Sylvanna Devlin

(Scroll to the end – past the first and second pictures – for a laugh)

This has all been so confusing this has a summary in the middle.

I was an emotional eater quite a while ago. Until I managed to pin it down to Diet Coke. And now if I get upset I have a sugar free cola.

It keeps me going.

Stuffing your feelings away, like I used to, isn’t healthy but it’s not the same as a binge.

A binge is a sudden massive amount of food, usually unhealthy food. It’s not just a comfort food – maybe to excess.

It’s pure excess. And it’s unpleasant.

Bulimics will attest. They’re not really enjoying the process. They are just making themselves feel sick.

Like I did with malitol sweetened chocolate.

I knew what it was. I first came across malitol in my late teens. It’s not like the bloating and gas, the diarrhea and general puky feeling is unfamiliar.

I knew what to expect.

But I recently reached for the nasty stuff when stress hit.

I can’t decide if it’s worse or better than my recent and previously reoccurring bouts of anorexia.

The difference? Bulimics – as I had been in the past with laxatives. Eat until they’re sick and only a few vomit it up. Most crap it out. Some over exercise.

Anorexics become obsessed with controlling food and begin to enjoy feeling hungry.

It seems I could get past satisfaction with starvation. But bulimia returned.

I had forgotten how it felt to be sick like this. It’s unpleasant but also satisfying – the same weird negative sense anorexia gives.

And like that weird passion the urge to draw my own blood brings up. Slowed down. Mellowed. But ever present during a successful binge.

It’s not a method of constant control but a way of suppressing an emotional spike.

That’s why anorexic bulimics exist. Tight control over food until an emotional spike makes you sick!

It’s not like I don’t know how I’m supposed to eat. I just don’t care. And now a different disorder is back.

Do I need to be direct? Eating disorders are a stress response. They’re not about body image. They’re a form of self harm.

I ate enough candy to feel sick and fell asleep. The nap was decent and kept me out of the world of everyone around me losing their minds again that I won’t just take their abuse with no comment.

So they can steal from me.

Of course I sound paranoid. Assholes are playing into mental illness to gaslight and steal from me and I can’t get anyone to listen.

While everyone around me seems to already know and just call me names, including paranoid, to control me.

So they could steal, and have a punching bag.

Of course it’s not the same if the victim doesn’t fight back when you use reactive abuse.

So you can steal, have a punching bag, and scapegoat.

Yes indeed. Welcome to exposing reactive abuse. A good twenty years after the laxatives and appetite suppressant gum, I need to lose 69 lbs and am big and muscular on a large boned short fat person.

I was returning to Diet Coke as my comfort strategy that I developed ten years ago.

Meds had packed on pounds on top of that from emotional eating so it was necessary.

Tonight. Bulimia returned.

I feel sick and slightly satisfied.

This is not healthy.

But neither are the circumstances I’m being asked to endure so you can continue to steal from me, use me as a punching bag and scapegoat and complain I’m abusive if I rebuke you.

Sorry it’s death or an upset stomach. So right now the latter you abusive arseholes. You used Bluetooth to invade my earbuds to mutter and play music during a thunderstorm.

Thunderstorms aren’t the same as white noise. I do not hallucinate during the sound of thunderstorms. It was real audio and a real invasion and the last hope I had to cope.

And you took it from me.

But oh no, you don’t actually want me to kill myself you just tell me to kill myself because it’s some sick twisted joke.

And I’m supposed to shy away from saying you’re making me suicidal. Every night. A hospital can’t take me. I’m fine if you don’t push and push and push.

They’ll send me home to fewer belongings because you staked the place out so you can steal, have a punching bag, and scapegoat that you’ve lied about so much others think I deserve it.

WTF is wrong with you?

WTF is wrong with America that you think you can manipulate stigma and lies to make this all socially acceptable?

So bulimia it is.

And I refuse to be ashamed of it.

The best part is, it’s a coping mechanism for handling an environment of women who tell me outright to kill myself. But don’t like me coping in any way at all so if it’s negative it’s my fault they “feel bad”

How does a corpse sound then?

I. Tried. To. Kill. Myself. Last year.

It’s by the grace of God I survived.

So if you feel a twinge of guilt over my return to eating disorders? You should. Now imagine the result is worse.

Because part of me would still rather give you what you say you want, which is for me to kill myself. Because I’m surrounded by such awfulness I can only survive in an unhealthy way.

And part of me would rather die than listen to your lies and abuse for one more minute.

But as often as you say, “kill yourself”, you’re not rebuked. But I have to suggest death just once and you crash down on a suicidal individual like the repercussions should only be experienced by the victim.

So which is it? Does it matter anymore? Bulimia isn’t something you “snap out of” you ignorant fool.

But it might be here to stay. Even exposing you is considered nasty by you and your coterie – I’m the problem because I don’t just soak your abuse. So none of you ever change.

You gaslight, move things, steal and return them. So I can’t ever find anything and have to search through everything with you saying you stole it whether you did or not. Just to demoralize and discredit me when you make off with something for real.

Testing your boundaries and what you can get away with.

Calling me a crybaby and a snitch for reporting every last thing you steal.

And if I allow the US government to use my growing digital signature to catch an international ring that provides technological backing if you only become a professional thief? Maybe try to be a slave handler?

Apparently I’m considered a fascist [I don’t like that word either. Censored]

Oh you tell me to kill myself to drive me to a hospital so you can safely steal from me?

You’re more likely to get a dead body that way.

How many have you racked up and brushed off. You said go to a hospital so why should you take responsibility for your abuse? In your mind anyway.

You lying, murderous, gaslighting, abusive ring of thieves.

Leave me, my things, and my cat alone.

Not that you care about what I want. It’s just an avenue to abuse anyway.

To sum up:

You steal identities, belongings and work.

And peace of mind.

Some of it done through computer vulnerabilities like bluetooth (since itt can’t be turned off), backdoors designed for testing, software meant for the police to use, and installing firmware updates that hose a computer with a fake operating system on top.

(You always break system preferences. And can’t avoid it)

You then use gaslighting, harassment and reactive abuse to disguise your tracks.

And the gaslighting became so elaborate you stole my privacy so people could laugh at me. Because it’s impossible trying to unravel the truth with the amount of bull crap you shoveled.

You have technological backing and lots of google plays to create your espionage, gaslighting, and the development of a scapegoat.

I have no freedom for my soul to heal because you practically also sell tickets to play “angels and demons” or treat me as an emotional punching bag. Or so you can try to have power and control.

The boss fight.

You also practically sold tickets to a peep show when “the fat Sylvanna” got naked. Some of you exchanging bets at my expense.

The only thing you haven’t sold is my body and you’ve been trying.

It’s all real but save the reasons given. Because I’m not real to you.

I don’t matter.

I’m a thing.

A commodity.

Why? Because I’m disabled? Or some other crappy reason.

You’re just a bunch of thieves and arseholes. And the patsies having a good laugh at me. Maybe testing out their abuse on a pay to play system that treats me as sub human.

And keeps me that way.

I did come back to reality, and it’s inconvenient for you.

I’m dealing with the return of an eating disorder because of you and you’re gloating you hope I get sick.

You

[ I don’t think we need these swear words. Censored]

But you don’t care.

Because I’m not even real to you.

As a side clarification. I don’t wear makeup in most posts. Or use filters. I really do look like this. So bugger off with your “too much makeup” you [oh my goodness! Censored]

That picture above has me with moisturizer coating my face. The one below is not “too much lipstick” it’s my natural lips after salty rice cakes. Are you now going to criticize my diet food?

There is something wrong with you.

And I’m keeping the “ugly photo” it’s not “what I really look like” it’s my face contorted by rage you stupid [let’s not! Censored].

Maybe you could avoid the reactive abuse if furious photos are going to be sniped at as “not my best.”

No you stupid [I don’t think I should know that word. Censored]

Anger isn’t pretty.

But neither are your lies, the gaslighting, and constant criticism meant to demoralize me. Some of you just say anything to hurt me even if it makes you sound stupid.

Here’s a particularly pretty one.

Since you’re expecting makeup and I don’t feel like complying.

Let me piece this together because there seems to be some confusion on the full picture.

The lying, the abuse, the gaslighting, and character assassination were to:

Hide thievery.

Most abuse used reactive abuse to make me seem the problem. I had already written the only book on the subject despite the severe PTSD from a relationship bathed in the abuse my ex spouse poured on me.

So they had to stop the book:

Game over.

My belongings were mined for worth, pictures taken to sell them in advance – even my beloved cat. Over my dead body will she be taken from me, and we’re all willing to arrange that. So it’s a matter of time before thieves become outright murderers.

If they succeed. My body is very fragile but held together by some massive muscles that are flexible and fast. And I’m willing to crack bone to defend Tabitha.

I’d rather not. But attacking me will briefly change my mind on that.

Never attack someone with a death-wish you [oh censored]

The lies and gaslighting were to hide activities. Blocking the book was a way to whip up [censored] and stigma was another method.

To hide thievery.

My writing was stolen, and an AI trained with my various writing voices. Thievery everyone kind of liked because they believed the lies and the stigma.

So even my work was taken so sod off with your “Trabajo”. What I can accomplish despite ever worsening PTSD isn’t enough to pay the bills. That which isn’t stolen as I type.

My identity was stolen and my history “borrowed”. Because it was sold to them like my now useless European passport. Maybe my birth certificate as well.

Lies, gaslighting, abuse, torture?

All very expensive ways to keep me from learning what’s really happening.

And a lot of you seemed to know.

And hid it from me.

Bugger off.

About time I figured it out? You’re now complaining your abuse and gaslighting was successful ? Would my death make you happier?

Because I said what you were doing was lethal and it came close last year. So you just waited till I started to improve to do it again. Relying on my pact with God to survive, so you can keep thieving, buying stolen goods, or ignoring the situation.

I should kill myself rather than be on the same planet as you.

And boy are you testing limits.

Any day now apparently you’ll again begin selling the rights to use equipment to torture me.

Experiments on a live subject.

Again.

Yeah just kill me outright you abusive arseholes.

Reality is. You’re either ignorant stigma filled [censored], thieves, or are letting it happen with a shroud of self imposed ignorance- or successful gaslighting on their part.

Law enforcement aside. Because I trust there are reasons you haven’t been stopped by them.

I am sent earbuds to listen to a thunderstorm to avoid your abuse and you try to up the anti – loudly so – with crap outside. Because why?

You’re really hoping I’ll kill myself? This wasn’t out yet when I wrote if you ruin my last coping method? I’m out. You do that? It’s clear you’re all murderers.

But I’ll be in heaven quite literally.

Which is better than sharing a planet with thieves as abusive as you.

Yeah.. You’re mucking with them right now you murderous arseholes. Apparently even a real potential corpse isn’t enough to stop your abuse.

I should have stayed dead..

What do you hope? I’ll believe they’re hallucinations you [wow censored!]? I’m sinking fast which is what you want.

And no one is listening that you’re killing me.

My own sister doesn’t understand how easy it is for you to screw me over.

All I had to hear was already paired earbuds announce, “pairing”. To be certain it’s not just my PTSD or white noise. They can be paired with more than one device because Bluetooth isn’t secure.

And no one is listening to me.

I want to die.

So the rest of you can bugger off. All I wanted was to return to my sweet nature. Which doesn’t mean I’m a permanent “mark” and any rebuke is “abuse” you [good grief! Censored]

And an AI that just counts the number of time I swear to label it as potentially abusive is potentially stupid or compromised.

I can’t really return to who I want to be anyway You keep prodding with your crap till I seem like the problem to the few bystanders not in the know.

To hide thievery.

Ahhh finally an honest statement. I know too much or some crap? And they indeed do want a corpse. I’m counting the hours till they get their wish.

To hide thievery

The whole building is up in arms it seems – well at least this small segment. The rest probably would like to be left alone.

Why?

I called out thieves and stigma-fueled ignorant bitches.

Not personally. I know no names.

But enough people felt it was about them to become mighty moody.

Self exposed assholes.

I didn’t mention the gaslighting in the post earlier today. We can lump it nicely or (not) into harassment.

But there’s a specific reason to use reality abuse and gaslighting. And that goes beyond control and pushing a person to suicide.

It’s like a nasty drug you don’t want. Keep your stress hormones damaging your brain and organs, and they keep you from calling the police over Proffessional level thievery and the proffessional thieves never get caught.

I initially didn’t really consider the idea there could be an international organization that goes beyond some form of thieves guild.

Things are staked and stolen. Why hide fenced goods when they just choose in advance and steal when they’ve already sold your stuff, “Marks” gaslighted into being too exhausted to notice in time.

The lies, and lies and lies also make others feel justified in at least letting it happen. Ruining a reputation to create an excuse to steal.

And they squeeze everything remotely valuable from you. So I wouldn’t be surprised if they had ties to sex traffickers.

Stealing a body.

Failing direct slavery maybe they could hook you into drugs and persuade you to become a whore.

Stealing your independence.

My mathematical mind is too advanced for them to understand and recognize. Not that they care. They can’t steal and sell that.

But I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if the hospital that housed me when I had been mutilated (during a coma) had someone think they could steal my dead body.

Yes my information was to go to science. Not my genitalia and living body. But who can tell through the lies and gaslighting.

Did you sell my living organs?

I so wouldn’t be surprised.

So who am I to go up against a group as likely powerful as an international organization of stolen goods?

Well it’s do that or die. And while they make suicide tempting, I have to remember I’m being mined and gaslighted. My very soul something they’d like to steal as a false prophet steals my words as written.

I barely have a penny to my name but bitches lie and say I’m wealthy to keep people stealing.

They lie about the family they gaslighted. That I come from a wealth when my father’s mother was a fishmonger in Hull, Yorkshire and my parents shared an egg for dinner. When they were young. They had to abandon everything they had overnight to escape a dangerous country.

The Cold War was terrifying.

Anything they have they worked hard for. And isn’t mine!

I don’t have strong enough swear words for you. There’s a history you don’t care about. A life that is meaningless to you. And while you say your goal is to incapacitate me it’s just so you can steal some more.

I hope you’re caught.

I hope the US government took photos too, of every belonging I have, and just have a constant image matching hunt going.

I hope anyone who buys the AI to use for writing is driven to the ground by shame.

I want you all to get yours.

I suppose I’ll have to live long enough and try to prevent you fucking gaslighting thieves from stealing much more.

Oh I hear you screaming “Trabajo” out there. It means work.

What lies has she been told this time?

I’d love to work. But I can’t consistently produce… anything. Particularly now the abuse and gaslighting skewered my mind with ever compounding PTSD.

My body is disabled so manual labor is out too.

And I’m not ever becoming a whore.

But I might be able to translate ASL part time. And/or become a part time academic. I’m on a list waiting for funding for training.

If that’s okay with you, judgmental bitch that you are?

Last night someone was after Genevieve.

That’s the name of my iPad. And someone here knows it. And can guess what’s on it.

Fuck her.

Fuck you all.

Apparently even this brief blog post requires a TLDR

Stigma is being used as a way of manipulating ignorant people into protecting thieves.

And

If you don’t have an issue with me because of stigma or protecting thievery – this post doesn’t apply to you.

And?

To those who do have an issue with me:

Fuck you.

---

It seems we might have boiled the situation down and Stigma, as offensive as it is, has been used as an excuse and to control ignorant shits.

As established, my vast and diverse body of work was stolen to train an AI. I change my voice per genre and that’s quite a few! But they are all me and all good.

They should be by now.

Someone, several someone’s want to use the AI based on my writing. So many they’ve whipped stigma into place and kept me hacked so the world can continue to steal from me.

Barring driving me to suicide you’d rather I didn’t write again because AI revenge publishing is a thing. And it would get noticed mighty quickly who you have all stolen from.

Do I have comment?

Does it need one?

Fuck you.

Apparently someone thought Tabitha looked so much like a bobcat they thought they would get away with taking a therapy cat from me.

Do I have comment on that?

Does the only reason I keep surviving being so threatened she’s scared to be without me, really need more pointed out?

Fuck you.

I want out.

And you don’t want me unshackled from the hacking done to me.

You’d rather mangle my body and steal my cat than let me learn the truth.

Fuck you.

I want out and no one is really giving me a better reason than Tabitha.

Fuck you.

There’s your comment.

If you are incapable of realizing how awful you have been, how much you have stolen, and think shitting on me and hiding behind stigma is better than the actual truth?

Fuck you.

As an addendum: if your issue is stigma? You’re an ignorant bitch. If you’re a thief manipulating stigma than you’re a bitch. If it’s not either? It’s not about you.

Getting mad as this post suggests you’re one of those first two.

For all I know is there’s a whole industry of stolen books I sure hope will be brought down if they use my work. Since the US intelligence services don’t need but do have my permission to use my entire, past, present and growing digital signatures to catch them.

They’re probably causing suicides.

Though that I’m sure pisses off a few into manipulation and control.

Addendum Two. Of course having my writing stolen, my reputation trashed, my body mutilated, my digital life hacked, being harassed and harangued and anything else I missed is going to make me cry.

If all that makes me suicidal. Crying is a minor issue and would be a good thing if bitches didn’t interrupt the healing process.

Also

Tabitha is half Maine coon, half bengal. And all mine. She’s not for sale. Ever.

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.