journal

To be able to think for myself, have my own identity, know what is me and what is not me, know what I like, dislike, want to do... it is all like a dream so far away. No one understands the pain, terror and complexity of being an SRA and Mind Control survivor. Everywhere I go, I have to look over my shoulder to see if "they" are following me again, trying to access me. I mean, even a simple phone call causes panic and paranoai inside. People think we are crazy and make everything up, well, I know that is not the case.

My mind spins and spins and I cannot move. Nothing seems real today again, life is just an imaginary world. I continue to wait day after day for my "Knight in Shining Armour" to come take me away. For the frog to jump in the palm of my hand so I can kiss him and turn him into a Prince and live happily ever after. "My Day Will Come", another type of programming they placed deeply in my inner most being.

I stare at the wall day after day, wondering, "Who Am I?" "Why can't I be real?", "Why can't I see myself when I look in the mirror?". I look again, seeing a total stranger looking back at me, someone I know nothing about, someone I do not recognize or remember seeing before. I wait, sitting silently in my rivers of tears, tears that no one sees, no one cared about, tears that cry not only tears, but also blood. To me it is blood I am crying, coming from the deepest part of my soul, my inner most being. It bleeds continiously throughout the days and nights. My soul crying in agony from the pain and torture I continue to endure on a daily basis.

Every word I hear, every thought I think triggers more programming. Layers and layers of programming consume me by noon. I walk in circles, run in circles. Where am I walking and running to? No one safe to talk to about anything, no where to run to. People say I built my own prison walls, prison walls only I can take down. It is me that lets no one in my life. "What is wrong with this picture?" This is also programming - to keep me isolated. Instead of talking to those I love and care for, the programming pulls me farther away into my own abyss of misery.

Pain, oh so much pain, how can I continue to live in the deep dark pit of pain? Day after day death consumes my mind. What is there to live for? I want so deeply to stand before Christ some day and hear Him say: "Well done thy good and faithful servant". That is my desire of my heart. Leaving the house is an impossibility so much of the time. How will He ever be able to say that to me? How will I ever be able to stand before Him and account for all the lies I have lived? For all the lies I have told? For not being who He wants me to be? For not being stronger than this?

Confusion - what is reality? Sometimes everything is a dream, then life does not even exist. I am only a figment of my own imagination. Then comes the fog, white fog surrounds me and everything I see. What reality do I live in? Which one is real? What is real? Is anything real? I watch the man across the street talking to his wife, holding her hand, kissing her goodbye. Wondering what it would feel like I be human, to feel a gentle touch on my hand from someone who cared? To feel a loving tender hug from a mother or father. To feel something. To be someone. I live on strings, strings that are continuously pulled from one direction to another. Never feeling, thinking or doing the same things more than once, never having the same beliefs over and over, continuously changing minute by minute, from one state of mind to another, from one emotion to another. Not just by the minute, within seconds I change also. I am your puppet, just pull my strings and I will do anything that you want me to. Sound familiar? It is a song, it is also me. I am a puppet, an empty shell. I am Humpty Dumpty - no one can put me together again. I am shattered, shattered beyond belief. Shattered into such small pieces, that the pieces cannot be found. Pieces as small as a grain of sand. Grains of sand to be washed away by every small wave and tide that comes along. Big waves take many grains of sand with them. Take them into the undertoe, never again to be found. Grains of sand is what I am.