It has been a long time since I initially published my poorly-written blurb about former abuse by the Psychiatric Industry. When I wrote that, I had just stopped being homeless, and found a true apartment. When I wrote that, I had finally gained newfound stability and in my joy I felt the confidence to admit to the problems mentioned. Of course, that stability ended due to both the Plandemic and when I discovered that I had fallen victim to a rent scam.
However, in the time since I have found stability again. In the time since my birthday this year (though technically before, yet I am using my 24th Birthday as an easy to recall marker) — which at time of writing has been almost six entire months— I have dedicated this time to a dedicated and disciplined self-improvement crusade. Due to this, I have been able to review my entire life. I have been able to overcome much that has existed in these two decades (plus four years) of my life, and I now have made many realizations which I want to share to the peanut gallery of the net and simply speak so that my story is kept or the record.
I do wish to provide a few brief words prior to the confession. I feel that after so long in disruption the fact that I have remained in one place with my basic needs met (food, shelter, and clothing) for over one year has assisted me in returning to sanity. It is hard to describe the entirety of what I have done since turning 24, but it includes "straight-edging" (that is, refusing intoxicants of any kind), living to a daily schedule, adopting a NoPorn and NoFap mindset (going so far as briefly adopting Brahamchyra), radically changing diet and working-out daily, meditating and giving adoration to the Godhead in my own weirdo way (the rituals of the Neophyte Grade of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn), studying, and doing the grind. These things would be enough, but I am doing much more. I repeat my mantra "Everyday, in every-way, I am getting better and better." every day. The person that I was even as recently as six months ago is no longer my present self.
Because of this (and because I have been able to "unravel the web of the mystery of me") I have been able to gain the confidence to finally speak on some of these matters.
As I said in the original article, I was given drugs through most of childhood for illnesses that I do not believe I had. This is not unique to myself but in-fact a defining characteristic of my generation. However, the greater context of this was not provided.
My mother was 14 when she had me. When she had me, I was a product of statutory rape. Due to the hullabaloo that exists in such circumstances, I was left in the care of my Great-Grandmother, my Uncle, and my Grandfather (the son of the Great-Grandmother, father of my Mother). We lived in a gross house, in what was nice-enough but would later devolve into a slum as the years went by.
I would have problems which I will not go into deeply during my youngest years. I was told years later by my Mother that when pregnant (though she did not know) my father and her took LSD. She told me this when drunk, so I do not know the authenticity of the claim. While this would explain some things, it is not a justification for what happened to me later-on.
I was told by my Mother years later that the Great-Grandmother would refuse to let her be my Mother. It was her that cast her out. She related to me a story that I have no first-hand memory of where she had taken me to the neighboring park to have me swing on the swing-set. After this, the Great-Grandmother came and told her that she was wrong to do this and forced her to take me home. This was an example she provided me. I again do not know its validity.
I was initially attending a preschool that was farther away from my home. I later went to a school that was almost my next-door neighbor. It was there at this next-door school that I have more memories for. I attended two preschool classes. The first was Mrs. Nara's class. I liked her. The second was Mrs. Willson's class. I did not like her. Why did I attend two separate classes? I do not know.
It was around the time that I entered Mrs. Willson's class that my orneriness began to increase and my actions started to be like a child on LSD. However, also during this time my Grandfather decided that it was time to move-out of his mother's home (which I believe he only re-entered due to my coming-along). This brought me a great depression as I now knew not only that my Mother was not there, but my Grandfather (which I am told I mistakenly called my Dad often) was leaving too.
The shock of this leaving (again) caused great mental distress. I began to act out, slowly but surely. My thought patterns became more and more erratic. I developed what I now know to be Avoidant Personality Disorder, as well as a plethora of other issues. If the LSD claim I later learned of was correct, I also would most certainly act in a confusion like being on LSD.
After disruptive behavior through the years, the faculty (and the principle) encouraged my legal guardian to send me to a psychiatrist. I had 30 or so sessions with this man. I only physically saw him on 2-3 of them. Instead, my Great-Grandmother was the one who would speak to him. Through this, he diagnosed me with the in-vogue diagnosis of the time, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, and later Biopolar Disorder (presently renamed to Bipolar I disorder). For this crime, I was prescribed the drug that many children of my generation were given against their will, the drug known as Ritalin.
The events after being prescribed Ritalin are much more of a blur to memory. I would act much more manic, insane, and crazy because Ritalin is essentially Methadone cut with Cocaine. I was four-six years of age during my time on Ritalin. Some blurs I remember include being physically dragged from the classroom to the office. As I was doing so I was laughing hysterically. At the garden in front of the newly-built school library (which I was always protective of from the other students who would disrupt the sproutlings of plants) I uprooted one of the flowers (keep in mind this is while I was a child being physically dragged and restrained, talk about druggie strength) and held the sproutling in my hands. As I reached the office I dropped it on the front secretary's desk and yelled "PRESENT!" and laughed hysterically.
These incidents were treated not as a child on drugs but as simple acts of a bad kid. I was told that I must begin to behave. Ridiculous. Though I have little first-hand memory of the actual mania that got me expelled, I was told later that I took off all my clothes and began to run around naked and violently. I remember being in the Cop Car, as I was being taken to a hospital, which then recommended that I be sent for observation to the first mental hospital that I ever was sent. This began a long period of horrid abuse, experimentation, institutionalization, and criminal actions which still haunt me to this day. That in-patient care, the first one of many, occurred at age Five.
After my expulsion, I was sent to a different school. This elementary school was farther away, and was made for Navy Housing students. I was put in their SpEd class. It's a funny thing because before this I was being considered for Gifted and Talented Education. Quite a demotion. Eventually, after many changes (but not removal) of the drugs, multiple mental hospitals, and many more things I was put into what was known as "100% Mainstreaming" in the Fourth and Fifth grade. I need not bore you with everything about this period of my life. This is after all only an abridgment to provide further context of my former article.
It was after this that I was sent not to the Middle-School that all my friends were in (why would I, they were Navy Housing students living in a completely different part of the city) so instead I was sent to an industrial Middle School that housed over 1000 students. The daily schedule was impossible to follow, as it changed every day. The people were mean. This was an overwhelming thing for me, being on drugs, never allowed outside, and perpetually infantalized by a SpEd class. I was simply dropped in there. I stopped going. I became more and more deranged again. A few more hospitalizations, experimentation, drug changes, and mania growing I was sent to have a competency test by the district. I failed.
For the crime of failing a competency test, I was sent to what is known as a "Day Treatment Facility". This is something I was somewhat aware of before due to the fact that one of the hospitals I would routinely go into had a school that was shared with Day Treatment children. However, this was one that I never knew of before. I do not know if Day Treatment exists outside the state of California. Day Treatment was a horrid place that still haunts my memories to this day.
In the Day Treatment facility, it was like a prison except that I was permitted to leave at the end of the day to return to a home I was not allowed to leave, where my (by then) severely demented Great-Grandmother would do things and tell me things. At the Day Treatment facility, lessons were filler. At the Day Treatment facility, you could and were locked inside padded closets if you acted up. At the Day Treatment facility, you were not permitted to use the bathroom without being watched.
It took a lot of time but eventually I was able to get my pills adjusted enough to act normal again, and after my middle-school years were over I was sent yet again to an alternative high school (that was not a Day Treatment facility, thank god).
I was a maniac there too. Learning that the Alternative High School was in the same sports league as the Day Treatment Facility shocked my drug-addled brain. To me, I was still in the same place that I viewed (and still view) as a criminally-abusive enterprise (and I still wish to file charges all these years later). Nonetheless, it was finally at this point that I made the conscious decision to stop taking all of the pills that they were giving me.
I had by that time grown all the way up. My mania was caused by the pills, I knew. I also knew that since I would be punished for hiding the pills under my tongue or my cheek I would simply run to the bathroom within 30 minutes and vomit the pills up. It was only after this act of bravery (which was true bravery for I was told all my life that if I did this inexplicable bad things would happen to me) that I began to act normal for the first time since before the druggings began all that time ago. I was given an award by the school for "Most Improved Student" that year.
Despite this, the Psychiatrist refused to allow me my victory. I was told that she supported this decision, but I was to begin a series of injections in the ass as a "just in case". I do not remember the name of this drug which I had no desire to take, but it again brought horrid behavioral problems, confusion, extreme tiredness, and more. I was told it was a "Mood Stabilizer". In order to have it administered, I would be driven to the horrid Day Treatment school of abuse (that I never wanted to see or think about again) for the school nurse there to inject me in the ass with this drug against my will.
The only reason this stopped (and I believe it stopped after only five weeks) was because my Great-Uncle finally realized what had happened over the past Thirteen Years, realized that his mother had long-since gone demented, and realized that the drugs were the fault of all my behavior. I was given three days notice that we were to move, and then we went to live with my Grandfather, and later I was reclaimed by my mother.
I will not continue with the chronological story until a later part yet to be written. This is in essence my childhood. It is brief, and I do not include many other things such as what happened to me in those mental hospitals, what happened to me in my schooling, how the state forced itself into my home many times, how I had entire teams of 'tard-handlers observing and surveiling me in my own home, how every year I would have a new psychiatrist (and for a period of time a new one every 4 months because I became an outpatient to a teaching hospital), how I would not be allowed outside and was actually forbidden from having friends, and later I avoided friends due to the shame of myself. Simply know that there is much to the story.
It took me many years to overcome the trauma and what I now know to be legitimate brain-damage from these years of druggings, this institutionalized abuse, and the extreme social isolation I was subjected. Many of my memories are of me incredibly drugged watching Basic Cable TV. This was my at-home life for years. It is funny because a lot of my bizarre and odd behavior was simply repeating what I had seen on Television. Of course, no one knew (nor should they have reason to know) the references.
I consider myself now to have overcome this horrid past, and as I continue to work on my self-improvement of these past six months I continue to be able to process the memories free of the emotional associations and shame and simply view them as my past. I have truly overcome and now as a 24 year old no longer in extreme destitution I know now that I have the freedom I always wanted (and perhaps even had it for longer than I have known).
I continue to believe that my childhood diagnoses were incorrect (ADHD, Bipolar I, Aspbergers Syndrome) and I still believe that these disorders have a very low likelihood of actually existing due to my own experiences with them. Regardless, I am proof of the system's failure and I had first-hand experience of the evils of Organized Psychiatry (divorced from its Psychology roots) and Big Pharma's commercialized evils.
I also note that I am everso thankful that these things do not come back in a background check, and I assume them to be expunged due to the fact I was a minor during this period of time. There has been no need for any legal fight regarding these things, and I am unsure if these diagnoses are even still attatched to my name.
I hope that you take what I have said to heart, and have it reflect upon your own life. I am better now, I have overcome not only these earliest years of my life, but so much more that came after. More is to be written in the future.