Hell Experiment Day 18880: Another Psyche

I went to therapy yesterday and explained how that I had been taken off of my sleep medicine by the psyche and put on a medicine like Clonazepam. It was because of my “anger issues”, which really is just the fact that I got sick of the psyche acting like he knew more about my life experiences than I did. How dare I actually speak for myself, like I’m a real person! When he corrected me in a constant litany of correcting everything I said, I told him that it was not what he was saying. I had said what I meant. Luckily, my therapist actually understood. She is frankly very shocked at the way I am being treated by people who are supposedly professionals. She set me up with a different psychiatrist. I had my first meeting with her this morning.

I am sorry to report that she is also just a psyche. She had obviously been coached on things that get on my nerves. She barked questions at me and had no patience to wait on my answers. She was defensive and petty, just like the twins. She used her middle finger to rub her eye brow, so I did the same back to her. She froze. She was in complete shock. If it doesn’t mean anything bad when she does it, then what difference does it matter if I do it, too? She didn’t listen to me. She questioned everything I said like an interrogation. She made a point to show inconsistencies in my answers, like trying to catch me in a lie. She was a thorough bitch. It’s sickening to pay these idiots insane amounts of money for them to sit at a computer, probably playing solitaire while I am answering their questions, or writing copious notes about how difficult I supposedly am. I am sure they are not listening to me. They are listening to the IdIoTTwins and whoever else is in their ears. I might as well not even be there. It’s all a set up.

At least she did take me off of the Clonazepam like medicine. She really stinks at her job, but I will see if I can stomach it at least for a while. I am exhausted from trying to get care. It’s one of the worst parts of being in this stupid program. They don’t want all the trauma and pain they have put me through in order to control me to go to waste. For that reason doctors can only help me enough to keep me functioning enough to use me. They don’t want me to actual get better and flourish. People like me aren’t allowed to have a life where we feel we are independent and a contributing member of society. We are forced to be in need and then controlled by our needs. From the very basics; water, food, shelter, companionship, job security, friendship…you name it…we can’t really have it. It has to hurt in some way all the time. It makes me just want to give up altogether, but I keep pushing myself as much as I can. I crash a lot, but I get back up eventually. As I get older, it is a lot harder to get back up.

The better I do, the worse they make me feel. I may have knocked the ball out of the park in some way or other, since I am being attacked like I am.

I hope the medical profession really becomes professional some day. My experience with it is either the doctor of whatever thinks they are all kinds of special and important for working with all this top secret nonsense, or they want me away from them as soon as possible. How am I, an individual person, supposed to account for something in contrast with these power players. Even in my most intimate like, it is like I don’t matter at all. I’m just here to be used, is what they think. I can’t accept that attitude toward me. I have to assert that I am a real person all the time. I can’t forget myself. I can’t let them use me like a puppet anymore than I have to.

* Since my last post, fat white guys have been posing where they have the first three fingers showing prominently. Where I live, that means, “KKK”. It’s a threat. Every road I drive has dead animals, which is often a sign. It just never ends. I am a recluse and plan on staying that way. It’s my only real hope of survival. I don’t care how many doctors tell me I am supposed to be out in public, leading a normal life. There’s no normal life for me. That’s just a carrot being dangled in front of my nose. I really want that, too, but I give it up. It’s like grieving for the death of yourself. It’s extremely hard to do. But I will be able to do it. I don’t know why or how, but I believe I will be able to do this. I’m so grateful to have a husband I love, even if they don’t let me be near him very often. Knowing someone really loves me and cares what happens to me means everything to me.

They took my sister from me. I hope they don’t take my husband, too. I have nightmares of losing him all the time.

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