Diary of a Marked Woman

Diary of a Marked Woman

Paris, August 2005

Shortly before the 15th Sophie called me on the phone. She got right into the subject matter without even asking how I was doing, which is a little rude considering the last time she saw me eight months ago I had a full cast on my leg. She said she needed her sewing machine and proposed to come over to pick it up. "Anyway, you still have Diane's machine don't you?" she asked to ease the pain of separation. "Oh," I said, "you mean, this old jalopy?" I said I would not let go of her machine until I got a new one. "I'll return it to you in two weeks!" she said to encourage me.

I remembered how, in the fall of 2002 Diane had brought me her old Singer from upstairs when she and my brother Norbert were living together on the 4th floor, and just a few days later Sophie had come to my place with her red-faced man friend carrying her sewing machine in his arms like a lead baby because the handle of the carrying case was broken. So she intended to come with a man to take the machine away.

I suspected it was a ruse to make me open my door to an unknown man who would kill me in my apartment with the full consent of my sister. It was her promise to return the machine in two weeks that convinced me of her murderous intent. I didn't show any enthusiasm to let go of the machine so she asserted ownership. I asked who had pocketed my inheritance to show her how ludicrous it was for her to use this argument. "By the way, are you informed of the latest developments in the procedure?" she asked. "What procedure?" I said.

I believe she and Mom were trying to make me believe that Sophie was suing Mom regarding Dad's estate to make me believe that they were not in cahoots. They had gone as far, among other theatrics, as having a man pretending to be a process server call me last February when I had my leg in a cast and make an appointment to bring me some papers only to be a no-show, his office later invoking bad weather when there was only a light snow flurry with the tiniest snowflakes I had ever seen. And I was never served any papers.

"So you're not letting me come and pick up my sewing machine?" she asked. "Noooo" I said quietly, and she hung up.

Fri. the 18th: I needed a new prescription for painkillers so I made an appointment with the doc who replaces Dr Dumonteil at 3 av. de Choisy while she's on vacation. Her name is Delon, like the actor. I spent some valuable time and energy the day before and on that day putting some order in the living room, hobbling about on my crutches..

So she came on Friday. She's a young doctor. I explained that I'm still in pain more than eight months after sustaining the fractures. I showed her my right knee, showing where it is deformed, saying my ankle hurts too from the immobilization and that I can't use stairs without crutches. She asked to see the left knee for comparison. I said the left one had been injured too fifteen years ago and didn't have its original shape so it was not good for comparison. But even without, it seems pretty obvious that my right knee is deformed, with a protrusion that shouldn't be there.

She asked what happened. "It was an aggression," I said and left it at that. "And what about the left knee?" she asked. "It was also an aggression," I said. "Someone is trying to get my skin but keeps missing me." (To get someone's skin is a French euphemism for killing.). "Have you filed a complaint?" she asked. "I can't because I'm under constant surveillance. My mail, my e-mail, my computer activities, my comings and goings, my phone, all my means of communication are under surveillance so it's a little discouraging," I said

She knelt down and probed my knee by pushing in some places with her thumb. I told her that she was the first doctor who actually touched my knee. All the others including those at the Pitié Hospital beween Dec. 31 and January 5th, and after I was discharged Drs Coulon (Feb, March) , Chanzy (April 1st) and Leonetti (June 28) only looked at the X-rays. "It's like I have the plague," I said. Indeed, I'm the plague puppy. None of what she did caused me any pain. Of course if she had made me extend my leg horizontally I would have screamed, but she didn't..

She asked if I had any other complaint so I told her about the eye pain I've been feeling for over a year now (it started in late July 04). I said the stabbing pains occur only when I'm lying in bed, that until the end of 04 they were only to my left eye but since the beginning of 05 they concerned both eyes, sometimes both at the same time, sometimes one or the other without any predictable pattern. I said that I didn't lose any visual acuity. She asked how long it took for the pain to go away, so I said between twenty minutes and three hours, though there have been times when the pain lasted the whole day.

She glanced on the table at the Hawaiian quilt I'm finishing and sais that it was very pretty so I spoke about it a bit, and about the fact that after quilting for a while one sticks the needle exactly where it should go in, and also I commented on the fact that sewing is a healthy way of releasing one's aggression, since the act of piercing fabric with a needle is equivalent to stabbing. She gave me a fearful look like I was some dangerous loony so I insisted that on a symbolic level, it was similar to stabbing, only sublimated to a creative endeavor. I wanted also to tell her what a disservice it was to have invented all these machines that replaced hand-sewing, hand-embroidery, hand-made lace etc. because it deprived women of this outlet for their aggression, therefore they expressed it in un-healthy ways. Maybe child abuse was due in part to this deprivation .... But after the doc's stupid reaction I didn't express this reflexion.

Then she took out her sthetoscope and blood pressure gizmo and said "I'm going to examine you now." So I submitted although I know all my vital signs are in a healthy range. Then she took out a special flash light and shone it in my eyes and asked me to look right and left, and when she was done with her instruments she asked me to close my eyes and touch the tip of my nose with my right then my left index finger. "Oh, I have excellent hand-eye coordination. Can't you tell from my sewing?" I said. But she insisted so I did what she asked, then she asked me to swivel my hands right and left, exactly like you do with babies while singing this nursery rhyme "les petites marionnettes". I think she was trying to make me believe that she had doubts about my mental sanity; Then she asked me to walk so I complained and gripped my chair and stood up slowly and clumsily, and walked to the end of the room and back, limping pitifully.

Then she wrote me the medical insurance form and while she was filling it out I went to my bedroom get a new check book because I had finished the old one. She asked me if there was one or two t's in "Brigitte". Stupid cunt didn't know, or she wanted me to believe that she had never heard of anybody with this name, especially me. When I was back I saw that in the box where the price of the consultation is she wrote "20 euros" whereas Dr Dumonteil had charged me 30 euros when she came last February. "Oh, if it's only twenty euros I'm going to pay you cash," I said. "I wrote twenty euros?" she asked, "This is the price of a consultation at the office. The actual price is thirty euros. I'm going to write another form." So she did and I wrote her a check for thirty euros. I can't prove it but I suspect she wanted me to waste a check and make me write two checks. However I outsmarted her unintentionally when I said that I would pay cash if it was only twenty euros.

Then she wrote me a prescription for pain-killers, renewable one time. (I take two pills before going to sleep), and she asked me if I wanted her to write me a letter of introduction to an eye-doctor. She said the problem may not be an eye-problem but a manifestation of "névralgie faciale". This is a condition I remember my mother speaking about many, many years ago, saying it is very painful. I never heard about it from anybody else but my mother so when the doc mentioned it I automatically thought about my mom.

She said I didn't need a letter of introduction to see a physical therapist because I already had one and she insisted that I see one, saying the pain I feel may be due to the atrophy of my thigh muscles so it might go away as my muscles build up. It sounded very logical and I felt all stupid for having thought that I should first take care of the cause of the pain before re-building my muscles. But since I hadn't thought about my knee problem in medical terms lately, I was not ready with the retort that I felt something move inside that shouldn't, and felt severe pain at the front of my knee when I extend my leg while sitting, and this was certainly not due to the atrophy of my thigh muscles. So I asked about "balneotherapy" since Dr Leonetti had prescribed it, and she said that the advantage was that I wouldn't feel the weight of my limb in the water. "OK but the weight is precisely a muscle-building resistance so what's the point of eliminating resistance when one is trying to build muscle mass?" I wondered after she had left.

I wasn't very enthusiastic. Getting wet meant I'd have to dry myself, I told her, which required some extra physical movements when it's so problematic already to do the minimum. Back in 1990 I didn't do any water therapy and was back on my two feet without crutches within four months. She said I could at least give it a try a couple of times. I said I'd prefer to go to the closest physical therapist even if he wasn't equipped for balneotherapy.

In the course of her visit, she had mentioned "your accident" several times, so when she was done writing the letter of introduction to the eye-doctor I said "You know, it makes me cringe when I hear you speak of my "accident" after I told you it was an aggression." She gave me a sheepish look and said that she didn't mean to upset me

After she was gone I read the letter of intro to the eye-doctor. At the end she mentioned as "antecedents" my two knee injuries, resulting from two "AVPs" which mean "Accident sur la Voie Publique". I don't see the relevance of a knee-injury to an eye complaint, unless they are both the result of an aggression by the same person. So without wanting to she actually highlighted that these two complaints have the same cause, which is not a medical condition but an aggression. (I'll explain later the aggression to my eyes.) But apparently she mentioned the knee injuries to the eye-doctor only to have the excuse of writing "AVP". You bitch doctor, spoke to my mom before coming, huh? Think that just because you have a medical degree I'm going to be impressed and take your opinion for Gospel truth? Think again.

She said that she didn't have any addresses for any physical therapists or eye-doctors but that she would look into Dr Dumonteil's address book and call me later from the office, which she did. It seems to me that she wanted to pretend that she had not heard or had not believed what I had told her about my privacy being violated, my phone being tapped. If she had had the slightest amount of respect for my feelings, she would not have given me this info on the phone , EVEN IF SHE DIDN'T BELIEVE MY PHONE WAS TAPPED, AND JUST TO SPARE ME SOME ANGUISH. But she was dead set in her attempts to brush off my concerns as irrational, so she acted as if I hadn't said anything, as if my words were of no value whatsoever, in the same way she wrote to the eye-doctor "According to the patient, there is no loss of visual acuity" as if my statements were not to be believed. When I was hospitalized after my near-miss back in 1990, the hospital personnel wrote my complaints without adding any innuendo. If someone complains of pain to a doctor, the complaint can't be anything other than "according to the patient!" So why did she (and Dr Dumonteil before her) find it necessary to add this phrase which implies that I am not to be believed?

So if she believes I have a mental disease, why didn't she say so? Why didn't she write me a letter of intro to a psychiatrist or a therapist? Her behavior is inconsistent. Either she thinks I'm loony and she does something about it as a doctor, or she thinks I'm not mentally ill and she takes my words seriously.

Sometime after her visit I googled "névralgie faciale" and found that it is located to only one half of the face including inside the mouth.and nose when the NERF TRIJUMEAU is concerned. When the NERF GLOSSO- PHARYNGIEN is concerned, this pain on the face happens only to people older than sixty: scroll down to "glosso-pharyngien". Conclusion: my condition has nothing to do with "névralgie faciale".

Excruciating eye pain: Here is my view about the eye problem I have been suffering of since July 28, 2004: (Incidentally, it was the same night the electric company cut off the power at midnight)

Because the sharp, shooting pains occur only when I'm in bed, I always thought that these pains were due to an act of aggression, not to a disease. It's as if the aggressor can hit me in the (bull's) eye only when I'm motionless in my bed, which makes a lot of sense.

First I thought that the means of harming me was black magic because I couldn't explain it any other way and it is so evil for a person to torture another remotely, without the victim seeing her aggressor. It is so cowardly for the perp. I never doubted it was anybody else but my mother ordering this despicable routine to be repeated several times every day between approx 3AM and noon, for 365 days and one month now. Assuming an minimum of three attacks per 24 hours every single day, the total is 3 x (365+30) = 1,185 attacks by August 28, 2005! Can anybody fathom the depth of my mother's hatred for me?

When she insisted that I see an eye-doctor last December 8, without accusing her I told her I thought the pain was caused not by a physical condition but by attacks by black magic, so there was no need to see a doctor. "It's funny that you think it's not a disease but an aggression," she said. I added that I didn't trust the medical profession because I had been betrayed in the past by doctors and dentists, and it would be very easy for the doctor to betray me and have an assassin sneak up on me while I was having my eyes examined. "I can just see myself sitting on an examination chair in a darkened room with just a little light and the doctor telling me to relax..." I said

And then last March when we made arrangements for Mother to come and help me because I hadn't had my bedsheets changed in two and a half months, she said she had made an appointment for me (without asking me first) with a doctor av. d'Italie and I said I wouldn't go.

Some time later, while speaking on the phone with her, I suddenly remembered that when I was in Rockland Psych. Hosp. in 2001 Sophie had written me about feeling the same kind of sharp shooting pain in an arm, so I told her about it, and a few days later I had another reminiscense: it was of an article I read on the web in February or March 2003, about non-lethal weapons being used as instruments of torture. So the next time I spoke to mom I told her the means of aggression to my eyes must be some kind of non-lethal weapon. Then in the course of the following phone conversation we had a week or so later, she said that she tought that Sophie must be involved with some kind of sect. I said I doubted it because I didn't get the impression my sister had much religious feelings. So Mom said something like "But there's religion and religion. I'm not necessarily speaking of a religious sect in the positive sense." So without coming out in the open (to maintain deniability) she was suggesting that my sister was involved in satanism.

In this manner she was denying that my eye-torture was caused by a non-lethal weapon at the same time she was pointing the finger at my sister-the-satanist, denying that she, mom, was the author of this torture, lest I conclude that if both my sister and me experienced the same kind of pain, there was a strong probability that the author was our mother. Capisce?

This maneuver reminded me of the desperate stomping on a small fire that threatens to escalate.

After my non-lethal epiphany I did some research and found that the non-lethal weapon responsible for the eye-torture I've been suffering is probably some kind of microwave gun bbelonging to a class named by the Pentagon Active Denial Systems or ADS for short. I know for certain that these electromagnetic waves can go through walls and that the working principle in microwaves is to cause the water molecules to agitate under the surface, so that must be why my eyes are burning hot and my body too, because very often the eye-torture is accompanied by a sensation of heat over my entire body which makes me kick away my blanket until I cool down and draw it back on.

All the following links were found through Google "Active Denial Systems"

Excellent primer by Absolute Astronomy with links to all the tech scientific terms

Here it says that at some frequencies microwaves can penetrate walls

the Pentagon's zapper courtesy of Raytheon. Handheld model on the drawing board as of 2001. Maybe operational already in 2004?

defensetech archives

Rense article

abc.net Australia article

Read the two yellow boxes! In first yellow box: "ADS: a bully's wet dream". In second yellow box, Marine Col. Karcher says ADS are abolutely not intended or built for torture. If he says so!

So these microwave weapons called "Active Denial Systems" or ADS for short are non-lethal. When you get zapped it hurts like hell but it doesn't last more than a few seconds you ninny, IF the guy handling it is not a sadistic psycho or an untrained bloke (and come to think of it, it's hard these days to find someone who is neither!) It won't kill ya, don't you understand, it isn't called "non-lethal" for nothing!. Oh! All right then. But wait!!!...

Israeli researchers in an article dated July 25 05 say that microwaves "like those emitted by cellphones" (or ADS's) may, after all, cause :
irreparable damage to the eyes But I'm not convinced because they did their tests on dead calve's eyes in Petri dishes and I find it unsciientific to extrapolate and apply their conclusions to live humans and, er, I find the microscopic photograph of "bubbles" proving that the liquid on the cornea is "boiling" a little farfetched. Are they pulling the reader's leg or what? And what about all these graphs? And why show us the mug of the chief scientist? None of the articles about the dangers of cell phones say that there is a direct danger to the eyes. They all say, with reason, that the microwaves radiate into the brain from the cell phone when it's placed against the ear. What the Israeli "scientists" say applies to a microwave aimed directly at the eyes, whereas this is not the primary function of cell phones. Although they refer to cell phones, they do not cay that cell phones damage the eyes. They say that microwaves "like those used in cell phones" seem to cause irreversible damage the eyes (if exposure is repeated and of a certain duration). So what appliance are they referring to if they are not saying that cell phones are dangerous to the eyes? What appliance if not a microwave non-lethal weapon? And if this is so, why don't they say it clearly? Why all this obfuscation? Methinks this is black propaganda to scare me and make me GET MY EYES EXAMINED. But as I said earlier, I suspect this is to draw me into a trap and this is the reason why I won't go to the eye-doctor. Stuff this in your pipe and smoke it, Mother.

Oh, another thing, I mean TWO things, about Mother and microwaves, for those of you who might be tempted to ask how on earth my mother could get her hands on an ADS eye-zapper.

Number one is the fact that she asked me a few questions about microwaves -NOT microwave OVENS- shortly after my return from the USA in 2002. I told her I never owned a microwave oven because I don't like this technology. She asked what I knew about it anyway, so I said that it had been discovered by the Pentagon, like many new technologies it had its origin in the military. I added that in Rockland Psych Hosp. there were microwave ovens in all the TV rooms for residents to heat food or drinks. I said that I used it to heat water to make Nescafé and shook my head at the stupidity of it. "Imagine," I said, "heating a cup of water in a microwave oven!" What I'm driving at is that my mom asked me these question about the microwave technology to make me believe that she herself didn't know anything about it, or to check if I was aware of the existence of microwave non-lethal weapons, or both.

No wonder then that some time after I moved into my apartment, my neighbor Nora Chenni who is mom's tenant and her snitch too, invited me over for coffee, and instead of giving me fresh coffee she nuked old coffee in the microwave and placed it in front of me, together with a can of orange soda which was impossible to open while a large bottle 3/4 full of O.J. stood on the table right in front of me. I knew right away that it was a put-down session so I avoided the maximum damage.

Number two is the circumstancial evidence of her strong attraction to covert operations:
- Hidden espionage library in the basement in the early 60's, series on "OSS 117" and "SAS" paperbacks while in the living room there were catholic magazines and religious books.
- Said that she worked for "the Ministry of Agriculture" before meeting Dad:

In an interview with the New York Times (after 1993) a certain Dutchman named Van Gogh said that he worked in the field of Intelligence, and that in order to protect their cover, intel workers said to non-initiates that they worked for the Ministry of Agriculture.This made me think immediately about what Mom used to say and I clipped the article.

And then, when in the Spring of 2003 I mentioned this to Sophie as I was walking her to her bus-stopshe, she said something like "So what? There's nothing wrong with working for the Ministry of Agriculture". As I elaborated to make the point, she kissed me good-bye while we were crossing the wide Massena boulevard, so of course, having kissed her good-bye I turned around and that was the end of the conversation. And just before we reached the boulevard, I told her I had found out about trauma-based programming and cruelty done to young children for the specific purpose of using them as mind-controlled tools, and that might be the reason why my mother tortured me through dental sessions at the dentist's when I was around 3 or 4. She changed the subject immediately, speaking about her own grandchildren who were being victimized for the very same purpose right then, and she didn't sound upset about it.

Going back to the Dutch intelligence agent, strangely enough last November 4 his son, a documentary filmmaker, was attacked while riding his bike and he died as a result. The assailant was a Muslim extremist. He pinned on the victim a message calling for jihad . The motive was that van Gogh, Jr. was making a film about Muslim extremism. At least he didn't pretend that it was an accident. And less than two months later, on December 31st, 2004, I was myself assaulted by a pedestrian while riding my bike!

Did my intellimom get the idea of the means-of-attack through the intel back channels or from the mainstream media?

These are only a few threads of circumstancial evidence leading to the inference that my mom iconnected with the intel community. And when you consider that the lines get blurred between intelligence special ops, organized crime, politics and finance, and when you know in addition that the Pentagon has tried to harness the power of psychics for military and intelligence purposes (the Montauk Project) and that in a document named "Mindwar"< you have proof that black magic and Satanism are intrinsic to the author's concept of psychological warfare, and considering the relentless psy-war my family has been waging against me since the very beginning of my existence and that no matter where I go they follow me there,I don't see why I should shy from the inference that my Mom has been using motherhood as a cover for all these nearly sixty years and claiming that she was "sans profession" like a good traditional housewife, while in reality she never stopped working for an intel outfit and using the knowledge she gained for her own self-serving purpose. Who knows, maybe she volunteered for some psy-experiments that she conducted on me, on my siblings, without our informed consent, and got paid for it!

And by the way, this story in 1965 or 66 that she met Henry Viaud in the train while traveling to Paris to compete in a singing contest... For all the years I saw him on and off, he was always driving a car so they didn't meet in a train. Weren't they rather colleagues in the intel outfit?

Now about the black propaganda:

Similarity between tooth torture and eye torture, gang rape, assassination attempt in 1990 and 2004: great care was taken to insure untraceability. Why go to the trouble of making it untraceable? Because the author of the crimes being the mother of the victim makes them extremely shameful There is no other explanation.

I have been reflecting a lot about my post-rape early twenties and found that the reason of the gang rape was to induce me to commit suicide. But since I didn't seem to get the message fast enough, my parents made me read this passage from Flaubert's Madame Bovary where she commits suicide by stuffing her mouth with poison at the apothecary's office after she has ruined her marriage for a flaky man who deserts her.

It was during Sunday lunch, during one of my week-end visits when the house in Normandy was still new. How come my parents managed to make me read this passage in particular, while they never made me read aloud any other piece of literature whatsoever? But since I had nothing in common psychologically with Bovary, I didn't get the message. How else to explain the succession of horrible love affairs I had later? Of course the bitches in my family saw to it that I met only men they had pre-ordained to act in a specific manner. All these men acted in a way designed to inflict the maximum emotional pain. What they did was so outrageous that for a brief moment I glimpsed the truth. I realized it was a show, this man inviting me to his estate in Provence and sleeping with another woman in another room under the same roof after he had seduced me a month earlier... but I couldn't fathom that anyone in my family could do that so I was at a loss and stopped thinking about it.

If they weren't trying to drive me to suicide, then, why did they do it? Why did they prevent me meeting a decent man? Why couldn't they accept that I be happy? How did they rationalize the destruction of my sexual and emotional life? What was the greater good they were striving to achieve through the sacrifice of their daughter/sister? I'd like to hear them on the subject. Just like Cindy Sheehan wants to know what "noble cause" her son died for, I want to know what "greater good" I was sacrificed for.

Anyway I never intended to take the mommy track and I was aware that there would be a price to pay. But this was a little steep, I'd say.

So I didn't commit suicide. I thought about it several times but was always certain that if I killed myself, I would understand the cause of all my problems in the brief instant of lucidity just before dying and by then it would be too late, and this is what stopped me every time. Because in the back of my mind there was this vague but nagging question that I wanted answered about all these events in the family and in my life that were not normal but that nobody spoke about Even my gang-rape was not normal. I always knew there was something very odd about it.

So when they realized that I didn't kill myself non matter what, my parents decided to be a little more pro-active, I should say. This would explain some dangerous situations I found myself in later, like for instance riding a crazy horse (1978 or 79). He was really crazy! Starting at a triple gallop without warning and no way to make him stop! But I understood that I had to ride it out instead of interfering and then I had a ball. After all it was a rare treat to gallop at such speed. No club attendant would ever allow such pace for their clients and their horses and I miraculously found my "assiette", that is my perfect balance on the horse's back so that I didn't even need the stirrups to stay upright. I was balanced on the tip of my tailbone with my pelvis tilted forward and my back slightly slouched. It gave me an exhilarating sense of freedom. The Senlis forest was beautiful in the fall.I came to love that horse. Hassan was his name. He was a beautiful copper-colored Arab horse and when I came to him I called his name in a friendly voice and patted his neck with awe and respect and love. Twenty-five years later I read that horses know what the person who mounts them is feeling, and if the person has negative feelings, the horse just gets rid of them and throws them off. Which means that if I had been scared by Hassan's sudden gallops, he would've broken my neck like happened to this actor Christopher Reeve who went from a flying celluloid Superman to a paraplegic.

And then there was this time in the Spring of 1983 when, returning from a week-end at my parents' home in Normandy, I had to climb on the roof of the six-story building to get home because neither my roommate who owned the apartment on the sixth floor and who had the only key nor any of his three Peruvian girlfriends was home, and if I had tried to enter from the roof through the living-room window I could have fallen off the roof so I thought better of it and in complete obscurity slipped in through the kitchen skylight and landed in the sink. Then I opened the front door and took my luggage in and neither my roommates nor I ever mentioned the subject of how I had got in that evening, .

A crazy horse, a rooftop at 11PM... yet I was not a daredevil. I didn't do dangerous sports, I wasn't looking for trouble, but these things just happened to me and I ended up in death-defying situations anyway, and came out of them unharmed and unsuspecting, completely unaware that I had been set up to get killed in an "accident".

This unawareness lasted a few more years, and then I saw the light and since then I have become wise to the wiles of my family and their paid agents.

Sunday thz 21st: Called Mother at 9PM. Conversation was short. I asked why in her letter of mid-July she recommended an orthopedic surgeon on the grounds that he was from Togo, as his nationality is irrelevant. "But he's an excellent surgeon!" she insisted, as if it was insane for me to not rush and make an appointment with him."So have you made a decision?" she pressed, as she had already in her letter. I said slowly that it was ex-cee-ding-ly difficult to fool me now, that my bullshit detector was ul-tra-sen-si-tive, and that I knew that all the doctors I had seen for my recent knee injury were at the service of my aggressor instead of at my service to improve my health. She took a sorrowful tone of voice and said "Oh, 'ma Brige', it hurts me so when I see how you 're harming yourself"... as if I was insane. It was an old ploy that had worked pretty well when I believed she was sincere, until my late twenties, but it didn't make any sense under the circumstance, since I was precisely explaining to her that I had seen several doctors to get my knee fixed and it was them who were not helping me, and because of them that I still couldn't walk eight months after my injury..

So I said "What are you talking about? I'm not harming myself! I've been attacked and I've been injured by a man who threw me down while I was riding my bike, and now my phone is tapped and I am under constant surveillance..." "My poor Brigitte," Mom interrupted, "I implore you! Wake up to reality!" "But my injury is real! The X-rays don't lie! I've had several fractures, I'm not making this up, as a result of an aggression, and now I have no privacy, not even my doctor-patient relationship is spared! When I call a doctor to make an appointment the person who taps my phone calls him behind my back and makes a deal with him so that when I come for my appointment he has a prepared speech and a hidden agenda. It happens every time. It happened again last Friday and I've had enough of this. Not only is my privacy being violated by the person who taps my phone, but these doctors are violating their Hippocratic oath, because they serve not my interests but the interests of the person who taps my phone, and this person is the one who ordered the aggression of December 31st. I'm telling you, instead of helping me, the doctors I've seen so far have tried to confuse me and have lied to me and have not restored me to health because they are at the service of my enemy!" I said with hearfelt outrage. I 'd had taken a huge amount of lies, abuse and disrespect from the medical profession without showing my true feelings and now I was mad as hell.

Seing that her ploy was failing she had nowhere to go but on her high horse so she got indignant and stated that if I insisted on calling this accident an aggression there was no possibility of communicating and our ways were parting. She hung up on me.

So she keeps punishing me for blaming her for hurting me, though I didn't accuse her personally, I just mentioned "my enemy" or "my aggressor". But obviously she took it personally...

Here's a different kind of mother: "the Lament of Cindy Sheehan". It conveys with very simple words the grief of a mother who has lost her child. It brought tears to my eyes.

Life is so strange. This loving mother lost her child and I, hated though I am by my mother, keep on living despite all these attempts to destroy me. The Lord works in mysterious ways. I was thinking recently that without intending to, my folks did me a big favor by preventing me from getting my "green card", because if I had it I would be very unhappy to live in the USA of today.

I remember the sense of unreality I had in November 2000 hearing about the vote count snafu in Florida, the "Electoral College" vote I had never heard of (and all these years I had thought it was the People that elected the president, silly me!) This sense of unreality came from being abused. The first reflex is denial: "This can't be happening! To 265 million people at the same time, with the complicity of the news media. This can't be happening!" But it WAS happening.

And the first thing Bush Jr did after refusing to sign the Kyoto Protocol was to allow more arsenic in the water supply! That's an example of what he meant by "compassionate conservatism". You have to wonder how much worse it could be if his conservatism was pitiless, what with Gitmo, Abu Ghraib, torture, rendition etc. ad nauseam.... Imagine jumping through all the Immigration hoops to obtain the permit to lawfully work and live in a country, only to have it turn on you into an absolute nightmare of fascism and human rights violations...

The only positive about going back to my native country was that there, nobody would be able to dismiss me as an "illegal alien" and threaten to have me deported (that was New York City Transit's only legal defense against my accusations of attempted murder). As a French citizen living in France, I would have more rights, since it had been clearly established that in the USA, an illegal alien is not a person entitled to protection under the US Constitution and the Amendments thereto.

As to being close to my family, I had tried all these desperate legal means to keep my apartment in NYC because I was deathly afraid of the coalition of my entire family against me. But Sophie managed to convince me that she was NOT in cahoots with Mom so I came back, my judgment impaired by the SSRI's running through my bloodstream.

Sat. the 27th: The Rev. Pat Robertson has been calling for the assassination of Venezuela president Hugo Chavez, saying it's not worth starting a war and spending billions to remove a man from power if a hit squad can do the job. At the same time the PATRIOT Act provides that speech that is likely to inflame hatred can be the basis of criminal prosecution for incitation to terrorism but I think the Rev. is safe because, after all, he is a Christian. So you see, incitation to terrorism applies only if the speaker is a Muslim, it appears to me.

I think I've nailed it: this brainwashing that has been going on all these years: calling terrorism only acts perpetrated by Arabs or Muslims, but when it's the USA doing the terrorizing, it's called "Shock and Awe", or Operation "Deadly Scorpio", or "Poisonous Viper", but it's not terrorism. As long as the weapons are "conventional", it's not terrorism.

And now you have anonymous messages threatening assassination included in the headlines on Rense.com, like this one addressed to a political columnist critical of the Bush admin named Wayne Madsen. Why him and not so many other critics? I'll have to do some research on this.

I keep an eye on the movements of the planets and it just happens that Mercury in Leo is approaching an opposition to Neptune in Aquarius. Could it be the reason we have these death threats in the news?

Tues. the 30th I went out shopping last Sat. and went to Monoprix. It's back-to-school time and there is an abundance of stationery at good prices. I like French stationery: 3-flaps file folders in assorted colors and widths, with two elastics around the corners to keep them closed, plus light cardboard "chemises" which are just a size A3 sheet folded in two to protect papers, and "sous-chemises" which are the same size but made of light paper, to make sub-divisions in the folders. All in an array of colors. I stocked up on file folders and transparent sleeves that are perforated to fit in a ring binder to protect some photocopies of designs I'm using in Blackwork or other things. It gave me a good feeling to have all these papers and catalogs and magazines neatly sorted out after three hours work I even got an extra shelf that had been stuck at the bottom of the cabinet since the day my nephews brought me this dresser three years ago. I had been unable to dislodge it and now that I really, really needed it I found myself with a roll of wide adhesive tape in my hands and realized that this was how I would get the small plank out. So I stuck enough tape to have a handle on the plank and pulled it sideways... and it worked fine. Now this shelf is in full use.

As usual when I'm shopping I was harassed on three occasions by people who were playing a pre-ordained little skit for the sole prupose of keeping me waiting uncomfortably on my crutches. Don't these people have any shame?

One thing I wanted to note is the fact that there is a symmetry in my mother's behavior:
While she wants to eat her cake AND have it too, I'm damned if I do AND damned if I don't!

The more I read about Bush and the neo-cons, the more they remind me of my mother. When I read about the Mossad too! I swear she could teach them a thing or two!


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