Sylvanna Devlin

A mother and child emerge from the room of a thief, a liar and a bully. Also potentially a monster of the worst kind.

I don’t know. But if she is doing something vile his mother knows, and is the take.

I really have to get out of here.

Though I suspect child pornography unless the mother is particularly vile as opposed to low grade nasty.

Just a couple of doors down

(Sorry too furious to function

I used to be the sweetest thing around, my path of compassion endless. I pursued more understanding, more perspectives, more recognition of the difficulties one faced.

Because of this some nudged me to the path I didn’t want.

I am no leader.

I am support. And I did it well, casting a net below those I loved.

“Boudicca to the rescue!”

A saying in my family. About me.

I could be ferocious but didn’t need it. What was usually required was brute force, help packing or planning, comforting perspectives, a ready listener, and knew how to hug!

Or in the case of my ex an unwilling surrogate for rage he had for his mother.

Frankly I think they may be too similar to get along. But say what you like of her (and I had opinions) she was very adventurous while Toad was a bit of a coward.

But he was my cowered and I protected this “delicate being”

The divorce wasn’t straightforward but it wasn’t horribly messy. It just dragged on as all his reactive abuse had blown up in his face.

I was tired and exhausted of barbs, baiting, bouncing crossing and worse. Of having my wounds dug into. 6 months with 90 minute appointments my therapist and I worked on ways to avoid anger, to avoid “the dragon”

And one night it got dangerous for me.

No not when he pushed a cat tower onto me and it was thigh striking back kick that fucking thing or be bathed in glass.

Though that was special.

(So was the bruise)

No it became dangerous when the coil at my feet burnt my temper into a furious froth as I wanted to be left alone to cool off.

That was indeed one of the tactics. Just bail when his nasty needling struck.

But he wouldn’t leave me alone. I am bipolar. I fucking needed to cool off! But he was so clearly the aggressor that when the police arrived (called by my neighbor), they removed him for the night.

I was expecting a trip to the psychiatric ER with how much I had screamed to be left alone. But with the police there I burst into tears. It was finally safe to do so.

Thus, my tears first and toad being ousted second. One thing was Resoundingly clear.

I was not dangerous.

Because earlier that evening, during the peak of the fight to end all fights the dragon in me inflamed my brain- that’s how it felt.

And I succumbed to evil.

For three seconds

Just three.

I really did want to kill him.

The next three I backed off and stared as his gormlos expression. I was a warrior queen in that moment and he didn’t fuck off and give me some space?

But the next three were considering how stupid baiting that level of rage was. And maybe he was just that stupid.

Anyone could lose control if pushed past their breaking point and their evaporating patience runs on fumes – it’s just fucking worse when a bipolar person sufferers from rage and is a berserker.

He was looking at the most ferocious I ever got, trembling, smiling a little, and like the danger I posed was no more than a whiny, petty mother.

He loved fear, he said he was addicted to it. More than just kinky sub stuff he was into unusual play. Odd form of thrill seeking I suppose. But his genuine need for a jolt of flight in the “instinct scenario” was now a problem.

And every night for six months he had got a petty thrill driving me to rage. But he had always stopped when I walked away.

Real rage is scary, hellfire rockets through you hollowing out your insides and ripping open every emotional scab and scar. All the pain and suffering ever endured turned to the hottest of flames and it rockets out that hollowed core, filling every gap with a fire on par of the sun.

That’s rage.

It’s worrying for others but I found it worse to my own psyche. I couldn’t be the person I was striving for with this endless working of every button he could find or create to wound me, make me angry, and get his rocks off.

As I stared at him after the last 9 seconds I very gently took his upper arms and tried to walk him away. He occasionally stumbled so it was not an unfamiliar touch

He had to get to safety. There was a dragon in the room, never mind I had been that dragon, now I had let who I was die inside, and was in the calm of demise.

My mild synesthesia associating the moment with o white shroud of death.

But the fight didn’t end there.

( least I didn’t want to kill him, anymore)

I felt evil had slithered inside. The root danger in all of our psyches.

But it’s plainly obvious that even in a literally murderous rage. I held back. I regained control. Meds and gods had given me what I needed.

It’s just as well. I know what’s hiding back there if I ever got into a fight. Yes, yeah, yeah, yeah, the gorilla no breaks strength was on. The perception speed only bested by the speed of my fist.

You try to strike me and it’s a block and fist but not lethal. Painful. You’re headed to the ICU. But will probably will live. Unless I’m so angry that punch packs power and speed into a single hit KO

That’s the berserk part. Dig deep into my wounds and oh boy, The explosion is a state to avoid.

Those 6 months gave me severe PTSD. He had been so abusive, so cruel at all other times and burnt up my tethers on a nightly basis so I hit rage.

I didn’t realize fibromyalgia was beginning to trickle in. Possibly genetic but in need of being triggered; it’s basically an autoimmune disorder that treats adrenaline and Cortisol as invaders (according to the latest theory I saw)

But for a long time any time I tried to consider that night, physical pain echoed in. Hi stress levels can trigger a flare up. So can the relief of a sudden drop in them.

If I got angry my nerves would begin to tingle. Rage biochemically trigger a nasty flare up followed by the desire to die.

WTF is this?

https://www.facebook.com/groups/1023544744457314/posts/3517888608356236/

Now I know some bitch has been posting as me – and though I could find the full comment is likely an asshole.

So that’s what’s going on.

The fucking, vile, monstrous, arrogant, foul, nasty, probably bigoted and unpleasant moronic bitch.*

Please note. I do not post as Sylvanna Devlin anywhere.

It’s this blog

And “Game over”

That’s it.

I’ve had it with the character assassination the evolutionsbremse has caused, because people think I’m that bitch!

*Her awful reputation has ruined my good one. So it’s a guess she’s unpleasant As I was liked well enough till I revealed my pen name (and was too hacked to get relevant news or even comments)

Now a different bitch is trying to steal my legal name and I’m fucking fed up.

Talk to me in person and I usually get along or at least am polite unless rude behavior has made it a dual bitch fight

(Don’t piss off people trying to be nice. Our bite is ferocious and all we need wield is words)

But I’m trying to hide quietly while the bitch brigade harasses the fuck out of me. But for all they know they’ve mistaken me for someone who has done more than post blog facts and theories . (admittedly some pretty wild)

They don’t know me, despite invading my privacy, but the assumption is I seem to deserve being treated as less than human. And unless we’re going X-Men, or scared of a CIA cover or some such (really?); we have stigma, or mistaken identity.

I’m trying to hakuna my tatas because my ferocity isn’t fucking working. But just ignoring bullshit becomes too much. But I keep straying from compassion and that’s not okay with me.

Current assholery is no one believes that of you anymore.

You can’t poke and prod, shred and create wounds to shred further- and expect a lovey dovey response.

But meet me in person and I’m still the sweetest thing.

And I’ve given it some thought. I am sorry but a reflexive sorry is built is and the British install it fiercely when we’re young.

It’s sometimes sympathy

Sometimes apologetic in nature

And sometimes short hand for “whoops, my mistake. Hope you’re okay.”

Then there’s the asshole Version

I’m sorry (not really it’s just snide) this is who I am and you can’t complain people think I’m weak when they also claim they are afraid of me….

Ah some of this bullshit is stigma.

I need to thoroughly think through my response.

Omfg. So.

Things have been nicely quiet for everyone- no taunting me into rage. Everyone left me alone and I succeeded at only muttering a little but caught myself. (It’s annoying for my neighbor, she’s not used to it and when I do get that way it’s distracting.

I recently began to feel peaceful with her as I found out she’s gone during the day and the angry individual I’ve been upset with is just using her place!

Thankfully the police picked up my report of it. But you see what I mean. No room is safe in absence of the renter!

So valuables have to be stashed.

Because dad owns land, that he pays like half his retirement paying taxes on (you really should downsize ) people have noticed my parents are 79 & 80 and quite grossly think of me as “an heiress” – don’t forget you promised to live to be at least a 100 Dad being fit to head up mountains is a good sign.

But they seem to think being able to help me should be more and that I – a separate individual – shouldn’t qualify for housing assistance. Never mind you wouldn’t be able to afford housing me and helping me. The mere fact you have the resources to help, upset some of the people here.

Like it’s their business.

And they have said they’re going to try to get Home Forward to cancel my voucher!

I just got to the point my place it pretty settled (time to move right? That’s how Devlin luck works?) and I have been here a year and a half. I qualified for disability for ages but was actually considered disabled by SSI a year ago.

For some reason, even though I don’t go out. Everyone is butt-hurt about a pendant I bought to celebrate staying alive a year.

I have had a boost from waiting while in the shelter and with what you could send or had fit into my car!

But for some reason they all have to nitpick every purchase like it’s their business. They don’t like my aroma therapy lamp as they perceive a $20 lamp as a “wealth thing” and ignore that it works – and I can’t take benzo antianxieties or pain narcotics because my joints will kill me.

The best? I’m quietly typing this private text out and “see Sylvanna does listen”

Like OMG maybe I’ll pay less attention when they not way up in there with ignorant or ill informed commenting on – my private fucking texts.

And existence really.

So I made it a post.

Idnkwtf Of all the shitty places I’ve lived? Vulcan apartments on fruitvale was better! (That was the Oakland stint in my teens) most people seem nice enough or disinterested. But the vocal few are very vocal.

But it gets better apparently what was a private text had reached a point someone actually said “that’s enough out of you”.

Like… normally that’s reserved for being rude to someone – mostly in person

Who the fuck do they think they are anyway?

The weird thing is. I’m desperate to move. I need two weeks freedom just to get those cogs in action. But I may have to come back here before I can move.

But that’s idk not good enough?

And they’re seriously trying to get home forward to cancel aide. I’m on disability so they can’t. But FFS they’ll go after supplemental disability next because my fibromyalgia- requiring a care giver now, particularly compounded by the PTSD they aggravate on purpose – is somehow not disabled enough for their liking. Like it’s any of their fucking business!

The best? I mentioned I was particular about squashing mania because it’s dangerous and stupid bitches don’t under that’s dangerous TO ME!

Fuckwits

I explained to whomever it was that sometimes I experience severe rage (because of the baiting) and really want to break an object. But then it would be broken and I’d have to clean it up.

But my strength, quick reflexes in an emergency and a side kick that can crack wood are oh so scary. (The first two being iffy depending on fibromyalgia or ADHD but you can bet they get in line if I NEED to fight.

I don’t consider hen fights or pissing matches a need

I consider someone saying they’ll “rape me into supplication” and I warned back one kick from me and they’re never getting an erection again? Pretty fair as a warning. A lot of women used to feel secure around me because I could pack a punch and still be gentle- just protective.

That’s the Bay Area for you. Portland seems to depend. I mean walking my friends dog in Oakland? Where I first learned what gunshots in the distance sounded like? I was left alone.

The gang crowding round me in a double decker, had me just turn and causally chat without an ounce of fear?

Yeah I went back to being alone up there.

But noooo despite the fact no one fucks with crazy except crazier, (in a fucking fight) Some people want a battle and I don’t want to risk life threatening injuries or breaking bones.

Go figure.

So they want to whip me into rage, to see what I’ll do – fuck all. Be comfortable with the idea they could hit me without severe consequences. Tell them about my meds – like it’s their business or they would even understand. And try to get me to do bullshit things just to see if I will (No unless I’m curious) or listen to the oh so charming “that’s an order”

Like a polite request is too fucking hard for them or something.

The best is someone suggested I roll my tongue on the roof of my mouth. I was curious what they meant (I give better head than that advice). I could. No surprise there.

But noooooooo

Some stupid, fucking stupid bitch thought she had “conditioned me” and pushed. I stopped having my nap to swear at her, but somehow either because they think I have been conditioned or are trying to condition me – oh scary.

Like I’m some CIA deep memory agent in their Jason Bourne concept of all that crap.

The fuck is wrong with them?

Does a layman’s ability to punch and kick, with decent speed and hitting power, and PTSD somehow make them think broken bones are inevitable if they drive me crazy.

Or are they hoping to capture or have me Raped and that’s fucking not happening.

If someone pushes me to breaking and so think I’m dying of a heart attack? I bellow out in song so fucking loud they could probably hear it down the block.

I sing occasional comments or retorts because that actually saved my life by lowering my BP so the odd burst is good for me.

That’s what I do when I get furious and out of control – very loud singing.

Shivers

Ignoring that anyone can be abused into losing control, my fuse is only short if someone else has been burning it up. They had to get really nasty to push me over the edge and it took about 16 hours!

But boy I got loud for like 3 more!

Then theres there’s the weird crap.

I don’t talk about that particular heart attack though I wrote to guardian about it. But despite it was my third time heading high. (One my psychiatrist caught, another I called EMTs but had calmed. And that one wherein I was kind of hoping I would die and said “fuck” when I woke up

But someone “doesn’t believe it” like her ignorant opinion is the end all be all of reality. I use “disbelief” as a tactic for coping with gaslighting. Her’s? Like who even cares? They don’t like me? Fucking ignore me.

They even doubted my sister’s death (which we were told was suicide) like they are experts on coping.

And like I could cry uncontrollably without being bitched at.

WTF is wrong with them? If they don’t stir the pot they think I’m dead or in the hospital!

Though reactive abuse is getting less Effective. Because I am annoyed but think there’s just something broken about them.

Still, I can’t live with these bitches but apparently they don’t want me to be able to move.

?????????

As a side note. I’ve was asked not to publicly go into my sexual antics as it could cause problems. I was half asleep but the deputy was (like all those in Sonoma County) very kind.

I miss that part of Sonoma county. I miss a lot of it. But going back to Petaluma isn’t a good idea. I miss Redwood City too. And that price point is a bit out of range.

Then there’s the whole disabled thing.

I can maybe review my work one day a week. But to nitpicker and onlookers that’s proof I can work right?

Yeah the government doesn’t think so.

The fact I last (if lucky) one day only is fairly significant.

I hope it improves. But my PTSD is fierce and the baiting worse. I have to move to get better.

Again.

I hope somewhere else in Multnomah county is preferable and I can get there soon!

And if it helps- I don’t care where people smoke so even if officially frowned upon I don’t care. I’m only a tattletale if I think ifs a life or death situation- mental welfare counting.

Though a very kind police officer did explain I shouldn’t be worried about fireworks, not only are they legal. California’s problem with them isn’t remotely similar to setting one off. The only time it was small and because my ass had just come from California!

I will ignore what I can unless I think it involves lives. It’s not my business and I don’t want involved. But freedom, consent, decency in a very important way, and potential lives are different.

If someone asks me to Dial 911 with no explanation? That’s interesting.

If it’s an actual fucking emergency I will.

But if it’s a bunch of childish bitches who hate that I’m alive (???) they get ignored.

If I can’t tell? I hesitate and realize I can’t let it go if someone asks and I do nothing.

So…

Smoke em if you got em?

Not my thing but this is long and I couldn’t think of an ending. If it is your thing? And this is key.

It’s none of my fucking business!

I’ve shared every tall tale here, and facts of the situation to the authorities. The latest supposed to subvert my standing with the FBI

Oh yes, I’m getting serious.

But I didn’t report what I need to hang on to.

This is the bubbling start up of Organized crime. A bunch of assholes I didn’t notice had played into my comment they resembled leverage. This is Hollywood, baby.

The thing is, all these gaslighting scenarios are being tracked by all of us now. Slips of truth emanating through.

I’m not the only person to see a glimmer of truth in the gaslighting truth.

Organized crime does indeed have fingers in all those pots

Even Hollywood retelling. If they have the money and backing they can indeed be involved in:

Thievery and gaslighting

Drugs and scandals

Sex traffickers

Betting pools

Creative thievery and damage

Reputation slashing

Games against the odds

Torture- and manslaughter

Snuff films and unwilling peep shows

Rape – particularly “into submission”

Rounding up others.

And Hollywood hooks.

They are all real, and they’ve shown that side as soon as I considered it.

But I think my problem is while they showed every aspect- shared here. I have them swirling around me as threats. But I’m not actually as mired as I thought.

Now of course it’s scary, and my life has been frightening with them surrounding me. They can’t leave the idea of conditioning me, raping me, drugging me, blackmailing me, into their hooks.

And if I post this? I’ll be killed. They’re torturing me right now.

I don’t know, really what they want from me.

But my guess is – six feet under!

With some asshole as a producer.

Who thinks my life right now isn’t “difficult enough” because it makes for bad TV

Oh really?

And the reason people hate me is some bullshit show “based on true events” that aren’t based in reality. Conflict for the sake of conflict is so fucking Hollywood. And not great plot writing anyway.

Come clean or go to the cleaners

And while we are at it I did run rings around that asshole while tortured, exhausted, and after months of 24/7 harassment.

But oh no.

No one likes me.

I am warning you not to fit reality into your lies. That would be enough insult for me to get very noisy about what I think of what you’re responsible for. And double the bill for emotional damages.

In a scary “TV way”. There is an entire team here in the rose.

A stoned hacker and sticky fingers – who also doubles at the aggressive con.

Someone used to being intimidating enough but doesn’t have the aura of someone who has ever been in a fight. But is stubborn, not very clever, and even more aggressive.

Someone I would have preferred to leave out is the sweet-talker – successfully so. Which is all I’ll say there.

And some weirdo screaming leader in the building somewhere who…. IDK is just evil enough to be convenient.

Bit too classic isn’t it? And why am I not dead if they are physically dangerous. Psychological abuse and brain torture being enough usually. But I’ve been in a pissy mood the past week.

Bipolar for you

Which they tried (again) to make worse.

This team is so fucking bad at what they do, they are either too obsessed to follow orders and quit – and thus have exposed everything.

Or they’ve been set up to fail and we’re all a big shiny distracting from something worse.

Hence the police being stretched thin.

Or…

Are they trainees with a pissed off client?

Crime being a big business.

So big it’s accounted for by economists when predicting the financial health of the country. What’s worrying is what some of those numbers may reflect.

And the bitch brigade is bad for business

What I suspect is the trafficking they hoped to wrap round my neck (like I’d ever do bullshit like that – but was a much hunted potential victim) involved minors and I’m revolted.

Used to be better and faster than google.

Apparently thh shit-bot replying and talking me dishes up fake news.

Don’t ask that stupid AI anything

And wait for it, because Elon Musk is getting sued

Leave me alone for now please.

I really am only talking to my cat.

I wrote about a dark web in my science fiction I was focusing on. I was inspired by an article from wired about a network of hidden sites full of things associated with the black market. Which these days means less than savory services and bulletin boards with a popular target.

I was asked not to bring up the 2009 (around) article. I don’t remember by who but I was going to be annihilated if I do.

Well I’m trapped by every arsehole doing everything they can to utterly destroy me, my reputation, and my family.

My sister has already been killed because of an exchange there. So fuck you. You already are doing it. I have nothing left to lose you haven’t already promised to take.

Oh I believe you.

Yes indeedy I do.

Ps

The issue I’m having now is my current digital stalker is an “employee”. Not clever enough to gain access any other way than being given it.

And it’s a thorn in her side.

And she has directly commented on jealousy of me.

TSK TSK

Little personal don’t you think?

She’s exposed every attack of the dark web – a spindly shadowy spaghetti monster in the visual side. And while there may be more she’s plotting my cats death so I just have to do my best to keep her alive till I get violent and commit suicide.

It’s not a threat.

It’s fucking biological.

I know law enforcement is curious about the heads of the hydra. But the employee and and employer are killing me.

As me.

I’ve made no statements other than this blog

And I am Melissa Devlin