Send-to-Kindle or Email Please login to your account first Need help? Please read our short guide how to send a book to Kindle. The file will be sent to your email address. It may take up to minutes before you receive it. The file will be sent to your Kindle account. It may takes up to minutes before you received it. Please note : you need to verify every book you want to send to your Kindle. I didnt even know who I was, where Id been, or even my own age or name at times! Without the capacity for free thought, I had no free will and ultimately no soul expression.
I had no way to express love even if I could feel it. With nothing to give and nothing to lose, I relied only on my heightened senses. I could sense much like an animal could sense, and I had seen the trust and affection his pet raccoons and foxes had for him. Even the farm animals that Houston had abused so horribly exhibited trust for Mark.
Kelly sensed trust for Mark as well. After all, he was the first man who did not abuse us and genuinely cared for our welfare and well-being. His patient, gentle manner was therapeutic, while his propensity for handling weapons and apparent intellect kept us safe against all odds. His inside knowledge of CIA inner workings due to his own past proved invaluable in keeping us a step ahead of The Most Dangerous Game and continues to do so to this date.
February 4, marked the beginning of life for Kelly and me. Its a long, long way to the top of the world from here, Mark told me as we loaded up our pets and a few personal belongings in a small rented trailer he had hooked up to his Pacer. That will give you plenty of time to remember where youve been and why we have to leave here under the gun this way.
My response was not as profoundly revealing as another MK Ultra victims would be in later years when she said, No one would believe the things I cant remember. Instead I began, I hope I talk about it the whole way.
Its not what you remember that matters, its how you remember it. Mark handed me several notepads and a pen as he opened the door for me. The pen is mightier than the sword.
Remember that. He settled into the drivers seat as the Pacer he restored sprang instantly to life at the touch of a switch. We were on our way. How am I supposed to remember what happened? I wondered to myself. It had been mere weeks since I had even found out my age. When Mark referred to my age as 30, I had argued that I was 24 until he showed me on my drivers license and the date on newspapers.
Where had I been all those years? It seemed like I knew but just didnt want to think about it. Mark spoke confidently and without emotion as though he had been reading my mind. I know from studying mind sciences all my life that the brain photographically records events surrounding trauma. You display every indication of having endured significant trauma. Whether you wanted to forget it or not, your brain automatically compartmentalized memory so the rest of your mind could function normally as though nothing had happened.
This is the minds sane defense to trauma too horrible to comprehend. It takes brains for this coping mechanism to even occur, which means you are smart enough to remember everything. You already survived it once.
Ill probably never see Kelly again. My eyes widened even further in horror. No, you didnt tell me. Mark appeared calm to me despite his increasing alarm for Kellys immediate plight. Two weeks previous, we had stopped by the Post Office to clear out the mail in preparation for this move. A summons for me to appear in court later that afternoon was in his box.
With no time to prepare or obtain an attorney, and the threat of being incarcerated for taking Kelly out of the State of Tennessee, we drove straight to the courthouse. Kellys biological father Wayne Cox and our former mind control handler Alex Houston were among those opposing our exodus.
Representing myself, I explained to Judge Swiggart that I had sworn out three warrants for Alex Houstons arrest and was suffering from amnesia. Since this did not openly reveal anything about Wayne Cox, Judge Swiggart thoughtfully considered the situation. These are unusual circumstances, he began as he granted me the right to move Kelly to Alaska.
He further explained that his main concern was for the children, and therefore would like to speak with Kelly in his chambers regarding visitation with Wayne Cox prior to our departure.
Horrified beyond reason, I could not think why I so adamantly opposed the possibility of Kelly visiting Wayne Cox. Judge Swiggart later explained to me that, had he known about dissociative disorders and occultism, he would not have taken Kelly into his chambers to ask her how she felt about seeing Cox before moving to Alaska. Kelly, also suffering from amnesia, responded only to the moment. Judge Swiggarts black robe subconsciously triggered the occultism to which Cox had previously subjected her, and Kelly robotically complied with every suggestion Judge Swiggart presented.
Believing Kelly had willfully complied, Judge Swiggart ruled that Kelly was to visit Cox in his Louisiana residence effective immediately.
My hysteria rising, I blurted out to Mark as he drove us out of Nashville, Hes going to kill her in a ritual. He always kills people. Write it out, Mark instructed. I dont want to hear about it. It may feel as though you have already told me about this, but you havent. Nor will you. Verbalizing events of the past only reinforces it in your own mind and can further traumatize you. It takes the logic portion of the brain to move a pen.
Therefore, when you write out memory, it shifts the emotionally incomprehensible over to logic, making it comprehensible. Once it is comprehensible, you can deal with the reality of your past in a logical manner.
I pondered his statement. It doesnt seem logical that when I see my past, its as though I were viewing it from above. It is as if my spirit took flight to a safe, loving space while my body was being used and abused. Severe torture and trauma does affect people this way. This will allow you to remember without abreaction.
Mark noticed that I didnt understand the word abreaction. He knew that photographically re-experiencing tactile sensations could result in a histamine reaction1. In other words, he explained, without reliving it.
Like I said, you already survived it once. Theres no sense in you reliving it. Its your memory, and you already know it. View your minds screen through the eyes of the part of you that endured it. Smell the smells. Then write it out. Thats why I said the pen is mightier than the sword. This method will give you control over your memory and, ultimately, your own mind. Now, write out what you were going to tell me about Cox.
I wrote a brief line that Cox was an occult serial killer. Mark glanced over at what I had written as he merged onto the freeway. Suppressing his own horror, he nonchalantly asked, How do you know this? I wrote most of the way to Las Vegas, where Mark met with a few old acquaintances to discuss our predicament. They didnt want to discuss it.
The CIAs merging with the Mafia had created such havoc they had their own political problems to deal with. The whole world is changing right now. You should change, too. Leave that woman. Save yourself. Mark had not expected this response and he frowned.
Save myself from what? He looked at his associates and said, Las Vegas is still the place for quick marriages. Im getting married. He knew he could save himself a lot of legal grief by taking such a step. Mark stood up and strode for the door. That evening when Mark returned to our hotel room, he offered to take me out to dinner. I switched personas, forgot what I was writing, and with renewed energy cheerfully dressed for dinner. Dressed in his Las Vegas evening attire, Marks appearance triggered my sexuality that had been heightened through incest, conditioning, and mind control programming.
Naturally, I expressed my immense desire. You need to know who you are before you have something to give in a relationship. What youre offering is a small piece of who you really are. Marks obvious arousal did not seem to match his words, yet he continued, I dont want you a piece at a time, I want all of you at once. That was the most deeply appealing thing anyone had ever said to me.
While I could not consciously grasp the depth of meaning to his statement, my heart rejoiced with the magnitude of his insight. Coincidentally, Julio Iglesias happened to be singing All of You Body and Soul 2 over the radio at that moment, the musical harmonics carrying the lyrics deep into my being, profoundly touching me. Somewhere inside, love was binding together pieces of me I wasnt even aware of yet. It was hard to eat dinner that evening, and it wasnt due to my developed digestive disorders.
My abusers believed the doctors diagnosis that I would die, which aided our initial survival. They never considered that I would survive through the healing power of love, or that Mark would literally carry me through our first few months together. Tonight, food was the last thing on my mind and I could only eat lightly while gazing across the table at the magnificent man on the other side.
As our dinner settled, Mark explained the pros and cons of getting married. I logically agreed it was a wise move, while my heart leapt with joy that knew no bounds. We proceeded accordingly, and were married in a conventional wedding ceremony-- united in purpose that seemed bigger than life.
Kellys life was still on the line, and tomorrow we could legally retrieve her from Cox. Back at the room, Mark shifted my focus from my sexual desires to the notes I had scrawled earlier. Pointing out an occult ritual I had detailed, he avoided comment and asked, How did you get there?
Where did you go afterwards? Of course you do. Its your memory. Mark handed me my pen and notepad. Write it out. How can I when theres just a black hole on either side of it? The memory still seemed compartmentalized. Mark took my notepad and drew an illustration for me of a pie graph. As he drew the circle he said, Imagine this is your brain. It compartmentalized this ritual event, for example. He drew the first section into the pie graph, and pointed out all the rest of the area that was left to function normally while ignoring the event compartmentalized in the wedge.
He sectioned off more and more wedges, describing how my brain was comprised of as many compartments as there had been traumatic experiences in my life. Thats where youre at right now. Right here. He pointed to the very center of the graph where all the pieces met. You just went into a compartment and wrote out the memory.
Writing it out caused the wall to come down. The emotionally incomprehensible became comprehensible with logic, so you dont need that wall anymore. Now that its out of the way, that section of your brain is yours to control, direct, access, and explore. To connect events and learn how you got there and where you went afterwards, all you need to do is go deeper inside yourself.
Deeper into here, he said as he pointed at the center of the pie graph. Deeper into your own subconscious. Breathe deep. How did you get there? I took a deep breath and the trance state I lived in deepened to a focus. An event flashed across my mind screen so fast I couldnt grasp it. I took another deep breath, refocused, and made a note when it flashed again.
What did it mean? Why was Cox there? The flash became a memory, which I retrieved in photographic recall.
It felt so close, so normal. I knew I must have said something to Mark about this before. Its not like I had forgotten it or had I? Exhausted, I put down my pen and began to fall asleep.
I was so tired, yet kept jerking awake as my body responded to nightmares. Mark quietly came over to my bed and held me close. Youre safe now, he assured me. That was then, this is now, and now you are safe. Ive got you. Its OK. You can sleep peacefully now. He cradled my head as he would do for years to come in the most comforting, loving, healing manner.
I slept better than I ever had before. When I awoke, I felt strong, alert, and well rested. I would need this strength for the events to come. Excited that Kellys court ordered visitation with Cox was over, I telephoned to tell her we were on our way to pick her up. Coxs mother and handler, Mary, answered the phone and informed me Kelly would not be coming with us. Wayne picked up the other line and told me I could not have Kelly back, that she didnt want to see me again.
I knew he was lying. I heard Kelly cry in the background and told him I was on my way. First, I telephoned Judge Swiggart at his home. He had thoughtfully given me his home phone number just in case I needed to reach him over the Christmas holidays.
Louisiana is not my jurisdiction, he began. But since Kellys father is in noncompliance with Tennessee court orders, I can get the local police there to take care of the situation. I had remembered how Coxs involvement with CIA cocaine operations extended far beyond the local police all the way to then Louisiana Senator J.
Bennet Johnston. Briefly, I explained. Apparently Judge Swiggart had found cause to further research our case after his ruling, and he apologetically explained that if he had known then what he knows now, Kelly would not even be with Cox. Since she was and it was Christmas, he recommended that Mark take matters into his own hands while he pulled every string he could to supply legitimate police backup.
As we quickly drove to the designated meeting place near Coxs Chatham, Louisiana backwoods residence, Mark assured me that Cox would show up with Kelly once he was told what he was dealing with. Still, I became hysterical telling Mark why this situation was so dangerous and urgent.
Did you write this out? Marks question rose over my sobs. Of course not. I couldnt seem to write everything as fast as the information was needed, so I verbalized. This proved to be even more time consuming than writing since I was immobilized by my own hysterics and disjointed ranting. Mark stopped the car, which got my attention long enough to heed his demand that I write out what I was trying to say.
I started writing again, and my tears subsided as my mind returned from the brink of emotional raw terror and became rationally logical again. I wrote until we arrived. Acutely aware of the life-threatening circumstances we were under, Mark cleverly applied his mental and physical skills to ensure Kellys safety above all else.
He quickly selected a 45 automatic from his registered personal arsenal that he was licensed to carry. Rising above the dramatics of the moment and appearing calm, Mark got out of the car and strode over to where he knew Cox would be.
Smiling, he pointed his left index finger at the gun in his right hand while Coxs forehead broke out in a sweat. I gathered Kelly and her bag. Mary was dumbfounded as I hurried Kelly into the car. Police cars squealed to a stop while the promised backup officers took shooting positions. Like in a movie, their timing prohibited Cox from further pursuit and assault while Mark withdrew his weapon, jumped back in the car and quickly drove us out of the area.
I turned to Kelly, who sat unblinking in the backseat. Physically she was in tact. It was obvious that she was under extreme mental duress and trauma, the extent of which we would soon learn. The trim and emblems had long since frozen and fallen off the Pacer. Yet I barely noticed the cold, as I took in the beauty, safety, and splendor of Alaska. This winter paradise on top of the world enthralled me with its abstract magnificence.
The sun revolved in circles rather than rose and set, casting shadows that danced and played along the mountains, constantly changing the scene. The horizon had no visible east or west, distorting distance where time knew no night or day. Northern lights of the Aurora Borealis lit up the dark winter skies, with their brilliant hues reflecting across the snow like daylight.
I felt deeply fortunate and blessed just to be alive, let alone living in Alaska! On the long journey to Alaska after retrieving Kelly from Cox in Louisiana, I noticed Mark was unusually quiet and deep in thought. He finally explained that he was re-evaluating values, re-prioritizing priorities, and rethinking professional friendships he had developed over the years. When he needed his friends, they were only there long enough to advise him to abandon me and his quest for answers.
More determined than ever, Mark chose to learn the truth and keep Kelly and me alive. So he drove on in silence while Kelly loudly and irrationally displayed her traumatized state by crying, yelling, babbling, and laughing hysterically. I responded to her in kind. Surely Mark sensed a higher purpose than the rescue of two PTSDed1 dissociatives who had been traumatized literally out of their minds.
Kellys condition continued to worsen, despite feeling love and security for the first time in her life. The extreme trauma she endured while with Cox apparently extended into hypnotic mind control programming, which she later reported in detail to the psychiatrist assigned to her case.
As quickly as Kelly retrieved memory, she went into espionage level deliberately programmed respiratory failure2. Hospital personnel who noted her traumatized state called in their leading psychiatrist, Dr.
Pat Patrick. Pat was the first to diagnose Kelly with D. Kelly is dying and I dont have the money to put gas in the car to get to the hospital. Please help. I knew my father was well off financially, and assumed he would help. I was still amnesic of his incest and the perverse events that led to his selling me into the CIAs MK Ultra mind control. No more money! This is America! This is America? I wondered at his outburst. What did America have to do with his cold-hearted refusal to financially enable me to be with my dying daughter?!
I began to shake uncontrollably as my heartbreak and desperation turned to sheer terror. Youre not going to cave into fear now, Mark firmly told me. Truth naturally frees you from fear. Think about it. Focus on what you know rather than jump to emotionally driven conclusions. Write it out and Ill read it when we get home. Mark opened the door and stepped out into the brisk Alaskan air.
He had just taken an interim job as Marketing Director of Alaska Business College in order to meet our rent and keep the lights and heat on. The funds generated from quickly liquidating his personal assets back in Tennessee had dwindled, and we spent the last American Express Travelers check on a small, unfurnished fourplex in Eagle River.
He wasnt counting on assistance from anyone, especially not my father, and reluctantly left me alone with my past. I locked the door and put my pen to paper. The answers were slow to surface, as they drudged up years of related memory that appeared as one long nightmare.
Ive remembered so much, yet nothing makes sense. I cant tell one year from the next. I showed him the scraps of paper and cried, How can I figure out when things happened when I had no concept of time?
Simple, Mark replied. You have to know what questions to ask yourself. Expand your vision beyond the moment. What is the season? Is it snowing? Can you feel the warmth of the summer sun? Do you smell the spring flowers? Are you in school? Who is your teacher? What are you wearing? When did you own these clothes? Are any of your brothers and sisters born? How old is Kelly? Take a look around through the part of you it was happening to and see through those eyes.
Do people seem really tall to you like they did when you were a child? What is eye level to you? Their knees? Their eyes? Simply pinpoint the time as accurately as you can and leave the rest to investigators. Ive already got some old contacts of mine looking into things for us, and I talked with the Feds again today. Marks rational answers served to refocus me. My frantic desperation calmed, and we discussed our plans for the next day, which would include time at the hospital with Kelly.
I also need to go to the library, Mark informed me. Rare books on deprogramming and recovery from dissociative disorders were suddenly being made available to him.
Certain pages were book marked for him with coded instructional notes and unidentified one time use toll free phone numbers. You can look through some of the old magazines and newspapers theyve accumulated as give-aways, he continued. You will want to start clipping pictures, phrases, headlines anything that catches your attention. When you have a box full of these clippings, you can make a collage of them. It will be like putting together these pieces of your mind.
He scooped up a handful of the scraps of paper I had made notes on. Patrick used the term polyfragmented to describe these dust pieces youre gathering. She agrees that my suggestion of making a collage would be very healing for you. Suddenly my scraps of memory looked valuable after all. From that point on, I wrote down every memory flash I had whether it seemed significant or not. I kept a pen and paper with me at all times.
Memories were flashing across my minds screen often, even to the point of dominating my focus at inconvenient times. Jotting down a word or phrase served to stop the inconvenient intrusions, allowing me to complete other business I was tending at the moment. Later, when I had time to focus on it properly, I would relax into a deeper state, ask myself questions the way Mark taught me, smell the smells, and write out that which was waiting to be photographically retrieved.
Keep in mind, Mark advised me, that if a memory seems too impossible to have actually happened, then examine it closely to see if it is something you were told or is from a movie.
Deprogram the program first. Find the beginning and end, what happened before and after. Set the written out scrap of memory aside for three weeks. Truth doesnt go away. Filling in the blanks with what might have happened will. Some memory scraps were temporarily set aside, along with the clippings I would accumulate for my collage. Upon Dr. Although the staff admittedly did not know how to treat Kellys condition, they were sympathetic to her need.
They agreed to join us in our quest to obtain qualified rehabilitation for Kelly. Marks inside knowledge of espionage level deprogramming was not appropriate for Kellys needs. In essence the key that locked the doors to her mind needed to be used to unlock it. And Charter North5, despite being among the most progressive chain of mental institutions in the nation, did not have access to classified technology and information.
Seeing Kelly was a joyful and painful experience at the same time. She and I were very close, bonded more than the average mother and daughter by the traumas we had endured together for so many years. I had never contributed to Kellys abuse and she knew it, despite her amnesic mental blocks and extreme PTSD6. We shared an understanding beyond words, and communicated on levels experienced by soldiers on the front lines of a battle zone. I was glad to see Kelly breathing easier under Dr.
Pats care. Im going to see a doctor who knows about sexual abuse, Kelly proudly announced. The police need the paperwork. Apparently this medical document was required. I went with her as she complied with the gynecological exam at the age of eight. Lillibridge examined and photographed what he termed the physical scars from years of extreme, horrendous sexual abuse. Cover-up was already underway, even though we had just embarked on what would be years in pursuit of justice and rehabilitation for Kelly.
Lillibridge informed Mark and me that his medical license and life had been threatened if he confirmed Kellys abuse. This is an outrage! What this child has endured is so extreme I will travel to any court in this country to testify on her behalf, he promised. Kelly, pleased with herself for cooperating with the exam, had no clue as to what was going on.
In spite of her deep insight and wisdom exceeding her years, she was still a child who did not need to know how elusive justice was becoming. By the time Mark and I arrived at the library, memories were flooding my mind and I was making notes as fast as I could. I stopped long enough to request the outdated newspapers and magazines so I could begin my collage, piled them in the Pacer out front, then sat down at a desk to write while Mark tended his library business.
I remembered how my fathers sexual abuse seemed so natural. I didnt know any better, and pedophilia was so rampant8 in Muskegon9, Michigan when I was growing up, my neighborhood friends didnt know any better either. Even though I had longed for someplace on the planet where people didnt hurt each other, the pursuit of pleasure by acting out sexually was the way of life back then.
Soon my fathers sexual abuse extended into child pornography. Bonnie and the Boxer was the pornographic bestiality film made of me that would change my life forever. Looking through the eyes of the child I was when those events occurred, I recalled how my Uncle Sams boxer dog, Buster, was so much bigger than me!
My father had filmed the event, and apparently sold it through the local Michigan Mafia child pornography ring. As I recalled, my maternal grandfathers Masonic Lodge was instrumental in bringing businessmen, police, and politicians into our lives. I kept my head up my past for days, writing on every scrap of paper I could find.
Still, it would be some time before I would understand the full importance and scope of that event. The memories I wrote out in photographic detail turned out to be just a small piece of the elaborate puzzle that revealed some of the missing years of my life. It would be years before I learned how that local child pornography ring came to be sanctioned by politicians involved in MK Ultra mind control It was learned that incest resulted in dissociative disorders ideal for robotic mind control.
Such candidates could be used in espionage, the military, or anywhere government officials wanted secrecy and control. Brainwashing was being refined, and certain politicians such as the one who came to our house with the Bonnie and the Boxer film under his arm, were sanctioning child pornography rings in order to target children like myself for government mind control projects. Spies are made, not born, my father often quipped. He was proud to be part of what he deemed an important government project.
This local politician, Gerald Ford, would later become the un-elected Vice President and eventually un- elected President of the United States Back in the early s, though, Ford was just a simple politician who was sliming his way to the top. He promised my father immunity from prosecution if he would agree to see me into MK Ultra mind control. I remember how the two had laughed like old friends, telling tales about my Uncle Bob Tanis. In retrospect, it is bizarre how my father, who had a sixth grade education and earned his living as a worm digger, became associated with the likes of VanderJagt and Ford through illicit porn featuring me!
Yet it had all seemed so uneventful, simple, and normal to me back then. Writing out my memories the way Mark taught allowed me to retrieve them the way they happened, free of dramatics.
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