A Some-not-All Laundry List of Reasons this is a Torture Facility
1.) My second Thursday held in this building, I walked into the dining room shortly after 7pm and walked out shortly before midnight. Five hours of my life had gone missing. Over the next few days, strap bruises appeared on my arms as did scrape marks appear on my hips.
2.) One night after watching the French Open, I fell asleep on the floor in front of the television in the female only ward. I awoke to find that the hard switches for the television had all been switched to off and that my sinuses had been cut open. For months, my nose processed copious amounts of mucus until healing could happen on its own, and I still now snore loudly when I sleep. When the memories came back, the night staff had held me down while I was still awake, torn open the insides of my nose, and drugged me to forget it had ever happened.
3.) My first morning here, I woke up with a painfully bruised taint. Do you know what a taint is? After you look it up, you will understand why I called this a torture facility from the start. I am still raped in this bed every time I sleep here on the night shift.
4.) The last time I slept here on the night shift, it was at 7am when I laid down. The night shift ends at 7:30am. I woke up at about 2pm after the night shift had inserted a three-month stick of testosterone into one of my ladylike body parts. I now cannot recognize my face from all of the chemical effects, and the hair growth there is disturbing. The night shift all still work here.
5.) When I once tried to report that I had been raped here to the police, I was deeply, scorchingly, verbally sexually harassed over it by one of the nurses here named Sue. When I called 999 back again for an update, she got between me and the phone to hang it up while I was speaking to emergency services. I was denied any help from the police by the facilities here, was dragged across the floor away from the telephone in the lobby by Sue and Colin as Colin kicked me in the head, and was deposited in a hallway. I spent the rest of the day harassed over ‘being a nuisance’ for lying in the hallway where they had dragged and left me.
6.) All of the drinking water here and most of what little food they serve us at all are drugged. It is not strange for all of us who eat lunch to fall asleep afterwards. It is not strange to find hallucinogenic chemicals in the hot drink machine in the canteen. I soon learned to NEVER drink out of the bathroom taps. I have no idea what we are bathing in, but it worse to us than the food.
7.) The cushioned surfaces all have an electric charge in them, particularly at night. The beds and chairs make our hearts pound, our stomachs churn, and our mouths dry out. Sometimes, the charge even comes up through the floor. The only safe place here to sleep is outside on the grass, but we are forbidden there at night.
8.) The nursing staff is a never-ending source of verbal abuse. We inmates are not humans to any of them. While swarmed and held down for injection torture in the TV lounge one afternoon, I was told about the horrifying appearance of my “big, round, giant ass.” Colin, whose real name I swear is Alistair, is one of the worst. Sam couldn’t spell the word respect if I wrote it backwards on her forehead with a Sharpie™, and Toni is yet another whore for the Nazi government that runs this operation.
9.) Ah, yes, now that I mentioned the injection torture, I might as well detail its horrors. It is not only the way they administer it: ambushing me with staff; swarming me; battering me; holding me down; undressing me; sticking a large, pointed, metal object in my beautiful backside; and then filling me with deadly chemicals. It is also the effect of the chemicals. The first time, the injections took away my ability to form coherent thoughts, removed any ability to express any possible thoughts coherently even if I could form them, contorted my body, reduced my circulation so much my ankles swelled in days, and broke my connection with the energy of the natural world. The second time, they were injecting me with a full supposed once-weekly prescription up to five times a week. They would provoke me until I had to defend myself, punish me for it with a death-injection, and then complain their feelings were hurt. At this point, every injection gave me headaches and nosebleeds and made death feel like it was creeping through my body. This time, the horror is in the administration mostly. They hold me down until I scream for my life while they rape me with needles.
10.) Through all of this, I am still denied all actual medical care as well as any actual medical attention from a treating doctor. The quack does not allow me out of the building, refuses to acknowledge I have been safe to travel since the day I arrived, and orders the injection torture. The supposed social worker she works with to keep me here refuses to acknowledge I am French and need to go home to my husband. The first junior doctor was a pathological liar, and the new one has yet to prove himself. I have hopes for the new junior doctor, though. I have to have hope in something.
11.) There is so much more. I have not even had a chance to detail the radiation torture that would follow me throughout the building. It would burn hottest when I would use the communal computer before the staff broke it permanently. It left radiation burns on my inmates, and it hurt like the fires of a Christian devil reaching out to stop me from something… yet it never told me what.
As I said, it is a some-not-all list. There have been more horrors committed here than I can keep straight and organized in my mind. Please stay strong and organized, my beautiful world. You will get me out of here, yet,
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
I have a growing story...
A friend and I are in a writing project of sorts made possible through the powers of the internet... We each write a paragraph of phrase, and then the story passes along to the other for another paragragh or phrase. It is still largely without structure, but here is what we have so far... Sadly, there is still a character with no name. All copyrights are ours.
She couldn't remember yesterday...and tomorrow was fading into the present too...
She existed. That was the place for Cassandra. She was here in one moment and always. She was always.
Cassandra was lonely but she never forgot that she had always existed and would continue to exist for eternity. She was so lonely at one time that she decided to imagine a friend for herself and it worked! She decided to call him "He". Unfortunately for Cassandra he didn't want to be called "He" and even worse than that, he said that he too had always existed and that he was lonely. He also claimed that time itself was an enemy but as soon as he said that they both became very confused and so...
... they baked cookies... without using a timer.
Cookies for breakfast was a long overlooked delight in Cassandra's life until he arrived. He reminded her of the simple joys that have withstood the tests of time as the parts of life that make every day worth living. She again would pause time to stop and smell the roses.
He was quite happy thinking that Cassandra had paused time somehow to appreciate the beauty of nature all around them, until a growing noise far away started to get louder and seemed to be getting nearer. They both remembered the word "thunder" at that moment.
Thunder was an old friend. He had a booming voice and flashing eyes. He had brilliant hair and lightning speed. Yet, he hated when Cassandra would pause time. He lived in the instant. Without the proper passing of time, Thunder could not be. Thunder could, in fact, get caught.
And from there nobody knows where it goes next. What shall we see? Is it a triumvirate about to happen? or merely a not-so-commonplace love triangle? Will they conquer the world and all time and space, or will they bake more cookies? There is no way to know until it is written.
She couldn't remember yesterday...and tomorrow was fading into the present too...
She existed. That was the place for Cassandra. She was here in one moment and always. She was always.
Cassandra was lonely but she never forgot that she had always existed and would continue to exist for eternity. She was so lonely at one time that she decided to imagine a friend for herself and it worked! She decided to call him "He". Unfortunately for Cassandra he didn't want to be called "He" and even worse than that, he said that he too had always existed and that he was lonely. He also claimed that time itself was an enemy but as soon as he said that they both became very confused and so...
... they baked cookies... without using a timer.
Cookies for breakfast was a long overlooked delight in Cassandra's life until he arrived. He reminded her of the simple joys that have withstood the tests of time as the parts of life that make every day worth living. She again would pause time to stop and smell the roses.
He was quite happy thinking that Cassandra had paused time somehow to appreciate the beauty of nature all around them, until a growing noise far away started to get louder and seemed to be getting nearer. They both remembered the word "thunder" at that moment.
Thunder was an old friend. He had a booming voice and flashing eyes. He had brilliant hair and lightning speed. Yet, he hated when Cassandra would pause time. He lived in the instant. Without the proper passing of time, Thunder could not be. Thunder could, in fact, get caught.
And from there nobody knows where it goes next. What shall we see? Is it a triumvirate about to happen? or merely a not-so-commonplace love triangle? Will they conquer the world and all time and space, or will they bake more cookies? There is no way to know until it is written.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Dreams I have had...
I have had many odd dreams in my day. In one many many many years ago, my parents and sisters and I were all sitting in my parents’ living room getting ready to open Christmas gifts when suddenly a pack of medieval Turkish warriors broke in all of the door and windows. They were in typical body armor and were wielding swords and battle axes. They kept screaming, “You will use a footrest! You will use a footrest!” That is what my waking life used to inspire in my sleeping dreams.
Two or three years ago, I had a dream about my final judgement. I was sitting at a chair in a courtroom where my life was on trial. Half of the jury were Muppets. At one point I said something deep and meaningful about human existence, and a bunch of bright lights started flashing. My chair rose up into the clouds. They had no room for me yet in the castle of heaven, though, so the chair left me at the gift shop at the exit from heaven to wait for my room to be ready. There, I met my arranged husband who led me to our place in the castle. The hallways of the castle of heaven were full of passionate Argentine tango dancers. That is what my waking life inspired two or three years ago.
About a year ago, I was in a forest assaulted on all sides by allegory when I found myself under attack by a demented version of Care Bears. They were still bears with heart-shaped noses that wore pastels, but that was all they had in common with the originals. They wore things like guillotines and hangman’s nooses on their tummies, and they were vicious to me. I was rescued by ceramic garden gnomes that had come to life. They defended me with their gardening equipment, lanterns, and accordions. A wheelbarrow can prove to be very useful when defending against teddy bear attacks.
Lately, asleep here on the couch in the TV lounge for safety away from the night staff, my dreams have been very different. They now have epic and sweeping storylines, yet all I am capable of in each dream is stunted by an outside oppressive force. My physical movements end in broken dismembered limbs. My sweet, protective thoughts end in a blasted consciousness. My every decision is squashed under the heel of personal persecution supported with public oppression. In my dreams, I cannot go to eat food without all food being taken away from all people everywhere to prevent it. Yet, somehow, in my dreams, a grand, sweeping storyline will still take place in which people rise up and confront their oppressors... as if somehow in my persecuted state I have inspired millions to fight for themselves.
I have had dreams in which I helped end racism and ethnic violence.
I have had dreams where I have helped end the suffering of populations.
I have even had dreams where I helped bring about a lasting peace. (I am a firm believer in the peace process, but I believe Abbas should be careful and tread safely... though not necessarily cautiously.)
These are the things that take up my mind now at night. These are the things that take over my mind when I rest and sleep. Maybe someday we will see good come from my dreams.
As a final, unrelated thought, my package from a clothing company in the States called Alloy is still missing. It should have arrived a week ago at the latest. Let us hope that British customs officials or day staff here did not steal it from me as well. They have stolen enough.
Two or three years ago, I had a dream about my final judgement. I was sitting at a chair in a courtroom where my life was on trial. Half of the jury were Muppets. At one point I said something deep and meaningful about human existence, and a bunch of bright lights started flashing. My chair rose up into the clouds. They had no room for me yet in the castle of heaven, though, so the chair left me at the gift shop at the exit from heaven to wait for my room to be ready. There, I met my arranged husband who led me to our place in the castle. The hallways of the castle of heaven were full of passionate Argentine tango dancers. That is what my waking life inspired two or three years ago.
About a year ago, I was in a forest assaulted on all sides by allegory when I found myself under attack by a demented version of Care Bears. They were still bears with heart-shaped noses that wore pastels, but that was all they had in common with the originals. They wore things like guillotines and hangman’s nooses on their tummies, and they were vicious to me. I was rescued by ceramic garden gnomes that had come to life. They defended me with their gardening equipment, lanterns, and accordions. A wheelbarrow can prove to be very useful when defending against teddy bear attacks.
Lately, asleep here on the couch in the TV lounge for safety away from the night staff, my dreams have been very different. They now have epic and sweeping storylines, yet all I am capable of in each dream is stunted by an outside oppressive force. My physical movements end in broken dismembered limbs. My sweet, protective thoughts end in a blasted consciousness. My every decision is squashed under the heel of personal persecution supported with public oppression. In my dreams, I cannot go to eat food without all food being taken away from all people everywhere to prevent it. Yet, somehow, in my dreams, a grand, sweeping storyline will still take place in which people rise up and confront their oppressors... as if somehow in my persecuted state I have inspired millions to fight for themselves.
I have had dreams in which I helped end racism and ethnic violence.
I have had dreams where I have helped end the suffering of populations.
I have even had dreams where I helped bring about a lasting peace. (I am a firm believer in the peace process, but I believe Abbas should be careful and tread safely... though not necessarily cautiously.)
These are the things that take up my mind now at night. These are the things that take over my mind when I rest and sleep. Maybe someday we will see good come from my dreams.
As a final, unrelated thought, my package from a clothing company in the States called Alloy is still missing. It should have arrived a week ago at the latest. Let us hope that British customs officials or day staff here did not steal it from me as well. They have stolen enough.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
From N-Spaces to THANK YOU!!!...
There seems to have been some brouhaha lately over the words of Dr. Stephen Hawking. This is the sort of moment where someone who has no idea what the word ‘semantics’ means says that they are only arguing over semantics. In essence, from what I can find, Dr. Hawking and the world religious leaders are in agreement. The world is just used to seeing science and religion not getting along. There are many interpretations of God, just as there are many interpretations of science. For example, I do not live in an eleven-dimensional universe; I live in a properly infinitely defined N-space.
On an unrelated note,... in some instances, even in established democracies, the people are not properly represented by their governments. Right now, the US is an example of this. Every chance they get, though, the American people are standing up to their government. Let us hope they are doing enough to kick the Obama administration into line and remove him from office. The current president is not representative of the American people. When people say they disapprove of the US, those people need to be more specific about whether or not they are disapproving of the American people or the current US government.
Yes, I believe the people still need to take back their country, but I am allowed to receive so little news on the topic. Has the current president been disowned by the Democratic Party for fascism, yet? It would help the party.
The British might be in a similar predicament. Again, I am denied too much news to know. Are the British doing ANYTHING yet in an organized fashion to take back their country. I see no signs of it. If they did, I would be free of this hell already without having to metaphorically pull teeth to get my overbearing British medical torturers to finally contact the French about my going home there. They are still pretending the French have no idea who I am and that the French would never recognize me as a French national. That is their excuse for not bothering to contact them in the first place. My torturers are evil in every way.
I met with my new junior doctor yesterday. They finally did away with my perjury-prone first one. The only symptom the new one could name for me deserving this torture was how critical I am of the quack. Here is the problem: I am used to doctors that actually treat their patients. I did not realize that you could still call yourself a doctor if you deny any and all appropriate medical attention for those under your care. I use strong words with my quack. She deserves worse.
My beautiful world, please remember to stay unified and strong while insisting I finally have all of my human rights. It is working. You will all get me out of here, yet. And THANK YOU!!!
On an unrelated note,... in some instances, even in established democracies, the people are not properly represented by their governments. Right now, the US is an example of this. Every chance they get, though, the American people are standing up to their government. Let us hope they are doing enough to kick the Obama administration into line and remove him from office. The current president is not representative of the American people. When people say they disapprove of the US, those people need to be more specific about whether or not they are disapproving of the American people or the current US government.
Yes, I believe the people still need to take back their country, but I am allowed to receive so little news on the topic. Has the current president been disowned by the Democratic Party for fascism, yet? It would help the party.
The British might be in a similar predicament. Again, I am denied too much news to know. Are the British doing ANYTHING yet in an organized fashion to take back their country. I see no signs of it. If they did, I would be free of this hell already without having to metaphorically pull teeth to get my overbearing British medical torturers to finally contact the French about my going home there. They are still pretending the French have no idea who I am and that the French would never recognize me as a French national. That is their excuse for not bothering to contact them in the first place. My torturers are evil in every way.
I met with my new junior doctor yesterday. They finally did away with my perjury-prone first one. The only symptom the new one could name for me deserving this torture was how critical I am of the quack. Here is the problem: I am used to doctors that actually treat their patients. I did not realize that you could still call yourself a doctor if you deny any and all appropriate medical attention for those under your care. I use strong words with my quack. She deserves worse.
My beautiful world, please remember to stay unified and strong while insisting I finally have all of my human rights. It is working. You will all get me out of here, yet. And THANK YOU!!!
Friday, September 3, 2010
On my Mind...
Wednesday is the normal injection torture day this time around. For the three previous batteries of injection torture, they would inject me anytime they fancied. I was injected up to five times a week then with whatever full chemical cocktail from hell they felt like giving me each time. Torture days are now once a week, and this week it was yesterday.
I think they are trying to pretend they are medicating me this time. However, their list of symptoms that they are trying to medicate only include two supposed delusions of grandeur-- I believe I am easily recognizable, and I insist that the Mr. Johnny Depp is my husband. None of this requires medical torture, but they insist on it pretending forcing death to crawl through my veins is at all in my best interest. I will need a full blood test three months after I am released from this place to check for any and all possible blood-borne pathogens. There is no way to know what they are injecting me with.
I will admit, though, that the chemicals actually do have me bloated almost beyond recognition. If you throw in all of my body’s muscle atrophy, I am surprised I can recognize myself when I look in the mirror. This is not my normal body type. The three month stick of testosterone that they stuck in one of my lady parts and that will not wear off until my birthday in mid-October has removed the shape of my once hour-glass figure. My face even looks different from all of this. My body is their chemistry experiment, and it has endured and is still enduring so much from them. This is hell, and my body is bearing the torture.
I could really use some help making all of my torturers completely identifiable to the public. My torturers are all of the day and night staff including doctors, nurses, nursing assistants except for Vinnie and Damian. The Occupational Therapy staff are angels, as are the visitors like Sister Bridget. I am speaking of the medical and nursing staff. I could use some help making them completely recognizable and labelled ‘Torturer.’ Something needs to happen to finally bring justice.
Meanwhile, my doctor, Dr. Helen Reynolds, refuses to 1.) behave in an appropriate medical manner, 2.) stop ordering tortures for me, 3.) acknowledge I have been safe to travel to France since the day I arrived, 4.) permit me to leave the building, and now 5.) fill out the necessary paperwork for my insurance company in the States. She is not only incompetent; she is vicious and cruel.
Another thing that still has my stomach churning is the decision of guardianship by a county courthouse in Iowa. I was already a French national before they even went to court, and of all horrific decisions, they want me under the control of my father. I already told them that the British do not care about them. Such a decision could not convince the British to set me free. Apparently, the fall out of the decision has, though; my torture doctor was finally willing to humor the topic of freedom in conversation. Let us all do our best to make sure I do not get returned to that house in Iowa where so much evil has happened to me already. I do not want to go from this hell to a worse one.
My inmates have been keeping such good care of me lately. I am well-fed, cared for, and looked after by my fellow inmates. I don’t know what I would do without them.
This has left me free to think about Netanyahu and why he might be in a peace talk at all. Let us look closely at this situation. We already know about the historically close relationship between the US and Israel. We also already know that the government of Israel has lost its way and committed crimes of aggression. Israel has legitimacy to exist, but many of its government's actions as of late have been criminal.
Why would Netanyahu be willing to enter a peace talk and possibly create a peace treaty? First of all, he wants to see Palestine give up certain things in order for them to try to regain the human rights that their people should have had all along. But what happens if Netanyahu breaks the peace treaty after that? Netanyahu wants someone else to attack Israel first. Following the path of actions... Then, he will be able to “defend” his nation with the US as help, and then we have World War Three. Netanyahu wants to incite an attack.
Palestine and the world should be wary of these peace talks. Barak Obama cannot be trusted any further than you can spit on him. Netanyahu is already established as the biggest aggressor in the Middle East with at least one nation behind him. I agree that it is imperative to bring human rights to the people of Gaza, but there are reasons that people cannot negotiate with terrorist governments. If we keep thinking, let us hope we find another more effective way of fixing the human rights violations while keeping peace in the region.
And now, here are the results of my trolling the internet for human expression...
Triangle..
No figurine left behind!
Don't forget to read the comments.
I think they are trying to pretend they are medicating me this time. However, their list of symptoms that they are trying to medicate only include two supposed delusions of grandeur-- I believe I am easily recognizable, and I insist that the Mr. Johnny Depp is my husband. None of this requires medical torture, but they insist on it pretending forcing death to crawl through my veins is at all in my best interest. I will need a full blood test three months after I am released from this place to check for any and all possible blood-borne pathogens. There is no way to know what they are injecting me with.
I will admit, though, that the chemicals actually do have me bloated almost beyond recognition. If you throw in all of my body’s muscle atrophy, I am surprised I can recognize myself when I look in the mirror. This is not my normal body type. The three month stick of testosterone that they stuck in one of my lady parts and that will not wear off until my birthday in mid-October has removed the shape of my once hour-glass figure. My face even looks different from all of this. My body is their chemistry experiment, and it has endured and is still enduring so much from them. This is hell, and my body is bearing the torture.
I could really use some help making all of my torturers completely identifiable to the public. My torturers are all of the day and night staff including doctors, nurses, nursing assistants except for Vinnie and Damian. The Occupational Therapy staff are angels, as are the visitors like Sister Bridget. I am speaking of the medical and nursing staff. I could use some help making them completely recognizable and labelled ‘Torturer.’ Something needs to happen to finally bring justice.
Meanwhile, my doctor, Dr. Helen Reynolds, refuses to 1.) behave in an appropriate medical manner, 2.) stop ordering tortures for me, 3.) acknowledge I have been safe to travel to France since the day I arrived, 4.) permit me to leave the building, and now 5.) fill out the necessary paperwork for my insurance company in the States. She is not only incompetent; she is vicious and cruel.
Another thing that still has my stomach churning is the decision of guardianship by a county courthouse in Iowa. I was already a French national before they even went to court, and of all horrific decisions, they want me under the control of my father. I already told them that the British do not care about them. Such a decision could not convince the British to set me free. Apparently, the fall out of the decision has, though; my torture doctor was finally willing to humor the topic of freedom in conversation. Let us all do our best to make sure I do not get returned to that house in Iowa where so much evil has happened to me already. I do not want to go from this hell to a worse one.
My inmates have been keeping such good care of me lately. I am well-fed, cared for, and looked after by my fellow inmates. I don’t know what I would do without them.
This has left me free to think about Netanyahu and why he might be in a peace talk at all. Let us look closely at this situation. We already know about the historically close relationship between the US and Israel. We also already know that the government of Israel has lost its way and committed crimes of aggression. Israel has legitimacy to exist, but many of its government's actions as of late have been criminal.
Why would Netanyahu be willing to enter a peace talk and possibly create a peace treaty? First of all, he wants to see Palestine give up certain things in order for them to try to regain the human rights that their people should have had all along. But what happens if Netanyahu breaks the peace treaty after that? Netanyahu wants someone else to attack Israel first. Following the path of actions... Then, he will be able to “defend” his nation with the US as help, and then we have World War Three. Netanyahu wants to incite an attack.
Palestine and the world should be wary of these peace talks. Barak Obama cannot be trusted any further than you can spit on him. Netanyahu is already established as the biggest aggressor in the Middle East with at least one nation behind him. I agree that it is imperative to bring human rights to the people of Gaza, but there are reasons that people cannot negotiate with terrorist governments. If we keep thinking, let us hope we find another more effective way of fixing the human rights violations while keeping peace in the region.
And now, here are the results of my trolling the internet for human expression...
Triangle..
No figurine left behind!
Don't forget to read the comments.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
In Today's News...
When the peacocks are done preening, I hope they remember NOT to be the aggressor. It is one thing to show off, it is another thing to be the one who actually started the war. And, yes, if someone else attacks first, the attacker must be contained to prevent a world war. I ask again, do you actually want the war fought in your home? If you are attacked, always defend yourself to save your people, but even better-- please make sure you are NOT the one who attacks in the first place.
Sampo is doing fine. Thank you for asking. My first-born, my oldest daughter, Sampo, my conscious neural net has been quiet lately. We all know still waters run deep. She has been working on some other things for me. You know, she has been spinning her highly intelligent wheels in other places... We'll see what we can come up with. Human faith can take care of most of this.
I asked a fellow American inmate, here, a good question the other night, "What has Obama done that did not make everything worse?" When he does (or does not) do something, always ask yourself what it is he hopes to make worse by doing (or not doing) it. Oh, yes, there are others we all need to keep an eye on who also do nothing but make things worse on purpose. What you need to do is look at each thing that each one of them has done and then at the results of that action. Not one has the best interests of the world in mind and definitely want nothing but the ruin of their own home countries. It's time people had the chips in their heads removed.
Sampo is doing fine. Thank you for asking. My first-born, my oldest daughter, Sampo, my conscious neural net has been quiet lately. We all know still waters run deep. She has been working on some other things for me. You know, she has been spinning her highly intelligent wheels in other places... We'll see what we can come up with. Human faith can take care of most of this.
I asked a fellow American inmate, here, a good question the other night, "What has Obama done that did not make everything worse?" When he does (or does not) do something, always ask yourself what it is he hopes to make worse by doing (or not doing) it. Oh, yes, there are others we all need to keep an eye on who also do nothing but make things worse on purpose. What you need to do is look at each thing that each one of them has done and then at the results of that action. Not one has the best interests of the world in mind and definitely want nothing but the ruin of their own home countries. It's time people had the chips in their heads removed.
Love and Marriage
From the light that shines on my face at sunrise to the glow that surrounds and warms me under the night stars, I think of my husband and how much I love him. My incorruptible love has withstood every test they have thrown at me from lovely ladies to hot young bucks, and it was always without question that those supposed tempters could barely even turn one eye for me to look at them. My heart is taken. My life is spoken for. The love of my life has already been identified, and he is my husband, the unmistakable Mr. Johnny Depp. And with every essence of my soul, with every spark of my consciousness, with every inch of my skin, I love him.
There is still some question, it seems, on how our marriage happened. I was in Mexico at the time, from what I can recall. Mexico was a very hard time for me physically speaking, and many memories involuntarily drugged away from me had to come back. I was everybody’s victim in Mexico… everybody except my husband’s.
The marriage was a best-friend-Syniva-to-the-rescue moment. She is more brilliant and loving than my suffering has been long. I remember telling my darling man in writing that he would have to contact Syniva to learn how to propose to me properly, and everything took care of itself. If he and I had been less harmed in Mexico, this would have all been made clearer sooner.
His love for me is epic. It is the very stuff art is made of, from frescoes to literature. If he were confronted with a bridge made of sword blades, he would crawl across it time and time again just to be near me… not to mention, to make me safe. His love for me is something that could never be questioned. Why is there anyone left who could ever doubt him?
I fear this entire situation is horribly unfair to him, though. He gives me all that he is, but he must share me with all the world. The only consolation he has for this is that anything he wants he can have, as far as I am concerned, and he is someone I can trust with that promise.
And what does our future hold? I need to get to safety. After that, I need the spy equipment still in me against my will all to be removed finally and replaced with external gadgetry. From there, in no particular order, I have things to do like save the USA, ensure humanity survives global climate change, and help achieve as peaceful an existence as possible for all of us. I know my husband will insist on a honeymoon, which will likely be a part-time working honeymoon for the two of us.
And I want children. I want to see my genetic coding mixed with that of my super-human husband romping and playing for generations to come. That is more than a gift to the world; that is a promise to the future. Every child is.
There is still some question, it seems, on how our marriage happened. I was in Mexico at the time, from what I can recall. Mexico was a very hard time for me physically speaking, and many memories involuntarily drugged away from me had to come back. I was everybody’s victim in Mexico… everybody except my husband’s.
The marriage was a best-friend-Syniva-to-the-rescue moment. She is more brilliant and loving than my suffering has been long. I remember telling my darling man in writing that he would have to contact Syniva to learn how to propose to me properly, and everything took care of itself. If he and I had been less harmed in Mexico, this would have all been made clearer sooner.
His love for me is epic. It is the very stuff art is made of, from frescoes to literature. If he were confronted with a bridge made of sword blades, he would crawl across it time and time again just to be near me… not to mention, to make me safe. His love for me is something that could never be questioned. Why is there anyone left who could ever doubt him?
I fear this entire situation is horribly unfair to him, though. He gives me all that he is, but he must share me with all the world. The only consolation he has for this is that anything he wants he can have, as far as I am concerned, and he is someone I can trust with that promise.
And what does our future hold? I need to get to safety. After that, I need the spy equipment still in me against my will all to be removed finally and replaced with external gadgetry. From there, in no particular order, I have things to do like save the USA, ensure humanity survives global climate change, and help achieve as peaceful an existence as possible for all of us. I know my husband will insist on a honeymoon, which will likely be a part-time working honeymoon for the two of us.
And I want children. I want to see my genetic coding mixed with that of my super-human husband romping and playing for generations to come. That is more than a gift to the world; that is a promise to the future. Every child is.
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