When I was at the Forensic Center in Saline, across from the Women’s Prison I discovered something. They have pimps there, too. They all have access to medication and what kinds and combinations will make you sick. They can cause diabetes, Crohn’s and mental illnesses like bi-polar and schizophrenia. I am in a bout of Crohn’s right now. I ordered a case of alkaline water with my grocery store order this week. When it came it was torn open. I told Walmart but didn’t think anything about it. My eyes started to hurt and be sensitive to light, and my stomach began to be upset. I wouldn’t pass gas or do a number two, but I was nauseous and sick to my stomach. While lying in my bed, deafly ill, something told me to drink the Magnesium Citrate I had on the dresser. I did and felt much better. I woke up and everything that wasn’t moving moved. Someone was coming in my house and poisoning my water, and it was slowly killing me. They want me to go to the hospital, they will tell me I have Crohn’s they will treat me for Crohn’s, and it will kill me. Like the diabetes diagnosis, I will stop taking the medication all together. I have a close friend that has Chron’s. Here eyes don’t hurt and she doesn’t have sensitivity to light. They were putting something in my water that mimics the symptoms of Chron’s but isn’t the disease itself. I am not going to the hospital; doctors are their biggest clientele and hospital workers their biggest flunkies.
There was this guy, Dave, at the Forensic Center who liked to put LSD or PCP in the peanut butter we have with our snacks. He liked to shoot the oranges with stuff, I liked oranges. Many of the woman living there weren’t mentally ill at all. They were just pretty enough to stay long enough to make them some money. We would wake up at times in “the morning asking each other, “Did you hear that?” We would quietly discuss it, they have speakers at the Forensic Center that listened to everything. You could sit in the kitchen and watch Mr. Charles listening. He would be so engulfed in the patient’s conversation, that he didn’t notice you watching him. We didn’t have any privacy. They sat and listened to everything, tainted our food when they wanted and had sex with “them” at will. I remember, I kept having bad dreams. I couldn’t go to sleep for the dreams. One day an older woman living there walked by me and softly whispered, “Stop eating the peanut butter and graham crackers at night.” And shuffled away in her way. She walked towards the door, where we lined up to go on Main Street. Then she walked back towards me and started being belligerent and acting crazy. She said loudly, because you never know these jokers could be putting LSD or PCP in that food!”! She rambled in her purse as I watched the show and thought, I can’t stop eating the peanut butter and crackers, It was all I had to eat. Since Stan had given his speech about our food being tainted with Adderall and not Cocaine, I had stopped eating. I would only eat snacks and fruit, from what my friend had just informed me they had stated putting stuff in that.
Now, OCSD has commercials that play that tell me about my sickness. They really believe that Steve is sitting and willingly watching them hurt me. I’m surely upset that they think he thinks so little of me, after all I did to keep them from ruining his career. Plus, that they think so little of him as a man that he would just let them rule his life. It’s been 25 years! That’s a long time. He’s umbel and they believe that’s fear or compliance, but it’s not, it’s patience. And its loyalty of good friends he made. They have those Flex vans ride by me when I’m driving my car out and about. Steve calls them “Crackhead Ubers”. I’ve ridden them before it’s not bad. My jail and Forensic Center friends use them. I tried to tell Steve I’m one of them; he made me one of them when he accused me of stalking him and sending me to jail. Those female deputies believe it, too. Even though, I’m a better cop than them and I don’t have a gun or a badge. We are a team. Those women that judge my relationship with my man, when they couldn’t have done a quarter of what I’ve done, this female dep couldn’t come in my house. I’ve been to prison twice and jail so many times I lost count. If all that is criteria for me to not have my man, you all need stop being so shallow and start understanding what real love is, because he ain’t leaving me.
And you all call me a stalket. I love my Steve, but he's possessive... You all should take heed, too!
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