Give me a jeweled dagger

 Page Seventy-five

sehnen posted on Jun 27, 2008 | views: 61 | Tags: no rightsx, no sayx

fri 27 june 2008    Greenfield                                                                                                    

Have to hurry; clock is always ticking on the public computer time. Guess I’ll go on with the very public testing of me, without my consent, that began last Tuesday, the 17th. That first afternoon it was the disgusting food, but I didn’t reconginze it as a test right away. The next afternoon, Wed 18th, it was a hissy fit. Again at one of those free meals. One of the guys — let’s call him Wally — who’s been in my face all the time since I came to Greenfield was sitting at another table, which was fine with me. Then he got up and came over to sit near me. It really uspet me, as I’m pretty sure he’s one of Matthew’s pals, and I like them to keep more distance. And lately I’ve begun to mouth at some of Matthew’s pals when they don’t keep their distance (men hovering outside the ladies’ room door when I pee, pals of Matt’s sitting right beside me while I type, or hovering a foot away when I’m shopping, etc, etc.). I was really quite upset, and absolutely sick of this guy being in my face all these months, so I said to W., “You frigging little troll, go back where you were.” He took exception to this, as anyone would. Then he proceeded to throw a real drama-queen hissy fit that the whole room could hear, after which he returned to his original seat. How was an aspie supposed to react to this fit, I wonder? What do the textbooks say” I have no idea. Haven’t come across it in my reading. But this particular aspie reacts to verbal hysteria with the deer-in-the-headlights, frozen in place thing. It’s one of the few situations in which I can keep my eyes glued right to the eyes of the other person. I am entirely focussed on the fit, on watching the enemy’s eyes to see how far this enemy is going to go. Will there be blows? Will things be broken and thrown? How far will the irrationality go? Did I pass or fail this particular unauthorized test? And is acting like a true aspie, if indeed I even did so, a pass, or just another one of my failures?

Update 22 July 2009:   Anger. At the things Matthew had told me about my life. Because I believed him, there was anger that he and his people should handle the protection in this way. All undercover, all behind my back, all without telling me (except the little that Matthew himself told me) and showing me IDs. On the day I wrote this, I didn’t know about feds and mobs yet, only that something criminal was going on, and that I was sick and tired of being followed and watcjed by people I thought at the time were ordinary undercover police. Anger at this testing in public without my consent. I’m sure my insurance paid for it, but who ordered it, who asked for it? It lasted about a month, and at the end of it, Matthew told me I have Asperger’s. Anger at all the secrecy. Anger that would come later at being dragged into the mentally ill world of organized crime and the equally mentally ill world of federal agents. All of that anger is still with me. Matthew and a lot of his boys from last year are still here, and what does that mean? I asked him on April 27 of this year if it was over, this protection crap, but he wouldn’t answer me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~  website  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(gecko at whatonearthcatalog.com)

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ziidjian

Page Seventy-two

(back to the copying from Soulcast)

sehnen posted on Jun 25, 2008 | views: 69 | Tags: whispers to mex

wed 25 june 2008    Greenfield

So…  Ziidjian. Today I return to the stolen animals. A few days ago I talked about Chan, his brother. Like Chan, Ziidjian (pron. zeejan) was slaughtered by the local “shelter” on 24 March of this year. Ziidjian and Chan were a lot alike, and a lot like their mostly-Siamese mother. Shy, aloof, etc. But Ziidjian had a lot more of the famous Siamese high-strung nature than the rest of his family. And he was extremely fearful of new people and strange animals.

In 2003, we were still in the home of my housemate who had died, and we had a bit of yard. Since Chan and Ziidjian had been indoor cats for a long time, I decided to take them to the great outdoors again. They were having a fine time. But Ziidjian had slipped into the abutting yard, and the next thing I heard was horrible yowling. A cat I hadn’t seen before was facing off with Ziidjian under a pine tree. I knew his nerves well enough to chase the other cat away, then wait for Ziidjian to calm down before trying to pick him up. I miscalculated. Picked him up too soon, while he was still in panic mode. Sank his fangs to the root into my hand. The pain was diabolical, but from many years with animals, I knew better than to pull my hand away, which would have resulted in the tearing of my flesh being added to the puncture wounds — and stitches. I waited. Eventually, when his fear was spent, Ziidjian removed his fangs. Within two hours, I knew I had blood poisoning, septicemia. I didn’t care. We were being evicted (a legal, above-board eviction after my housemate’s death), and had no place to go. As far as I could tell, we were all doomed anyway, and if I died of blood poisoning given to me by someone I loved as big as the sky, well, there were lots worse ways to die. And I would have my family around me when it happened (now that is ruined too). Over the next 48 hours the condition got much worse. I am stubborn (and I truly was hoping that I’d just die in my sleep of the infection). I loathe doctors, nurses and hospitals, a residue of my always-at-death’s-door childhood. I already had a doctor appointment set up for something else, so why not just hang on till then. If I didn’t make it, oh well. I waited the 48 hours till the appointment, and the doctor was not well pleased. He threatened me with the hospital and IV antibiotics. I said I would release myself if he did that. Bla bla bla.

                                                                        

                                       (10 mos. old; black cat, white rabbit)

I didn’t die. And that time, in 2003, my family and my life were not destroyed. Not until 2008. The scars from Ziidjian’s bite that day sit here on my hand and are dearer to me than I can say, now that he has been executed. I wish, I wish, that he had done the same thing to his killers. Sunk his fangs in to the root and infected them. I carry the marks of his intense fear, a fear as intense as my own, and a reminder not to get overconfident. I’ve been taking care of animals since I was about 4, and have learned a great deal by patient study and observation, and by reading books. But I say from time to time that animals can always surprise. Witness what happened to Steve Irwin, a one-off nut, a tireless and fearless animal person, and a hero of mine. And I believe that if Steve had been given a choice of his method of death, he would have chosen being killed by a frightened animal over anything else. He got that death.

I wasn’t so lucky. I survived the blood poisoning given to me by a frightened animal, by someone I loved deeply. When I think of my stolen and murdered Ziidjian, I think many things. Memories of a bossy kitten that I called King Z; memories of a grown-up cat who had a terror of strangers; of the little gurgling sounds in his throat when he ate something fresh I had cooked for the cats. The  serious, earnest look in his eyes when he would make a very high-pitched meow and ask me for something to eat. The way he would rub his slim body against me. And I look at my right hand where the one puncture scar remains, the only one of the five that was deep enough never to fill in, and I thank him for this scar to remember him by. I wish again that that infection had been the end. I much prefer it to the ending my animals and I did get.

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Update 18 July 2009 A couple of the scars from the bite that gave me blood poisoning are still here (though one is now almost gone), but the dearly loved boy who gave them to me is long dead. How I always failed them by being an oddball, by being unacceptable to others, and those others would so often deliberately try to hurt me and bring me down. It’s because a landlady and a crime-connected tenant hated me that Ziidjian is dead, that others are dead, that I remain without a home. It’s also because of lazy and indifferent social workers who didn’t like me much either, and so did not do their jobs. I’m used to being disliked and found unacceptable, but what I’ve never understood is why so many who have disliked me have felt the burning desire to go for my jugular in some way, and have acted on that desire. If they don’t like me, why can’t they just leave me alone and let me be odd. Wrongly and cruelly done.

                                   ~~~~~  website  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~    Share  

                                           (part of the book Stolen Stars)

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through a glass darkly

Page Sixty-eight

(returning, after long hiatus, to the copying of the Soulcast posts)

sehnen posted on Jun 23, 2008 | views: 61 | Tags: in a forgotten voicex

mon 23 june 2008   Greenfield                

A digression today from my bill-rätsel, which is for someone else anyway. Instead I’m going to tell you about something I figured out today. Well, I’m not actually going to tell it to you, except to say that the thing I figured out is no small matter, and that I have to wait until the next time I see Matthew to hit him with it before I can say much more. His reaction will be important.

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So now let’s further suspend regular business today by discussing the Asperger’s tests that have been conducted on me in public places and without my consent. It makes a change from the regular DMH idiocy. the first test was last Tuesday, the 17th. It was at one of those free suppers they do. I admit that I did not recognize this as a test until a day and a half later, after a lot thinking. At the time it was just supper. So everyone got in line at the serving tables except me, as I was tired of standing in line with people who irritate. And I was very hungry, which makes me rather bitchy anyway. I  was waiting for the line to go down. But then my friend, the one with the brain injury, came to the table with his food and sat down beside me. I looked over at his food, and before I could remember my manners I said: “That’s crap. I’m not going to eat it.” It was absolutely disgusting. I kept taking my eyes away from it, but then they’d be drawn back again by the horror of it. Back and forth and back and forth went my eyes, the whole time he was eating. Finally I couldn’t stand even being near that food anymore, scanned the room in utter shock to see that everyone was chowing away as if there were nothing at all wrong with it, and went off to buy a slice of pizza.

And what was this heinous, disgusting stuff on the plate that filled me with loathing? It was stuff I have been eating all my life, though I have never eaten the three of them together. Canned corn, canned peaches, canned chicken soup. All of it slimy from the can, all of it a pale, sickly yellow. Maybe I would have been okay if there hadn’t been so much of it. But on each plate there was a mountain of peaches touching a mountain of corn. Anyway, I’ve been eating these foods all my life and while it’s true I never eat them all together like that, I still don’t understand why it disgusted me so much. It disgusts me now thinking about it.

I’ve read a little bit about Asperger’s people and their little tantrums. These tantrums can come over a number of things, and one of them is food. Many Aspies have weird neurobiological reactions to certain foods. I believed I did not have them. Tantrums of mine were not allowed in my family, with one exception. I was allowed to tantrum when iIwas being taken to the hospital asthma treatment, and at no other time. Any desire to tantrum over any food was pressured out of me long ago. And also, I am my father’s daughter. That is, like him, I love food, and I love many different kinds of food, and I have his cooking knack. But I guess I was wrong about the neurobiological food antipathies. I guess I do have at least a few of them.

Update 15 July 2010: This is the day last year when I finally abandoned plotline A (that the men watching and following me were working for the DMH) and accepted, after fighting it off for a long time, plotline B (that something criminal was going on in my life). In the next couple of days I would confront Matthew about this. I’ve quoted this in another place in this blog too, but to me it’s worth repeating:   

                       me:   You guys watching me and following me. It’s got nothing                                    to do with     
                                the DMH,  does it?
                     him:    No-o.
                       me:   It’s something criminal, isn’t it?
                     him:    Ye-es.

 

And so it began. All the anxiety and anger that eventually became so big, slowly began. Layered over the anxiety and confusion and anger I already had about what had become of my animals, it would become way too much.

And I could certainly be wrong about this incident at the church meal having been one of the tests. Maybe just coincidence.  And yet, there were certain people there that  night who were not usually there (before or since), who were very intently watching me and my reactions to the food.

~~~~~~~~~website  ~~~~~~~~~~~~

(glass knot at www.gaelsong.com)

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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2008-2011 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.

 

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If I’m not human…

Page Sixty-five…    another post from Soulcast

sehnen posted on Jun 21, 2008 | views: 71 | Tags: death is speakingx

sat 21 june 2008   Greenfield

Today is P.N.’s birthday. I often wished, when I had my life and made wishes, that my birthday were on the other solstice, the winter, because while I was living my own life I really loved the winter solstice. And my actual birthday is only a few weeks off.  Anyway, wishes, like everything else, are all in the past, except the one wish that remains.

I was going to discuss today how my female dog, Brainse, may well have come to belong to the sociopathic, amoral, psychotic, deep-pocketed landlady who illegally threw us out. That would be due to the tender mercies of Shirley Temple at the DMH, who seems to have decided that she didn’t want me having my animals, and looked around for people to give them to. I had mentioned to her several times that the landlady had always coveted Brainse, and she got really, really interested in that. It was one of the few times she seemed like she had a pulse.

And also I was going to talk about the experiments and tests conducted on me in public places, without my consent, and how truly twisted these DMH people (and CSS, and others) turn out to be, and how not a single neurotypical participating in these juvenile, unkind, and non-consentual activities ever stops to think how this psychologically aggressive and intrusive behavior makes me feel. How worthless, unregarded, disrespected, how like a piece of dogshit that anyone at all who takes a notion can kick around or step on. I always thought psychobabble boneheads had to have consent to do testing and experimentation, and that it was done in private, not on streets and in churches and restaurants. But, like my landlady and the psycho-tenant and the cops and the sheriff’s department, the doctors and social workers and whatever do not have to abide by the law when they are dealing with a piece of garbage like me, and they don’t have to behave morally, either. They add daily, hourly to my resolve.

Update 14 July 2009: Unless and until I’m told otherwise, I still believe that the landlady who illegally threw us out ended up with my dogs and euthanized the male because she didn’t want to deal with his epilepsy. It was the female she’d always taken a shine to, anyway. I still believe this came about because of an agreement made behind my back between the landlady and Shirley Temple at the DMH. Until someone tells me otherwise. And have I ever been allowed to visit my dog? Of course not.

And I still believe that Asperger’s testing was done on me in  public last year. Matthew took me to a couple of the tests. He answered a question for me about another one, one I didn’t understand the purpose of. And when they were over, he told me I have Asperger’s.

The anger is in this orginal post too. It will stay. All the emotions that were pulling me away from the grieving I should have been doing — hope, belief, maybe some denial, confusion, anxiety and anger — had to get written into these blogs every day so I could carry on at all, and they propelled me to keep moving, keep trying during all the months I was waiting for Matthew and his bunch to tell me where they wanted me to live.

Matthew knew I expected them to tell me where they wanted me, because I told him this. If it wasn’t going to go that way in my case, he should have told me.

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To sleep, perchance to…

Page Fifty-three

sehnen posted on Jun 18, 2008 | views: 61 | Tags: moments burstingx

wed 18 june 2008    Greenfield

It was 15 weeks yesterday since eviction day. I’m still counting. Lots of us Asperger’s people like to keep accurate tallies of things. We’re rather obsessive about stuff like that. I’ve learned a lot about Asperger’s in the last three years, and keep learning more every week. I didn’t go looking for the information when it started, it came to me over the radio. But instantly, that first story, I knew myself in the things the story was saying. And that has never changed. The more I learn, the more convinced I am. I diagnosed my cat’s diabetes in 1997, my girlfriend’s lupus in 1992, and there are more cases of me diagnosing human and animal illnesses correctly, as confirmed by doctors. I suppose if I’d gone into some medical career, I might have had a strength for diagnosis. So I have diagnosed my own Asperger’s, and I believe I’m right.

Very exhausted today, can’t do much. Want to get back to telling about the animals here in this blog. When will the energy for it come?

Update 29 June 2009:  Just as he told me about the criminal things going on in my life, Matthew was the one who told me I have Asperger’s, in July of 2008. Tests were run on me in public places (how did my “protectors” pull that off?), and when they were over, Matthew told me I had it. I believed him, just as I believed him about the protection and all the rest. I’d thought for years that I had it anyway. I’m beginning to read more books on Asperger’s because it’s all I can read now. All my life, since I first learned to read, I read with animals around me. Now, without them, I’m only able to read this Asperger’s stuff.

                                                                         

To sleep, perchance to dream. There are no dreams left. Moments burst now only with the sadness for what was stolen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  website  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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message for…

Page Thirty-eight         (copy from soulcast)      

sehnen posted on Jun 04, 2008 | views: 61 | Tags: grow upx, flibx

wednesday 4 june 2008     greenfield

Another message for that certain someone:      ~~~~   Bill built   ~~~

Message for Flibbertyjibbet: I’m not going to say what language it is. If you don’t know, then you don’t. I’m not a teacher anymore. And kindly put tags on your own blog and leave my tags alone. Thanks so much, anne.

Update 15 June 2009: Well, I was ticked at flibberty for putting a tag on my blog that wasn’t my own. Others have done it on a few occasions, and I don’t like it. Maybe it’s one of those Asperger’s don’t-mess-with-my-stuff things.

On another topic, it was about this time last year (15th June or so) that I first confronted Matthew on the sidewalk about his phony act. In my first few days in greenfield last year I knew that he and a few other men around me all the time were playacting: pretending to be drunks or crazies, when I could see in their eyes that they clearly were not. So this first time I confronted Matthew and told him he was just playing a madman and there was nothing wrong with him and why didn’t he get a real job (I thought he was watching me for the DMH at this point), he stayed with his act. He argued with me and ended up calling me a bitch and walking away. But the next time I would confront him (end of june 2008), it would be a different story. He would admit certain things, among them the fact that there was something criminal going on in my life.

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read…   Lifelines…   Spite and malice

 Share    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~    website 

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(geckos are still at www.whatonearthcatalog.com)

all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2008-2012 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.

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