Declassified Files: A Series of True Events Being Brought to Light

All the ways I have dreamed, imagined, thought about, planned, and desired to kill myself since 2014 when I realized that nothing in my life is real.

The Bluetooth (please, do not confuse the Bluetooth with blues music which is not the same thing at all) has been completely and fully aware of, yet done nothing to prevent it, or keep the cycle from repeating itself.  Because the Bluetooth is not a microphone, or a recording device.  It is a complete and total invasion.

Also, it was not only the Bluetooth that has been aware of my constant depression, I have told others, tried to get help, tried to reach the end, and been denied.

I believe these thoughts are not of my own mind.  Because I have never lived (as a figure of speech referring to a state of mind) here before.  In my life before 2012, I have not been a depressive person consumed with destroying myself.

The man I dated, slept with, and ended the relationship, was not real.  He misrepresented himself in order to gain access to me and my home.  Perhaps he did it to prove a woman, or women, or person’s that they were wrong and prejudice in their perception, identification, and viewpoint of me.  However, the result of the deception was lethal.

It took something from me I will never recover from.

Having gone through my memory over the last few decades, I have also discovered all the surveillance, keeping tabs, checking up on, drive-by’s – which include David Wolfe driving by in a van as I walked to my Painting With A Twist class wearing my Levi jeans (do not get these Levi’s confused with the reason I wore my Levi’s to the gas station) – have not allowed me to live a full life, including being able to have access to men, finding men, and dating real men that I would be interested in.  It has held me prisoner, and kept me separate from the world.

Not everyone has God moments.  Not everyone goes to Dachau and has a conversation with God.  Not everyone while driving your fiancée’s Bronco back to the dealership on wet asphalt from the recent thunderstorm, yet the sun brightly shining skids out-of control closes her eyes only to open them after the vehicle stopped finding I’ve been placed safely between two light poles without a scratch on me or the vehicle.  Not everyone feels or talks to animals.  Not everyone sees a flash of light shine across a crowded hospital lobby after spending hours and hours in constant begging and prayer, and sees the diamond earring float through the people in the opposite direction as if he is not of this world.

Not everyone has God moments.

All the ways I have imagined killing myself:

1. Hanging myself with rope.
2. Hanging myself from my balcony.
3. Slitting my wrists.
4. Slitting my wrists while in a bath tub.
5. Hacking myself into bits with a knife.
6. Slitting my throat.
7. Overdosing on aspirin, pills, a combination of pills.
8. Ingesting bleach.
9. Setting myself on fire.
10. Setting my hair on fire.
11. Putting a match in my gas tank.
12. Killing myself in my garage.
13. Putting a hose from my tailpipe to my head and falling asleep from eternity.
14. An ice pick to my heart.
15. A knife to my knife making sure to get in between the bones of my ribcage.
16. Stabbing myself repeatedly in my bed.
17. Shoving a knife in my cunt until I am dead.

Cycle.  Repeat.

As a footnote: Whatever words I say…I will always love him.