Script Frenzy RE: Helpful Info on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?

Posted March 1, 2010 – 20:08	Helpful Info on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?
	One of the major plot points of my show revolves around one of the characters having Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Here’s the problem, I don’t know much about it. I’m going to make this short and sweet as opposed to droning on and on over the issue: Does anyone have some helpful information on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?

Posted March 31, 2010 – 06:55 RE: Helpful Info on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder? I have PSTD to the point that I also have agoraphobia and have not been able to leave my house or have face to face contact with humans. Oddly in the past 20+ years the only time I’ve been able to either leave my house or have contact with humans is for the local Write-In meetings for NaNo and SF. When I was 14years old, my best friend was murdered along with 4 other friends. (five in all) I was the only survivor of a violent bloody attack, which left my friends with their arms and legs cut off their bodies, their intestines ripped out, and 2 of them living on for a few days before actually dieing. The court trials went on for 6 months. Because the murderer was caught in the act of slaughtering my friends, and because their was one survivor/witness of the attack (me), the trail went fast and she was executed that same year. I spent 6 months being questioned and interrogated by police and judges and lawyers, who didn’t give a damn about what I was going through, all they wanted was the facts so they could take another life (I was against her execution). This event left me without a single friend – every one of them was killed during this event. In the 20 years since I have not been able to make a single new friend. The event was made worse by the fact that when I went to church, I was meet with adults who didn’t give a damn. Several of them shook hands with me and said “How are you doing”… I responded with “My best friend was murdered this week” to which they responded “Oh that’s nice, I had a great week too” and walked off to shake hands with the next person. There were 375 adults in our church, dozens of them repeated this same thing that Sunday. Not one of them heard what I said. I went into a major stress overload during the court trials. By the time it was over I had stopped talking. I’ve barely spoken a full sentence since than. I took up writing full-time after that. I would get up in the morning, go out to my garden and start writing until night time. Every day, for the next 20+ years, without ever saying a word. Over the years, local rumors have spread, saying that I was a demon possessed witch who puts curses on people. It appeared that I was getting better by 2001, when I was about to be married, but than I had a miscarriage, he called off the wedding, and than in 2003 the demon possession rumors took a violent turn when one hysterical local started saying I had used witchcraft to kill someone. This rumor got out of hand in during the infamous and well documented NaNoWriMo 2006, the year I dropped out due to vandals burning my house to the ground, resulting in my becoming homeless and very famous at the same time. Many news reports, paparazzi hounding’s, and 2 published books later, the stress proved to be too much for me and I suffered a stress induced stroke in October 2009. There is also some debate as to wither I have PTSD or Autism or both. And because it might help your research, I’m going to copy part of an article I wrote, you can read the entire thing here: http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/2807682/living_with_aspergers_s… the entire article is 25 pages long and may take a couple of hours to read, and it is itself and excerpt from a 557 page book which can be found here: http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/for-fear-of-little-men/6508479 if you are really into the research and want to know all the details of everything that happened throughout this entire event, you’ll want to read the book itself. Any ways, one of the noted aspects of PTSD is the panic attacks and meltdowns that are triggered by the person coming in contact with anything that reminds them of the stressful event. 14 years, almost to the day, after the murder trail that stopped me talking, I found myself in court once again, and the result was a massive meltdown that got me sent, by the judge, to a psychologist, where it was discovered that what people had been calling PTSD, may have actually been in fact, Autism instead. Here is the part I’m copying (I was 30 years old at the time of this event): Don’t you know it’s rude to stare? Not a question asked to me, but a question I ask in response to people demanding I look at them when they talk. Eye contact. Why do I need to be looking at you to hear what you are saying? I hear with my ears not my eyes. Why do I need to look at you to talk to you? I talk with my mouth not my eyes. My lack of eye contact, my inability to speak around strangers, and my cloths, resulted in leading to my finding out I had Asperger’s, when in 2005 I was summoned into court as a witness to some case which I had no idea why they were saying I was a witness too. I’ll recap: A year before the fire or the flood which left my homeless, a man walked up to me, handed me a paper, told me I had been served and I had to show up in court to testify. I found this to be very confusing and puzzling because I didn’t know anything about this so call case that I was supposedly a witness too. I tried to explain this to the man, but I’m not good with verbal explanations. He told me that it didn’t matter wither I thought I was a witness or not, it was a court order and if I didn’t show up at court later that week, I would go to jail. Very puzzled, and very reluctant, I went to court on the date in question and found it to be one of the most nerve wracking frustrating days of my entire life. First off I had to be searched by a guard, who took my tote bag and dumped it out. (I carry my writing paper, my art supplies, and comic books with me every where . . . it’s a really big tote bag. Next I was questioned about my cloths; this being one of my very first confrontations with the world outside of church, I was completely lost as to understand why I was being asked about my cloths. What was wrong with the way I was dressed? My things were stuffed untidily and messed up back into my tote bag and I was told to sit on the right side of the court room. I sat in the very last pew and spent about an hour, resorting my crayons, comics and papers back into their proper order. I was interrupted while doing this, by my name being yelled out. Apparently the judge had called my name several times, but I had not heard her because I was busy fixing the mess the guard had made of my writing materials. I stood up, but had no idea what to do next. She called my name several more times, before finally telling me that I was supposed to come up front and sit in a chair in front of all of those people. Up front, I was asked to repeat a bunch of words, but now came my first really big problem . . . I was being asked to open my mouth and speak, something I had not done in years, and I was being asked to do it in a room filled with 40 or 50 people. This was not my first time in court. When I was 14 I was the only living witness to the murder trail of my 5 friends killed on August 21, 1991. It was court that had stopped me talking before. I spent day after day after day of interigation, back at my friend’s murder trail. When the murder trail ended, I went home and was never able to speak to a stranger again. Now, here I was again 14 years later in court. The judge asked me again and again to repeat the words of the police officer who was standing in front of me. I did. I tried, I said the words, again and again, but though my mouth moved not a sound came from my lips. It was like me throat was strangling them and refusing to let the words escape. The judge finally accepted a nod of yes and told me to sit down. Than came the questions from the 2 men sitting at the tables in front of the judge. They had to ask and re-ask their questions several times, but I could not hear their words, all I could do was stare out at all of those faces, rows and rows of them sitting in the seats below. I think I answered some of their questions because the judge kept telling me I had to speak loud enough for the tape recorder to hear me, and finally she said she had had “enough of this circus”. She than turned to me and told me to look at her. I looked at her hands. She repeatly demanded I look at her. Than she started yelling and saying that I was a grown woman acting like a child, she started yelling at me about my inappropriate cloths, my refusal to answer questions, my refusal to comply with orders, and my arrogance at not making eye contact. My cloths again. What was wrong with my cloths? She dismissed me as a witness, but told me not to leave the court, but to go wait at the front window. While I was sitting on the bench waiting, several men and women, I assume to be lawyers based on the fact that they were wearing suits and carrying brief cases and were in a court house, stopped to talk to me about my cloths. Most asked if I had been on my way to a party or a Ren faire when I had come to court. A few elderly women hobbled over to me and started talking about how nice it was to see people dressing up again like when they were young. Someone asked if I was a “dead head”. Dozens of people walked past me ever few minutes going in or out of one of the three court rooms, and nearly every one of them, made a point to stop and ask me about my cloths. With each question, I was growing ever more puzzled about this obsession every one seemed to have with walking up to me and talking about my cloths. About three hours later the woman at the front window called my name and handed me a paper. It was a court order to see a psychologist, with a slip of paper saying that the State of Maine was going to pay for one 3 hour appointment. As I turned to leave, the woman commented that she liked my costume. I was wearing a Josephine Empire gown of wedge wood blue, with a 3 foot long train. Over which I wore a 7 yard blue velvet burnoose (a type of hooded cape). A few weeks later at the psychologist’s office, I was greeted with: “So you are Wendy. Why are you dressed like that?”. (I was wearing a full kimono — many layers of kimono). He told me he had been reading my case (What case? I have a case? Since when?) sent to him by the judge. He commented several more times about my cloths. Asked if he could see the contents of my tote bag, and than spent the rest of the time asking me about my drawings and writings and how I lived my life. During the course of the meeting he commented several times on my “bizarre accent” and use of old style language, which he said was seen only in rare cases of twins left to be raised by themselves. He called it “twin-language”. He said he had read cases of it, but that he had never witnessed it himself before. He found my childhood and 27 year isolation at the hands of people he called “cultists” fascinating, and believed my total lack of prior Human contact was the cause of my “inability to function”. He thought it may be possible that I could be “trained like a dog” so that I could learn how to “be normal”, as he believed it was possible that I did not actually have a disorder at all, but rather I simply was living just the same as I was as a 4 year old child simply because no adult had ever taught me to be otherwise. By the end of the meeting he had become very excited and was acting like he had just discovered the Lost City of Eldorado or something. He ended by writing up a paper which he said was a request to the State for funding to do a research study on me, saying that I was an “anomaly” which he could not properly diagnose, because I was displaying so many symptoms of so many disorders. Officially I have “Schizotypal Asperger’s Syndrome with OCD Tendancies”, however, he thinks I have something that he calls “an anomolly yet to be named”, as he says there is no deffinate text book disorder to describe me properly. I left his office that day very confused, and for the first time in my life, noticing what people around me were wearing and noticing that it was very different from what I was wearing. I was also, now realizing for the first time, that people look into your eyes when they talk to each other. I was also realizing that people on the street around his office seemed to be doing a lot of standing around (wasting their time) and talking to each other. It has only been 4 years since that meeting, and I still am having a very hard time processing the fact that people talk a lot, people look at each other a lot, and people . . . well, you people just plain dress really weird as far as I can see. I have not again heard back from the psychologist, however, both my mother and my father have gotten letters from him, and each of them, and my mom’s current husband, and my three brothers were called in to be “evaluated” by him to see if the whole family was like me, or if I was the only one in the family who was like this. I don’t know who else he contacted, but I suspect he was the one who sent the social worker to “the tent” a year later, after the flood and the fire left me homeless and living under a tarp. All this, because I wouldn’t look a judge in the eye? I remain confused over why the judge responded the way she did to me, and I remain equally confused as to why the psychologist responded the way he did to me. It was my first real contact with any one outside of the Mormon church and I found it very strange. But, as a result of the judge and the psychologist, I also found out that outside of the Mormon church, people do not believe in demon possession, and unlike the Mormon leaders who always said I acted the way I did because I was possessed by a demon, an evil spirit, or a poltergeist, I had now learned from the psychologist that what they had called evil spirits was really some sort of birth defect in my brain, which causes me to see the world on a different brain wave pattern than every one else, resulting in me acting, dressing, and otherwise responding differently to things than does every one else. Well, I must say his medical diagnosis certainly made much more logical sense to me than the religious leaders’ accusation of demon possession. And now that I know the church leaders were wrong when they called me demon possessed, I no longer feel quite so much like an outcast, unloved, and alone. I’ve since looked into this whole Asperger’s thing, and I must say, it’s kind of a sigh of relief, because now I know what is “wrong” with me, and now, I can figure out how to work my life around it. Copyright Info: The contents of this post, are taken from the second draft of the book “For Fear of Little Men” by Wendy C. Allen, and reprinted here with permission. This article was originally published in October 2008 under the title Living With Asperger’s Syndrome is copyright to Wendy C. Allen and The Twighlight Manor Press, and is reprinted here with permission. __________________________ ========== My Advice for Writers My Books

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Script Frenzy RE: Helpful Info on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?

Posted March 1, 2010 – 20:08	Helpful Info on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?
	One of the major plot points of my show revolves around one of the characters having Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Here’s the problem, I don’t know much about it. I’m going to make this short and sweet as opposed to droning on and on over the issue: Does anyone have some helpful information on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?

EelKat Municipal Liaison Posted March 31, 2010 – 06:55

RE: Helpful Info on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?

I have PSTD to the point that I also have agoraphobia and have not been able to leave my house or have face to face contact with humans. Oddly in the past 20+ years the only time I’ve been able to either leave my house or have contact with humans is for the local Write-In meetings for NaNo and SF. When I was 14years old, my best friend was murdered along with 4 other friends. (five in all) I was the only survivor of a violent bloody attack, which left my friends with their arms and legs cut off their bodies, their intestines ripped out, and 2 of them living on for a few days before actually dieing. The court trials went on for 6 months. Because the murderer was caught in the act of slaughtering my friends, and because their was one survivor/witness of the attack (me), the trail went fast and she was executed that same year. I spent 6 months being questioned and interrogated by police and judges and lawyers, who didn’t give a damn about what I was going through, all they wanted was the facts so they could take another life (I was against her execution). This event left me without a single friend – every one of them was killed during this event. In the 20 years since I have not been able to make a single new friend. The event was made worse by the fact that when I went to church, I was meet with adults who didn’t give a damn. Several of them shook hands with me and said “How are you doing”… I responded with “My best friend was murdered this week” to which they responded “Oh that’s nice, I had a great week too” and walked off to shake hands with the next person. There were 375 adults in our church, dozens of them repeated this same thing that Sunday. Not one of them heard what I said. I went into a major stress overload during the court trials. By the time it was over I had stopped talking. I’ve barely spoken a full sentence since than. I took up writing full-time after that. I would get up in the morning, go out to my garden and start writing until night time. Every day, for the next 20+ years, without ever saying a word. Over the years, local rumors have spread, saying that I was a demon possessed witch who puts curses on people. It appeared that I was getting better by 2001, when I was about to be married, but than I had a miscarriage, he called off the wedding, and than in 2003 the demon possession rumors took a violent turn when one hysterical local started saying I had used witchcraft to kill someone. This rumor got out of hand in during the infamous and well documented NaNoWriMo 2006, the year I dropped out due to vandals burning my house to the ground, resulting in my becoming homeless and very famous at the same time. Many news reports, paparazzi hounding’s, and 2 published books later, the stress proved to be too much for me and I suffered a stress induced stroke in October 2009. There is also some debate as to wither I have PTSD or Autism or both. And because it might help your research, I’m going to copy part of an article I wrote, you can read the entire thing here:http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/2807682/living_with_aspergers_s… the entire article is 25 pages long and may take a couple of hours to read, and it is itself and excerpt from a 557 page book which can be found here: http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/for-fear-of-little-men/6508479 if you are really into the research and want to know all the details of everything that happened throughout this entire event, you’ll want to read the book itself. Any ways, one of the noted aspects of PTSD is the panic attacks and meltdowns that are triggered by the person coming in contact with anything that reminds them of the stressful event. 14 years, almost to the day, after the murder trail that stopped me talking, I found myself in court once again, and the result was a massive meltdown that got me sent, by the judge, to a psychologist, where it was discovered that what people had been calling PTSD, may have actually been in fact, Autism instead. Here is the part I’m copying (I was 30 years old at the time of this event): Don’t you know it’s rude to stare? Not a question asked to me, but a question I ask in response to people demanding I look at them when they talk.Eye contact. Why do I need to be looking at you to hear what you are saying? I hear with my ears not my eyes. Why do I need to look at you to talk to you? I talk with my mouth not my eyes.My lack of eye contact, my inability to speak around strangers, and my cloths, resulted in leading to my finding out I had Asperger’s, when in 2005 I was summoned into court as a witness to some case which I had no idea why they were saying I was a witness too. I’ll recap:A year before the fire or the flood which left my homeless, a man walked up to me, handed me a paper, told me I had been served and I had to show up in court to testify. I found this to be very confusing and puzzling because I didn’t know anything about this so call case that I was supposedly a witness too. I tried to explain this to the man, but I’m not good with verbal explanations. He told me that it didn’t matter wither I thought I was a witness or not, it was a court order and if I didn’t show up at court later that week, I would go to jail.Very puzzled, and very reluctant, I went to court on the date in question and found it to be one of the most nerve wracking frustrating days of my entire life. First off I had to be searched by a guard, who took my tote bag and dumped it out. (I carry my writing paper, my art supplies, and comic books with me every where . . . it’s a really big tote bag. Next I was questioned about my cloths; this being one of my very first confrontations with the world outside of church, I was completely lost as to understand why I was being asked about my cloths. What was wrong with the way I was dressed?My things were stuffed untidily and messed up back into my tote bag and I was told to sit on the right side of the court room. I sat in the very last pew and spent about an hour, resorting my crayons, comics and papers back into their proper order. I was interrupted while doing this, by my name being yelled out. Apparently the judge had called my name several times, but I had not heard her because I was busy fixing the mess the guard had made of my writing materials. I stood up, but had no idea what to do next. She called my name several more times, before finally telling me that I was supposed to come up front and sit in a chair in front of all of those people.Up front, I was asked to repeat a bunch of words, but now came my first really big problem . . . I was being asked to open my mouth and speak, something I had not done in years, and I was being asked to do it in a room filled with 40 or 50 people. This was not my first time in court. When I was 14 I was the only living witness to the murder trail of my 5 friends killed on August 21, 1991. It was court that had stopped me talking before. I spent day after day after day of interigation, back at my friend’s murder trail. When the murder trail ended, I went home and was never able to speak to a stranger again. Now, here I was again 14 years later in court. The judge asked me again and again to repeat the words of the police officer who was standing in front of me. I did. I tried, I said the words, again and again, but though my mouth moved not a sound came from my lips. It was like me throat was strangling them and refusing to let the words escape. The judge finally accepted a nod of yes and told me to sit down.Than came the questions from the 2 men sitting at the tables in front of the judge. They had to ask and re-ask their questions several times, but I could not hear their words, all I could do was stare out at all of those faces, rows and rows of them sitting in the seats below. I think I answered some of their questions because the judge kept telling me I had to speak loud enough for the tape recorder to hear me, and finally she said she had had “enough of this circus”. She than turned to me and told me to look at her. I looked at her hands. She repeatly demanded I look at her. Than she started yelling and saying that I was a grown woman acting like a child, she started yelling at me about my inappropriate cloths, my refusal to answer questions, my refusal to comply with orders, and my arrogance at not making eye contact. My cloths again. What was wrong with my cloths? She dismissed me as a witness, but told me not to leave the court, but to go wait at the front window.While I was sitting on the bench waiting, several men and women, I assume to be lawyers based on the fact that they were wearing suits and carrying brief cases and were in a court house, stopped to talk to me about my cloths. Most asked if I had been on my way to a party or a Ren faire when I had come to court. A few elderly women hobbled over to me and started talking about how nice it was to see people dressing up again like when they were young. Someone asked if I was a “dead head”. Dozens of people walked past me ever few minutes going in or out of one of the three court rooms, and nearly every one of them, made a point to stop and ask me about my cloths. With each question, I was growing ever more puzzled about this obsession every one seemed to have with walking up to me and talking about my cloths.About three hours later the woman at the front window called my name and handed me a paper. It was a court order to see a psychologist, with a slip of paper saying that the State of Maine was going to pay for one 3 hour appointment. As I turned to leave, the woman commented that she liked my costume.I was wearing a Josephine Empire gown of wedge wood blue, with a 3 foot long train. Over which I wore a 7 yard blue velvet burnoose (a type of hooded cape).A few weeks later at the psychologist’s office, I was greeted with: “So you are Wendy. Why are you dressed like that?”. (I was wearing a full kimono — many layers of kimono). He told me he had been reading my case (What case? I have a case? Since when?) sent to him by the judge. He commented several more times about my cloths. Asked if he could see the contents of my tote bag, and than spent the rest of the time asking me about my drawings and writings and how I lived my life. During the course of the meeting he commented several times on my “bizarre accent” and use of old style language, which he said was seen only in rare cases of twins left to be raised by themselves. He called it “twin-language”. He said he had read cases of it, but that he had never witnessed it himself before. He found my childhood and 27 year isolation at the hands of people he called “cultists” fascinating, and believed my total lack of prior Human contact was the cause of my “inability to function”. He thought it may be possible that I could be “trained like a dog” so that I could learn how to “be normal”, as he believed it was possible that I did not actually have a disorder at all, but rather I simply was living just the same as I was as a 4 year old child simply because no adult had ever taught me to be otherwise. By the end of the meeting he had become very excited and was acting like he had just discovered the Lost City of Eldorado or something.He ended by writing up a paper which he said was a request to the State for funding to do a research study on me, saying that I was an “anomaly” which he could not properly diagnose, because I was displaying so many symptoms of so many disorders. Officially I have “Schizotypal Asperger’s Syndrome with OCD Tendancies”, however, he thinks I have something that he calls “an anomolly yet to be named”, as he says there is no deffinate text book disorder to describe me properly.I left his office that day very confused, and for the first time in my life, noticing what people around me were wearing and noticing that it was very different from what I was wearing. I was also, now realizing for the first time, that people look into your eyes when they talk to each other. I was also realizing that people on the street around his office seemed to be doing a lot of standing around (wasting their time) and talking to each other. It has only been 4 years since that meeting, and I still am having a very hard time processing the fact that people talk a lot, people look at each other a lot, and people . . . well, you people just plain dress really weird as far as I can see.I have not again heard back from the psychologist, however, both my mother and my father have gotten letters from him, and each of them, and my mom’s current husband, and my three brothers were called in to be “evaluated” by him to see if the whole family was like me, or if I was the only one in the family who was like this. I don’t know who else he contacted, but I suspect he was the one who sent the social worker to “the tent” a year later, after the flood and the fire left me homeless and living under a tarp.All this, because I wouldn’t look a judge in the eye? I remain confused over why the judge responded the way she did to me, and I remain equally confused as to why the psychologist responded the way he did to me. It was my first real contact with any one outside of the Mormon church and I found it very strange. But, as a result of the judge and the psychologist, I also found out that outside of the Mormon church, people do not believe in demon possession, and unlike the Mormon leaders who always said I acted the way I did because I was possessed by a demon, an evil spirit, or a poltergeist, I had now learned from the psychologist that what they had called evil spirits was really some sort of birth defect in my brain, which causes me to see the world on a different brain wave pattern than every one else, resulting in me acting, dressing, and otherwise responding differently to things than does every one else. Well, I must say his medical diagnosis certainly made much more logical sense to me than the religious leaders’ accusation of demon possession.And now that I know the church leaders were wrong when they called me demon possessed, I no longer feel quite so much like an outcast, unloved, and alone. I’ve since looked into this whole Asperger’s thing, and I must say, it’s kind of a sigh of relief, because now I know what is “wrong” with me, and now, I can figure out how to work my life around it.Copyright Info: The contents of this post, are taken from the second draft of the book “For Fear of Little Men” by Wendy C. Allen, and reprinted here with permission. This article was originally published in October 2008 under the title Living With Asperger’s Syndrome is copyright to Wendy C. Allen and The Twighlight Manor Press, and is reprinted here with permission. __________________________ ========== My Advice for Writers My Books

http://twitter.com/EelKat
http://www.facebook.com/EelKat
http://eknano.blogspot.com
http://eelkat.wordpress.com
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http://www.scriptfrenzy.org/user/132659

>Script Frenzy RE: Helpful Info on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?

>

Posted March 1, 2010 – 20:08	Helpful Info on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?
	One of the major plot points of my show revolves around one of the characters having Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Here’s the problem, I don’t know much about it. I’m going to make this short and sweet as opposed to droning on and on over the issue: Does anyone have some helpful information on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?

EelKat Municipal Liaison Posted March 31, 2010 – 06:55

RE: Helpful Info on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?

I have PSTD to the point that I also have agoraphobia and have not been able to leave my house or have face to face contact with humans. Oddly in the past 20+ years the only time I’ve been able to either leave my house or have contact with humans is for the local Write-In meetings for NaNo and SF. When I was 14years old, my best friend was murdered along with 4 other friends. (five in all) I was the only survivor of a violent bloody attack, which left my friends with their arms and legs cut off their bodies, their intestines ripped out, and 2 of them living on for a few days before actually dieing. The court trials went on for 6 months. Because the murderer was caught in the act of slaughtering my friends, and because their was one survivor/witness of the attack (me), the trail went fast and she was executed that same year. I spent 6 months being questioned and interrogated by police and judges and lawyers, who didn’t give a damn about what I was going through, all they wanted was the facts so they could take another life (I was against her execution). This event left me without a single friend – every one of them was killed during this event. In the 20 years since I have not been able to make a single new friend. The event was made worse by the fact that when I went to church, I was meet with adults who didn’t give a damn. Several of them shook hands with me and said “How are you doing”… I responded with “My best friend was murdered this week” to which they responded “Oh that’s nice, I had a great week too” and walked off to shake hands with the next person. There were 375 adults in our church, dozens of them repeated this same thing that Sunday. Not one of them heard what I said. I went into a major stress overload during the court trials. By the time it was over I had stopped talking. I’ve barely spoken a full sentence since than. I took up writing full-time after that. I would get up in the morning, go out to my garden and start writing until night time. Every day, for the next 20+ years, without ever saying a word. Over the years, local rumors have spread, saying that I was a demon possessed witch who puts curses on people. It appeared that I was getting better by 2001, when I was about to be married, but than I had a miscarriage, he called off the wedding, and than in 2003 the demon possession rumors took a violent turn when one hysterical local started saying I had used witchcraft to kill someone. This rumor got out of hand in during the infamous and well documented NaNoWriMo 2006, the year I dropped out due to vandals burning my house to the ground, resulting in my becoming homeless and very famous at the same time. Many news reports, paparazzi hounding’s, and 2 published books later, the stress proved to be too much for me and I suffered a stress induced stroke in October 2009. There is also some debate as to wither I have PTSD or Autism or both. And because it might help your research, I’m going to copy part of an article I wrote, you can read the entire thing here:http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/2807682/living_with_aspergers_s… the entire article is 25 pages long and may take a couple of hours to read, and it is itself and excerpt from a 557 page book which can be found here: http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/for-fear-of-little-men/6508479 if you are really into the research and want to know all the details of everything that happened throughout this entire event, you’ll want to read the book itself. Any ways, one of the noted aspects of PTSD is the panic attacks and meltdowns that are triggered by the person coming in contact with anything that reminds them of the stressful event. 14 years, almost to the day, after the murder trail that stopped me talking, I found myself in court once again, and the result was a massive meltdown that got me sent, by the judge, to a psychologist, where it was discovered that what people had been calling PTSD, may have actually been in fact, Autism instead. Here is the part I’m copying (I was 30 years old at the time of this event): Don’t you know it’s rude to stare? Not a question asked to me, but a question I ask in response to people demanding I look at them when they talk.Eye contact. Why do I need to be looking at you to hear what you are saying? I hear with my ears not my eyes. Why do I need to look at you to talk to you? I talk with my mouth not my eyes.My lack of eye contact, my inability to speak around strangers, and my cloths, resulted in leading to my finding out I had Asperger’s, when in 2005 I was summoned into court as a witness to some case which I had no idea why they were saying I was a witness too. I’ll recap:A year before the fire or the flood which left my homeless, a man walked up to me, handed me a paper, told me I had been served and I had to show up in court to testify. I found this to be very confusing and puzzling because I didn’t know anything about this so call case that I was supposedly a witness too. I tried to explain this to the man, but I’m not good with verbal explanations. He told me that it didn’t matter wither I thought I was a witness or not, it was a court order and if I didn’t show up at court later that week, I would go to jail.Very puzzled, and very reluctant, I went to court on the date in question and found it to be one of the most nerve wracking frustrating days of my entire life. First off I had to be searched by a guard, who took my tote bag and dumped it out. (I carry my writing paper, my art supplies, and comic books with me every where . . . it’s a really big tote bag. Next I was questioned about my cloths; this being one of my very first confrontations with the world outside of church, I was completely lost as to understand why I was being asked about my cloths. What was wrong with the way I was dressed?My things were stuffed untidily and messed up back into my tote bag and I was told to sit on the right side of the court room. I sat in the very last pew and spent about an hour, resorting my crayons, comics and papers back into their proper order. I was interrupted while doing this, by my name being yelled out. Apparently the judge had called my name several times, but I had not heard her because I was busy fixing the mess the guard had made of my writing materials. I stood up, but had no idea what to do next. She called my name several more times, before finally telling me that I was supposed to come up front and sit in a chair in front of all of those people.Up front, I was asked to repeat a bunch of words, but now came my first really big problem . . . I was being asked to open my mouth and speak, something I had not done in years, and I was being asked to do it in a room filled with 40 or 50 people. This was not my first time in court. When I was 14 I was the only living witness to the murder trail of my 5 friends killed on August 21, 1991. It was court that had stopped me talking before. I spent day after day after day of interigation, back at my friend’s murder trail. When the murder trail ended, I went home and was never able to speak to a stranger again. Now, here I was again 14 years later in court. The judge asked me again and again to repeat the words of the police officer who was standing in front of me. I did. I tried, I said the words, again and again, but though my mouth moved not a sound came from my lips. It was like me throat was strangling them and refusing to let the words escape. The judge finally accepted a nod of yes and told me to sit down.Than came the questions from the 2 men sitting at the tables in front of the judge. They had to ask and re-ask their questions several times, but I could not hear their words, all I could do was stare out at all of those faces, rows and rows of them sitting in the seats below. I think I answered some of their questions because the judge kept telling me I had to speak loud enough for the tape recorder to hear me, and finally she said she had had “enough of this circus”. She than turned to me and told me to look at her. I looked at her hands. She repeatly demanded I look at her. Than she started yelling and saying that I was a grown woman acting like a child, she started yelling at me about my inappropriate cloths, my refusal to answer questions, my refusal to comply with orders, and my arrogance at not making eye contact. My cloths again. What was wrong with my cloths? She dismissed me as a witness, but told me not to leave the court, but to go wait at the front window.While I was sitting on the bench waiting, several men and women, I assume to be lawyers based on the fact that they were wearing suits and carrying brief cases and were in a court house, stopped to talk to me about my cloths. Most asked if I had been on my way to a party or a Ren faire when I had come to court. A few elderly women hobbled over to me and started talking about how nice it was to see people dressing up again like when they were young. Someone asked if I was a “dead head”. Dozens of people walked past me ever few minutes going in or out of one of the three court rooms, and nearly every one of them, made a point to stop and ask me about my cloths. With each question, I was growing ever more puzzled about this obsession every one seemed to have with walking up to me and talking about my cloths.About three hours later the woman at the front window called my name and handed me a paper. It was a court order to see a psychologist, with a slip of paper saying that the State of Maine was going to pay for one 3 hour appointment. As I turned to leave, the woman commented that she liked my costume.I was wearing a Josephine Empire gown of wedge wood blue, with a 3 foot long train. Over which I wore a 7 yard blue velvet burnoose (a type of hooded cape).A few weeks later at the psychologist’s office, I was greeted with: “So you are Wendy. Why are you dressed like that?”. (I was wearing a full kimono — many layers of kimono). He told me he had been reading my case (What case? I have a case? Since when?) sent to him by the judge. He commented several more times about my cloths. Asked if he could see the contents of my tote bag, and than spent the rest of the time asking me about my drawings and writings and how I lived my life. During the course of the meeting he commented several times on my “bizarre accent” and use of old style language, which he said was seen only in rare cases of twins left to be raised by themselves. He called it “twin-language”. He said he had read cases of it, but that he had never witnessed it himself before. He found my childhood and 27 year isolation at the hands of people he called “cultists” fascinating, and believed my total lack of prior Human contact was the cause of my “inability to function”. He thought it may be possible that I could be “trained like a dog” so that I could learn how to “be normal”, as he believed it was possible that I did not actually have a disorder at all, but rather I simply was living just the same as I was as a 4 year old child simply because no adult had ever taught me to be otherwise. By the end of the meeting he had become very excited and was acting like he had just discovered the Lost City of Eldorado or something.He ended by writing up a paper which he said was a request to the State for funding to do a research study on me, saying that I was an “anomaly” which he could not properly diagnose, because I was displaying so many symptoms of so many disorders. Officially I have “Schizotypal Asperger’s Syndrome with OCD Tendancies”, however, he thinks I have something that he calls “an anomolly yet to be named”, as he says there is no deffinate text book disorder to describe me properly.I left his office that day very confused, and for the first time in my life, noticing what people around me were wearing and noticing that it was very different from what I was wearing. I was also, now realizing for the first time, that people look into your eyes when they talk to each other. I was also realizing that people on the street around his office seemed to be doing a lot of standing around (wasting their time) and talking to each other. It has only been 4 years since that meeting, and I still am having a very hard time processing the fact that people talk a lot, people look at each other a lot, and people . . . well, you people just plain dress really weird as far as I can see.I have not again heard back from the psychologist, however, both my mother and my father have gotten letters from him, and each of them, and my mom’s current husband, and my three brothers were called in to be “evaluated” by him to see if the whole family was like me, or if I was the only one in the family who was like this. I don’t know who else he contacted, but I suspect he was the one who sent the social worker to “the tent” a year later, after the flood and the fire left me homeless and living under a tarp.All this, because I wouldn’t look a judge in the eye? I remain confused over why the judge responded the way she did to me, and I remain equally confused as to why the psychologist responded the way he did to me. It was my first real contact with any one outside of the Mormon church and I found it very strange. But, as a result of the judge and the psychologist, I also found out that outside of the Mormon church, people do not believe in demon possession, and unlike the Mormon leaders who always said I acted the way I did because I was possessed by a demon, an evil spirit, or a poltergeist, I had now learned from the psychologist that what they had called evil spirits was really some sort of birth defect in my brain, which causes me to see the world on a different brain wave pattern than every one else, resulting in me acting, dressing, and otherwise responding differently to things than does every one else. Well, I must say his medical diagnosis certainly made much more logical sense to me than the religious leaders’ accusation of demon possession.And now that I know the church leaders were wrong when they called me demon possessed, I no longer feel quite so much like an outcast, unloved, and alone. I’ve since looked into this whole Asperger’s thing, and I must say, it’s kind of a sigh of relief, because now I know what is “wrong” with me, and now, I can figure out how to work my life around it.Copyright Info: The contents of this post, are taken from the second draft of the book “For Fear of Little Men” by Wendy C. Allen, and reprinted here with permission. This article was originally published in October 2008 under the title Living With Asperger’s Syndrome is copyright to Wendy C. Allen and The Twighlight Manor Press, and is reprinted here with permission. __________________________ ========== My Advice for Writers My Books

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I think I have found the answer to why local church members and leaders call me a witch and set fire to my home.

I think I have found an answer to the vandalism, arsine, drive by shootings, witchcraft accusations, and other lesser forms of harassment that have happened at the hands of local church members these past 9 years: ***People often grudge others what they cannot enjoy themselves. -Aesop ***

In other words, my lifestyle is something they want and can not have, thus in their frustration they try to take it from me, and yet, in everything they have done, they have not, nor can not succeed. Why?

Because I unlike them live my life. I do the things I want to do, when I want to do them, how I want to do them. I am not controlled by a job or a church.

I think they feel trapped by their jobs, and trapped by their church. If they want to drop every thing and spend 10 hours on the beach, they do not have the freedom to do so, like I do.

If they want to wear 15th century ball gowns or fairy princess costumes to run to the grocery store, they can not do so, because they fear ridicule by their peers.

They have huge debts: house, cars, credit cards, bills for frivolous things. I own no man any thing.

When they burned down my house, the last thing they expected was for me to take to living under a tarp and continue on doing things no different than before. The lost of a house would have destified them, thus they thought it would me. But their fault was thinking that I care about material possessions – like they do.

I live what one woman once called: “the life of a wild and free feral child”, which she than added: “I wish I had your freedom”.

And that is what is boils down to: I have the freedom to do absolutely anything that pops into my head, something they do not have, something they want, but fear to pursue, because they are too blinded by the risks of my lifestyle to see the benefits of it. Because they can not have the freedom I have, they made (and continue to make) many attempts to take that from me. And yet they continue to fail. Why?

I will tell you why. I live my life to the letter, by Jesus’ words: To be the lily of the field. Not familiar with it? Look it up. Want to see a modern day translation of that? Watch the movie: You Can’t Take It With You.

If you have ever read Jesus’ words or watched the movie: “You Can’t Take It With You”, than you will know what I mean when I say this:

I am a lily.

Waiting for Emmett to come.

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RE to IM on FaceBook – more detailed info about what started the witch accusations and harasment

(ADDED NOTE: I’m a third generation LDS/Saint/Mormon; this answer went to a “new” fellow member who was asking what happened to inspire my previous post, this was my answer:)

I got 3 windows each with 50 tabs open, and speakers on my computer zoned out a while back, so I don’t get the “beep” from FB anymore and even though FB still says I’m online, but I already moved to a different site. It’s sort of hard to keep track of me online, I zip back and forth so much. I was on Zazzle, not FB, so I didn’t see the messages til just now. Sorry.

Nope, didn’t know about the AS group. I’m still sort of new to getting out of the house, it’s kind of hard to get used to doing. I pretty much only ever leave to go to the writer’s meetings (NaNoWriMo and Screnzy) and to buy cat food and grain.

The guy that was yelling at me is from the Sanford ward. (It was yesterday). He’s the same one that was accusing me of writing “deframitory” letters to tons of people in the Sanford Ward, though he’s yet to be able to prove that any of those letters actually exist. So I don’t know if there really are letters I supposedly wrote or if that’s just some rumor. He’s sort of weird. I’m used to him showing up every once in a while. Bishop LR got after him about it a while back, and he stopped, but Sanford just changed bishops, so, I don’t know, I guess he thinks he can try it again. Anyways my mom emails him, (I guess she emails every body, because I’ve had to change my email 34 times as a result of her emailing people who than email me in a rage over whatever it is she has said at that moment.) and that’s usually what sets him off.

My mom showed up at the yard today, with the same accusations – witchcraft, proof being my lack of shoes. I don’t where she comes up with this from, but I guess seeing how she’s saying the same stuff the next day, that she’s the one who got him saying it. (He’s got mental problems and tends to repeat whatever he hears some one else say, so I’m not too worried about him, because I know he’s just parroting some thing he heard some one else say. It’s the person he’s repeating that bothers me.) But yeah, seeing how my mom showed up with the exact same accusation, I guess she’s the one who said it to him to begin with. After he accused me of the letters in Sanford, my mom showed up a few hours later that same day accusing me of letters in Saco, so I’m not sure what to think there. I’d still like to see one of these letters, because last time letters like that showed up, well, the only time letters like that showed up, and I actually saw one, it turned out that it was written by one of my mom’s brothers, not me, like every one thought. It’s the only time a letter ever actually came forward though, so I don’t believe the poison pen letter accusations half the time, because it’s so rare that they can ever provide proof that the letters they accuse me of writing, are even real at all.

I guess, it’s always my mom that gets people all wound up, at least from what I’m finding out these past few months. I know from what Bishop K said that it was my mom complaining to him, because he was quoting stuff, word for word the way my mom says them – demon possession, spell casting, curses, me being a witch. I’m just so sick of it. It hurts when people call me a witch or say I’m demon possessed, but than I’ve got Autism so they think I don’t have any feelings to hurt. I just never can understand how folks can believe her. The whole believing that demons and witches are real, is just something I can’t get my mind around. It’s so illogical. I can not understand how my mom or her brothers or Bishop M or Bishop K can believe in those things.

Of course, I don’t understand how come every time a new Bishop or Stake Pres comes in, I have to be retried all over again. Double Jeopardy is illegal in the USA. The first time I got called in for “apostasy”, “witch craft”, “demon possession” and consideration for excommunication was when I was just 12 years old. That was Bishop Re and Stake Pres S. Bishop Re is the one who got released after having a mental breakdown. Stake Pres. S said there was no ground to excommunicate me than, because I was neither witch nor demon possessed nor apostate.

Than Bishop Ri called me in about 2 years later, said complaints of demon possession and witchcraft had been made again, but that he was no going to do anything about it, because he did not believe the complaint.

Bishop M replaced him, and at the same time Stake Pres E took over for S and it stated all over again. That time Bishop M brought in doctors from Pine Land Center, he claimed I was not only a demon possessed witch, but that I was schizophrenic as well. He tried several times to have me excommunicated between the ages of 14 through 17, each time he didn’t get any where with it.

Bishop B wanted to have all 264 of us (me and my relatives) excommunicated and is the one who told me “white trash like you and the rest of the Atwater clan don’t belong in this church”. That happened 13 years ago and was why I stopped going to the Cape Elizabeth Ward.

Cape E Ward broke off and became the Portland and Saco Wards instead, but by that time I had started going to the Sanford Ward.

That was when the vandalism started in. At first it was just rock throwing and stuff, but than the dead animals and photos of guns started showing up. In 2003 the drive by paint ball shootings started. They messed up my horse really bad, tore out half of her face and cut out both her eyes. It got so bad that the OOB police stationed a motorcycle cop to patrol Portland Ave. That’s when I stopped going to the Sanford Ward, because the police offices said they had evidence that it was people from church behind the vandalism. They had a list of suspects, all of them were from one of 5 different churches – 3 of the churches being the Saco, Portland, and Sanford LDS Wards. That’s when the reports and paparazzi got involved, one of the officers contacted the state police and one of them called ABC. We had reporters and photographers all over our land for about 3 months. That’s when my agoraphobia set it. Between the vandals killing my pets and the paint ballers and the reporters asking me questions and the police constantly warning us about who to avoid – I just freaked out big time. I couldn’t handle it.

Between 2001 and 2004 we had court dates on an almost weekly basis. I went to the early ones, but as the reporters and such got more involved, I stopped going to them. The later court dates from 2003 – 2005 I did not attend, except for one in summer of 2005, when I had a total meltdown in the court and the judge sent me to a psychiatrist. That’s when I found out I had Autism (Shizotypal Aspergers with OCD tendencies).

After the court stuff ended, my mom got something like $20K in the settlement, that’s when the vandalism went out of hand and our house got burned down.

Next thing we know, DHS is at the tent and telling us about an FBI investigation into OOB town manager, and that there were about 40 families on Portland Ave and Walnut Str that were involved, most every one of them had lost their homes, nearly all of them had been driven out of town, they couldn’t handle the stress. It was DHS that told us about Thomas and the other folks from the Saco Ward being investigated because some $3million had been embezzled out of town funds. That’s how I found out that the town manager and the town council were all members of the Saco Ward. OOB had to get rid of every one working in the town hall, and I had to deal with gov workers asking me questions left and right, only I didn’t know anything about all that stuff so finally they stopped coming over. I never did understand all that stuff with the DHS and the FBI and the town manager. No one ever gave us much information, they just wanted to know what we knew about it. In any case, finding that stuff out, freaked me out even more, because the guy they were investigating was a high priest in the Saco ward and the OOB town manager. They had records of how he’d been run out of 4 states already and he was constantly going from state to state to evade them. Finding that out, just scared the hell out of me and after that, I just stopped trusting every one.

I mean, you think you can trust a high priest right? You think you can trust your town manager right? But than the police and DHS tell us that these people we thought we could trust were the ones behind all the violence and death, and it just shatters your ability to trust any one after that. Now I don’t know who I can trust any more. But than, when all this was going on, normally I would have turned to the church for help, but I don’t any more because every time I do, the members and leaders start calling me a witch and telling me I’ve no right to be in church. I still don’t understand why people call me a witch.

I know several complaints happen because of the whole color thing. I see these glowing colors around people, which I thought every one saw. I didn’t realize until my late teens that other folks did not see them, or that it freaked people out when I talked about seeing them. But the whole me being a witch and casting spells and curses comes from that, because there were several times when I told people *that person* is about to die, and than within a few hours to a few days they did. People freaked out and said I made those people die, but what happened was, your color leaves and dissapers before your die, and if I see someone with no color, I know they’ll die soon. I was only 5 or 6 years old when I used to say those things, so the accusations of witchcraft and curses started early. That’s how the rumor got started at least. But that’s Autism, not witchcraft, so I don’t see how they can use that to call me a witch.

Than of course my encounter with whatever it is that Etiole is, is what started the accusations of me being demon possessed. I may not know what it is that Etiole is, but I do know what he is not, and he most certainly is not a demon. I assume you must know about Etiole, since it seems like every one does, but if not, I wrote all about him here: http://www.squidoo.com/amphibious-aliens so many folks kept asking me for more info about him, that I finally just wrote it down and now instead of reanswering everyone I just direct them to that link. It’s easier. And, again, though not many folks have ever seen Etiole, a few have, and they were not witches any more than I am, so I don’t see how my contact with him could make me a witch or demon possessed. Ben’s thoughts on the matter are that people who call Etiole a demon are silly, because (according to Ben) Etiole is an alien, some sort of Gray Hybrid or some such thing. (When Ben is not being a high priest, he spends his time being a ufologist.) I’m not sure what to think of Ben’s whole alien/alien abduction theory, but at least it makes more logical sense than the demon possession theory my mom’s always preaching. Personally, I’ve always thought of Etiole as a Faerie, which I say to mean a natural all be it rare, cryptiod creature, not some supernatural being or an extraterrestrial.

My mom’s constant accusations that first my Dodge and now my Volvo, are possessed by demons, baffles me. I have no explanation for her reasoning, other than I guess she is suggesting that Etiole somehow possesses them. I don’t know. I think the accusation that my cars have demons is the least logical and most confusing of any of the accusations to date.

A few years ago, in about 2005, I decided to look into this whole witch thing, to try to find out why folks kept saying I was a witch, but after talking to several wiccan-witches, they all told me the same thing – that there was no way in hell I was a witch because I was so much of a “super Christian Jesus freak”. Last spring some folks online said they thought I was more of an old fashioned Christian, the type like followed Jesus when he was still alive, and that today they are called ChristoPagans, which are neither witches nor what modern tradition calls Christian. I don’t know. I can’t figure any of it out. Christian call me a witch and witches call me a Jesus Freak, neither accept me as an equal. But still, after looking into the whole witch/wicca thing, I still can’t figure out why folks keep calling me a witch, and neither could any of the witches I talked to. They said the witch accusation was most likely based on my mode of dress. They thought it was most likely that folks look at my clothes and assume I’m a witch because of the things I wear.

But I don’t understand that either. You see, my grandmother was an Indian. She was a Kickapoo and lived much of her life in Hawaii. Because of her culture she wore muu-muu and kimono and long robes and stuff. She didn’t want her culture to die, like most native cultures had, but she couldn’t remember most of her native heritage, but her clothe connected her to her ancestors, it was the only part of her culture she had ever been taught (she was an orphan, in a time when Indians were still “red skin savages” so a lot of her culture history was lost.). As an adult she traveled around the world looking for information about her family history. That’s why she spent a lot of time in Hawiaii and Japan. I spent most of my childhood with her, because my mom was always in the hospital, and so, I grew up wearing muu-muus and kimono and robes and stuff, because that’s the way our native culture dressed. When she died in 1994, I inherited everything, including her collection of antique Hawaiian muu-muus and Japanese Kimono, which is what I have worn ever since I inherited them. The way I dress has nothing to do with religion and everything to do with my Native American culture, so I don’t understand why people look at the way I dress and call me a witch because of my cloths.

So, I mean, I can see where they are basing the witch accusations from (the Autism, Etiole, and my clothes), but I just can’t understand how they can actually believe such nonsense as to think I am a witch, because none of those things makes me a witch on their own, and even all three together can’t classify me as a witch either.

Bishop K did a lot of complaining about my cloths the day he called me to his office. I tried to explain about my grandmother, but my ability to speak coherently is not good. I’ve always had trouble making words come out of my mouth properly and that’s why I write things down instead. He kept saying I was a witch and putting spells on church members, and than he’d comment about my cloths.

The witch accusation upset me. I’ve gone through this every time a new bishop comes in. I don’t know who it is that runs to every bishop complaining about me and calling me a witch, but this has happened with 16 bishops and 3 stake presidents now. Every time I get told I’m a demon possessed witch casting spells and curses. Every time it’s eventually found out the accusations are false. Every time the monthly, sometimes weekly meetings with the bishop and stake pres drag on for 6 or 7 months. Double Jeopardy is illegal in the USA. You can’t retry some one for a crime they were already tried for and proven innocent. And yet, here we go again, with bishop number 16 and stake pres number 3. That’s double jeopardy 16 times! Why? I’ve already been dragged before 15 different counsels, each time with the same accusation of apostasy and witchcraft and excommunication threats. Sixteen times since I was 12 years old! Each time has 6 or 7 meetings. WHY? Why do I have to go through this every time a new bishop or a new stake pres comes into the ward?

Do you have any idea how stressful this is? And people keep asking me why I don’t come back to church? Why should I? What incentive is there for me to attend meetings at church, when I won’t get the chance to attend half of meetings because I’m too busy being called into the bishop’s office where I get accused of being a witch? Most of the meetings took place on Sunday, they’s take me right out of Primary or Young Woman’s classes. I missed more than half of my Sunday meetings because I had to sit in the bishop’s office every Sunday being told I was some evil apostate witch. How can they expect me to want to go to church when I’m not allowed to attend the meetings when I do come in?

I used to go to whatever ward Ben was attending, but I’ve been with him since I was 12, (he’s 30 years older than me) which in the Cape Elez Ward no one cared much about that, a few folks complained, but not many and no one did anything about it. In the Sanford Ward though, one of the members was a DHS social worker, and some how she found out about how old I was when I started going out with Ben, and even though I was 27 by the time she found out about it, she raised hell for him, she wanted him to be put in prison and tried to get me to press charges against him, she really went overboard about it and he got into a lot of trouble and he almost got excommunicated over it, and now he’s terrified to be seen in church with me.

I don’t know why she flipped out like that, because I was 27 years old at the time, yeah I was 12, but well, if she had ever read the church handbook, the church puts 12 years old as the legal marriage age, so, whatever. Anyways, Ben is just terrified out of his mind over the whole ordeal and that’s why he called off the wedding a few weeks before the wedding date. (He has huge phobia problems, and the DHS threats made them worse.) A lot of folks in the Sanford Ward threatened to never speak to him again if we got married, so now he hides the fact that we are together. We were supposed to get married in the temple, but they would not allow it. They took Ben’s temple recommend away and said I was not allowed to have on on grounds of “mental incompetency”. Some folks called me a “grave digger” and others called me a “gold digger” and others said I was with Ben because I wanted to be “a lovely young widow”. Uhm . . . at the time Ben had A LOT of money. His dad is one of the wealthiest men in Kennebunk Port. I did not know all of that at the time though, because I had never meet Ben’s dad and Ben had never once in those first 15 years ever mentioned his job or money. I had no idea he had all that money, not until folks in the Sanford Ward started saying those things to me. Their words hurt me more than anything else ever could. Of course, since than, Ben has lost all that money, and well, I proved them wrong because all these years later, I’m still with him.

But that’s why I stopped going to the Sanford Ward. The whole freak out over the 30 year age difference was a really big issue for people there, though I still don’t understand why. That happened 7 years ago and I had hoped that they had calmed down some about our huge age difference. I went back to Sanford once this last summer, and well, let’s just say I was most diffenatly not welcomed there. I was there all of 10 minutes before Ben had to rush me out of the building and we left. Ben didn’t dare go back to church for a few weeks after that, so I haven’t tried going back to Sanford since. It’s really upsetting that people can hate me like that, just because I’m 30 years younger than Ben. It’s the one thing of all of everything, that has bothered me more than anything else. I want so desperately to attend church with Ben again, but I’m not allowed to, people just go nuts when they see us together. That upsets me more than the witch accusations from the Cape Elizabeth and Saco Wards do.

So, I just don’t go to church at all any more, as you can see, for a lot of reasons. The witch and demon accusations I could ignore. I sort of grew up with them, and while they hurt my feelings and stress me out, I’ve sort of gotten used to them. I try to ignore them. It’s the accusations involving me and Ben and our age difference, that upsets me most of all. I find it very hard to ignore these, because they effect our relationship. They stress Ben and, he just does not deal with stress well at all. He freaks out and goes into hiding and doesn’t dare to contact anyone, not even me – uhm, yeah, he has all sorts of alien abduction fears and stuff, and rambles on ufo stuff all the time, and whenever any one freaks him out, he just goes super paranoid, and the whole deal with folks freaking out over our age difference sort of freaked him out worse than most other stuff does, and seeing him get all upset over it, made me even more upset than I already was over it. So all in all, that hurts my feelings and upsets me more than the witch accusations do. And, well, if they are not going to let me attend church with Ben anymore, and over such a stupid reason just because he’s 30 years older than me, than really, I’ve lost all desire to go to church at all now, because I have a hard time seeing how Jesus would think well of a church that breaks up families, the way folks there are trying to break up me and Ben. Me an Ben have been together for 22 years. We meet in church. Church was such a big thing for us. We attending every meeting – the morning meetings the evening meetings (the church stopped doing the double meetings in the mid 1980′s) and all the week day meetings. We used to come do the landscaping, and cleaning the building, and repairing the roof, and decorating for youth dances, etc. For years we spent an average of 12 to 15 hours a week in church. That was in Cape Elizabeth, before they consolidated the Cape Elizabeth and Portland Wards.

The Cape Elizabeth Ward does not exist any more, it got folded into the Portland Ward in about 1995-ish, the same time the Cornish Ward broke off of it. Most of the folks I knew ended up in the Cornish Ward. Than Saco Broke off of Portland a few years later. I don’t know any body in the Portland and Saco Wards today, it’s all new folks now. And that’s what really gets me – I mean, how do people there even know who I am? I asked Johnny that, and he said it’s because me mom is constantly talking about me. According to Johnny, my mom is “obsessed with you” he said. He added “you should hear her at Wayne’s house, she talks about you all day long”. I asked Ben, if he knew anything about that, because, I rarely ever see my mom – like months and months and months go by, between seeing her. Ben told me that she emails him almost daily, and than he forwarded her emails to me – I was stunned! Every one of them was her talking about me and how “evil” I was. She used the words “evil” and “nasty” over and over again to describe me and spent a lot of time talking about my Twighlight Manor books. I found that fact interesting, considering she has yet to read one of my TM books and half the stuff she said I had written in them was not true. Oh well.

I’ve since found out that she has been emailing copies of these same emails to several of my uncles and, some one named “Corbet”, Johnny said that that is some woman from church. Don’t know, never heard of her, so I don’t know why my mom would be saying all that stuff to her. (I found out, because when Ben forwarded the emails to me, all the email addresses my mom had sent the email too was in the box). I don’t know. I just don’t understand it.

I just realized how long this got. Uhm. Yeah, I guess I’ve been writing for the last 2 hours. Whoops. Sorry about that. I guess I should go before I end up writing a whole book here. =P

Well, that’s weird. I just noticed that FB pulled up the link to my Squidoo lens. Didn’t know it did that. Well, there’s a picture of Etiole there. LOL! I spend most of my time on Squidoo and Zazzle and Zanga so I so rarely use IMs, emails, or messages, I’m not too sure how they work I’m afraid. I guess it pulled up the link, like on the status box, because I typed it a ways back. Whatever.

Waiting for Emmett to come.

http://twitter.com/EelKat
http://www.facebook.com/EelKat
http://eknano.blogspot.com
http://eelkat.wordpress.com
http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/user/132659
http://www.scriptfrenzy.org/user/132659

PLEASE . . . . somebody, anybody. . . . PLEASE HELP ME!

They just now, just called again. Again demanding that I come into the the bishop’s office at the church tonight, again demanding that I meet with the Stake President. And again it has triggered a mass panic attack. It’s happening again. JUST LIKE BEFORE. I can’t stop shaking. My chest hurts and my lungs hurt. My hands are shaking so bad I can barely type this. It’s like before. Only, I’m shaking a lot worse, it’s so bad my glasses keep falling off. I can’t stop shaking. I can’t breath.

It’s like before, like a panic attack, only really, really, really bad. Why won’t they leave me alone. I need them to leave me alone. Please make them leave me alone. I don’t know if I can live through many more of these stroke like attacks. I have one every time they call. Please make them stop calling me. Tell them to leave me a lone. Please help me. I can’t stop shaking. My whole body is skaking all over I don’t know what to do.

Please call the church at 607-9517 or 207-666-3481 and tell them to leave me alone (I find the 666 in their # ironic) Ask for Robert Taylor. He is the counselor in charge of handling phone calls to the Stake Presadent of the Augusta Maine Stake.

You can read more about this 31 year on going harassment at the following links:

Excommunication for publishing my 2008 NaNoWriMo Book – Update

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HELP! Any doctors out there? Medical advice?

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Health UPDATE – Stroke caused by panic attack triggered by LDS Church excommunication threats :(

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Still Planning on Doing NaNoWriMo this year in spite of recent health issues

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Eleven Days Til NaNoWriMo and Stroke Update

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For Those interested- here is the Final (edited and spell checked) Draft of For Fear of Little Men, my 2008 NaNoWriMo book

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My Aliens vs Your Demons – Yep – If I’m Crazy, What Are You???????

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The Poison Pen Letters Return – AGAIN

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Excommunication – 2008 NaNoWriMo book banned – Update – My Inbox if overloading – a mass reply going here

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REPOST: For Fear of Little Men: First Draft of my autobiography book to be published in 2010+/-

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Note – I have not been to the LDS/Mormon church in 13 years, and yet, they continue to harass me on an almost daily basis.

In 2004 I started writing “Faith Not Religion”, my infamous 900 page rant on why I left the Mormon church. It was during the two years where I just sat there doing nothing but writing that book that I finally realized for the first time in my life that I WASN’T evil, like so many bishop kept telling me! I wasn’t demon possessed, like so many bishop kept telling me . What I was, was a victim of 27 years of mental and emotional abuse at the hands of a bunch of crazy tyrants. While writing “Faith Not Religion” I learned quite a bit about myself. Among them I learned:

I’m tired of being told I’m a witch.
I’m tired of being told I’m evil.
I’m tired of being told I do the things I do because I’m possessed by a demon.
I’m tired of being told I’m going to hell.
I’m tired of being told I’m inferior because I’m a lowly female.
I’m tired of being told not to talk because that’s reserved for men.
I’m just plain tired of BEING TOLD.
Every one talks to me, no one ever talks with me.
I want freedom from BEING TOLD.
I wish, that there was someone who would actually treat me like I was a person. Like I was important. Like I mattered.
I’m tired of being harassed by these people.
I’m tired of it.
Putting up with the abuse all those years was killing me.
Them killing my pets was an evil act.
Them paintballing my car was an evil act.
Them throwing rocks at and blinding my horse, was an evil act.
Them burning my drawings in the woodstove was and evil act.
Them burning my manuscripts in the wood stove was an evil act.
Them saying I was evil was an evil act.
They were the ones who were evil, not me.
Not being allowed to get a job because I was a female, was an evil thing for them to do to me.
Them smashing my Liberace` records was an evil act.
Them stealing parts off of my car and leaving it in ruins was an evil act.
Them setting fire to my home and leaving me homeless was an evil act.

Please put an end to this before they cause my death. I don’t think I can live through another stroke. PLEASE HELP ME!. Please call the church at 607-9517 or 207-666-3481 and tell them to leave me alone (I find the 666 in their # ironic) Ask for Robert Taylor. He is the counselor in charge of handling phone calls to the Stake Presadent of the Augusta Maine Stake. Please. call him. PLEASE! Why won’t they leave me alone. I need them to leave me alone. Please make them leave me alone. I don’t know if I can live through many more of these stroke like attacks. I have one every time they call. Please make them stop calling me. Tell them to leave me a lone. Please help me. I can’t stop shaking. My whole body is shaking all over I don’t know what to do. Please some one help me.

Waiting for Emmett to come.

http://twitter.com/EelKat
http://www.facebook.com/EelKat
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Plagiarism Update: Sent Report To WordPress

Plagiarism Update: Sent Report To WordPress

I have just sent a report on this evil thief’s activities to WordPress. I urge anyone with the sewing related WordPress blog to look at the thief’s blog and see if your posts are being stolen. If they are, please send a report to WordPress as well. If there is a way to identify this plager and send them to jail, let me know, because I will pursue that course of action. As an author I take plagiarism very seriously, and so should you. Well, at least they chose the right name for their blog: Scum Bag Clothing. I can’t think of anything that makes a person more of a scumbag than being a thief.

Here is a copy of the letter I sent to WordPress:

Posts off of more than 30 different WordPress blogs (all sewing topics) are being copied and posted word for word, picture for picture, on someone else’s blog!

I use CopyScape on my posts, and CopyScape notified me that my posts were being copied and distributed on someone else’s blog without my permission, so I went to their blog to check and CopyScape was right. They copied everything, word for word, picture for picture… even the CopyScape plagiarizing warning gif!

Because they are copying posts off of my sewing blog, so I started checking all the other posts on their blog, and they’ve plagiarized every single post on their blog, by stealing posts and pictures off of other people’s blogs! I’ve only checked the posts for Jun so far, but so far I’ve counted over 30 different WordPress blogs from which they are stealing posts and hotlinking images from!

Here is their blog link:

http://www.scumbagclothing.com/category/dressmaking/

I don’t know how to stop them. I’ve been trying to find a way to notify their blog host, but so far have not had any luck. If you know of a way to stop them from stealing the posts off of our blogs, please let me know, cause I don’t like them claiming that they wrote the articles I wrote. They are even displaying my drawings on their blog and claiming they drew them!

Sorry for the rant, but I thought you’d want to know that they’ve been stealing posts and passing them off as theirs.

This is so frustrating. I put so much work into writing my articles and drawing my artwork, and I know other folks do as well. It’d be one thing if they were linking back to our blogs with a review or something, but they are claiming that they wrote all of these posts and drew all of the art and took all of the photos themselves!

Is there a law enforcement agency I can contact about this? I was told that the FBI had an identity theft division that handles online predators that steal other peoples identities. Should I contact the FBI about this? I mean who ever is running this blog is claiming to be me, by saying they wrote those articles, so that’s identity theft as far as I can tell.

What should I do?

Is there anything that you can do about it, since they are stealing posts off of WordPress blogs?

Why are some people so mean?

Why are some people so mean?

Actually, I think sleep has a lot to do with it. Think about it, a mother has to get up at 6 to cook breakfast, get the kids up and dressed, drive them to school, make sure husband is up in time to get to work, get ready for work, drive to work, deal with fellow workers and costumers. Slave at work so long that the kids are forced to get a ride or take the bus home, so she misses out on hearing the news of the day (which by the time she gets home the kids have told someone else so see no need to tell her).

Than when she does get home her husband expects her to wash the laundry, vacuum the floors, pick up his work cloths which he threw on the floor because he was in a hurry to turn on the tv and watch some stupid game while getting drunk, than complains if it’s past 6 o’clock and she hasn’t cooked supper yet. Than his parents drop by at 9 o’clock and refuse to leave, she doesn’t get to bed till midnight, and she had no time to rest no time to take a break, and she’s barely asleep before the alarm goes off and the day starts all over again. She’s tired, she lacks sleep, she’s irritated, she’s aching, and she’s ready to snap at the drop of a pin.

Well, that’s just one scenario, but you get the idea, right?

People live hectic busy lives, and have no time for rest and relaxation anymore, and I think that if you go too long in the same old stressed out situations over and over again, with out ever having any time to just stop and rest, you end up getting mean and rude, with out even realizing it.

Of course there are lots of other reasons too, but I think this is the most common one.

What’s your take on this? I’d love to hear what you have to say about this post. Leave a comment and share your views!

. . .

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If you liked reading this blog and want to read more stuff written by me, I have lots of websites, where you can read other things I write, here are a few of the ones I like the best:
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.

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Why are some people so mean?

Why are some people so mean?

Actually, I think sleep has a lot to do with it. Think about it, a mother has to get up at 6 to cook breakfast, get the kids up and dressed, drive them to school, make sure husband is up in time to get to work, get ready for work, drive to work, deal with fellow workers and costumers. Slave at work so long that the kids are forced to get a ride or take the bus home, so she misses out on hearing the news of the day (which by the time she gets home the kids have told someone else so see no need to tell her).

Than when she does get home her husband expects her to wash the laundry, vacuum the floors, pick up his work cloths which he threw on the floor because he was in a hurry to turn on the tv and watch some stupid game while getting drunk, than complains if it’s past 6 o’clock and she hasn’t cooked supper yet. Than his parents drop by at 9 o’clock and refuse to leave, she doesn’t get to bed till midnight, and she had no time to rest no time to take a break, and she’s barely asleep before the alarm goes off and the day starts all over again. She’s tired, she lacks sleep, she’s irritated, she’s aching, and she’s ready to snap at the drop of a pin.

Well, that’s just one scenario, but you get the idea, right?

People live hectic busy lives, and have no time for rest and relaxation anymore, and I think that if you go too long in the same old stressed out situations over and over again, with out ever having any time to just stop and rest, you end up getting mean and rude, with out even realizing it.

Of course there are lots of other reasons too, but I think this is the most common one.

What’s your take on this? I’d love to hear what you have to say about this post. Leave a comment and share your views!

. . .

————-
If you liked reading this blog and want to read more stuff written by me, I have lots of websites, where you can read other things I write, here are a few of the ones I like the best:
.
.

.

<!–
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Why are some people so mean?

Why are some people so mean?

Actually, I think sleep has a lot to do with it. Think about it, a mother has to get up at 6 to cook breakfast, get the kids up and dressed, drive them to school, make sure husband is up in time to get to work, get ready for work, drive to work, deal with fellow workers and costumers. Slave at work so long that the kids are forced to get a ride or take the bus home, so she misses out on hearing the news of the day (which by the time she gets home the kids have told someone else so see no need to tell her).

Than when she does get home her husband expects her to wash the laundry, vacuum the floors, pick up his work cloths which he threw on the floor because he was in a hurry to turn on the tv and watch some stupid game while getting drunk, than complains if it’s past 6 o’clock and she hasn’t cooked supper yet. Than his parents drop by at 9 o’clock and refuse to leave, she doesn’t get to bed till midnight, and she had no time to rest no time to take a break, and she’s barely asleep before the alarm goes off and the day starts all over again. She’s tired, she lacks sleep, she’s irritated, she’s aching, and she’s ready to snap at the drop of a pin.

Well, that’s just one scenario, but you get the idea, right?

People live hectic busy lives, and have no time for rest and relaxation anymore, and I think that if you go too long in the same old stressed out situations over and over again, with out ever having any time to just stop and rest, you end up getting mean and rude, with out even realizing it.

Of course there are lots of other reasons too, but I think this is the most common one.

What’s your take on this? I’d love to hear what you have to say about this post. Leave a comment and share your views!

If you liked this post, than you might like what I say on my other blog too!

Want to read more? Check out my Squidoo Lenses:

Need To Publish Your First Novel?
Ekography: EelKats Lensography
What Can You Do With Squidoo?
Save the Goldeneagle
Copper Cockeral
EKs Link Exchange Headquarters
Creating Character Profiles
How to Start a Publishing Company
Create Your Own Writers Retreat
Need to Kill Writer’s Block? Kill a Character.
Narration for Writers
Doctor Who Gift & Video Showcase
NaNoWriMo: Reaching 50,000 useing EelKats 13 Step method
Conventional Writing Advice that Didnt Work for Her (or Me Either!)…
Why Was My Manuscript Rejected?
What if you could give a lie detector test to..
Etiole Swanzen
Harlequin books seeks real men for covers
EelKats Birthday Party Lensography
What do you look for in a book?
Accepting Your Writing Style
Whats On Your Toilet?

All donations to Star Log go to The Pidgie Fund. The Pidgie Fund buys food for pets in Southern Maine.

This Post copyright Wendy C. Allen 2007. EelKat

Why are some people so mean?

Why are some people so mean?

Actually, I think sleep has a lot to do with it. Think about it, a mother has to get up at 6 to cook breakfast, get the kids up and dressed, drive them to school, make sure husband is up in time to get to work, get ready for work, drive to work, deal with fellow workers and costumers. Slave at work so long that the kids are forced to get a ride or take the bus home, so she misses out on hearing the news of the day (which by the time she gets home the kids have told someone else so see no need to tell her).

Than when she does get home her husband expects her to wash the laundry, vacuum the floors, pick up his work cloths which he threw on the floor because he was in a hurry to turn on the tv and watch some stupid game while getting drunk, than complains if it’s past 6 o’clock and she hasn’t cooked supper yet. Than his parents drop by at 9 o’clock and refuse to leave, she doesn’t get to bed till midnight, and she had no time to rest no time to take a break, and she’s barely asleep before the alarm goes off and the day starts all over again. She’s tired, she lacks sleep, she’s irritated, she’s aching, and she’s ready to snap at the drop of a pin.

Well, that’s just one scenario, but you get the idea, right?

People live hectic busy lives, and have no time for rest and relaxation anymore, and I think that if you go too long in the same old stressed out situations over and over again, with out ever having any time to just stop and rest, you end up getting mean and rude, with out even realizing it.

Of course there are lots of other reasons too, but I think this is the most common one.

What’s your take on this? I’d love to hear what you have to say about this post. Leave a comment and share your views!

If you liked this post, than you might like what I say on my other blog too!

Want to read more? Check out my Squidoo Lenses:

Need To Publish Your First Novel?
Ekography: EelKats Lensography
What Can You Do With Squidoo?
Save the Goldeneagle
Copper Cockeral
EKs Link Exchange Headquarters
Creating Character Profiles
How to Start a Publishing Company
Create Your Own Writers Retreat
Need to Kill Writer’s Block? Kill a Character.
Narration for Writers
Doctor Who Gift & Video Showcase
NaNoWriMo: Reaching 50,000 useing EelKats 13 Step method
Conventional Writing Advice that Didnt Work for Her (or Me Either!)…
Why Was My Manuscript Rejected?
What if you could give a lie detector test to..
Etiole Swanzen
Harlequin books seeks real men for covers
EelKats Birthday Party Lensography
What do you look for in a book?
Accepting Your Writing Style
Whats On Your Toilet?

All donations to Star Log go to The Pidgie Fund. The Pidgie Fund buys food for pets in Southern Maine.

This Post copyright Wendy C. Allen 2007. EelKat

Why are some people so mean?

Why are some people so mean?

Actually, I think sleep has a lot to do with it. Think about it, a mother has to get up at 6 to cook breakfast, get the kids up and dressed, drive them to school, make sure husband is up in time to get to work, get ready for work, drive to work, deal with fellow workers and costumers. Slave at work so long that the kids are forced to get a ride or take the bus home, so she misses out on hearing the news of the day (which by the time she gets home the kids have told someone else so see no need to tell her).

Than when she does get home her husband expects her to wash the laundry, vacuum the floors, pick up his work cloths which he threw on the floor because he was in a hurry to turn on the tv and watch some stupid game while getting drunk, than complains if it’s past 6 o’clock and she hasn’t cooked supper yet. Than his parents drop by at 9 o’clock and refuse to leave, she doesn’t get to bed till midnight, and she had no time to rest no time to take a break, and she’s barely asleep before the alarm goes off and the day starts all over again. She’s tired, she lacks sleep, she’s irritated, she’s aching, and she’s ready to snap at the drop of a pin.

Well, that’s just one scenario, but you get the idea, right?

People live hectic busy lives, and have no time for rest and relaxation anymore, and I think that if you go too long in the same old stressed out situations over and over again, with out ever having any time to just stop and rest, you end up getting mean and rude, with out even realizing it.

Of course there are lots of other reasons too, but I think this is the most common one.

What’s your take on this? I’d love to hear what you have to say about this post. Leave a comment and share your views!

If you liked this post, than you might like what I say on my other blog too!

Want to read more? Check out my Squidoo Lenses:

Need To Publish Your First Novel?
Ekography: EelKats Lensography
What Can You Do With Squidoo?
Save the Goldeneagle
Copper Cockeral
EKs Link Exchange Headquarters
Creating Character Profiles
How to Start a Publishing Company
Create Your Own Writers Retreat
Need to Kill Writer’s Block? Kill a Character.
Narration for Writers
Doctor Who Gift & Video Showcase
NaNoWriMo: Reaching 50,000 useing EelKats 13 Step method
Conventional Writing Advice that Didnt Work for Her (or Me Either!)…
Why Was My Manuscript Rejected?
What if you could give a lie detector test to..
Etiole Swanzen
Harlequin books seeks real men for covers
EelKats Birthday Party Lensography
What do you look for in a book?
Accepting Your Writing Style
Whats On Your Toilet?

All donations to Star Log go to The Pidgie Fund. The Pidgie Fund buys food for pets in Southern Maine.

This Post copyright Wendy C. Allen 2007. EelKat