Sylvanna Devlin

I have, as the article attests, been so gaslighted I didn’t know anything anymore. Perhaps another attempt at “Gaslight her to Death”. But I sank into and became Oblivion. I was not shattered I was submerged up and down in an entire disconnect from reality and any sense of self.

Anyone else would have killed themselves.

First I formed a connection with the goddess, then I ceased to be – including any idea of life or death. It’s impossible to express the kind of wipe that took about three months leading up and 72 hours intensely harassed and awake.

Every attempt at sleep interrupted by a false but interesting narrative that could not be ignored.

Most times reactive abuse is levied on me. To a cumulative effect. That and hacking, threatening, and stealing.

But I was wiped not by the false reality they were bending and twisting into being, but the gaslighting of what had happened and was being said.

It was really quite clever.

And should be outlawed.

To the actors involved they were ad-libbing a script into existence – fed lines and storylines by an interesting AI.

A weapons test.

That I could ignore if fully automated.

The people had to be live.

And I’m not sure those using the weapon knew the significance of live interaction with people not disembodied voices. Not in the flesh but of flesh anyway.

They didn’t know why, but they certainly used it.

One too many times.

The latest weaving is mistaken identity of a terrorists wife – with an actor testing every piece of storyline and the AI responding quickly to my actions. Everything right until it’s wrong.

They even tried to tell me what the spirits in here were doing, wherefore and what to worry about.

Presumptuous bitches

But I suppose they’re just following a formula for a quickly written script.

Sylvanna – Now Nepenthe by their interaction does something according to an impulse she “hears”

That’s a test. That’s right. That’s Nepenthe.

I’m waiting for

No. Now he’s angry. He won’t have you.

Like my end of existence is marriage and not the five pages of things to do to keep me going each a small reason to live.

I developed a sense of set theory on my own – as clear as algebra which was just arithmetic and thus I annoyed my teachers because no work was involved. To me anyway.

Not algebraic in nature unless you consider that as a basis for developing algorithms.

But the mathematical concept of how to study patterns or patterns. Interesting to the NSA and likely established.

But not by someone who was last in a mathematics course in 1995 and barely remembers notation.

I’m interested in it enough to pursue it. And some reactions were genuine surprise and pleasure (of a kind). Developing mathematical theory is an interesting sign of intelligence.

And I felt it perhaps necessary to point out the definition of intelligence and Genius. Each having variety.

But in this country a woman can’t admit to being highly intelligent.

Highly talented and skilled in writing.

Mathematically gifted.

You complain my looks are wasted and say I’m arrogant for being willing to consider myself pretty.

For fucks sake.

I am 47. I’m not hiding my abilities and advantages any longer. Self awareness is not the same as arrogance.

Claiming my existence is superior is arrogance. Claiming I have a different role and particular talents is emerging from the closet.

I’ve been writing 38 years. I should be skilled by now. I may have talent but I’ve been buried in words my whole life.

But while some react well women tried to claim Set theory wasn’t real, or if it was they learned all there is to know learning ven diagrams, or if there’s more other people have studied it all.

Oh shut up.

I’m now convinced “stupid bitch” is a setting on a storyline that takes my truth, creates a false reality, then pretends to be foolish attempts to gaslight me.

Though it might not be considered foolish by the standards of the handler.

I either get angry that the stupid bitch won’t shut up with stupid ideas. Or I believe the stupid bitch and don’t know what part is real anymore.

Reality abuse, and gaslighting. A win whether I fall for bullshit or am angered by it.

Surely now you’ll see a beast.

Prove this all worthwhile.

I’ll either froth into madness and collapse or just collapse.

How about I not?

I am mathematically gifted, some. Genuinely recognized that attacking the particularly intelligent village sweetheart wasn’t a good idea. Either to start or anymore.

But “the stupid bitch” wants a whore.

She’s not real. But the theft, hacking, and mutilation were. The threats of rape supposedly backed up by kicking and clicking. The door barred as paranoia is indeed reasonable.

Gaslighting alone kills, making one paranoid is a stepping stone. It’s already been lethal to me. But one or two deaths and two attempts is not enough.

How clever I am may silence my intrusive neighbors.

Looks may shield me by piquing interest.

Ideas may protect me.

And god certainly does.

As does the spirit world.

But it’s not enough. I get walking papers with no car and nowhere to go? I have stated clearly is a lethal move.

“Oh goodie”

Yeah, that’s what youn want.

Bottom line you tested a weapon that is questionable whether it succeeds in a reasonable time. Maybe intended for control – as it was working on everyone else.

Until it became lethal.

And you gaslighted the public on reasons. Terrorism. Mistaken identity. Snuff film. Jealousy, exposure via a book.

Or maybe that I know your every tactic and pattern and that’s not good for either of us.

You may intend control. But it is a short term and horrific method. You started prodding at me July, 29, 2022.

You built, twisted and tortured a way to test control.

And didn’t succeed.

A woman’s idea of crowd control. Cruel and manipulative what to you care if a hostage kill’s herself? Indeed now my death is looking desirable to you.

It’s about control.

Control of me.

Control of perceptions of me.

Control of public perceptions.

Control of law enforcement.

Control of intelligence services.

And I’m supposed to be step one but have been awfully chatty about my observations.

But I’m an immigrant and patriot.

The government service move too close and you up the anty to target them. They step away and you torture me until they return and I accepted but didn’t like that I could be seen as a strategic casualty.

But that’s one method of countering you as ignoring the problem, well observing it with some intervention, isn’t working out for anyone.

You’re spreading to my surroundings. The people around me. Just have to prove your point and surely I’ll die proper this time.

But this is America of the no man left behind variety. And you are fucking with my intellectual equals – so we’re fond of each other without talking.

I hang on.

---

P.S. now the argument is: that while this was the case, now it’s purely about power and control for the petty reason that they want me to conform – not get better unless it’s in the way they want.

I think I preferred the reason when it was terrorism because at least that ends.

But by their reports that’s now over and it’s just a bunch of manipulative assholes using technology left behind.

It doesn’t stop because they don’t seem to understand that just as silence is not consent it is not agreement with your ideas or instructions. If I don’t push back it’s not because I didn’t notice.

It’s because I’m exhausted of you.

Come back to reality, etc and so forth.

I don’t push back you get worse.

I push back I feel worse because my PTSD is triggered by being angry.

And you can’t use reactive abuse then complain it works. You work all our last nerves. Of course we’re angry.

I don’t know what to do or think now. “Because we can” should be more aiming for the stars not this mean girls crap.

Like, seriously.

Just as I long ago reigned in any desire to take my anger out on objects – as they would then be broken. I can’t let off steam or push back without damaging my own soul. But their abuse is killing me.

I really don’t know what to do.

Do I listen that I made a bargain to stay in another year – cut off from the external world. Or is that, as they said, gaslighting and it just means I’m trapped as their punching bag another year.

Is this really so petty?

Who am I to believe? I was willing to accept a slew of agreements to stop them. But then toxic femininity became an issue. Theirs. Is this a clever way of drawing focus?

Or that stupid?

It’s one or the other and erring on the side of caution forces me to put up with them for another year.

Someone is going to have to say something to me at some point that isn’t a pack of lies, giggle giggle, let’s see what she believes- or makes me willing to do or not do quite a bit, just to get you to hold your tongue.

You “just said, ‘come back to reality’”

And my answer is – not if you’re in it.

If you think of each field of study or work as having a curve between speed and understanding, intelligence is how easy you find either or both.

Are you a quick thinker?

Thoughtful about your work?

Or yes, both.

True genius is in having both about multiple spheres of interest. So while there may be some with quite a few spheres they can work with – genius also has a scale and you don’t get many who can understand multiple topics deeply and quickly.

Some yes.

But not many.

Plenty of people are still intelligent in their sphere(s). No one can argue a successful mathematician is stupid! Nor one who can do multiple kinds – or those who are also intelligent in other areas.

But you certainly do get some people who in times past would have viewed today’s astrophysicists as the village idiot (with the same thinking styles and abilities) because fishing was a bit challenging.

Galileo’s work does come to mind.

It has been taken for granted, by myself as well as others, that I can think quickly and deeply about quite a few subjects – some learnt at an interesting exponential rate. I don’t get any of it till I understand all of it. No wonder my intellect has been overlooked!

Speed of learning certainly can be a sign of intelligence, but is not the end all be all of intelligence. And what does one do with the student who seemed a bit slow and now has to resist correcting you!

My ability to work and understand almost everything I try – to the point I can become quick in multiple spheres, is indeed unusual.

I’m just like everyone.

So I’m not like anyone.

Thus I’ve usually related to others in their way and I seem kind of sweet but no one suspects how much I am capable of understanding, processing, and at what speed.

My father noticed my intellect but didn’t know what to think of my inability to settle on anything and exploration of everything.

My mathematical talent was taken for granted by me and irritated those who thought I was wasting by learning to write novels!

Now I’m returning to mathematics and find it as natural as drinking water. And as necessary for a very thirsty brain. It’s easy and I need to recognize that’s unusual.

I am indeed absent minded when it comes to my environment and physical condition. My brain is busy unraveling the universe and not really focused on lunch.

What I have come to notice that while mathematics is another language to me, that perspective is unusual. I find advanced mathematics so natural I had no real understanding of it being difficult to others.

It seemed easy. How am I supposed to know it’s supposed to be hard? It’s not like I have much chance to “talk shop”.

As annoying as some find that. I have been interested in literally everything and thus it’s been hard to narrow down on a field of study and work.

And while I feel I can bridge gaps between different fields – I’m at a point in my life no one wants me to.

People don’t understand what mathematical thinking is like, so they don’t value it. Mathematical ability is valuable to society however. Some other work isn’t.

But since I became quite good at writing an now have the structure for a ten year career of sharing my worldview through fiction. I am now interested in returning to mathematics because it’s another way of sharing what the world looks like to me.

Who is interested? Everyone. But that’s not really the only reason we learn to communicate.

Nothing is more natural than wanting to communicate a perspective or findings.

Anyone genuinely interested in the topic will at least be curious. You’re interested now as you’re reading this – oop just lost a few.

My mathematical communication, and myself, have been overlooked. It will take all my fiction career to share what I see about the world.

Now I need mathematics to share the pattern and abstract understanding I have witnessed. I see mathematics – it’s just not visual.

Try not to be too literal.

So far setting my intentions in the universe has been successful, but I have been so curious about everything I struggled to narrow down on a specific pursuit.

So back to college. I have a BA in communication and plan to pursue a masters. But I don’t see why I can’t get a bachelor’s of Science in Mathematics while I am at it.

It’s unusual but not impossible. I could do with peace with my presence however. Perhaps I could be viewed as the absent minded genius down the hall and be left to my academic studies.

And not viewed as a commodity. Maybe stop trying to get me evicted, to kill myself, or turn tricks.

I know I’m a woman and thus to some my intellect is unbelievable – women are just not mathematicians as far as most are concerned. If they really understand what that is.

Intellect is not valued, and some don’t value women either. So it is little surprise that the significance of higher mathematics is lost.

But

Who are you

To try to

Decide

For me?

You don’t consider whether women can be smart enough because you don’t consider it at all.

Okay.

I’m a highly skilled and highly disabled writer and Academia is calling. It may be possible that I would be drawn to research I’m interested in, or teach. Maybe pursue a PHD. I’ll just have to get that far and see.

I’m really not a bother so long as you are not bothering me first. I’m not your gold mine. What’s mine is not yours. And I should be left to study.

But I don’t expect you to change.

I’d like it.

But don’t expect it.

Please prove me wrong.

A sudden and very necessary release of the spine between the shoulder blades does indeed improve circulation.

I suppose home grown physical Therapy is working. But I was not expecting the incredible head rush that followed finally getting my back into place.

The circulation started with a swelling feeling in the arms and fingers – and my blood pressure skyrocketed as my heart suddenly had to work harder – more places to reach!

It was a bit painful and I began to suspect a heart attack. But didn’t feel like sitting in an ER waiting room after emergency services rushed to me.

Apparently rolling in agony is the only way to get treatment if your heart hurts.

Last two times it happened I ended waiting out symptoms. Both at a Providence hospital – two different states and twice the fuckery.

Then my brain. Oh god my brain. I felt a weird dizziness and almost felt feint. Then there was a pressure. This swollen feeling in my brain.

I had been having weird foul fragrance sensitivity – and hallucinations. The extent being so severe my own skin had a meaty smell.

I went into splat treatment.

A little sugary candy for the quick glucose. A couple of chewable supplements for magnesium and zinc, a slight sip of a caffeinated drink, some burdock and rose hip tea, and water.

A bit of calming perfume on a tissue – calm being the objective, not some homeopathic bullshit.

A distillation of a distillation this was not!

Then an ice pack at the base of my skull.

I don’t recommend this. You really should go to a hospital. But I’m not the squeaky wheel everyone thinks I am.

Laying a paper trail is one thing, moaning about when fibromyalgia insists I’ve had worse pain? (Hot lava nerves come to mind). Usually complaining isn’t natural for me. If I’ve gotten to the pestering point I’ve been pestered first!

It was eventually followed by a tang on my tongue. And a burnt feeling in my nostrils.

This was pretty bad.

But I doubted I’d get much help in time. So I resigned myself to settling in for an interesting couple of days.

With a BP of 151/110 and HR of 96, O2 of 97% It was worrying but not extremely so. I had the early signs of an aneurism- because my brain was mighty confused!

Trying to explain my heart hurts a little and my head feels weird would need to be preceded by:

I was wearing three back supports and they started working.

Yeah no. Mild symptoms meant mild treatment as far as I was concerned. And that’s pretty much my day done for. And the next few.

Garbage out will be fun. But home is far more comfortable than medical observation.

“Can’t you just have a heart attack so you go to the hospital? was maybe not the words you wanted.

But I’ll live.

I’m gathering myself together.

Sort of.

I’m exhausted all the time and either can’t sleep, have severe nightmares, or sleep all day – with severe nightmares.

I have things I’d like to do.

But have a serious case of the blahs.

(An abstract more points out the interesting problem that one plans to pursue – keeping it in the realm of ideas – and not an in depth exploration, analysis, or presentation of a solution)

Data exhaustion

Too many data points make forming relevant information more difficult and thus knowledge of the subject never develops.

They are overwhelming us in a pursuit to make an educated decisions as well as lead to burn out, Data exhaustion.

We can’t learn anything like this. Why should we bury students with findings without a way to sort them?

We have developed AI and other digital tools to help us analyze the details we are swimming in. But they’re not enough to reduce work and in many cases are increasing it.

Remember, information is the result of reasonable interpretation of relevant data. It should not be full of lies, but both can be used to mislead.

Data points can be found or created to support misleading or false information. A dangerous mix. And while forming knowledge is indeed creative it should not be fictitious!

Our abilities to create, form knowledge, and think in the abstract world sets us apart from animals and AI alike. But we need to find a better way to interpret our world now.

Too much data is causing burn out in every field from customer service to the intelligence services! We are working with mathematics more than psychology and I think we need to do both.

My interest is in developing both the interactive and mathematical means to describe and access Data Patterns – which involves forming a better mathematical structure underneath the way I view the world – maybe relearning the notation.

Such mathematics doesn’t get used in a vacuum however, so really I want to make my theories applicable and accessible to others. So I need to focus on the core subjects of cognitive science, mathematics, artificial intelligence, usability, communication, and psychology. With an emphasis on how we gain and use data.

If I can study how to sort the data, and how to access the data. Maybe I can help develop better ways of doing both.

So after I poke my foot back in college at all (it’s been a long time) I hope to pursue at least a masters in communication as the broadest and most flexible of all of these. But I certainly need to work with the rest! And persuade my advisor that mathematics is a language.

Perhaps I can go on to gain a PhD in Human Computer Interaction. We’ll see if I need to. The answer is probably. But I’d like that masters to be in sight before making plans.

I had sat in my front lawn – all of it was real, or none of it. I was swirling in a world that made no sense and the truth was, some of it was. But not any parts made publicly available.

So much of the torment, the theft, the threats of disfigurement, gaslighting, hacking and harassment have been:

“Hehe haha funny.”

Or

“I’m scared of you because you’re crazy.”

Or

“You don’t deserve to be the writer of those books.”

I don’t? Because I’m mentally ill? Or because I’ve been psychologically tortured by your lies and stories into appearances of a beast.

Ones some believe.

You twist and turn with gaslighting and then laugh at what you eventually persuade me to believe.

“Come back to reality.”

Love to. Would you maybe leave me the fuck alone so I could?

The sex traffickers? The terrorist would be? The jilted lover? All woven into my understanding by real fucking torture?

The reasons seem to be pettier than the tales you’ve persuaded me to believe. No wonder you would rather I think you’re hunting the NSA – but are too stupid to recognize I’m not involved in intelligence services.

Rather that than own up to what you’ve become to make me appear the bitch.

“You don’t deserve your cat. She’s too pretty and special. So we’re going to lie about her and take her.”

Who else needs a therapy cat but one who has PTSD, or other mental illnesses?

“You don’t deserve to be so pretty.”

So you what? Make me appear ugly on the inside so I’m not competition?

What is this American idea of “deserve”. Like you’re the god of everything. Americans can do better and used to. What happened to you so that you fear me?

Americans are supposed to be brave and bold. Not sly and nasty.

“You’re so crazy, no man would want you”

Ah. There’s the problem you jealous bitches.

I guess all attempts to care for my appearance are a problem in that regard. Better make me too afraid to go to the dentist! Then I can warp into what you want.

I’m tired of your abuse controlling what the world thinks of me – particularly when you’re the problem.

You claw at every success because in your eyes it’s you or me.

And you make me into a monster so others agree..

I don’t think I can live with what you’ve done to me.

Now I’m the paranoid person who never leaves her room and occasionally bursts at the torment.

You torture and torment me into a reaction out of fear of my mere existence. Then when I seem to be what you said you were afraid of? You point the finger.

“She’s the problem. I’m oh so scared of her”

Leave me alone!

I just would like to go back to quietly being the village sweetheart if you are quite done?

But I return to me and it exposes your cruelty and lies, the problem is you. No one can endure what you’ve done.

No one.

Leave me alone!

You take this personally and think it directed at you?

Look in the fucking mirror because I don’t even know what you look like, let alone your name. You think it’s about you? Then I guess it is.

I hope reckoning come to you one day.

Leave me alone!

Personally I’d rather die than turn into the beast you want me to be. Your constant needling and prodding at wounds to create a monster on a leash?

I would rather kill myself.

“See she is suicidal”

Only if you have so little self control you can not leave my mere existence to be.

Guess that answers who the real bitch is.

Leave me alone!

Reliving a version of what happened in 2023 made me think I was in September. Any year would do. I called February October.

Which helped me understand my current situation better.

It makes sense the past is haunting me. And I have a shared reputation from a fucking bitch.

“Snap back to reality.”

It’s not helpful to say that to someone who feels the incidents of past trauma are again happening. It seemed like a way to gaslight me. Besides no one “snaps back” to anything.

“When I snap my fingers…”

Fuck off stop tormenting the mentally ill you fucking bitch. That’s not how healing works.

I am connecting dots. My PTSD has been so bad I was indeed part of the problem here. I’m didn’t believe anyone. They were unpleasant about their comments and I thought it harrasment.

My response would seem like I wasn’t telling the truth.  I can see, that because I didn’t trust anyone, I was loud and experienced fugue. Particularly loud for me would seem like yelling. So I became frustrated and felt lied about. Because my yell would shake the building and I knew I hadn’t done that!

The thing about fugue is you don’t necessarily remember it ever even occurring and if everyone is an asshole to you, there’s no way you trust that part is happening.

“Breakthrough”

From what? Could the assholes have maybe been more specific to help me recognize when a fugue had started?

I have been disruptive during that time. But this is so new I thought I was being picked on and lied about.

I’m either sleeping through the day or awake for up to 72 hours and I am being driven mad. But I tried to overdose on the only real effective PTSD medication and I can’t get my psyche to try it again – as I’m certain my body will treat it as poison now.

I need to find a therapist who won’t ask why I feel a certain way – what made the trigger possible. just what I can do about it when abusive bitches use reactive abuse and send me into a PTSD spiral.

They snipe

“You’re not the real Sylvanna”.

Yes I am – well that is actually a name I used in a book. And the Torture Victim of the other one. But I don’t go by “the real” Sylvanna. The asshole does.

“Give it up Melissa – no one likes you, maybe you should kill yourself.”

Be careful. One day those could be the last one hears before they do.

Besides, I would be well liked if it weren’t for gossip and baiting like yours.

“Reactive abuse [like I’m doing right now] isn’t real”

Oh yeah? You are either lying or have your head in different sand.

They gossip and spread lies – and in part because some bitch out there took my names, my past, my work, my identity to dress herself in. My previously good reputation was useful to hide behind, I guess. Now we share one but I’m so hacked I don’t know the fuck she’s done – using my name.

People thought there was a split personality she’s so good at the con.

I was the village sweetheart, now I’m considered the wicked witch of the west and pushed into snapping so they don’t have to take responsibility for the seesaw

“See called me a bitch.”

Yes I did. I would like to go back to sweet Fae if you’re fucking done?

“Grow a thicker skin”

Yeah…. Not very easy when the slightest snipe spirals me into PTSD. You could shut up and not prod the wounded dragon.

The combination of Bipolar and PTSD is nasty – my reaction to what I experience has been intense and I’m experiencing periods when I can control my temper but not how loud I get. And the fury of my words.

I’m used to being well received and never a problem. I just didn’t believe I could be disruptive. The fugue state sends me spiraling then every asshole laughs at how crazy I am

You fucking abusive bitches.

And it’s usually women.

People have tried to hide behind my previously good reputation. I have to somehow deal with being confused about reactions to other people when I’ve been home alone off social media.

Combined I understand what happens to “the crazy person down the hall”. You can not let her alone and get upset she doesn’t respond well to your abuse.

“See she is the problem.”

On behalf of all people suffering with either schizophrenia, schizo-affective disorder, PTSD, or a combination?

“Fuck you. You’re the problem.”

I’d like to be left alone now. I’d like to lick my wounds and study academic pursuits and get into top bellydancing shape again.

But no. Somehow my mere presence is a fucking affront.

Most women in my building aren’t like that, but enough to be a problem and think history is repeating itself.

“All I said was….”

Yeah but cumulative abuse is real you gaggle of assholes. Combined it leaves me so vulnerable I’m crushed in one “strike”.

This is not fun and games you fucking gaslighting bitches. You prod me I’m going to call you names. Okay?

We could, I don’t know, not attack the vulnerable person and she could go back to being sweet and quiet. As she would be without your bullshit.

No one believes the me I was, and would like to be is real, because they’re twisting me up. Just back off.

This is viscous and an almost worse than torture. I don’t feel safe here because they’re the kind of bitches to attack the strange and vulnerable – then point the finger.

My PTSD is off the hook thanks to them. But while I’ll take responsibility for my response the bitches won’t for being the trigger.

Simple minded approach I guess.

Nothing happens in a vacuum here.

Word got back to me they don’t know the history of the past phrases – just that they hurt me.

Well. That’s better I suppose.

Still ever so charming.

I have things I’d like to do. Maybe they could shut up so we could all shut up.

Best sentence said to me (and it was actually facetious)

“You’e problem is you’re trying to please everyone and I’m not happy about that.

Good day sir, I said good day.

Don’t mind me.

“Please don’t kill yourself but you’re not allowed to cope”

That’s the message. Fuck off.

Yeah, whatever.