Sylvanna Devlin

I am struggling with severe and ever worsening PTSD. My nightmares are roaring darkness at me ever more so. Even in sleep there’s no escape.

I start to emerge from sleep and the first thing I hear is how evidence has been falsified and publicly posted.

“Good luck getting into the University of Washington now”

I want to write and swear and ask the gods if she’s fucking illiterate and incapable of grasping the idea of an academically inclined mind.

Everything, the gaslighting, the weekly change to the story and motivations is now down to

I did have terrorists on my arse.

I did have a hacker shit on my digital life.

I have been put in a virtual prison of misinformation and a google bubble that won’t break.

I did have someone want to use my writing for a cult.

I did have someone steal my identity and try to take my work.

Someone does want to stop me from releasing Game Over

And someone does want to sell me into sexual slavery or at least turn me into a whore.

Every way to use someone like a street hustler getting you to dig for change for everything valuable in my life till I’m a husk.

Oh I forgot

Someone does want to steal everything old of mine.

And someone does want to steal my cat – apparently already paid for even though she’s not hers to sell.

And it’s either all those or some mean girls crap but that seems just swirled in as a method of control.

I can’t take another 10 minutes more. I’d rather die than be treated like a fucking mine for goods and trying to force me into services

I want to fucking die.

I spit back at normal volume?

“Be quiet, keep your voice down”

I whisper my frustrations?

“Be quiet, keep your voice down.”

Fuck you all.

I return to kindness and compassion. To academic goals and ways to improve lives. And that’s ripped into. Because I won’t spread my legs for the bitch.

I said this morning I didn’t think I could try anymore. She wants me suffering in filth? A bed that needs to be changed? Dirty clothes, dirty body, garbage piling including biological waste. No clean teeth, drying skin, no more plans for life? Fine she could have that but not me.

I couldn’t climb up the ladder to be washed down again:

I was gently persuaded to take care of my moisture needs and teeth, take the two trips necessary to deal with garbage, sort my laundry. My clothes and bed were next. I could skip everything and just shampoo cap my hair again. Maybe tomorrow I could vacuum. But for now just Garbage out and Laundry sorted

He was guiding me through, step by step, to recovery. I could do this just one more time.

I did every step and fell asleep trying to recover enough to do more. And I am but waking and some bitch is clawing into me.

I want to fucking die.

No one is stopping her so I want to stop my heart. It’s happened before and I could skip out on being saved this time.

There’s my cat – she’s trying to steal

My family – relationships only just being repaired after her fuckery

Most of my friends wouldn’t listen that some divisive bitch was ruining my life and she successfully alienated them.

Those relationships I had to just walk away from.

I had still dealings with those who said there was no stalker, or that I was stalking myself. Those who didn’t stop to listen and didn’t believe a thing.

Fine.

Whatever.

You’re either blind or an asshole. Maybe both.

But whatever.

Things seemed to ease but because I can barely make my bed. I get better the bitch is back. And I am out permanently before becoming a whore.

My brain is being dented by this bitch because she doesn’t value intelligence – only what she can force or steal.

So her little coterie has to snipe on the way past.

Fuck them all.

And fuck this.