“My life has been like The Truman Show, only directed by David Lynch,” I wrote in my memoir.

So I enjoyed this review of The Truman Show – though the writer seems not to recognize the obvious (to me) parallels to the way MKUltra mind control subjects are treated. Or maybe he does, and he’s being subtle.

This tragicomedy hero’s journey is not a dark futuristic fiction. This is the dark reality for government mind control subjects right now.

To my surprise, this video mentions the “Truman Show Delusion,“ a “delusional diagnosis” in which people are convinced they are “stars of an imaginary reality show.” I suggest they are subjects of a real reality secret government program.

I suspect these diagnosed people are mind control subjects who’ve begun to figure out their reality, and then accidentally told a doctor in the mind control network, all ready to gaslight them and discourage them from trusting their intuition. 

One of the themes of the movie is how Truman has been in love with a woman he was prohibited from being with, and was instead set up with a different woman and encouraged to marry her, which he did. “Even when it comes to love, he didn’t have a choice, and his entire life’s been forced down this narrow path.” Oh God, I so relate.

I know I have been manipulated into relationships with men who later turned out to be my handlers. I’d look back and see all the signs I’d had, all the evidence, remember my mental resistance, and then all the arguments I’d heard in my head, argued with, then finally accepted about staying with that man. Afterward I also recognized the strange circumstances that had brought us together.

Once I had walked into a bar, saw the man who would become my second husband, saw his bright smile, returned it, pointed at him and made a face as of to say, “just like we agreed,” and he nodded.

For years afterward, I would recall that “second time we met” and ask him, “When was the first time we met?” He seemed to know but always denied it and quickly changed the subject and the final time expressed irritation at me for asking again.

I felt so much anxiety in those relationships, like something was off, nothing was normal, but I couldn’t understand what it was because I’d never experienced normal.

I began therapy, and began the very long journey of remembering. And grieving.

The entire movie, the narrator says, people wear 1950s clothes, a decade associated with “a more wholesome time in America.” Yes, and it’s also the decade that MKUltra technology expanded its practice across the US and Canada to 80 or more institutions, military and educational. I was born onto one in 1952: Student Housing on the campus of UCDavis.

Truman‘s crisis and breakthrough happened rather quickly when Truman was around 30 years old. My crisis simmered through my 30s, then went critical when I was 41.

I just turned 73 this week, and I’m still waiting for my freedom.

Truman’s story, the narrator says, is, “basically being a slave that was born into servitude.”

Totally relate.

….

Didn’t mean to go on so long. Writing these words makes me think I should feel more furious.

But I go numb instead. And try to be philosophical instead of emotional. Anything else feels like more could erupt than I could release without hurting myself. So I keep quiet and still.

Seeing Truman’s success in the ending makes wonder if I’m supposed to fight harder. I’ve tried to. I feel I was born to. And I have amazing spiritual help that comes to my aid so often, it seems wrong to not keep trying, even at my age.

But I have fought – and have been beaten back, most recently by Lyme disease, a remote controlled highway crash, people sabotaging my vehicles and home, a mystery illness that takes me to the edge of death where I feel the reality of skin cells breaking down on their way to soup turning into soil in the earth. I think my helpers on other realms are asking me if this is really what I want. I think so, but I’m not sure. And slowly they help me heal.

Truman‘s lifelong fear of water was “set up,” the writer opines. In other words, a psy op, a psychological operation to help his controllers for the rest of his life keep him on the island.

They set me up too. Someone seemed to have set the goal for me to be a sexual performer, so even though I was very modest, I was repeatedly cast as a stripper, a prostitute, and even a sexual spy – when I only wanted to be a dancer.

When I entered puberty, my mother refused to buy me a bra, and one day she removed all my very nice clothes and replaced them with clothes apparently from the Salvation Army. I suddenly had only three skirts I’d never seen before, all seemingly from the 40s (this was the 60s). And three blouses, all dingy white and sheer.

For three days, I went to school hunched over, in shame. On the third day, I walked alone from the lunch cafeteria toward our classerooms when I was grabbed over my eyes from behind and dragged backward in a circle, flinging my arms out to try to regain my balance, then pulling my arms back in to hide my chest, causing repeated bursts of laughter from, it seemed, about 20 classmates.

Then I was dropped in the dirt. I wonder today how many in that school and my high school, maybe the entire town are involved in some way in the mind control program. Would be convenient.

At home, my mother was ready to take me to go shopping. To my surprise, she bought me two stylish dresses at a department store teen section. Back at home she shaved my very hairy legs, plucked my unibrow into two, and let me begin to use a little makeup. All in one day.

Sounds to me like some psychiatrist had a theory he wanted to test: See if he could make me fear being anything but beautiful. (Curse him.) In the coming year, my mother would spend a great deal of time helping me build a beautiful wardrobe with matching shoes and purses, and encouraging me in makeup and hairstyling.

Then I would discover dance, the easiest means to an altered state of consciousness, and I would be in love with dance ever after. To dance in the high school plays, I had to sing well enough to make the varsity choir, so I took lessons. We also had to audition and accept whatever parts we were cast for. My final play after high school I was cast as a stripper. The next year in two other situations I would be cast as a prostitute and then Mata Hari, the infamous sexual spy during World War I. I chose none of these, resisted every one, then went along, doing as I was told.

Before another year was up I ran away from home and college and the secret society I had been persuaded to “check out” after resisting vehemently for months.

I understand now they were meant to be my controllers for the rest of my life. I didn’t know that then, but I sensed it, as if my parents were turning their control over to them.

The whole thing was giving me the creeps, a lot like Truman, and I ran away, quit, broke whatever solemn vows I’d made in that ceremony for which I am entirely amnesic, except for one second when “I” opened my eyes then hid back inside, unknowing. Which mind control alter was out for that I don’t know.

I crashed through one of my walls in the sense that I finally knew there was reality to what I’d always felt but the people around me had always denied, calling me “delusional.” Regardless of their lifelong denial and betrayal, I finally knew and had the proof. But nothing that anyone else would ever be able to see and then agree with.

And Truman was also alone, in a liminal, unfamiliar world with no one there to witness what he sees. But he’s supposedly free?

I don’t feel free yet. And I wonder now how Truman could ever escape fully from the lifelong imprinting he received from the corporation that literally owns him.

I’m still waiting.

And waiting to meet another mind control subject who knows they’re a mind control subject. In my world, I am all alone, just as They planned, and continue to control. I’m the only one I know like me.

Of course, nearly everyone but the most isolated primitive tribes on the planet is somewhat mind controlled, taught to avoid certain subjects, deride and laugh at other subjects, fixate on things, ignore other things.

“But some of us got special treatment.” (As I narrated in my 3-minute video about my memoir, Rattlesnake Fire: a memoir of extra dimensional experience.)

Watching this discussion of the show was very affirming. It’s good to know some recognize our plight.

It’s comforting. Little else is comforting in this world of organized deceit.