In terms of relationships with other people, I remember “Queen Jane Approximately,” a Bob Dylan song sung by the Grateful Dead.
And you want somebody you don’t have to speak to
Won’t you come see me Queen Jane?
“Queen Jane Approximately” – Bob Dylan
The last few lines of the song make me think of a relationship wth another person (male or female) where there is a deeper, more profound level of communication (both spoken and unspoken). The relationship might be with a best friend, sibling, parent, or spouse/partner. True friends and meaningful relationships are our greatest treasure, and I’ve come to realize over the past few weeks how wonderful it feels to have someone to talk to.
As crazy and insane as the past fourteen years have been, I’ve always believed that this insidious nightmare was not without meaning. There has to be a reason for this, and while I am not able to completely fill in all the details, I know in my heart with certainty that what’s happening has incredible significance. It’s more than the drugs and the prostitutes, the constant stalking and harassment, which is more of a psychological terrorism than anything physical. It’s more than a nameless, faceless, screaming, shrieking monster traipsing around after me all these years for no reason.
It has something to do with my former boss that I worked for fifteen or sixteen years ago for a two month period, and whatever he and his cohorts were up to. Eventually it all culminated in whatever is happening in the present. I hesitate to speculate, but I am fairly certain that the truth will ultimately be revealed.
SGI President explains: “We all have our own karma or destiny, but when we look it square in the face and grasp its true significance, then any hardship can serve to help us lead richer and more profound lives. Our actions in challenging our destiny become examples and inspirations for countless others.
World Tribune July 15, 2016 p. 8
It’s always better if I try to write in “real time.” In other words, if I spend too much time thinking about what to write for a blog post, I often do not write anything at all. Right now, my primary motivation is to bring about an end to this madness that surrounds me. I’ve also realized that my blog is my only real communication with the outside world.
I will start with this – a concept called willing suspension of disbelief. A willing suspension of disbelief is defined as the willingness to suspend one’s critical faculties and believe the unbelievable, or to sacrifice realism and logic for the sake of enjoyment (such as a magic act or movie). In this case, I am referring to the willingness to suspend one’s critical faculties and believe the unbelievable, specifically the fact that a few other people around me are able to read my thoughts with accuracy.
Driving home from my phone reception shift at the Buddhist Center this afternoon, I felt that my earlier blog post wasn’t much more than a reiteration of information that I’ve posted in the past. After all, I’ve been posting to this blog regularly since August, 2011 and have written a 300 page memoir on the same topic. Nevertheless, I believe whatever I am able to contribute in terms of an explanation and/or description of these events is helpful.
Take yesterday for example. Yesterday was Wednesday, July 6th. A day pretty much like any other. My husband gets up very early in the morning and goes to work nearby. I wake up a few hours later, eat breakfast, chant for about an hour, and take my dog for a walk. Yesterday while I was chanting I heard much more shrieking and screaming than usual.
Typically, it’s sh&^%head doing the screaming and yelling. I’m inclined to believe his real name is Sam McKellar, although I’ve never actually met him, so I don’t know for sure. He showed up one night in the spring of 2002 near where I was renting a room in Oxnard, California. I never actually met him in person. He’s always claimed to be from the Mafia, although I believe he’s a former CIA agent who was given a burn notice sometime during the fall of 2009. I left Oxnard a week or so after he showed up, and he followed me to Sunnyvale, California when I moved back in with my parents. He either bought or rented a house/apartment/condo somewhere in the vicinity of my parents house. When my husband and I moved into our own apartment in a different part of Sunnyvale, he too moved into another apartment not too far from ours. During these years he was relatively quiet, although I heard some yelling from time to time. Nor did he stalk me constantly. When my husband and I moved into our second apartment in September, 2009, he disappeared for a few months only to return (he actually rented an apartment in the same apartment complex as us, the Mission Pointe Apartments in Sunnyvale) with a vengeance in early 2010. By vengeance I mean with his son Eric, a crazy, meth-head lunatic woman, and all of the screaming, shrieking, stalking, and harassment present to this day. Something had to have precipitated this obvious change in his behavior (other than the meth addiction, of course), so I figured that perhaps this was around the time (or shortly after the time) he received his burn notice.
This was 2010. In 2012, he began recruiting the prostitutes and the drug dealers. It was around this time that Preston Scott showed up in Sunnyvale. At least that was when I started to see him in various places around town (at the gym, at Peet’s coffee, driving his old, green VW van to the Sunnyvale Bay Trails), although he never approached me in person either. This was also when more and more people started to take notice of the general craziness. I made several attempts to communicate with authorities from the local level on up, but was not successful. I finished my memoir in 2014 and self-published it, but the nightmare was far from over. Two years later, here is my typical “day in the life.”
Once a month on Wednesdays around 11am, a bird-watching group walks along the Bay Trails in Sunnyvale near the water treatment facility. The parking lot I usually park in was full, so I parked along the short road that takes you into the facility campus. I took Savannah out of the backseat and we walked along the sidewalk into the regular parking lot, passing a few construction workers on our way. The birdwatching group was gathered by the drinking fountain, waiting to start their morning walk. Savannah and I headed to the left, up the hill behind the small parking lot, and the bird-watching group headed down the path toward the right. I heard a woman scream and another woman spoke loudly in response, “No you’re not! Who did you tell us you were?” The first woman screamed, “I told you she’s my cousin!”
Savannah and I continued walking up the hill. She stopped occasionally to sniff for squirrels. She lifts her paw to indicate the presence of someone who isn’t supposed to be near me (since there are numerous people on restraining orders that are required to keep away from me), somehow, Savannah knows who everyone is and what they’re up to. We walked a few more feet and stopped behind the hazardous waste disposal area. She lifted her paw and I saw a black pick-up truck parked next to a small trailer. The truck turned around and drove off. Then a man in a suit opened the door of the trailer and walked out. We walked a few more feet across the hill. Savannah looked down the hill and across the street to the corner of Caribbean Dr and Borregas Avenue and the small office park complex parking lot. She lifted her paw again and a brown pick-up truck with a camper shell on the top pulled out of the parking lot and drove off. A man on a bicycle passed through the intersection and into the Water Treatment Facility entrance.
We continued our walk. We walked down the hill, crossed Caribbean Dr and continued walking towards the light at Caribbean Dr and Borregas Avenue. We turned right at the light and continued walking down Borregas Avenue. We walked a few more feet and turned around to head back to the car. A garbage truck stopped to let us pass by. We continued through the office park parking lots toward the intersection Caribbean Dr and Borregas Avenue. An old man driving a compact car with an Asian woman in the passenger seat passed us as we approached the same parking lot that the brown pick-up with the camper shell drove out of. We kept walking and I heard sh*&^head start screaming. It sounded like he was behind the office building and I wondered if that was him in the compact car with the Asian woman in the passenger seat.
We kept walking. Another car pulled into the parking lot and two men walked into one of the offices in that small office park. The man in the brown pick-up truck returned and also entered the same office as the other two men. A few minutes later we were back at the car and heading home. While nothing about this summary description of events that morning sounds unusual or out-of-the-ordinary, when looked at against the backdrop of events preceding it over the past fifteen years or so, it becomes a nightmarish ordeal that I experience on a daily basis.
For example: The woman who was causing a commotion with the monthly bird-watching group was most likely the meth-head who accompanies Sam McKellar most places. The person in the black pick-up truck was originally parked in the Bay Trails parking lot, but when we arrived, he/she pulled out and drove into the hazardous waste lot in front of the trailer (presumably to hide). I don’t know who the Caucasian man was who stepped out of the trailer after the black pick-up drove off. I don’t know who any of the other men were who I saw that day, but presumably they are all in some way involved.
I can hear Sam Meth-head and the shrieking woman yelling as I write this post. There are always around nearby. I hope that somehow, this is taken care of as all of these people should be behind bars. Thank you.
I saw a great picture/quote posted on Facebook yesterday that really encouraged me. The quotes reads:
Your beautiful. Your loved. Your needed. You’re alive for a reason. You’re stronger than you think. You’re gonna get through this. I’m glad you’re alive. And don’t ever give up!
How encouraging! After reading this, I thought to myself, “All this is true!” I’m definitely alive for a reason. It is a fact that all of the people (namely Sam M, although I prefer to call him sh@#$head) trying to get back at me for whatever it was that I didn’t do, haven’t succeeded. Although this nightmare continues to drag on and on and on, I will get through this somehow. I have no choice.
My particular feeling is that the continued lack of resolution to this problem (after all, there are still a few people left that continue to follow me wherever I go on a daily basis), speaks more to the incompetence, lack of concern, and pervasive corruption on the part of the authorities than anything else. By authorities I am referring to every single level of government and every single federal government agency that could have possibly been involved. If we start locally, we have the city of Sunnyvale Police Department (that does nothing), at the county level (this would be Santa Clara County), I would think that someone would be able to make a phone call, if only to get these people off the streets and into the county jail, yet nothing is done. Is it really that difficult?
Numerous lawsuits were filed by people as well as businesses, due to their continuous stalking, death threats and harassment. Yet their behavior continues. What about the state of California? The federal government agencies involved? The CIA, FBI, Department of Justice, Homeland Security, NSA – and the list goes on. Is the U.S. government really that incompetent? Or is it merely a matter of corruption at the highest levels of our government. I’m thinking it’s the latter.
What about all the people who seem so surprised to discover that I’m actually aware of the situation and always have been since 2002, when Sam Meth-head whatever-his-name-is tracked me down to my roommate’s house in Oxnard? Or the fact that not one single person has ever attempted to contact me in any way regarding this matter? Does that seem strange? At any rate, the situation exists as it is, for better or for worse, and there isn’t much I can do about it except chant.
This post ended up being more of a rant, but some days are more discouraging than others. I also found a very useful article titled 20 Diversion Tactics Highly Manipulative Narcissists, Sociopaths And Psychopaths Use To Silence You. It’s very descriptive and helpful for people who have to deal with toxic behavior. This is the type of behavior exhibited by the people who stalk and harass me constantly as well as by those who have targeted me or used me as a scapegoat over the years. Although my situation is much more complicated than merely being in a toxic relationship (as I am not), I have experiences much like those described by this article – experiences resulting from their constant harassment, threats, stalking and persecution. For example:
In the hands of a malignant narcissist or sociopath, your differing opinions, legitimate emotions and lived experiences get translated into character flaws and evidence of your irrationality.
What happened to me was that my circumstances were labeled as a schizophrenia diagnosis, and as such my opinions, emotions, perspective and experiences were seen as a mental illness, rather than as reality. Fortunately, over the past few years, the reality has come to light, and my own experiences are being validated as we continue to struggle with something that affects us all.
Oh, by the way, the majority of the perpetrators in this nightmare are all WHITE MEN.
One of the questions posed by the Kickstarter campaign for the new book Good Night Stories for Rebel Girls was: Why a book for girls? Here is Elena Favilli and Francesca Cavallo’s response:
Because we are girls. Our entrepreneurial journey made us understand how important it is for girls to grow up surrounded by female role models. It helps them to be more confident and set bigger goals. We realized that 95% of the books and TV shows we grew up with, lacked girls in prominent positions. We did some research and discovered that this didn’t change much over the past 20 years, so we decided to do something about it.
When I look back to the role models I had, I realize that I did not have many female role models either. I had my mom, who has a Master’s Degree, my dad and two older brothers. I read a lot of books, some with strong female leads and some without. I did not actively seek out books with female characters, I mostly read what interested me, and what I found in my parent’s bookshelves. I enjoyed Winnie the Pooh when I was younger, Shel Silverstein’s poetry, Judy Blume, Madeleine L’Engle’s Wrinkle in Time series, Gone With the Wind, and many other books written by both male and female authors. In elementary school, I watched Little House on the Prairie, a television series based on the experiences of Laura Ingalls Wilder, a pioneer woman who wrote a series of historical fiction books for children based on her childhood growing up in a pioneer family.
By the time I was 12, my favorite non-literary hero (rather than role model) was Indiana Jones. Indiana Jones’ adventures in Raiders of the Lost Ark looked more exciting than anything else in the world, and although I became a big Harrison Ford/Indiana Jones fan, I never pursued the field of archeology. By the time I finished high school, the two biggest influences in my life were my parents (who ensured I went to college), and my Buddhist organization (SGI-USA) whose leaders and guidance helped me to choose a career path that has guided me until this day.
In my late teens I joined the SGI-USA and started participating in their activities for young women. I was at a small group activity with just a few other young women and we were asked by our young women’s leader to make goals for ourselves. We had to write them down and keep them. She posed this question to us, “What do you see yourself doing ten years from now.” She gave us some time to think about our response. We were sitting on the carpeted floor of the Buddhist Community Center in San Jose. I flipped through a copy of my Living Buddhism and found one of SGI President Ikeda’s Peace Proposals where he had mentioned environmental conservation and supporting the United Nations. I wrote this down for my ten-year career goal: work for the United Nations Environment Program.
My one goal that I had written down at a Buddhist activity when I was 19 or 20 sustained me through four years of college at UC Santa Cruz, two years of volunteer work with the Peace Corps in the Dominican Republic, and another two years of graduate school at Tufts University in Medford, Massachusetts. Although I veered off onto a different path for a variety of reasons, I feel very fortunate that I had the opportunity to set those goals for myself at such an early age, and I hope that we can continue to provide girls and young women from all backgrounds with the resources and encouragement they need to succeed in life and be happy.