Declassified Files: A Series of True Events Being Brought to Light – No Means No, I Will Never Marry You!

I swear to God, you will live to regret what you did to me tonight!  No means, I will never, never, never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever marry you!  Forgive me for having an ACTUAL brain, and the ACTUAL ability to use it!  I will never marry a man I do not know!  I will never marry an orange t-shirt!

I am forced to turn my car around in my garage!  I have in no way agreed to any marriage of any kind what-so-fucking-ever!!!

I have never purchased gum and ever BELIEVED that I was agreeing to a marriage of any  kind!

You will live to regret what you did tonight for as long as you live!

Forcing someone to masturbate is NOT art!  Any one can masturbate.  It requires no special art of any kind!

I will not EVER marry YOU!!

Not Ever!

I only created police characters in Sims4 because there is an “Erin” look-alike in the game.  I want what she did to me brought to justice.  For all the times she has drugged me, for all the times she has poisoned my brain.  For all the times she has poisoned my mind.  The only reason I created doctor characters in Sims4 was to bring what they did to my body to justice.  They have disfigured me permanently.  I have said and written it before.  They did it for no reason.  I will never, ever believe it was a required surgery as all the doctors made me believe in 2012.  I cannot believe anything that has ever been said to me before anymore because of this neighborhood.

Go fuck yourself, Virginia!  I will never, ever want you!!!

I have stopped believing in my government tonight.  I doubt and do not believe there is any good to be found possibly anywhere.  Not anymore.  Not while you continue pretending any of this is real.  I doubt there is any good to be found in the government, in these borders, in this state, or anywhere.

The best part about watching Psych was how quickly “Shawn” is able to solve cases, then having to go back, slow down, and show the police how he “figured” it out.  In my head I said, I hate (do not take this word – hate – out of context) having to show my work to teacher, then hearing Rick Springfield laughing – HBO, Disney.  It is not that interesting.  Any one could have known that was Rick Springfield.  It is not art.

No, I will never marry you.

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

Dulé Hill – proxy’s don’t work.  What I felt from Dulè Hill was his energetic, happy, good-natured person, what I got from the person doing the actual talking was boredom, no energy, and dull.

Had I known what I was booking when I stayed at hotels, or walked by cars at Disney, or gas stations, or the shows or movies I watched, I would have done things differently.

Let me go back for a second, I remember speaking with Jeffrey Tambor at Disney – that is the memory I have.  Receiving a call of excited, I-can’t-believe-she-did-it, while trying to speak normally.  Had I known he was so excited because he was planning to trick, torture, harm, and abuse me for years, I would never have gotten out of my car.

Had I known what they were actually doing at Disney with the doors, with the walking paths, with the phone calls, with the leaders (please do not confuse the time Stephanie Meyer appeared as Marilyn), with all of it, I would have just killed myself instead of trying to live.  Because it is not worth it.  This is not a life.  It is not worth living.

I couldn’t get another job anywhere.  And, it was no longer the real Disney.  It was no longer the Disney where David Wolfe called me all the time just to talk to me.  It was no longer the Disney where David Wolfe called me, and would sometimes hang-up once he heard my voice.

I do not wish at this moment to go any further into the real Disney.

I am not well at the moment.

I am devastated.

What you have failed to take into consideration are my feelings.  In all of this.  With everything around me.  You have failed to treat me humanely.  Criminals sentenced to death have more rights than I have been allowed.

You have failed me, wronged me for entertainment purposes.

You have failed me by not allowing me to seek real help.  By allowing actors to play my doctor you have failed and violated my human rights.

I do not know which dentists gave me the root canal that gave me the brain frequency.  It should never have happened.

How is it possible that a doctor or dentist are allowed to insert, place, or add anything into a patient, and they are not required to disclose it to the patient?  How is it that a doctor or dentist are allowed to do any operation without the patient’s consent?

I never consented to have a Bluetooth, or an operation that would control my body!

How is it possible that a person is able to convince a doctor, or doctors, and dentists to do what has been done to me?

James Franco and David Wolfe, you have destroyed and stolen every dream I have ever had.  Because of you, I used to fall asleep by free-associating pictures in my head.  Because of you, I no longer have an imagination.  Because of you, you have distorted truths, and re-told them as reality.

Actress’s when giving a performance, when giving an emotional performance, get to take a break, have a lot of down time, and get paid a hell of a lot more money.

What you are doing on the show is criminal.

It should be against the law to do everything that has been done to me.

James Franco and David Wolfe, you knew before you placed the skin-suit person in my bed that it would destroy me forever.  You had psychologists in my fire alarms doing “work” on my brain not only while I slept, but while I was awake as well.  I believe you knew it would destroy me forever.  It is not something a person is able to just get over, put aside, or get past.  You knew.

James Franco and David Wolfe, you not only sentenced me to a lifetime of extreme unhappiness, and loneliness.  You sentenced me to die as well.

Both of you will never be the same to me again.  I will never be able to look or see you the same again.

This is not writing.  This is not reporting.  This is your version of a show and nothing more.

It is not good for me.

Pressuring me at work in my head, so that I will scream/write as soon as I am home is not writing, nor is it the writing I want and wish to do.

I am so unbelievably unhappy which is not me.  It is not the Cherith that ever lived until she had to live here.

I was never truly allowed to make an informed decision.  I was never truly allowed to make an informed decision about the hotels I stayed at, the gas stations I bought and buy gas, the food I purchase, the way I walk anywhere, the car I drive, or anything in my life.  For, you have hidden the truth from me.  You have hidden every truth from me.  Even after I have called out your deceptions, revealed your disguises, you have never done the right or correct thing by me.

Because you could end this all today.  Because you could give me back my life.

I am so hurt by you David Wolfe.  You David, most of all have kept me, not allowed me in any way to have love in my life.  You have not allowed me to date, or allow me to have a man share my life.  Your deception is most hurtful.

This is not good.

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

Not all memories are good ones.

Conan O’Brien used to have a sketch piece of the Masturbating Bear.  David Wolfe offered me a Halloween teddy bear with bats shoes on its feet.  Make the connection.

This is how David Wolfe saw me.  This is how David Wolfe views me.  This is all David Wolfe believed I ever could be – nothing more than a masturbator.

To David Wolfe I am nothing more than an unattractive woman, not worthy of having a man to share my life with, not worth making more money than I did when I was 18 years old, and not interested in anything other masturbating, until I die.

This last connection is truly heart breaking.  To make that connection truly severs something in me entirely.

David Wolfe believed I was and am nothing more than a masturbator.

I am heart-broken beyond words.  I did not believe he was capable of such shallowness.

To James Franco I am nothing more than an overweight dog for him to make fun of, not worth having a conversation with, and not worth being allowed to have a man share my life, and yet again not worth making more money than I made when I was 18 years old.

Too stressed to write.



Surrounded by sick people.

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

Can you imagine a life where you are not allowed to go to the store yourself?

Can you imagine if an employer had the ability to listen to your thoughts?  Can you imagine that you thought of a way to save your employer possibly millions and millions of dollars?  Can you imagine if you saved your employer millions and millions of dollars, and in return they did not compensate you –  the original thinker, the one who created the idea – because no one corrected the wrongs done?

Did you know that it was David Wolfe as Alfredo Cruz who had dandruff on his shoulders just like my Tuesday cat.  Tuesday has dry skin on her back that looked like dandruff.  The nicknames I gave her were Tuesday Girl, Tu-Tu, Princess Tuesday because she was all girlie-girl.  She enjoyed being catered to, brushed and preened, as if she expected that was the ways things were supposed to be.  Make the connection.

Did you know I sat at the head of the table at the break room in The Container Store, David playing the part of Alfredo was to my left, I believe Brandon and Chris were there as well.  I was eating my lunch or snack.  I had a mandrin orange, I was eating when they all sat down, so I offered each of them some of my orange.  Because that is the woman I was before 2014.  A giver, sharing what I have with others – always.  Not just for others, but for myself as well.  For helping others helps me.

There are different versions of David Wolfe I feel I write about.  There is the David Wolfe I knew in college who was irreplaceable.  There is the David Wolfe at The Container Store who disgusted me with his disguise.  Who is associated with the walls coming down letting me know he exposed me, and my deepest hurts to be exposed, distorted, and retold.  As if it was his right, and his story to tell.  There is the David Wolfe since Sloppy Joe’s that has hardened me entirely.

This last David Wolfe, who resides in my heart does not in any way allow any woman to replace him.


Sick sadness is what I feel.

The chewing gum trickery of turning my chewing gum against me, so that my tongue feels covered in millions of welts.  Along with my cheeks and gums.  Sickness.

This is all one experience to me.  So, when one person abuses me it is always reflected back to David Wolfe – alone.

James Franco is an actor.  He is nothing more to me.  How could he be?  He was never here, remember?  Nor, was David Wolfe.

If they wanted to be here in person with me they would have been.  They chose otherwise.

For clarification: my point in writing that this straight girl was taught that she cannot be friends with lesbians was rhetoric in nature.  I was referring to “Erin” drugging over and over and over again.  I was referring to my time served at The Container Store, and how they used me to have me drive to the west coast.  Of course, I can be friends with all and any person’s.  Can I be friends with them in my ear, NO.  It doesn’t work that way.  Can I be friends with anyone in my ear, NO.

It is a matter of my rights being violated against my will, against my wishes.

You do know that they doped my Febreeze?  Right?!  I always kept a clean car, I always had a Febreeze clip in my car.  Summer of 2014, I was driving, I have no idea where or why, what I remember was being overcome with such emotion, I believed I was going to die.  I was screaming endlessly in my car.  Screaming.  Screaming.  Until, I saw the Febreeze, and immediately threw it out the window.  Almost instantly I started to deflate to where my normal resides.  I was beyond livid.  I was beyond livid that someone would do that to me.  I could have died.  There was no way they could have prevented me from driving off a cliff, running my car into a lampost, or opening my door while the car was moving.  What someone did to me was beyond reckless, and they not only got away with it, I am sure they were paid to do so.  On this drive, I saw an Edison with his back to me.  Either the real one or an imposter, I do not know.  However, this was the connection made.  Would you want to have anything to do with someone who doped you to such extremes?  Would you want to have anything to do with anyone who doped you at all?

To clarify again, I should never have had a skin-suit person being used with other’s talking in his ear.  Whoever they were.  Male or female.  Gay or straight.  It should never have happened.  Ever.  That experience should never have happened.

I am capable of speaking to any persons.

This is in no way an apology.  I have done nothing wrong, or did anything to apologize for.  I did not enter someone’s house while they were at work, and douse their soap, you did that.  Not I.

I am upset with what you have done with my cats.  I am upset with what you are doing currently to my cats.

This is another suicidal day.  Another suicidal Valentine’s Day.


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

I do not believe another human being should have control over another human being.  I do not believe another human being should have the ability to push a button in order to manipulate, alter behavior, or in any other way change a person’s mind.  I do not believe another person should have the ability to do that to an animal, either.  I do not believe a person, a corporation, an entity should have the ability to enter another person’s mind.

It should be against the law to create and allow such means to exist.

I spoke, to myself, in my head, while at work about how much I miss my Tuesday and Thursday.  I do not understand why my Tuesday and Thursday were taken from me.  I do not understand why they weren’t returned to me.  I spoke about how Tuesday was the killer.  It is a figure of speech.  Tuesday was not afraid, she had the killer instinct when it came to an animal she’s never seen before.  Thursday with his boo-boo paw had to be more cautious in his approach.  He waited to see if there was danger, he waited to see how the animal behaved.  There is nothing wrong with either approach’s to a situation.

Now, I come home to find that my Murphy the Magnificent, my Murphy the Brilliant is not himself anymore.  It is if he is another cat entirely.  Give me back my Murphy!  You are killing him, Bluetooth!

It seems the point to me that I should not be allowed to enjoy myself while I am at home.  I am never allowed peace, or peace of mind, or any enjoyment in my life.

The Bluetooth should never be allowed to exist.  It should be against the law.  It should not be allowed!

Declassified Files: A Series of True Events Being Brought to Light – Listen Up!

Listen up James Franco!  I remember you dressed up as Rick at TCS, telling me your favorite dog, pointing to an overweight dog, was a golden retriever.  Which was the best way you could tell me – when you look at me all you see is not only a dog, an overweight dog.

What kind of man tells a woman she is a dog?!

A dog?!  A DOG?!!  I am nothing more than a dog?!

After working with me, spying on me, surveying me for years, and virtually dating me the best that you saw in me, the greatest that I had to offer was to be your fucking dog/baby/cat/horse for the rest of my LIFE?!

That I am incapable of intelligent thought?  Or creative influence, ideas, or talents of my own?!  And, on my own fucking merit capable of greatness!!!!!!!!!!

Because of you, James Franco I cannot get a job regardless of where I apply – FOR YEARS!!!  I am so unbelievably unhappy there!  When I am that unhappy, underpaid, and over-worked, I look for other employment.  Just like every other person in the entire free world.  Everyone, but me?!

Because of Edison?!

Do you sentence all of your dates after only dating them once TO A LIFETIME OF SERVITUDE, AND SLAVERY?!!

No, you don’t get off that easy because this all happened and was planned before Edison.  Because Edison was wearing a skin-suit?!  I cannot be blamed for that.  You had more than a year of psychological abuse that you inflicted upon me.  Terrorizing me in my sleep, filling my head with un-truths while you scoured my brain for memories, people, and events in my life to exploit by using the fire alarms as a way to view me and communicate with me while unconscience.  UNCONSCIENCE?!!!  It is criminal behaviour!  The psychologists, monitors, all persons involved with setting up this house as a trap, and the years of forcing me to live like this SHOULD BE BROUGHT UP ON CRIMINAL CHARGES!!!

The fire alarms, TV’s, TiVo, X-box, all my appliances, all the electronic equipment that had the ability to alter my mind, blank me out, record me, view me, kept me from being the reasonable, capable, and thoughtful woman that I am.

I am so ashamed of you!

I am so ashamed I ever met you.

You knew, once I had figured it out that the reason nothing ever made sense, or felt right with Edison was because he was wearing a skin-suit – a fake body – that I was NEVER GOING TO DATE AGAIN!  Because who could possibly imagine that another human being could do something so cruel as that?!  Who could imagine someone wearing a skin suit to prove Cherith wants to be fucked by a man?!  Who could imagine something so cruel?  James Franco is that cruel.  Who could imagine doing something so cruel to me?  To Cherith?!  Only you, James Franco!

I am never going to let you or David Wolfe do that to me again!  You knew you were sentencing me to a lifetime without love, hope, romance, companionship, friendship, or any kind of joy.  You knew that I was not going to be pressured by seeing David Wolfe and his wife kissing at Sand Key beach into dating again.  You knew I was not going to be pressured into dating again just by seeing David Wolfe with his wife at Applebee’s, or David Wolfe and his wife anywhere AGAIN!

You knew those events could NEVER take place again!!!!  Because all you wanted to do was record them as it happened.

Because I am nothing more than a DOG – to you!!

How fucking dare you!  How fucking dare you James Franco!

You, James Franco, are a Master Abuser of the worst kind.  You pretend that nothing you have done has caused permanent damage.  You have also destroyed a friendship – forever.  A very precious, and valuable friendship that can never be replaced, you destroyed as though it was nothing more than trash to be thrown away.

James Franco, I am NOT choosing you!  You can fucking move!  Since you do not allow me to have a job that actually pays me not only the money I am worth, but money I can actually live off of – You can move motherfucker!

James Franco, you knew the reason I was upset and unhappy Saturday was due to the forced weight gain you placed on my body.  You knew I was so unhappy I was suicidal.  You knew I would be even more unhappy to hear the word, smile.  You knew I was unhappy with no one else other than MYSELF!  Which is why I was frowning ALL NIGHT LONG!  That is the only thing you know how to make me do is FROWN!!  You allowed Stephanie Meyer and others to believe otherwise.  You have brought and delivered to me nothing but COMPLETE UNHAPPINESS!!  You knew and know I am and do not go out of my way to make judgements call on the size, shape, color, of people’s bodies, nor do I strive for anything less than rights for all persons with disabilities regardless of sexual orientation.  You have allowed others to believe otherwise.  You have allowed others to punish and judge me – for crimes, thoughts, and actions I have never done.

No means you do not get to push a button force me wet, force me to masturbate and expect me to follow.  I have no idea who that fucker was.  I never know.  Because all you do is lie.  Until you speak face to face to me, I will NEVER believe what you place in front of me.  It has never worked.  You have only allowed yourself and others to believe I understood.

David Wolfe, you do not get off easy either here.  You were the first one I dated on eHarmony, disguised as red-headed Tom who worked at MacDill Air Force.  The picture of “you” and your dad in a football stadium in Colorado.  We spent the evening talking at Brass Tap, you purposefully made me feel you were not interesting in me sexually or otherwise.  I said, it was more like we were brother and sister.  I did not want to date a man who was not interested in me.

David Wolfe, I remember your facebook posts while we were still fb friends of the fake Starbucks store that people went to, and had no idea it wasn’t a real Starbucks.  I remember the photo of you and your friend vacationing in Las Vegas taken in front of a mirror.

David Wolfe, I remember you, believing it was you I saw on your motorcycle driving in the opposite direction from me as I took my mom for her daily ride to help calm her.  It was the day my brother “supposedly” spent the day in the ER because his heart rate was so high.  Which I guess, you planned, and he was never in the hospital.

David Wolfe, I know your birthday is Valentine’s Day, I will not buy or eat candy for you or Valentine’s Day.  We can never be friend’s again.   Ever.

David Wolfe, I remember the phone call we had while driving. Alisha’s car was in front of mine, and I made a comment about how small the tires on her vehicle were.  We had an enjoyable conversation, I thought.  Until, we arrived at our destination and you treated me as if the phone call and conversation we just had, did not happen.  How embarrassing for you to be attracted to such an overweight woman as I was then.  You treated me like dirt.  It is a pattern you repeat with me.

David Wolfe, I remember it was your voice disguised as a woman – Nancy Rosenberg – pretending to be an expert resume writer.  Delaying me and making me late, talking about nothing for hours.

You have made it impossible to ever be your friend again, David Wolfe.  The hurt and damage you caused in all your deceptions and lies tell me more about how you think and feel about me than anything you could ever say to my face.  And, you never were good at speaking to me face to face.

A marriage proposal?!  From whom?!  Not a real man who I know.  James Franco you think I want to marry a woman?!  You think I want to marry a black woman?!  Fuck you!  Because everywhere I go there are black women in front of me you think I ACTUALLY WANT THAT?!!  FUCK YOU!  Guess what, I know what color I am, I know where I come from, I know my family heritage, and guess what?!  I AIN’T BLACK!

Because of you, James Franco you sentenced me to years of being finger-fucked?!  You think that is the life I want to live?!  To be finger-fucked for the rest of my life?!  To be seen naked and jerked-off to by random, various men for the rest of my life?!  Anytime any person puts on the glasses or views me while I am at home – IT IS NOT CONSENSUAL!  I have no way of knowing who is on the other side viewing me!  Viewing me naked?!  You are so disgusting!

The whole reason and purpose I lost weight, placed my mother in a nursing home, and put my life in order – was to change the way my life was going.  So, I could get married, be happy, have a family of my own, have of life of my own – NOT RELIVE THE SAME YEARS OF MY LIFE OVER AND OVER FOR YEARS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I never wanted to have anything to do with that stupid Edison fucker EVER AGAIN!  I did not want to meet him in real life!  I do not want to meet him in real life ever!!  I never want to see him again as long as I live!

You think a woman’s feelings are so meaningless and trivial they CAN BE REPLACED?!

You think my memories, my possessions are YOURS to destroy and replace?!

I would rather die!

I am prepared to die to put an end and a stop to this false life.

Are you prepared to watch me die?!

Or was that your whole purpose to begin with?

A suicide watch.

A bet to see how long it would take for Cherith to kill herself?

Because of you:

  • I have to drive in the far left-hand lane ONLY because it is a police lane with no stuffy nose, or food that causes weight gain.
  • I cannot drive in the middle lane because it is a baby lane that creates congestion, and sprays my toilet paper and underwear so that my vagina feels dirty and violated.
  • Because of you I cannot wear whatever underwear I want to.
  • I cannot drive in the far right lane because it creates and delivers heavy food.
  • I cannot drive in the far left lane because it is glasses.
  • I cannot drive in the far right lane because it is heavy food which the far left and the far right are and create the exact same thing.
  • I am unable to drive past X-scape theaters because it is a black woman dog street.
  • I cannot exit at the Riverview exit because it is a child/baby exit that tranquillizes me, adds weight gain, etc.
  • I cannot drive wherever, or whatever road I want to.
  • I cannot get another job.
  • I cannot buy whatever food, or products I want because one word in the description might have a meaning I am supposed to decipher, and eat accordingly.  Instead of being able to eat for flavor, fun, desire, and want.
  • I cannot go to the grocery store, or any other store anymore because people talk telling me what to do.
  • Because of you I do not have control over my own body.
  • Because of you I do not get to have children of my own.  Children born from my womb.  You deprived me of being able to have children.
  • Because of you, you have sentenced me to a life of solitary confinement.
  • Because of you, I am only able to use one toilet at work.
  • Because of you, I am not able to choose, or have whatever objects, colors, people, or jobs I want in my Sims4.
  • Because of you I do not get to choose whatever I want to because of what someone else is wearing, the color or type of shirt, or pants, or anything.
  • Because of you I am sick all the time.
  • Because of you I do not get to wear make-up anymore.
  • Because of you I do not get to wear dresses, look cute, or be pretty anymore.
  • Because of you I do not get to organize my garage how I choose because I have to place items on one side or another when NEITHER are applicable.
  • Because of you, you have ruined and destroyed all hope of me being able to have a healthy sexual life.
  • Because of you I never want to have sex again.  Because I do not consider fingers and hands as acceptable means of SEX!!!!
  • Because of you I do not get to take care of my face – MYSELF!!
  • Because of you I do not get to use whatever soap or lotions I WANT!!!
  • Because of you I do not laugh anymore.
  • Because of you I am nothing more than a sex slave.
  • Because of you I’ve had to prove my sexuality – that I am straight and never anything else ever!
  • Because of you I have to bring my own toilet paper to work.
  • Because of you I have to place my water on the floor at work.
  • Because of you I cannot eat food while I am working.
  • Because of you you force feed and weight gain me like an animal.
  • Because of you I want to die!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is in no way a complete list.

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

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.

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

I rewrote a piece that I finished writing when I moved here in 2012.  For the original is lost from my other blog and computer.  My other blog site which required a separate purchase of a server to store my work, Fat Cow.  I had my brother proof-read it for me as every writer needs an editor.  You should have seen his face while going over the passages I wrote.  For, I believe now, he was getting information from another person in an ear piece.  At the time – not a code, or secret word – I never understood why my brother when visiting me would change from contact lenses to glasses, and so on.  However, I believe, he was doing as he was instructed.

See, as I wrote before not everyone has God moments, so how could they have known the great history between David and I?  All they had to do was ask.  I am not letting the persons responsible off the hook.  Boundaries were crossed.  Just because you can do something does not mean you should do something.  I could jump off a cliff.  Should I, no.

The loss of the relationship between David and I –  is incomparable.  Not one man, as I have been allowed to have – can compare to what happened between the two of us.  I simply have been looking and wanting a man (a real man who was born a man, doesn’t want to be anything else, but a man, that loves women, who love men – tired of writing this) that would be able to make me feel that deeply, that greatly, that much passion again.  For after someone like David, anything less – is less.

There are a lot of variables which have changed my present thinking, however the past does not and cannot alter.  I understand my TiVo was bugged, recording me and my family as it went.  Electronically, possibly altering my thought.  So, what I thought and believed was a God moment might have been contrived by an outside influence.  

For we are talking about decades here.  Like the time I went to Asheville, NC.  Ate dinner at a food court in a mall, and I felt – aware.  Like the fact that the electric bill I paid every single month at my former house increased so much, I wondered if I wasn’t paying for several neighbors electric bills.  That they had bugged and altered the electrical wires of my house and account.  In a way, forcing me out of my house I spent so much time and money on.  The house my brother wanted to retire in.  Making me believe it was impossible for me to pay for, and keep up with.

Some of the words, and phrasing is exactly as I wrote it before.  Some details I did not write back in, for a better read.



Are you kidding me?!

That’s it?!

That’s the ending?!

You got to be fucking kidding me?!

What the hell was that?!

That’s the end.

That’s the end?

That’s the ending?!

I can’t believe it.

There must be more to it than that.

What the hell was that?!

Oh my God?!

Oh my God!!!!!


I must be missing something.  That cannot be it!

That’s the fucking ENDING?!


How can that be the ending?!

How is that the end?

How is that a good ending?!


I mean what the fuck?!

What a waste of time, energy, and money!  For that?!

For that?!  I left my house?!  For that I spent my valuable time and precious money?!

For that?!

What the…


This went on for days.

After going to the movie theater to watch New Moon, I became enraged.

For days.

I was so angry, in fact, I had to check myself.

Why did that ending upset me making me so angry it consumed my thoughts for days and days afterwards?

Like every other person in the entire world, I was bombarded with how Twilight took over the entire planet.  It was on every television station, in magazines, on radio stations, and in stores.  The actors were everywhere making appearances and giving interviews.  Billboards, posters, and merchandising were everywhere consuming our daily lives.  And, I for one, was not having it.

I am a cerebral person.

I am not interested in teen-aged vampires and wolves.  I’m too fucking old, man.  I wasn’t even a teen-ager when I was a teen-ager.

I had no interest whatsoever in watching Twilight.  I was not about to become one of those Twi-hard fans.  Certainly, there was higher art out there to be viewed to enlighten my mind.  Learn more about the world and cultures.  That, was not gonna happen watching Twilight.

However, it turns out that is exactly what happened.

Succumbing to the inevitable, I went to see Twilight in the theaters.  Hmm, that was not so bad.  In fact, it was enjoyable.  It was pleasant to watch.  Characters, location, story – that was all fine.  I can hardly wait to see the next one, I thought to myself.

Then, New Moon.

What the…

What the fuck!


A wedding?!

A fucking wedding?!

That is the ending to New Moon?!


What a waste!

People liked that?!

Did people actually get excited over that ending?!

Oh my GOD!!!!!

There has to be more.

Someone must have gotten something wrong.  The book to film translation must have left something out, or created something that didn’t exist, or screwed something up somewhere.

I must read the books.

I must read the books, so I can understand where Hollywood screwed up.  Because there must be more to the story than a wedding as an ending.

I ordered the books from Amazon.  All the books available to purchase.

Then, I started to read.

Flip the page, flip the page, flip the page.  Hmm, easy to read.  Flip the page, flip the page.  I was beginning to enjoy the sound of that.  Flip the page, flip the page, and I was done reading Twilight.

Alright, on to New Moon.  Reading and reading all night long with the television on and the sound muted while my mother was sleeping.  Still keeping an ever-present eye open if her heart went into fibrillation.  Stopping to take her to the toilet, or bedside commode, or water, or to write-talk to her, or anything else that would keep her going, and healthier than in a nursing home.

Flip the page, I’m done reading New Moon, and that is exactly how New Moon the movie ended?!  There must be more.  I must read them all.  More importantly, I want to read them.  I want to read all of them.

Television and internet searches had been my only reprieve from the excruciatingly, confining, boredom of my situation.  Hours and hours, and hours and hours – alone – while being around others.  I longed to know more about the world.  I longed to know what was going on in the world.  I longed to be a part of the world again.


Reading was helping me.

Reading was helping my brain.

I had been traumatized by my mother’s strokes.  I had been traumatized by her last stroke.  I was at a loss at how to continue since she and I had been preparing to move to California.  She had said she felt like it was going to be a big year.  I felt something was going to happen.  I thought we were going to move to California.  I thought I was finally going to leave Florida which is what I’ve wanted to do almost from the moment I arrived.

Then, I found her face down on our kitchen floor.  And, I didn’t know what to do.


Shock can last a long time.

Shock can happen for years.

I didn’t know what else to do.  I didn’t know how else to live.  I didn’t know how else to manage my mother and father.  Move away?  Leave her in the care of my father?!

I had never been so alone.

I had never been so alone with my family.

Families don’t happen in half hour or hour time slots.

Reading was helping me.  Connecting brain matter and tissues, sparking my brain to think again.  Words were helping.

Then, the memories started returning to me.

Catherine and Heathcliff.


Didn’t David?

Wasn’t that in the courtyard at HCC?

Didn’t David stop for just a moment?

Didn’t David stop being, DAVID?

Didn’t David stop being the screaming man who enjoyed humiliating me, and in the smallest, almost a whisper tell me he and I were like Catherine and Heathcliff?  All those years ago?  He had that way of reaching the deepest part of me.  That place that makes you stop.  The place where no one and nothing else matters, but the present.

And, for a moment, I believed him.

But, I mean come on!  This is David.  This is David Wolfe.  He must be trying to find some way to make fun of me and nothing more.

I almost turned.

I almost turned to the library to find out about Catherine and Heathcliff that day.

Wait, what?!

September 13?

Bella’s birthday in Twilight is the same birthday as mine?!

Catherine and Heathcliff, too?  Catherine and Heathcliff are also in Twilight?!

Sitting in the back seat while my brother drove, mom in the passenger seat enjoying the scenery as it went by, I began to tell my brother how much I enjoyed reading after I finished The Twilight Saga.  I couldn’t think of what to read next.  Creggan suggested I read Wuthering Heights.

Wheeling my mother into the entrance of Target, as the routine went one person wheeled the wheelchair, another person was in front of the wheelchair either blocking people from walking right into the wheelchair – as I discovered a great number of people are completely oblivious to wheelchairs with their eyes in front occasionally it is important to look down for others – or, pulling items from the shelves for my mother to look at, my brother said holding up the book, they have Wuthering Heights.

In the bargain section at Target was Wuthering Heights.  For less than a few dollars, I bought Wuthering Heights.

A much different read than Twilight.

Accents are not as easily read.  However, I enjoyed Catherine and Heathcliff together.

Wait, what?!

That’s it?!

Volume one and she’s dead?!

Come on!

Nobody wanted it to be over.  Catherine didn’t want it to be over.  Heathcliff didn’t want it to be over.  And, she dies!  She dies?!


Then, the memories again.

Anna Karenina.

How many arguments did David and I have in the short time we went to college together?  Our arguments seem like the summation of my entire life.

Anna Karen, David said.

Anna Karenina, I said.

Back and forth, and back and forth.  Both of us trying to prove and tell the other they were wrong.  Both of us believing we were correct, and the other was wrong.

So, I read Anna Karenina.

It turns out both David and I were both correct.  So, we fought for nothing.

Anna Karenina was intimidating by its size.  I thought it was going to take me years to read.

Boring.  Dry.  Paperwork.  I am reading about government officials stamping paperwork?  Try reading that in the middle of the night when you are beyond stress-exhausted.

Mowing grass with a scythe?  I am reading about mowing grass?  I am reading about physical activity being good for the mind, body, and soul?  Russian aristocracy.  I am reading about the daily routine and boredom of aristocracy?  So much of Anna Karenina was either so out-of-date thinking-writing that I found it redundantly boring, or so beyond contemporary living, I found it dull and unrelatable.

However, there was Levin.  There was Kitty.  Levin being Tolstoy, and Kitty, Tolstoy’s wife.  I could see them.  I could imagine them in Russia.  I could see their love for each other.

It took me months, not years to finish reading Anna Karenina.  Then, wait…what?!  Part Seven and the story is over?!  Why is there a Part Eight?!  Why are there still pages to be read?

Oh my God, it was a tedious read.  Middle of the night while the world was asleep I was up trying to read classical Russian literature, and my mother won’t fall asleep this night.  Agitating me.  Why is that?!

So, I move to another room to read.  Why won’t she fall asleep?  Read Cherith, get it done.  Read.  Read.  I’m reading.  I’m reading as best I can.  Reading.  Reading.  One.  Two.  Three.  Four.  Five.  Six.  Seven words…the book starts to slip from my hands, spinning, the room is spinning.  I am sitting down, and I feel I am stumbling.  I reach for the book.  Grabbing, pulling the book back to me.  Breathe.  Breathe Cherith.  Breathe.

Seven words and I thought of David.

Seven words, and I instantly wanted to talk to David again.  Make it right again.  Make it ok again.

Seven words.

Read Cherith, finish reading.

A few more nights and I finished Anna Karenina.  Yet, I was so struck.  It lingered in me.  It resonated in me.  So, I decided there must be more.  I read the introduction, the notes, every last bit of sentences within that book, I read.

I don’t like to read the introductions before I read the book.  I don’t want to be influenced by it.  I want to meet the book where I find it.  Then, there it was.  The struggle Leo Tolstoy found himself in when his publisher did not want and did not publish the book as Leo Tolstoy had written it.  Unable to allow the degradation of his words, thoughts, ideas, politics, and story, Leo Tolstoy published Anna Karenina as we know it today himself at his own expense.  What must that have been like?  To be at the end of your career, well-known, famous around the world, wealthy, a land-owner, a well-liked writer of high regard, and your publisher turns you down?

Those seven words were an epiphany to me.  In those seven words cultures and worlds could be understood.  Those seven words changed my world in a moment.

I had to know more.

I had to learn more.

I had to read more.

I wanted it all now.  I wanted to read every one and everything.  Who else?  What next?  Which book do I read next?

It wasn’t just the epiphany, or the memories.  It was the words.  Underlining as I went, I discovered vocabulary that doesn’t reside on every street corner.  Underlining the words, I didn’t know the meaning to, underlined passages that moved me, underlined as a reference.

I discovered John Muir – one of the most beautiful sentences ever written, Jane Austen, Zora Neale Hurston, Natsume Soseki, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Walt Whitman, and Pablo Neruda, just to name a few.

I discovered a love for classical literature and its beautiful expanse.

I discovered poetry and its ability to make ordinary exquisite.

I discovered short stories, my greatest love of all.  Short stories being the abstract art of the literary world.  For short stories exist all on their own.  They do not require a beginning, or an end.  They simply are.  Short stories simply exist without need.

Short stories, I believe, to be the greatest literary art form.

I learned from them.  I learned from all of the writers, their stories, and their characters.  And, I wanted to know more.  I wanted to read more.  I want to read more.

From wherever you start, you’ll never know to where the journey will take you.

If it hadn’t read Twilight, I would never have read Wuthering Heights.  If I hadn’t read Wuthering Heights, I would never have read Anna Karenina.  If I hadn’t read Anna Karenina, I would never have read those seven words.  If I hadn’t read those seven words, the universe wouldn’t have expanded and collapsed in the blink of an eye.

Twilight was my gateway drug to the literary world.

And, I will read again.

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.