- Fort Lauderdale Beach (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
English: , 241 South Fort Lauderdale Beach Boulevard (), Fort Lauderdale, . (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
English: Fort Lauderdale, FL, September 02, 2004 — It’s a beautiful morning at Fort Lauderdale beach but this evacuation sign is a reminder that Hurricane Frances is only 400 miles away. FEMA Photo/Mark Wolfe (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Stranahan House, Ft. Lauderdale, Florida (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
English: Panorama of the New River and the Fort Lauderdale skyline, Florida. Français : Vue panoramique du New River et la ligne des toits de Fort Lauderdale, en Floride. {| cellspacing=”0″ style=”min-width:40em; color:#000; background:#ddd; border:1px solid #bbb; margin:.1em;” class=”layouttemplate” | style=”width:1.2em;height:1.2em;padding:.2em” | 20px |link=|center | style=”font-size:.85em; padding:.2em; vertical-align:middle” |This image was created with hugin. |} New River Ft Lauderdale.jpg (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The days quickly slip away. It’s already June 23. Where has June gone? What have I accomplished in my life? Not much. I can say, though, that I’ve accomplished something, just staying sane is an accomplishment. No matter what the gang stalkers did to me, I survived almost another month. And believe me, that’s an accomplishment.
I remember the days when I was free. I never stayed home. I was always running around doing something. I was at the movies, Ft. Lauderdale beach, going out with family, friends, boyfriend, traveling. Oh, I think back to those days and wish for them back. I didn’t realize how free I was. Or I thought I was. But I realize I wasn’t. No one is really ever free. There’s always the government to deal with. They make all the rules and we follow them like idiots. We never question anything. I must admit I was an idiot. And I must tell you, I’m more aware than most people. I spent a lot of time getting petitions signed for causes I believed in. And now I think, what was it all for?
Before my gang stalking began, I lived in Florida (I never should’ve left, maybe what’s happening to me wouldn’t be happening). I remember while living in Florida, I used to see a lot of cars with their lights on. I used to wonder “why are their lights on?” It was always a puzzle to me. Why? A lot of Canadians spend the winter in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, and I used to see a lot of Canadians with their lights on. So I didn’t get beyond” asking “why?” I assumed the lights were just what Canadians did when they drove. But still, there was something about the lights that bothered me. It was very strange to me.
So years pass, and one day I notice that the lights are everywhere I go. Everywhere I go people are following me with their lights on. I wasn’t in Florida anymore and the lights went on during the sunniest of day. I soon found out what the lights were about. The lights became part of my gang stalking. The lights are put on to let know other gang stalkers know that they’re part of the group, and to let targets know that the gang stalkers know who we are.
I wish I could have seen into the future. I never would have left Florida. I’d gotten married to the man who proposed to me. I guess I took the road less traveled. The road which lead me to what I’m now experiencing. It lead me to a hell hole of a life.
I want the world to know about gang stalking. What it does to someone’s life. How it separates families, lovers, husbands, children, friends.
When I used to see the cars in Florida with their lights on, I didn’t know anything about gang stalking. I never heard anyone mention it. There were a lot of people who were going through torture and I had no idea they were. Only the lights gave me a hint of something going on. It makes me wonder, if someone mentioned gang stalking, would I have believed them? I think I would’ve. People don’t make up stories like this. And I would have given them the benefit of the doubt.
What troubles me about what’s happening to me, is that for the rest of my life, and even after I die, I’ll be considered a crazy person. I can see the future and can hear my family saying things like: well, you know, insanity runs in our family. Remember aunt Gladys, she was crazy. I feel sorry for generations that follow me, when something like this happens to one of them, the family will think it’s just part of the family history. I wonder how many people were called crazy and had nothing wrong with them?
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