True to form, I have decided to push myself to my limit for the sake of science. I wish more than anything my brain was hooked up to a machine right now and that I was part of an actual study, but I am not. Instead I am in my house, replicating the experiments described to me in the studies and having successful results.

Last night was the most progress I’ve made so far. After waking up from my nap, I felt I should rest, so I decided to meditate. During meditation, I felt a force awakening inside of me. Something I have not felt in many years. That urge to write. That feeling… like everything I have bottled up inside is finally going to come spilling out again. I must be patient and wait, but I can also push myself brain further to make it happen.

Tonight I am replicating the experiment from last night. Same dose, which is 4 pieces. This is considered a therapeutic dose. I have no interest in going any higher. I certainly have no interest in “God Mode,” whatever that means. I don’t need to have a mystical experience. I just need to work through some trauma. For me, I feel better if I do this in small doses as opposed to one big experience.

Tonight I am planning to watch Teen Torture, Inc. on HBO Max. This is a three part series about the Troubled Teen Industry. My intention is to expose myself to this topic again while on the medicine in order to bring the buried trauma to the surface and process it accordingly.

Prior to these experiments, I spent a lot of time working through other layers of trauma using yoga, meditation, breath work, narrative therapy, dance therapy, reading lots of books, articles, and first-hand accounts from other survivors, and joining online support groups.

As previously stated, I chose to experiment with the mushroom chocolates because they became available to me in a legal way and because I did the research. I was still struggling with very intense emotional pain stemming from trauma, but obviously felt extremely unsafe returning to the standard therapy-diagnosis-medication model after my horrific experiences as a child and teenager.

I feel that I am doing the work I need to be doing on my own to build a better life and become healthier. However, I needed some kind of medicine to help me through this last little bit. Here we are now.

I am currently in my living room. This is a safe space. There is lots of cool art on the walls, Ghost Dad and Mad Dog are watching over me from the altar, and Lord Ganesha is chillin’ behind me on the wall, watching my back, as per uze.

I’ve got some leftover pizza in the fridge to snack on later. I’ve got a bottle full of water. I’ve got a Fanta as well. I’m wrapped up in my special GWCS quilt that they gave me when I graduated from my special school, which is why I feel so conflicted about this.

Was it actually good? Were they really helping me? Were they really helping anyone? Are there things I don’t know about? Are there things that I haven’t discovered? My understanding of this school is that it was created by two people who had worked in those abusive therapy schools prior and wanted to create a different option. I generally had a good experience there, but… I guess there’s a piece of me that wonders if there’s something I don’t know.

It was heaven compared to Dominion and Alldredge, I do know that. I know that for sure. Out of all the terrible options I had, GWCS was the best. I do know that. I know it could have been so much worse. I used to sit there at lunchtime and listen to all the kids trade stories of all the horrible places they had stayed. I heard the same stories of abuse over and over and over again. The names of the schools and facilities would change, but the stories stayed the same.

How many schools are there like this out there? How many programs? How many kids are still being hurt to this day? What can we do to stop them? There must be a way…

I have taken my dose and I’m waiting for it to set in. I will start the documentary now and add to this post as I react. You know, for science.

So far, this woman’s story is extremely similar to mine. Put on Prozac young, put on Adderall young, tried to commit suicide young, sent away to a new school afterward. It’s crazy to see someone exactly like me telling my story on the screen.

This is such a nightmare to relive. But… I don’t feel like I’m there in the moment anymore. It doesn’t feel like it’s happening to me right now.

I remember how terrified I was of the isolation unit. It was my worst fear. I didn’t want to get put in the isolation unit because I knew what was going to happen to me if they did. I was terrified. It was my worst fear. I complied. I was quiet and complied just so they wouldn’t put me in the isolation unit.

I saw a girl at the hospital get tackled, drugged, and forced into the isolation unit. She was gone for three days. When she came back, she wasn’t the same. I was scared that was going to happen to me, so I complied.

When I argued with them about the medication, they threatened to put me into the isolation unit. They threatened to send me to Alldredge.

My mom was the worst with the threats. She LOVED the control script they gave her. She was always calling me a liar, saying I was manipulating her, saying that I was a nightmare, saying I was making things up for attention. She ran that script right up until the last time I saw her. That’s why I never want to see her again.

The longer the child is held prisoner, the more money they can make.

They ran a pretty good trick on my parents. I didn’t get away when I was 18. I only got away when I was 21. I’ll never forget how angry my mother was when she realized she had no control over me anymore. She’s never forgiven me for flushing those meds down the toilet. Never. She wants that control. She wanted to hurt me because it was how she felt some sense of control. She is dark. She is evil. She is not my mother.

I don’t know how much my dad knew. He was gone all the time. He was always away working. I know he knew I wasn’t the same. I know he knew his child was gone. But he thought they were going to fix it. But they didn’t. And he never forgave me for not being fixed. That’s why we couldn’t get along.

Ugh, fuck Dr. Phil.

Pretty sure the only reason my mom didn’t send me away is so she wouldn’t lose her free babysitter. Ugh.

I remember being put on suicide watch. They had an adult follow me into the bathroom and watch me use the bathroom. Fucked up. I was also watched in the bathroom while taking a piss test to make sure I don’t mess with the sample. I had never used drugs in my entire life at that point. No, not even weed.

Ah yes, Synanon. The radical idea that screaming insults at someone as a group will change that person. I have been subjected to this tactic many times. It didn’t work. I’m still a weirdo who likes Star Wars. Screaming at me that I suck didn’t change me AT ALL. I am immune to that tactic, which is probably why I made Andrew melt down so many times when his usual screaming tactic didn’t work on me. I’ve had a lot of managers melt down in front of me because screaming at me doesn’t work. I also made Mad Dog melt a bunch of times when he was screaming in my face.

I’ve made a lot of people melt. I’m at the point where if someone starts screaming at me, I just laugh in their face. It doesn’t work on me.

So if you’ve ever tried screaming at me to my face and wondered why it didn’t work, now you have an answer as to why.

Baby Boomers are so fucked up. Ugh. No wonder they project so much crazy shit onto their children.

Well, there it is. Cleveland, Ohio in the 70’s. What do you know, Dad? What happened to you that you never talked about? Did something happen there? Is that why your siblings are all so fucking crazy? What do you know?

Hmm. Well, the Synanon stuff is new information. I’ve been wondering what it was that was drawing me into all those cult documentaries I’ve been watching. I felt like I was trying to deprogram myself from something, but I didn’t know what. Of course it’s some crazy Boomer shit. What else could it be?

Onto Episode 2

The Seed. What do you know about The Seed, Dad?

It’s funny because even if he was alive, he would not answer my question fully. There was stuff he would dodge. He only liked to tell stories where he was the hero. He wouldn’t give me the answer if I asked.

Lol, this group therapy session looks exactly like my family meetings. Mystery solved!

Haha, I remember when I was in the hospital and I was so fucking sick of those dumb group therapy sessions. One day, I spent the whole group therapy session complaining about how constipated the medication was making me. We had multiple meetings every day and I spent all of them complaining about my constipation. Just to be a troll!!!! And it worked. Everyone was soooo uncomfortable, hahahahaha. I was such a troll. I think they started giving me milk of magnesium after that. You know, just to shut me up. Because I’m very talkative and annoying, right? lol, did you ever think it’s a defense mechanism? Probably not.

Fun Fact: I have not had any problems with constipation since getting off those awful meds.

Side note: this video quality is so bad that Bush Sr. looks like he has vampire fangs! Scary! And probably more accurate to his true character.

Ah yes, more of these so-called Christians using the Bible to justify their abuse. And my grandmother wonders why I left the Church and decided to marry a Hindu man. Gee, I fucking wonder?

I definitely remember being beaten with a belt as a child. By my dad. Yup. Early memory unlocked right there. Ugh. My family is so fucked up. It’s so obvious to me as an adult that I am the scapegoat. Everyone can point at me and blame me and say I’m the reason why everything is wrong with the family. But I’m not. Clearly my parents were fucked up people who didn’t know how to properly raise their children. Fear of what happens if you fall out of line. I’ve lived with that fear for a very long time.

But now my dad is dead and my mom is gone. I’m not afraid anymore.

I’m glad I decided to take a micro-dose while watching this documentary. I really debated watching it raw dog, but I decided no. I thought… hmm… I don’t know what’s going to come up in here that might trigger me. It’s better to take the dose. I was right. I wasn’t expecting that belt memory to surface. But now it’s here. And I’m standing there on the stairs watching it happen, but I’m not reliving it as if it’s happening to me in that moment.

Such a relief I feel. I couldn’t get that distance I needed to process what was happening to me in my own home. It’s been so much worse since we moved out here. Everyone talks about my dad like he’s some great hero all the time. They have no idea what a monster he was at home. Always yelling, always screaming, always throwing shit, and kicking things and scaring everyone. Threatening us. I remember one time, as an adult, he came at me and I defended myself by throwing a water bottle at him. I injured him somehow, but I got away. I got in my car and I drove straight to Bloody Mary’s Bar. It was my safe space, until it wasn’t anymore. My mom was ranting to anyone that would listen about how I “attacked” my own father. It wasn’t true. He attacked me and I defended myself. I got away. That’s when they started to threaten to report my car as stolen if I ever took it and ran away from them.

Still, to this very day, my name is not on the car I drive, just so they can hold that threat over my head.

It’s hard to forgive my dad. But he’s dead now. So he gets to have that luxury simply because I can’t live with that much anger inside of me anymore.

The only thing I can do is to never speak to my mom again. She will never know her grandchildren. They wouldn’t be safe around her anyway. She would hate them for being half me and half Indian. She would find ways to punish them for it. She is an ugly, horrible person, deep inside her soul. She will never know my children. My children will never know these horrors. Whatever happens in my life, I swear to every god known to humankind that I will never harm my own children the way that my parents and these programs harmed me.

Ugh.

God I hate that I’m so fucked up. I was just this weirdo who had purple hair and wrote Star Wars fanfiction. Nobody at school liked me. I was fine with it because I read Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings and that made me nerdy and therefore better than everybody? I didn’t deserve to go through all of this. She never liked that I was weird. She just wanted someone to beat it out of me, but they never did. My soul survived. I was like Sirius Black in Azkaban. I knew I was innocent, and so I was able to survive.

God dammit, seriously FUCK JK Rowling for being a transphobic piece of trash. Harry Potter saved my goddamn life. I literally just pretend that she is dead. Fuck that messy Umbridgeass bitch. I hope she gets carried off into the Forbidden Forest by a bunch of centaurs.

Okay, back to the documentary.

Ah yes, the nightmares. I have many of those. In fact, I was using marijuana for many years specifically because it made the nightmares stop. I stopped staying in Airbnb’s because my host in New Orleans told me at breakfast that she heard me screaming in my sleep. I was so embarrassed. I’ve only stayed in hotels ever since.

Listening to these stories makes me feel like I’m back in group therapy again. I could have known any of these kids. I’ve heard these stories a thousand and one times. They were just getting passed around from one abuser to the next. Just like I was. Sick.

I have so many questions about Dr. Laurel P. Northrup of Harvard University. Why the fuck was this woman okay with prescribing a child 1000mg of antipsychotics every day? They let me drive a car on that shit. That’s crazy. And if I didn’t take it, my mom would force it down my throat. It was poison. What the fuck.

I tried to google her today and I was frozen. I can’t even look her up. She’s a fucking criminal. How much money was she making off turning me into a guinea pig for Big Pharma? I can’t do it. I can’t even do it. She’s probably still out there, drugging children for cash. Probably sailing around on a yacht in Martha’s Vineyard every summer. What a fucking monster.

I still remember when she thought it was a great idea to put a fucking seventh grader on Once-a-Week Prozac, the hottest new package she received in the mail that week. It was like she saw it on her desk and was like, “Omg, I can sell this crap to this desperate women who wants nothing more than to destroy her child. Brilliant. Can’t wait to make some money off this. Easiest shit ever.”

Disgusting.

That’s child abuse. Straight up. She was my psychiatrist from the time I was in forth or fifth grade, maybe? All the way up to when I left NoVa right before I turned 21. I remember how angry and upset my mom was that she couldn’t find any doctors who would see me in South Dakota. No one but the people at the fucking prison complex. It was insane. And then she sent me to the fucking prison complex all alone to collect my meds from some judgmental lady who didn’t even want to prescribe them to me because the drug cocktail they were giving me was INSANE.

God dammit.

This is the horror movie I asked for. I said I wanted to write a horror movie. Here it is. It was locked up deep inside of me the entire time.

Y’all realize this is why they want to destroy the Department of Education, right? So they can keep running their for-profit child abuse scam with no oversight.

Horrifying.

Episode 3 starts now.

Oh yes, I have heard of the Teen Challenge.

Ugh. Disgusting.

Yeah, so, this is why I don’t talk to my family anymore. They love running this fucking script on me that I’m bipolar and I’m manic and I need to take my meds.

Here is my question: Bipolar according to fucking WHO?! These fucking people who are making billions of dollars off trafficking, abusing, and drugging children? Yeah, you can fuck all the way off with that shit. You’re complicit in a goddamn system of abuse.

I never want to hear that shit ever again.

Fuck you.

They will never meet my children. My children will be safe.

This is a human rights issue. This is a massive human rights issue.

Paris Hilton is seriously my goddamn hero. Thank you, Paris.

Oh yeah, fun memory triggered. I remember when I was 19 and working at Borders and one of the nurses from Dominion Hospital came in. He recognized me as a patient, acknowledged the fact that he had been my “nurse” as a 16 year old child, and then he immediately hit on me and tried to pick me up. His name was Drew. He was our favourite nurse. And I saw how this man who I had trusted as my caretaker looked at me like I was a piece of meat that he could just take home and fuck.

LOL bipolar according to fucking WHO? All these men who want me drugged into compliance so they can casually rape me? Hahaha. Isn’t that literally the whole plot of Poor Things?

Yeah, I had to turn that movie off about 10 minutes in. Me, a person who sits in my apartment watching documentaries about cults all day long, had to turn that movie off because it was so familiar and horrifying to me. Life is too short. I don’t need to relive that crap.

Yeah, bipolar according to the woman making crazy amounts of money off illegally prescribing heavy doses of antipsychotics to children. Yeah fucking right. Fuck that shit.

WOW WOW WOW JUST GOT TO THE FRENCH MAID RAPE REPLAY SHIT WOW JUST FUCKING WOW

Bipolar according to these fucking people who are dressing up children as French maids and making them re-enact their rapes in front of other children? So they can make money?

L O FUCKING L

That is the sickest joke I’ve ever fucking heard in my entire life.

Wow. Just fucking wow.

Oh look, they’ve been trying to get their own Manchurian Candidate since Romney. Now they’ve got Trump. I bet he loves himself some children in French Maid outfits. Sick. These people are fucking sick.

Disgusting.

No wonder they are projecting all that child predator shit so hard onto everyone else. They’re making billions of dollars running a literal child abuse trafficking organization. That is fucking disgusting.

No. No more diagnoses. No more therapy. No more medications, which are really just poison.

Fuck that shit.

This is the shit that radicalized me. This is the shit that made me Woke AF. This is the shit that made me fight back.

I’m going into exile, Voltaire style. When I come back, you better believe I’m ready to fight.

Nope, we can’t go back into the Matrix. We’ve been unplugged. They’re not feeding off my brain anymore. I’m standing up and I’m fighting back.

I am fucking Spartacus. Yaaaaassssss Queen!

I survived!

Seriously, though. Bipolar according to fucking WHO?!

LOOK AT THESE FUCKING MONSTERS!

AND YOU ARE SITTING HERE TELLING ME I AM THE ONE WHO IS SICK?!

I WAS A FUCKING CHILD!!!!!!!!!

FUCK ALL THE WAY OFF WITH THAT FUCKING BULLSHIT!!!!!!!!

Sick.

What’s in the box? It’s a fucking horror movie. That’s what’s in the fucking box. But I’m glad I opened it because I could not sit I the room with it and not know what was inside anymore.

I am Pandora and this my Hot Box.

Wait, what? I mean…

Welcome to my unboxing blog. Here, we get real and raw. Just like a dog, apparently? Who even knows.

What was I talking about again? Oh right, my hot box. Does anyone have any weed? I could really go for a smoke after all of that. Yikes on bikes.

Wow, okay, it’s over.

Yeah.

So that was a lot. The silence is deafening. It’s like… so… what now?

HBO recommends something called House of Horrors. No thank you. I’m already living in that. Let’s just play some Bob Marley instead. Reggae is basically the polar opposite of literally all of that, so yeah.I

I’m gonna go lay on my yoga mat now and listen to Bob Marley and just process all of this crazy ass shit.

Then I get to go on a trip across the world to teach kids how to read and learn about things like Buddhism and Communism. Boomers hate this! Let’s all blame the avocado toast! Tariffs on everything! Rawr! Big Monster Orange Godzilla coming to WWE the city of Washington D.C.

Oh my fucking god I hate the world. Wake me up when this nightmare is over.

*transports self to a beach somewhere*

One Love, One Heart, Let’s get together and feel alright!