Tag Archive: Plovdiv


If x, Why y?

People say Bulgaria is a developing country.  Often that kind of thing is said in the context of needing to make allowances for them.

Who is having to make the allowances?  people like me, who have to live with their dishonesty, violence, harassment, torture, accusations, hatred and interrogations.

It is dishonest for these people to plead that they are still developing, and dishonest for my authorities to back them up in that plea.

I have been here 21 months, and in all that time when I should have been resolving problems at home and buying the home I came here to buy, I have been trying to deal with violence and intimidation and psychological domination instead, from everyone, including authorities, including the British Embassy.

In two days I am due to lose the only home I have known throughout the last 15 years while this diagnosis of schizophrenia has been enforced every time I have said I am being stalked and harassed.  I have no other home.  These people open their mouths and sound like savages.  I could not live here.  They are deliberately criminally invasive and hateful and insist on saying ‘dobre’.  Every leva this country has had from me has been armed robbery.  In the end you feel they are saying ‘don’t say things like that’ and you are supposed to laugh it off and there is something wrong with you if you don’t.

If it is true that 90% of people here were against the communist regime, why is everyone a self-styled, amateur torturer and interrogator and inquisitor?

I would not sound so stupid if I was not now getting the ‘dobre teatro’ soup treatment poured all over me.  I mean every word I have said.  I only wish I could say it more effectively and feel it as I should, feel its truth and not be undermined in my mind.

Never ‘sorry’, only ‘dobre’, and I completely disagree with their ‘dobre’, which is harassment in itself and puts nothing right.

My own authorities have not helped, with their knowing I am still in receipt of benefits, maybe even making sure that I am, but not giving me the power of that knowledge.  Government and church.

I’m sick, I’m tired, I feel ill, I feel as if I should come home.  But what waits for me there?  They are going to take my home in two days.  Nothing better waits for me.  They are as blind and in denial and dishonest, between them.  I understand the language, the air is dirtier, things are more expensive, and if i insist on what is happening I could find myself back under an enforced mental health drugs regime.  I could.  No one has officially told me otherwise.

These people and their sick, hard, hateful, defiant and dishonest, lying dobres.

My boundaries have been so violated I feel I should be asking for help from the violators, instead of writing as I am.  That is completely inappropriate.  All of these people’s utterances are like a virus keying into my mind and emotions when they are operating.  I don’t want to believe that something that makes me feel this way is from God.

Edit note:

This appeared straight after mine on the Christianity board:  http://05varvara.wordpress.com/2011/09/18/vasili-belyaev-sofia-the-holy-wisdom-of-god-spasa-na-krovi-the-church-of-the-saviour-on-the-spilt-blood-st-petersburg-rf-undated-1890s/#respond

I tried to comment on the coincidence but no go.  Sofia, spilt blood, emotional and psychological violence, for me, in context.

Last time I tried to come home, on 2 consecutive days, I was stopped by the police at Sofia airport.  Held illegally and intimidated and insulted and shouted at and toyed with for 5 hours, them refusing to tell me if I was under arrest, insulting my passport, a doctor shouting and laughing in my face.  I’m afraid of the whole process and result of trying to go back to the UK.  I’ve also had an old landlord here, from Plovdiv and liviing in the UK (London, I think) threaten me with ‘trouble’ and that they know where I live in London.  I’ve had several people pass me here, some in cars, and say ‘Plovdiv’ as they have passed, shouted it, if in a car.

I’ve got a woman above me who keeps keying spoken dobres into my mind as I am writing.  It is either occult or hacking.  I lost my internet connection the first time I tried to post.  She has just done that nervous cough I have got used to in all situations where I write an observation like my last one.  The music is up very loud and has been for 2 hours, even during this legally quiet time of the afternoon.  No one cares about the law here either.  It’s a bit like the UK in that respect.  Men have just started shouting in the building.  So many coincidences, innocent or otherwise.

I need support and might find arrest and beaurocracy and red tape under the mental health act or something else, and upstairs they are purring invasively in a way which feels violent and illegal and disempowering.

Beaurocracy, invasively, and disempowering are being challenged by spell check.  How disturbing that such normal and understood words should be subject to challenge.

Bureaucracy?  Oh, OK!  Funny, I just checked the internet and the right version appears once on the first page.  The rest are misspelt the way I did it.

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After Cain killed Abel and God asked him where he was, Cain said, “am I my brother’s keeper?”

I feel as if my upstairs neighbours are my keepers.  Or that they see me as an animal in captivity for observation and experimentation, or as a subject of some form of pest control.

Until a few years ago I was never one for talking about vibes and energy, but now it is unavoidable.  Every time my mind goes into recreative and positive relaxation a sound from them is imposed on it, usually vocal, normally sounding, today, like ‘dobre’, though it could be ‘hallelujah’ or banging.  Throughout the day, all day, every day.  I feel it as ‘don’t you dare’.  Every movement I make they put a sound or comment on top.  She screams like a demon when I come and go.  They do tapping stuff.  She goes from sweet to hate in a second, unless there is another woman there.  My mind can’t cope with it.

Also I have people turning up and ringing my doorbell and when I answer there is no one there.

Every time I become animated within myself and feel I can express myself in a way I like, their voice imposes itself, and I am here like a guilty and frightened thing, desperate and constantly seeing my own expressive life being killed by what can only be called aggressive psychic interference.

I sneezed a few minutes ago.  Sneezing, when my mind feels so bound, feels cleansing, and I like the recovery period, the seconds afterwards.  But as soon as I finished sneezing one of them said ‘dobre’.  I take hold of what I am writing now and give it a mental affirmation as it presents itself, and they speak uncomfortably and as if objecting.  It frightens the life out of me.  That phrase has a whole new meaning for me these days.

I went to the toilet and as I came out one of them said ‘dobre’.  I don’t want not to get on with them but they are making it impossible.

They still bang at me when they hear me in the bathroom.  They stir and bang about uncomfortably or deliberately every time sleep becomes restorative or pleasurable or exultant for me.  If I think about it, it is as if they are dragging me around by the hair.

I went to a pizza restaurant yesterday, and there is a children’s play area right in front of it.  Three girls dressed in yellow stopped and stared at me and I thought about the paedophile rumour.  I sat down and a few minutes later one of them shouted out ‘zestoki’ (cruel), which is something I have been heard to shout at my neighbours.  I don’t know where they got that from.  I felt mentally assaulted and raped.  A bit later the children started screaming, really soul-piercing screams I felt invaded by, and a few seconds later a security guard appeared using a mobile phone, and he stared at me.  I’ve been here a long time.  I wondered if something he had done had been responsible for the screaming and the way it made me feel.  I’ve been harassed by security guards for ages now, sometimes mockingly and exultantly.

I had a couple of women come in and act strangely close to me.  One of them was eyeing me with narrow slit eyes, like an animal ready to pounce, and I was blank, I didn’t smile because my mind was preoccupied.   Then she went into a wonderful awesome sociable switched on beauty routine.  The clearest face, the most beautiful, fluttering almond eyes.  Face held up to her man.  I resented it, it seemed theatrical and aggressive.  I noticed she had a child with her, a girl of about 8 or 10 who seemed to be a bit ill-behaved, I can’t quite remember how.  I looked and thought, ‘like mother, like daughter’.   But as I kept looking I realised the girl was uncomfortable and wanted attention that she was being denied, and she kept trying to get it, then she looked bored and wandered off.  And I thought, ‘poor kid, having a mother like that’.

That was when my scepticism and my ‘I don’t believe this’ response kicked in, and I decided to have a good, doubting, examining look at the whole act.  Shortly afterwards they got up and left, but as they walked away it looked almost as if she deliberately divested herself of a character.  Afterwards it seemed to me that the whole atmosphere in the restaurant was changed.  I had felt before that people seemed so happy and relaxed, but afterwards everyone was awkward and trying to recover comfortable and natural behaviour.  I would call it vamping, but she seemed to be presenting herself as one of God’s and nature’s beauties, dominant in her way and empty-headed.

I feel as if I am being malicious now, but I’m not.  I’ve had women doing this around me a lot when I go out, and I don’t know why.  Every time I get a moment of mental light and start thinking about what I am writing or examining it, the voice I find frightening from the woman upstairs when I am trying to write imposes itself and it is like an electric shock saying, ‘thou shalt not’, or ‘I don’t want you to’.

Thinking about it it reminds me that I have betrayed my own intentions and that I came here for the country and the people, not to be separate on a computer all the time.  But it feels like my refuge from their madness and invasiveness, as well as a chain in itself, and they won’t let me have that refuge.  The feeling that I can go to them and be friendly and that it will be welcome imposes itself, or is imposed on me, at the most psychologically inconvenient and resented and rebelled against times.  They have tied me up in knots, these changelings, and left me feeling guilty for not wanting to be available when I think I realise they want me to be.

They still comment when I cough, they still comment when they hear my computer and, if it is songs, at the change of every track.  They bang when I shit and comment when I fart or belch.

Jesus, does anyone understand this and how it makes me feel?  I was going to say, ‘how I feel about it’, because pop psychology in recent years has said that nothing can make you feel something, you feel it for your own reasons.  As I wrote it the man’s voice came in sharp and aggressive, like a knife into my mind, and now I can’t rework or work with anything.  When she opens her mouth it is as if she is piercing the air demanding power or recognition.  It often happens when possibilities and connections open up in my mind that I begin to feel happy and positive about.  So to me she seems to be saying, continually, ‘you owe me’.

One of Shakespeare’s characters ends a play saying, “the world is a stage and we are its actors”.  I was tagging this and thinking about the theatre aspect and watching and being watched, and that that approach to life runs counter, it seems to me, to the approach of the spirituality I have valued that emphasises unselfconsciousness.  I felt it when people started telling us to be vigilant about terrorism threats after 9/11.  Maybe that is my problem and misunderstanding.  If you are educated in the warning signals maybe you don’t go around with the terrorist attack threat constantly in your mind and even when the thought can’t be found, if the right things present themselves you become aware there might be a cause for concern.  To me, life is not for going around being consciously vigilant.

Punch Drunk

I’m hurt, I’m punch drunk.  Every day, people shouting, banging, barking and vomiting noise.  I always feel bad about leaving a bad situation, because my church leaders have historically said that if you can’t be a Christian where you are, you can’t be a Christian anywhere.  I’m not sure how that works when you feel as if you are being torn apart and having your throat savaged by packs of human dogs.  What does it mean then, to be a Christian where you are in that situation?  People have said to me before, in different situations, that I don’t have to stay, but in light of the previous statement that has felt like a taunt, or at least a contradiction.

I’m in a hotel.  There are men shouting like savages on a football pitch, angrily, defiantly, power-grabbingly.  This is Plovdiv.  As far as I am concerned, these people are angry and still murderous.  I feel sick.  I really can’t cope any more.  It’s satanic, it’s disgusting, and for all the support I have in my community, both here and in London, I might as well be homeless.  I’m not, but I might as well be, because the police don’t care.  I feel really sick.  These people, men and women, puncture the air with shouts and banging, even at illegal times, and if you challenge them they are all smooth, sometimes, as if they are happy to accommodate my requirement that they revert to acting legally, or as if they are not wrong in the first place.  I feel sick with fear and desperation, and as for the church . . . visit www.christiancentre.org and listen to the Sunday morning, Easter morning sermon, Laurence James-Davis, listen to him shouting, catch the moment of guilty registering in his voice a little later on apparently, to me, knowing he is all noise and no substance, that his shouting is not appropriate, but still he continues.  That is what these people are like here.  Is this the kind of Christianity they have swallowed and are acting out against me?  Dominionism.  Make some noise.  I read in a Christian book, David Wilkerson, I think, that empty cans make the most noise.  These people’s noise, and the way it savages my consciousness, deliberately, sometimes, I am absolutely sure, is literally sickening.

I bought some new clothes last week.  A pack of dogs – sorry, men – passed me and called me a slut.

I went to the police with the violent harassment thing with my neighbours, and they said something about immoral woman and prostitute and told me to leave the station, suggesting by their attitude that they might treat me roughly if I didn’t comply.  Every time I think and get quiet to express myself, these men shout into the air.  This is the most externalised spiritual battle I have ever been part of.  They bark into the air, going straight for my throat, and seem to think it is reasonable.  If you challenge them they laugh or treat you like an idiot.

I can’t cope.  I feel emotionally and mentally raped.  I really can’t cope.  I have no safe place to go.  Even the church is full of defiant and evasive liars shouting from the platforms.  Colin Dye talked about Judas on Sunday (or was it the Chinese guy at 2.30?) and talked about his betrayal and suicide, as if the two belonged together.  That is old pentecostal teaching, and I have swallowed it.  I believe it is right and reasonable, and that to see suicide in any other light is dishonest.  I think if you dissect it finely enough and examine it under a strong enough microscope you can’t honestly come to any other conclusion.

So is there no level of pain or abandonment or isolation that can justify feelings of wanting to die?  Are all such feelings evidence that, somehow, at some level, you are or have been treacherous in some way?  Even if you have been, if you have sadistic, dishonest rub your nose in it people dealing with you, how are you supposed to feel?  They give you no way back to life.  They themselves are wrong, but they insist you take your place in life again on their terms.

These men and their shouting is making me feel violent and desperate.  They are real madhouse material.  I think they are stupid and dangerous and should be taken off the streets.  I think it shows that I feel somehow responsible for them, that I feel this way.  But they are gross and I’m a woman.  The way their behaviour collides with my mind and feelings is completely terrifying me, in my situation as it is.  They are grossly defiant.  Every utterance of theirs is an insistence that it is OK.  There is nothing in their minds that is recognisable to me as being in any way decent.

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.

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.

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