After being once again told to leave another abandoned building, the old RiteAid store, I headed back down to the abandoned porch passing an old abandoned Kentucky Fried Chicken place. I figured the Sheriffs and State Police were called by my childhood old friend that I now knew had been stalking me since we were kids. I was sad and angry, how could her nephew, a cop, pretend not to know me and treat me in the degrading way he had been since this started. Other than the wedding of my ex-husband's cousin, I hadn't seen her or her sister since we were kids. She didn't speak at the wedding, but I had wished her sister condolences about the passing of their mother before all this started. I was not going to do the same for the recent passing of their father. He and his son had also been a part of this group that hung out on the Southside with my cousin.
Staying on the porch again proved to be another awful experience, the pounding, digging and debris were making it hard to breathe and after my food seemed tainted and I got sick, the guys were making rude comments in the morning. "Time to wake up," they would snicker and laugh. At first, I ignored it, but as the pounding became deliberate and the wisecracks became more obnoxious, I knew I wasn't safe again on the porch while the construction of the new Stewarts went on. This was on top of the recent threats by one of my ex-husband's friends at McDonald's, then there was the ongoing harassment by various men now making rape threats—it was all too much once again.
I missed my pigeons and the one male seemed sad. I wondered if the female had been killed, feathers were strewn by the place where one of them had made threats, but I had hoped he wouldn't go that far, but after the rape threats, I knew it was possible. I was learning that animal cruelty and abuse coincide with violent people. My heart broke leaving him, he had been such a friend the past 4 months I was forced to stay on the porch trying to find out about my home that my vicious BIL was selling. I was amazed by these birds that were peaceful, friendly, and beautiful. People often had nothing good to say about pigeons, but I had fallen in love with their coming and goings and felt so bad about leaving them. They were pretty birds with a calm way of being and I was enjoying their routines and I wanted to know more about them. I had started looking online at videos and other material about them. I was hooked on my new friends, but once again had to say goodbye.
I yelled some obscenities and told the men working I was not their "pet on a porch!" I felt invisible to the people here. I had been Peacefully Protesting for all these months and nothing was offered except a room in one of the run-down poor neighborhoods that I was told were mostly crackhouses. I knew from taking pictures recently and growing up in some of them that most were unsafe and just more scams. I knew now this was all part of the plan—welfare once again, only this time it was "SSI." I was given a list of "rooms," in these neighborhoods by Social Services that all turned out to be run down, unsafe places to live. My 1/2 sister had rented on one of the streets and it was an awful building with abandoned houses and women from the Jail had told me how it was there—mostly all prostitution and crack.
"She's incompetent, but is clean and can cook for herself," I heard my mother tell various slumlords I was forced to rent from. I sat in shock after she would do this and I would then be violently evicted. One Special needs man that rented upstairs from me at one of the apartments on Green Street would stand outside my door and constantly chant how I would be evicted by Vassi, the Real estate agent that owned the building and was a friend of my ex from the gym. It had been a nightmare there of threats, violence, and abuse. He passed by one day as I was sitting on the abandoned porch and I asked him how he could do such a thing and he said "it wasn't him," this is what they all do when you confront them. He was a big man and walked with a sort of hunch—I knew it was him. It was the same with the woman upstairs that did the same with him. The two of them were constantly abusive. Both had left and Vassi had said she had rented from him before, so I knew this was part of the game. Men would go in and out of her apartment, but they would claim I was the prostitute because I had to walk and carry a duffel bag, which was ridiculous. They called the cops repeatedly and alledged I was "drunk and disorderly."
"You have to go to SSI," the Sargeant roared at me, glaring at me and refusing to explain anything more. I had been sleeping in my car and each time I went to the police station for court after being arrested I was told I had "to go to Social Servies!" I had no idea why I would have to go there. I had just learned my ex-husband wanted a divorce on one of the arrest reports, one of the few I got when they first violently arrested me. I was forced on the street with no place to go and told I couldn't go back to where we were living on Crane Street helping my ex's Aunt transition to a Nursing Home. We were supposed to have the house, but now I was told we had to wait for 5yrs.
Once again I was being denied having my name put on properties I had worked on. I had worked tirelessly on her home remolding and cleaning. I wanted to return to my home on Evelyn Street. I walked to a nearby park sobbing when my old childhood girlfriends from Academy Street nephew who was now a cop, but I had no idea showed up. I had been sobbing with no place to go and someone called the police. He was contemptuous and told me to go to a hotel, dropping a hundred-dollar bill in my lap after my ex pulled up with my car. I sobbed uncontrollably looking in the backseat at my pretty pink thongs muddy and dirty wrapped around my old dirty gardening shoes along with old clothes I used to wear outside to garden. My ex apparently had thrown some things in a plastic bag for me. I felt degraded and humiliated as this cop who pretended not to know me told me to think of it as a "vacation at the hotel," I thought how sick that was. They had once again taken my dog, Bentley.
I burst into tears as Bentley my dog wasn't allowed into the Social Services office. I had gotten him back after being allowed to move back into Evelyn Street only to be repeatedly arrested and taken to St. Mary's hospital for "psych evaluations." I was now being constantly accused of being a "mentally ill tenant," another absurd accusation I thought was a horrible mistake only to learn it was all part of the real estate scam of our properties. I looked at the massive questionnaire and sobbed. How could I fill this out? The divorce hadn't even started and I knew there were many stocks, bonds, and IRS's that I didn't have information on. I knew if I filled it out without all this correct info I could get arrested for welfare fraud. I gave the application back to the young woman explaining what was going on. I completed some of it and told her I could not fill out the financials and left sobbing.
He had been the same Sargeant that assured me I had car insurance when I called repeatedly because our insurance agent had threatened to have me arrested when I called him to get a copy of the policy we had. He had been our agent 20yrs of our marriage. I had no idea I had been removed from the policy when I was trying to get a place to live after I was then also violently removed from Evelyn Street, all before the divorce even started. He had followed me down to the office after I was then forced to sleep in my car, which was then taken shortly after on Green Street, the place I rented from Vassi.
I sat thinking about him in front of the old abandoned Kentucky Friend Chicken place I stopped to rest at. I had once again been forced to Social Services to fill out another application. I had also filled one out in Gloversville, NY when Sheriffs laughed after removing me from my mother's and telling me they "help homeless people there." They did nothing for me, but lie and say I never showed up for the phone interview. The interview was done on the day I went there and I was treated with contempt by the woman who told me to wait in the parking lot and she would call me. "It's a nice day," she said. I looked over across the empty parking lot at the billboard that was about Child Trafficking and was angry this is what these people were once again doing to not only me but other vulnerable children. I was determined to find out what was going on and felt a renewed sense of hope.
I was denied any help in Gloversville NY being told on the phone that I would have to spend the IRA that I had for my retirement. I knew I couldn't do that at my age, the penalty was too much and what would I have for retirement now with my 2-family home gone. I explained to the woman it wasn't all about money, I had given by that time over $2,000 to various landlords to rent apartments amounting to over $15,000, but I was violently evicted from all of them! Plus the ongoing money now to pay for the Super 8 hotel room. Well, she said, "we don't just have a list of landlords," for people like you, she sneered—you have money! Rental income from my 2-family was supposed to be for retirement, but I was still struggling to understand why I was forced on the street by City Court with no Divorce Attorney. I ended up with the IRA for retirement in the settlement the AdLitem signed when I wasn't there, explaining I had no transportation or place to live, but the vicious Judge told me I was now in "contempt!"
This was now 7yrs later and I was being told once again I had to go to Social Services!—I felt invisible. The sheriffs at RiteAid played the same game they all played. "I just came on the shift, I have no idea who you are or what is going on with you!" I sat dumbfounded once again. Social Services don't just give people money. It made no sense to me that I had assets that were all denied me with all these false allegations about my being "crazy," but now I was finally being able to put it together. This had all been planned a long time ago. I looked at the State Police and wondered why they were also now involved in this horrible deception. Everyone was now pretending I was mentally ill and incompetent and here was the State Police going along with all of this. I headed out to the highway and made a video, leaving the RiteAid abandoned store on Route 30 determined again to find out why I was invisible.
"You'd be disappeared," if you owed the Lanzi's money! Our plumber and my ex were talking in ear-shot as they were looking at our sink upstairs in his Aunt's home that was a secret apartment they told stories of maids she got from Poland living up there. There were also stories of a cousin "Clemmy" that was an alcoholic they locked up there and would only give him one drink. I sat in horror thinking how unconscionable that would be for an alcoholic with DT's, especially since his Aunt's husband at the time drank all the time and so did my ex-husband. Clemmy had written something over the door when I went there initially to clean and make my Art studio up there. They told me demons were there now that I had removed this chalk writing, but I knew they were just scaring me. I saw Clemmy's things up there. Aunt Irene had a pile for many people and I saved all of these old mementos. One was a clipping I found of my ex-husband's father that had been in a high-speed chase with cops and shot at them. They used to brag he drove alcohol for prohibition. He never did much, drove a cab occasionally, but seemed nice to me at times before he died around the time of our wedding. The house was haunted, but it was ghosts related to criminal activity and not the satanism they wanted me to believe. Odd things were happening all the time, but it was from the ongoing gaslighting that had become more and more sinister.
The sink had been clogged, the filters seemed not to be replaced and my dog at the time "Casey," was having problems. I sensed it had to do with the water, his Aunt never drank the water and I was drinking it less, but still giving Casey the water. Casey ended up having a massive tumor in his stomach. I saw the ugly putrid mass in the drainpipe after only a few months and sat in horror thinking this is what Casey had been drinking as our plumber pulled out all the gobs of hair and debris in it. I had not really used this sink upstairs and when I did it wasn't clogged, but after a few months, it was totally clogged. Casey could barely walk and go to the bathroom, but my ex raged it had "nothing to do with the filters in the house not being changed!" I had to put Casey downed after being told it was a mass that got really big really fast—cancer. He was only 5yrs old. I had made repeated attempts to get him money for the vet bills that my ex refused to help me with. I had to sell my motorcycle and was living on that to pay bills as his abuse escalated telling me more frequently that "nothing is yours" and I "would be put on the street!"
I didn't owe the Lanzi's or anyone else money and our plumber had by this time got a "lifetime order of protection," after having me arrested. He also had been telling me at that time when he said the drain was clogged that my 1/2 brother had so much money now he didn't know what to do with it all. I thought how strange their conversations were now. I had always kept him in mind whenever we had plumbing problems, he had been a friend of my 1/2 brothers since we were teenagers, things were getting weirder and weirder as he told me that my ex was actually a Racist. "That's not true," I told him, my voice shaking as I started to tremble, but recently he had turned on FOX news, which we never watched, and had remarked, "that's how it's going!" It had been a segment about "Poor people" and the way they were being treated. I said well maybe for some, but not for me. I had compassion after growing up Poor and could not believe how cold he had become, but it was all foreshadowing of what he really was and had been all along behind my back with everyone else.
There was nothing left after I threw the last of my belongings in a pile and left the abandoned porch. My home, career, business, new car, dog, savings, credit, my life—all gone. I had been "disappeared!" I sat horribly thinking sitting on the step of the abandoned Kentucky Fried Chicken. My identity was now that of a "mentally ill crackwhore," they all said.
"They're in the Mafia," neighbors said at my Lakehouse. They never invited me, but right before all this started and I was violently thrown out of there at 8pm one night after being told I was just a whore, I had been invited over to hear friends of theirs play guitar. I nervously laughed and asked my ex thinking it was just something people talked about in regards to successful people. He stayed quiet as he usually did whenever I asked point-blank questions and was becoming more and more sinister around this time, but I had thought it was related to his eye surgeries and all the drops and medications he was on. He was also drinking non-stop calling himself the "Master player!" I thought he might have dementia. He had often gotten my sympathy by saying he could be blind like his mother from the Glaucoma.
I had no clue about the Mafia, the Mob, or any Organized Crime, but was increasingly uncomfortable with the subtle threats that were starting to accumulate around me as people were becoming bolder with what was going on. Threats and comments about Trump and other Civil War stories were also being hurled at me. One neighbor on Evelyn Street told me I could do "laundry in her basement," and had been talking about all the servants her family had. I had never been invited into her home in all the years of my marriage and when I finally was I was in awe of how filthy it was. She had been attacking other neighbors also, the guy's dog and his playing music next door to me. The house had at one time burned and I was glad to have him there, but they seemed to prefer vacant houses. They did a lot of work on it and offered to help me. I liked him and was angry she was attacking his dog. There was no water in her house and piles of clutter everywhere, it was so filthy I almost passed out. I could not believe she had been this dirty.
She told stories of these servants and the glory days of when her family had them, showing off pictures of the house in its prime. I often wondered why all the years she did no repair on the house. She claimed she was waiting for her inheritance. The grandmother had been mentally ill and so had her father refusing to let her do maintenance she claimed. Telling stories of GE checks uncashed just stuffed in drawers, old antiques just left to rot, and piles of Civil War memorabilia. I was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the way she was acting. She told me her mother could also use some help as did the other neighbor on my street. I could "pull weeds," he told me. I had no idea what they were talking about at the time. Why would I have to do these types of jobs? I had a career and had started my own business. I had just finished a Graphic Design job for a client; doing the brochures, business cards, and photography. She had paid me well and I was getting other offers plus still interviewing for professional jobs.
My neighbor took me on a tour in her basement and as I walked into one section where the laundry was I felt an odd current of air brush past me as if she was going to push me into the one room that had a large forboding lock telling me the servants lived here and did the laundry. It was odd how it seemed on a pedestal as if the owner could watch the servant as if on a stage. I shuddered to think this is what went on but knew a little something about these grand houses that had smaller houses outback. Most now were garages, but at one time were probably servant quarters. I was at the time sad about this and had no idea this is what these people had thought of me all these years.
I didn't exist as Rhonda their neighbor, I was now in horror finding out the extremist views these people had held all these years. It reminded me of the movie, "The Game," only I wasn't the rich, narcissistic older brother Michael Douglas played and needed his younger brother to set up this game for him to find compassion by losing everything, but it seemed close to what I was experiencing along with the movie, "Gaslight" with Ingrid Bergman. I loved old classic films and had taken a film class in college. I remembered seeing this as a teenager. I was being slowly disappeared in a horrible way over a long period of time. It wasn't a haunting, it was a deliberate destruction of who I was!
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