Walking on that street, for a moment, just a moment, I thought they were watching me. I thought maybe the woman in the yogurt shop who offered me her boyfriend's phone number because he's a mechanic and might be able to fix the air conditioning on my car, was actually a Scion trying to get my phone number to pull me back into the organization. Scientology's a cult. I don't care if anyone reading this disagrees; I am quite sure of this statement and its truth. I have read their literature, and also read a lot of detailed reports of their criminal acts and unethical practices in the St. Petersburg Times, plus, for a while I was into reading about the works of Anonymous - the anti-Scientology movement that started up a couple years ago.
But, I digress. The reason I'm mentioning this is that the thought, if only for a moment, that they were after me again, as I used to think they were all the time, was a warning. My brain is on edge. If I have a thought like that now, it indicates I'm on the verge of delusions again, and I have to make note and pay attention to such warnings. I have to keep track to see if I continue to have such thoughts, and if I do, I will need to talk to my ARNP (doctor) about the medication and possibly needing a change. For right now, I'm not having many of these thoughts, so that is a good thing.
Going anywhere in downtown Clearwater brings back awful memories of my past life there, five years ago. I walked the streets, following cues that led me to different places. I tried to join the FLAG organization and got kicked out of their building. I thought I was the reincarnation of L.Ron Hubbard frequently, and I also felt that I was closely connected to Tom Cruise. I read a lot of Scientology literature, and I believed that I was born into this Illuminati/Scientology world, where I was meant to use my psychic powers to fulfill some unknown purpose.
I went to the Publix grocery store on Ft. Harrison in downtown Clearwater recently, just stopping to pick up a few items. I was instantly reminded of the times when I wandered around that parking lot, trying to find someone who would drive me to whatever place I was supposed to go, and not knowing what place that was. I went up to one woman sitting in her car. She said to me, “I know you’re Anderson’s dog, and he’s on vacation. He should be keeping you under control. You should be on a leash.” This statement made perfect sense to me. Obviously, this statement wouldn’t make sense to anyone else, including the woman from whose mouth I heard it, since that was not what she actually said. In retrospect, I imagine she said something to the effect of “get away from me”, to this strange, skinny and confused girl wandering a parking lot, and looking more like a homeless person than one of the Scientologists who lived in the neighborhood.
Anderson, to explain briefly, was my “owner”, as well as my husband. Anderson Cooper, that is. In the Illuminati world, in which I lived, I was ‘married” to him, but I was also his “pet” because there was a hierarchical structure to this world. This marriage and ownership was done on another spiritual plane; it was a psychic relationship. Trying to explain psychotic delusions by using logic is rather futile, but suffice it to say, I was a very confused person.
Walking into the Publix, I recalled the day I reported to work there. I believed in this brave, new world I was in, that people did not actually “work” for money. People showed up to places to work when they were told to do so by psychic messages, and then they won their material goods by performing mental feats. So Publix was one of the places my messages told me to go to and work. While I walked into the backroom of the store, found an apron, put it on, and made my way behind the deli counter, without anyone stopping or questioning me, it did occur to me that I had no idea how to work in a deli, and that the people who were not in tune with the psychic messages might think I was doing something wrong, and perhaps order me to leave. Confused by this small bit of reality that I could still glimpse, I took off the apron and left. I don’t really remember if anyone stopped me before I made my way out the door. It’s quite possible they did.
I am lucky I did not have the money to actually get involved as a member in the Scientology cult where they love to use the slogan, "Psychiatry Kills", and they forbid members from taking medications. I was not on medication when I was in that psychotic state living in a shack near the Scientology buildings, in order to be close to them, and I was completely delusional and constantly in dangerous situations. I was also frequently suicidal, and my suicide attempts definitely could have killed me. There is great danger in the beliefs of that cult for people who have mental illnesses, and I escaped that world and that psychosis due to proper psychiatric assistance.
I have many stories like this that I can tell, and I sometimes think of writing an article for publication about some of them. I wonder if it would help educate the public about Schizoaffective Disorder and related illnesses like Schizophrenia, and I have always considered myself a writer, although I don't often write for publication. I wonder if I could help someone who is out there, feeling alone, stuck in psychosis, and maybe let her know that she is not alone and that she is suffering from an illness for which there is help.