Who Am I?

By Tony

This book was written during some of the most intense, compounding, and suffering moments that I experienced. What is meant literally to be head pounding and raging emotional cycles of extreme bliss to chaos and back. This book is a creation through me of that nature and the strength for which is preserved within it. It is a story of survival, knowledge, and wisdom. An expression of the catacomb of life force that is also the representation of us all, not as a tomb, but as a vault of knowledge, experiences, and wisdom built on the ages of human existence from the beginning to the end. I want you all to know that in the end, I found gratitude for the experience even though the vortex was the most horrifying place to go. Many have suffered its fate to a dismal ending of suicide, yet I am a survivor, one who has converted its negative energies to the positive force. This force that is passed from one to another, looking to focus in, had found itself challenged by my own wit, desires, and struggles to find the truth. The knowledge of its existence and the beholder of its cycle should be known by all of us so that it can be nourished for the good of humanity, not the control of them. The Satanist views of the days past have been inverted for the enlightenment has taken hold and will endure for the future existence of humanity. My experience was like the Manchurian candidate 7 billion fold. God bless him who has the strength to withstand this vortex in the next cycle.

God bless you all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 14, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483653983

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Who Am I?

Tony

Copyright © 2013 by Tony.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

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without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 06/12/2013

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Contents

Who Am I ?

Bible Code

The Seven Laws of Salvation

The Edge of Awakening

In the Beginning

The Epistle of Christ

Unveiling of the Master Puppeteer

The Mental Crisis

What we shall find as the coming of the truths unfolds is that many if not all of our mental disorders can be solved by the most simplistic concept of all. For who puts their words down with pen to paper, then goes back and reorganizes them, shall find himself organized in his own thoughts. Your purpose, your reason, your puzzle, and no shame.

Schizophrenia is a mental disorder characterized by a breakdown of thought processes and by poor emotional responsiveness. It most commonly manifests itself as auditory hallucinations, paranoid or bizarre delusions, or disorganized speech and thinking, and it is accompanied by significant social or occupational dysfunction. The onset of symptoms typically occurs in young adulthood with a global lifetime prevalence of about 0.3-0.7 percent. Diagnosis is based on observed behavior and the patient’s reported experiences.

My thoughts based on my experiences, which are firsthand, is that there is more to this concept than meets the eye. These are not just voices that occur inside one’s head, for they take on form, have the ability to converse with the person, and produce behaviors that the person would otherwise not behave like. This is not so much a hallucination as it is a form of energy that has intelligence and a desire to control the affected person.

Who

Am

I

?

Purpose! What is it? I guess it’s like a gap that needs to be filled, and the pieces that fill it have a purpose. I think that’s a lot of who we are as people. We come here in spirit; to fill gaps where purpose is needed. All creatures born unto this earth are created to fill a need. I mean we are not so different from that of an ant colony. Don’t we have offspring that fill positions and carry the process onward as a colony of ants would? Where a need has been vacated, a position is to be filled. And so I offer that thought, as some proof, for the evolution of concept is real as well in the form of purpose, and we are a part of it.

We are drenched in times of great need, desperate ones at that. We can tell that our planet is suffering, and the foundation is starting to rattle more with earthquakes. A continuation in this same direction leads us to a very rancid future. A future fouled with broken-down nuclear power plants, spewing out radiation for eons to come. But yet, is this in itself just a purpose as well, as seen by many as Armageddon. As all things we are aware of serve a purpose, the master himself serves for a purpose as well. And as I wonder in deception, for that which is he, the master puppeteer that is, who with no strings, can turn a war from a game, chaos from simplicity, even a heavenly earth to a playground for demons. Is it he who is tied to this time, purpose, and is it his prophecy? And once again, who is he?

In the End

March 7, 2011, the most powerful date that comes to my mind. It was the evening before, when a family argument broke out. Yes, there was some wine involved, you know, that verbally inspiring liquid courage. For all who dare to measure its glutton, sorrow will surely succeed. As if I hadn’t been guilty of it for a hundredth time to the past. I can tell you from my experience as a bartender at the age of twenty-one, in West Palm Beach Florida, and yeah, there are some tough rednecks down there, so beware your side bars, that the outcome of your drinking is highly reflective of your mood before you start. Which is why you always find that misinterpretations, along with correctly identified ones, can lead to rock hurling, jaw punching, and even an overnight stay at the local motel like they do in the Bad Girls Club to separate the unruly. That is also what happened at my house the night before.

I had called out of work that day, it was a Monday, and I hadn’t seen my wife since the night before. It was pretty early, and I grabbed some coffee from the Bunn and then stepped out to the mudroom for a smoke. My mother came out a short while later. You’re not going to work today? she asked. I had a lot of frustration built up in my head at that moment, and so there wasn’t much to say. I hadn’t even been up very long, and I couldn’t even comprehend the night before. It was anger over the fact that I couldn’t keep the household together over trivial matters like space and privacy. Well, trivial to me at the time. The house was quite spacious if you ask me, maybe even all of us agree, but it just didn’t have enough room to fulfill our needs for separation. A brother-in-law to me, mother-in-law to my wife, and my teenaged son, all five of us clashing for space and attention.

I wasn’t going to work that day because I needed to be able to pick my wife up when she called late that morning. The thing is, she didn’t call, and she just showed up to the house with her friend. If you hadn’t noticed, it was she who spent the night at the hotel. Once again my wife and mother started at each other in the mudroom. Clash of the titans, as many would know that a wife and mother-in-law are like gas and water. A fifty-fifty mix won’t run anything. My wife’s friend did well to calm and mediate the swollen egos of hurt feelings and anger, between the two ladies, which seemed to have set things at a better level of comfort for the house. At least it might be enough to help us all get through the evening. Though in that time span that all the conversation took place, with my wife’s friend, my mother, wife and I, one could see where my mother took a heavy beating of reality. With sadness for such a maddening evening, we all hugged and made up.

That’s it, are you coming home, dear? I asked. She had already set up a second night with the clerk at the hotel, as I would have expected. So we took off to reclaim money and baggage and then returning to the house. At this point where we all departed, as my mother returned to her card games on the computer, and I follow my wife and my wife’s friend to the hotel, all things in my life would become different, as a noticeable concept of thought and wonder. But it would take me over a year to realize what really transpired that day and many days before it as well. So as it was for the moment, all would be back to normal, and a peaceful night would ensue.

My son arrived home from school at about three fifteen that day. I remember that he and I took a ride up to Dr. Lees for a prescription for my wife. We talked about a lot of things together, about what had been going on in the house, and the tension between the adults. We had a few chuckles at others’ expense—you know what I mean, and we all do it, trash talk—then brought the prescription back to my wife. Probably around five thirty in the evening, was when the brother-in-law got home. Because of all the drama, his sister and I planned to have a talk with him. But he would take offense to it every time. So we were kind of ready for some sort of response to come. He had some problems, this boy did. At a young age he was hit by a car and sent into a coma for a couple of weeks. Tough times lay before the family as well. And the struggle of life in its consuming way would tug on every morsel of their being as it, life, grew through their memories.

Right here at this moment, as we sat across from one another at the table, bearing down upon each other with different frustrations of the same point, leading up to, culminating to boiling, and yet we couldn’t keep from failing to recognize, failing to see the truth, no way to be aware, or understand the driving force that brought us to these precipitous moments. Here at this point where we are on the fringe of abruptness, and the moments of selfishness, where we wouldn’t even see past our own perspective, here lay the components of fear and rage. The words had forcefulness, sharp tones, as they echoed their point until the ill-fated grand finale. The anger bubbled over until one of us had to go. There was only one thing that she, my wife, could do at that point, and so she kicked her brother out. As I watched them going at it, she just seemed like she was done with all the bullshit that came with his presence. I as well had gotten to the point that I could take no more, and I had a strange feeling that his intent was to get out of the house as well.

When all was said and done, he had left. We, his sister and I, had just spent over a year of our life putting his life on track, all but his anger. But now he was gone, and it was his choice to leave. It was leave or change your attitude toward others. I had always seen him as the selfish type and knew this of him for many years. Not goanna worry about it anymore though, not with him out. We talked about the situation that had just occurred, my wife and I that is, and shook our heads in disbelief wondering what we missed. Obviously he was seeing things in a different way than I, but okay, life moves on. It would stop back by that evening for a shorter scrimmage before disappearing into the dusk.

I hadn’t heard my mother snoring for a while, so I assumed she was awake. I knocked on her door. She mumbled out to me in that I-just-woke-up-kind-of-voice Tony, you’re home. Nothing seemed odd at the time. I asked her to come have a smoke and we would talk. She must have heard all the raucous from earlier, I thought. We waited for maybe five minutes, but she wouldn’t come out. Mom, we just want to talk, nobody is mad. Mom! I told her if she didn’t respond, I was coming in after her. The knob wouldn’t turn, it was locked, and she had all the keys to it in her room. I pleaded and banged against the door, but still no answer. I slammed into it hard with my shoulder, but not much gave, and still no response. Something has got to be wrong; now I felt it. Worry and fear filled me, an immediate adrenalin spike to my system. Wary and unknowing of what lie beyond that locked keyhole, I stepped back into the bathroom, and with all inside me that I could muster, I punched through to the room.

The explosion of force sent pieces of splinters and debris flying across the room. I was off footed and stumbling from the excess momentum, when I had finally seen her on the bed. No! No! No! I said. Her eyes were closed, her skin pale, and the thickness of dried blood on dried blood ran from the corners of her mouth to the bed. I didn’t know what to think. I couldn’t and didn’t have focus. Thank goodness that robot mode kicks in automatically, meaning instinct takes over, at a point of crisis. Call 911 was all I could think. It was my goal as I crashed through the house in my socks, shouting to get my wife’s attention. Twenty minutes later, after a number of moves were performed to make sure she stayed breathing, my yard was lit up like a Christmas tree. I lay there on the bed with her arching her neck and pressing back against her forehead to help her breathe, and she was stiff with paralysis.

It was good to see help arrive. Those minutes seemed like a trilogy. They whisked her away in the night, and my life had cracked open like a walnut. Here we were, the last three standing of a full house of five people, and the only ones to remain. We snuggled up in the living room for the night and fell asleep on the coaches in front of the TV. It was sad, and yet horrifying at the same time. Your heart is in collapse and guilt for not doing more to see it coming. Things had been so uptight between us all, and the culminating pressure leading to her suicide attempt.

The next morning I sat at the table in the mudroom and lit a cigarette. My wife was on the phone with my mother’s friends. Then she took on a puzzled look. Then an argument broke out between them. She got off the line and turned to me. Do you know what she just said to me, my wife spat. She just blamed me for your mother’s suicide. Said that I drove her to it. Do you believe the nerve of that woman? What nerve, I thought. This is not a moment for catfights, though I do understand that sometimes we say things we don’t mean.

We made it to her room shortly before she arrived from the ER. They asked us to wait outside. And so we sat. This floor was the ICU floor, and so you could hear moaning coming from other rooms down the hall. My wife and I just sat together and waited. Soon they let us in to see her. She had some color back to her and was able to focus. But she was also hooked up to a breathing machine. Immediately I took to asking question, and all too politely they offered up information on her status. They also explained the equipment used to monitor her and gave us privacy for a bit.

Soon her friends arrived. One apologized for her rudeness over the phone, but somehow I don’t think it was made so clear to my wife. The other came in with the verbal force of pure rudeness and immediately went to the bedside with the attitude of dominance. She was loud and bossy, catching my mother’s attention quite well. Who did this to you? she rasped. Do I need to start kicking someone’s ass? My wife looked at me with a question in her face, as if saying, Did she just threaten me? You need to say something to her, my wife said, frustrated. My mother smiled through the respirator, tube down her throat and all, saying no with her lips and shaking her head slowly sideways then choking back from the pain in her throat. Well, don’t you worry, there are people here who loves you, touted her friend again, never breaking eye contact with my mother, except when my mother would close her eyes. Her eyes would wander after a minute of focus due to the heavy medication she was on. Well, there are two people here who love you, the friend spouted off again. My wife looked at me again and said, I’m done with this, you better do something about her.

I agree as I stood up from the chair. You’re out of line, lady, I said, catching her attention. Now step back and let her rest. She only looked at the nurse. Is it okay if I talk to her? And the nurse replied, Sure. So I walked out to find my wife. It wouldn’t be wise for me to stay around a lady whom I might want to brawl with for her rude, vile attitude and disrespect. I found my wife. Hey, I said something to her, I told my wife. See, I told you they act like I did something, she replied. I tried to calm her down as she has always been an overemotional person. They were just being rude, I explained, but I needed her to ignore their remarks and sarcasm. I told her I was going back in there, and she said she would follow after they left. It didn’t take long for these ladies to part ways. They could tell by my mood that I was aggravated. My wife and I would mumble about this the rest of the evening.

Later at home that night, I sat in the mudroom smoking, and thinking, and drinking beer. The balance of my life had changed. I was looking at some serious issues for my future. Financial issues if she doesn’t make it. We came into this house with an understanding that we would need to stay together to afford it. Now here it was collapsing before me, and all that effort I put in to try and keep things calm. Soon that loud woman would call to speak with me about her outburst at the hospital. What she actually did was call up to not apologize for what she said, and indeed, she would dig the wounds even further into our flesh.

I heard noises out back, but I couldn’t see anything in the darkness. We’ve had some animals come this way a time or two, so I wasn’t really concerned with it. After a while had passed, I just went in and went to bed. The next day was a trip to work and then to the hospital, and finally home. She seemed to be doing much better at that time, and I was relieved to see it. Nightfall crept up once again, and again I spent my time in the mudroom. More sounds came from the woods, or at least the tree line that made up the woods edge. So I turned on the backlight and shouted out for it to go away. I sat in my seat and peered out of the corner of my eye, looking for movement in the distance. I could even sometimes hear whispers. I started to pick up on movement. Who is that, I thought?

My mind said that it was my brother-in-law. We hadn’t seen or heard from him in a couple of nights, and I wondered if he was hiding out around the house. Finally, I saw white socks move across the lawn. I shook my head and hollered out the window to them, still sitting in my seat. I saw you, so I know you’re there. Next time try wearing black socks with your black outfit, if you don’t want to be seen. My wife came out to see what the fuss was. I told her that I knew someone was in the yard. She looked but saw nothing and so easily dismissed it. No, really, I saw their white socks as they ran by. Do you think it could be your brother? I asked. She didn’t think that it would be him and dismissed the event as if without basis.

The next day would be a repeat of the day before, as all hospital dealings tend to put you in a state of routine. The visit to the hospital was more puzzling than ever though as my mother had seemed to get worse out of nowhere. The first friend was there when we got there. She greeted me, and all of us got into a decent conversation. The friend couldn’t believe how bad my mother had gotten, from how well she was doing the day before. So I did what I seem to be good at, asking questions. I would remember the information, and later at home I would look up and try to understand. Oddly enough, the numbers they had given me just didn’t seem to jive. I planned to question them the next day. For now, I was still there at the hospital rambling on.

We spoke to a doctor on staff. She had looked at my mother’s chart and even sat down with us. Things got off on the wrong foot when we talked about rights and life support. The doctor plainly responded, If you’re trying to get her off life support and she dies, then that could be construed as murder. I just don’t understand why she took such a bad turn, I said again. I don’t understand. She brought up more numbers on the monitor and more stats. For some reason, I could retain these stats. Why, it didn’t make much sense to me as I can’t remember names well at all.

These hospital times would drag on with each day, and I watched as they filled and drained her body fluids. Now, most people might not have even realized this occurrence as it seemed so subtle, and yet to me it became so apparent. I knew what they were doing, and it wouldn’t have bothered me so much if they just took a little slower. And sure enough, at work the next day, I get an emergency call to sign for a blood transfusion and tracheotomy. I left work for the hospital immediately.

So as to keeping track of just how rapid things are culminating, let’s move onward to that night before the phone call at work, while I was at home. Nighttime had rolled around again, and again we were confronted by something in the woods. This time there were sounds of people banging sticks against the trees. We looked out the windows and mainly stayed inside until my wife saw someone by the propane tank. She grabbed a knife and took for the door. Are you nuts? I asked. And I grabbed the .308. We went around the house to the side, and even as dark as it was, there was no one found under the beam of the flashlight. There would be many more of these nights to come, and each as interesting, but not all of them would end with the police called to the house.

By the time we got back to the mudroom, there must have been more ruckus as my wife and I had started to get nervous. The fact that she led the way over to the side of the house and even stepped to the boundaries of the woods amazed me. I sat down in the chair and peered through the scope on the .308. My wife asked me to put the dang thing down. It makes her uncomfortable. But then a glowing face screeched past in the scope. Did you see that? I asked, and she did. That was about all it took to move indoors.

Once back inside, we still hesitated to call the police. I took to looking at the doors and stairs as my wife caught a glimpse of them hanging out by the neighbor’s shed. We probably still wouldn’t have called the cops if it weren’t for the sounds from the basement that even aroused the dog. So once again the police came out to my house. Even the officer heard someone running through the woods to get away, but as he said, he had no intention of running after them. We’ll drive by hourly to check through the night, they said, and the rest of the night was quiet.

After being called away from work, I returned to the hospital the next morning. They were intense with me about signing authorizations for surgical procedures, like the tracheotomy and a release for blood transfusions. They would remove their accountability if anything were to fail. Why, I wondered. All I was interested in was answers as to why she had all of a sudden fallen so ill so quickly. Also, they had informed me that without power of attorney over medical matters, that I really didn’t have any say over their treatment to the patient for the purpose of saving her life, so why were they pushing me so hard to sign these forms. Because of this thought, I chose not to sign those forms. I even argued for the reasoning behind their request. And once again, I received new stats for how she was doing.

None of the information that they communicated to me matched up well with that that I had read on the Internet either. My concern heightened as I couldn’t ever remember any recent times that I had had good trust in the hospital systems. So now I am even more concerned. With problems sleeping, issues at home, the pressures over my mother, and my drive to try and tie all of it together, I could be nearing a breaking point. They left me standing alone in the ICU room to think about signing these documents. I call our cousin for support and answers, and he questioned it also and sided with me.

Across the way, through the door and to the far side of the hall, sat a nurse. She had bluetooth in her ear and was monitoring the patient. As I hung up the phone with my cousin, I became more focused on that nurse. She glanced my way almost, it seemed, through the dark glass reflection. Another nurse approached her about going to lunch. She surreptitiously pointed across the way were I was, and I could almost make out her lips saying I’m busy keeping an eye over there. The nurse taking care of my mother then strolled into the room and, even more uncomfortable, came near me. There was just too much pressure on my mind. I took off for the elevators to get some air outside the building and a smoke.

There was someone on a cell phone, I remember, someones. As no matter where I looked, where I turned, someone was scooping me out. Is it a wonder that paranoia was starting to fill my life? I took off for home, and even as I looked around me at the other cars, it was as if I was being followed. The strangeness of this feeling would grow on me more and more as the days went on. Faces seem to peer at me from rearview mirrors and side windows, and nowhere in public could I seem to get away from them. Once again I sat in the mudroom, and again I was dragging off a cigarette or more. The tension brought tears to my eyes, and I was lost. I would make another appearance to the hospital that night before getting home and before it got dark. As you know, the strangest of things was going on right here at home.

Friday evening of this dreadful week finally rolled around to greet us, and there was nothing more I could ask for than a nice, peaceful rest. Once dark rolled around though, there was laughing and flashlights in the woods. Something was still there, determined to be a full-fledged nuisance. I hid in the dark garage to try and catch a glimpse of them. It just seemed as if they knew every second where I was. When in the garage, they would bang on the door. They even once ran across the roof and dropped down to the storm door and pulled it open to scare me from running my mouth so bad. At least that’s what I thought at the time. See, I was fed up with the stuff right now. But I was playing around with it, this elusive and evasive stranger that’s messing with me, as long as it was still there, messing with me. I’ve played with bath salts. I wonder if this is a structure of that.

All weekend I thought and I planned and I wondered. How will I catch these guys in the act? We could see them in our neighbor’s yard moving around in their pitch-black cloths. A couple of times, I saw the green mask, once under my neighbor’s van. But not all of it seemed real. Missing were the pieces that make the information to unlock, thus fulfilling the understanding that this puzzle will reveal once unraveled. So now my intrigue is up, and I become enveloped into this charade, so to speak. And not that I knew where I was going with it, and the bath salts making things worse, or maybe even being the reason for this abrupt change in my life.

The following week would prove to be just as daunting. More issue at the hospital, followed by escalating arguments between my wife and I. But it seemed that during the week, the outside activity had died off, the evenings more peaceful. I thought about putting up cameras but really couldn’t afford them. And so I muscled through the long week, juggling the balance of sanity that I had left, hoping for the end of it all to come.

I finally got around to looking at the car that my mother had bought. I remember arguing over it as well. Just off the lot with a bad catalytic converter. We had just got it back from the dealer just a week ago when all hell broke loose. And even before that bad night occurred, we had this car starting by itself. It had sat there the whole time, battery drained. I jumped it and let it idle for a while. After shutting it off, I remember it trying to start again. It just kept trying as I peered up to my mother’s window, thinking almost, that what if someone was up there with a remote key start playing games.

The ghost car was given its name for this reason. I hunted down the relay that kept turning it over and played with it a little. Somehow I must have created a short, and the relay was blown. The replacement seemed to have solved the problem of this remote starting. However, as I drove it to work all week, it found new ways to interest me with its problems. I found the vent system dropped down and disconnected, and there were more relay sounds coming from under the dash. Always with this continuous clicking noise, driving me nuts. I once even thought it tried to steer itself.

I put the car aside for the meantime. As long as it was drivable and not starting on its own, it was fine with me. I had enough other things going on in my life as to not be too concerned with this car at this time. The hospital was pressuring me for financial status and accountability information. You know, medical benefits that will help offset the cost of doing business. And when I say that, I am not trying to be too harsh. I’m just being more forthright. So as the system presses against me to comply, I merely test its boundaries of intent to manifest that which it is made of. At every boundary, or waypoint, I’d watch it waiver in discontent. I knew she wouldn’t have anything much to offer, and I wouldn’t have them start bugging my insurance company. Did they have the dignity to save her, minus the cost to comply?

The intensities of my days grew. With each passing hour, it seemed to grow darker in the corner that I stood. Still I wondered for the truth, even with the madness of culminating events. My wife then pointed out to me that I should look at the book my mother’s friend was reading to her. It almost looked like a love novel, didn’t really catch my attention. I picked it up anyway and read the back cover. I was astounded to find that the book was based on a mother-in-law murder. Now I clearly see what the look on my wife’s face meant. What was going on here between these ladies? This is becoming some sort of ruse. Here as my mother lay unconscious, why would someone choose to read this book to her? That answer would become clear the following week, not for me though. I will not receive any details for a few more weeks.

So here I watched as they drained my mother’s body fluids, I pleaded with them to slow down, but they pressed on. We were already notified that she would need blood. We went home and sat around, arguing about what my mother’s friend was doing to my wife. Maybe only three times had she met her. Now my attention was in tying her with what was happening around the house. Even more, I would try to make them mad. I was ready to run after them, tackle them, and hope my anger would reduce once I saw who it was, so help me god.

I turned the big lights on, and the mudroom I left dark. I knew from a teenager sneaking out at night that looking through glass into the darkness would only create reflection. So now what? Come on out with yourselves, let’s see you now, I would shout. More than once and quite repetitively, I would smack talk to the tree line. But what light creates out of darkness, darkness can create in light. The shadows would now seem to change and move. And there, produced on the wall of my pool, just outside the door I sat and faced, was the shadow of a person on his knees, crawling. It seemed as if there was another just behind him or her. One moment it would be there, and the next it was gone.

Yes, I was scared at this time, too much stuff going on. The boy was still in school for Christ’s sake, please give us a break. Oh, the unfairness that befell this household. How much more can we take. I kept my 308 at the top of my mind at this point. Binoculars in hand, I sat back and scoped out the range. Things would always draw greater attention when I went into the dark garage. Even during the morning time, when daylight had already broken through, I remember hearing the word peek-a-boo spoke to me.

I had to put this craziness aside for a moment, as I called the hospital for an update on this blood transfusion. Everything is going great! the nurse claimed. I was always worried at this point. I just couldn’t figure it out. The book, the comments, what was