I am getting continuous warnings on X not to drive the car.
They started while I was in Thailand in December 2024 while I was getting ready to return to Europe.
When I pick up the car from the carpark at Madrid airport, I immediately have that feeling of toxicity in the air and things I’m touching.
My mouth and throat is dry and scratchy the whole night.
I suspect criminals accessed the car while it was in the carpark in Madrid airport and sprayed pesticides all over the upholstery and plastics, just as they did in my apartment.
I wonder if they’re able to add continuous doses of toxins through the air vents too.
I book the car in for detailing and book a few days at the hotel while they do it.
Obviously, my online search results are controlled by criminal gangs, and I’m aware of this, but I have no choice.
When I pick up the car from the detailers and start driving, it feels like the whole dashboard section has been moved closer inwards.
I’m not able to put the same things back in the glove compartment that were there previously without issue; they don’t fit!
My feet are misfiring as they step on the clutch because it’s in a different place; it’s too close and it’s not the position of the car seat
I wonder about this with Paul, and suggest the gangs might have got the detailers to put something in the car, or create a space in the car between the engine and the dashboard.
I suspect a poisoning system or drugs.
Paul, curiously, spends a great detail of energy in talking me down from my fears about this, and indeed everything criminal I have suspicions about with regards to the car and my apartment.
As we pull up to the junction at the bottom of Muswell Hill, the light goes green but it is not signalling right so I don’t go.
There’s a feeder light usually. At least there was the last time I drove here, over 5 years previously.
Paul says, go go, it’s green, so I move forward, but there is oncoming traffic so I can’t turn right.
I break and ride the clutch a little bit but the car won’t move, it is revving hard, but not moving, and I’m trying to go in and out of first, and I can smell this awful smell.
Paul been pulling the handbrake button without my knowledge.
“What’s that smell?” I say.
“You hammered the clutch,” Paul says.
It’s too late to think about this more but I know something’s wrong.
I leave Paul at his car and thank him for saving my life.
“You saved my life Paul”, I say and I’m very grateful.
I drive home alone.
At some point a car pulls in front of me and I end up following it all the way from Muswell Hill to Church Lane N2.
It’s number plate is XXXX WTF. (The Xs are numbers I can’t remember.)
Was this an attempt to get me back on the networks as soon as possible; the porn-gangs having lost one of their most lucrative revenue streams, sedated naked me?
I ask Paul if he’s ever had to clear a fat-berg from someone’s drain.
He tells me yes.
I ask him how.
He says he gets the rod, pokes it down, and just keeps poking on it.
You just keep poking at it and eventually it gives, he says.
In the Autumn of this year, I will ask Lea Batton on Facebook to tell Paul my story is like a fat-berg, you keep poking at it for long enough and eventually it just gives.
Paul, Lea, and all his mates, it will transpire, including my boyfriend in 2001 know Ugly - pretty well by all accounts.
I realize all my belongings have been doused in pesticides or similar.
I notice this starkly as I sleep under my own bedding for about two weeks after bringing my stuff home and leaving for Israel to attend the Transforming Touch course as an assistant on Module 2.
Over this time, my whole body starts to ache and the pain is bone-deep.
For some reason, I just put up with it, don’t think about it, but everything aches, my neck, back, hip, legs, hands, everything.
It’s weird I don’t do something about it until I get to Israel and I’m in a hotel for two days when I realize all the pains have ceased completely, apart from my feet which start getting worse.
I wonder if it’s because I’m surrounded by people who are ignoring what’s going on for me completely, pretending it’s not happening; a murderous stance indeed.
I contact my mother from Israel and tell her to bag up my duvet and put it in the loft as it has been doused in pesticides.
For some reason, she throws it away - gets Robert to because that’s what he does most days for some reason.
I end up throwing nearly all my belongings away as they are poisoned.
I’m horrified that they’re going to the public dump and it’s all good stuff and my fear is people will take it home with them thinking it’s good decent stuff, no idea it’s doused with pesticides, and they might let their kids sleep under my duvets, I mean it’s just horrific.
