Sylvanna Devlin

After all the hacking and harassment, the theft and mutilation, I’m a bit sensitive to potential threats now.

Paranoid.

Fairly so.

I don’t trust easily.

My PTSD is so fierce I sometimes actually do hear Psychiatric voices.

That’s been played into with people who lie and bitch on repeat to try to sound like they’re not real.

I’ve been gaslighted so heavily reality isn’t something I can snap back to and only exists of the physical before me.

So this “snap back to reality” bullshit has to go. Those are real people who aren’t in the room with me. But because who I talk to isn’t loud they’re not real to them.

Fucking bitches.

I could be on the phone, talking with someone else I can hear, a spirit guide, a ghost, god, or myself.

That’s real enough thank you.

My neighbor hears me drop things and reports to management I’m throwing things.

The most I sling is knickers into the laundry.

She bangs on the walls. And records it, reporting the lie to management.

I can’t even reach my wall and my fingers are too fragile anyway.

She uses the “I know you are but what am I” abuse tactic by accusing me of being the abusive one.

Abuse is about power and control. The only power I want is for her to shut up and I don’t have it. But any rebuke seems to crush her style.

She seems, like others, to want a passive punching bag that never talks back and “obeys” her commandments.

Now it’s possible she’s that foolish when it come to sound – she hears upstairs and thinks it’s me. She makes up stories of what she thinks is going on because she too needs to come back to reality.

Maybe her name calling when I won’t go to the hospital for crying is… I don’t know about that one. Maybe she doesn’t know that’s not okay.

But she said I screamed and I didn’t. But I certainly had loud crying at one point. Thank god I could get the banshees wail out.

Now I can’t.

But maybe that’s why other bitches have called me a crybaby – unaware that I was only recently able to cry again and my trauma they are compounding isn’t something they know.

They might not even understand.

But the gaslighting gets heavy when so complain about stigma. For some reason they think I’ll back down from telling the truth by lying and calling me abusive.

Again. To an abusive bitch any rebuttal or rebuke is now called “abusive”. Because it boils the blood of the victim.

Particularly when they are using reactive abuse.

Indeed boiling my blood is their goal. And my PTSD is soaring. Initially caused by topics we won’t mention, my ex spouse wove in terrifying reactive abuse – he wouldn’t stop. It became horrific when the only end to an argument was that he was removed by the police.

They say they want a shout or tears – for which I’d be called a crybaby. Then they’ll stop. The manipulative “evaluationsbremse”. Each of them.

I can’t survive another minute of my neighbor hearing upstairs drop something, and then accusing me of banging on the wall. She calls me abusive when I rebuke her.

I can’t take another moment of her responding to the sound of a falling box with “stop throwing things”

The fuck does she think is going on in here?

Oh yeah. Her stigma is clouding her judgement.

She seems to treat mental illness as mental incapacity and an opportunity to be bossy as fuck. And if I tell her to l leave me alone, she calls me abusive.

I came so close to suicide recently, I backed off. But it was because my PTSD is being triggered by their reactive abuse so constantly I don’t know what to do.

I’m keeping a log now. And apparently saying nothing but putting it in a journal is abusive.

For fucks sake I can’t even escape. I have nowhere to go. I might as well take a permanent end.

I’m really worried that I’ll go from trying to pull it together to a successful suicide attempt very, very quickly.

I start to get better and I’m shat on. I write a their abuse. And bitches comment on it – making threats and demands, calling me names.

I do wonder if they haven’t actually been as abused as I have been and don’t really know what it means. Because they don’t act like former victims for sure.

They only leave me alone when I’m just sitting and thinking for hours on end – except my neighbor calling me abusive when I haven’t said or done anything.

I keep giving up. Why improve when a cunts claws will soon follow.

Why?

Apparently I’m not clear enough.

The women here (the ones doing this, not the bystanders) have such stigma towards me they use reactive abuse endlessly.

I have a book on reactive abuse and now am working on one on stigma.

So should I survive them the whole world will have access to the truth.

But in time.

Should I survive their stigma. And attempts to stop the only real book about reactive abuse.

I suppose I can give a them creative names like “pants” for the lying bitches trying to get me thrown out.

If I survive.

Wanting to die rather than live another minute surrounded by their stigma is not the same as suicidal

But if they keep pushing with their lies and abuse, the sudden snap is likely to end me.

By miracle I survive coming as close to the edge as I did last night?

Don’t continue abusive behavior.

And stop calling me abusive just for rebuking you, or calling you the same thing you do me. Or sharing what you do online here on my blog.

You fucking bitches.

Either you find it amusing to drive someone to suicide or you are that stupid. Which is it?

Evil?

Or a total fuckwit.

So leaving aside all the negative and incorrect assumptions about being pushed over the edge to death. I have had my last nerve clawed at.

Again.

And my neighbor seems to think behaving like a sanctimonious bitch – no matter how well meaning – will improve the situation.

I don’t really see the point of going to the hospital. I have a psychiatrists appointment today to address severe depression which is why another attempt to drive me to suicide is currently being made.

I would be sent home, told to follow up at my appointment. And the chemical situation becomes tenuous again as there would be a lot less wrong with me if people weren’t trying to kill me and others were brushing it off as paranoia.

No you wouldn’t believe it if I was dead, as that happened (albeit briefly) last year.

I said I couldn’t manage to start to get better, start climbing out of the pit of hell your stigma built for me, with a bunch of assholes deliberately clawing into me.

They would rather I die than they learn that you can’t stigmatize people. Because clearly they can.

Aided and abetted by the giggle and hahas at my expense, the websites of fuckery. The “snap back to reality”, the armchair psychology, the invasion of privacy and the theft of writing. Among other issues.

I believe I barely scratched the surface of the gaslighting.

You are doing this.

You can’t keep doing this and then, “well I said go to the hospital”

What is the fucking point?

So you might have another round at toying with my temper? Another go at your favorite emotional punching bag? Your scapegoat of choice?

So you can try to absolve yourself of guilt that you do not learn to behave better?

Face the mirror today. And know blood will be on your hands one day, and one day soon. If not mine, another of your targets. Face the mirror and change.

I have bent myself in knots trying to dodge your games and murderous behavior. I am a hairs breath from out for good.

I’ve been here before.

I really should have died.

As you say you agree.

Do not. When I am calming from any stressor presume I am available to speak to. I am not here for your ease and entertainment.

And I am not still alive to assuage your conscience.

I am a talented writer. Pretty enough- would be more so if I lost weight. I’m spiritually inclined and close to god. Enough to know for a fact what he looks like.

But you don’t want me to have anything worth respecting.

You would rather steal it. Mock me. Scar my body. My face is apparently next.

Why the fuck would I want to live in your fucking world?

You don’t want to respect what I do, let alone me. You don’t want to offer me decency that I am a fucking 47 year old woman capable of running her life without your interference, permission or need to kowtow to your satisfaction.

I’m not here to boss around and bitch at so you feel good for half a second.

You don’t like me, my life, what I have to say? Butt the fuck out.

If you honestly don’t know the difference between walking an overwhelmed person through, and micromanaging and criticism? Shut the fuck up.

No more trying to tell me what to say, what to avoid. No more reading as I type and presume to change my work.

No more threats and demands that I adhere to your rules or you play mommy daddy with the government trying to get my disability cancelled.

And you fucking bitch.

I have, in my past, probably had more jobs than you. Don’t fucking gloat you are capable of enough regularity to have one. Like I fucking choose disability.

You stupid, stupid bitch.

I plan to try to get the right education to work part time and support myself- maybe feel some mathematical satisfaction.

Don’t fucking act like you don’t understand I need disability until I’m trained. No one, even someone being such a bitch, is that stupid.

A yes, swearing does sometimes help.

To continue.

I make standard ADHD mistakes you leave me the fuck alone to make them.

I make more bipolar oriented ones. You shut the fuck up about your judgment on that.

I have trouble with my dyslexia you recognize it is tied to more visual thinking and shut the fuck up about it.

My short term memory is short, shorter with the compounding PTSD you are adding to. But my long term is exceptional.

Don’t understand it? Don’t worry. You don’t need to.

Do not comment on, question, and criticize everything a weird and wonderful person does- or anyone different from you. Just know you do not have the experience to be making a call on those things.

Your prejudice isn’t as bad as your arrogance. I mean you have filthy opinions on the limitations one could have – purely for neurological diversity.

Fixed it for you.

But you are beyond exceptionally rude for feeling entitled to try to run my life. Because you are ignorant of the truths of mental illness to the point you don’t know how arrogant you are.

This is not the last time someone throws an emotional gut punch at me but I advise it to be your last.

If it’s not me you kill it will be another. And right now you’re killing my soul. I expect better from you as another free citizen of this country, and I am as adult as I want to be outside my private space, and little as I feel like inside it when alone.

That’s pretty fucking adult as to who you should be speaking to. Stop spying on me you perve. Get a life other than mine. Stop mocking others with sardonic humor because you’re not remotely funny.

Is the situation clear enough now?

I am not called “the real” Sylvanna I am Sylvanna Devlin. The pen name of Melissa Devlin- it’s my public name.

Some of my history, identity and ideas have been co-opted by “the real” Sylvanna.

But at least, now she’s trashed my legal name, she’s admitted she’s someone else.

I get very confused myself, she is probably kind of an asshole because she stole so much from me and declared it hers.

I am the writer, Melissa Devlin. My name in my most notable project (right now anyway) was already Sylvanna.

I don’t know her lies but the stigmatization involved almost killed me again.

She’s part of the very serious go at it last year. The rest was being dogpiled by people I don’t know because of that…

Individual.

Her actual legal name, or her “dead name” or birth name. Whatever you want to call it, I don’t know.

But I’d like to be given room to go back to being a sweetheart please.

To clarify. I should look like this on a bad day.

But when I’m angry? My face contorts to something else.

This is me looking my age for once because I’m that pissed and my face is that expressive.

(Audio has been tampered with)

Apparently a few women (and only a few), didn’t get the memo that stigma isn’t going to fly anymore.

I’m mentally ill and you don’t know what that means – particularly in me.

Allow me to elucidate.

Bipolar I is categorized by long periods of depression or mania and, untreated is usually only dangerous to the pocket book! A bit like being too buzzed all the time. You are certainly more capable than average in a fight. And if you have the cranky pants kind, you’re just as likely as anyone else in a mood to get into fisticuffs. Just more likely to be in a mood.

What does more capable mean? If you’re manic your reflexes are faster, your overall movements quick too. And speed matters!

That’s without rage which also has pain suppression and the likelihood to hit as hard as fast.

I try to avoid mania like the plague, but am prone to more mixed episodes – which is harder to treat. While my mania was the lovey dovey kind, I am capable of depths of hell fury.

That I have to just sit with. I break something it’s broken. I make a mess I need to clean. I actually raise my voice and the building shakes.

Let’s not go there. Bone is fragile. Don’t be stupid. Leave the bipolar person with severe PTSD alone.

If you actually get violent? You have to attack and I’m ending it. Do not go there you foolish child.

What do the little cowgirls want? To double down that my posts objecting to abuse are personal to them?

Interesting

As a side note. Some of the brightest minds in academia are specifically bipolar. If you really are interested in learning “what I’m made of,” there’s a good book, “An Unquiet Mind” written by Kay Radfield Jamison – the psychologist and most successful author of books on bipolar.

I’m made of other all kinds of interesting academic resources. Read a book and learn consensual academic debate.

Otherwise, bipolar people are relatable. We have the same triggers and traits as anyone else could be expected to have. We just have reactions to a greater extreme.

Now, as much as I want to grumble on your decision for willful ignorance when it comes to human decency and reasonable behavior.

I am in the unfortunate position of being aware that the average Oregonian isn’t exposed to information on mental illness so you might not know there is anything to learn. So perhaps your position is less willful and more uninformed.

Please fix that.

For the sake of all that’s decent.

Please educate yourself instead of trying to eliminate me. You don’t understand me. You don’t know me despite your invasive surveillance. You must not be able to comprehend what you see as you would know I’m no danger to you by merely existing.

Do not test the bipolar former martial artist with severe PTSD. You say you see everything? Then you should know better.

Now stop spying on me.

Thanks.

At least until dawn.

No not winter solstice – though that would have been appropriate.

And not the Easter vigil

But it felt like it.

But truth will out and now, no one knows what. So some of us are up late wondering “what the fuck?” And this particular individual is exhausted after constantly checking my vitals and witnessing extremely high numbers for blood pressure.

186/127!high. I didn’t realize how high the diastolic number could get that high. And the 170-180 systolic range stayed about there for two and a half hours.

I didn’t write down the initial result of 200/156 as I was pretty sure that had to be a mistake.

But while any sensible person would have packed up her cat and called an ambulance. I was far too pissed off to be sensible.

I was going to be uncomfortable and impatient and too annoyed to be around another human. I would likely have been admitted for medical observation and a psychiatrist would have wanted to talk to me to.

Yeah I’ve been so depressed I wanted out. But right now I’m too mad to die about it. So I’m up late with a body that turned to gelatin, slightly wishing I hadn’t decided sugar was out right now.

I felt like I had been psychologically crucified, tried killing myself, and then another go was made on killing me.

Over stigma

Compounded by doubling down that I had to be a monster because you were beginning to feel a tad uncomfortable with the situation.

You (the individuals who were assholes to me, not everyone) didn’t want me to have success. You didn’t want my well written books to be written by me. You didn’t want me to be pretty and with my body intact.

You didn’t view me as apex – as complained about. You viewed me as lesser. As went understood by everyone else.

I’m neither thank you.

I’ve been lied to by almost everyone. Gaslighted, corralled, mocked, and driven to either an existence of filth, oblivion, or suicide.

No on wanted to be the one to reveal just how lied to and abused I had been – as if I didn’t notice. The lies and lies and lies, told by others made me paranoid. As did everyone who knew the truth but couldn’t admit it.

Abuse is noticeable too by the way.

My neighbor is so rude as to be reading this aloud right now. And another rude arsehole tried to suggest what I wrote, while another rude arsehole tried to warn me what not to say before I was fucking finished.

I’d like to swear less and tone down my understandable verbal vitriol. But things like that make me second guess second guessing myself.

I’ll try to be nicer, but you’re all still behaving like arseholes.

Surveillance the government needs hacked into by entitled what-nots who don’t understand how the NSA – and their brainy computers – can have my permission but not you.

Really? Or do you just not to admit to being part of the largest nonsensical security leak one can imagine.

Over stigma.

I’m trying to settle down after a heart attack here. Thank you. My muscles need potassium because they gave up on tension. I’m fucking done.

So should that AI be.

So should people being rude arseholes by hacking into my private journal – then commenting.

I had planned to make this an entry just to blow off steam. But the continued harassment and attempts to control me changed my mind

Over stigma.

Do you not understand what stigma means?

Or do you not care?

Let it go.

Let me go.

Let go of my work.

And worry over yourselves, your growth, work and development.

You’re going to be nosy so I’m going to need to level up a bit. But shut the fuck up while intruding on my life.

Do you not understand boundaries? Do you need a fucking map? The golden rule isn’t good enough for you?

I won’t hold my breath you’ll so mind your business so well you learn not to nag and giggle. Comment and (sometimes incorrectly) correct.

Mind yourselves.

Do it into a pillow or something.

So we’ll start with baby steps.

No

More

Fucking

Gaslighting

Okay?

You don’t have my permission, I’m just not stupid. Stay active enough to help the NSA secure the leaks. I don’t want you to. But it’s your embarrassment come due.

Just, let’s all start with stopped lying.

It’s the least you could do.

TLDR

Some individual seemed to incorrectly be summarizing and some asshole thinks mental illness means she can boss me around. Other than that. Fucking read the whole post before reacting. Once published.

Things have changed since I wrote this. But I can’t be bothered to edit it. This was the situation this afternoon.

From what I can tell, the character assassination, mutilation of my genitalia, theft of my work, interference with my career, the hacking and harassment were all to leave me lying paranoid and in filth out of…

There’s no reason good enough.

And you almost succeeded in killing me.

Again,

Why? To make me less attractive? I need the dentist now. Are you going to harass and harangue me every time I go in for a filling?

Steal my things so I never leave the room again?

Manipulate and control everyone around you so people I’ve never met hold hatred for me?

“Hehe. Why give her some fucking privacy. We hate her.”

Do you even know why?

How about the constitutional right to privacy. Is being an American enough for you to behave like your ideals matter?

The constitution is administrable. Americans were respected and saved lives. Now the perception is that they’re stupid and ignorant. Do you want to contribute to that? Or rise above it?

Fucking born in America and think you’ll always be more American than some immigrant?

Fucking act like it. Respect your constitution.

Maybe it is your entire lack of respect for me as a human being has left me frothing.

You’ve told so many lies the creature of wrath you said existed did indeed come to fruition. Though I never act upon it, your reactive abuse is near tenable in the way it physically harms me.

My heart isn’t the same,

I have lost hair.

My weight loss keeps getting interrupted.

My motivation for exercise waning.

My self esteem tattered.

And my soul is ruined.

You make fun of a beginner! Delight in every mistake. And mock the very idea of learning.

I want to work but can’t yet so so still need the pittance from the federal government and you say you plan to complain to them.

And I believe you.

I have skills I need to learn and writing I need to do to have any kind of career but the ongoing compounding of my PTSD scuppers all hope to escape financially. But you resent taxes you are not paying going to support me.

Really it’s just a way to fuck me over.

Why again?

Yeah. I have your Jealousy. Your need for Power. And your need for Control compounded by Fear as your only motives.

I want out and need to become capable of working more than six weeks at a time. Part time! (If that). You claw me to death each attempt to learn.

You try to micromanage me to my end like PTSD and bipolar are an invitation to attempt to run and ruin a life.

They’re not, since you need that boundary pointed out specifically.

Mental illness is not mental incapacity and PTSD is altered mental strength but not capacity. Range of ability yes, but each symptom and need for aide and accommodation is personal to the individual. And up to the individual to decide.

I’m struggling because of people like you. But it doesn’t mean I require someone inviting herself into my life to “direct me”.

Is your lust for power so intense?

To be more succinct. I need disability right now. But being disabled doesn’t mean I need you as the boss of me.

Are you so ignorant that the mere words mental illness summon up the mental image of fictional psychopaths vs actual examples like the famous mathematician John Nash?

Your only way to feel secure is not to address your lack of education, but attempt to corral and control me?

Is that what’s going on?

Stigma?

You think mental illness impedes intelligence?

It was a long time ago that I was last tested. I’ve been melted down and recovered a few times since. But my IQ is probably a lot higher than yours. To the point no one is on my level so I value other qualities.

Which would be nice if you displayed.

But teaching myself the basics of set theory isn’t valued by you because all you think of is Ven diagrams. So you don’t even recognize absent-from-the-present intellect

Again, being mentally ill doesn’t make me stupid you fucking assholes.

Mental illness and PTSD don’t make me the bogeyman either. But if I’m not already, you will use reactive abuse to make me seem it?

You think my mental illness means you should get to boss me around like a child? Though I worry on that front,

It does seem likely your ignorance really is the problem.

But you’ll gaslight motives into being to disguise plain old fashioned fear. Invent boyfriends I would have liked to be informed I have. They probably would too!

I hate living with you as much as you hate me and I’m trying to let go of such poison.

You object to my objections! Every post I have tries to acknowledge that not everyone is so narrow minded. So I doubt it’s the average individual who takes umbrage. Rather those behaving with uneducated ignorance because of stigma.

Again, I don’t even know who you are. But if you take this personally? It is.

My cat already has to come everywhere with me. She’s afraid to be alone and afraid to be without me.

You keep threatening her too!

But point out all you did to fuck me over? And apparently I’m abusive.

I can’t ever be happy again – you’ll just turn up the pressure to destroy me. I can’t trust again, so many of you have lied to my face,

Has everyone read every scrap I wrote.? Even while trying to figure things out? You mutilated my copies while who knows what you did with yours. I don’t know. You’re so busy lying and stealing from me it’s barely worth it to write again.

Oh wait, is some little fuckwit summarizing without being literate enough to comprehend what the fuck is actually being said? Or the truth is that inconvenient to her lies?

Do you use AI for TLDR and that AI sucks?

God I hope it’s that simple.

I want to feel pretty on the inside now, you fucking assholes. But it’s hard when everyone shits on you so heavily there’s no point to being alive.

Leave me alone.

“Could the psycho in the middle leave the other psycho alone so the other, other psycho can get some sleep?”

He meant it kindly, but was fed up as fuck! I miss that neighborhood!

On the cutie patootie front. I tried pulling out resistance bands to at least consider working out.

My cat became very interested!

I might have to rethink this.

As an addendum: maybe the bathroom isn’t the best place to try to communicate. All I could hear was complaints you think I’m “a baby”. For objecting to abuse! What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you have a better reason than stigma that isn’t a pack of lies?

This post got loo-room commentary before it came out. Like somehow everyone knew of a system to invade my privacy and peace of mind.

If I don’t care what you call me will you stop? Sure. I’m a baby for not wanting to be abused. Whatever.

Again

Seriously

What the fuck is wrong with you?

Are we all done now? I’ve said my bit and you whined about it before it was even publicly available. Can you now settle the fuck down?

God I hope so.

So here we go.

It’s been stigma the entire time

I got hacked into a digital prison to avoid what might happen if I learned what happened to my writing.

You read everything.

You shat on everything.

You stole my ideas – even character names.

You programmed an AI to write like me because I’m that fucking good.

And you don’t want me to have been the real author. To have real success as a writer. To admit how much you shat on me

You even tried to steal my cat.

Because I’m mentally ill and the truth is inconvenient to you.

Portland WTF is wrong with you?

I mean I know this isn’t all of Portland but what the hell?

People here are up in arms because I objected to them being abusive.

They’re on the warpath.

Time to lie to management and make up evidence.

Time to harass the police and paramedics with false reports.

Time to bring in other people from other places to harass me.

Time to interfere with my deliveries

Time to IDK what, but do you think you could grow up and let it fucking go?

I objected to abuse.

Publicly. Yes. But it was about abusive bitches. If you took it personally it was indeed you.

Like the fuck?

Who are you? Your herd feels so threatened that me being here is an affront? The fuck is wrong with you?

One of you is going to have to drop the high school games because I’m fucking 47 and was too old for this (and thankfully in college) thirty years ago. Yes when I was 17.

Like seriously, do I really have to find some way to get you to grow up and get a life? Leave me the fuck alone.

I’m done swearing at you with the same names and phrases you use to harass me. As that didn’t work. And it makes me unhappy. So if that’s the problem? It’s fucking over.

Let it go.

Ahhh Oregon. You wild, wild, west you.

This is about certain assholes, since it’s getting missed that most of the building probably wants to avoid coming to notice – and indeed have been quite nice.

Just not everyone

And for no fucking reason other than taking no shit.

Heinous!

Anyway…

All the martial arts training in the world doesn’t prepare you for threats and bullying from the safety of the other side of the door.

Mine was a long time ago admittedly. Mostly off record, and with personal attention. But I have age and speed and some bitch has bravado.

“You write another post like that and we’ll come to blows.”

Oh we will? Do you promise? Because now I’m in a mood.

Go ahead, break down the door. Go to jail. I can defend myself just fine you stupid bitch.

Since I’m the one with the least to lose, I’m the one to fear the most. And I’d like to avoid breaking bone if I counter strike.

Thank you.

I’m trying to figure out if I can ever be happy again.

So far the vote is no. Not around the hen house of “bitches and cunts”. (Originally intended to say the whole building isn’t like that. But the truth doesn’t give as much moaning material.)

My soul will never heal. I will never return to the light. No one cares anyway so fuck it.

But apparently, according to my very loud neighbor, “The real Sylvanna? Abusive.”

That’s what abusive bitches now do, expecting us to shy away from rebuking them for fear of being accused of that which is destroying us.

It’s looking pretty likely my death is preferable to everyone. But I’m in a mood.

Blows over blog posts?

The fuck is wrong with you?

Fucking don’t like it, don’t read it.

Do you all imagine you’re some cowboys in a film about stopping a book before your shitty power tactics are exposed? Can I leave your film please?

Come back to reality, you stupid bitches.

This is the 21st. Century but apparently women here handle criticism form another woman like stoning to death is an option.

Actually that might be preferable to listening to my neighbor complain about me again. Loud enough so I can hear. But she fusses to management if I cry too loudly. And if I drop something she says I’m throwing things.

And god please help her avoid banging on the fucking wall then telling management it was me. I can’t reach my wall. My fingers are too fragile and I’m fucking fed up.

Just… I don’t know. Learn to behave like civilized adults.

The rest of the building probably thinks we all lost our damn minds. I know I’m going crazy.

Now if you don’t mind I need to pray for your poison to be eradicated from my body never to return to me.

It’s the only recourse I have left.

,

P.S according to the peanut gallery, “none of us like you anymore.”

Really? Who the fuck are you? Do you take this personally?

Then it’s about you, and you can fuck right off you fucking child!

And

“I’m going to make sure amazon doesn’t deliver to her anymore”

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