Is there any lotion I am able to purchase without someone adding cocoa butter, oil, or grease to the product? Must I suffer through dry, scaly, bloated, itchy skin because some person does not wish for me to have lotion, or soap, or a myriad of other beauty products? Because “they” believe it to be an immersive experience which in truth and reality only amounts to physical, and psychological abuse.
This is a recounting of the times that I have been drugged.
It is just the tip of the iceberg.
I could go on for years sharing all the abuses of power, supplies, money, and my body parts.
In more than twenty years of drinking, I have never blacked-out drunk before. I say again, in more than twenty years of drinking alcohol I have never, never, never, never, never blacked-out drunk before.
Before 2012.
Election night 2012. I was trying desperately to get closer to Alfred Johnson. He looked like an ex-football player. 6’3” built like a mother-fucker, clean and handsome, somewhat preppy, looking like he didn’t belong in a dingy trailer that was being used as the Obama campaign office. He walked out of the bathroom as I walked in the room, and we were introduced. I went to greet him with a handshake, he motioned to the paper towels in his hands, as he had just washed his hands and still drying them. I said, I’ll shake your elbow. Because I was going to touch that man. He was that gorgeous. And, I did. I shook his elbow.
Election night, it was a victory. I was trying to get closer to Alfred Johnson, and all of a sudden, the women in the room – almost working in unison – pulled him away from me, sitting him next to an 18 or 20-something year old little girl, and I was done for the night. They conspired against me. Next thing I know, I am being handed a shot of whipped cream vodka in a plastic cup by a female staff member that worked in a different office than mine – and I’m out. Three beers and a shot. I woke up with a man on top of me with his hands in my pants. Laid back in the passenger side of a car. I have no idea what he is saying for a while. Finally, I was able to say, I just woke up. I had to ask him who he was. I didn’t remember meeting him, or anything.
He drove me to his hotel, I had to go because I was a serious mess in my head. He had his hands all over me like he cared about me as we walked. He never turned on the television in his hotel room which seemed unusual.
There were two beds. He got naked and went to sleep in his bed. I never undressed or took my shoes off because I still did not know how this happened. I was trying to recall the night. I was sick. I needed food. My handbag, my cardigan were still at the campaign office.
What did they give me?
It has taken me years to figure out they put something in my drink. And, it didn’t stop there.
After, a few hours of sleep because I couldn’t get my stuff until “they” went back to the office to open up, I was so sick I couldn’t eat. I ordered coffee because I didn’t have my wallet, he paid. I could barely drink it. USA Today was in the lobby of the hotel, I tried reading the headlines. The ever-present helicopter that seemed to follow me all the time for months and months, and years, flew over the top of the hotel as I walked out of the hotel with this man. Who turned out to be the father of my boss’s boss.
I have no idea why anyone would do this. I have no idea why anyone would drug me. I have no idea why someone I worked with on the campaign would give what might have been a date-rape drug on official grounds at an event.
I was still sick later that evening. I tried eating Taco-Bell to get some food in me that afternoon. I remember sitting in my chair looking out the window feeling so much stress, I couldn’t eat.
Super bowl Sunday 2013. I was trying to establish a new life for myself in this new house. I remembered a female staff member telling me about a Super bowl Sunday party that one of our volunteers always had. So, I went. I wanted to meet people and try to find a boyfriend. This time it happened in the kitchen. I don’t know if it was the food or in the drink as I was having both at the time, until I woke up again in the arms of a man. He was behind me with his arms around me, kissing me.
He invited me back to his place, and I drove there. Something here was wrong with the shorter man I went home with. I had a broken arm, it was still in a cast from my auto-accident. He kept his shirt on, he was sick in his bathroom. He said he thought I would have left after hearing him vomiting. Again, I mention mind-control. Because I remember I never looked down which I have always wondered about. In hindsight, it seems like a set-up. Why would I not want to look at this man’s dick? It wasn’t the same occurrence as before. He started falling asleep while we were having sex. No televisions, but he had an office in his bedroom. Weird.
I am not even sure I can remember all the times “they” have drugged me because I have no idea why it happened at all, why it continued to happen, and why it has gone on for so long.
Visiting my friend Tammy, February 2013, I told her I wanted to talk about David. She went to pour me another glass of wine. I woke up fully dressed on her sofa the next day. It was only my second glass of wine. Again, I had one glass of wine, she poured me a second, and I don’t remember anything else. Tammy claimed I spoke about David, however this was after she told me her neighbor was a private investigator. Is it really a crime to want to talk about a college friend? Even after more than a decade? I don’t think so. That would mean that every college reunion would be a crime.
Bluetooth knows this one as well, every person alive is a criminal. I have thought about this since I have been made to believe I had to prove my innocence. Is there any person on the planet that can claim and prove they have never in their life gone over the speed limit – period? Anyone? No. You would have to be driving an automated vehicle that never went above the limit. So, then every person is a criminal. Again, I say this and write this because I have been manipulated by mind tricks and other means to make me feel like a bad person when in reality and in truth I have done for others more than some do in the entire lifetime. And, I did not do it to be thanked, or compensated, for notoriety, or anything else other than it was the right and correct thing to do for humanity.
“Stephanie” at TCS had a birthday party which she invited me to, I invited Rachel also since Rachel was closer to my age than Stephanie – it was a buffer, so to speak. “Erin” handed me a shot. And, I was out. Four beers and two shots, and I was o-u-t. The next day I had bruises on my legs, shoulder, and back. I was told I had fallen down trying to walk. It looked like I had been dropped. I was told I ended up in the upstairs bedroom, and someone got me out and home after I had been there a while. I was livid. Livid.
Valentine’s Day 2013, Blue Martini. I was shown pictures months after I had gone for drinks with a volunteer on the campaign. I was trying to not think about David. I wanted a man. I wanted to have a boyfriend. I didn’t want to be the lonely, old woman all alone another year on Valentine’s Day. Several months later, she showed me “photos” of me kissing a black man at the bar with his hand lifting up my shirt. His back was to the camera. I have and had no recollection of this event. She told a story about how I wanted to go home with another man and she got me out of his car. This is out of character for me. I never believed it. It never made sense to me. She showed me the photos while sitting at Eddie V’s bar – it was crowded. I remember someone positioning themselves to get a better look at my face after she showed me the photo of the kiss. I wore my Aerosole boots that night, black knee-high with a zipper up the calf. Still don’t believe it. I believe the photo was made up and photo-shopped. I believe she was making up the story as she went along that night.
“Erin” and “Renee” invited me to go out drinking with them, however “Renee” wouldn’t leave her car outside. I had to drive them and leave her car in my garage in order to go out drinking with them. I was coming off of years of confined living as a caregiver. I was trying to be young and free, and I kept hoping I would see and get an attractive man for myself. There were a few moments of touch and go that night of almost blacking out, however I remember it all. Yet, “Erin” made sure it was a long night. Was there someone in their vehicle waiting to pick the lock to gain access to my house? Or, did they just want me to think that later on?
In nearly six years of living here, I have discovered that there are no available men here, in this town, in this county, or in this state. Not for me. As if the entire male population has been kept away or at bay. I have no idea what that could prove, or why anyone would want to confine me to this women’s prison which is how I feel.
Beer and Bourbon fest 2014. I went for another Chimay beer sample. I was fine. I was coherent. I had been drinking, but I am a happy drinker. I don’t yell, or fight. I laugh and get happy. I remember telling Rachel I was going to get another Chimay sample, we were going to leave after that. Earlier in the day, I saw David Wolfe cross the street while getting a Bourbon sample education. I woke up the next day at the time I was supposed to be at work. I was in my pajama’s. The last thing I remember was going for the Chimay sample around 3ish in the afternoon. Now, it was 7:30 or so the following morning, my carpeting looked like someone had vomited on it, and cleaned up. I could not understand why I had all my clothes taken off from the previous day if I was so drunk, I had to be helped home. Later, I was told Rachel undressed me. Rachel undressed me?! What the fuck?! Why?! Who does that?! Who takes off a drunk person’s clothes including underwear even if they got some sick on it?! You don’t take everything off?! It never rang true for me. I believed I was not drunk from the festival. I believe I put myself to bed on my own. I believe “they” hacked my phone to take the alarm off. I believe “they” placed something either sprayed something on my bedding, clothes, moisturizer, or something “they” knew I was going to use to knock me out. Then, hacked my phone when I tried talking, texting Rachel and my brother to find out what happened. To keep the truth from getting out.
That one was a big one. Undressing me, making me think a woman had undressed me. No.
I have forgotten more, I am sure. As a way of protecting myself from this house and the Bluetooth, I have blocked out the memories I believed were contrived and false, or painful.
In 2014 after Edison, I remember driving down my street and seeing Rachel with a make-up splotched on beard driving a scooter. I have no idea why Rachel would dress up like that.
Still, I do not understand why anyone would want to psychologically abuse, harm, and manipulate me in this way. And, for so many years.
It will never make sense to me. Even if they end this fake reality tomorrow, and I get to be a normal person again.
All at the hands of a woman. Every time.
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