I was going to share some of the jokes I find myself telling on good days, about becoming part mushroom (which I read later Joni Mitchell has also said about her Morgellon’s) after I saw what appear to be “fruiting bodies” growing out of my chin after only 24 hours without scrubbing and ointments. And maybe I’d share about this balance of living with a whole host of parasites preparing me to see other realities.

Instead, I picked up my digital microscope to check my skin which I’m too tired to scrub.

First I went looking for the two holes I found yesterday in my upper left arm with a handheld 10x lens but hadn’t taken the time to look at with the better, save-able digital microscope until today. They’d looked like very fine hypodermic holes, and finding them on the day of a Full Moon when I felt tired is not typically a surprise; maybe that’s why I just couldn’t pick up the microscope that day – subconsciously too depressed from something done to me in the night. Today, they seem to have neatly closed and I can’t find them.  Fine.

Nearby, I found a larger, but still tiny red spot that bled when I ran my fingernail over it, but showed no blood under the microscope. I don’t have any idea what this is. But there is a “cup fungus” (I found online) that lives in skin and produces blood-red, oddly shaped cups – similar to what I find all over me.

Next I looked at my chin and found this fruiting body reaching out, catching the LED light in its translucent outer layer, with other, “common” anomalies which might be part of the natural human skin ecosystem, but I don’t know, as doctors seem loathe to discuss it.

On my left cheek, I found more “common” (to me now) weirdness, with another fungal fruiting body (I assume, and am open to correction) with its dark tip alongside this strange item which I think is a typical tangle of Morgellon’s fibers. I’ve had lots of single filaments, but not that many wads of them.

 

 

I want to scrub my face, my ears, my back, my chest, my arms, my hands, my fingers, my legs, my toes, but it all takes so much energy.  Two weeks ago, I paid for my last shower and decided to take all future ones in my camper, not because of the money ($6-20), though that helps, but because I felt under pressure to get it all done within a reasonable period of time, but I lost energy and always did a varying quality job. By bathing in my rig, even though I’ll use more water and propane and have to go into town more often, I can bathe a little of me at a time. I might do my face and genitals in the morning (though I didn’t today, kept putting it off), then neck and arms mid-morning, then torso after lunch, then legs in afternoon, and face and genitals again at night (always scrubbing hands and nails before and after washing each section of me). Just thinking about all that makes me exhausted.

 

These days I find myself holding my breath worse than ever, wondering why some part of me is starving my heart and brain and everything else.  Well, I don’t actually wonder, I know.  A few parts of me don’t think it’s worth being around anymore, and  I understand. But I think I/we am/are supposed to be here.  But that part of me that wants to breath can’t seem to overcome the others who don’t – sometimes.  Like today.

I have vegetables to cook, cilantro to wash and prepare, things to organize, receipts to put in my bookkeeping, and I just don’t feel able to focus on those tasks.  I did get the dishes done today, left from yesterday.  I cooked a healthy, no-sugar-of-any-sort breakfast (then followed it with a chocolate truffle!), and emptied part of my gray water tank, only because I was forced to.  It’s raining so I can’t walk, which is fine, as I’d only feel guilty or sad on a day like today because I have no energy.

Sometimes I think my spirit helpers helped me get the infection, to help me leave this life as I’ve sometimes said I wanted to – but I really believe it’s the mind controllers who gave it to me. Here’s my theory on that:

I started life as a mind control subject and still was when I “ran away from home” at age 19, but suddenly they had to treat me in a manner for which they hadn’t planned; they had to respond to activities I chose that they hadn’t chosen for me, so they had to adapt their programs. Twice they got me married to other mind control subjects who were able to exert impressive control, but I left each after about 9 years and have been single for the last 27 years.

After my separation in 1993, I – didn’t know it but recognized it later – was put on the “Targeted Individuals” list.  I was gang stalked and sabotaged in everything I tried to do, unless the Controllers determined it could be useful to them.

When I lived remotely as a hermit, my experiences felt like science fiction coming from the nearby Fort Huachuca, a (the?) major American intelligence center, also associated, conspiratorially, with aliens.  Besides all that, someone destroyed my computer and socially sabotaged me so that I could not work.

In debt, with no clear future, I sold my hermitage and moved to a small town, and my experiences of aliens and UFOs ended; in their place, anomalies left traces suggesting high-tech medicine and electronic warfare testing.  Each experiment felt new, none repeated (that I was aware of), all interesting, disconcerting, exhausting, and not as fearful as I philosophically thought it should be.

In one terrible event, I became conscious with a body memory of some disease organism being technologically implanted in my body.  In the next two years, I would begin to wake up with a painful scalp I described as feeling “like someone pulled me around by my hair all night,” and another sensation I described as “like someone had pounded the soles of my feet.”  The disease would be diagnosed only 5 years later, and I’d find ulcers and fibers growing out of my scalp and fibers growing out of the soles of my feet.

This last phase of my life since I fled my home to travel permanently may have been concurrent with my demotion from military test subject to simple victim for punishment. At least three times I’ve been led unknowingly to attend Satanist gatherings on the Full Moon and woken up disabled for a day or two.  I’ve witnessed many endless common people working for Operation TIPS doing drive-by harassment and such, many business owners who mysteriously treat me abominably, and finally, a new variety of electronic harassment.

My value to the mind control organizations I assume has diminished, so that they don’t care now whether I’m killed or not.  Someone did something to my truck two years ago, which I documented and thought about a lot, but didn’t have looked at, then my trailer mysteriously fishtailed twice on flat road and then on a hill flipped me over, totaling my truck and trailer home and giving me a whiplash and concussion.  Did they intend exactly that?  To terrify and hurt me badly, but not kill me?  Or did they not care, maybe even took bets on the outcome?  I don’t know.

I’m not as controllable (I assume/hope), and can imagine they’re angry at me for documenting their damages and might want to punish me for it.  As authoritarian types always have.

I could try to be “good”; I did for so much of my life, when I believed the American dream.  But I don’t anymore.  I remember now the sexual abuse in my home, my church and strange places I was taken.  I remember learning about money, and hating it, because it was exchanged when I was abused.  When I learned about Capitalism, it made me extremely sad for the world, and I thought, “This just cannot work.”  I’m a failed mind control test subject – at least failed to some degree.

But I’m not sure I have no value to them anymore. I do wake up at least once each month having slept 11 hours and feeling so exhausted I can’t do anything but feed myself, and I have a dreadful feeling my amnesia occured because I was with them or they were in my home the previous night.  Was I actually doing something for them?  I’ve had impressions of being used to do remote viewing in an altered state as late as 2014.  I’ve wondered if I was used sexually.  I’ve wondered if I was used to help groom little girls for this work, which breaks my heart the most.  I’ve also “glitched” once, and an alter took over who knew how to assassinate and was thrilled to have the opportunity “after such a long time.”  Who knows what I might have done all my life!?

Or are they just doing maintenance these days – checking my heart, testing my blood, seeing how their old subject is?

Or are they monitoring the fascinating disease they gave me in 2014?

Six years after that 2014 event when I believed someone intended to inoculate me with disease – and I “forgot” about it all this time – I’m categorizing types of fibers, photographing them, adapting my life, but feeling like I’m losing the battle.  Maybe I’m not.  I’ve had angels come heal me before.  They could come again.

It feels great to write these things, to make a record.  But I really should get up to bathe.

I’ll put water on the stove (far more efficient than lighting the 6-gallon water heater), close the camper door (it’s been nice to have it open all morning), turn on the space heater, close the blinds, lay towels on the floor, get out the body scrubs, put on a movie, and begin with my face.

It’s so much trouble, and if I have the energy to do it, there’s no energy left for anything else.  Realistically speaking, not emotionally, it just seems like I’m going to die.  And eugenically (!?) speaking, I think I should.  As a wimp, I don’t want to suffer.  As a person defending her sanity against doctors and her self-esteem with a family that doesn’t want to believe her, I don’t want to deteriorate as predicted by this diagnosis.

So I’ve joked I should go volunteer at a local hospital and hope to catch Covid19.

On the other hand, if I’m still useful to the Controllers, I’m not sure they’ll allow me to die.  I have an implant in my heart and, for all I know, they’ll keep me alive to watch the disease develop (like they did with the Tuskeegee Black prisoners who were given a related spirochete, syphilis) and thereby torture me for my sins.  But maybe not.  I can hope.

If I live, I still have so many other unpleasantries of old age: missing teeth, malocclusion, failing eyesight, and forgetfulness (and we hope it’s not Alzheimer’s); but worst is not old age but the technology mind controllers put in me over the decades.  I have documented implants in my heart, g-spot, alongside my clitoral shaft, on my left scapula, 6 in my teeth, 2 in my ears, and I believe there could be more.  They can be used to move my whole body or vibrate a part, make me nauseous and anxious, immobilize me, shift my consciousness off and on, turn on other programmed alters, and more.  Even if I could heal my Morgellon’s and get my teeth fixed, who would want to be subject to the rest of what I live with?  No one.

But if my controllers seem to be trying to kill me, then I wonder whether they’re not using me in any significant way anymore.  And that would be an excellent understanding, in a way – to be killed instead of mind controlled.  Thank you.  But I’m not sure of anything.

I don’t mind dying if they don’t string it out too long and painfully.  Ironically, though, my daily scrubbing efforts might be helping me live longer, and that’s not really what I want. I should serve my own needs better, and help shorten this eventuality.  Yeah, that’s the only thing that makes good philosophical sense.  I should just let it take me over.

Unless I’m supposed to be here still for something.

Back and forth, back and forth.