If you haven’t first read PART I, please click on the link below before continuing:
Otherwise, continue reading:
During the end of the 19th century, there was an explosive growth of mental asylums in both America and Europe built with taxpayers dollars. The standing of psychiatrists, however, did not improve in the eyes of society until the field came up with a biological solution for why people were suffering with emotional disorders. They sought to give credence to their ideology about the human mind by cloaking it in the language of medicine—as they came up with the medical model, which is the same model to date that supports the mass drugging of millions in order to force people to change who they are under some prescribed notion of fitting into one’s insane society. Basically, whatever is done to make the patient more manageable was simply called a treatment. The model was derived from a late 19th century notion from Professor Wilhelm Wundt at Leipzig University in Germany. In 1879 he declared that thoughts, personality, and behavior are nothing more than chemical reactions in the brain. He stated, “Observations of the facts of consciousness is of no avail until these are derived from chemical and physical processes. Thought is simply the result of brain activity.” Now, there was a new definition of man as a soulless organism. Behaviorist psychology carried this further with their belief that all people are animals and can be trained like animals. Human behavior does not derive from the soul because they believe there is no soul. They believe all behavior can be manipulated and shaped through conditioning.
This science without a soul crap led to behavioral modification treatments still used today in psychiatry over a century and a half later, and nobody wishes to question the origin of these treatments. Instead of using torture as in days of old, they simply now turn to meds but the treatment has the same goals in mind: change the person so that she becomes subservient and more manageable in the hands of the “doctors.”
Now that I was locked up for at least a week, I dreadfully realized that my absence from my life back home was not only going to affect me but many other lives as well. I was in the middle of directing a play for a professional Westchester theatrical company, and I had upcoming rehearsals all week, including our Tech rehearsal, and the following weekend was opening night, which I was prohibited from attending because of these nuts. It didn’t matter that I only spent hours and hours on my off-nights from Jack plugging away at auditioning, blocking, and designing the show. No, my life didn’t matter. My real life didn’t matter. Only this imagined one they conjured up in their own heads through their stupid baby “science.” It’s like they get to prance around and play dress up and make pretend they are doctors all day telling everyone what was wrong with them but never looking at themselves in the mirror. I couldn’t believe what this institution was doing to not only me, but everyone else associated with me. Shamed about the whole affair, at the nursing station phone I got in touch with the playwright and didn’t even know where to begin, but told her I had to step down from my position, but with much regret and through no wish of my own, and that I was in a very terrible situation, and that I would explain everything to her at some point but couldn’t now do so because I was not able to. Basically, I was a criminal and locked up. Ironically, I was directing her comedic play, The Second Coming, which was a one-act about the rapture taking place in a survivalist bunker in middle America. Jesus comes crashing through the door with a rifle and like a movie announcer declares over thunder in the background, “The prince of peace is back…only this time he’s pissed!” Oh, what I would’ve given to have Jesus Christ show up at this scandalous scene with a rifle in hand at my defense. Five actors, the playwright, and the entire artistic and production team would be affected by my absence, and the hospital couldn’t care less. Again, my personal achievements and relationships I had developed over the years meant absolutely nothing to their “kind.” It was much more important to them that I was off the street—or out of my house, as a more accurately pathetic matter—and not harming anyone else in the imagined threatened population of superiors.
The good nurses only saw half of what was going on behind the language and actions of this institution but overall could be relatively trusted if you behaved. They were mom and brother types and they really just wanted to help, but they weren’t completely ignorant of the oppression that was roaming through those halls either. On one occasion when I was crying to my friend on the phone explaining the brutality of my revocation of civil liberties that was occurring, after I hung up, one of the kind nurse technicians brought me aside to the quiet room and said to me, “Please, do yourself a favor and don’t let anyone see you cry. If you are upset, go into the bathroom (for the rooms had cameras) and cry softly with the shower running. You’re better off.” I was thankful for her advice because as I was abandoned by my family for good, I was crying in full fits at least three times a day. I had to make sure I hid that because showing signs of emotion is symptomatic as a marked bipolar.
I was bored out of my mind during my stay so I decided to exercise to take off the edge. 16 laps through the halls around the nursing station led to a mile, and now I was up to two a day. I must have looked frantic to them because one nurse told me one night on my 30th lap, “Does pacing make you feel better?”
Pacing? Jesus, they must see me as a true imbecile. “I was actually exercising,” I responded. After that I made sure—because the nurses were required to observe and record notes on you throughout the stay which could directly impact how fast they thought you were normal enough to be discharged—whenever I did my laps, I announced upon several passes at the nursing station loud and clear, “I’m doing my exercising now!”—to ensure that their recorded observations would not be construed by my assigned psychiatrist as symptomatic. Each day we were given a recovery plan sheet of goals and admission to possible “symptoms” and I never wrote anything more than: “I feel great” and “waiting for discharge.” I am certain they did not believe for a second I was functioning normally.
I was still considering pleading my case in court to get out of there if they should consider holding me another week, but I was sternly warned by the good nurses that I should not pursue a court dismissal because no one was ever known to win. I saw I was just like every other poor soul in there with no civil liberties to claim, but I didn’t see my chances of getting out of there were any better under the dimwitted decision making of the ol’ headmaster, Dr. Harding, to have mercy on my Jew-ass and let me go by her own whim—or doctor know-it-all expertise. Halfway through my week, I was thankfully assigned a new psychiatrist because Dr. Harding had dropped my case from her list of patients. The clone was through being unnerved by me, I suppose. She just couldn’t stand hearing the words Nazi and Jew anymore. On my last sit-down with her she said again, “So this Nazi and Jew stuff. Are you still having those thoughts?”
I answered flatly, “They are called concepts. Everyone loves to watch Spielberg’s Schindler’s List, but nobody wants to walk away learning anything.”
My new psychiatrist was chief of the department. He was a nice guy, and when I told him my story, he seemed to actually have some compassion for me. He was a Jew. Well, I don’t know if he was a descendant from the bloodline, but you could tell the Nazis apart from the Jews on the staff. The Jews were trying to help people and the Nazis believed in Master Race ideology. They saw us vermin to be the inferior ones with poor genetics, and they were born to keep us in line.
“So, what got you in here?” he asked.
“My brainwashed parents put me away because I was being creative in my own home. I am only here because I have a mark of bipolar disorder. I have a number. And I don’t consider my personality a disorder. It is a gift.”
He seemed stumped. “Ok, well, now that you’re here, how are you going to get yourself out and stay out?”
Honestly, I didn’t even know what to say anymore. Just tell me how to act, please, and I’ll do my best to be like you, normal and adjusted to an insane society, and idiotic, and then maybe you can be fooled into believing I am not crazy.
“I don’t know, you tell me,” I answered back. He tried his best to be understanding, but he was a psychiatrist after all.
I did my best to keep a journal when I wasn’t simmering in anger or crying in upset.
A few excerpts are as follows:
6pm, Monday, 3/20/17
I feel persecuted, overwhelmed, scared, anxious, and uncertain about my future. Why here, why now? And yet, I am gaining more and more confidence again in the idea that I’m not nuts.
“No, you are not nuts,” my inner voice answered.
So, in this lifetime, before I get gassed, I will make it out of here alive?
“Of course. You are there for reasons beyond what they appear to be. God is directly involved with this process. He wanted you there for a very distinct reason. Because you are not the one to be put away. In fact, if people like you are continually put away, then the world will die. Simple as that. And that reality better wake everyone the hell up before it gets any worse.”
9:30am, Wednesday, 2/22/17—my Mom’s birthday.
It’s so easy to get amnesia in the hospital so guides, help me piece these images together like a puzzle to make sense of my experience before I was admitted into this Nazi death camp. My life finally felt complete as I had landed terrific connections in both painting and theater. Accomplishments for which I was proud and received admiration for. But here, I am seen as a flat image inside a black and white TV. I am more than a mental illness stat. I am more than a Victorian woman trapped in a bygone era of yesterday. It’s been a long journey, and I knew full well it might go wrong if I wasn’t careful. But I never thought it would manifest like this.
I like Fitzroy, the tech who looks like my friend Roscoe, who inspired me to write my book 20 years back. He holds his demeanor with pride and spirit and when we spoke today, he eased my stress from a level 9 to a level 5. He has a Caribbean accent and a hearty laugh. He knew things that he couldn’t admit to about the psychiatric institution, and when we chatted about it, he would give me a “zip your lip” gesture with his hand. He knew the deal. He told me that no matter what, hold my spirit strong—for that is all we truly have—and have courage.
I’m writing down my positive qualities before I forget: strong character, creative, inspiring to others, beautiful heart, supportive to others, accepting of others and myself, courageous.
We sat through Meds Therapy in group today. The afternoon doctor shared with us some info about anti-psychotic medications—the ones they were ready to put me on within minutes after I entered the hospital in the ER—one in which I refused to take knowing full well what it could do to my brain. It’s for “disorganized thinking” for non-clones and puts a stop to actual real human being thinking, like Haldol did to me years back. The doctor told us, “We don’t know enough to say exactly what’s going on,” in reference to a question about chemical imbalances. Wow, you don’t know everything about the brain, doctor? I’m shocked.
4:10pm, Thursday, 3/23/17
Thank God for Elaine. A special woman of 66 years of age, who had a cool, intelligent, sweet presence. She made everything tolerable here and kept me focused and my mood light. She’s a reader. A friend. I look at my roommate. So sad. So charming and pretty. A young grad student in political science at Columbia University. One of the promising ones who might one day make a change in our society for the better. She’s hearing them too, and instantly the Nazi system has taken over her life, with her parents, as mine did, trying to do the right thing and listen to the “doctors” putting the “voices” from her ancestors and friends on the other side to a stop for good.
5:35pm, Friday, 3/24/17
I feel the presence of Carrie Fisher with me on this stay—labeled bipolar herself, she wrote several books on the matter. She dealt with the pathetic subject with humor and even had the boldness to request that her ashes be put in a big Prozac capsule urn after she went onto the other side.
She told me, “Ok, girl. Even though you are currently no Princess Leia, in fact you are a pretty pathetic, ugly-looking, bug-eyed, alien renegade right now, you need to remember this journey—this crazy delivery into the hell-hole, Nazi Furher’s jail cell—is all happening for a reason. Because there is a God, and it’s judgment day. It’s true, remember, everything is recorded and taped. You warned them. Now, you are in the dark. You have no access to any internet data, to your research files, to your notes, to that reality you left behind before you entered clone wars. And as crazy as it sounds and as much as it kills you to keep writing about it while you are simultaneously trying to remain sane in the thick of all this…..”.
Oooh…time for dinner.
3:15pm, Saturday, 3/25/17
Last time it seemed to be more in my hands. That maybe I could stay out based on my focus and will. Now, things are different. It is a disgusting, sad crime upon the mental wellness of the minds of Western society that a Nazi-based mind control system has taken over the reasoning of every thinking human being on Earth. Because the only thing my parents and my psychiatrist and the hospital, in fact, have on me based on this stupid philosophy is “proof” of my behaviors with no concern or interest in its context. I believe I will remember everything when I leave because I know I’m in a temporary state of amnesia. For now. But it is not fair or right that I should have this kind of life when I am such a good, caring person who would be there for anyone. But I can no longer risk my life for their stupid ideals. It’s wrong. And I cannot bear to exist under this retarded system anymore. It’s wrong. And I thought I proved it in my book. But no one has read it.
No more hospitalizations. No more misinterpretations. No more repeated stupidity. Only heaven do I invite in, if there is such a thing that could exist on Earth. Which for me would include art, creative expressiveness, music, and writing. 20 frickin’ years have flown by and I feel I have nothing to show for it.
“Well, Jen, what of the masses who feel the same way? Everyone is experiencing some given set of symptoms of “mental illness.” You are not just fighting for your freedom. You’re doing it for everyone. You are doing it for those who have come before you. Masses of people—erased bloodlines and cultures nearly abolished in the name of the white man and that psycho, the Fuhrer. The truth is the truth.”
It’s true. Nothing had changed in two decades, and it had only gotten worse. A friend of mine who was 27 just told me he was also hospitalized a few years earlier for similar ridiculous reasons, but he knew enough to see right through the hogwash. But I was stuck under my parents rule years back, and that never seemed to end.
11:20am, Sunday, 3/26/17
Ya know, I can go over this again and again with every slant from every perspective. This was not a hospitalization by my own accord. I know I was put here against my will at the mercy of some ridiculous, outdated, and oppressive philosophy about the human psyche. These places are far too dangerous to me. I am at a point of my life where my record can deeply hurt me. I have a child, for Christ’s sake. It’s too much to ask. It’s simply not fair. How can this be legal to lock someone up with no good reason? In America? But they are saying it is legal. They are legally able to do it. It feels like Nazi Germany. Oops, I said it again.
Before this mess, everything felt great. Summer was fabulous. My career took off. Then I successfully go to the international bodypainting championship in North Carolina in September—a huge task and accomplishment. I was so proud. My bodypainting was thriving, I had gained momentum and professional opportunities in Westchester theater. And yet, everything that took me so long to create, all the joy, the pride, the momentum, the change for the better in my self-esteem and certainty of heart and mind that my life was real, that my mind was beautiful, all of it was squelched in this visit to the gas chamber. How painful. But I need to let logic take over. It seems to be my last resort. If everything is true up until this point, and I know it to be, what does that mean? What logically follows? What follows is that someone has to pay for this. Because I’m through.
It was only my creativity which got me here. In this stupid hellhole Nazi prison, brought into the ER with nothing but a mark and a sure 10 day-2 week visit into the gas chamber as a marked Bipolar Jew with a headmaster clone who basically confessed in private (and on tape) that she and her kind are Nazis.
Maintaining my sanity and my self-worth this time around in that concentration camp was my most difficult challenge to date. To get an idea of how oppressive the mind control is there, take a peek at how little I was able to access my unique DNA as an artist, the genes that I was continually reminded by them were defective and mentally ill. With no change in medication except a slight increase in sleeping meds, which I had been on for years, my artistic talents had suddenly vanished when I walked through those doors because their institution saw my artistic process as not something to be celebrated, but something to be viewed as symptomatic. I went to art therapy 1-2 hours daily working on projects that I could continue into the next day, approximately 15 hours in my stay, and this is what I could best come up with because I felt so disconnected to who I was:
To get a true idea of what I can accomplish as an artist in my own world, in my own time, with the confidence I have on a regular healthy and sane basis convinced that my artistic mind is normal, here is a piece I completed with an assistant in the 2016 North American International Bodypainting Championship in 6 hours:
Here’s a 90 minute job I did for a Live Facebook broadcast filmed by Refinery29 that received over 130,000 views:
Here’s one that took me 4 hours for Andy Golub’s 2016 3rd Annual Bodypainting Day in NYC:
Hmmm. Do ya think we can make some connections here, people? Not convinced of any mind control? Not yet? Mmmm…OK.
It was on day 10 when I was finally allowed to return to my life. I took a shower and finally washed my filthy hair and asked for a hairdryer at the counter. “Well, you can dry your hair but you can’t do it by yourself. A nurse can do it for you.”
Their final jab at me. I suppose the Jew shouldn’t leave with any shred of dignity left. I had not even earned the gold star to do my own hair? “Even though I am leaving today, you’re still afraid of me trying to hurt myself with a small appliance?”
“It’s policy. The patients are not allowed to operate a hair dryer.” Absolute mortification. No respect. No need. No reason. No purpose. No nothing. I am nothing but a nothing to this system. And now they are nothing but nothing to me.
I sat in my room as the nurse dried my hair like I was a 90 year old woman who suffered from dementia, with tears streaming down my face. How did I in this lifetime earn such a sentence? How could these good people not see the obvious truth? The proof was as obvious to me as night and day. And that proof was:
NOT Crazy=NOT Crazy
Simple as that.
These people who were running this operation were simply not human. They forgot what it is that makes up a human being. And we have so many non-humans running around down here in charge and making decisions that it’s getting nuts because only the humans are going crazy. And while everyone else thinks they are sounding more “correct” in their thinking, they are only adopting ridiculous trash. The world’s logic system is insane. There is no logic left. Somehow the world had come to believe—for decades and decades, which my life story has proven—that to put someone like me away repeatedly throughout the course of my life on hearsay alone with no trial, no fair proof, and with no good reason, and to put racists and idiots in charge of the world, was in fact, normal. Now how on Earth is that logical? Logically then, and I believe God is Logic, shouldn’t this illogical system show itself to be just that?
It is now clear to me, that it could only be me to do it. I need to reveal that the very logic that is putting me away is insanely illogical for the race to survive. Thus in order to show this, it looks like I need to save the human race from becoming insane idiots. Little did I know I would need to battle the Furher’s return in a world severed from all reason, logic and sense. With my voice unheard and with no ears to listen anyway. This reality, which it seems only I have the capacity to see through my own two naked eyes, is out of a horror flick from Alfred Hitchcock gone on way too long, and I have colossally suffered under its stupidity for two decades of my life! Well, I guess I’m the mental case with the motive, right? Now, beyond any shadow of a doubt—it is 100% clear that I need to do it because I want my freedom back in this so-called damn, free country. They have Hitler, they have genetic extermination on their minds. That’s all they can imagination. Well, I have a better imagination than they do, and I have good genes—no great genes—and I’m going to prove it. And that’s why this was a God imperative because I needed to record it.
Their system is this: They are always right and everything is relative to that point, which is not truth. It is false. How far away are you from the “right” thinking, which is theirs. Their ideas about the human mind and brain. Of course nothing else could be true, after all. Because they are “scientists.” Well, I’m sorry, but what is happening on the inside of these mind control camps is not science, and if anyone is naïve enough and blatantly stupid enough to believe such a thing, then they better go back to Kindergarten baby school Science 101 and learn a thing or two about the scientific method and stop reading all the brainwash Facebook articles that share the perspective of only drug-pushing Big Pharma, which backs only phony biological psychology research that supports their insane treatments. People, how about this? Maybe actually read something first source that’s not on social media? Now, there’s a thought. But that requires a little more head game, I know.
This bogus program has nothing to do with real science, and instead has everything to do with the revocation of civil liberties. As Nobel-Prize winning physicist Richard Feynman wrote forty years ago, “If science is to progress, what we need is the ability to experiment, honesty in reporting results—the results must be reported without somebody saying what they would like the results to have been—and finally—an important thing—the intelligence to interpret the results. An important point about this intelligence is that it should not be sure ahead of time what must be.”
What their “intelligence” saw was a genetically inferior woman with the mark of bipolar disorder who was a mental case Jew. What I saw with my own two eyes that can be validated by the law of time was that Mein Kampf is operating through the cyber links of people who are trying to sleep and using those binaurybeat sleep digitalized programs to do so—while the Fuhrer comes waltzing in with his views and ideals embedding into the collective consciousness of the sleeping masses’ delta brainwaves. What I see is that people are being hauled into asylums under no proven grounds with no trial, and held long term against their will with threat of state imprisonment, and then being convinced they are genetic defects. What I see is that people are being organized and categorized inside the medical system so that when another person wants to tattle on someone to the authorities about something they see another doing, that they don’t like or can’t understand, they can do so and be supported by the laws in place. We are living under the Fuhrer! It’s insanity. Please take a closer look at how this “medical” language plays with our understanding of the true human psyche and try earnestly to see it from my bipolar mind:
When I finally was allowed like a good little puppy to return to my life, or whatever was left of it, I needed to do the final research. Why were they so certain it was legally justifiable to keep me in there for no good reason that they could utter to me? It seemed as though this system was set-up to give the hospitals more rights than their patients. How had it come to this? And then I found it: Kendra’s Law.
In 1999, Governor George Pataki signed Kendra’s Law (Chapter 408 of the Laws of 1999), creating a statutory framework for court ordered Assisted Outpatient Treatment (AOT) to ensure that individuals with mental illness and a history of hospitalizations or violence participate in mental health services appropriate to their needs. Kendra’s Law was named in memory of Kendra Webdale, a young woman who died in January, 1999 after being pushed in front of a New York City subway train by Andrew Goldstein, a man with a history of mental illness and hospitalizations. Kendra’s Law established mechanisms for identifying individuals who, in view of their circumstances and treatment history (which is mandated and unavoidable), were likely to have difficulty living safely in the community without close monitoring and mandatory participation in treatment.
Further, it ensures that NY mental health systems give these individuals priority access to case management and other services deemed necessary to ensure one’s safety and successful community living. Kendra’s Law requires that each county in New York establishes a local AOT program to implement the statute’s requirements, and charges the New York State Office of Mental Health with the responsibility for monitoring and overseeing the implementation of AOT statewide. Eligibility Criteria for AOT Kendra’s Law contains the following summary description of the AOT target population: “…mentally ill people who are capable of living in the community with the help of family, friends and mental health professionals, but who, without routine care and treatment, may relapse and become violent or suicidal, or require hospitalization.”
Through twenty years of complying to this psychiatric system, no matter how successful I had become or happy and well-balanced, they had stuck to this idea about me that I could “relapse” at any given moment because the DSM forecasted such a thing. My family had reacted in such terror for no good reason because they have been brainwashed over the years to undoubtedly take the doctors’ word for it that their daughter is “mentally ill.” All the while, I had no idea that the doctors were backed up by law to continually have the right to take over my life, and the only thing I could do to fight such a thing was to go to court and lose. And, painfully I understood that going to court would only solidify my record into compulsory and possible ongoing unneeded taxpayer dollars treatment based on my past hospitalizations alone without any concern for the present non-danger in question. Please take a look at my latest “record” of my mental illness this time around.
Most of my hospitalizations resulted from either my parents or my ex collapsing into fear that I was going into an “episode” because the institution over the years told them to be on guard for so-called “symptoms” that are normal for my personality type. Yes, my personality type. I am an artist. A marked bipolar artist Jew. They are killing the bipolar artists and the schizophrenic mystics, and no one even cares.
Well, I go for something a little larger minded on My Patient’s Bill of Rights. It’s called My Human Bill of Rights and it’s taken from Judith Belmont’s 2016 book, “150 More Group Therapy Activities and Tips.” It’s actually one of the worksheets they give the imbeciles on the inside during group therapy and yet, they don’t even know they are completely ignored during the admission routine. Eight of these I demand as a human being:
- I have a right to be treated with respect.
- I have a right to not let others control me.
- I have a right to stand up for my rights.
- I have a right to express my needs and wants.
- I have a right to accept myself for who I am.
- I have a right to set boundaries and limits with others.
- I have a right to have privacy and my own personal space.
- I have a right to follow my dreams, interests and passions.
Thank you, but no. I do not wish to be you. I wish to be me. I do not wish to think like the clones. I wish to think like me. And I wish for you to get the hell out of my life. You know nothing about anything that is important. Leave me and my son alone. I thought I already achieved movement in my fight against this insane program, and yet, until this book gets out there, my freedom and civil liberties are dangerously compromised on a daily basis. They know my social security number. They know where I live. They have managed to make my parents their soldiers. And they are protected by the law. But I will not be silenced! I am a Native American, and I deserve my freedom! I will not be convicted for past crimes of the heart or for fits of artistic genius. I am no longer apologizing for myself, and I will not back down!
I implore you, my friends, if you are moved in any way by my story, please share it with a friend or family member, or 5 or 10. Share this article on other Facebook community pages so that this warning gets out there to the masses. Because this is not only a personal battle. Our kids’ freedoms are at stake. Mothers, we are well aware of the relentless labeling in school systems today. And if your kid should ever need, or fall prey to one of these institutions and have a few visits within a five year period, (almost every psychiatric hospital has an adolescent wing), their freedoms will be revoked overnight and you will not be able to do anything about it. This is reality. It’s not a heated debate, and no, it’s not frilly Facebook feline mini-flicks. We are living in precarious times politically as well, and we have no idea what the future brings and how fast the list of the “mentally ill” of our society will be pulled out to protect all the normal clones from us nutzos. Please, for the love of God, share my message. I deserve to live freely in America. I was born here, I pay my taxes, and I am protected by the United States Constitution. Aren’t I?
I believe I have fairly shown how this psychiatric institution has violated my civil liberties on every level. They do not have the right, based on their ridiculous assumptions about what is going on in my mind, or even worse, what is potentially going on in my mind derived from their limited and disgusting imaginations, to take away my American freedom. I told every professional that evaluated me and fairly warned them that I had written a book about this oppressive mental hygiene system, and that I am protected by the United States Constitution to be free to operate in this country as a free American, and that I was recording what was going on. They looked at me like I was an oppositional nutjob—not the kind of demeanor that signals normalcy for a functioning bipolar. As an American I have the freedom to be who I am without having to consistently prove myself to those who are married to this ridiculously retarded, false Master Race ideology. I never believed it, and I am fighting on the front lines for those who are also oppressed today and for our labeled children who are now, or will one day be, as well.
Remember, in the end, as the story goes, God saves His Chosen People. Won’t you stand by my crusade and join me as a Jew? My book is coming soon, and I assure you, with the information I have collected over ten years, and the 6 forced hospitalizations I have endured in that interim, I have undoubtedly and irrefutably proven on every level, as they go down in history for being the ultimate set of morons who ever walked the face of this Earth, that I’m Not As Crazy As You Think.
Read something other than what all the drug-pushing biological psychology Big Pharma internet articles are telling you is true. Try this one to begin with and enlarge your vision:
There is no such thing as a genetic “mental illness.” It is a myth and the Nazi regime’s wet dream come true. Being bipolar or schizophrenic is not an illness. It’s a gift. We are depressed because this insane world is crushing our spirits. We suffer from anxiety because there is nowhere to go but downward in this lunatic matrix. We are obsessive compulsive because we are trying to remain in control as the world speeds up into nutty oblivion. We are suicidal because we can’t stand to live another day in this oppressive world. I am fighting this system on every level because if I don’t, I will undoubtedly be put away for no better reason they can come up with than “loss of balance.” It is enough to inhumanely imprison me again and again as my dignity continues to be shattered and my birthname destroyed.
If you know anyone who might be interested in publishing this story online or in print, please message me immediately via Facebook or email me at firstname.lastname@example.org. Please print my story, share it with friends at work, your community organizations and place of worship
If you are a lawyer or know someone who is, and you believe I have a human rights case or civil liberties violations case concerning laws on the books that are unconstitutional, please contact me immediately. If you would like to be on my personal email list and receive future newsletters on my work and anti-psychiatry campaign, please direct message me with your email address and I will add you to it. And please check out my blog: www.notascrazyasyouthink.com, for more articles and information on this urgent subject matter. Thanks in advance for your support for helping me stay free in the land of the free. I am an American after all, and I do believe in the final hour that the United States Constitution will protect me.
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