Tag Archive: Eviction


OMG, Moan, Moan, Moan!

Last Wednesday a group of medical professionals and social workers presented themselves on my doorstep with the police and a warrant.  First they hammered on the door then within two seconds they were making a scene before I even got a chance to answer the door, shouting my name and telling me to open the door.  I shouted back to them to wait until I had time to answer the door and not to make a scene like that outside my home but they just kept steamrollering on, bullying, intimidating and being provocative and rude.  The rest worked out exactly as 100% of these situations have worked out for me in the last 22 years.  I have just thought, what kind of message was that intended to be and for whom?  ALL of us in my home’s area?  They knew about my sister’s death and that I am arranging a funeral, they knew about the upcoming ‘final hearing’ in court to defend my home.  I submitted a complaint for my CPN’s manager’s attention over 2 months ago and instead of any response during that time they have been harassing me with phone calls and threats, and aggressively hunting me down, 3 warrants, 2 executed, one change of locks because I was away from home leaving me needing to pick up keys.  The phone calls came from a man I only know as Neville.  He made lots and they were all urgent and alarmist, and when I asked him for his email address so I could have it in writing and there be some accountability on his side, he forcefully refused saying he did not want to be bombarded with emails.  Last Wednesday I sent an email to my CPN Jennie Wainwright, who the aforementioned complaint was about, to tell her the situation, to tell her I had arranged an appointment with my GP for Friday and ask her to get people to leave me alone in the meantime.  She didn’t answer.  Two hours later this team was on my doorstep.  I was detained on a Section 2 and transferred in the morning to Altrincham Priory Hospital, where I am now.  I was supposed to have my final evidence submitted to my solicitor by that day and had intended to work on it the day before, but it was impossible and I asked my solicitor to get me an extension and I now have until 7th February until the court requires my evidence, which means ideally it should be with my solicitor a day or two before, so in fact I have 6 days from now.

Before they presented themselves on my doorstep I happened to look out of my window and see a stationary car outside my neighbour’s bungalow with two women in it looking at my window.  When they saw me they looked shocked, as if they hadn’t wanted me to see them.  They moved, went round the island outside the bungalows and parked opposite, outside the hedge around the big green space the other side of the island.  They sat there for around an hour with the sidelights on.  I kept looking out to see if they were still there until I decided to close my curtains.  It was some time after 4 pm.  The copy of the warrant I have says it was executed at 5.30 pm.  I had no idea they were from the council.  When I saw them I thought I recognised them as regular visitors to my neighbour, or at least people I had seen before.  I suppose they could have been both, visitors I had seen before and council staff.  The names on the warrant are Fiona Parker, an approved mental health professional and an officer of Nottingham City Council who applied for the warrant and was present at its execution and the police officers PC 1794 Tennyson and PC 4533 Hodgman, one of whom, the older and taller one, harassed me with provocation and apparent misogyny throughout.  The signature of the Justice of the Peace on the warrant dated 21st January is illegible.

My room here is like a hotel room, it is very seductive to me, who has never known such a standard of accommodation in my 22 years in the mental health system.  There is a small double bed with proper bedding, a headboard, a comfortable mattress and pillows.  When I got here the hotel standard white towels, which are changed every day if you want them to be, were professionally folded on the bed.  It is a spacious room with ensuite bathroom and shower.  The shower is strong and the heat adjustable.  It goes off every minute or so but there is no limit to the number of times you can turn it back on.  Two comfortable armchairs, a good wardrobe, plenty of drawer space, a bedside table and lamp, a TV, a big wooden desk and chair, 4 electrical power sockets and internet.  there is a big and comfortable lounge with a coffee machine in that makes not bad coffee, and a TV, DVD player and other things.  Next to that is a small female only lounge with a couple of armchairs in, which I have used a few times to read, listen to music, make phone calls and talk to people.  The well-stocked kitchen is open 24 hours and you can get what you want when you want – tea, coffee, milk, soya milk, a range of cereals in individual boxes, marmite, jam, marmalade, ketchup, sauces, 4 different juices and squashes.  There is even a freezer.  It has nice grounds, an enclosed garden I can go into any time.  A good washing machine and washer dryer.  Lots of physical comforts and some nice people, too, sometimes.

So now the moans.

I have internet.  It is strong and supports audio and video.  Last night I went onto the website of a church I used to watch online many years ago and watched a sermon which, to my surprise, was on Youtube.  I was surprised because I hadn’t been able to get it before.  I watched three other videos afterwards, one with Krishna Das and David Nichtern from two years ago, a more recent one from the Be Here Now Network with Raghu Markus, Duncan Trussell and David Nichtern, and another with Duncan Trussell with someone I haven’t seen before and I can’t remember his name.  But this morning, even after someone said in a group yesterday that they could access Youtube here (I think it was a member of staff), first I went back onto that Church website and the videos came back with a miserable face, inaccessible, then I tried to go onto Youtube and found that wasn’t possible, either.  It says the connection has been reset.  I know that social media is blocked, that is hospital policy, so no Facebook, Twitter or Instagram for me, which are the ones I use, though I have my settings so this post will post to Twitter.  So that is upsetting.

But worse and more worrying, I can’t access my email account, and I want to use it for all kinds of legal things I need to do.  I have been here a week and have told the staff several times that I can’t get my emails and they have said I should be able to, but nothing has changed.  Yesterday I talked to so many non-nursing staff who come in a few times a week, advocates, Occupational Therapy, a chef sorting out my vegan meal plan for the week, my psychiatrist.  I told one of these, the OT or the advocate, that I couldn’t access my emails and she said she would ask on the team for ‘someone techy’ to try and sort it out for me, but 24 hours later I still haven’t heard anything from anyone.  But I have never been able to access my emails here.  What worries me is that this Church site and Youtube, after being accessible and navigable last night, are no longer available to me.

There was a male patient I thought I got on well with, we had some nice conversations including in the restaurant.  The day after I shared this with a male member of staff, who watches my movements closely, this patient was discharged and sent home.  He didn’t tell me how long he had known this was going to happen, I didn’t ask.  I might be wrong in assuming it was a decision sprung on him that day.  Probably am, in fact.  They usually prepare people for this kind of thing, but he went yesterday and until then I didn’t know he was going.  There are staff outside my bedroom door day and night, looking after a patient in the room opposite mine.  But they are non-stop talking and sometimes rowdy.  I made a complaint about the rowdiness, the way, for two or three days, two women would start the day almost ritualistically laughing for about an hour, and that has stopped now.  But it goes on through the night as well.  They don’t seem to know about whispering, and it is right outside my door.  I put my music on, they comment, I’m on the phone, they comment.  Untl yesterday I was on half hourly checks.  Every half hour someone would knock on my door or let themselves in without knocking and demand to have me tell them how I am.  Now it is only hourly, since yesterday.  But it feels more like a ‘you must speak’ time, an invasive imposition.  I have had no leave yet, for a week.  All this has been inescapable, unless I want to go into the garden.  They barge into my space and activities without apology with their own agenda all the time.  Completely opportunistic.  Sometimes I talk to one and they stand around staring and reacting and chipping in or wanting to have their own conversation with me.  I go into the kitchen in my own space and people want to get me there for one thing or another.  I have often noticed that if I go into the bathroom someone will knock on my door immediately for a check.  But this morning was the last straw on that one.  I got out of bed just after 8, put some music on and took the speaker with me and sat on the toilet.  The next thing I knew, which has not happened before, someone was actually KNOCKING ON THE BATHROOM DOOR!  I couldn’t believe it.  After it registered with me I said to her, “I am on the TOILET”.  I was so angry.  I don’t know if what she said was an apology, my music was on, but after a minute or so I was so angry I just said really loudly, “For God’s sake!”.  To me, all the invasions of privacy I have experienced are unacceptable but I think most people would agree with me that this might have been one too far? (Edit note: I have just had a conversation with a nurse at my door and told her this happened and although she started out saying it wasn’t ideal she also said if people have to do checks they need to hear my voice so they needed to knock on my bathroom door 2 minutes after I had gone in with my music speaker on and was sitting on the toilet so they could hear my voice).

Respect?  Boundaries?  Dignity? Privacy? Discretion?

This is no one’s home, not theirs, not mine.  I am an unwilling patient, they are employees. I’ve had words like ‘selfish’ dropped outside my door as well.  Like, no one is telling me of any problem but I am selfish?  I am so disorientated I am thinking it is acceptable therapeutic practice and feeling bad for having taken a week to begin to accept it.  If I had not been so abused by the services for so many years and was not here completely under protest wanting to be reasonably in control of my relationships and experience here would any of it be any more acceptable?  Is this a reasonable way of dealing with my resistance so I will accept their help?  This is not me mouthing off, these are real questions that present themselves after so many years of reading psychology, therapy and self-help books.  But if every communication has an ulterior motive, to try and get me to open up (they never seem quite satisfied with me accepting and responding to their communication on its own terms and leaving it there) that isn’t the way I like to do things.

So what do I do, say too much and lose access to my blog because of that, or not say enough and still lose access to my blog?

I have been bullied by a few members of staff and identifiably, to me, by a couple of the patients while I have been here, one male patient in particular.  I try to be more understanding about the patients when I think about it, knowing they are subject to the same things I am.  Passive aggression, gaslighting (an accepted term professionally and recognised as a form of bullying, doing things to provoke then denying you have done them, making out the other person has a problem of some sort that makes them think that).  I don’t know if this exists but I have recently started to think in terms of active and aggressive passive aggression.  I am a section 2 prisoner.  I know it is not designed to play out that way, ultimately, but I have had no leave now for a week, and if I were to have unescorted leave, or escorted, and abscond, I could be brought back by police.

The other day I was talking to a staff member about something else which was important for me at the time when the male nurse who wanted to take us to the restaurant snapped out a command for me to come, they were ready to go, there were hungry men waiting.  I said I’m a woman and I am also important and what I am doing matters.  Another male nurse two days ago spoke to me as if he was trying to get a dog to obey his command when I was happily and freely expressing myself with a member of staff or another patient, like, here, girl, we’re going to the restaurant.  Like a short, sharp ‘heel’.  I was so shocked and upset.  After a minute or so of silence I decided if the little, shocked squeak I had left as a voice was all I had to use then that was where I would start speaking with another patient going over with me.  So I did, this nurse noticed but said nothing.  This has become so upsetting for me when we go over to the restaurant, being treated that way and the way many staff members cut me dead in these situations, a competent, friendly, sensitive, basically happy person, that after that lunch time two days ago I decided I didn’t want it anymore and would go back to having my meals in my room as quite a few do.  The alternative would be to sit alone but I don’t want to create that scene or have a scene created out of it for me, though thinking about it I am sure some of the other patients who I was going over with would understand and respect me doing that.  I would hope so, anyway.

The thing is, all these staff know I am trying to arrange my sister’s funeral with nothing but a phone, they know the council is trying to evict me, and they are still being abusive and rejecting.  I feel so hurt and frightened and isolated.  All week I have not been offered any bereavement support.  I rang Cruse on the advice of the Samaritans who said I should ask for one of their bereavement counsellors to come here and see me.  Cruse has a 6 weeks or 6 months waiting list and no one can come.  In my opinion there should be dedicated staff here to support bereaved people and I should not have to ask for them.

When I first got here I spoke to a junior psychiatrist and said I didn’t want to be medicated, and she agreed not to medicate me but said if my presentation changed they might have to consider it.  The first time I saw the consultant psychiatrist with her I was afraid he might overrule her and said so.  His response was that this is a psychiatric hospital and medication is what they do, or words to that effect.  I have been told he is very reasonable and in all other presentation have found him so.  I saw him again yesterday and told him having the threat of medication hanging over all my interactions and need to deal with things is making the situation harder for me to manage.  I had told him at the beginning of this second session that I was frightened he was going to medicate me and he said ‘not today’.  Later we came back to that and I said as lightly as I could, because I do not feel negative towards him, ‘not ever, please’, and he restated his position.  I told him I knew about the growing body of critical psychiatry which does not like to see medication as the default route.  After that he didn’t say anything else about it.  But I have been thinking about this since yesterday, and now I am about to write it I wonder if I might be misinterpreting, but I have thought, this is mental cruelty and torture, not knowing if and when he is going to change his mind, me needing to plead my case, etc.  He was talking about having got things from the mental health team in Nottingham and we could go through them some other time and I could answer them, and that felt like a reprieve.  Maybe it should have done, I do not know, but I have felt more, since seeing him yesterday and with my situation as it is, that he is winningly and softly, softly playing for time.  I felt he was confrontational yesterday over the possiblity of meds, and I was sitting there not knowing how to change my frozenness, then I thought just relax and hear it, and I did, and we moved on.  I thought afterwards he was being confrontational on purpose to see how I handled it, and that he had been satisfied, and I thought that was an OK thing for him to have done.

I have arranged with my funeral director to go and choose a plot on Monday.  It is two hours to Nottingham and two hours back, and the appointment itself will take some time.  They have been lovely, very, very supportive and friendly.  They appear to warm to me more each time we speak.  But I wanted to go home and get some clothes as well as part of the day and the psychiatrist is reluctant to let me.  It would be one visit and there would be a member of staff with me and I need my clothes.  Because I thought I would be staying in Nottingham if I was detained I didn’t bother packing any clothes, just left in what I was wearing expecting to be able to go back at a later date, as I had before, and pick up some more.  I managed to find a couple of items in the hospital supply.  I should not have to special plead, but apart from anything else I would like to be able to wear something decent for the funeral, which will happen any time after next Monday, now.  The psychiatrist has told me that both trips to Nottingham can be arranged, for choosing the plot and for the funeral, but that at the end of the funeral I will have to come back to the hospital.  This is not how I, personally, should be being treated and it feels absolutely outrageous and desolate.  And I have just realised, when I go to the funeral I will have absolutely no break at all from hospital staff presence.

I’m sorry, this has to be done.  I feel as if I am being confronted by my own misunderstanding and that I need to take responsibility for the way I relate to people here.  I try, I try to be reasonably assertive and polite, but people make it obvious that they find my behaviour strange for some reason.  I’m not sure if it is my imagination but over the last two days when I have knocked on the office door it seems to have been opened more reluctantly than before.  I knocked today and got no answer.  Perhaps there was no one there.  At least here, so far, I haven’t seen anyone having the door shut in their faces and we can’t see them not even looking up when we knock because we can’t see into the office.  Maybe that makes it easier for them as well.  I am beginning to feel that some of these are really nice and skilled people, different from the ones I have dealt with before, and I am refusing to move back into being prepared to give them a chance.  There we are, that is my agonising out of the way.

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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.

All My Stalkers

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.

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.

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