, and that the big God gave His Son to die for our sins, while we were still sinners.  Jesus quoted that Psalm and said the scripture cannot be broken.

I have heard it taught that Islam was formed as a religion in direct opposition to Christianity and Judaism.  I think I heard that from Colin Dye’s platform.  I think we have to ask why.  Christians used to hold killing crusades.  Christians sided with Hitler in the killing of Jews.  Shakespeare’s ‘The Merchant of Venice’ was one of my set texts at school.  It was about a Jewish money lender who lent money to a Christian on the terms that he forfeit a pound of his own flesh if he defaulted.  All the Christian’s ships were lost at sea.  A woman called Portia argued the Christian’s case in court, and he was reprieved because the forfeit did not mention the shedding of blood, and Shylock, the money lender, was mockingly and derisively invited to take the pound of flesh, but if in so doing he shed one drop of blood he would have a forfeit of his own.  I think it was his life, but I can’t remember.

The first line of Portia’s famous speech, ‘the quality of mercy is not strained’, is often quoted and held to be a thing of great beauty.  But earlier the Jewish money lender had a great and truly painful speech of his own, basically saying ‘I am a man like you’, and the one part I can definitely remember and that registers with me deeply on an emotional level is where he talks about being in the street and having people ‘spit upon my Jewish gabardine’.  And although the quality of mercy is not strained, it seems that, from his humiliation at the end, it was meant to achieve mercy for Antonio, the Christian, but to be a lesson, yet another painful life lesson, to Shylock, the despised Jewish money lender.  I would like to draw more points from this play but I am not familiar with it any more and would need to read it again.  Points about if Shylock had gained his money legally and honourably, why was he so despised by the people who borrowed from him?  Did they need to borrow, would they have needed to borrow if they had not been so greedy themselves?  So why despise their provider?  Shylock’s requirement of Antonio was probably meant only to express his own distaste at lending to a man who spat upon his Jewish gabardine, or represented people who did.  He never expected, in all probability, that he would be in a position to call for the forfeit.  It was probably meant as a verbal expression of hate for hate.  The fact he called for it is obviously inexcusable, but would have been an expression of his own sick feelings of hate and revenge brought on by the abuse and constant humiliation.  Antonio was a rich merchant.  Shylock was a rich money lender.  What was Shylock’s sin?  Without reading again, it must have been that he was Jewish.  Shylock the Jew did not kill Jesus any more than Antonio the Christian (by affiliation and Christian country ‘birthright’ or by life changing choice and conviction?) did.  But Shylock was hated.

I’m not sure what the point of that is in this post.  Maybe it is just a way for me to say ‘this is hurting me’, because I identify emotionally with Shylock in his feelings over the abuse he received, regardless of any consideration of business ethics and morality.  I started crying when I found and read the Robert Burns poem and found it so perfect and beautiful, and that feeling hasn’t left me while considering Shylock.

My church used to say ‘hate the sin but love the sinner’.  We are justifying hating both the sin and the sinner, and that degrades both us and the sinner.  We are justifying such hatred towards a man that we rejoice in his death.  He couldn’t have achieved anything without his followers, and even though their figurehead has died, passed through death, if they choose revenge rather than deciding to change track and work themselves for brotherhood and world peace, I cannot see how the death of Osama Bin Laden can be seen as an ‘important step forward’, or the similar words used by my own beloved and respected prime minister, David Cameron.  So I would want to appeal to both sides, in the name of God and in the name of love and humanity, to please cool it and stop the revenge and attacks and the seeking of ‘justice’.  I would want to ask that, as Christians, we love our radical Islamic enemies, enough to uncover enough humility of our own to consider what it is that has so filled them with hatred and be willing to apologise and actively pursue reparation and healing of relationships with them, to stop the self-righteous demands and invective, and to approach them with the love and honour and humility we should employ, according to the Bible, towards all men.  I’m not saying that I myself am good at that, but I hope the character of our leaders is made of such stuff that they might be different, and be so openly, and not try to ‘confound the enemy’ by presenting a different face publicly than the one they present privately.   Our enemies need to know and see that we are honest and open not only about our rights, but about theirs, and about our own failings, even historical, and willingness to make reparation.  I don’t believe it is true, for any human being, that violence is all they understand.  The Bible says that the desire of a man is constant love, and I think that goes for everyone, and we need to be braver in showing that.  Vulnerable love, not tough love.  Active and proactive vulnerable love and openness to others.  ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I understand’ and ‘yes, you’re right’ and ‘thank you, I hadn’t thought of that’, and even ‘I love you, are you OK, can I help you?’ love and pursuit of justice.

Love and concern for each other should flow from the top down and the bottom up and spread out and come in, and maybe then the right policies will be obvious and not take up so much time in our relationships, governmental and otherwise.  I want to see the leaders of my world loving one another.  Having therapy sessions and love-ins, most of the time, instead of arguments and policy formation.  If they can pass on the benefits of that to us and across international boundaries, it might change everything about our living and thinking and being in the world and with each other.

I believe all of this is part of our intrinsic worth and nobility which we abandon at our peril and that we need to rediscover, and part of what it means to be ‘A Man, for A’ That’.

In Jesus’ Name.

Amen.

I’m Sorry But . . .

Today I feel emotionally sick and out of step with everyone, even with my own sense of decency.

Is there a time I should just shut up and let people get on with it?  Just for a day maybe, or a week, or maybe I should cut my tongue out and never be able to speak for the rest of my life!  Now there’s a thought.

As much as I truly admire the people who work so hard for our security and am very touched by the happiness and satisfaction some of them I have heard speaking today are expressing, I still find it repulsive that anyone can be happy about and rejoice over someone else’s death.  No matter how much they or others close to them have suffered.

As I said, I feel emotionally sick.  I still can’t have a thought or emotion begin to materialise without the people upstairs start their stuff.  The uncanniness of it is doing a number on me, along with some of its deliberate and markedly repetitive illegality when they bang just after the boundary line every day.  I wondered after I typed those last paragraphs and thought maybe I’m being a bit too squeaky liberal to be real.  Perhaps I should join the celebration, for reasons of my own it feels like a bit of a weight off of my shoulders as well.  Maybe all decent people are glad, and I just don’t have that level of freedom to be able to enjoy it with everyone else who is also decent.

But I remember stories of days when missionaries went among cannibal tribes, eyes wide open, taking the risks.  And dying.  No political pull outs.  Died for their peaceful, loving, non-violent beliefs, killed by the enemies, in lifestyle, that they had gone to live among and convert/evangelise/win for Jesus.

Jesus said, so the Bible tells us, if we choose to believe it (or it might have been Paul), ‘render to no man evil for evil, but overcome evil with good’.  Armies and governments and terrorist groups are made of many people who, individually, would be identified as ‘a man’.  I’ve heard it preached and taught that war is a different kind of situation to which that does not apply.  That sometimes peace has to be fought for, and that that is the justification for war.  But how can you fight for peace with weapons of war?  If you do the same you become the same.  The act of war causes and deepens wounds in the psyche, personally and nationally, which make it more likely for physical warfare to continue to be embraced as an option.  People don’t repent, they go into denial and justification, and that isn’t something which makes for a future where this is less likely to happen.

We need to be transformed by the renewing of our minds (Romans 12), and that means to establish new habits of acting and thinking. I’ve noticed that when I take a step to do what is right, I understand how wrong the former thing was and how wrong its support structures and rationalisations.  Especially if I thought before that the right thing was the wrong thing.  In my early days as a Christian I was taught that pragmatism and compromise over the truth were not acceptable approaches to living the Christian life.  That belief has not abandoned me, even though these days the church is more at ease with ideas of necessity and pragmatism.  I’m not sure why that is.  Maybe I just haven’t moved on as I should have done.

However, I believe that the spread of peace depends on abandoning war as an acceptable way of ‘maintaining’ ‘peace’.  If war is not an option, we have to go further in building international relationships.  Not ‘so far and no further’.  So far then ‘how very dare you, sir?’  Peace is not compromise.  Peace is Shalom, whole and vibrant.  Peace is love, not polite, formalised, ritualistic functionality.

If war is not an option, outraged people with hurt egos can’t issue a call to arms, pumping out buzz words ten to the dozen that make you feel ashamed and embarrassed to disagree with them.  People who do not embrace armed conflict as an option must surely be easier people to approach.

If we want to talk about the brave people who die in the pursuit of peace, and lay down their lives, I think there is more chance of healing for the world and of leading by example if those people lay down their lives in refusing to kill, rather than in trying to maintain peace and security for their own group by killing people and groups who are seen to threaten it or who strike at it.  If we lay down our lives for peace, sacrifice our lives in being actively peaceful and refusing to engage in war.  Let our own lives be taken rather than kill an aggressor.  Rather than a few being brave for many, I believe we all need to face it and trust for ourselves.  That way we relate with love for all, even for our enemies.  That is how peace is built.  We are governed by peace because we are founded on peace.  It isn’t the result, but the whole structure.  As long as we need to protect our lives, we live with fear.

This is what I should do, not what I do.  I am protecting too much, things and goals which wanting to achieve make me careful for my life.  Crazy things, like seeing the end of coercive medicine in the mental health system, a change in understanding and an end to labelling.  Even more, I don’t want to die on my own, maybe never to be discovered and with my life seen as worthless and full of failure, and something to be despised and not missed.  That is my craziness, wanting to hold on to my life until I feel it is worth something, not so guilt-ridden and not so isolated.  That is how I feel under the present abuse.  Too guilty to die, and guilty for hanging on.  Sorry for coming back to myself, but on the other hand, I think facing and coming to terms with yourself is a necessary part of being able to embrace this lifestyle choice anyway.  So no, I’m not sorry, really.  You have to come back to yourself to lay your life down by deliberately committing to non-violence.  I know so.  I’m only sorry I can’t express it better because of what is going on in my life at the moment.  I could possibly express it if I chose my own advocated actions, but under the abuse I can’t do it in words.  The option for me seems to be to surrender to and make myself vulnerable to my abusers (who might only be abusers in my mind anyway), or not to be able to express it in words.  But I do have a problem with my abusers if that is the point they are trying to make  by their abuse.  ‘Join us, we’ll teach you the way of peace and non-violence by making you pass through the fire of our violence’.  Jesus didn’t use violence.  The Bible says the devil can appear as an angel of light, and that means his presentation is appealing and persuasive.  But trust goes to the cross.  They present as Christians, and everything I try to say is aurally countered, either actively or with silence.  Or is it all a product of my own fear and darkness?  The Bible says in Christ there is no darkness, it also says the darkness becomes light.  To me that doesn’t just mean that a light shines removing the darkness but that, where Christ is, the darkness itself, even the darkness of violence, is light.  That is the conviction of my heart and soul.  Love, my love for those who do me violence, makes even the violence a source of light and something into which I should walk.  And these words are darlings I refuse to kill by putting them into action.  The violence and exclusion/silence, because of the ‘hallelujahs’, feel like a call, a ‘trial by fire’.  But also, post-communism, it feels somehow inappropriate.  So why am I arguing so much?  Have we talked our way out of needing to pay the price, by invalidating the price asked and demanded as torture?

God Hates Fags

So do I, ask my sister.

Dr Gallo, my Spanish psychiatrist, who called me obese in one of his reports, came towards me in the corridor once, and he absolutely stank of them.  I suppose I must have given him a questioning, intelligent, ‘oh really’ kind of look, because he looked a bit sheepish and uncomfortable.

I was thinking something along the lines of, ‘smoking kills, I don’t smoke, and I’m a nut, he smokes, and he is my psychiatrist.  He knows smoking kills, so he is addicted or in denial, or at least dishonest, because he goes out for a crafty one and looks sheepish when caught by one of his patients, or inmates’.  My actual thoughts were, ‘oh, he smokes’.  It was a bit of an enlightenment, an ‘aha’ moment.  I suppose I might have gone into my Christian prayer ministry and revelation mode.  But for me the logic behind my thoughts and feelings, as a psychiatric patient, is as previously stated.

It is my opinion that someone that insensitive, to write in a woman’s psychiatric tribunal report that she is obese, almost as though he were a vet rather than a doctor, and who smokes himself, ought not to be dealing with people on the mind level.

No, I didn’t mean homosexuals.  Not honest homosexuals.  I did that myself for two years.  I’m not sure how honest I was, maybe I rationalised my activity with the rationalisations I had been given by society and psychology until in the end it felt irrevocable and unchangeable.  Along the way of coming to terms with it I answered my own questions and my partner’s questions and probings with my own rationalisations drawn from society’s logic and permissiveness.  Of course, homosexuality used to be a reason to be detained under the mental health act, I think, or it was at least viewed as a mental illness.  But now it is a crime to show yourself ‘homophobic’.  I said that to the psychiatric staff on my ward.  I was sort of stonewalled.  Or patronised.  No one was interested in changing anything they were doing to me after I said it, anyway.

I was thinking about homophobia the other day, and wondering if there is such a word or crime as ‘Christianophobia’.  In the interests of balance I think possibly there should be.  Maybe ‘Religiophobia’ as well.  I have indulged, in myself, a homosexual relationship, though not a complete lifestyle, and I believed it was wrong beforehand and believe it was wrong now, afterwards.  And I am a Christian who believes the Bible says it is wrong and that therefore it is.  Unfortunately you can’t catch me with the shellfish argument, because I am also a vegan for moral and spiritual reasons.  Therefore I would not wear animal fibres either, mixed or otherwise.  So OK, I used to have a lesbian relationship, and now I am saying it is wrong, and that Biblical Christianity says it is wrong, which I believe.  Where does that put me as an individual on the crime scale, in relation to this issue? (By the way, I think Islam and the Quran also say it is wrong).  Not only the crime scale, but what are my own human rights on this, in terms of owning my own experience and my beliefs about it, including moral, spiritual and religious?  Can I be penalised for religiously aggravated homophobia against myself?  Do I have to limit myself in how I talk about my own life and beliefs about it?

The politicisation of ideas of right and wrong, illness and wellness.  Mental illness really is a political concept, isn’t it? Part of the irony, for me, is that an awful lot of force and assault, not to say violence, is used against some very non-violent people to make sure they take their ‘medication’.  By these people who say we are a danger to ourselves or others otherwise.  I do feel sick thinking about it.  Sick with violence and rage, the retaliatory kind.  That is a normal feeling.  I’m not acting it out.  There would be no point.  Their force and violence would be greater.

So the force and violence of a recognised professional body against an individual is OK and justified, but if that person, before not violent or physically forceful, wants to retaliate, even says they feel they want to, it isn’t?  It’s a threat to society?  But these professionals are not?

God hates fags – an interesting forage and forray.

A Different World

Here we go again, whenever my words and emotions connect there is a bang from upstairs, and suddenly both my words and emotions are in ruins.

I was going to say something like, I’m just watching a news report on BBC World News, about a killing in Afghanistan, and looking at the uncomfortable stoicism of some of the people who seem to be presiding men, and young boys crying alone and no one comforting them.   Maybe no one was there, I don’t know.  But I was thinking I am so pleased for the therapy and ministry movement in the West and that our men aren’t expected to do the stiff upper lip and upright bearing thing anymore. 

Earlier there was a story, in Extreme Weddings, about a couple getting married, an arranged marriage, and the woman was shown on her wedding day, and she didn’t look to me just overwhelmed, she looked grief-stricken, but I might have misinterpreted it.  And the older women dancing like minarets, and everyone doing the strained happy thing that people do at weddings everywhere, because it is supposed to be a happy day.  I wonder if so many marital problems start right there, at the insistence, whether it is true or not, that everyone is happy on the wedding day.  The expectation that that is how it should be, whether it is successfully carried through or not.  But I looked at that report and wanted to come home to England.  Ever the wimp and melodramatist.

See it here.

When I was in my teens I used to like to wear maxi dresses, especially to church.  I felt good in them.  We weren’t allowed to wear trousers and I didn’t feel comfortable in shorter dresses, I felt self-conscious.  Maureen Shearman, Andrew Shearman’s wife, brother of David, sat opposite me at the lunch table in church one day and had a conversation which didn’t include me with someone else next to her, about how maxi dresses were a way of attracting attention to yourself, and that was seen as a negative thing in my church.  Pride and vanity.  I was a fat teenager not allowed to wear trousers in church.  The right words to describe how I felt feel ridiculous because of the present harassment.  Self-conscious, mortified.  They don’t feel ridiculous, they feel not mine, so not helpful.  They should be mine. Alongside everything else these neighbours are stealing from me.  I’m terrified of them, they are so grossly indecent in their insistence on making me believe they are right, whether they believe it or not.  Especially the men.  I need the affection of kind men.  I think they are playing on that fact to continue their control.  I didn’t mean to write about them, I never do.  Through making me feel I can’t continue with what I do intend to write about, they insinuate themselves into everything.  Perhaps I should start using another colour for the terrified and desperate and angry material they provoke, then people can skip it if they want to.

The dress Kylie Minogue is wearing in this picture is reminiscent of the long nightie I borrowed from my grandmother (I’m not going to say what we actually called her because when I did when I was small I was put down for it by another child) to go on Summer camp to Southsea and Portsmouth, while my dad was still alive and I was in the C of E at that time, I think.  The staff were called after the Wombles, if I remember rightly.  Maybe I’ve got that wrong, I think we had a Great Uncle Bulgaria,  but I can barely remember that part of it.

I wore a much nicer and more stylish dress, I think, sleeker and not frilly, to take Ray and Jill for dinner at the Nottingham Savoy.  I was really upset because I think I had booked for the main restaurant and a proper dinner, 3 course, 5 course, something like that (when I remember, engage in memory, the people upstairs start getting uncomfortable, clearing their throats, making noises.  I just want to shut them out and it disturbs me deeply, it frightens me that it happens, and I resent it.  I am convinced it is the nature of their own harassment that makes it possible.  They are stealing me from myself, and I can’t initiate facing and confronting the serious issues in my life feeling this way, because I know what a hash other people, left to themselves, have already made of them, and me.  I need myself and my memory and my perception, in my own free space.  Why?  Because if I have to face a trial I want to be able to stand up for myself or at least represent myself accurately, and if I [they are getting more aggressive and banging] have to go to prison I want at least to be able to survive.  If I go in pulped already I won’t be able to.  I’m not afraid of prison.  I’m afraid of what might happen to me if I go in already pulped.  The same applies over the eviction issue, if I’m not allowed to remember and people think they understand better than I do, I might lose my home or retain it on terms I can’t handle, and I’d like to deal with it efficiently up front because I don’t have the money to be able to afford trial and error), and I think we lost it because I was late.  We had to make do with the grill.  (I can’t even experience the healing of my own memories with these people.  My grandmother would have called some of their verbal output shit with sugar on, and my grandmother was a very capable person, she kept things running, until she fell and broke her hip, and even then she did outwork for a local medical company, for very little money, and was always pushed for time and exhausted and upset and harassed, as well as being uncomfortable and in pain.  She worked all day and only stopped to sleep and eat.  She was afraid of hospitals and never got her hip fixed, she refused and no one forced her.  Forced her?  You can tell where I have been.  My neighbours are indecent, imposing themselves on my consciousness as they do, 24/7). 

Anyway, back to the point.  I mentioned Kylie Minogue and her toilet references in my Scritti Politti post 2 or 3 days ago.  Now she appears hunched over looking shame-faced and hiding behind big sunglasses and wearing my grandmother’s nightie to go out in (both the nightie and the dress I have mentioned were the same colour), and I’m wondering why people are using such subterfuge to try to communicate with me and don’t just use direct contact, as they are able.  They ARE able, they can comment on my blog, they can use my email address.  This isn’t fair.  These people, even my family and other past relationships, are being indecently cowardly and harassing in all this.  They should make proper contact, and they know it.  I am living underneath people who are terrifying the life out of me with the deliberateness of their harassment and the depth of the men’s cowardice (or opportunism?) in particular, in harassing a foreign woman and not going to the police, and everyone who knows me or used to know me is just as bad with their coded presentations.  When are you going to see fit to stop and make proper explicit contact about the things you want to make contact about?  Do you have any idea what you are doing to me?  You don’t, do you?  You don’t even care.  You are as bad as my present neighbours and are enabling them in every way. You’ve never cared, throwing in your verbals and pictures from a distance, knowing how to contact me and never doing it.  How can I, feeling so beaten up and dazed from abuse, and frightened when I go out because mentally I’m all over the place with constant flash backs of police and other authorities despising me and not daring to go to them, believe that any of you care?   You care enough for tears and guilt and uncomfortable expressions, but not enough to come close and help.  I need practical, legal help, not psychological and emotional rehabilitation from the people who have been responsible in the first place.  What I am experiencing with these people will continue unchallenged, here and everywhere else, until you people stop your own cowardice and make it stop.

Edit note 7.54pm UK time.  I just added the tag ‘Violence Against Women’.  Apparently it still appears under all the other tags, but it isn’t appearing under this one.  I don’t understand why not.  I tagged it about 5 or 10 minutes ago.  Maybe it’s another instance of WordPress psychological violence against me.  They have been stalking me for ages with bait and switch, a couple of sweet and materially relevant Freshly Pressed posts followed by something psychologically violent straight after, like some form of aversion technique.  AOL does the same thing on its ‘Today’ page.  My browser crashed after I started this note.  When I came back online I was taken back to the Violence Against Women tag page, and before the first post an advert had appeared for hosting your own blog, through WordPress.  I don’t know how that works, if I still have access to the tags page on the main site.  At the bottom of my post an advert had appeared for Pop Pressed and its featured ‘Win-Win’.  If I have a mental health diagnosis which people like these have been exploiting for years to continue in what they have been doing, it would be completely irresponsible of me, and puerile of them, to want to allow a ‘win-win’ situation.   End of edit note.  My blog could disappear any moment.

10.09 pm UK time update:  I just added the tag ‘Fashion’, which I thought was already there, but although it says on that page that it has just been posted, it doesn’t appear.  Unless the tagging system has changed and now too many don’t go through but the ones before do, it appears to be ‘some sort of’ censorship and selection.  This could be something to do with the personalities involved, because when I looked under the Jools Holland page for a previous post after my Scritti Politti post a few days ago, I discovered the one I posted a few months ago was no longer listed.  I think they are trying to make me feel like a naughty little girl who doesn’t automatically have the same publication rights as everyone else.  When I got half way through that last sentence I got a notice saying IE needed to close.  It felt like a message saying, ‘no, that’s not it, don’t post this’.  So is it hands on or do I have a virus, vocabulary activated or something?  Is it protective or harassing, should it be seen as legal or illegal?  I believe it should be seen as illegal.  It is deep manipulation if this is a targeted thing.

Danger In Dominionism

This post which I found under propaganda is interesting to me and I recommend it.  I have a choice.  I can believe I can walk into the embrace of the pastors I love and who love me, and hope and have faith that my relationship with them will make a difference, or I can refer people to this post instead.  Two roads diverged – I’m taking the one most travelled, and losing my own life by trying to keep it, and not in the way I should be.

Colin Dye embraces the model this post talks about.  David Shearman talks about Aristotle.  Hey, what if the writer of this post is wrong?  Then I am further alienating two people I love and who are my life.

All of my stalkers and blog readers are pawing over me affecting intimacy and the right to identify and instruct, and not one of them is making proper committed contact.  Is it any wonder I can’t cope with life?

I just got up.  I went to the toilet.  My upstairs neighbours started fluttering over me and expressing signs of distress – because I’m going to the toilet?  Next thing I know, I’m thinking about what I want to say about it on my blog and am trying to approach it kindly, when savage voice zhena (woman) cries out again, straight into my head.

This is constant, I need it to stop.  My eviction procedure has gone into its second stage and so far I have not felt able to touch it – because I just can’t think straight.  So I’m naming names.  Nick Clegg, you lovely boy, don’t just bang about on your podium, imitating, as you think, the banging from my neighbours (assuming that you have read my blog and that was what you were doing yesterday).  Do something!  I emailed you, and you didn’t reply.  Now DO something other than a dramatic presnentation in parliament.  Contact me properly.  Please.  If that is appropriate and not taking what is properly a legal issue and making it a party political issue.

And while I am on the subject of parliament, for the past two days it has been impossible to watch it live streamed on the internet.  What is going on?  I suppose I can safely assume that I am not important enough for it to have anything to do with me.

I’ve sent Joan Ruddock, my MP, all the emails connected with my eviction and asked for replies.  I have received none.  I did this at the beginning, over a month ago.  From something that was said, by her, I think, it appears she is on strike over me until she gets the gratitude she believes she is entitled to, as if I have to prove myself to her.  The first time I went to see her she wouldn’t let me talk and all but threw me out of her surgery.  She stood up to dismiss me in a way which made me feel that if I didn’t go, the next step would be calling the police.  I have mixed feelings about her, I think she has tried to be nice, and I’m really upset about this. 

I was thinking about how I wanted to word that last sentence to most accurately express my feelings and say what I wanted to say, when my neighbours upstairs banged, leaving me with so great a feeling of desperation and outrage and enormity I didn’t know what to do.  Whatever words I had, or connection with the feelings I wanted, they went, as always. I continue to assert it is their awful mix of hallelujahs and violence and personal invasiveness which is causing this.  I say this kind of constant occurence is the result of their witchcraft.  I’m terrified.  I feel raped in my soul.  I feel as if I can’t speak without speaking to them.  I am effectively their hostage.  Or am I just hostage to my resentment and fear of all the prejudice and discrimination I face here continually, because of the way I am dressed and the way I look?  Security people in supermarkets relax when they see me get my money out, and I think that is gross.  Where before they have marched me and commanded me as if I am beneath them.  But I get my money out and suddenly I am not.  I was in Sofia a few weeks ago.  I wanted to be taken to a hotel in a taxi, and several drivers rudely and aggressively refused.

My Neighbours

They shout and bang all day, in teams and relays, I woke up relaxed out of a good dream early the other morning, before 6am, and coughed easily as I came round, and she immediately roused her sleeping partner and suddenly they were tapping at me.  I think it was, anyway, repetitive tapping, that seems to be the torture of choice at the moment, but it might have been a violent thud, but I can’t remember this time.  The couple of times I have tried to sleep in the silent period in the afternoon, between 2 and 4 pm, they have tapped over my bedroom every time sleep has come anywhere near me.  The first time he came running across my ceiling, about 3.30 pm, and shouted out violently, terrifyingly, outside,  leaving me feeling as if I had been clubbed about the head, and where before I was gaining clarity of thought, thoughts were coming and going and not going anywhere, not being resolved, thoughts were not thinkable.  It is the level of anger and hatred, as well as contempt for the law, from a man to a woman, that really does for me.  They are playing door opening and closing games as I go in and out, which I have interpreted as symbolically closing the door on me. They follow me around, cracking and banging over my space wherever I am in the apartment.  Today I thought, if these are shepherds and sheepdogs, they are the devils shepherds and sheepdogs.  She keeps saying hallelujah, so I’m really confused.  Is this how Orthodox Christianity works, or some other form of Christianity, or is she just using hallelujah to make the experience more torturous and disorientating?

I started writing this to say, in spite of all this, if and when I lose it, I still end up feeling as if I am the one who is supposed to say I am sorry.  When I write like this I believe that isn’t right, but it doesn’t stop me ending up feeling as if it is.  And every night I’m afraid to go to bed, because they wake me up tapping, every night.  Or stop me as I am going into sleep in the first place, in exactly the same way.  It is deliberate tapping.  I’m a sleep-deprived and frightened and furious wreck.  I know they are going to do it, because they always do.  Sleep is not allowed for me.  I’m so upset, and so tired, but I daren’t go to bed.  I’m so desperate.  They did it this afternoon as well.  And if I say anything they get worse and take worse advantage.

I called the police on Thursday, the afternoon he shouted violently, and the person on the other end said ‘I beg your pardon’ twice, in a way which felt pointed (my browser crashed here), and three male officers turned up at my door, one of whom spoke English, and while I was talking to him, every time I relaxed and my voice took on strength, one of the other two went running away with it, gabbling loudly over the top of me.  When I looked through my eyehole, before I opened the door, I saw they were standing there laughing, but as soon as they realised I was taking a good look, they stopped.  I felt humiliated on my own door step.  I said something about the gabbling over the top of me and how I was used to it here, but that from the police it was inappropriate, and the English speaker tried to reassure me it was nothing, but in the end I mimicked him back when he did it again, but obviously timidly and I wish I hadn’t, but he stopped.  If I had been confrontational and strong in my annoyance and anger, would they have made it an excuse to arrest me, as has happened or been threatened sometimes in England?

Anyway, they said I had to go to the station and make a report, which at the time was something I was willing to do, but I’ve decided to approach a solicitor instead with the whole situation and ask what a couple of clauses in my contract mean in terms of being able to expect support from my landlord.  I’ve already emailed my landlord, and they have said there is nothing they can do.  If that is true I need to try and help myself, but if it isn’t, I can do without the hassle.

PS I think I am also being mobbed on the Christianity tag in particular, by people writing ‘relevant’ things and taking some aspect of my bolg’s presentation and title.  When I last looked this post was flanked by two others, one saying ‘no man is an island’, and the other talking about taking every thought captive (right next to mine, ‘thoughts and observations of a certified nut!’?), talking about the ‘queen of science’, and I went out angrily this evening, to do some essential food shopping, saying I was going out ‘like the royalty I am’.  Coincidence?  The other day there was something by someone whose blog is something like ‘thoughts and observations of a dependent workman’, and I constantly feel as if people are calling me the lone ranger or something.  It is really undermining.  While I have been writing this PS the woman upstairs has started talking, and I have had a battery of browser crashes, especially right at the beginning.  I’m still wondering if they are hacking my computer upstairs.

PPS 1.47pm Bulgarian time. I was just thinking and feeling about Jason.  At least I think I was, because her voice intruded on it, that godawful voice, or is it just my godawful embarrassment about my godawful contribution to the situation?  But it is since she imposed her voice over mine, several times, and in the context of them banging into the most intimate sounds of my voice and places of my rest and sleep that this kind of thing happens over and over, my most intimate thoughts and feelings and deepest places of my being, open to or because of the things or people I am thinking about, are invaded by this voice.  This actual voice, not a memory or imagination or hallucination.  I have raged in the past when this kind of thing has happened.  Today I held back and decided not to.  It has taken me half an hour to decide that putting this fact on my blog is OK and not inappropriate.  As soon as I hit the ‘update’ button on this my computer crashed.

There is no such thing as public opinion, because the public is made up of many people who hold many different opinions, and who are confused about th eir opinions and change them often, or are paralysed into inactivity or other manifestations of distress.

So I’m wondering how this became an accepted and acceptable concept in the first place?  It is a handy concept to impose, for some people and organisations.  Is it about making money and controlling people, or what?  I can’t think of anything else at the moment.

If you can invoke the concept of public opinion, you can use it not only to say ‘this is good and this is bad’, but also ‘this person is good, and this person is bad’.  In some societies the ‘good’ people can kill the ‘bad’ people for lesser crimes than murder.  That is not to say that killing people for murder is good (though for them it might be preferable to a lifetime of interment). 

I was going to say why should we be punitive by making the punishment last a lifetime, but then I thought about the possibility of change and rehabilitation which wouldn’t be available to them, or us, if we killed them.  Maybe, if we want to be really kind, we should give people an option of the death sentence or a lifetime’s imprisonment or stuck on a psychiatric ward on drugs.  If we are going to argue for voluntary euthanasia and the right to assisted suicide I can’t see why not.  And it might sort out the prison space problem and problems in the economy too, because we wouldn’t be having to pay for them.

You could argue that a life in prison or on psychiatric drugs is not the kinder option, if the person would prefer to get the whole thing out of the way immediately and just die.  Why should we want to deprive a criminal of that option, unless we ourselves are sadistically and viciously punitive?  But then there are others who are sadistically and viciously punitive in the other direction who would say, ‘and a good thing too, taking our space and costing us money’, but they might have a harder time maintaining that if the option of the death penalty was seen as a kindness rather than the ultimate punishment.

Casualty

Today’s Casualty, Just Because You’re Paranoid

The young doctor, Ruth, who is sectioned for Bipolar Disorder and prescribed Lithium, is the exact image of one of my first nurses, but I can’t remember her name.  As it happens, I bumped into her at St Barnabas Cathedral in Nottingham a few years ago.  The character of Ruth, I would say that her whole reaction was about fear of the drugs, maybe about not being able to walk away, and about the fact that this man Charlie is someone who won’t listen to anything she has to say.  To me that seems obvious.  And in spite of the fact that she makes a perfectly reasonable case for why she doesn’t want this kind of ‘help’, even as a doctor she isn’t heard and respected.  She is on section, and takes lithium.  I suppose a doctor would know that they had a right to refuse, in which case it would be brought up for review (that is what I was told in hospital and how it was for me sometimes), but she took it the same way as someone who didn’t know they had any other choice – resentful and trapped.  And no one cares about your feelings about taking the drug, even if they are so obviousl anti.  That is my experience.  I have’t seen this for a while.  I’m not sure if this is part of a developing story line or how it has been handled so far.

Charlie is P J Charters, who used to be the charge nurse and, the last I knew, worked at Speedwell in Deptford.  He’s not a lot different from Charlie.  I think he also might be asked why he never listens.

They mention a doctor or Mr Jordan.  One of my nurses was called Mark Jordan.  He brought me in some Enya tapes, in this programme they talk about him doing his best schizophrenic, I’m not sure if that is supposed to be significant.

The guy with dreadlocks, the porter, who often appears, is a nurse called Peter.  I daren’t say anything about his attitude, I might be called prejudiced or accused of racism or discrimination.  More appropriate might be classism, but people always go for the obvious.

Christians are supposed to protect people.  Who should I protect, myself and other patients, or these people?  Or all of us?  I could say much, much more than I have.

I can’t remember if I mentioned the time, early on in my experience with the mental health service, when I was listening to the kind of music station, in hospital, that was doing loads of ‘shout outs’, one after the other.  I think it was D J Spoony, and I was thinking of him then as David Shearman.  He was doing all these shout outs, and I thought I recognised the names, and in the end I thought it was about me being demonised and the names of demons I needed deliverance from.  I went up to two dark skinned male nurses, I can’t remember their nationality, and told them I thought I needed Christian deliverance.  I think they just stared at me or something, because the next thing I knew my hands shot out, as if trying to grasp for safety, or recover something.  They both just stared at me and one of them said, ‘those hands could kill’.  I’m not making it up and I didn’t imagine it.  I can’t even remember who they were.  I feel as if I shouldn’t be writing this.  To me all of this feel like coded support, that is why I feel wrong about publishing something like this.

Edit note:  1.20 pm UK time.

This is the first post of mine that I have noticed for ages, which has not been posted, at least not in sequence or among today’s posts, on the Christianity board for which it is tagged, although it appears on others for which it is tagged.  If there are too many tags and categories it doesn’t appear anywhere, so my post has been censored on this board.  It is not the first time.  Before I have ranted, it has felt like a visceral attack.  I have assumed the people responsible call themselves Christians, and have therefore found the censorship dishonest and unacceptable in a more painful way than if they didn’t. But I don’t know who it is that is responsible for this decision.  I only know it appears to have been censored, although there appear to be plenty of people who have responded in their own posts, albeit not explicitly.

BBC World News.  He just talked about ‘stricken reactors’, which could also be taken at an emotional and psychological level, as they are aware and deliberately exploiting, and he followed it up with one of his looks and said ‘then there is the little matter of the cricket match’. (Edit: so here I am again – are they saying, ‘we know about all this and we want to help you, or what?)

It is an accusation, a ‘first get their attention then inject the accusation’.  That is what it is.  For me, it is crippling.  Also, I have been very strong and clear and believe I have taken important spiritual and legal ground and gained understanding, legally, about the matter with my neighbours, and have been using Google Translate to deal with it, I asked them why they were banging and said I didn’t understand, that I am not a mind reader and that they shouldn’t be doing it anyway, and asked them if they understood, they didn’t answer, I asked them to give me a yes or no answer, they didn’t answer, I asked again, and said if they were not prepared to give a yes or no answer, it was definitely a matter for the police. They didn’t answer.  I have communicated emotionally, clearly, factually, legally and focussed and redefined a few things and believe I have understood things I misunderstood before, which I had understood in their favour and now understand against them, in light of their subsequent actions over weeks, and refusal to answer me when I said quite clearly that I didn’t understand and gave them an opportunity to tell me that they understood me.

I felt strong, right and enabled.

Then Peter Dobbie moved in for the kill.

He inflicted a gross enormity on my mind.

I still know, obviously, that these people I am willing to see as friends are hacking my computer.

He has thrown something indecent and unclean, merely by his own action, apart from the accusation, into my face, and left me broken and disabled again in the hands of my neighbours, especially the woman, whose spiritually illegal hallelujah, thrown at me or at every change of sound on my television, now has renewed power with and over me and makes me feel wrong and guilty.

And Peter Dobbie, what you are doing is grossly evil and illegal.  You do what you do, and the person who comes on afterwards comes on all cheery and upbeat making me feel your way is right and that I am wrong to find fault and not accept your help.  You have put me right back into incapable and incoherent hysteria and a feeling of being overwhelmed to the point of being unable to cope with all the things that I need to deal with legally.

The people upstairs comment when I cough, they comment when I speak, they comment when they hear a body noise, sometimes in hateful tones, and that invasion seems to give them occult access to invade every silent relaxation with a bang or a cry of pain followed by ‘dobre’, or ‘hallelujah’ on its own.  They have just banged now.  Peter Dobbie, do you know what you are doing, illegally playing like this with another person’s life, and soul, and mind, and spirit, and will, and freedom, etc, etc?  Do you understand the consequences of your illegality in my life?  Do you understand how grossly indecent and treacherous your illegal activity towards me is? Do you know what you are doing to me?  Do you think you are capable of accepting the responsibility of controlling me and my life and repairing the deep injury you inflict?  Do you think I am capable of letting you, or that I should be?  Do you think it is right for you to cut me to your purposes like this?  Especially knowing I have to go to authorities I have every reason to distrust in order to get the help I need?

Here is the tongue-lashing sports woman again.  Is that deliberate, or just a manifestation of the occultism and crime with which I am being targeted?  Is it just her way of coping?  Does the audience want to hear it?  The woman upstairs has just shouted out sharply, right into my emotions (Edit: I think it was hallelujah but I’m not sure now.  As I was checking this over it said aai, but that isn’t something I use and I don’t know how it got there).

You savage, irresponsible, stupid bastard(s).

Men here tend not to respect a woman who actually looks as if she has been or is being abused.  From my memory, it isn’t that much different at home.  What are you trying to do to me?  Do you even know?  If a policeman rapes me of dignity with his eyes and attitude, how can I ask him for help?  I need to go in with my own dignity, and you insist on stripping it away and letting it be stripped.

These people have held me hostage for eight weeks.  I’m about to lose my home, because my landlord is in contempt of the fact that I left to get away from the bullying and want to go back when it is sorted out.  They refuse to recognise it is even happening, and therefore offer no help to sort it out.  If my neighbours say something, I get a psychiatric visit and maybe even hospitalisation, if I say anything, and my neighbours say it isn’t true, that for my landlord and every other authority involved is the end of the story.

Etc.

I wasn’t going to write this much.  You are getting all of this by your own torture, and that of others that you hand me over to.  She is a criminal witch.  My feelings begin to return to me and she purrs hallelujah.  Oh God, bring this man, and those like him, and those in my neighbourhood who abuse me because of what they put into the communities I enter into, bring them to account.

In everything but literal fact, they are murderers.  The feelings you are handing me over to of needing to recognise and co-operate with these violence-and-hallelujah-toting people are gross and illegal.  You should not do this to me, you are wrong.

Here he comes with the ‘out’ word again.  There is no point me trying to go any further.  I will just sound stupid. 

Even if my feelings about what I have written have changed, it remains, because throughout, the onslaught of devices, illegally acquired, to modify those feeling, has been in use, including the use of sequences of numbers.  He just mimicked the voice of my critical method lecturer, who has himself been a playwright and involved in the media, and finished it off with a reference to ‘sanitary’ conditions.  To me that felt really indecent.  The woman upstairs just coughed, as she always does when I realise and feel happy about the fact that I begin to feel able to start expressing myself precisely, accurately, clearly and appropriately, and it knocks my mind and emotions off-balance again.  On the tv they are striking surfaces again, like a personal ‘we must control this’, whatever the perceived object of necessary control, and Peter Dobbie has just handed over, at 11.20am UK time, to the sports presenter, with an emotional tone of disappointment, and I just thought,’spare me the fake emotion’.  The woman’s voice upstairs, with her hallelujahs, is becoming more insistent and aggressive and hard and hateful.  And in their commentaries, the presenters are re-enacting and rehashing the narrative of my own experience and writing, and I think this also is deliberate and criminally accessed.  I haven’t posted this one yet.  Maybe they are using the material from past posts, but that is not a responsible way to communicate.

My post is ruined.  I carry on in hysteria, feeling and believing I have to make things clear, then people taunt me over its length and unreadability.  He talked about compassion earlier, and he is coming on with it heavy now, and is talking about ‘slash’ and trouble, and the use is deliberate, and ‘slash’ is one of the things he was making psychological and subliminally targeted reference to when he talked about ‘the small matter’ I started off with in this post.  ‘Slash’ – coarse slang for urinate.  Nintendo Wii, slash in web addresses – there are many other popularised expressions of a similar nature which I believe have been deliberately created for psychological haunting and to be woven into the mix.

I believe also they deliberately grab at me like this psychologically before deliberately going into and imposing verbal incoherence.  I think it is an attack on my writing and that their presentation is deliberately incontinent and incoherent.  I insist that is the truth, and I think it is gross and evil.

As I now perceive it, this woman has accused me to my neighbours, and is now constantly shouting out painfully and sickenly sweet hallelujahs.  She stood on the balcony, shouting, weeks ago, the first time I heard her, doing her best to make her voice sound sweet.  It affects my mind.  It’s gross and it makes my mind feel dulled.  And when I was screaming in pain and distress, when I was taken to hospital, no one in my block came anywhere near me to see if I was OK.  And no one has said anything since.  Except for the constant harassment and violence.  Maybe me seeing it like that is just my own mind’s negativity, but I don’t know.  Whatever, the harassment and violence which obviously is harassment and violence has to be stopped.

I will not submit to this woman with her antenna constantly attuned to shout as I try to pursue and examine a thought.  I will not.  I cannot.  I should not.  What has David put into my mind here?  She is making me emotionally sick.

Obviously, I would be the mad woman.

I just heard some of the talk going on in Parliament about nice despots.  That is the impression I got anyway. So I thought I had better say something in my defence before I am made to look a more complete idiot than I actually am.

Practically, despots are made, not born.  What has happened in this man’s life that kindness and respect, rather than censure and name-calling, just might put right?  Is an expression of love ever wrong or inappropriate?  After people fight me down over my anger, even if it is an appropriate feeling, I still end up loving them, even feeling I like them, but by that time so much has been said and done it is a much more embarrassing feeling for me.

But then there is the stalking of which I am constantly aware, so that obviously affects the way I relate to people.

Practically from my point of view, my softness on Gadaffi might be for two reasons.  I only say might, the only information I have is what is thrown at me, I don’t know him.

Reason 1.  I don’t know my history (even if I did I might want to approach it as a therapist, not a judge).

Reason 2. My life has been filled with despotic/insecure/silently-wounded authority figures that people have insisted I should love, respect, obey and be grateful for.  My father, my grandfather, some of my teachers, some of my Church leaders?, some of the police, some of my psychiatrists and other psychiatric staff, neighbours, landlords, employers, fellow employees, some media people.  Etc, etc.  To me, both verbal and physical abuse and assault have been involved, and slander and defamation, and I was still expected to live with it and told it was OK, that the law allowed it, or they didn’t mean it, or it was just the way they were, or to get over it because it was a long time ago, or no one cared to give me an answer anyway.  Much of this has affected my life in negative ways, some of them irrevocable.

So those feelings which I have been brainwashed and tortured into feeling, the rationalisations I have been forced to adopt, are transferred to world despots, and I feel sympathy for them.  Or a sense of duty towards them.  I suppose sympathy, if I feel in any way filial, or identify with them in their despotism and what might have shaped and railroaded them into that.

I can’t write anymore.  The woman in my personal torture-chamber upstairs is murdering my thoughts and emotions and leaving me feeling so desperate and like minced meat.  They are violent and invasive and disrespectful of my privacy and harassing. Am I a target of evangelism, or is it milk the Anglichanka, or what?  Here Anglichanka, me , Anglichanka, I’m a baby bird, feed me, I’m good.  Don’t know.  They are violent and very personally invasive.  And I can’t think straight.  They are grabbing at my life and emotions like children with toys, sticking needles in me and sucking out the nectar, and saying I have to go to them to get it back.  That is how it feels.  Enough already, they insinuate themselves into everything.

Check It Out

Please check today’s updates of my ‘Odd Thoughts’ page.  Thanks.

[This is all there was, then . . .]

When I first published this it didn’t appear, a few minutes ago.  I don’t know why.  I have published things with more tags than this.  Maybe WordPress, or someone, has decided it is spam, or something.

[Then this is all there was, then . . .]

I don’t know what you media people want, pumping the stuff you pump into my communities, taking accusations from them, and making me desperate, but it is deeply and seriously illegal, what you are doing to me.  Zeinab Badawi, for example, imposing your accusation just before running. 7.27 pm UK time.

(She’s back on.  She said it was the end of the programme and goodbye.  They are playing vicious and torturing mind games.  I want these people charged and stripped.  I want them away from anything I have to watch.  It is criminal deception, harassment, torture and illusionism.  it is NOT a choice between corrupt media and corrupt leaders, religious or secular.  They all have to stop.  They have to stop.  This is personal, criminal harassment, not just a different world view.  And appearing nice sometimes does not mean that this kind of criminal harassment, often sadisitic and supported by sadistic and occult methods encouraged in the community through all kinds of media communication – drama, entertainment, ‘factual’ – should go unpunished. 

I choose not to identify this as specifically anti-religious or anti-Christian persecution, because not every victim is religious or Christian.  I will not deny my emotions when writing, these people are evil, and taunting, and base.  They have been talking today about savings banks and saying it as ‘spanks’, and they just emphasised it.  I am completely reduced, emotionally.  They do it, and encourage my neighbours to do it to me, or someone encourages them.  They are taking permission from each other, and where once I might have laughed, I laugh no longer.  I’m a foreign woman on my own in a country I don’t understand using a language I don’t have extensive command of, in fact minimal, and this is savage and unforgivable.  I want to be at peace with this country, I want a future here, because I can afford it, anyone could, and it’s a nice country, and beautiful just about everywhere.  What they are doing is sabotage.  I appeal to Bulgaria.  They are encouraging my neighbours to cut my throat and drink the blood pouring out.  Or rather, they are cutting my throat themselves then letting others take over.  My fellow countrymen.  My country’s media, my country’s leaders.  Is there monetary reward involved?  I was watching ‘Something For The Weekend’ yesterday, and the guests were from a drama about vampires.  It isn’t ‘fun’.  There is serious intent.  There is serious, instructional, witchcraft literature out there.  Some practitioners and people who say they understand insist that witchcraft is benign, but my understanding is that sometimes people are cursed, and sometimes criminality and harm, including kiling, is involved.  Even if it is farmed out to people who call themselves satanists rather than witches.  But I don’t know.  I got it from some books (This Present Darkness, Piercing The Darkness).

Zeinab Badawi keeps saying a strong and final goodbye, then coming back.  In my hysteria it keeps me off-balance and wrong-footed, with spiritual blood pouring from my throat, and in the middle of recovery, my violent, illegal, occult neighbours bang or say ‘hallelujah’.  Or at any hint of self-doubt or self-examination, albeit silent, she swoops in, like a vulture, shouting ‘hallelujah’.  Are they also hacking my computer?  Them also, as well as others?  Silent hours here in Bulgaria are between 10 pm and 6 am.  My neighbours don’t observe those times, they target me anytime.  They walk over me or bang, as if I am some sort of conquest or prey.  They wake me up, or audibly launch something felt as a psychic attack, at every point of going deep, every day, at legal and illegal hours, awake or asleep, often asleep.  Anything I do is retaliation, not initiation.  The retaliation of an invalidated and systematically tortured person, not someone whose human rights are being respected and protected.

Obviously it isn’t only me they (media) are trying to confuse.  I don’t think they have a right to treat anyone this way, not even those they tag terrorists and despots.  Why can’t our news agencies be conciliatory, instead of mocking, derisive, deceitful, hypnotic and disrespectful?  We are all people.  They shouldn’t treat any of us like that.  How can there be peace and reconciliation without honesty, vulnerability and respect?

Gadaffi told Jeremy Bowen not to say that he understood the system, because he didn’t understand, Gadaffi said.  I don’t believe Gadaffi was right.  I believe Jeremy Bowen understood the system, but did not respect it or Libya’s right to it.  The west does not have the right to go in and help overthrow a non-democratic rule, just because discontent with that legal rule has been created in people who ask them to come in and help a rebellion or protect rebels.  It isn’t our turf.  It is enforcement of western values on the legitimate and legal leadership of another country, and whatever bodies our leaders and media use for their appeal to us to believe that what they are doing is right, I don’t believe those bodies legally support going into another country and undermining the laws that were understood by every party involved at the time any agreement was entered into.  In the face of such western corruption, I, of all people more qualified than some, can understand how Gadaffi can be made to look like a madman.  (What follows is an attempt to replicate a far bigger chunk of text than is normally lost when my browser crashes).  He is probably crazy with righteous indignation and pain, at least in this situation.  His rule in his own country is legal, according to the country’s laws, which we have always understood, and we should respect that, regardless of any historical acts of international terrorism, which should not be corruptly and deceitfully and manipulatively brought into play to shape how we should understand the present situation.  What is happening now has nothing to do with the assassination of a police officer called Yvonne Fletcher.  On a human level, having experienced some of the things I have, I feel sympathy for the man Gadaffi.  I have to.  If I abandon sympathy I abandon my own humanity.

I understand now, I think, what these people are doing to me.  They use language and close lookalikes and act alikes and name alikes of family and friends and teachers, to keep me sentimentally controlled, then unleash a complete onslaught on me when I break out and write something like this.  Even steal a massive chunk of text, larger than I would normally lose, even though what I have now written is augmented.  Katty Kay just started with an intimate, affectionate-sounding tone, then lived up to her name and went into something ugly and catty sounding.  Emotional betrayal.  Planned betrayal.  I know people will understand what I am saying here, and I hope it will also be obvious why I choose not to come into close physical contact with people who behave towards me this way, using their own and other people’s torture and criminality, inflicting emotional and spiritual pain and happy to have others inflict it on me, scrambling my thoughts and scrambling my speech.  I choose not to come into close voluntary contact with this, unless they legally commit themselves to whatever their intentions are, whether that be arrest and imprisonment, or whatever.  I want to know what I can expect to have to face.  I have that right.  Yes I do.  I am as happy to appear in court and go to prison as I am to be compensated, but I have a right, and a need, as someone already traumatised by incarceration in the mental health system and corruption and neglect and inadequacy and incompetence and violence from authroities, to know and have explicitly and formally expressed in a way which is legally binding, what people’s intentions towards me are. 

I am not a bitch.  I respect the rights of another country’s leadership not to have their legal leadership, according to their own laws, interfered with.  I choose to respect that and make that my position, regardless of my personal feelings, whatever they may be.  This kind of disrespect from the leaders of our country to the leaders of theirs does not promote peace or understanding, in Libya or between Libya and the UK, now or in the future.  I believe that is the truth.  What it does promote is the westernisation of a Middle Eastern country on which we are dependent for oil, and going by Iraq (yes) that westernisation might be unsuccessful or carry a backlash and resentment or rejection in the future, leading to unrest.  I completely understand that, to some extent, I am just being fashionably liberal and posturing as left wing.  But this is still my honest reasoning, and I don’t want any other.  Please, I really don’t.  I really don’t want to view it differently in any way, and I want my view to be practicable.  Because although it is, in this instance, presented as being about the character of Gadaffi and what, to many English people, are the undesirable politics of Libya, the principle must be that the legal boundaries of another country and it’s leadership should not be transgressed by a country outside, whatever the appeal, unless, maybe, a criminal act as defined by the country’s own laws has been committed by the administration.  And I am ignorant, factually.  I might be wrong and that might be the case.  In which case I am embarrassed again.  Katty Kay is tongue lashing.

This post started out as a one liner.

Do you remember, did you watch, the western, years ago, where someone took revenge on a man by slowly spit roasting him?  Later they came back to him, or someone else did, and the man was all but dead, and he said ‘kill me, please kill me’?  He was handed a gun, and he shot himself in the head.

I was looking at Owen Thomas again this evening, he seems to have been presenting the news all weekend.  I heard what was coming out of his mouth, this man with the presentation of an angel, and it was completely obscene.

There was a man with a BBC tee shirt living next to me.  People used to use my music a lot.  One of the songs I played was a Larry Norman song which had the line ‘with the face of an angel and the heart of a beast’.  It seems to me they have taken sadistic pleasure in populating the media with people like that.

I want to die.  I’ve got nothing left to live for.  Everywhere I go I run into demon-possessed, subhuman, rapacious dogs and killers.  They have killed me.  They have murdered me.  Christians and non-Christians alike.  I wish I had never bothered with any of them.  Some friends these people have turned out to be.  Give me a year, then bugger off, then never make committed contact again.  Even block me twice on their Youtube account.  Leaving me to these harassing, raging, banging, howling dogs that the whole world seems to be peopled with.

And the more distress and pain I express, the more all of them, including Christians, sadistically pump out sweetness and light.  Leaving me feeling like a crying, huddled up wreck blubbering in a corner.

There is no God, they have killed Him.  I might as well die too.  These people, especially the most angelic looking and sounding, are aggressively satanic and hateful.  They have already killed me.  They will not be challenged.  Anyone who challenges them will be open to question themselves, and I can’t see that anyone is willing to be in that position.

I am being eaten alive by spiritual and psychological, open-throated, animal-like, savage cannibals.  I feel I have no existence worth holding on to.  That’s what the bible says: ‘their throats are open sepulchres’.

‘How much do you think you are worth, boy?/Will anyone stand up and say?/Do you think that your life is worth nothing/Til someone is willing to pay?’ Graham Kendrick.

I just had a real stray dog of a thought, bit of a sick animal.  I was thinking about Nero, playing the fiddle while Rome burned.  I thought maybe he didn’t do the wrong thing.  Maybe it was the right thing to do.  Was there anything else he could have done?

Then I thought wait a minute, he was a ruler.  There must have been something else he could have done?

But we aren’t all Nero, and rulers.  Man, I must be sick.  I’m thinking for some of us it might be exactly the right thing to do.

I think all I really mean is that I wish people wouldn’t pull worst case examples out of the hat and use them to put pressure on people where the comparison is completely inappropriate.

We can pray.  Of course we can pray, if we are religious.  I was going to say Christians then realised Christianity isn’t the only religion that encourages and advocates prayer.

There was a bit of a dialogue going on a few years ago, between ‘prayer changes things’ and ‘prayer changes people’.  The latter position says that, even if your circumstances and situation don’t change when you pray, you will change, and maybe consequently your situation will as well.

I had a conversation on the phone yesterday with a lady from my credit card company.  We got talking about coincidences because the number of my new card was similar to the number of the other new card which I didn’t receive.  I asked her if she had unsettling coincidences in her life as I had in mine, and we mentioned phone numbers. She said that her phone number was almost the same as her friend’s number, but with the numbers reversed.  I told her about my Skype number, and that one of the options offered was the first three numbers of my landline followed by the last four of my critical method lecturer’s phone number.  I rejected it, just stopped trying to get a number, then decided I’d quite like it, but when I looked again a few seconds later, it was no longer available.  Strange.  Instead I ended up with another one, which had the first two numbers of the last part of his number reversed, and the last two numbers of the last part of his number reversed, all in the last part of my number.

That number has lapsed now, I might have to start with a new one.

So I’m assuming a lot of people are subject to these ‘coincidences’.  Coincidences?  And what are they doing to our minds?  And what aberations are they causing in our behaviour and reasoning?

I’m thinking about the marches and demonstrations.  Maybe I shouldn’t be.  But is that really the best and most effective and responsible way to express discontent and dissatisfaction?  Especially in the internet age, when networking and communication about these things can be obvious and open, as a march is.  Surely internet action could be given the same kind of news coverage as a march? I think it should be.  For a start, there were thousands of police at the march yesterday, and have been and will be in attendance at other marches and demonstrations.  That is thousands of man hours and probably tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of pounds.  Does that help us economically?  Or does it add an extra drain?

I wouldn’t like to condone violence and damage to property in demonstrations, but I do realise there is discontent among us, the little people, at the bottom of the pile, while the big business and banking employers march off with tons of wealth. Sometimes anger comes out violently, with everyone, to some degree or other.

I think the news agencies need to make a big shift away from the sensationalism of demonstrations and that internet action needs to be highlighted instead and positively encouraged as an alternative.  And if people want a family fun day out, maybe a march isn’t the best thing?  Perhaps something which would add immediately to the quality of their lives and maybe to the economy would be better?

That isn’t a stray dog, and I didn’t have this in mind when I started, but I think it is a brilliant and responsible and progressive idea and am sure other people must have had it as well.

I believe and am convinced that my upstairs neighbours are executing a haunting on me, and people like BBC World News are helping them, with their regular, strongly-spiritual sounding music in their intervals, which grabs me and maybe my neighbours as well.  My neighbours latch onto it and shout ‘hallelujah’, and today they have been tapping at every change and interval.  I just shouted at them with the help of Google Translate that that is what they are doing, and they banged at me violently.  I thanked them for the violence and said that I would take that as a confirmation.

Every time I go to take my thoughts back and inspiration starts to be birthed, she shouts ‘hallelujah’.  At this point someone decided, I believe, that Internet Explorer needed to close because it had encountered a problem, and the newsreader on BBC World News just decided he needed to do a strong throat rasp, which to my mind was completely false.  They fill me with anger and hysteria when I type something like this, and it makes me feel I’m not going to be taken seriously by the authorities or even if I am, because of the mental trauma I won’t be helped.  The newsreader just banged violently on a surface, has started talking about ‘striking’ deals, then went into a more intimate tone in which he said a word to sound like ‘bottom’, as if in the bottom on your body.  I feel ridiculous, and I’m carrying so much that that is a feeling I can’t cope with.  My neighbours just struck violently as well, and she has just shouted ‘hallelujah’ in a disgustingly intimate, almost ‘there, there, there’ tone, as if comforting.

I don’t know the newsreader’s name.  I think it is Aaron something.  It is 2.08 pm UK time.  I feel hysterical again.  I don’t know if the monitoring is mechanical and all by media, if they have it on upstairs or what, or if it is all spiritualistic aided by physical and mental and spiritual violence, they have gained access to me that way.  He has momentarily switched back to sounding normal.  Like bait and switch, which was covered in the Watchdog programme a few months ago. 

I really need help.  I’m not sure if I can get it myself.  I’m not talking about psychiatric.  He has just said ‘letskit’.  His name is Aaron Thomas, I think.  Softly, softly innocent, but I don’t think he is.  He has just said ‘just’ with emphasis, as if to say, ‘I said ‘just’, not something else’.  Assuming the right to communicate, and a lying disclaimer.

I first heard about hauntings from Tommy Boyd.  He said someone had offered to carry one out on his behalf and he had turned them down.

His name isn’t Aaron, it is Owen Thomas.  The savage-girl/woman just said so.  The little dominatrix.  I’m not being hateful or spiteful.  That is the role she is playing.

This is why I left my flat in London, and now my landlord, Hexagon Housing Association, is trying to evict me, even though they know I left to try and get this sorted out from a safe distance and then go back.  They have cited abandonment, among other things.

I’m afraid and desperate.  The taxi companies here are involved as well.  I’m afraid, I can’t cope.

BBC World News is using strong ‘are’s to sound like ‘ah’ as they did on ‘Strictly Come Dancing’, which for me started with Tommy Boyd saying ‘I can make you say ‘ah’ ‘.  I’m not sure which came first, but it seems to me this is also a haunting technique.  Owen Thomas just finished as if he was talking reassuringly to small children.  This is such an insult.  It is a criminal insult.

I want to be happy.  I came here to be happy and safe.  I knew it wouldn’t be easy.  My emotions are in meltdown.  I am constantly close to tears.  My eyes are always wet and I can’t make relationships.

News people also weave me and world dictators together.  As they are now on BBC World News, the round table thing.  They keep clearing their throats.  They weave me together with a lot of people, it is something I can tell from their tone and body language, often.  And Ofcom won’t deal with this.  that is what the first level people have said, and their superiors, and I haven’t had the energy to pursue it further.  They keep striking tables and forcefully exhaling at significant points, so I am assuming that, whether this is a live broadcast or not, there is an element of spiritualism involved in this happening.  I think it is live though.  Their reactions are becoming more pronounced, and the man upstairs has just shouted violently.

If I can’t deal with it in here first, I can’t take it with me outside.  It feels too unreal and I look like a tramp and people look at me badly and it makes me feel angry and hysterical and desperate.  They just said ‘no, no’, in a way which felt like a deliberate opposition and reversal.  And they often hesitate, pause for effect, before saying with an appearance of innocence something like ‘touch’ as they just did.  They are deliberately and hatefully pumping something out into the spiritual atmosphere.  And the presenter has just said ‘we can’t go on any more’ like someone who means it emotionally.  Like me.

All the time they maintain an upbeat approach, even saying that is what they are doing in a way which feels like taunting and adds to the hysteria I feel, and also maintain a tone as if they are talking to small children.  It is now 3pm, there has just been an interval with the same expansive music which was followed up by something which, several times, talked about haunts, followed by a few seconds effective silence, and now Owen Thomas is back on.  I say ‘effective’ silence, because after the strong recognition of what was being done with the haunts advert, I felt terrified in the silence.  Owen Thomas is clearing his throat a lot.  He has just said, ‘Kevin Connelly, live in Bengazi’, and finished it with ‘thank you’, in the same way that I say ‘thank you’.  This is also a regular thing.  He said leak and I felt as if he had touched me sexually.  Somewhere that is the intention, and I know that in some contexts that intention is obvious.  Huw Edwards did it at the end of his programme two or three days ago, News at Ten, and when I just typed ‘Huw Edwards’, Owen Thomas struck his desk.  And my neighbour upstairs has just coughed angrily.  And I have done this silently throughout.  Something in this, if not everything, is deliberate from someone, a lot of people, or everyone.  Internet Explorer just ‘needed to close’ again, when I logged back on, after the woman upstairs shouted ‘hallelujah’ again, I had to retrieve an autosave, and as I did I noticed that at the bottom of the screen it said something which contained the string ‘wpnonce’.  That is what it feels like for me all the time.  A nonce.  Spiritually applied  psycholinguistics, I suppose.  ‘The red button’ is used in the same way.  It is now 4.47 pm and Clare Balding has just done it.

They are banging again, and it feels violent.  I am now firmly convinced that all my computer and browser crashes and freezes are actively and specifically part of the haunting. They even happen with good security.

I honestly believe that most, if not all, of the emotional voice squeaks and wobbles are affected and not real.

The banging is constant though intermittent now, and it is frightening me.  It feels like being beaten up and it feels threatening.  I wanted to go out today, as I did yesterday.  i felt i was gathering momentum and confidence and the ability to communicate which I need to go to the police.  But everything has intensified here, and I haven’t gone out.  I feel too intimidated, embarrassed and confused.

After I posted this, Barack Obama came on and delievered a speech, and he was almost in tears.  I haven’t seen him like that before.  I don’t know if the speech was live or recorded or when it was recorded if it wasn’t live.  I think he knows about me, but that might be just a media illusion, but I don’t think so.  Clare Balding is coupling Ed Byrne’s name with the word ‘dirty’.  I said in a previous post that I like Ed Byrne.  With her ‘yes, that’s right’, at this point today, she is playing medium or healer or charismatic or pentecostal Christian.  I know that charismatic and pentecostal Christians do that a lot.  The first time I knew she was doing that kind of thing, or believed that she was, was at the trooping of the colour televised last year, when she interviewed a couple of little girls and their father.  She spoke to the older girl, who said how proud she was of her father, and she turned away to her little sister and said the horse was a ‘bit of a star’, and I felt it was disapproval and criticism being expressed towards the older girl for being what Clare appeared to think was ‘above herself’.  The older girl had that slightly dazed and surprised look of someone who knows something has just happened, but is not sure what or how, and even if they do know, they can’t address it or challenge it, because it has been put subliminally, it has taken them time to catch up, and the situation has moved on.  Also the person might not acknowledge it, because it was not explicit.  I suppose that is usually why it is not explicit, so that, if challenged, the person doesn’t have to own it.  In physical terms it might be equated to referred pain, and in psychological terms it would be called displacement.

My computer just crashed completely, twice, as I felt spiritually at my most open.  The men on the same programme with Clare, the Oxford/Cambridge boat race, started talking about ‘gut’ and ‘Asus’ (cf previous post on Isus/Jesus), and as I typed this one of the men started doing something with his speech which I have become familiar with in Bulgaria and never noticed anywhere else before I noticed it here, a close approximation on a page would be ‘leraleralera’, mid flow.

If I tried to diarise every instance of what they are doing, I would never be able to stop, because they don’t stop themselves.  One of them has just said ‘soon’, caressing it with his voice, emotionally, and it felt to me like my name.

They just put together ‘experienced crew’ to sound like ‘screw’, ‘took a’, to sound like ‘tuka’, the Bulgarian word for ‘here’, and referred to ‘arms aloft’ which is a familiar attitude of praise and worship in charismatic and pentecostal churches.  Their whole commentary sounded very emotional, I don’t know how much it actually means to them.  But I tend to think the whole thing is displacement and deliberate transference.

My problem with this, even if it is well-intentioned, is that this appears to be all they do, I am not aware of any practical support being given to me, I am left terrified and feeling inadequate and guilty and stupid and incapacitated, and at the end of the day, it has to be illegal harassment.  And if people are thought to be mentally ill and say this kind of thing is happening to them, they are not believed.  I have not been.  Or I have been and people thought it was easier and more convenient to pretend they didn’t believe me so they wouldn’t have to get involved, and keep me in hospital, locked up, drugged and bullied instead.  While this has happened to me and is happening to other people, how can I not say that I believe this is not OK?  Under any circumstances and from any body?

7.13 pm UK I have just told my neighbours, with the help (?) of Google Translate, that my father killed himself when I was 11, dealing with neighbours like them and, I believe, with a situation exactly like this, and that I was going to press for a penalty.  That girl Karin, the young, blonde newsreader, was close to tears while I was sitting watching and observing and hearing all the same stuff as usual and thinking, ‘why am I watching this? – because there is nothing else to watch’, and at the end she surreptitiously touched the desk as she went off (maybe they think it is normal, but I think it is superstitious, and faced it constantly, face to face, while I was going through the mental health system, in the early days, from people, often shop assistants and bar staff, I didn’t even know).  She went out with what looked like a bit of a sneer.

I don’t know if she knows what I have just done, their scripts are regularly peppered with things I have recently said and done, but I don’t know how aware they are as newsreaders.  I suspect they are very aware, but I don’t know.

I had a close friend at school called Karin.  It took me a while to catch up with the fact that this girl now is too young to be her.  If some of them know I suppose they all know, so the only point in naming names and quoting facts is for other people’s information and hopefully for their embarrassment and exposure.

I’m a point of contact.  That is obvious from what I am seeing and hearing on the TV and radio, and the parliament site, and from what people are doing to me here.  The constant vocals and violent banging, the territory marking/taking, the shout and/or bang from upstairs as soon as my TV goes on.

There was a state broadcast on this evening on BBC World News by a woman, which was translated by a man.  It was soon after I put the TV on, and upstairs did their stuff, and I started cooking.  People often pinpoint my activity as I engage in it, and Nik Gowing said, quite pleased-sounding, that what had been on the back burner was now on the front burner.  He draws on my neighbours and makes the situation worse.  When he does it and interferes with my state of consciousness, that is when they start doing what they do.  He is a spiritual and psychological molester.  That is what I know from what he has just done with the no fly zone and how he has used it.  I think he is trying to present himself as someone who has a right to discipline.  And a savage little girl-woman has just come on.  That smile, that ‘look at little girl me’, it’s forced.  It isn’t real, it’s false.

I was in mind mode for this when I started writing.  He deliberately changed it into awe mode.  Changing my mode of consicousness, my appropriate state of consciousness, into wonder, then hitting me with molestation, in a situation he knows is violent, and I know he knows it is violent and illegal because he reads my blog.  Is targeting a member of the public with the practice of spiritualism while appearing just to be presenting a programme, is that also illegal?  I hope so.  The gathering of information must be, even if they have used my family and former teachers, it is stalking, harassment and mobbing in which those people should never have participated.  He has left me feeling I should go to my neighbours.  But all of them, media and my neighbours, are using me as a point of contact with each other, and I have said I won’t validate that.  He said in strict tones something about something being technically outside of the no-fly zone, just after he had done some of this.

During the broadcast I mentioned, the man’s voice was all over the place.  I knew what my neighbours were doing and I challenged it, and they kept changing, and as they did, his voice did as well.  This was during The Hub, Nik Gowing, as I have said.  They have been violent several times today and this afternoon, and I assume she is a witch using hallelujah as a point of contact (maybe that is why the word has become so popular throughout the media and performance world, together with the Harry Potter stuff and all the serious literature aimed at children and teenagers about witchcraft), and that she shouts it out when she feel a loss of control or force or something.  In the end the man’s voice settled into a Bulgarian tone, and the people upstairs started saying ‘yes’ and commenting.

You people must hate me very much to do this to me and to let me be taken advantage of in this way.

I wondered after Nik said something about from back to front burner, who he was informing.  I thought it might be a welcome to me, then I thought, ‘is he telling other media people, including in Bulgaria, so they can get on my case and start putting more stuff out about me?’  I’m not sure which is more likely, I thought the second might be, but I always come back to knowing that it is their medium techniques (for instance, I sent Tommy Boyd some crystals, and there are crystals in the weather report, and the globe looks like lapiz lazuli, which featured in a poem that was in a course taught by my Critical Method lecturer) and that it is wrong.  I’m wondering if Tommy passed them on to someone like Derek Acorah, whom I have met, even though I have made it clear that I am anti-spiritualism.  One of the things I had sent to him, which I bought new from Ebay, it was received and signed for, but he didn’t acknowledge it and I emailed him saying please acknowledge it or send it back, but he did neither.  He knew I wasn’t happy about him keeping it without acknowledging it, and I have often thought since then that it was being used as a point of contact.  In recent years I never even thought about it on the odd occasion I phoned his show, and he asked me my name, every time.  I’m not sure if that was on his mind.  I just wanted to talk to him on his show.  I only phoned when engaged and friendly was what was in my mind.  When I phoned in I was never even thinking about taking him to task about anything off-air, though I suppose now that I could have asked him if he had received it and if he liked it or something, but I had dismissed it ages ago and decided I was happy to let him have it and keep it on any terms.  If keep it he did.

Nik said it was The Hub, and in light of all this I thought, ‘no, it isn’t, this is, so the name of the programme is just another point of contact’.  It was a realisation which registered with Mr Gowing, his body language and facial expression changed, and he looked pained and afraid, and I felt betrayed and he seemed to register that and interpret it as love, which I suppose it is.  I know how stupid and false I sound, I am furiously angry and suffering badly from false guilt and fear, of what my neighbours seem able and prepared to do, and also what the authorities, albeit illegally, might do and how they might treat me, suffering as I am from stalking and other people’s exercise of witchcraft and spiritualism against me while I am vulnerable.  I’m writing this, I believe it is what I have learned in Church, maybe developed a bit, I’m not sure, but while I’ve been writing I’ve been thinking I should drop the pretence, apologise to my neighbours and deal with my psychological problems, if any remain after doing the first two things.  They are working as a team against me, vocally, and every time my eyes open (I do mean my physical eyes, as I go focussed at something, she utters a dark and angry and terrifying sound.  The rest of the neighbours are just keeping quiet, for the most time.  Tonight they have been a bit more vocal.  But they don’t do anything, they just complain.  They don’t, as far as I know, go to the police, but they know I want them to.

He turned away, at which point I dropped my guard a little or was a little less attentive, and when he turned back he walked strongly, like big cat, up on the camera.  I had someone do that to me before, years ago.  It seemed to be about inhibiting and taking control.

When I think, she speaks.  It is as if she is a medium or something, and deliberately voicing vibrations.  That is the only thing that fits for me.  Unless she is deliberately putting out menacing sounds into the air and into my ears.  She sounds as if she is droning.  She has all sorts of tones and registers she employs, which might not mean anything in itself.  When I try to break it in writing, my browser crashes.  Also, I have to sign in to WordPress manually all the time at the moment, in spite of the fact that I tick the remember me box and don’t normally have to bother.  It’s like swatting flies and dealing with constant playground squabbles.  They demand my attention, literally, and I fail to give it to more urgent things.  While I am dealing with stuff on my doorstep, sometimes I even forget the more urgent things.

I’m not a witch, though the abuse and betrayal from the church make it hard for me to feel sorry for what I did that made them call me one.  But I think they were calling me one before that anyway.  I’m a person who feels constantly embarrassed, and afraid to go out, for fear of possible violence or because I feel worked over from what has been happening while I have been at home. 

I have nowhere to go with this.  How can I go to the police and say that I am being harassed by people using spiritualism?  The people involved would probably lie anyway, even if the police took it seriously.

I don’t want to go to the church, because my idea at first was to take my stand with other unwilling psychiatric patients, and the church encourages people to think of people with problems or who they don’t know how to help or who they don’t like, perhaps, in psychiatric terms, and church leaders force the issue, from the platform, in a way which is torturous at times, and deliberately so, which is something I know from my own experience.  No, psychiatry is not for me, neither are church leaders and ministers who insist on making me see things that way, and making other people see me that way.  That is where I stand.  My mind is being so messed with I’m losing my certainty over whether it is the only place I can stand.  The banging violence and the verbal violence and hatred.  It doesn’t have to be in the words, it is all in the tone.  Hallelujah hasn’t worked, all day, and resulted in peace, so she has gone back to  occultic control and hatred.  Every day the same.  I think they hold a seance over me.  From their actions, they might just as well be doing that, even if they aren’t.

My church leaders know that is why I don’t go back to church, as well as the fact that I don’t want to validate their stalking,  They use my blog all the time, weave with it and mock me with it and appeal with it, anything but make a proper and open approach.  But they still use my stuff, and anything else they can pick up from whatever stalking methods they use.  I’ve apologised for what I can apologise for, to my church leaders, and I keep saying my church leaders, because I want to be there, it is what I have known most of my life, but I am serious about the psychiatry thing.  So what I am saying is, there doesn’t seem to be anyone I can turn to.

They have used my music – Osho, Michael Mish – they like the rhythms, they tried to replicate them in their services, in a very obvious way.  I’m not sure how much they got off my computer and how much they heard from the local black church a very few doors away.  To know the names of the artists I would have thought they lifted it directly from my computer.  They have known about telephone and email communication as well, quoting it.  I sent something to Michael Mish in an email once and Kensington Temple commented on it, and gave the impression that Michael had said it was toxic, or something like that.  It was part of the Apostles’ Creed, or Nicene Creed, I wanted to know what he thought.  I assumed at the time that they must have been bugging his phone or computer, if he used Skype.  I get confused sometimes because John Pantry, at least, likes to present him as being under the covering of the church, and he also does that with Tommy Boyd.  Me, I’m just a standalone which probably no one is interested in.

I went out in my garden once, one Sunday morning or afternoon, once I had got round to feeling able to deal with someone in order to get it cleared and turf laid, and discovered that the local black church, The House Of Bread, was singing all the songs that I played on my CDs and sang to in my flat.  I didn’t know until then.  I thought that must be why there was so much of a problem between me and my neighbours.  I had never really been out to hear it before, but all my neighbours were telling their children to go indoors.  I was out on my lawn, with my door open, playing some of my own music from the lounge, but to hear what was coming from the church the music must have been turned off or something, or maybe that day I was reading a book.

I need to go shopping.  I feel like an occult prisoner.  I can’t get myself out of the door, feeling able to cope with it.  If I focus, my neighbours start their stuff.

Then that stupid woman upstairs, with her violent male (if it isn’t her) and all the neighbours knowing what is going on and doing nothing, maybe even part of it, shouted hallelujah.  Whatever the dynamic and explanation, she does it every time my mind comes in to land.  It makes me feel I am being unreasonable losing it in a situation like this, because I am just telling myself that if I didn’t get upset at what they are doing, I wouldn’t need to calm down, and this wouldn’t happen, and everything would be OK.  They impose a sound or vocalisation over everything I do here, whether it is turning on the television, or something on my computer, and if I go into thought it is something that continues, as I have just said.  They have been messing about over my shower and toilet for ages, and today I was having a shower and they started a commentary over me, and I shouted at them to go away, and one of them hammered on my ceiling.  They have been like this almost non-stop for 8 weeks.  If I cough in the middle of the night, she complains with savage contempt and anger in her voice.  And whatever she does, she has to bring herself back to an innocent little girl voice, and I’m still living with what they do.  Today I realised that, at least for a moment, I had turned my shocked and frightened animal reaction to her hallelujahs into a duck.  I just ducked it and smiled and thought, yeah, this is OK, I can do this, I don’t have to be ruled by it’.  Then about 5 or 10 minutes later she shouted it out again, only this time it was more aggressive, and I had an ‘I don’t believe this’ reaction.  She does it just about every day, every 10 or 15 minutes or so.

Now, hallelujah is for me a heart word.  Does that mean I owe this woman anything?  I’m not sure she is even a Christian, she just uses the word.  Jesus is also a heart word.  Someone in computing knows that, because Iwas in a computer shop the other day, and saw an advert for something called ‘Asus’ or Isus’ or something, and it said, ‘it touches the heart’.  To me that is a misappropriation of language.  That kind of misappropriation of language is responsible for a lot of distress and violent feelings in society which are sometimes converted into action and mental illness.  It is deliberate, and aggressive as advertising and brainwashing are, and even violent.  I think I have just realised, since it has been going on for so long with such clockwork regularity, it must be deliberate, the hallelujahs, and she is deliberately using brainwashing and torture techniques.  As soon as I said so, they banged violently on my ceiling again.  I’m a nice person.  I like people.  They can’t treat me like this, it is inhumanly cruel.

I don’t run and get out immediately.  I still have too much of the mental coping mechanism and muscle memory of not being able to run away from frightening and anger-inducing behaviour from both staff and patients on a locked ward.  Also i have no confidence in the authorities over this anyway once they discover I have a mental health diagnosis, they are more likely, judging from past experience, to have me put back in hospital, than todeal with the deliberate violence and harassment which has started in a brand new place with no provocation from me whatsoever.   As my home this should be my refuge.  They have turned it into a place of torture.  I want to dissolve in tears all the time, I want to fall into the arms of those who are harassing me with violence and think maybe I’m imagining the harassment and violence and all I need to do is dissolve and go to them and say i’m sorry and everything will be OK.  Thinking like that is the nearest I ever get to seeing normality on the horizon.  I daren’t go to the police, even though it seems I obviously have to, if they are going to react to me with the disdain that people here react to Roma and people they call gypsys, like someone did me the other day, because I feel volatile and that also wouldn’t be tolerated, and having been abused for so long I’m a bit of a mess, and people don’t sympathise with you for that here, they treat you with disgust, even more than they do in the UK.  They judge you.  If you are a mess it is your fault.  I suppose that is an easy mistake to make, with so many abusive media and government people looking so smart and the picture of innocence.

Anyway, I was going to say, I’m watching Animal Planet, and a man was handling an animal with his legs, and it reminded me of when I saw a man in the West End, lying on the street as if asleep, and the police came to move him on, and when he didn’t move, one of them shoved him with his foot.  This isn’t an isolated incident, and I’ve had equivalent things done to me, but people like the squeeky clean church brigade advise people that, if they have committed any crimes, they should go to these people, these thugs, and confess their crime.  Yes, thugs, whatever the consequences.  I know too much about them.  And certainly I don’t feel able to go to them with crimes of harassment and violence which are being committed against me, with the sweet little girl trusting adoring attitude, or just togetherness, which appears to be required here.

I was angry the other day about the language used about sports teams and people.  how much they talk about punishment and humiliation and being humbled and similar things.  They must feel this, and it must affect their behaviour.  A day or two ago I saw a sportsman on BBC World News, delivering the most grovelling and abject apology and saying how they had been given chances and how they had offended everyone, etc, etc, and if this is what they are being made to feel is required of them, as people, the hypocrisy of those who require it of them makes me feel sick, and I’m glad I don’t contribute financially to that world.

Who is this little savage, stripping people bare with her blasphemous imitation of speaking in tongues, stripping off the flesh then sounding pleased?  Coming on all offensive and aggressive, then going out tweeting purity?  She’s a bastard (biblical sense, if she is even that).

What point is she trying to make?

Why does she need to make it?

What are they trying to achieve by it?

Spiritual rape and armed robbery, it can only be.

They talk about ‘Twitter’ every time my mind and speech come strongly together, which probably means I have invalidated their deception and control at a deeper level and feel released from observing civil rules with stalkers and criminals.

This listen to mummy/daddy act they do.  It’s rubbish.  Mummy and daddy have told you the news.  Yeah, right!

9.30pm UK time.  the man who comes on treating really serious things as if they are a Talksport phone in has just come on, with the latest headlines before Hardtalk, and he said ‘turd’ for ‘third’, and talked about Vladimir or Vladivostok which consequently, deliberately or not, sounded like ‘bloody’.

BBC World News.  Making up emails or reading out plants.

10pm Jamie Robertson just said ‘spike’ as if he was spitting the word ‘spite’.  I get really upset at this.  I keep finding myself with the same expression on my face and attitude of mind (I suppose) and body as the News of the World guy who was done for phone hacking/bugging.

Anti-Psychiatry

I’m really embarrassed that, as someone who has never really believed in psychiatry, and as someone who lost her father to death by overdose at the age of 11, I have got to the age of 50 and never pursued the anti-psychiatry movement with any degree of commitment.

Although I am against the psychiatric view of people and their problems, I know that I am nervous of psychiatric patients and ex-psychiatric patients and don’t really want to spend time with them.

One of the reasons for this is that I think we are all too desperate, and in our own minds too undermined.  Most of the time we are grasping desperately, even at each other.

Another reason is that I think we develop a self-protective dishonesty, even if we didn’t have it before.  I’m not going in there in this post.

Another reason is that, in a structured group, the people running it, in my experience, are usually people who validate the psychiatric approach, or at least won’t speak against it.  For an angry and volatile anti-psychiatrist, like myself, that is not a good place to be.

Today I feel that my life has failed to mean anything, because I have failed to follow this in a committed way, when following it and investigating it properly was my obvious duty, as my father’s daughter.

I put ‘anti psychiatry’ into Google as a search term.  I’ve just started reading the first of the results that came up, the website www.antipsychiatry.org.  It looks as if it has some very well-written articles.

There is a whole school of thought behind this, from the 60s at least.  R D Laing I’ve known about for some time.  I didn’t know Foucault was one of them.

This might sound really selfish, but I feel really upset.  My life could have made so much more sense and been so much richer, if I had only known this before.  To me the obvious reason that I feel this way is that I feel I have something in common with these academics and might have grown up with them and in contact with them.  Obviously that doesn’t necessarily follow.  The feeling I have is, ‘oh no, not you.  I didn’t know you were into that.  Why didn’t you tell me?’, as if they knew me to tell me and I have always been a part of this community and I’ve got lost.  Or something.  I don’t know much about them anyway, I only know their names.  I don’t know why they seem to mean that much to me.  I never studied them adequately when they were part of my education, and they probably just represent this (supposedly) wonderful thing, education, to me, and the youthful ideal of education is what is invoked for me when I read or hear their names. 

What I am thinking, whether I like it or not, is that if I knew something about their lives, I might not be so keen to identify with them in their anti-psychiatric views and see them as the best proponents.  I don’t know anything about their lives.  Even if I did and didn’t like what I knew, that wouldn’t necessarily invalidate what they have to say.  People don’t like my life.  That might make me an embarrassment to my beliefs, or not, but in itself it doesn’t invalidate them.  Right beliefs are right beliefs, whoever holds them.  Like the belief that two and two make four doesn’t become untrue because of the life of the person who holds it.  And I have been taught two things about the universe, that it is both mathematical and moral.

Lady ‘hallelujah every time I cough or anything’ harassment upstairs has been on for the last half hour or so, latching onto my cough and my audio.  She’s doing my brain and my feelings in.  She’s savage.  I don’t know what I mean or what I’m talking about as long as this is going on.  I feel that maybe I never will again.  She is the nearest I have been to a demon and this is the nearest I have been to living with possession.  They frighten me so much.  It is so indecent and spiritually and psychologically violent, I feel beaten about the head just about all the time.  They combine violence and rejection and indecent invasion with a santa madre scenario.  Both at the same time I want to break down in totally reduced and beaten tears, and hit back.  They have been playing a locking and shutting doors game every time they hear me in the corridor recently.  She says ‘hallelujah’ when I cough.  What is wrong with this stupid moron?  Is she frightened of me or something?  Why can’t I cough and fart, etc, in peace, without this indecent and terrifying and desperation-inducing invasiveness?  I really can’t take it much more, and I wish some of these people who want me to think of them as friends (whether they are or not) would listen to me and help me and get me away from them.

I’m wondering if the idea is to make as much invasive and control-taking sound as they can, coming up to 10pm when everything is supposed to go silent, and then just shut up?

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