Sylvanna Devlin

It’s not that there isn’t precedent for alluring cult leaders dragging women to their doom. It’s that beyond brainwashing and abuse, there just has to be more there.

Putting aside PUA techniques like “negging” and “punishment” strategies including withdrawal of affection. Because almost any asshole can do that.

Someone magnetic enough to convince women to commit crimes is just that. They create a sense of intimacy and bond. It feels like a love so intense there could never be another and it’s using a victims own brain chemistry to provide the “drug”.

Those hormones released during the early stages of love are potent. And certain individuals can sustain the level of attention and focus required to keep those going.

Let’s hope healthier connections can exist. But it takes safer or at least healed individuals to “ever love again.”

(Or someone so repulsed by his affect on them they bolt about as far as one can go. Some of us would rather have none other than no mind of our own)

Do they, the afflicted women, deep underneath suspect something wrong? For some. Sure. But others feel they are in love in a way regular men can’t fathom.

To the point some asshole laughs because he doesn’t relate to the idea of any intimacy let alone too much.

It just makes ones who do have the level of attention some women crave that more interesting.

And should someone create wounds and gashes in a soul? Never mind if it be the same individual? It is the most soothing experience akin to delightfully cold aloe on a terrible sunburn.

It seems natural and protective. But even the aloe plant will worsen a burn if used in excess concentrations.

The cult leader stands too close, his hugs are too embracing, his words so careful one wonders how he could have ever felt lonely.

And there we have the crux. From what I can tell, and I may be wrong. The attention from a cult leaders woman makes the leader feel so good about themselves they’ll do anything to maintain a “god-like” level of success in some arena or other.

One doesn’t normally care about that kind of pressure. But we should worry. For the tantrums and meltdowns that occur when power is lost?

Can be even more destructive.

Necessary.

But a situation that requires careful handling.

Meanwhile I keep falling asleep and have serious bed hair happening

Why I’m getting contacts in August

Someone with a high degree of access to sophisticated means of hacking, decided to practice his nasty work on me.

And has for the past four years. As he’s stretched those tendrils out in all the “honeypots”… oh wait that’s usually a certain kind of woman.

Those too I suppose.

But whomever they bait and tug on is for blackmail material – not to lure a John.

It’s not possible to have the kind of success the chief stalker has, without a very loyal group so close you might as well consider them a cult.

Women who are abused, brainwashed, or manipulated into committing crimes for him.

I believe that’s known as racketeering?

The number of blind eyes suggests interesting material to threaten with.

There is none on me.

I haven’t broken the law save speeding and I hadn’t done that since 2014.

Not that I have a car anymore.

But while there have been things that were not to others liking. I have done my best to always be kind, honest, and straightforward.

Absolutely not the favorite personality traits of anyone willing to be on the take, or gets twisted up in lies and trickery.

Could I be manipulated into a froth?

I could.

Anyone would be – and it’s a massive bang and the other end that involves very loud singing in the ad-libbed style of show tunes.

While in the past I might of sworn or had a comment back. There’s really no fucking point anymore.

These nasty individuals- women- are addicted to their leader and need some time and maybe therapy to dry out.

Logic and even barbs are lost on them so there’s little to do but to wait them out.

I’ve gone in to the theft of my work, including my spiritual words and that of trying to support humanity not overpower it.

But he has used the lure of secrets he doesn’t understand, to manipulate, control, and persuade others he is more lamb to the slaughter than sly fox in the hen house.

But that fox is getting older too. Gray or white by my last sighting of him.

To bad that old men can become “alluring”” and older women become crones.

I am indeed at the right age for the latter.

You might want to keep that in mind

P.S

Now for something cryptic, because, Idk I’m feeling weird.

—-

What gods are these responsible for my luck? Who claims to be in control? No strings pulled without more attached. And as they become mighty we can all see their humanity.

Those on my side are about to struggle.

But only they know who they are anymore.

Head my warning, earthly warriors on the silver path, do not stray to the lands around you.

Fae logic will see you through.

Driven into a froth, pushed past the point of madness anyone would struggle to bite their tongue, keep their volume under control. Or at least one of these things.

So much at the tip, nastiness others would delight in. It’s not that such things never occur to me.

It’s that words have consequences.

I keep dissociating from the undercurrent of suffering that lingers below when identity thieves open their mouths.

And then there’s her.

One of us gets louder if driven to a froth. (Me). She gets cruel.

I am going back to coiling my fuse at my feet again.

But I am a bit fed up.

Her expertise in reactive abuse wounds me so thoroughly, life doesn’t seem entirely preferable.

Though if I can’t get to safety a brain tumor might (might) take care of that for me.

I am a writer. If I have four years left to live I would really like to see how much I could produce despite PTSD and the harassment of unpracticed individuals who don’t see the problem in reducing my work to an 8th grade level.

Apparently my books are too advanced for the doppelgänger. Why does she bother trying to steal that which she’s not even capable of understanding?

There’s a me. A writer of 38 years- starting with pencils.

And “she” is some lazy individual good at lying and demolishing a reputation. But not writing.

I am trying to escape this building and my current stalker is still obsessed with taking my cat and my writing. And with my destruction.

Everyone in the building claims to hear me no matter how quietly I mutter. And when it’s more than a mere utterance they dare to complain. Like I want them to invade my privacy and lie about it.

I am tortured 24/7 always with continuous loops of invasive sound I can’t block out. Sometimes added to by “gaslighting raids” and sometimes with a loud (what sounds like high frequency sound) that makes it impossible to hear properly.

I’m surrounded by reality abuse, defamation of character, and the ever present sniping on the way past.

Now strangers here, unaware of the consequences, complain when I am rude.

I have to be on guard at all times, while being tortured.

It’s too much. It’s all been too much.

I am near the eve of escape and ready to protect my cat from that vicious bitch.

And check out of life.

I used to love everyone and everything.

Now I don’t.

It’s come to my attention that while there’s been a different set of gaslighting and reality abuse every weekend. The crux of the issue is the abuse itself.

The situation has a ring leader and bullies who are literally abusing me for the fun of it.

I have had to contact the police and the FBI over every criminal underworld they’ve seemed to drop me in and the only thing that made it all “logical” was they were trying to traffic me.

It’s worse. It’s just stigma and using existing technology “for fun”. The police can’t stop people from being awful. They can investigate and address crimes. But while bullying in Oregon is a criminal offense. They sneak by with clever lies and all forms of cognitive and emotional abuse. Less obvious, it exacerbates my PTSD.

I am still escaping to a hotel, scared to ever come back here. I have a brain tumor that at minimum needs monitoring, at the maximum will involve surgery and home care. I can’t do that here.

I had other ways I wanted to recover. But the abuse, while lacking meaning, was real.

And disguised hustling to use me up, steal everything from me. Years of dedicated writing to have my work “dumbed-down” to the lowest common denominator of reading levels and “put out there” by some talentless huckster.

The AI GUI? Makes hacking a breeze for her and existing terrorist technology is her goldmine while she twists and bends the truth

For everyone else it’s individuals “just having fun”.I’m just a “chew toy” to them

It made me all the more fearful for my life.

Now I, having actually died briefly from suicide, am tempted to go back to the ever present night. Because my life’s work, my whole meaning for being has been shat on too throughly.

And I could just let the tumor kill me in 3-4 years.

Or end it faster.

She sang out, using radio. “Do you promise? Kill yourself”

Yeah, okay. You abusive bitch, thief, liar, charlatan and con artist.

Since you’re so hungry to add murderer to your docket, I’ll be considering it more deeply than I already was

The books?

Series;

The bookstore

The Immortal Empire

Legends of the Gods

The Chronicles of Elyan Sindal

The Sleeping Griffon

The War of the Realms

Single – so far

Loot

Small Champions

Catching Butterflies (children’s book)

All mine, some with a slightly different voice. I was on the verge of a prolific career when my stalker ruined my life.

And now some insignificant bitch has taken the vast career I was about to have and cashed in.

I might as well check out.

I’m fucking tired of trying to be on guard while you lie about whether you can hear me or not – or you know full well how but won’t do anything about it.

I can’t stop you from being invasive fucking assholes who listen in and snipe on the way past. Sometimes deliberately misinterpreting what you heard for the fucking drama.

Bottom line? You’re going to fight my every success for the lols. Every time I slightly recover from the edge of suicide? You swarm in like fucking piranhas.

Nothing ever stops this bullshit drama fest.

Because

You’re enjoying yourselves

You fucking cunts.

So I’m less speeding to an escape and more limping along till I can get to a hotel as a safe place to be while hoping to go somewhere secure.

My “captures” caught wind of where and have already begun a defamation campaign with falsified “evidence” and generally shitting on what was my good name.

It might be again.

My reputation that is.

If I can just get out of here.

Who knows, maybe the news will have a slow day (ha!) and pick up everything I’m doing to wiggle free.

Meanwhile I’m trying to decide if I should warn my potential property manager anymore than I have

I did send a photo.

I did say my escape was being resisted.

So my guess is no. She’ll get the general gist and at least give me a chance to come in person and make a decent impression then.

A bath,

Clean hair,

Clean clothes,

Maybe even fixed nails,

Would certainly make me presentable.

So all this after I’ve landed somewhere with a safe enough bathroom.

The fuck away from here.

Actually it’s not massively far. But I hope far from their reach.

Meanwhile I’m a tad insulted they would think I’ll just come back for anything other than my belongings.

But they don’t have a plan other than shitting on my reputation and cognitive abuse.

Like that’s a fucking good idea.

Death is still preferable so my cat is sometimes all that keeps me going.

And there have been mutterings of shooting her.

Seriously?

I mean what do they want to achieve? I’ve already reported everything they do so it’s not like secrets die with my corpse.

But….

An yes.

The Napoleon Bonaparte issue.

My ex was like that, trying to tug on my heartstrings till the final moment. Long after I found slight pleasure in thwarting his pissiness

There’s no fun to be had here. And I would be crying my eyes out about how even the prospect of level I meningioma doesn’t stop them.

But I’m exhausted.

And Manic.

Oh so fucking, don’t move a muscle crazy.

I felt it shiver into the side of my skull and like a light switch my bipolar was on full out war with my fibromyalgia.

Now since I spent the better part of a week packing and sorting? My bodily limitations swore at my mania with a “no can do love, I’m knackered”

So I’m sitting here, listening to their latest cognitive abuse, wondering how long it’s going on for this time.

And back to wondering if I shouldn’t worry that the bitch brigade is so foul they might target people in my new place.

I really think I should discuss that in person, however.

And round and round I go, waiting till I chill enough to do the dishes.

Ah how exciting mania is in your late 40’s.

P.S.

Apparently their current attempt is to say they heard me use a certain word they can’t even get in my sleep.

I do not use racial slurs

And I do not appropriate the usage of subcultures I don’t belong to.

Subculture used loosely here as there are other slurs in other cultures that are fine for them.

For example, as I have been particularly interested in genderqueer individuals as well as cis gendered men?

I am considered part of the queer community.

That’s ours.

Fuck off.

An angry pit of nerves

That’s how we describe the feeling of a stone in your stomach. The not quite ready to puke but nauseated sign of fear.

It’s accompanied by a strange sensation akin in to the flu but not quite as debilitating. Too hot, too cold, too wobbly in the knees and maybe a little dizzy.

This is what it is to actually be scared?

My arachnophobia I recovered from years ago. But I reserve the right to scream like a little girl if I see a scorpion.

Snakes? Nah. They’re cute.

Height? Beyond that weird impulse to just jump off some of us get? Nope. Not really.

Failure?

Ahhhh define failure. I seem to have failed forward a lot in life but I long ago read that was not a bad way to eventually succeed.

Rejection? Abandonment?

Shush. It’s not that I don’t have those, but I’ve dealt with it on such a fundamental level it doesn’t really cause the Wobblies

Financial strain?

Ah. Who doesn’t?

Health?

That really depends on what my doctors say about a benign growth in my brain. If I should worry.

It would be inconvenient to survive suicide only to go out from brain cancer. And I have writing I’d really like to accomplish if I am on my way out.

So death?

Well it’s not that bad really.

Death of a loved one?

It’s gut wrenching and awful, sending me in spirals of disbelief and anguish. But that’s not what’s making me tremble a little.

And without going into particulars. This sensation is so new. So unrecognizable. I didn’t realize how scared I truly was.

I fear very little in life.

But what I’m up against now is the worst it gets.