Check this out. My friend, Fred, has done a great deal of research on the subject, and it is very well documented.
Just look for the tab that says mind control, near the center.
Check this out. My friend, Fred, has done a great deal of research on the subject, and it is very well documented.
Just look for the tab that says mind control, near the center.
1. When a friend sent me an email in June 2002 with a few links and a sentence that read, “I think this might explain our stuff,“ I opened the first one to read a headline that revolted me.
My brain rejected the idea of “mind control,“ but as I read the first sentence, I felt something I had never felt before, but was absolutely real: a chorus of small children inside me, physically panicking. Some were whimpering, others hyperventilating, stifling cries, trying to hide, all a chorus of panic, with a teen girl’s voice suddenly heard trying to comfort and calm them.
Then an adult voice spoke to me, “It’s okay, it’s good for you to know. Now you can begin to heal.“
My mind was blown, having never experienced anything like that – except once when I’d felt myself spread out in three parts, with two of them on either side explaining it was good for me to know I was multiple, and now they were leaving, not needed anymore. I had begged them to stay and explain it all to me, but they had said it would be too long a process, and I didn’t yet have the foundation to understand.
Being multiple was a bad enough realization, though I had gone to the medical library and learned it was not insanity, just a different way for a brain to function, and sometimes it came with great intelligence and other skills, which I knew I had. But this realization of mind control seemed to have nothing good about it, only horror and fear of how I could not control what I might do.
I would spend the next year and a half thinking every day that it would be better to die. I did not believe in suicide, but I reconsidered the idea every day.
2. Researchers often associate mind control with Satanism, and Satanists are given religious freedom in the US, including in the Military. (Sargeant Michael Aquino is a well-known, out-of-the-closet, high-ranking Satanist.) And mind control is practiced widely in the military under the direction of the Central Intelligence Agency.
When I was dabbling in astrology, I discovered that the numerology (practiced by Satanists) of my birthday (July 7, 1952) can be “reduced” to 7-7-7 (or 7-7-8). In addition, I was born on a full moon; on a Monday (Moonday); in the middle of Cancer, also called Moonchild, ruled by the Moon.
Not only was I born on a day that contained a full moon, but I was born within 2/1000ths of a degree of the Full Moon opposition. Three moons and three sevens – and Satanists love days like this, I learned. So I might have been selected because of my birthdate and time.
It was also the same day Dwight D. Eisenhower’s nomination to the Republican Presidential ticket was announced.
3. My father was in the Navy, in Carrier Aircraft Service Unit 33 (also a favorite satanic number), which has a conspiracy site associated with it, in which relatives of men in that CASU note that the unit has details that do not correspond with any other records of ports, ships, or dates, while every other CASU detail corresponds perfectly. Most suspect that CASU was a secret project subjecting those sailors to some sort of experiments – and I suspect mind control. My father never wanted to talk about his time in the service.
4. My father‘s father was a 33rd° Freemason. He moved the family from Schell city, Missouri, to Hollywood, California, when my father was a child. There my grandfather became veterinarian to the stars and to the famous German Shepherd TV hero, Rin Tin Tin. Freemasons and Hollywood are both associated with mind control.
5. My father‘s mother wanted her youngest son, my father, to be a child movie star, “like little Jackie Coogan,” so she signed him up with an agent, and my father was sent on the road at age 7 for six months, after which my father stuttered for the next two years. He must have been traumatized to be away from his family at that young age, and I can’t help but wonder if he was also sexually abused, as is common in Hollywood child actor histories. When I was 9 or 10, he needed to have surgery on his anus, which I recall him telling my mother was bleeding profusely.
6. My mother‘s mother was a migrant farm worker, widowed during the Great Depression when my mother was eight and my aunt was nine. She was also an excellent baker, and after quitting migrant work and renting a sidewalk stand to sell sandwiches made with her homemade bread, she was fortuitously taken under the wing of some wealthy businessmen who put her in charge of a new restaurant with conference rooms, outdoor patio, and a walk-up bakery window. Every day, one of those men came to visit my grandmother at lunch – when most restauranteurs would naturally be managing their busiest time – but she was obedient to his request. She sat at one booth facing the door, playing gin rummy if we were visiting, and when she saw him in the doorway, she stopped mid-sentence, laid down her cards, and walked directly toward him, and they disappeared down the sidewalk. One time when we visited, my mother wanted to introduce herself and me to him, so she hurriedly pulled me out of the booth and after her as she hurried to interrupt them for an introduction. I’ve always remembered the disbelieving hostility in the man’s face, his refusal to engage, and him turning and walking away with my grandmother at his side.
Back at the booth, my mother stared at the doorway and mused as if she thought it were the most wonderful thing that my grandmother had this mysterious relationship with this wealthy man. She said, “She never says what they talk about.”
Since mind control has been recorded in European history back to the 17th century, I suspect my grandmother may have been an early mind control subject as well – as her restaurant became the gathering place for the “movers and shakers” in Van Nuys for 25 years.
It seems my mother had inadvertently interfered with her mother‘s daily programming. And my grandmother was not allowed to discuss anything about it.
7. Mormons, military, Freemasons, and Hollywood – all have been associated with mind control, and all are in my family lineage.
8. When I was born, my parents were living in married student housing at UC Davis, where my father was finishing his degree in Veterinary Medicine. That year, UC Davis launched the Human Ecology Project, which researchers now associate with CIA mind control.
9. The largest religious denomination in the CIA, by far, are the Mormons. Stuart Udall, Secretary of the interior under Eisenhower, who was at my parents’ Christmas party when I was eight years old, was a Mormon. It’s difficult to explain why he was at our house – except that the party, and our new custom home, both occurred just a few months after my two years of near amnesia, at the same approximate age as other mind control subjects report their two years of amnesia, either proceeded by or followed by a nice new custom home.
These two years are when the CIA takes children (who have been prepared by their parents) and creates the multiple personalities that will be controlled for the rest of their lives.
My mother was also a Mormon, but a “jack Mormon,” one who rarely goes to church. I was occasionally sent or taken to church, which I hated, so, I suspect, I was made accessible to them for program updates. I have disturbing memories of amnesia and hating being there at that church.
10. While I can tell dozens of stories of my life up through kindergarten, I have only a few weird memories of first and second grade, and then my memory comes back fully in third grade.
First, age 6, I remember being thrilled to take a train trip alone with my mother, leaving our father behind to take care of my three younger siblings, the youngest only about 8 months old. I knew this was strange, this image of my dad at the table with my three siblings when we said goodbye, and so I always remembered it, but I was thrilled to feel special, to travel alone with my mother.
My mother said we were going to see her aunt in Albuquerque, but I have no memory of that. I do have a memory of being in something I now recognize as a large military airplane hanger. I was sitting in a party dress on a chair in front of a military man in tan khaki behind a desk. Another military man came past me from behind on my left to talk to the man behind the desk. The man walking, who was shaped like a pear, gave me a quick glance, then said to the man at the desk, “Pretty one,” nodding toward me. Next thing I recall is being in the backseat of a car, being brought home by four men in uniforms and very short haircuts in a sedan with a two-tone interior they called “aquamarine.“ They gave me no attention, so I just stared at the backs of the two heads in front of me, ignored the men on either side of me, and comforted myself with a toy on my lap, a pressed-metal beagle, painted black, white and brown, with a crank on the side that I could turn to make it plink out “How Much is That Doggy in the Window?“ I remember thinking how glad I was for this toy, as if without it I would be in a panic. Suddenly, we parked on the street in front of our house. The man on my right slid out and motioned for me to get out, which I did awkwardly, holding my dog. Then he gestured toward my front door, and I marveled at the strangeness of approaching from the front instead of entering the side door from the driveway as usual. I climbed up on the curb, across the cut lawn on the easement, then onto the sidewalk, up the walkway and finally to the front door. No excitement or happiness, just what was.
Inside, my mother took the dog from me, and the next day she would tell me I had never had a toy dog and that I must have imagined it. I knew she was lying.
I have no other memories of first grade, and I’m only guessing that these belong to first grade and not to second grade.
The next summer, when I was seven, the whole family went to visit our grandmother Mimi and our aunt Doris, who lived together in Van Nuys, California. Then one day my mother announced to us kids that I was going to visit longer with Mimi and Doris, and the rest of the family would come get me later. I asked why, and got no answer that I recall.
I didn’t mind, as I liked my grandmother and aunt. But today it makes no sense because they were both single working women, my aunt was a single mother, they worked full-time at Mimi’s restaurant, and this – leaving anyone alone there – was nothing we had ever done or would ever do again.
I went to the restaurant with them for a day or a few, where my aunt taught me how to use the cash register and make change. I stood on a stool and enjoyed the compliments I got from the customers who seemed amazed I could make change at my age.
I have only one memory of second grade (or first), and that is of standing in front of an easel with an apron on and four pots of paint: blue, green, red (or yellow?), and black. Everyone else in the room seemed to be painting excitedly, but I just stood and looked at my blank paper.
A woman’s voice nearby commanded me to “Paint.“ I answered that I didn’t know what to paint. “Paint a tree,” she responded. I dipped my paintbrush in black and drew a black tree on black earth with black wind streaming by with black leaves in the wind. I put down my brush and remember thinking, “There. A tree.”
Later, I remember waking up at home, thrilled to be back where things were familiar, then running to find my mother to tell her, “I’m awake! And I’ve been asleep for a long, long time!” She shared none of my enthusiasm, and I watched the side of her head as she told me dismissively, “No you just slept one night. It only felt long.”
11. My father worked very long hours, sometimes 70 hours a week, he said. But then he treated himself and us to three vacations a year, including very long summer vacations. I always thought those summer vacations were two weeks long, but my brother now tells me they were four weeks long! And sometimes I had amnesic events.
We often traveled with or met up with other families, of which I was one of the oldest children, so I was not being mistaken when one of the other mothers referred to my directing the other children in an abbreviated performance of the Wizard of Oz. I had directed plays before with neighborhood kids, but I had absolutely no memory of directing that play when I was a teenager.
I also have no memory of going to the Chiricahua Mountains, which my siblings talked about as one of our very best times, but I could never remember it at all. These “memory problems” used to seriously disturb me, because it wasn’t a common occurrence, something I had come to expect, but the strangest sort of surprise that completely confounded me.
And now I’ve learned that the mind controllers need to check in with their subjects and spend extensive time with them, refining their programming, which I now theorize was occasionally done on family vacations.
12. After high school graduation, I secretly looked forward to finding friends involved in the hippie movement. I had always had a hard time making friends, and was raped that summer, so I related to those people who seemed willing to break social norms.
So I was confused when the daughter of one of my mother‘s distant acquaintances called me repeatedly, wanting to tell me about “the Greek system“ and her sorority house. I was polite until her third call when I decided she deserved to know that I did not consider myself “their type.“ To my surprise, she answered, “What type do you think we are?“ There was a long pause where I searched for words that were not insulting (as I’d been trained), and finally I decided she deserved the truth since she kept bothering me, and I responded, “Plastic” (a late 60’s insult). Immediately she replied, “Don’t you think you’re judging us without knowing us?“ That was a phrase I’d only heard attributed to hippies! So she was calling me on my own barely adopted ethos! She was calling me a fraud, and I had to prove I was more open-minded than that. So I agreed begrudgingly to attend sorority Rush, not wanting to do anything except prove I was open minded.
Suddenly, one of my friends from fourth grade became my best friend, sharing constantly with me her intense desire to get into this same sorority, her anxiety that she might not, and all the reasons why it was the most important thing in her life.
Elsewhere, I have written a very long story explaining the intense gaslighting I got that year to “pledge,” and then join at the end of the year – as well as to enter two local run-ups to the national Miss America Pageant – which I had always thought were terribly embarrassing, and I continued to think so then. But my childhood had given me very little experience in making my own decisions, so I was easy to manipulate to do things I did not want to do.
At the very end of the year, after making my coerced vows, I was secretly told that I had been recommended by the state president, the highest recommendation one could get. I was shocked and hurt.
I had thought all of their overtures toward me had seemed pretended, not real friendship, but I have been told by my friend that I just didn’t know what real friendship was. And now it had been made perfectly clear that my intuitions had been correct, and I had accepted their pretenses as truth. I felt humiliated, tricked, lied to, angry, and ashamed for not having acted on my own intuitions instead of following everyone else’s judgments.
That summer, I would break my vows (despite their warnings of how doing so would be “really, really, really, really, really, really, really bad”), and early the next year I would return my Miss U of A crown (I’d been such a bad, uncaring representative anyway, they’d quit calling me for any publicity events), drop out of school, throw away all my make-up and hair products, and “run away,“ hitchhiking across the United States with the first boy-man who thought it was a good idea. And things did get really, really, really, really, really, really, really bad.
13. Between marriage to that boy-man and having children, my husband and I woke up one morning to find our wooden bed frame broken, side rails disconnected from the corner posts, the slats in disarray, and no memory of how it had gotten that way while we “slept.”
My husband had been born on a Navy base (Groton, Connecticut, also associated with mind control), and his mother had been committed twice to a mental hospital – another circumstance common to mind control subjects, so his parents may also both have been in the program, along with him.
In the shower that morning, I discovered that my vagina was extremely painful, swollen, and in a mirror, I could see that the skin had been pulled apart in a manner I could only describe as looking like patterns on a giraffe, which I reported to my mother when I called her to ask what it could mean, but she had no theory.
I understand now this is a typical result of gang rape, but I could not consider that possibility then. Today, I wonder whether some mind controllers had made both of us amnesic for a gang rape, and in the process, broke the bed.
14. In therapy in my 30s, I tried to imagine the stream of my life, but all I saw was something like disconnected, cut-up pieces of yarn, scattered, no history with any coherence, causing me to wonder what was wrong with me. (This is actually more pertinent to Multiple Personality/Dissociation, but it is also a major feature of Mind Control.)
15. After I divorced my first husband, I met a man in a bar and immediately recognized him as someone I was supposed to meet, but I could not remember why. After we became a couple, I asked him a few times why did we both think we were supposed to meet, but he seemed to not want to discuss it. I believe now that he is another mind control subject, and we were amnestically programmed to meet and fall in love.
16. When we both became involved with the radical activist group, Earth First, I hadn’t wanted to spend much time with it because I was a single mother, I had just launched a business, and I didn’t want to divide my time further. But my partner badgered me constantly with intense encouragement, promising to make up for my financial losses (which he never did), so I relented and gave part-time pro bono media work to the group for four years. Later, certain members of the group would accuse me of being a spy, “badjacketing” me, isolating me. And many years later, after my 2002 introduction to mind control, I would realize that was absolutely a possibility.
17. When that marriage ended, and I moved to Colorado Springs to be with my high school crush from 25 years earlier, we experienced someone trying to break into our home in the middle of the night.
Suddenly, another personality came to the fore. I felt shrunken to the right side of my frontal lobe, witnessing somebody else take over the rest of my body. She told my boyfriend to call 911 while she grabbed a large knife, then positioned herself in front of the door, bouncing on her toes while testing the balance of the knife in her hand, and thinking to herself how happy she was to have this chance to kill someone, as it had been a long time. She had absolute confidence in what she was doing as she listened to him throw himself against the door and imagined different responses if he crashed through in one direction or another, with one physique or another, all while “I“ was marveling at her.
18. When I lived in Silver City, I attended an art gallery opening, and as I was leaving, needing to return my wine glass to the table, a new acquaintance and a stranger were conversing in my pathway. So as I walked toward them, intending to turn sideways and slip through, instead I again retreated to the right side of my frontal lobe while I witnessed some part of me do a provocative walk toward them – an exaggerated sexy walk I have not been able to imitate the few times I tried – years after I grieved the humiliation of it.
I wanted very badly to regain control of my body and stop it, but I could not. The new acquaintance looked at me in shock, and there was nothing I could do. I went home and cried that evening, and could do little but weep the next day – and think about ending things.
19. When I was a nomad living in my RV, I volunteered at a UFO conference and was requested for an emergency to work at a table handling money and tickets. I didn’t want to do that, so I chose the safest method of immediately handing every bit of money to a paid employee beside me after each sale. At the very end, I felt some alter take over my body again, take two or three tickets, then turn and slip them into a pocket of my backpack behind me, then turn back around before I regained control.
It only took 10 seconds, but the whole time I was horrified, but could not stop it. I cried all afternoon and evening until 2 AM, when I wrote an email to my supervisor to please meet me in the morning, when I would tell her what had happened. Interestingly, and fortunately, I had told her in my application that I was a mind control subject “in healing.”
And I’ve always thought it was good policy to warn people, even though others suggest it isn’t good for making friends. I know. But I want others to have fair warning in the event they notice something strange in my behavior. And hopefully they’ll tell me, so I might have a chance to learn more about myself.
20. After that, I remembered two other earlier events in which some altar in me took over my body when a camera came out. She posed my body in a manner I thought stupid and even cheesy cliché, but I could not regain control of my body to face the camera more naturally. One time was for a newsletter article about strawbale construction. The other was for a video documentary about the “Judi Bari versus FBI” trial. Broke my heart again, to feel myself taken over, and scared me.
21. Nearing the end of my media work for that trial, we had a very important media release to go out, for which we had set the fax machine to send it at a particular time for maximum impact. But the next morning, it was discovered that the fax machine had been unplugged. As soon as I was told about it, I had a dreadful feeling like a body memory of my right shoulder dragging under the fax machine table while I imagined someone reaching for the plug. 
22. A friend from high school, whom I now believe is also a mind control subject, published a book in which his female lead character is named Jean Ann (my name) and is an amnesic Mormon assassin.
There’s probably more. These are just off the top of my head. I’ll add more as I remember them or have time to go through my database.
1. A very early childhood nightmare of a cartoon character exposing himself on stage, exposing his girl’s pudendum. I felt horrified and afraid. (Why would a young child create that sort of dream if she hadn’t experienced it herself?)
2. A very early childhood nightmare of my father sitting in the driver’s position on front carriage of an old-fashioned circus carriage train, in a nighttime storm, dressed in black with a tall black hat, whipping a black horse that took us too fast down a bumpy mountain road. Suddenly the train crashed and all the carriages fell over, and I feared the wild animals had gotten out of their cages. I was alone in the dark night, terrified I would be found by a wild animal and ripped apart. (Obviously not sexual, but shows a fear of the night.)
3. When I was 3 or 4, Mom responded hysterically to something I had said, and dragged me into the bathroom, screaming that I should never say anything like that ever again, and knocked a bar of soap around in my mouth, then left me there and went into the kitchen.
I was terrified of her, so waited in the bathroom, but soon my mouth was full of saliva, and I needed to spit it out, but the top of the bathroom sink was at my forehead and I knew I wasn’t allowed to drag a chair in there without permission (and it never occurred to me to spit into the toilet or the tub). Fearful but desperate, I went to the doorway of the kitchen and saw my mother standing there in fury, then tipped my head back to hold in the saliva and asked if I could move a chair. She nodded, and I was able to move the chair to the sink and begin to clean the chunks off of my teeth.
(Obviously not sexual, but I can’t imagine anything other than the possibility of a sexual scandal in the event I would say those words publicly that would make a mother get so hysterical and brutal to her daughter.)

4. A memory of Mom taking me to the doctor and telling him she thought I was crazy because I said “crazy things.” He told her, laughing gently, “No, children just have active imaginations, and sometimes they mix up their dreams with memories.“ But soon she told my aunt, who also laughed and told her no. And I remember when she also told a small group of women who had visited the house and were now in their car getting ready to drive away, and they also laughed and told her no.
All these people telling Mom she was wrong gave me confidence that I didn’t need to take her words to heart.
5. About age 4, I remember being in the den, squatting down and studying the smeared patterns in the linoleum, listening to a man talk to my father, saying, “You marry a Mormon woman, and you get the children too.“ In later reflection, it seemed he was encouraging my father either to engage with me sexually or not feel bad about it if he already was. Much later, I learned that sexual abuse (and mind control) are very common in Mormon families.
6. When I was 8, and we had just moved into our new custom home on in Merced, I heard Dad call my name and came out of the den to find him squatting down to my height, smiling, with Mom standing to the side behind him. I was mesmerized by his smile because I so rarely saw it while making eye contact with me. When I arrived in front of him, he pulled out a steel hypodermic needle from behind his back, held upright, and I stepped back in shock, but he held me there, and I knew not to disobey him. He continued to smile while telling me that it was time for my booster, and he “gave the best shots in town.” He went on to say that I wouldn’t even feel it because he had a special technique. All I had to do was hold my arm really soft and limp, and he patted my arm to help me relax and told me to look away. I followed his instructions and soon he said, “That’s it.“ I was amazed, because I had not felt anything, just like he said.
In preparation for our Christmas party that year, Mom had been calling all the guests, telling them that Stuart Udall (then Secretary of the Interior) would be there. I remember thinking she was bragging, which was something she had told me not to do. At the party, we were supposed to stay in the den and not come out, and I was intent on helping the little ones follow that rule. However, when my littlest siblings tried to sneak out, some woman guest encouraged Mom to let us come out for five minutes, so the little girls burst ahead, winding their way through the crowd, followed by my brother, followed by me.
I was overwhelmed by the crowd of tall people, uncertain whether I really wanted to be there or what to do, so I just followed the other kids and soon saw my doctor talking to my father. The two of them together made me think of shots, so when my doctor had greeted me, and I knew I was supposed to respond with something, I cheerfully said, and loudly over the noise of the crowd,“My daddy gives the best shots in town. He gives me my boosters.“
My doctor looked shocked and immediately swiveled his head around and up toward my father, and I followed, and saw my father look as though he were in deep trouble. There was a third man there also, and the three men all exchanged glances, and the expressions of extreme concern did not go away. Because my doctor was second cousin to Stuart Udall, I assume that the Secretary of the Interior was the third man there.
A few months later, I came home from school to find my mother emptying the kitchen cabinets and packing dishes into boxes. When I asked her why, she answered angrily that we had to move. After we had moved to Paradise Valley, I asked her why we had moved and, while keeping her back to me, she answered that the people in Merced were very snobby and they didn’t want to be a part of that group.
(See 15 below for follow-up.)
7. When I put in my first tampon while squatting over a mirror (as suggested by the instruction sheet), I was shocked to see my inner labia looking very unlike the sketch in the instruction sheet, as mine were long, as if stretched out, and brown, hanging significantly outside the outer labia. I was stunned, but didn’t have the confidence to ever ask anyone about it.
8. Years later, when my sisters and I were swimming naked in the pool and my youngest sister inadvertently exposed herself while hanging on the diving board by her knees, I embarrassed myself by laughing a little hysterically at the sight of her peach-like anatomy, I assume because mine looked so different, but I couldn’t think about it consciously until decades later.
9. When I was date raped the summer of 1970, age 18, I went into an altered state of consciousness in which I could only scream silently in my head, but could not move my body or make any vocalizations.
10. After I was raped, in shock and horrified that I was no longer a virgin (or so I thought), I decided I might as well engage in sex of my own choice, and I wanted to think of it as “my first.” But afterward when I said that to my boyfriend, he repeatedly told me it was OK that I wasn’t and not to keep lying about it.
11. In my mid-30s, having sex with my boyfriend, I suddenly had a flashback in which I was a young child, lying naked on a cotton bedspread with an interesting weave, with a wall to my left, and a few feet away on my right a window with a shade pulled down and bright sunlight coming in thin lines around the edges, and a door in the direction of my feet, and a large blank where I knew a person was standing, looking down at my pudendum.
I felt a sickening dread, but knew I could not leave or stop what was coming, and so I turned my head toward the wall and began a recitation I had previously invented: the wallpaper is gray-green, the flowers are pink with green leaves, in rows that go across and up to the side, and each rose has a frame around it made of white wavy lines, two on each side, and the paint is not laid down evenly, but is thick in some places and thin in others, so the gray-green paper shows through, and I wonder if the workers got in trouble for that.
Then I decided to praise myself, and told myself, “I invented this. No adult taught me.” But that made me almost remember why I had invented this, and I almost came back into my body, so I quickly told myself I had to always stay exactly with the routine and never stop to think about my invention, and I began again at the beginning, “The wallpaper is gray green, the flowers are pink with green leaves….“
Then I was back in my mid-30s body having sex with my partner, extremely shocked by what I had just remembered.
I didn’t know what to call this event, but thought it would be the sort of thing to ask a counselor, but I didn’t want to talk to a counselor about it because I was afraid of what it might mean, afraid that I did not have the time and emotional energy to process it, and also afraid that someone might convince me it meant something that it didn’t mean.
The next day I reviewed my options, again certain I did not have the time or energy or money to deal with this while my children were so young, and I was trying to make a living. So I decided it was important to not think about it, because I might inadvertently change the memory, but I also did not want to forget it. An idea came to me to put the memory into a box and put it on the top shelf of a closet until later when I had time. Oddly, the box I chose was an old-fashioned (50’s?) round, striped hat box.
12. In my late 30s, in the days after the family had gathered for Christmas, a few of us were sitting around the dining table telling stories, while others stood nearby. My brother had just told a story that someone remarked was from a very young age, and I knew I also had a memory from a very young age, so I grabbed a paper napkin and drew while describing the married student housing apartment at UC Davis where my parents lived when I was born:
“The front door was here, and it had a tall, narrow window right next to it with circle-textured glass so you couldn’t see through. The kitchen was right here, and Mom was standing at the stove, and the hood light was on, shining brightly when I looked up. The living room was here to the left, and the linoleum changed to carpet at an angle here. The red leather chair was here.”
At that, my mother said accusingly, “You can’t remember that. You were 14 months old when we left there.“
To which I replied, “But you just acknowledged that I did remember it.“
Mom‘s face was in silent shock, as she pushed away from the table, walked calmly to a window, stood there looking outside, and finally said in a trance-like, singsong voice, “I’ve always said you had an active imagination and you mix up your dreams with memories” - as if she’d said those words a thousand times.
The hair stood up on the back of my neck as I realized she’d said that phrase in those exact same words every time I had ever remembered anything from my childhood, and she’d never said anything similar regarding the other kids.
Mentally scrambling for a reason, I assumed she had done something for which she felt very guilty, and I needed to tell her sometime that my childhood was fine, and she had nothing to feel bad about.
However, driving home from that Christmas visit, I pulled off to the side of the interstate and sobbed over the steering wheel, feeling incredibly sad that my mother had been diminishing me all my life for something she felt guilty about, and my siblings had been hearing these diminishments for their entire lives, and I felt so isolated, so unfairly accused.
Later, I learned this is consistent in families with one abused child.
13. Sometime around age 40, while beginning to cook dinner, I realized I had some memory of someone saying something that I couldn’t understand, but clearly had a distinct cadence that repeated. It came through as a pattern of beats that I had the odd impression had been repeating in my head for at least three days and was associated with a little home in Merced before our custom home.
I told myself I was probably like a “word on the tip of the tongue“ and I’d remember it if I quit focusing on it, so I took down a sauce pan and turned toward the sink to fill it with water, when suddenly those beats turned into someone saying, “You’ve got to stop that soon. She’s getting old enough to remember.“
I had the sickening feeling it was my mother speaking, and whatever it was she didn’t want me to remember was probably not good, probably sexual. I was in so much shock, I couldn’t breathe, and I staggered a few steps to the sink and struggled to hold the pan in my hand because I didn’t want to hear it clatter, but didn’t have the energy in my arms to set it down. I held myself up by my forearms on the front of the sink, and struggled to take in a breath.
14. When I was in therapy, age 41, in 1993, my therapist asked me about my family and what my upbringing had been like, to which I had replied confidently that it was “normal, nothing wrong.” He then asked me to describe some typical interactions with my parents.
To my surprise, I couldn’t think of anything that was nice. All I could remember of my young childhood was of talking to the back or side of my mother’s head,or her being angry at me, or cold and rejecting, like making me stay in my bedroom and not bother her unless it was really, really necessary, and if it was necessary to first figure out how to say what I needed in the fewest words possible, or me sneaking out to sit in the hallway around the corner to listen to her interacting with other people.
The only young memory of interacting with my father was of him being extremely angry at Christmas when he presented me with a wooden child-size stove he had made himself, and I had given it a little attention before being distracted by all the other presents. When I asked about it later, my mother told me he had given it away.
I also remember him taking family photos, and all of us smiling giddily.
I’ve since learned that mothers often emotionally abuse the children who are sexually abused by their father. And calling them liars or delusional is an important tactic to discredit them in the event they ever tell the truth.
15. A few years ago, taking on my mother‘s genealogy work, using ancestors.com, I was prompted to look at “hints” that might be found on their associate site, newspapers.com. I had followed the categories in order, and when I came to “police records,” I expected to find nothing, but clicked anyway, following my habit of orderly progress, and was surprised to see a photograph of my mother, looking very threatened, with narrow window blinds behind her, like those I might have seen in police interrogation rooms on television.

I had been efficiently taking screenshots, then clicking for the next item, intending to read everything later, but after I captured her photograph, before I could click on the article, the article and photograph both disappeared.
Because I have documented many events of apparent surveillance on my phone and computer, I assumed someone did not want me to see this and interrupted my access. (I wonder if someone else can.)
I can only guess why her photo was in a police record, wearing her flowered bed jacket and a hairdo like she wore that year in Merced, and wearing such a cornered, silent expression.
…
Today, my siblings have never spoken to me about any of my writing, thoughts, assumptions, or proof, but I’ve learned that they have spoken to my daughter, and possibly my son, about my “mental illness.”
Even though I have openly described myself as a “multiple personality,” I do not consider this a mental illness. When I first realized that I was multiple, I went to the medical library and read everything they had there, and I learned that it should not be considered a disorder or illness. It is simply a creative adaptation to great trauma, and each alternate personality is sane.
But no one in my family wants to discuss this, or hear my opinions on anything. 
I’m 72 now, with a son and daughter who choose not to speak to me any more than necessary, choose not to visit me, even when I tell them I need help, and do not believe I have Lyme Disease or any reason to not to have been cheerful for all of our visits the last decade, or any reason to have skipped some holidays and planned visits.
They seem ready to write me off as “crazy” – just like my mother intended. (And probably just as the mind controllers intended.)
Facing end of life with no strong family connections, but with family ready to discredit my ability to make my own life (and financial and housing) decisions feels like a rather dangerous situation.
And I’m sad, disappointed, scared, and sometimes furious at them for believing what my mother told them all their lives.
Next; Reasons I believe I was a US government mind control subject …
I wrote this long time ago, but somehow it ended up in my draft folder….
Is Multiple Personality Disorder (Dissociative Identity Disorder) “crazy”?
Actually, it’s considered a creative solution, usually emerging accidentally in childhood, to keep from going crazy when experiencing something beyond what the psyche can handle, like torture. The vast majority of multiples experienced torture as children in one way or another.
(Today MPD is called Dissociative Identity Disorder, but many of us prefer the old term as more descriptive of our experience.)
How multiple splitting comes about: Under extreme stress, a person, especially a child, might “leave their body” to psychically escape unbearable pain; the mind, however, keeps recording the body’s experience – now on a blank slate – which then becomes another, separate personality.
The initial separation sets a repeatable pattern in the person called dissociation (dissociating mind from body); with ongoing stress, the pattern is repeated again and again, creating more and more alternate personalities, called “alters.” Since some of the alters are too afraid to come back into the body and risk torture again, they remain children. Interestingly, their young psyches may actually help the body stay young-looking – until an older alter comes out.
While the fragmentation of the psyche is not “normal,” each of the fragments, alters, is sane. They each have a sane perspective on their piece of the world. If they escaped pain, they have a psychology that never experienced pain and is normal for that experience. If the alter was one that did experience pain, they may have a neurotic personality, but totally appropriate to and sane for their experience.
Most positive: with all those alters, multiples have potentially more perspective than most – like insects with multiply-faceted eyes. The trick is coordinating the alters, helping the suffering ones heal, giving disruptive alters appropriate new “jobs” and identities, and if communication is a problem, helping everyone communicate, etc.
In ancient societies, multiples were supported and often honored for their diverse perspectives and skills, usually broad, including a range of skills from the mundane to psychic – as the alters who spent the most time dissociated from the body often develop significant psychic skills. These individuals were often trained as shamans.
1976 film Sybil, starring Sally Field and Joanne WoodwardIn modern society, on the other hand, there is little recognition, much less appreciation or caring support for multiples. Some find good therapists, but many do not, and the cause of their affliction, the torture, is typically ignored by society. If individuals cannot function well enough to pass as un-fragmented, they live as “disabled” – even though they may have a lot of wisdom with all their perspectives.
Relationships between the alters can be very different from multiple to multiple. Some alters are entirely unknown to the other alters, which causes tremendous problems for the person. Sometimes a person has “co-conscious” alters which work together quite successfully (like myself), though there may be disconnected alters as well that cause occasional problems.
Children under torturous conditions who don’t “leave their bodies” and dissociate often become schizophrenic. So dissociation, MPD, is a blessing in disguise, having saved the child from a far worse possibility. MPD/DID is fairly easy to heal (unless complicated by mind control); schizophrenia, on the other hand, is considered incurable.
1957 movie starring Joanne Woodward and Lee J CobbBeing a multiple personality has not been easy, but it’s been far less difficult than typically depicted in books and movies, and in some ways, it seems to be an advantage: Many of us discover we have the capacity to manage a wide variety of mental tasks, having a lot of “minds” holographically in our beings. Managing them all is the trick.
The common perception of “multiples,” as being tragically out of control, is true for some, but many multiples are also very high-functioning, many even testing at genius levels (as I have a few times). Granted, we also often have severe mental, psychological, social, emotional, and spiritual challenges as well – as readers of my book can appreciate.
As for the torture that causes multiple-ness: In the past, torture of children usually happened by accident, a child surviving a wild animal attack, for instance. Unfortunately, their propensity for dissociating was noted by people lacking empathy and any moral code, and they learned to take advantage of them, making literal slaves of the multiples.
In the 1940s, China and the United States, each seeking to protect their wartime secrets from their adversaries, began to experiment on soldiers, splitting their minds through torture – their own citizens, as well as others around the world.
The CIA eventually developed at least 123 mind control programs, the CIA Director testified to the Senate. Researchers have further uncovered evidence that an estimated 20,000 American or Canadian children and many more adults were used between the late 1940s and the mid 1970s – individuals who had no idea they were experimental subjects, did not give their consent, and have never been acknowledged, assisted in healing, or compensated.
The CIA director testified that they destroyed all the files because they wouldn’t do anyone any good. As a consequence, no subject can prove they were involved and disabled in this program.)
Few researchers or subjects believe they destroyed our files. They will never destroy our files, because they have tens or hundreds or thousands of us in some state of useful functionality or dysfunctionality, and no scientist would throw away the product of millions or billions of dollars of research over the decades. No way. So we live with ongoing surveillance, “doctoring,” being used as an amnestic agent and/or being used as an experimental test subject for the newest drugs, technology, and/or programming.
It is clearly criminal, the sort of thing that the United States has apologized for in recent decades, usually a century late. But today everyone is terrified to be the front person for a challenge to this. And even though we have testimony of the highest caliber, the courts refuse to accept our personal testimony that we know we were, and are still, subjects, and most of us have memories breaking through we’re willing to testify about.
The gravity of the crime of mind control is so great that it terrorizes, entrances, silences, subdues our fellow citizens, also useful.
Ironically, it’s a blessing in this situation to be able to dissociate, though the other alters do sense things and can suffer greatly even if they can’t remember why.
~
More on American mind control history is in my page “Mind Control Defined.”
More of my personal experience is in my post “Multiple-ness: What it Feels Like.”
Reposted from: http://warisacrime.org/content/defeating-violence-psychiatry
By – Posted on 12 September 2014
Psychiatry is based on a delusional conception of how the human mind works and what is needed in order to assist it to function optimally when it is not doing so. This is because the purpose of psychiatry, with the complicity of other professions in the ‘mental health’ field and the incredibly profitable pharmaceutical industry, as well as the support of the legal system and the corporate media in promoting this violence, has always been about profits and elite social control, not restoring the health of the ailing individual.
The human mind consists of many interacting components. These include sensory capacities (such as sight, hearing and touch), feelings (such as thirst, hunger, nausea and physical pain), memory, ‘truth register’, intuition, conscience, more feelings (such as fear, happiness, emotional pain, joy, anger, satisfaction, sadness and sexual arousal), and intellect.
Each of these capacities is separately important but, in a healthy individual, it is their integrated functioning that is used to crystallize the appropriately precise behavioral option in any given circumstance. If any one of these capacities is not functioning as evolution intended, the individual will suffer accordingly and this might result in a dysfunctional behavioral outcome as well.
Dysfunctional behavior is caused by terrorizing an individual during childhood so that the integrated functioning of their mind is impeded. This occurs when you inflict ‘visible’, ‘invisible’ and ‘utterly invisible’ violence on a child in order to make them do what you want. This violence forces the child to suppress their awareness of the mental processes, especially the feelings, that generated the original and functional behavior so that they can comply with your violence. But their obedience comes at the price of their increased dysfunctionality in the future. For a full explanation of this, see ‘Why Violence?’ and ‘Fearless Psychology and Fearful Psychology: Principles and Practice’.
However, if instead of identifying and addressing the violent social conditions that lead to emotional and behavioural dysfunction, we attribute any dysfunctionalities to a supposed ‘diseased brain’, ‘flawed genes’ or a ‘chemical imbalance in the brain’, then we open the door to psychiatric violence under the label ‘treatment’. See, for example, Anatomy of an Epidemic: Magic Bullets, Psychiatric Drugs, and the Astonishing Rise of Mental Illness in America, ‘Psychocracy and Community’ and ‘12 Shocking Facts About the Dangers of Psychiatric Drugs’. And this psychiatric violence has catastrophic consequences for society. For some insight into the nature and extent of these consequences – which include dramatically increased violence, suicide and criminal behaviour – see the work of Dr Peter R. Breggin – ‘the conscience of psychiatry’ – whose research includes his ‘probing critique of the psychopharmaceutical complex’. See Medication Madness: The Role of Psychiatric Drugs in Cases of Violence, Suicide, and Crimeand The Conscience of Psychiatry: The Reform Work of Peter R. Breggin, MD.
In fact, according to the lengthy research of Peter Gøtzsche, MD, in the USA ‘prescription drugs are the third leading cause of death after heart disease and cancer’ and it ‘is inescapable that their availability creates more harm than good’. See ‘On Pharma, Corruption, and Psychiatric Drugs’ and ‘Deadly Medicines and Organised Crime: How Big Pharma Has Corrupted Health Care’. And according to Dr Philip Hickey ‘all psychiatric drugs operate by creating a pathological state within the organism… [They] are toxic in and of themselves regardless of dosage.’ See ‘The Use of Neuroleptic Drugs As Chemical Restraints’.
According to the ‘bible’ of the American Psychiatric Association (APA), the ‘Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders’ (the DSM), there are roughly 300 officially certified and distinct ‘mental disorders’. But there are no defining physical tests to diagnose any of them. However, given the publication of the DSM is worth over $5 million a year to the APA, historically totalling over $100 million, there is little organisational interest in validity. See ‘Not Diseases, but Categories of Suffering’ .
In fact, as Dr Bonnie Burstow has pointed out: ‘while psychiatry has been claiming for a very long time that people who are “disordered” have chemical imbalances and frequently reiterate that imbalances have been found, the reality is that no imbalances have ever been established for a single “mental illness”. By contrast, the various treatments of psychiatry (e.g., the drugs, electroshock) have been demonstrated to create illness.’ See ‘On Antipsychiatry’.
In short, there is no scientific basis for psychiatry and this is occasionally admitted even by prominent psychiatrists. See, for example, ‘Psychiatry Now Admits It’s Been Wrong in Big Ways – But Can It Change?’ In fact, on 29 April 2013, the highest ranking federal ‘mental health’ official in the USA, Thomas Insel, stated that ‘While DSM has been described as a “Bible” for the field, it is, at best, a dictionary, creating a set of labels and defining each…. The weakness is its lack of validity. Unlike our definitions of ischemic heart disease, lymphoma, or AIDS, the DSM diagnoses are based on a consensus about clusters of clinical symptoms, not any objective laboratory measure.’ And in a candid moment some years earlier, Allen Frances, the lead editor of the fourth edition of the DSM, highlighted the real depth of the problem: ‘there is no definition of a mental disorder. It’s bullshit. I mean, you just can’t define it’. See ‘Inside the Battle to Define Mental Illness’.
But such occasional candid admissions do not lead to change for several reasons: many individual psychiatrists are ignorant of their own ignorance (simply believing, as most people have been terrorised into believing, what they were taught at school and in subsequent training courses) and, of course, institutional forces and profits ensure that such comments are suppressed by the psychiatric, pharmaceutical and media industries ensuring that they do not get through to the public.
Tragically, psychiatry has long been used to inflict violence on targeted populations. See ‘Political Abuse of Psychiatry – An Historical Overview’. Perhaps the best known of these historical examples were the use of psychiatry to justify and help perpetrate the euthanasia programs of the Nazi regime – see ‘Psychiatry during the Nazi era: ethical lessons for the modern professional’ – and the violence within the Soviet Gulag: see ‘Political Abuse of Psychiatry in the Soviet Union and in China: Complexities and Controversies’. But a more recent version of this type of psychiatric violence was the Federal Violence Initiative started in the US in 1992. According to Dr John Breeding: ‘This initiative includes ongoing “research” into the supposed biological basis of inner-city violence and includes proposals for biomedical social control. The US government asks “Are Black People Genetically Violent?” and plans a psychiatric screening program which would lead to mass drugging of innocent inner-city children, the vast majority of whom are young people of color.’ See The Necessity of Madness and Unproductivity: Psychiatric Oppression or Human Transformation.
However, the violence of psychiatry is now at epidemic proportions given its dramatic expansion in recent decades. It includes experiments conducted on unknowing military personnel and soaring soldier and veteran suicides because of use of psychiatric drugs – see ‘The Hidden Enemy: Inside Psychiatry’s Covert Agenda’ – complicity in the development of torture techniques for use on political prisoners – see ‘The Story of Mitchell Jessen & Associates: How a Team of Psychologists in Spokane, WA, Helped Develop the CIA’s Torture Techniques’ – the use of psychiatric violence to force false confessions from prisoners of war – see‘U.S. Drugged Detainees to Obtain FALSE Confessions’ – the use of psychiatry to imprison political activists – see ‘Are People Being Thrown Into Psychiatric Wards For Their Political Views?’ – the psychiatric definition of people who have a personal viewpoint at variance with elite interests – labelled ‘oppositional defiant disorder’ (ODD) – as mentally ill – see ‘Psychiatrists now say non-conformity is a mental illness: only the sheeple are “sane”’ – and now the violent psychiatric ‘management’ of children – see ‘The Proactive Search for Mental Illnesses in Children’ (part one) and (part two) – and even babies: see ‘Watchdog Says Report of 10,000 Toddlers on ADHD Drugs Tip of the Iceberg – 274,000 0-1 Year Olds and 370,000 Toddlers Prescribed Psychiatric Drugs’.
Of course, pregnant women and nursing mothers don’t escape psychiatric violence either although groups such as ‘Moms & Meds’campaign to raise awareness of the health and death risks from psychiatric ‘medication’ to the mother and unborn child. And, as you no doubt expect by now, older people, predominantly women, aren’t spared drugging and electroshocking either. Fortunately, in the USA, once a person reaches 65 their electroshocking is paid for by the government which means that, at this age, the number of people diagnosed as requiring electroshocking jumps enormously! See The Necessity of Madness and Unproductivity: Psychiatric Oppression or Human Transformation.
But if you think drugging pregnant women, children and babies is bad, did you know that psychiatrists still electroshock children as well? And ‘electroconvulsive therapy’ is ‘never necessary’, damages the brain, always causes memory loss and sometimes kills! See ‘Electroshocking Children: Why It Should Be Stopped’. Obviously, psychiatrists should not be electroshocking adults either and some organisations actively campaign to end this practice too. See, for example, The Coalition for the Abolition of Electroshock in Texas.
And, of course, psychosurgery, in which ‘a small piece of brain is destroyed or removed’ – ‘irreversible brain mutilation’ as it has been called – is still performed in many countries despite the very long campaign to get it stopped. See, for example, the 1982 article ‘The Return of Lobotomy and Psychosurgery’. ‘In lobotomy and psychosurgery parts of the brain that show no demonstrable disease are nonetheless mutilated or cut out in order to affect the individual’s emotions and personal conduct.’ Despite its horror history, recent ‘justifications’ for ‘irreversible brain mutilation’ are readily found.
The bottom line is this: Most psychiatrists, like most people, are terrified of listening to your feelings (and especially when they are driving dysfunctional behaviour and might need considerable time for healing to occur). This is the inevitable outcome of being terrified of feeling their own feelings. Feelings won’t hurt you; suppressing your awareness of them with drugs, electroshocking or other violence will. Feelings are a vital part of the information your body gives you; feeling these feelings is the way you heal from traumas (great or small) and a vital source of information about what you need to do.
If, like me, you are nauseated by the cowardice and violence of the psychiatrists, doctors, other ‘mental health professionals’ and the pharmaceutical industry personnel who so readily damage our emotional health for the sake of elite social control and personal profit, then you have a simple choice: you can choose to never consult a psychiatrist or other ‘mental health professional’ and you can choose to never subject your child to their violence either. And if you are forced into involuntary psychiatric ‘care’, you can choose to remain silent and pursue avenues for being released.
In the end, even if they forcibly drug you, you have a considerable chance of making a full recovery from this (hopefully short-term) violence. (For expert assistance in withdrawing from psychiatric drugs, check out Gerson Therapy, Psychiatric Drug Withdrawal: A Guide for Prescribers, Therapists, Patients and their Families, Point of Return and the International Coalition for Drug Awareness) Unfortunately, recovery from the brain damage that results from forced electroshocking is far less likely – but for an inspirational account by someone who did survive and fully recover from psychiatric violence, including brain electrocution, you can read Ronald Bassman’s evocative account ‘Never Give Up’ – and recovery from psychosurgery is effectively impossible.
You might also consider joining the movement to abolish psychiatry – see, for example, opportunities outlined in ‘On Fighting Institutional Psychiatry With the “Attrition Model”’ – as well as signing the online pledge of the worldwide movement to end all violence ‘The People’s Charter to Create a Nonviolent World’.
Some people have argued that psychiatry should be reformed. But any experienced nonviolent activist knows that psychiatry, like other manifestations of violence (such as domestic violence, economic exploitation, slavery, ecological destruction and war) cannot be ‘reformed’. We must work for abolition.
Finally, value your emotional health extremely highly. An empathic listener can help you feel your way through those times when you need to feel the sadness, pain, fear, anger and other valuable feelings that evolution gave you to enable a full recovery from the inevitable traumas of life. (Although the information is directed at soldiers who have been traumatised by war, the process as outlined in this article applies to anyone who needs emotional support to recover from difficult life experiences, however ‘trivial’: see ‘An Open Letter to Soldiers with “Mental Health” Issues’.)
If you don’t allow yourself to feel and express the so-called ‘negative’ feelings, you will soon find that your emotional responses to the joys of life will be unconsciously suppressed too.
And life without feelings is not life: it is ‘flatlining’.
***
Biodata: Robert has a lifetime commitment to understanding and ending human violence. He has done extensive research since 1966 in an effort to understand why human beings are violent and has been a nonviolent activist since 1981. He is the author of‘Why Violence?’ His email address is flametree@riseup.net and his website is here.