Mental Health History Start
If you've read this website in the order presented, you know my work for God, an absence of recognition, a forced mental disability diagnosis, and my Prophetic name left out of some Bible translations. In order to explore the cause from every angle, I should disclose that at nineteen years old I was forced into a ten day forced mental evaluation, which led to a ten week long voluntary psychiatric hospital stay in a private hospital, although after that I was cleared of mental illness.
That's where I was essentially cured of my adolescent delinquency. Not by treatment there, but from a procedural mistake, in combination with God's presence, when I was administered a medicine I'd never taken before, and then immediately released to an off-grounds field trip with about ten other patients. I began to suffer a seizure, in a rare form, just after we'd all entered the cinema, and because of staffing requirements, the entire trip was canceled.
I was convulsing mostly in the shoulders, but all over, as we loaded up for a return to the hospital a couple of miles away. I was assisted up a set of stairs to my room, and injected with an antidote. While waiting for the uncontrolled movement and excruciating pain to subside, I realized God was present in my thoughts for the first time in many years, and enjoying my pain. I thought back on how far I had deviated from a life of respect for others, and later when I started my written Prophecy, that was a time I was described as a 'great sinner' by God. The prophetic reason given for my hospitalization was "homeless, and exposed to the cold."
I'm disclosing this because I now wonder if any of the other patients at the small hospital at that time were individuals intentionally following a path to eliminate my true Biblical identification, or two I suspect were the family of U.S. spies (FBI or Detectives) or another two I suspect were motivated by foreign interests.
After the seizure the doctor put me on a medication break, and then I started one in the same class, for about two weeks, because the psychiatrist wanted to "try it, to see if it changes anything." After, he decided there was no change, and he told me he planned to release me. During our last conversation, I told him I was planning to enlist, and he agreed in silence.
However, after a moment he added a gruff caveat, with self-doubt about his decision to release me homeless, "You have problems." There was also another reason he wasn't happy with me on the way out. I had witnessed a dangerous spontaneous panic by the teenagers of one floor of the hospital dorm, when the common recreation room was being shared with adults. I had repelled every romantic advance from several of the the female teenagers until then, but seeing that the hospital could have theoretically cost a life or two, I accepted one of the propositions. My doctor probably knew and was angry or annoyed.
Massachusetts Authoritarian Abuse
The day before my first hospitalization (I was held two nights before arriving at that private one), I slept in my Grandmother's cottage, and I think reporters were tipped that someone of affluent upbringing, or even a future messianic prophet was going homeless. One took a very intentional picture from a footbridge of me driving under, and the next day this contrived front page of the Boston Globe was released, connected to the cottage location and my hometown.
Years later, corrupt Plymouth Police action on White Horse Beach where the cottage is located, and where one alternate landmark rock of two in the town is found, led to my alleged disability. Imagine my mindset, after receiving two dozen non-spiritual but grateful Senatorial responses to my first contacts, and then needing to put up with local police harassments. I was stopped and asked for my identification three times, when the summer before I had canvassed the immediate area with my Prophecy basically as far as the eye can see, on Sundays. They were influenced by Plymouth's inclusion on this front page.
The marquee rock at White Horse resembles a dead horse. Did that create the police cynacism? My grandparents had owned the cottage when first built, and I loved my neighbors from infancy, although seven years before the harassment, in my teens, my music was too loud, too often. I tried to welcome newcomers, but not at the expense of a war heresy unique to Plymouth, which God described as 'she was a single dissenter', almost ignoring police actions altogether. The second competing landmark is a rock rolled by indigenous people at the border of Kingston and North Plymouth, which some attribute to art, sport, or a monetary system. Did those patrolman's thoughts segment Plymouth residents into 'types'?
Plymouth Police projected their illness, and I reacted with public protest. Then they asked for court mandated psychiatric evaluations leading to my extended hospitalization twice. A Judge was so intimidated or convinced by them at one point he asked for a warrant of apprehension while I was already under an extended apprehension he initiated, and after I had been cleared by a special court (I initiated a Judicial Review for that). Maybe Massachusetts Constitution's three remaining bigoted and 'automatic' mentions of "Christian"¹ toward the Governor and Harvard University formed their actions. Those mentions are incongruous with the U.S. Constitution, which looks for national strength through a collage of beliefs in "God", without 'respect for any one religion.'
I wonder if former Harvard president Claudine Gay's gross lack of focus when trying to address the antisemitic problem at Harvard in 2023, to a U.S. Congressional inquiry (also MIT President Sally Kornbluth), was caused by factors like Massachusetts's Constitution, or the suppression of my 1987 and onward messianic warning to America against war.
A Veteran...
I had my vision fitting Biblical description while in the U.S. Army, and I was actually thinking reluctantly during God's appointment, as I'd planned my future to be low-key after my mental health scare. Despite my still holding crass traits from my upbringing, I'd started to make a big mark in the Army, although eventually I was discharged at the lowest rank, with less than two years of enlistment.In a yearly two-mile running test of half of my battalion, I was the second fastest, but I lost to the only Sargent to participate, so I might have been the fastest for my classification.
I was invited to the U.S. Military Academy Preparatory School (USMAPS). I was too old to officially qualify, but I reasoned maybe Westpoint needed an alternate, or made exceptions. One of my Captains signed my application, but I never heard back.
Another time, I was asked to qualify on a grenade launcher, and I broke the giant cement target that stood for probably decades, as well as making all my other shots.
I also played on the quasi-Fort's soccer team in the civilian league, where my team won the championship, although they were all close games. I can declare for myself I was the star defense player.
While on crutches and after appearing for a head count, I was recalled after hobbling up two flights of stairs in pain. I refused the order, and ended up with a "General Discharge under Honorable Conditions" in December 1983.
In another year, I had shed every impulse to use my vulgar speech.
Early Years...
My first two years of life I lived in Boston, on the Marathon route, across from a landmark park and ice skating rink. When my mother had my sister, we moved to Needham, an affluent suburb, where I remained through high school. I floundered very badly as I neared graduation, actually quitting school my junior year, but returning the next semester. At that point I went to live with my father.After struggling for many months that followed my one year late graduation, I joined the Army, although I considered the Air Force as well. I was living in my car, and for the day I was to take the test for enlistment, the recruiters suggested I sleep in their parking lot. They woke me up that morning, and got me to the test on time.
Shortly after I was discharged, I applied and then attended UMass - Amherst, graduating early with a Bachelor's in Journalism and Communications.
My Very Poor Health
Around 2015 was the first time I considered myself disabled. As I said on the front page here, "I was told directly I would remain in a state mental hospital until I accepted Social Security support..." and, "... I reacted with public protest. Then they asked for court mandated psychiatric evaluations ..." Obviously, from reading this website, I don't fit into the DSM-5 (diagnosis manual), but in my opinion, I now have a physical disability that does keep me from employment.My fingers have gone through several stages since foreign matter, introduced into my right index finger at a very young age, when I checked the tension on my bicycle chain and ran the sprocket through the nail, began to dissolve. At first, in the early '90s, at around age 30, I had a repeating blister on that finger and I began to have headaches. They eventually became severe, and lasted about sixteen years. Gradually, probably in 2000, I began to see blisters on
Maybe in 2004, I saw a little spot that looked like oil come out through my problematic finger nail. At that point, the headaches and the repeating blister began to disappear, but the other fingers remained very prone to blisters from all sorts of exposures. My intuition tells me whatever chemical was stuck to the chain, and there were rumors of DDT use in the neighborhood, got in my nerves, moved up them, and traveled through the dorsal root ganglia to the other hand. I live in a public housing apartment, and on weekends my neighbors naturally have guests. I've had worse hand problems some weekends from the added number of people using the doors and buttons.
Lawsuit Against My Sister
After my 95% estrangement from my mother beginning in 1987 (unrelated to the Pheonix ad), she passed away in April of 2018. My younger and only sister was named Executor of the Estate, but between those times, I asked her if I was "cut" from the will, and she answered "no." In conversations that followed, she volunteered to send me reports from her lawyers, and discussed money I could expect, in numerous exchanges, for eleven months. On July 8, 2018, trying to make financial plans, I wrote her, "If mom owned her Needham condo, and had a full mortgage on the Florida, I could see as low a figure as $200,000?" Here's a snippet from her email reply of July 10, 2018, before she changed her mind, and had an attorney tell me in March of the next year.
I tried to find lawyers to help me, but all of them eventually declined (my mental diagnosis?). A Lawyer of the Day or two in the courthouse casually threw out ideas for Complaints, so without options, I pursued them Pro Se. I lost my first Probate court suit, "...with Prejudice." after a hearing through online video due to Covid.
Using the time limits exemptions from the court closures, I next filed for Negligent Infliction of Emotional Distress in my local Superior court, but my sister's attorney was allowed to describe my sister's actions as my mother's fault. WHAT?!?! I was so distressed I decided not to Answer (didn't think I had to, understandable from the wording of the .gov explanation), and the case was closed.
Along the path to my filings (there were others as well), I used the Boston Bar to obtain a consultation, and the Attorney told me on my way out, 'your sister might be held liable if she gives you money.' Hmmm, that sounds suspiciously like a cult, given that I presented both the Will and the Trust. Is that statement a secret way to say my mother was sleeping around, had a baby, and an heir will surface? That Trusts should establish secrecy just for the sake of it, giving lawyers monopolistic powers?