Just the facts.
On June 23rd we arrived in Puerto Rico to enjoy the island and save our brother-in-law’s marriage.
By June 25th we were ‘trapped’ in an iron cage by our friend.
By June 28th we’d learned enough Spanish to awe and amaze our brother-in-law, who admitted that he was involved in a CIA program.
He treated us great – and treated us horribly.
He abused us in many ways.
He had us locked up in his ‘iron cage’.
He starved us, feeding us only rotten putrid fruit crawling with maggots and worms.
We refused to eat anything.
He told us that not only was he an MKULTRA child and trainer, and that he had loved us for a long long time – but that we were and MKULTRA child as well.
He told us about his ‘friends’ – and there were many of them – living all around. Across the street and around the corner – Satanists everywhere. Or so it seemed.
After awhile, we began to believe him. After all, he’d grown up here; returned here every summer to be with his cultist ‘friends’.
By July 1st we had ‘been killed’ (died emotionally, mentally, etc – to include the dissolution of “I” and “we” and the loss of … everything we are) – eight times.
We are cured of shame, hurts, pain, and anger towards childhood issues.
We were “ONE” – and yet still many. Forgiveness was a word we could not understand (after all, you were forgiven before you were ever born). It was a strange and wonderful happening.
But we were still trapped by this man.
So we fled.
Before we fled, we cursed our brother-in-law, telling him that we were going to put him in hell.
A few hours later, his mother (happy and joyful) – fell dead in his arms.
And he blamed us.
He said he was going to kill us for cursing him and making his mother die. He stated he was coming back HERE (to his home, about fifteen or twenty miles away from us) – to kill us and our family.
We were pursued by thieves and murderers. We ran for three days, armed with nothing but a little bitty pocket knife and our wits.
We discovered how strong Mikie (our inner eight year old) really is – hauling us across the countryside while Matthew watched out for him, and The Soldier in us took care of business.
We were very good at what we were doing.
We hid in bushes in the middle of town while gunshots went off nearby.
We avoided being ‘tagged’.
We narrowly avoided getting killed.
And our feet bled.
They bled so much that our soles gummed themselves to the soles of our shoes. And we’d rip them from our feet at night and walk in the cool, cool grass, giving relief to our aching blisters.
And then we’d do it again.
We walked for about three days. The man had taken our cellphone, our pain killers, our meds. We were surviving on water and wild grass seed. Our feet hurt more and more.
On the third day we gave up. We stopped at a store and finally – finally! – someone would make a call for us. (Nobody else would; not even the English speaking Puerto Ricans. There were no good Samartans to be found.)
So “They” came and got us.
Listening with our much improved Spanish, we overheard our brother-in-law telling his friend (Manuel) that “we” (meaning me and my and ours) – were to become “the next General in the war” and how we were going to be an AntiChrist of some kind.
We played along with our friend.
They were very polite to me after that came (our discovering of our own ‘tricksty’ ways) – and we fooled them.
We escaped on the very next day.
We came home.
We were a happy man.
Three days later we decided we’d been abused. We’d lost about thirtyfive pounds (all in about eleven days!).
The cops would not help us.
The FBI would not help us. (They said “go see the CIA”.)
The National Security Agency, while admitting they knew about this “MKULTRA” kind of problem, said they would not help us, and that we should join our local VFW club.
No one would help us at all, despite the video and pictures we’d taken.
We’ve finally come to the conclusion that no one give a damn about a man when he’s been abused. No one can. No one will.
It sucks being a man.
If we’d been a woman they’d have rushed us off from the airport and given us the medical treatment that we’d needed.
Our doctor wouldn’t have turned us in.
We wouldn’t have been ‘shuffled’ off to the loony bin (where, it was admitted by seven psychologists and psychiatrists – a mixture of them – that we did not belong.)
A doctor asked: “Are you happy?”.
We said “Yes.”
The doctor asked “Do you feel Joy?”.
We said “Yes, occasionally.”
The doctor got upset with us and said: “YOU need COMMITTED!”
Then we told him that we forgave him for that.
This made him extremely mad.
He sentenced us to ‘prison’; that is, an involuntary commitment to the loony bin.
We spent about ten days there.
They could find nothing wrong with us – indeed, they found us helpful and kind, teaching both their staff and patients in how to become better and more well adjusted human beings.
One doctor said:
“I don’t mind reading spy novels and stuff . . . but YOU! – You scare the shit outta me.” (He admitted knowing about ‘us MKULTRA’ kinds of children.)
He said we were “extremely interesting” – and for that fact alone sentenced us to another five days of confinement – admitting while he did so (because we asked) – that he had no right to continue in keeping us locked up from the rest of mankind.
It became rapidly apparent that we’d been poisoned and drugged by this man.
We’d also lost so much weight . . . but the hospitals are slow, and we lost even more before we began to gain again.
We need a lawyer.
No one will help.
We want to have this guy locked up for abusing us.
No one seems to care.
Even the local cops (and the FBI, my friends) – won’t touch this one with a nine foot pole.
What’s an abused man to do.
Society doesn’t give a damn about us men.
And the women?
Only about women and kids, it seems.
It really kind of sucks, but . . .
We’re into forgiving everyone.
and being kind.
And once again, just like in Puerto Rico, we find.
We must do it all.
Over and over again.
They are NOT your friends.
They just give a damn about themselves and nothing else.
But that’s okay with us. We know you can’t help what you are. We’d like to … but no one’s listening.
And of those who listen – well, they just get kind of confused.
Because that can’t understand.
Jeffery & Friends.
Over and past the abuse . . . beyond getting mad . . . we are loving and forgiving . . .
and people make us rather sad.
(anyone know a good lawyer, BTW? Thought you didn’t. Oh well. Time to move on.
If you can.)
I know we will.