Sylvanna Devlin

One would think, if you are to treat people with such disregard. A bet is better set on the living.

Maybe there are even rules you can’t bet on the suicidal.

A person needs be successful to have anything worth a gamble.

Unless it would be highly likely, the individual was talented and skilled enough without interference. No one would bet against a sure thing.

Which suggests categories and charts, not events alone. Maybe major ones like marriage and divorce. But otherwise like coins in a glass.

So one might consider it foolish to keep me suicidal – no betting on who kicks a person over the edge.

But one could bet he could make a healthy enough person suicidal and hope it doesn’t result in manslaughter.

I start to get better fairly soon after harassment stops. You could begin to predict it. Tie in elements needed..

But you could then bet the speed you can make me suicidal.

And, let me recover enough between that and another attempt.

There’s no grand cause now. If it wasn’t just gaslighting before. Some truth enough. But most crime too difficult to levy more than a stab at it.

Sex traffickers would be noticed and caught. So unless it looks easy for a while – and it did. There is other low picking fruit.

Drugs? Can’t get me hooked

Prostitution? Let’s pause on that.

That’s been the excuse. A cash cow to blunt my mind enough to be slightly willing. But the cost of attempts is getting so high I suspect there’s a gambler in the building and an employee down the hall.

I get better? Dollar signs.

Worse? Different dollar signs. Particularly if the bet is on himself to drive you there.

That way he can worn out of “bets are off” when most think driving me deep into depression wouldn’t be as reliable as it is with some asshole using reactive abuse.

Ahhh PTSD

He noticed anger makes me feel suicidal more quickly than anything else. Rage tips into the desire for death as soon as it’s felt.

He bets he can, then prods a few buttons, I become dangerously close to an attempt- more so each time. Then guesses how long it takes me to recover this time.

He says it ends in the hospital. No cashing in if I just should.

It would just be a gamble to see how fast I recover this time. So wouldn’t be so long he couldn’t just repeat so I yo yo out of depression to euthamia in a dangerous arc.

If I could climb further out the stakes would no doubt be higher for both. But take far too long for a quick bet.

Low picking fruit applying there too

Sadly we need laws passed to prevent the kind of prediction market leveled at me.

I do have a constitutional right to privacy as part of the bill of rights.

But the wealthy squirm out – it’s not their technology.

Hacking is pretty illegal, a GUI doesn’t change that.

Again wriggled out of the sight of the law – they’re not the ones hacking. Just benefitting.

Some lay in wait. Hacking in to phones and websites. Key loggers on hand. Viruses at the ready. Even AI geared to the ruin of work.

Extortion then follows some. But the rest just bet on if it works.

Stalking – illegal, dangerous. But same excuse if they’re just watching the outcome.

Cyberstalking might be separate. I’m not sure. The story would be more involved than a few Facebook posts and more along the line of hacking Amazon to watch me shop. Technically you’re not stealing. But it’s still invasive.

That constitutional right is looking more important.

Copyright law? They’re not technically making money.

Impugning someone’s character? Good luck doing anything about that in America

Slander is the same, and courts only care if the person is already successful. Not if it’s being prevented. If you could even present a case.

Racketeering?

Well the bastards likely argue they don’t specifically organize results. But you could make a case for it.

Particularly if you add sex trafficking, prostitution, drugs, and manslaughter into it.

Some not content to watch. Manipulating the outcome.

All invading my privacy.

Really we need new laws about callus, jaded activity responsible for other crimes – just to manipulate a bet or not.

We can also tie in the constitution. It’s not there just to wrangle the government.

I did wonder how this series of unlikely events kept happening to me.

I mean?

Oh that’s Sylvanna Devlin again? Yeah right.

Did she really escape a cult?

Did that make her weird?

No one has this shit happen so frequently and so close together.

Unless there’s money to be made.

Last year, as my period surprised me, I heard commentary I was a biological woman. Blood was dripping down my leg, it wasn’t the first I’d heard of those confirming what they knew.

“Yay Sylvanna!”

I got the distinct impression of a private sports bar. Bets being exchanged as those who swore I was trans had to pay up.

Of course if you can manipulate a situation into existence then you can cash in when you can correctly predict the outcome.

If true, most pools would end up “stacking the cards” but some would try to force a reaction. Probably slightly against their rules.

Did you bet if I could orgasm under duress and when it looked likely I would go tantric? What would happen? Would I really lose control? What then?

“I do not belong to you.”

Crap while true you weren’t expecting that. And my body deciding it was close enough.

Do you watch endlessly? Occasionally using a psychological firing squad?

What are the stupid odds that of all people to move in next door, it’s a certain persons playmate as a child? The severe lifelong jealousy and resentment.

“Glass Swan” was alluring and his attention potent. I ran and apparently he chased in secret. Cyber stalking me to a level of scrutiny you can’t legally get.

You can guess my opinion on why my head hurts right now. Does she really have access to torture anyone? Or did he place such deep hooks in to my system alone and the rest is just gaslighting?

It’s gone beyond, “what will she believe next” or “What will she do?”

It’s no longer as fun to see if you can predict my temper. My ideas, my reactions, what I’m capable of.

Unless you can manipulate it.

And my personal luck was always a little weird.

The wiki you have? Writing it aside, Glass Swan gained access. It must make interesting reading to one who is interested in changeable women, who revert back once in a while – or only slightly and now things are similar but different.

I’ve had to reach “super hero” experiences to survive. Learn quickly. Use my body to its limits. Get decent at escape driving – then good.

Who is she? Who lied? What can you make happen?

I mean, really? I end up in the room next to her? Well she moved in while I was recovering from a suicide attempt.

I mean. Did you bet against me pulling through? I bet some did. And those that knew the odds that I could not only live, but wake? Did you cash in?

Certainly the surgeon worked hard with a quick and ready team. I’m not doubting he was dedicated to trying a new method that was only recently theory. And some would be nasty and say I was just an impoverished woman to experiment on?

Yuck.

That I was “the real Sylvanna” and someone – maybe he, yelled “No!

I personally don’t doubt his compassion and commitment. I was dying if he didn’t try and he didn’t look or care who. A surgeon of his caliber would be unlikely to find at a more expensive hospital.

He cared. And he was curious. And I don’t know why but community hospitals attract highly skilled surgeons.

Can you torture him, a world class surgeon, into blurting why he was there? Was he really on his way to try the surgery? Or do you bet on how many you can make believe your version of events.

I hope you value his brain enough that after experimenting on me you at least leave him alone.

Do you even value people? Or do you think that’s money when you establish “worth” in the most disgusting, capitalist perception of people and society?

I won’t waste my words trying to persuade you to see beauty in life, in being part of a persons life rather than spend a government sized budget, scrutinizing and watching events unfold?

I will ask you to sod off.

But I think it will take shutting you down before I can just write my own work.

Can she recover this time?

You callus, shitty, worthless, capitalist scum that has wealth and time but no other talents.

Take your bullshit elsewhere.

Did a lot of cleaning today. And am now exhausted!

I used to be sociable, well-liked. Easily loved and easy to love. I was kind and welcome everywhere.

But things have changed.

And my grief is compounded by stigma.

People are scared of those with schizo-affective disorder. Even those with type PTSD which you can recover from .

Ans those with mental illness fear becoming;

The isolated, paranoid, individual with psychosis and has developed really solid conspiracy theories. And could do with a bath.

Being homeless? Check that.

Living in a cramped space with too much stuff in need of recycling and garbage taken out, laundry done, clothes put away, dishes done. And a go with the vacuum!

I am even afraid to drink the water!

And give my cat bottled water.

I have aging vegetables in the fridge.

I use a commode and liners have gathered round it. And my blinds are closed. If my cat wants UV I have a lamp but need to make it my routine.

I am not only that off kilter individual. I’m the one that rarely goes anywhere and is scared to go to the doctor. Alone. With my cat.

I want to claw my way out of this. But right now I’m exhausted all the time. Real abuse that merged with hallucinations burnt through so much cortisol that now I’m a bit more grounded from perspective alone.

So I’m less stressed but damn sleepy.

And oh yeah. I even hear voices in my air conditioner!

The crappiest part? There’s a fucking logical reason for developing some of these ideas. A time it was true and I found ways to cut power or stop google plays.

I really did have a dangerous stalker who gaslighted me, driving symptoms into my mind so the madness continued without me.

And some of the neighbors really have been pissy with “Come back to reality” or “when I snap my fingers you are in reality.” And other less than helpful bullying. Their abuse just played into my fears of conspiracy.

I have even had to deal with a sticky fingers who takes small things and that sell well. It drives me crazy. Some are very sentimental. Most are irreplaceable. And in the case of a laptop? Very upsetting.

Of course I’m afraid to go out!

I’m viewed as less than. Stupid bitches think they can boss me around. I’m considered no more capable than a child.

Their threats, demands and orders also weave in to the madness.

And are obnoxious as fuck!

The condescending, controlling bitches.

There’s nothing I can say to drive into their heads that the stigma is particularly unwelcome and my treatment is non of their fucking business.

That what I know and what I do should be none of their concern.

Because now their hen pecking twists around a narrative and I think I’m in danger. So my PTSD rockets nerve pain through me.

I am that crazy person who needs to wash her hair.

And you are those assholes making me worse.

I reviewed my most recent post.

It sounds exactly like the typical crazy beliefs that the mentally ill succumb to. Particularly those with severe PTSD.

Has the audio environment been real? The gaslighting was true. At what point did it stop?

Do all these assholes saying “come back to reality” have a point? Obnoxious they may be.

When did abuse become vivid hallucinations and paranoia? A desire to be left alone with my cat?

The new short story. Grim as it is. Did someone really say they want me to write it?

The project will take about three years. Will I be adding a different perspective?

That of the person who desperately wants quiet and safety but an abusive sticky fingers has aggravated PTSD?

I’ve talked to others. I have texts. She’s an horrendous bitch. But is that all there is to her?

Was I driven further into madness to the point audio surrounds me so clearly I can’t tell its hallucinations?

I mean clearly.

As solid to me as holding a cup of water.

And the criticism. The micro criticism. The nit picking, hen pecking jealousy?

Did that stop but the a strange world enveloping me continued driving paranoia so deep I believe in the strangest things?

Did the lying and gaslighting fuck me up that much?

Real. The audio I swore was real..

There’s no lover in the wings. Is there?

I mean a shadow organization – that focuses on cyber security and psychological Operations?

Come on. That has to how paranoia develops.

The weirdo reacting strangely. Because no one listens.

The police reports have been real. Theft, abuse, gaslighting, harassment. Someone sent me spiraling

But is it really her job to?

Or is she, just kind of awful

And my PTSD surrounds the rest?

I don’t know what to do. I looked at my posts. The progression of madness. When did the line blur?

I sound like every average extremely lost mentally ill woman with PTSD. “The others are crazy but my experiences – similar as they are have too much evidence not to be real?”

Or is someone gloating?

I had been given a reason to live. A short work that had a grim topic but the need was there. The request was one I could answer. I would do it. I would write an unusual perspective.

Everything settled down again.

But rumbling was a Judge approved a warrant to just get it off his docket. I’m not sure it even has my legal name. But it’s for my external drive and USBs. The remaining proof I am the writer I say I am.

That happens? It means someone successfully convinced the police not to trust me, and I lose my faith in the police. It means a lot to me. And it will be gone.

I was willing to give the government permission back in 2024. National Security being a decent reason. Someone had access to surveillance.

But now it’s what I have left, too precious to me to let out of my control.

So my death follows, unreasonable search and seizure. Warrant or no. Look up the constitution again.

It’s also looking likely a civilian is trying to act as an authority with unsanctioned access to police systems. And with no power to do so granted by congress. Nor legal oversight.

I pointed out something that this has all been very expensive. Think of all the man hours, the equipment involved, the training to use it – and time. Over the course of about four years (almost exactly) a large budget has been brewing around me.

A government sized budget.

Ours.

PS: I’m pretty sure this organization with unsanctioned actions pisses off the police, fbi, nsa, and anyone else in charge of actually keeping the peace and safety of Americans

The employees are untrained and irresponsible. What fucking country has a shadow organization?

Nope. I bet they’re pissed. .

The torture on me has been as up and downs as a whores drawers. That’s the saying. Isn’t Yorkshire a lovely.

Without going in to what – after resisting torture. I blurted this morning.

Gaslighting makes a person forget. But the experimental idea is that it makes you forget to hold steadfast.

If you abuse them enough.

What I have been through nearly drove me to suicide again. Very closely – something spiritual occurred. The a few other times nudged back by my cat. A full further few by hints we’ll leave alone.

The police held back, paramedics were on standby. And everyone heard me slowly lose control over prolonged psychological abuse.

I had a heart attack – as in 211/133 style BPM.

I was on my way out and bellowed in song. Who cared of consequences? I wouldn’t be around.

My BPM drooped.

I was a bit disappointed but planned to take the hint. I’d see if there wasn’t any way I could pull through.

It came up and down like those “idiomatic” prostitutes knickers.

But that was as close as I’d ever get to becoming someone who sold her body for sex.

I sang to reduce is. And the surrounding abuse pushed it back up.

The best part is “all they did was ignore boundaries”

Let’s see…

I got pissed off and needed to be left alone in my own studio and they wouldn’t stop nagging me. I was harassed endlessly by the stupid bitch vaguely from my less pleasant neighbors direction.

My body began to turn inwards. Rage began to boil. Nerve pain flared as my PTSD rocketed through me. Fury on a level that left me a frothing, screaming mess.

Someone had to keep an eye on me as a women “just ignored boundaries” to my death several times.

The words “leave me alone” were not enough. No swearing either. She seemed so fucking stupid and evil.

They let it slip it was an interpretation technique.

I wondered who they were to question me? I didn’t want to know anything about it. It would go to the grave.

I had been hacked, spied on, criticized constantly. My private documents read and I no longer can tell if the whole world has them.

Or a whole department.

It seemed so necessary to me we protect ourselves from psychological operations and acute cyber attacks. And it was information I buried so deeply it drove me insane. It wasn’t my business. I didn’t want to know.

All the technology and techniques I feared were used to “find out what I knew”. Anything that hadn’t occurred to me.

Which was that our government had them too.

A long time ago I was tortured because someone paranoid enough wanted to know information about the NSA. And for a stupid reason we won’t get into. The attacker swore I knew NSA secrets.

The story was, people intelligent enough to use electricity to torture me where too stupid to grasp I was not a former NSA agent.

No. That was the trouble. None of us thought either of us had business knowing what I had heard or considered as a possibility.

So what did I know and how?

Oh boy did I fight and resist. Denting the egos of professionals. I dodged for nearly 4 years. July 28. 2022 being the starting point they went after me and I was instantly driven to the hospital.

I lost control over the course of three days last weekend. It was horrific and no one stopped anyone from criminal level harassment.

Oh yes. Bullying like that is a crime in Oregon. Particularly if a person is in a protected class like a Bipolar person on disability.

As an example.

They blew the last of their payload exposing everything they could do – the whole world able to see the abuse on display. The trashing of reputation, work, personality. And I held fast.

I sealed up.

Then I began a process of recovery. They’d prod a little. But it was quieter.

Except the direct torture using a painful frequency that they learnt stimulated that spot that causes fibromyalgia.

In those without it they discover about three days of what it’s like. Depending on duration.

For those who have fibromyalgia. Depending on length of abuse? The severe nerve pain can last for months. The acute stage being so painful it’s hard not to just end it all to stop that!

Why? So I could go to a hospital and someone search my room. Their sticky fingers sanctioned with the direction they learn what technology I have. But the temptation to take my medication too powerful and almost too blatant.

They were after a hard drive. Certain it held secrets.

That was with me.

As were the USB sticks.

Who was I? How did I know what I did? Who was trained enough to resist (yeah right like any training could probably help). Who taught me “deep memory” (necessity you intelligent but stupid fuckwits)

You couldn’t believe I knew what I did. Could figure out what I did. Dodge as I learned. From escape driving to resorting to loop holes for grocery shopping.

Apparently no one is that good unless trained. They knew I wasn’t CIA. Who taught me?

They thought themselves as smart as it gets. But they didn’t “speak genius”. They were so arrogant and full of themselves they couldn’t fathom nor imagine a mind smarter, faster, more flexible, quicker to learn, ready to fight, out of this world diverse with a memory better and faster than Google.

No one, in their intelligently stupid world compares to them. Not even the academically inclined the daughter of THE TOP MATHEMATICIAN, GLOBALLY

They obliterated all their secrets and tactics trying to discover how I learned all their secrets and tactics. Because while some I initially heard, they were learning on the fly

How did I know?

Yep it is that stupid.

Apparently people are being persuaded by nasty false evidence.

Those who seem to be swayed may be all a computer. I don’t know.

But I was beginning to get to the point I needed to talk to someone.

811 went to some digging company

Project respond went to some guy.

I haven’t tried calling 911

I haven’t seen the fake evidence but apparently it features a nude woman from the side.

This is the best I could pull up

They may make a skin. It’s not like they can’t take an invasive snapshot at any present time. But if an animation department wants to go to jail. I doubt they will.

PS

To some I’m just an immigrant whose mentality ill, in my eyes I’m a citizen who was loyal the fundamental concepts America was based on – a bit blind to the present.

As for mental illness? I had be crazy to survive and I’m just deciding if it’s madness to continue.

Should you take a victory lap for tanking a terrorist who was stealing more from me than credit cards?

You hurt me till you ruined them.

Will you stop now?

PPS

Somewhere in the constitution it states a new federal department must be approved by congress

But

I doubt a psych ops that targets America citizens and Giants of American commerce count

I hope Amazon, Apple, Microsoft, Google, and WordPress will figure out what they can do

I personally am waiting but not in some prophet on pause way.

After some consideration I decided to take a back seat.

I know I’ve been prodded and pushed to some form of leadership – usually spiritual.

I’ve been nagged into a spiritual book and even as I leaned more to philosophy I expected to put some spiritual stuff in there.

Because that was what was expected.

But someone better suited to spiritual leadership exists.

I was hurt by the idea one would consider my soul an eyesore.

I was frustrated – I was nudged into a position that isn’t mine, and still felt I had to.

That’s no way to lead the soul.

Not at all.

What the heck was I thinking?

To be pushed in, not drawn in?

Please let souls emerge and guide from their internal drive. Don’t railroad it into them at every turn. It will never lead to what is necessary in leadership.

We need souls born shining that have a little extra to them.

And while many used to regard me with hope in mind?

I do not have that something extra.

Let the leaders shine.

They will.