When I was in a cast with my leg, my brother (who has also been taken over) came to check on me right away! Very nice of him! But he immediately started putting pressure on me that I had to keep moving, because otherwise I wouldn’t heal, according to him. My sister did exactly the same thing. I repeatedly indicated my limits and said that I had to rest and that pushin 260 lbs on one leg was extremely heavy and I’m running out of breath quickly because of my high resting heart rate, caused by my general mental condition combined with the use of beta-blockers which limit the height of the resting heart rate, so that when I move a little I immediately run out of breath because my heart rate is kept artificially low. But instead of my limits being taken seriously, my brother proceeded to explain why that is, which I already know, and continued to put pressure on me, whereupon I erupted in anger, whereupon he boasted how well he can handle my anger and still showed no understanding.
When I asked at the hospital plaster room the following week if I should keep moving like what my sister and brother are trying to encourage me to do, they said that I should rest first and as soon as I can do more, that my activities could be increased gradually. And that brought some peace of mind. I come from a family where boundaries or limits were never taken seriously, and it was only in therapy that I learned to discover my boundaries and no one takes them away from me now. Rehabilitation is therefore a game of taking your own limits seriously and then going further and further in reaching your goal. Your goal! Not that of people around you who put pressure on you because they immediately fear that your temporary condition will become a permanent one.
At the plaster room, they took a moment to pay close attention to my cast. The old emergency room cast was cut, and replaced with a much better new cast in blue. I was good to go for another week until surgery.
I was still at my parents’ house, of course, since my own house is on the second floor without elevator and I had to do everything in a wheelchair or with a walker. If I wanted to leave, I had to call the wheelchair taxi. Kind of inconvenient all around. Saturday, November 26, was the day of a deceased friend’s birthday and I decided to ask his parents and a friend who was already inquiring about it, to come to my parents’ house and remember him, which we actually do every year. It ended up being a good evening, although I almost had to fight to be heard when I talked with everyone else, which was quite unpleasant. I did not feel seen, at least not by everyone, and it reminded me of the old days, when I felt myself invisible and did not dare to use anger to make myself heard when I was repeatedly not listened to.
On the day of surgery, I rode the wheelchair taxi to the hospital, reported to the front desk and was driven to the Orthopedics Department. There I had to wait a long time, a nurse listed incorrect diagnoses that they had probably obtained from my twin sister’s file and I was finally driven to a room where I was prepared for surgery, where again I had to wait a very long time. When I was finally in the operating room, I became very nauseated from what they injected me with, and was quietly put under anesthesia….
I was licking an ice cream. That’s the first thing I remember when I woke up. I thought: in a distant past, I was on an operating table. I asked a nurse if I had just had surgery. She said yes. Pretty soon I was wheeled back to my room. The cast was off my leg. There was now a splint around it. I could stand on it again. Finally. I was visited by a neighbor of my parents who happened to work at that hospital. In the evening I was supposed to be allowed to go home, but a nice nurse saw that the wound was leaking, so had to stay overnight. Dad, Mom and sister came to visit and I had a great time the rest of the evening.
The next day they changed the bandage around the wound and told me I had to stay another night. That was unfortunate, but I would have a great time. Quite a laugh with the cleaning lady there, regular visits (from parents, sister and neighbor) and fine food. It was like a hotel. Nice nurses, too, who I am still thinking about two weeks later. It’s often like that with me, which is very awkward at times. After the second night, and 2 days of permanent hiccups, I am happily allowed to go home. My parents are helping me to pack and I go home again by taxi.
The following weeks I can finally walk with crutches and stand on my leg. Regularly people come to inquire how things are, which is nice. My neighbor even gave me a couple of scratch cards, which won a small prize. Very nice!
At one point it is St. Nicholas (the Dutch version of Santa Claus) and my brother and his wife and their 3 children are at my parents’ house. “St. Nicholas” has some presents for the kids and my brother gives the green light to them that they can all tear the paper off their presents at the same time! This reminds me of how we used to unwrap presents one at a time when we were young and then pay attention to what the other had unwrapped. That way we could spend hours on a gift night. My brother hated this, but for me it is one of the nicest memories I have, and to know that my real family has passed away and everyone has been replaced by other entities saddened me so much and also touched me in that particular moment when my brother yelled “Tear it off” to his children. I walked to the bathroom and stood there crying until I calmed down again. I then went back to the living room and fortunately no one noticed anything about me. Crying openly in front of people who know damn well what they have done (they have taken over my family) is a bit too much for me, and I really want to teach them a lesson then! Bastards!
A few days later, it was my father’s birthday and we gave him some good gifts! Giving is fun, especially when it makes someone happy! It’s actually strange that I remain so loving toward my taken over family even while I know what they did. That’s the emotional prison I’m in! Sometimes I do try to escape that prison and be more true to myself, but I always face a backlash (e.g., a psychic attack) that I can’t cope with, so then I just go back into this prison, which mainly consists of playing along and pretending that my taken over family is still my real family. I would so love to break free from this, but it’s just not in the cards with my past and what I’ve been through.
An example of something like that was what happened last week: When I broke my kneecap, there had been a nice man who had provided blankets and put his knee behind my back so I had a support while I lay waiting for the ambulance. My mom thought it would be nice to thank him and bought a box of chocolates and I would bring it to him to say thanks. But I felt like a total idiot when I stood in front of his door, because under subtle pressure from my mother I had totally ignored what I wanted in this and I felt like that little robot again, that puppet from before, who obediently carried out what was asked of him, but who actually pushed his own strength away completely, without asking himself what he actually wanted. That felt terrible and I couldn’t talk about it. I had the feeling that I could not vent my anger about it either with my mother or with my father. So in the evening, my sister was with my parents and then the anger came out … through my sister, who disapproved of an irritated reaction I had toward my father, to which my sister and “all those other goofballs who think you should only say positive things to other people” got the full brunt of me, to which my mother said she was unaware of anything, and my father, mother and sister, ignored my anger to pieces. When my sister had gone home, I sent another message to her via WhatsApp, explaining how I had felt like a robot again that day and couldn’t do anything with these feelings. She then told me that next time she would pay attention to my anger, something I have been asking for years, so I said it seemed like she was just getting to know me now and so I confronted her. Later, as I lay in my bed to go to sleep, it felt again as if an attack was being carried out on me by these Antichrist entities. Nerves were again coursing through my body because I had let go of playing along and confronting one of the Dragons for the first time, but they were not good nerves, because there was clearly an element of imminent loss of control in these nerves, and these entities can take over you at such times if you give in.
So something tells me that it’s not all about confronting Dragons. But I still feel that need, because I don’t think it’s moral to keep playing the game. Maybe breaking contact is the best option, but then I also lose all the positive things they give me. A dilemma, in which time will tell what is best.
The next day my sister had talked to my parents about the incident and my parents came to me and apologized for passing over what I wanted for the guy who had helped me. And for some other things in which they had taken space that was actually meant for me. They understood that that had ultimately driven me to that anger. But it’s hard to hear that out of their mouths when I know that they have been taken over and are not themselves. People who are taken over always find it very easy to make excuses for the behavior of the person they are imitating. But don’t ask for excuses for killing your family and friends and taking their place, because then no one’s at home and they will open psychic attacks on you, and I don’t need that!
Early this morning I saw the following text on Facebook, as there have been massive amounts of such texts passing by lately. This is how they communicate with you. The text says: “On the day I die, let the music be loud!” Image. I did happen to play loud music the day before when my parents were away for a while, something I miss a lot now that I’m temporarily with my parents for a while, and so that little text again feels like a threat, which I don’t accept. They know what I am doing every moment of the day and keep an eye on it. Very intrusive! Yet there is also a side in me where I feel protected from this kind of attacks, but that applies more when I don’t confront the taken over people with who they really are, and just see them as 2.0 versions of who they really were. 2.0 versions that are able to take the blows I dish out in my articles and who not let me fall, even if I bring bizarre information into the open! It is the balance of Christ and Antichrist and after the as it were horizontal middle path between Lucifer and Satan, which is the way of Christ, now the vertical middle path between Christ and Antichrist. These are four waves in your mind, one from each wind direction, mixing, as it were, in the middle, in the zero point, your heart. This is how a human being can have consciousness, and the way phase conjugation can take place, which is essential to consciousness and takes place through confrontational mirrors from your fellow human beings or from entities working for these different groups.
The feeling of a prison is bound to remain. That’s just because of what I’ve experienced. But maybe I have to come to terms with the things I can’t change. I can’t bring back my family and friends. I can only get my story out about what happened, using the support these entities offer me in the process. That will remain my goal! As long as I live!
