CHAPTER 3
- MY FIRST PRESIDENT
Muskegon, Michigan is a coastal tourist attraction, and home of the annual
Seaway and Coast Guard festivals which bring people to the town from all over
Michigan. VanderJagt remained publicly visible through opportunities such
as these. My father often could be seen with Vanderjagt and was photographed at
his side white judging festival events like the kiddie parades, sand sculpturing
contests, and so on—all of which I entered and won. In later years, my father
polished and shined the red paint of his 1966 Ford convertible to chauffeur
VanderJagt through the local parades. This only served to reinforce the illusion
that my father was a "pillar of the community".
In 1973, Senator Byrd instructed my father to send me to Muskegon
Catholic Central High School which was overseen by the director of St. Francis
of Assisi Church, Father Lepre. The Catholic church, of course, has its
own political structure, with the Pope presiding over all. The strong political
ties between the Catholic church and the U.S. Government was overtly evidenced
by the much publicized relationship between the President and the Pope during
the Reagan Administration.
Of
course, I had been privy to this political relationship ever since my First
Communion - a relationship that the Rite to Remain Silent was intended to
cover. My experience with Catholic Central’s direct involvement in Project
Monarch’s physical and psychological conditioning further confirmed the
union between the U.S. Government and the Catholic church.
When Senator Byrd changed my school from public to Parochial, he also destroyed
through dissociation my school personality. I no longer viewed school as my
haven from abuse, as it was controlled by the church and, as I later learned,
monitored by a corrupt segment of the C.I.A.
By the time I enrolled in Catholic Central, the cliques and groups had already
been formed. I had a personality to fit in with the "good" kids and
one that interfaced with the "bad". It did not take long for the
"good" kids to notice I also got along with the "bad". I
soon found the only kids that could relate tome were the other known Project
victims. We clung together in a close knit group, herded around like the
proverbial sheep by those in the school who knew we were MPD/DIDed and under
mind control. We each switched personalities as circumstance demanded, most
often in unison.
We
were ritually traumatized, constantly tranced, and then programmed during
school hours. Since I no longer had my singular "school personality"
and was constantly switching instead, the compartment of my brain that held
school memory was no longer consciously retrievable. Therefore, I had no basis
for continued learning aside from what I could photographically memorize from
class. My grades appeared erratic, ranging from A’s to failing. And some A’s
received I did not earn academically.
In my required religion class, Sister Ann Marie bad been leading us in
study on the topic of Confession. This was to prepare us for the kind of Confessions
we were to be giving Father Vesbit, who was also our school principal.
The day Sister ordered us to Confession, I refused to go. I unconsciously feared
I would be sexually assaulted again in the Confessional, this time while my
teenage peers waited impatiently outside the door. Sister made an example out of
me to the class, saying I was a "Satanist" and that I was "going
to hell".
With seemingly no escape from the occultism that proliferated at the school, I
could no longer differentiate between Catholicism and Satanism.
Whatever Senator Byrd’s purposes in sending me to Catholic school,
no one seemed to notice that I had no reason to religiously adhere to Catholic
principles. Therefore, the applied reversal of Satanism held no
"spiritual magic" to it either. The wedge of anti-superstition that
the Catholic school was inadvertently driving into me only served to discount
the occult principles and superstitious traumas that they were attempting to use
to control me,
Satanism is often used as an extreme pain/violence trauma base in Project
Monarch Mind Control, reportedly due to the previous German Nazi Himmler
Research. I did not adhere to the desired helplessness attitude that this
was "spiritual warfare" and out of the realm of mankind’s ability to
stop. Regardless of my religious beliefs or disbeliefs, I experienced the
"results" just the same. Being subjected to and witnessing trauma so
horrible, while my body was raped, tortured, and ravaged by men literally drove
me out of my mind.
Catholic Central did increase my endurance capabilities as planned,
however. I signed up for the two-mile run in the girls’ track team as ordered.
Muskegon Catholic Central led the state of Michigan in high school athletics,
using mind-control technique to "modify" their star athletes and cause
them to excel beyond pre-established records.
The
school gained national recognition for its contribution to professional leagues
with their manufactured programmed athletes. But, like Tommy La Sorda’s
Dodgers, Catholic Central’s consistent victories began to raise suspicions and
questions. This created a public scandal for the school that threatened to close
its doors in 1975.
The girls’ and guys’ track teams converged after school for practice. I was
among the few females singled out for coaching by Coach Cheverini and his
hypnotic mind-control methodisms due to my Project Monarch victimization.
I was instructed to run 13 miles per day (another corny satanic ploy) to get in
shape for my two-mile race. I often ran with a male friend who was the record
holder for the two-mile in guys’ track. He and I were friends, sharing much
due to our similar Project Monarch victimizations.
Together
we learned how to shut out pain and fatigue when we ran. We tranced into a fast
pace set in our minds by Coach Cheverini with no comprehension of time or
distance. We perceived the track as our "Yellow Brick Road" in
accordance with the Oz theme programming. Senator Byrd’s plan for building my
physical endurance through Catholic Central’s coaching methods proved
successful for allowing me to survive his intensely torturous sexual
perversions.
In addition to routine trips to Mackinac Island and Niagara Falls, my family
often took camping trips to "get away from it all". In reality, I was
taken to key places for ritual abuse, prostitution, and pornography. In the fall
of 1974, my father announced we were going to go camping "back in
time" to an old-fashioned festival in the small remote town of Cedar
Springs, Michigan for their annual Red Flannel Days celebration. My mother told
me to pack my jeans and sweaters and my Catholic school uniform which she had
washed and pressed for the occasion.
Cedar Springs was quiet, with the festival events including dilapidated
amusement rides set up in a small parking lot, and contests where local farmers
pitted their mules and horses against each other to see whose could pull the
most weight. The main (and only) street of town was lined with the few local
businesses, including the town’s red flannel underwear "long Johns"
factory. In the center of town, a mock, single, jail cell had been erected to
hold any and all parade participants who failed to wear the required red flannel
underwear.
The jail was guarded by quasi Keystone Cops. I was amused when the townsfolk began lining up to march in the parade, with very few remaining to watch it. A mentally retarded man carried the baton to lead the parade, followed by kids on bicycles, hay-wagons of old folks, a grade school band and people walking-all in their red flannel underwear. The grand finale’ of the parade, the town fire truck, was approaching, surrounded by numerous motorcycle police.
I
heard folks whispering "the President is coming". I assumed they meant
the President of the underwear factory. I was wrong. I watched in horror as the
fire truck rolled to a stop, and Secret Service helped then President Gerald
Ford as he stepped down to the pavement.
My father was excitedly tugging on my arm, half dragging me through the wall of
Secret Service agents, to talk with President Ford. I looked around nervously as
my father made the necessary arrangements with Ford to prostitute me to him
later that evening. VanderJagt, who never missed a parade it seemed, was signing
autographs. As he smiled at me, someone roughly grabbed my arm. Nervous and
startled, I screamed.
The
crowd laughed as a Keystone Cop threw me in the jail, scolding me for not
wearing my red flannel underwear when I was talking to the President. I was
trying to be inconspicuous in hopes no one would see me with the likes of Ford,
but then, they did not know him as I did. The Keystone Cop rattled on and on
about "how lucky" I was until my father paid my bail and I was
released from the cell.
That night, I wore my Catholic uniform as instructed and went into a
dissociative trance as my father drove me to the local National Guard Armory
where I was prostituted to Ford. Ford took me into an empty room, pushed
me down on the wooden floor as he unzipped his pants and said, "Pray on
this". Then he brutally, sexually assaulted me. Afterward, my memory was
compartmentalized through use of high voltage. I was then carried out to the car
where I lay in the back seat, muscles contracted, stunned, in pain, and unable
to move.
When we got back to Muskegon, my father sent me to the beach as always, to let
the repetition of crashing waves against the beach "wash my mind free of
memory" while I watched the sun set. I was totally locked into the belief
that truly there was "no place to run," not even to the President
of the United States.
I remember that the "sane" part of "me"-my innate
personality-seemed to die after seeing Ford as President. I recall
walking up the steps of Catholic Central High School one morning, reaching for
the door, and crying uncontrollably. I cried myself into a heap at the top of
the stairs. I did not even know why I was crying. As an MPD, I rarely cried at
all. But I was still sobbing hours later when school let out. Someone found me,
but I do not recall to this day ever leaving the school steps.
I
never really experienced "emotion" after that day until I was rescued,
deprogrammed and reintegrated in 1988. Now all of my brain was functioning
through a wide variety of memory compartments, also known as multiple
personalities, with no part of me left "free" of abuse. Now it was as
though I had "no place to run," not even in my brain. This drove me
out of my mind which is exactly what my abusers needed for total control.