Monday, November 23, 2015

Satanic Depravity Imbedded In US Government - MKULTRA survivor's memior

My response to brave survivor Dr. Sue Arrigo’s incredible charges 
that US Presidents and CIA Directors have a lucrative sideline 
in child trafficking and prostitution. 
(Also posted on, August 18, 2015)

Drugs, Sex, Child Porn & Human Trafficking - Profitable Networking Among ‘Factions’

I grew up in Tampa Florida which was and probably still is one of the worst places in the US for drug and human trafficking as well as being one of the capitals for government sponsored mind control programming. Former FBI director Ted Gunderson publicly testified of this fact on numerous occasions.

In 2008, I met with former FBI director Ted Gunderson who at that time validated for me these things and more of what I am sharing here.  

I know from my own experience that: 

1.) The child porn industry is real.  
- I was used in child porn for a period of time.  According to what I remember, much of this took place in the basement of Tampa General Hospital in Tampa Florida which was only a couple of miles from my home. 

2.) Training children to be sex slaves is real.
- As a child I was trained with other children on how to be seductive and to please.
When I was a very little girl, I was taught with other children how to be seductive and how to please sexually. Those of us who showed an “natural” ability to know the thoughts and desires of others were more valued than other children. We were praised while other children were cast aside or used for something else. Children of prominent parents were most likely to be trained and used in other areas rather than be considered expendable upon failure in one area. 

3.) Schools are used for secret government testing, programming and training centers. 
- The 1st private preschool I attended was attended by children of other prominent families who like myself were being tested and programmed. 

The next preschool I attended was originally owned by a very good man.  It was bought out by a pedophile, John Richard (Ri-shard) who worked there and who was part of the network that worked for the underground. John renamed the school, "B & R Ranch". Specific boys and girls including myself were taken out of their class to be sexually abused. The wife of the pedophile was one on my teachers. I believe she knew what was going on, but she allowed it to happen. The method employed was that either my teacher would tell me that I had to report to the boy’s camp office for misbehavior, or an older boy, sometimes the pedophile’s son from the boy’s camp was sent to retrieve me.

As far as the rest of the class knew, other than those who were also usually "in trouble" was that I was "in trouble" again for something bad I had done. Most of the children had no idea what took place in "the ball closet". I was always happy that my "shameful behavior" was never reported to my mother. 

4.) Murder of babies and children by Satanic rituals is real. 
- I witnessed Satanic sacrifices of babies and children. Most, if not all the adults I witnessed partaking in this knew exactly what they were doing and were fully conscious of their actions in their daily walk in life. These were not programmed alters whose conscious actions were walled off and separated from the core person. On the top levels of the organization, these people are evil and know exactly what they are doing.

Children of bloodline families do participate in some of these rituals. Often participation will create a split or more from the core of the child.  

5.) Murder of babies and children backed and supported by the US government is real.
- I witnessed cold blooded torture and murder of children committed by adults and other children. Most of children used are seen as expendable.

Some of the torture and murder was done for trauma based programming, some was for entertainment of small groups of well dressed men and women of the "elite".

I was a victim of both the trauma based torture as well as being the object of torture of social groups who got their jollies out of watching and participating in the torturing and murdering of children.

6.) Child trafficking is real.

Throughout my childhood I witnessed the coming and going of large numbers of children from MacDill AFB. 

I also saw children in the belly of ships docked in the ship yard of Port of Tampa that is across the channel from the east side of Davis Islands.

1958 Downtown Tampa in the upper section of the picture. (North). 

The left side of  the picture is Davis Islands where I lived. 

On the other side of the channel is where ships were docked and where a shipyard was. 

It was in some of those ships where I had seen children kept in cages. 

Programming and other things also took place in a ship docked in that area. 

There was a facility that was like a large warehouse or airplane hanger where children were kept in cages. Cages were stacked one on top of another sometimes 3 cages tall. Some cages had one child only and other cages had several children. Throughout my childhood years, I witnessed the same pattern play out many times. One night there would be a minimum of 3-6 cages with children and the next night there would be 3-6 more. Then the next night there would be so many kids and cages that I could not count them all. Usually the next day they were all gone except for a few. Sometimes the kids were shipped out in two separated batches over a two day period.

         picture from:

This picture is the best example I have found so far to illustrate what the cages looked like.

Cages were sometimes stacked one on top of another sometimes 3 cages tall.

I don't remember ever seeing no kids at all. There were usually no less than 6 kids. Once in awhile there would only be 3 children, but that was only for a day or so and wasn't the norm.

Another place where programming and "training" was sometimes done was in a ship docked in the shipyard at the port in Tampa near downtown Tampa. It was on this ship that I have witnessed children being kept. 

This next picture is creepy and haunting to me. 
It reminds me of memories of when I would be taken to a ship at night. 

7.) Government sponsored children facilities where children are kept and used for unethical practices is real.

I knew of a small facility in Tampa Florida that was near St. Joseph's children's hospital that kept children who were used in horrendous experiments and surgeries. I saw some of the children in that facility. I don't know why I was taken there and shown what I was shown. Maybe it was to send me the message that, that could be my fate also. I do know that the experience left some huge impressions on me other than the horror of what I saw. It was ingrained in me of yet another consequence for those who try to escape and it further instilled in me the message that there is no escape from the perpetrators. 

The picture above reminds me of the crowded room with where children and young teens lay bedridden and in pain from horrendous surgeries. There were no clean white sheets in the place I saw and the room smelled of rotting flesh. The conditions were deplorable. 

It was in this wing (picture above) at St. Joseph's Children's Hospital in Tampa Florida that a lot of my programming was done. This was also a "teaching" hospital where small groups of adults were being trained to work in the medical field as programmers for the US government. I was used as the subject while my "handlers" demonstrated and taught.

The picture below (drawn by another survivor) best illustrates one of the rooms in the wing where my programming was done. The drawing is nearly identical in every way to what I remember.  When I was subjected to this technique of programming, there was not just one black and white spinning wheel, but numerous ones in the room so that no matter where my eyes might want to wander, they would be caught by another spinning wheel. This was also the room where small groups of “professionals” came to watch, listen and take notes as my handler used me as the model to teach the select groups how to program other children.

It was also at St. Joseph's Children's Hospital that I along with a small group of my preschool friends of a private school on Davis Islands all had our tonsils taken out on the same day by the same doctor, "Dr. Swartz" and his staff. I remember very clearly what happened to me and how my friends were treated. This was no ordinary "tonsillectomy". Was it a coincidence that our doctor’s name, “Dr. Swartz”, was the same name as numerous MKULTRA survivors have reported?

The picture below is almost identical to the room and the scene when my pre-school classmates and I had our tonsils out at St. Joseph’s Children’s Hospital in Tampa Florida in the late 1950’s. My bed was positioned on on the right hand wall, the first bed in the picture which is just before the bed with the little girl who is sitting up.

8.) Training children to be spies and to carry classified information is real.

As a very small child I was used often for this because few in those days would suspect that a small child like I would be the carrier of top secret information. I am hesitant to go into detail about this at the moment. I will say this much, that I was a valuable commodity for this type of work for various reasons, one of which was that I was a clairvoyant and was able to "sniff out a rat". The late 1950's, early 1960's was a very dangerous and tricky time in the US military and intelligence. Several factions were at war with each other and were jockeying for control. There was a lot of secrecy within our own military and intelligence. It was extremely hard for one to tell if their best friend was actually their enemy. During that time, I was aware of some very good servants in the military and intelligence who were whole heartedly serving the American public. Those people were dangerous to the the factions who were infiltrating. 

9.) Facilities with rail access were used in Tampa to hide illegal activities and movement of "goods and services". 

- In the early 1970's I was in two warehouses in the downtown Tampa area that were on the rail and near the Port of Tampa. Both places were involved in trafficking illegal goods. Behind one of the warehouses was a box car that looked like any other normal box car from the outside, but inside it was equipped with equipment used in mind control programming. This box car was used around the Tampa Bay area as a small portable testing and mind control center that could also transport children to other facilities. The rail car made visits to the University of Tampa and the old Florida State Fairgrounds. Some trauma based programming for children and other young people was done on those grounds. 

10.) At the top levels, the FBI, US military and the mob have agreements where they all can benefit. Still a very tricky business, like working with rattle snakes and scorpions. 

- In addition to MacDill AFB, Tampa Florida has ports and airports that import and export illegal commodities. I have witnessed the FBI in Tampa taking a blind eye to illegal drug trafficking and moving of stolen goods out of Tampa as long as arrangements have been made to insure that they get a cut of the action in one way or another. 


11.) When I was in my late 20’s and early 30’s, there were people I knew who worked for the Luciferian organization. On the outside it appeared that they were raising and selling livestock, but the real avenue of capital was taking place in the caverns that ran for miles under the property to a place near the Ohio River. Drugs were being smuggled in and out through this location through several points. Proceeds funded the organization that is working to bring in the Luciferian run global order.


(An example of the process of memory recovery)

Sunday, November 22, 2015

Remember to Remember… MKULTRA survivor's memior

An example of the process of memory recovery

How can I remember to forget…When my heart just won’t let me?

The process of remembering what I always knew I knew.

Throughout most of my life, I had reoccurring nightmares and flashbacks of the same haunting scenes. The dreams and flashbacks were as real as life, if not more so. The instant that the memories flashed before my mind, my mind would tell me the scenes were real memories, but a second later another part of my mind would pull the curtain and tell me it was nothing, nothing at all. Sometimes I would faintly hear a voice like a screaming whisper echoing across my conscious mind like a shooting streak of lightning. “Remember to remember.” it said. Then like a fly swatter, another part of my mind would try to murder the words and tell me that I never heard those words at all. But, deep in my soul, I knew I had said those words to myself…sometime long ago…so I wouldn’t forget….just before I forgot….forgot what?…I wondered. Maybe it was nothing, nothing at all.  ~ Carolyn Hamlett ~

ELECTRODES AND MIND CONTROL  - an excerpt from my journal (April of 2010)        

The memory came first as a dream, which is often the means a repressed mind control memory surfaces. 

Though I was dreaming...there came a flash of dreaming and then suddenly waking up...I was as conscious as one can be in the state of wakefulness. Totally like I was awake...that I had been dreaming..and then was awake to reality...only my reality was that I was in my 6 or 7 year old body..looking out of those eyes...hearing the sounds out of her (my) 6-7 year old ears, smelling the smells....all as if I was there wide awake...or actually I was waking up from either a drugged state or an induced state of unconsciousness. The ‘doctor’ and his wife were not yet aware that I was awake. I could hear them talking about me and about the procedure they were trying to accomplish with me. It was like a trial and error thing it seemed. The 'doctor' seemed to be tweaking some adjustments on a machine that sat at a one o’clock position to me.  As he tweaked it, he seemed to be asking his wife who sat in the room to the right of me, to give her opinion as to how the adjustment were working.  A few times he walked in front of me. Still drowsy, but fully aware of detail, my head was still bowed, my eyes fixed to the floor.  It was linoleum squares...a mixture of light milky green and cream colored waves. I watched as his feet moved past my field of vision, he still seeming unaware of my wakeful state. He is wearing brown leather sandals. He has dirt under his raggedy unclipped toenails. 

Next scene-I am sitting in a yellow scoop plastic chair with metal legs. 

I can see this from two perspectives, from being in my body and from being out of my body.  I first am semiconscious, but the dream has incredible detail. I am in the chair looking at the floor. The floor is linoleum squares. I think I remember light green-off white (not sure). I see the 'doctor's' feet. Brown sandals. He has dirt under his toenails. There is medical equipment in the room. Some equipment is tall and has tubes coming out of it. The 'doctor' is wearing shorts and a short sleeved button up shirt. He has an unkempt appearance. He has dark hair combed to the side. Two day old beard. Looks like he also has Eczema - whitish crusty on his eyebrows and corners of his nose. He appears to be in his mid 40's, about 5' 9", medium bone structure and a bit over weight. 

Next moment of consciousness…

It is the same night. (The 'doctor' and his wife are in the same clothes.) I am in the same type of chair...only in a different room. I am in the room with the ‘doctor’s’ wife.  I have 4 electrodes on my forehead. The ‘doctor’s’ wife is sitting in a chair next to me, to my right.  She is adjusting the electrodes on my forehead. I think I also have some all over my head. 

The ‘doctor’ walks across the room from my left and goes through the door that leads to the window (maybe tinted) on the far left wall. He is controlling the shocks and the equipment from that room. They (‘doctor’ and wife) are..I think trying to perceive my thoughts-extract memories and possibly insert some. I know they have a specific goal and and are trying to achieve it before the night is through. I feel that what they are trying to do is still in the experimental stages and that I am part of that experiment. Part of what they always have to do in the end is to take me to death, keep me there for a short time, then bring me back. This time they lost me. I was not coming back. They didn't want to lose me, but they didn't seem to be all that upset over it either. I do think they felt a slight relief when I finally returned to my body. I think they more so counted it as a pat on their own backs for their success...not that I was alive. I don't think they cared whether I lived or died. 

Description of the wife: She is wearing a sleeveless blouse, shorts and flip-flops. She has blondish curly hair..sort of short. She is a little chunky by today's standards, medium build, probably 5' 2"- 5' 4". 

The room is brightly lit by overhead florescent lighting. There are a couple of long Florida room style crank out windows. (Louvered windows).

It reminds me of a school classroom with out desks.  I believe the rooms are on the floor level of the facility.

Journal note added a few days later: 

Another memory... This time not in the form of a ‘dream’.

I was in a room like the one in the previous written ‘dream’. There were several easel like things..each holding a spinning swirling thing like a bulls eye. There was one in front of me..and pretty much every where I  looked in the room there was one for my eye to focus on. 

I have other memories coming to me of being in the same facility - the one I described above where electrodes were attached to my head. In this facility, against a wall was a large metal horse trough which was usually filled with water where I was submerged in and drowned after programming just before I was taken home. There was a thermometer attached to the side with some wires. Sometimes there was ice in the trough when I was put in it. Then more ice was heaped upon me until only my head was above the ice.

(End of Journal entry)

The room was long like this. There were no desks and nothing against the wall under the windows.

There was a divider wall on the far right where the wall is in this picture. On the other side of the divider wall was a small room like a control room with electronic equipment. On the other side of that room was another room where some of the experimentation and programming was done. There was a window from the control room so that the ‘doctor’ or ‘doctors’ could watch what was taking place in the programming room. Also in that room at that end of the building was the horse trough where drowning was done.


Prior to the ‘dream’, I consciously knew nothing about mind control programming and experimentation.  I had heard of it, and knew the government had messed with my father, but as for my being a victim also, well, that never was allowed to enter my conscious mind in spite of the fact that I had remembered that as a child, I was taken many times from my home at night by the same two men who used gauze soaked with something and put it over my nose and mouth to knock me unconscious. There were even times when I had remembered some of the events that had taken place the night before. I tried to tell my mother so she could help me and stop the men from taking me, but she never believed me and told me that I was imaging it and that I should forget about it. 

I quickly learned to keep my mouth shut and just deal with it the best way I could which was to make the conscious choice to forget and live my waking hours as if nothing at all unusual ever happened to me in the late night hours. 

So, a war inside me began. The little girl who was being taken at night for programming, experimentation and rituals screamed to be free and wanted me to remember to remember so she could be free. I saw no way she could be free, but I could be free of her and the pain and memories... if I shut her out…which I did.  

I stayed in blind denial for many years until it took too much energy to maintain the walls of denial. Like festering wounds that finally reach the surface and burst forth decay, so did the festering wounds of my childhood begin to leak. 

It first affected me emotionally and physically by way of unexplained depression and physical weakness along with aches and pains. I learned that often depression is the result of repressed and unresolved anger. I examined myself. What could I have possibility been angry about? I saw nothing that warranted anger. 

As time went on, my depression got to a serious stage. I was hardly able to function at all during my day. At night I was tormented by reoccurring night mares. I counted over 60 reoccurring night mares that filled my every night. In my waking hours, I had flashes of memories from my childhood. I knew the flashes meant something, but I couldn’t for the life of me hold onto one of those flashes long enough to examine it more fully to figure out what it meant and why it kept flashing to my mind. All I had was the residual feeling of what ever that flash of memory was attached to, something dreadful, sickening or frightening…and then seconds later, that too was gone. 

Back then, I knew nothing about repressed memories and didn’t know how to help myself until a friend told me about a therapist he thought could help me. This was when I learned about repressed memories and about the “similar - same” principle and how something in the present can trigger a recall of something that happened to us in the past.

A repressed memory, I learned is simply a real memory that has been repressed. It is just like any memory that anyone has which includes the memory of sounds, smells, taste, colors, emotions, thoughts etc. The only difference is that the memory has been repressed or walled off from the conscious mind by an amnesic barrier, usually due to trauma. Memory repression is a natural coping defense mechanism which enables a person to survive when a traumatic event is too much for the person to handle and continue to function. This is a form of dissociation. 

Whether it is a “shell shocked soldier”, a victim of a horrendous accident, or a victim of SRA or mind control programming, in time the original memories packed with the original sights, sounds, tastes, emotions begin to leak to the surface or conscious mind in the form of reoccurring dreams and memory flashes in the conscious day time hours. The person remembers and realizes that they always knew what had happened. Often they are amazed of the awareness they have of knowing that on one level they always knew the memory was there intact and yet it was still able to be hidden by a veil from their conscious mind. 

The “similar - same” principle is when something in the present triggers a recall of something that happened to us in the past and one remembers and feels the same things they felt in the past. For instance, hearing an oldies song today may take you back to that time in your life when that song was new. You may even remember the very thoughts and emotions you had back then and even the sounds and smells. 

In the situation where a memory is repressed, a person today may hear a sound, smell a smell, hear a phrase or hear a song and rather than have memory brought to mind, they instead experience a wave of nausea or a wave of anger or fear. In such a case, what seems similar to something in the past is seen by the mind as being the same, so although the person my not recall the memory, they may experience some of the same emotions associated to the repressed memory. 

In time, especially with the help of a good Christian counselor, a person’s memory will return so they can properly look at it and properly deal with it so healing can take place. Journalling also helps in memory recovery and healing. 

So, what was first depression, then reoccurring dreams and flash backs...the truth was those were simply the affects of repressed and dissociated memories and the unraveling of the trauma based mind control programming of my youth. 

For me the process began in my early 30’s which I have come to find out is a common age for survivors of ritual abuse and trauma based programming to begin to experience "affect". 

By the time I was 50, I was having so many reoccurring night mares that I chose to do what was popular at the time, take a doctor prescribed antidepressant with a sleep aid to mask the symptoms and to insure I slept through the nightmares. Soon, the meds lost their effect and the nightmares intensified, so under doctor supervision, I weaned myself off of the prescription drug.


Just before my 55th birthday, I suddenly became suicidal with no apparent reason. I fought it for a few days, but as each day passed the urge to die was stronger than the day before. I knew enough then to recognize that what I was experiencing had a demonic cause, so I sought prayer support from a female Pastor at a church near by.  After I told her about some of my past history, she told me that she believed that what I was experiencing was suicidal programming.  At that time I had no memory of ever hearing of such a thing, but when she mentioned suicidal programming, a memory flashed to my mind of the fact that years ago I knew that something monumental was going to happen at my 55th birthday. I used to wonder if that was when I was going to die. Then as the years passed I completely forgot about that weird thing that had to do with my 55th birthday. 

There I was in the Pastor's office just a few days before my 55th birthday. It all made perfect sense to me. I told the Pastor about knowing that something monumental was supposed to happen just before my 55th birthday. She told me that that made sense to her. 

She explained to me that suicidal programming was often set to engage on a birthday or a holiday. Programmers use it as a means to cause the programed person to self destruct before they reach an age where the breaking down of their programming makes them a viable witnesses against the criminals responsible for the atrocities committed against them and others. 

The Pastor then prayed for me and in the name of Jesus Christ she broke all ties to the program and broke all ties to any demonic source attached to the program. In the name of Jesus Christ, I agreed with the Pastor on all counts, verbally asking God to make the program null and void and sever all demonic ties associated to the programming. 

On my own volition, because I felt in myself this was the right thing for me to do, I rededicated my life to Jesus Christ. I asked God to forgive me of all of my sins and to cleanse me from the filth I had felt inside and all around me. 

I left the Pastor's office totally free of depression and free of all thoughts of suicide. The difference from the person who went into the Pastor’s office and the person who left is the difference of night and day. 

It was after this that more and more of my programming began to break down. 
Like bubbles that had been trapped from rising to the surface, when the integrity of the veil that held them began to fail and unravel, the memories, like unhindered bubbles began to naturally and slowly rise to the surface to join and fill in the gaps like perfect fitting puzzle pieces. 

Just a few years ago I had more questions than answers about my own life and what has happened to me and why. Now I have more solid answers and very few questions left. The picture of my life is so clear at this point that even if the few remaining questions never get answered, the picture is so complete that not having the remaining answers is like having a few less pixels in a corner of an already high pixel high definition photograph. 


Going back to the journal entry at the beginning of this article...

What began as a ‘dream’ was actually one of those memory bubbles that rose to the surface when circumstances in my life no longer kept the memory restrained. For myself, I have no doubt that this was totally in God’s hands. Here is why I say this. (This is how God works).

Just eight days after the ‘dream’,  I had concrete confirmation to back up my strong gut feeling that the dream was not a dream, but real memories that had crossed the barrier which divided my subconscious to my conscious mind. 

The validation came by way of an email from the desk of Pastor Doug Riggs who shared with his mailing list, the web site of Ellen P. Lacter, Ph.D., a psychologist who was working to increase public awareness and support for survivors of trauma based mind control. 

I went to her sight and was drawn first to an article titled "Torture-based, Government-sponsored Mind Control Experimentation on Children", by Wanda Karriker, Ph.D.

I never got as far as reading the article because there staring me in the face was a drawing that was in all ways nearly identical to the ‘dream’ I had a week earlier.  It was if someone had drawn my dream for me. 

After getting over the initial shock of what I was seeing, I scrolled down to read that the drawing was done by a survivor. 

Then I read the words that I can so well relate to at that moment. 

“Who do you trust and what is real? Then, someone writes about and asks about those same experiences that haunt your life. All those ghosts that have terrorized your life and prevented a connection with another human being are suddenly documented in a survey. To learn that there are others with the same existence is bittersweet. It’s something that you’ve never wished on anyone else, but are relieved to learn that the insanity is not just in your mind. Unfortunately, the greater the numbers of strangers who have lived this tortured existence, the more validity there is that this atrocity occurs. This the world needs to know.” (Psychologist and Extreme Abuse Survivor – January, 2007)”

Yes, “bittersweet”…

Over the next few years, more and more bubbles of memories also made their way to the surface. More and more dots began to connect in my life.  As more and more dots connected, the very fabric that held captive the haunting echoes of my past, disintegrated.  

There were many “ah-ha” moments along the way which now stand as mile stones to mark my journey. One such mile stone was when I stumbled upon a certain picture. It happened while I was researching an entirely different topic. This is the way it has worked for me, that it is when I am looking for information on something else, that I stumble upon a gold mine that validates a totally separate mystery from my life. 

That mystery was the answer to a question that had haunted me since I had the ‘dream’ that wasn’t a dream at all. I knew in great detail what the interior of the building looked like where I had been taken to for programming and experimentation, but where was it? Where was the location? Something deep inside of me kept telling me it was at St. Joseph’s Children’s Hospital in Tampa, but the only pictures I could find of the hospital showed the old style windows, not the crank out Florida style windows that ran across the entire front of the wing where my programming was done. 

Then one day in the fall of 2013, I was looking for pictures of St. Joseph’s Hospital from the 1950’s, to go with an article I was writing about my tonsillectomy at that hospital. I messaged a person in a Tampa Florida history group to see if he had a such picture on file. He did. He sent me a picture I had never seen before. It showed a part of the hospital that other pictures never showed.  One look at that picture…I KNEW that I KNEW that I KNEW that my search was over for the location of where those memories of my programming and experimentation had taken place. There were the “Florida room style” crank out windows I remembered. Even the side windows were the same as my memories. 

I have no doubt that it was in this wing at St. Joseph's Children's Hospital that a lot of my programming and experimentation was done. This was also a "teaching" hospital where small groups of adults were being trained to work in the medical field as programmers for the US government. I was used as the subject while my "handlers" demonstrated and taught.

I Remember…

in great detail the entire floor of the wing where I was experimented on and my programming was done. Inside, on the far left wall (not visible in the picture) was where the horse trough was situated that was used to drown me. Sometimes my perpetrators would put me in the trough and pack it with ice and watch the thermostat. 

There was an adult size potty chair they used to strap me to because what they did to me made me lose control of my bowls and throw up. They would yell at me when this happened to me, but I couldn’t help it no matter how hard I tried. When the night was over, they hated to clean me up. This may be one of the reasons they ended the night with throwing me in the water filled horse trough.

Lots of times it was just two people, the husband and wife team who were experimenting on me and working on programming. The woman would attach electrodes all over my head. Sometimes she only needed to attach 4 electrodes to my forehead. 

My hair was very thick and was a tangled mess by the end of each night and needed to be untangled before I went home so that no one would suspect that I had any unreasonable tangles that a little girl would have after a normal night’s sleep. 

The perpetrators hated to have to try to untangle my hair before I was taken home just before day break.  For this reason, my mother’s handlers whom she thought were her close friends, brought up the topic of my thick hair and the tangles and suggested that my mother take me to the barber on Davis Islands and have my hair thinned out and cut short like a boy’s hair cut. I remember the conversation my mother had with her handlers and I knew what they were up to, but my mother wouldn’t listen to me.  She took me to that barber. The interesting thing…as strange as this may sound to some people… is that the barber looked like the man who did my programming. I suspect that he was the same man. I was so humiliated to be a little girl in a barbershop full of boys and men. Even more humiliating was the fact that for months, until my hair began to grow out, people thought I was a boy. I was a “Tom Boy”, but I didn’t want people to think I was a boy. 

This picture shows how thick my hair was. 

This next picture is my 1st grade picture which I always hated because it reminded me of the hair cut and why “they” cut my hair. I hated those people and had a degree of hate and disrespect for my mother for doing everything her handlers ‘suggested’ she do.  Little did I know that I too would be just as quick to do what my handlers told me to do when I was a parent.  Again, I ask God and my children to forgive me. I understand now that my mother was a victim too. I understand now how a parent can blindly do what their ’superior’ tells them to do.

Again, this picture below (drawn by another survivor) best illustrates one of the rooms in the wing where my programming was done since the drawing is nearly identical in every way to what I remember.  When I was subjected to this technique of programming, there was not just one black and white spinning wheel, but numerous ones in the room so that no matter where my eyes might want to wander, they would be caught by another spinning wheel. 

I remember there were times when the room was shared with small groups of “professionals” watching, listening and taking notes as my handler used me as the model to teach the select group how to program other children. 


Below: St. Joseph's Children's Hospital in 1954

yippee!...GROUP TONSILLECTOMY... fun fun fun

It was also at St. Joseph's Children's Hospital that I along with a small group of my preschool friends of a private school on Davis Islands all had our tonsils taken out on the same day by the same doctor and his staff. I remember very clearly what happened to me and some of my friends. This was no ordinary "tonsillectomy".  

The picture below is almost identical to the room and the scene when my pre-school classmates and I had our tonsils out at St. Joseph’s Children’s Hospital in Tampa Florida in the late 1950’s. My bed was positioned on on the right hand wall, the first bed in the picture which is just before the bed with the little girl who is sitting up.

Journal entry 10/25/2010

I was 2 1/2, possibly 3 years old and still living at my grandmother's house at that time. It just so happened that a group of children from my pre-school were also having their tonsils taken out at the same time that I was. We all shared the same room. Our ear, eyes, nose and throat doctor was a “Dr. Swartz”. [Is it a coincidence that our doctor’s name was the same name as numerous MKULTRA survivors have reported?] Maybe he was running a pre-school special which the affluent parents of my classmates just couldn’t resist. 

I probably wouldn't think this episode in my life was all that unusual or note worthy had it not been for a few other questionable things that occurred. Up until that time I had never known my mother to have ever lied to me or for her to ever feel that she needed to trick me or be untruthful in any degree. I was not at all afraid of the operation and she was fully aware of when my mother left my bed side that morning before the operation to go get a drink from the cafeteria, I had no reason to doubt that she would be directly back in the few minutes time that she promised she would return in.  

Shortly after she left my bedside, a couple of young men wearing scrubs came into my room to take me to surgery. I told them that my mother told me that I was not going to surgery until after she came back and that I would not go with out her. The two young men tried to convince me that it was ok with my mother that they were there to get me. When they tried to force me to get on the gurney I began to fight as if my very life depended on it. I was all feet and arms...kicking and slapping and scratching and screaming. I think it took another one or two people to hold me down. Then they strapped me down and started rolling me down the hallway as I did my best to fight the restraints and did my best to scream. They tried to quiet me by telling me that they were taking me to my mother.  I actually believed them for a moment, but when they wheeled me past the door that I knew led to the hall way where the cafeteria was, I let out and even greater protest and struggled even harder, but soon we were through another set of double doors and then into the surgery room. 

I was met by about 4 other adults all wearing scrubs, caps and masks. One of them, a female came toward me with some sort of a cup thing that was attached to some accordion looking tubes that were attached to a machine of some sort.  I fought as she tried to place the cup over my face. In a very calm, almost hypnotizing voice, she kept telling me to look into the tunnel...deep in the tunnel at the Peacock. She kept saying, "See my friend the pet Peacock". She kept telling me to look deep in the tunnel and I will see “the pretty pretty Peacock”, her friend the pet Peacock.  I knew there was no Peacock and that she was lying to me. I was angry that she would tell me such an idiotic thing. I was angry that she was lying to me. I was angry that she thought that I was so stupid as to believe her.  As she spoke I could hear someone counting down from 10. I think they had to start counting over several times. I fought to stay conscious. I think they were amazed that I was able to fight for so long, but finally I was losing the battle and I knew it. The voices became echoes and in moments the echoes blended to a solid echo…and then to white out.  

The next moment of conscious awareness I had was laying on the gurney being wheeled back into my hospital room by the same two young men who had taken me to the surgery room. The other children who shared the room looked shocked and frightened as their eyes scanned me. I don’t know what I looked like to them, but it must have been pretty bad going by the horrified looks on their faces. As they quickly retreated to their beds, the orderlies started laughing at them and in a sing song kind of way, one of the orderlies sang out “Who wants to be ne-xxxt?”  That is when the curtains closed on my consciousness like a flatline and the lights went out.

The only other memory I have of the event is when every so often I would first hear the sound of shuffling feet as the nurse person would come to my bedside with a tray of small glass vials that clinked together as he/she approached my bedside. He/she needed “just an itty bitty bit of blood. It won’t hurt a bit…. just like a little mosquito bite… just hold still.”

A moment later came an alarming painful prick of the finger which he/she milked for an itty bit longer. It was not like a mosquito bite at all, but I had no fight left in me to protest. As he/she shuffled away with the clinking tray of glass vials, the sounds in the room would once again begin to blend all together to be swallowed up in an echo as I drifted back into unconsciousness… only to hear what seemed to be monuments later, the shuffling feet again and the clinking glass vials as the nurse person approached my bed side once again for “an itty bit of blood that won’t hurt a bit”.


I don't remember leaving the hospital after I had my tonsils taken out.

The next vivid memory was after I was home and in my grandmother's large bed. I had been throwing up a lot of seemed that as soon as my mother and grandmother changed the blood soaked sheets, I would throw up again. In this memory my mother was sitting on the bed next to me and facing me. It was in the middle of the day and the sun was shining brightly. I don't know what made me look toward the windows to my left. Maybe it as the bright light, brighter than the noon day sun that caught my eyes. It caught both my attention and my mothers'. We watched as the light came in through the window expanding and brightening as it entered the room. It moved across the room toward us until it engulfed not only us, but the entire bed and a large area around us. It was like being in a light cloud. I could still see my mother looking at me through the light haze. She was amazed as I was. I felt no danger from this light that felt like a masculine entity of some sort, thought I didn't have a true peace about it either. I felt that it had a mission and that accomplishing that mission was it's sole object. My mother got up off of the bed. She never took her eyes off of me. She backed herself out of the bed room and closed the bed room door to leave me alone with this entity. I remember no more except that my throwing up blood ceased and I was remarkably better after the entities visit. 

I was not aware that anyone else knew about the above event until many years later when my cousin told me that my mother had told her about it. It is interesting to note that my mother's story matched mine. I was able to hear from my cousin as to why my mother chose to leave me alone with the entity. According to my cousin, my mother said that she felt that the entity was good and that it wanted her to she did. I remember that I didn't want her to leave and wondered why she would leave me alone with this strange entity. Though the entity didn't exactly feel evil to me, it didn't exactly feel heavenly either. Today, as I think back on this event in the past, what I believe is that my mother was deceived and that her spiritual discernment was corrupted by her involvement with the Luciferic "Spiritual Hierarchy". I was young and innocent and I believe closer to having true and clearer spiritual discernment. The fruits of that visitation appears to have been good. I was for the most part healed, but I still can't get over how unsettling the whole experience was. I have had other experiences with angels who were clearly angels of God and with entities who were clearly not of God to compare this event to. Though the fruits appear to be good, I still believe that what visited me was not Godly.

For that reason, I have surrendered that experience to God and asked God, in the name of Jesus Christ, to cleanse me of anything un-Godly from that event and to sever all un-Holy ties associated to that entity and that experience. In the mighty name of Jesus Christ, I have renounced all rights that the entity may claim to have on me or future generations because we are delivered from the curse, for it is written that Jesus became a curse for us. (Galatians 3:13)


Monday, October 26, 2015

God countered it with a Blessing

So many times in my life when life throws a curveball, God counters it with a Blessing.  

Finding this video (which I posted below) is one such Blessing.  I stumbled upon it a few days ago on the wake of discovering that more videos made of many of my interviews were recently removed from You Tube.  It was when I was looking for new links from other channels, that I ran across this Blessing. The author goes by “FightinTheAntichrist”. 

My thanks to you,“FightinTheAntichrist” for making this video.  It is a double Blessing to me because in addition to what I just mentioned about videos of my interviews recently disappearing, a few months ago the channel that carried all of my interviews and many of my comments was targeted and shut down by You Tube with no warning.  Most of the videos of my interviews on that channel had many hundreds of  thousands of views. One had over one million views.  Those comments of mine are now gone and some interviews are missing too.  So, finding this video was that much more of a Blessing to me!  I praise God that my testimony is preserved and continues to be used for good.  Thank you so much,“FightinTheAntichrist”.  May God Bless you with His richest Blessings! 

“Carolyn Hamlett's Testimony about Jesus Christ After She Worked for The Hierarchy”
(Favorite comments by Carolyn Hamlett from You Tube)

Sunday, October 25, 2015

Where ever I I am. (I was in the deepest darkest despair)

Last week when I was looking for something in my files, I stumbled upon something else, one of my journal entries from 5 years ago today (10/25/2015). I was taken aback as I read the words… because today I am light years and worlds away from the place I was the night I wrote that journal entry.  

I was in the deepest darkest despair which I used to call “warmed over death”.  It was a valley of the shadow of death, what seemed to be an inescapable living hell.  I am so very different now. God has worked a miracle in my life.  He will work a miracle in you also. 

It is my hope that in my sharing this journal entry, that those who are as broken as I was and without hope, will be encouraged to not give up, but will keep on keeping on because there really is sunshine and wholeness for you just ahead. 

Below is one of my journal entries from 5 years ago today. 


"Where ever I I am."

I have come to realize that no matter what I matter where I matter who I am with...or if I am alone...I will never be able to escape me...I will never be able to escape depression. Depression and me are inseparable. I am fully aware that it is not a matter of "if" I will take my own is a matter of when...unless God takes me first.  I cannot bare to subject myself to the daily torture...that has predominated my entire life. I am tired. The years have told me what lies ahead....more of the same...actually worse..because I know the world is only going to get worse. I know that if the average person had to live just one day in my head..they would probably shoot themselves in the head in order to escape. Maybe I will slip into the abyss of insanity before I have a chance to end it all. The sane thing to do is to end it all. If I lost my sanity...I would be living in another reality...and not realize how bad I feel. I guess that is how some minds cope...they totally lose it...all grasp of reality. Those are the people who walk around talking and it isn't to anyone on the other end of a cell phone. 

(John 10:10,11,9) The words of Jesus Christ:

The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.

I am the good shepherd: the good shepherd giveth his life for the sheep.
I am the door: by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out, and find pasture.

My life is an ongoing testimony of that fact. (Thank you, Jesus!)

1 Corinthians 2:9 
But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.

Saturday, August 1, 2015

Sunsets, autumn days and yellow

by Carolyn Hamlett

Sunsets, autumn days and yellow

The picture above has special meaning to me because of what it used to mean to me and what it means to me now. The color yellow was used in my early programming and continued to play a part throughout my life. Sunsets and autumn days were a reminder of death. Where as years ago this picture would have triggered depression in me because of what it meant to me, today it is beautiful to me. I no longer feel such sorrow or have the feeling that I am a slave. Sunsets and autumn days like this no longer depress me. All of the memories and pain associated with sunsets, autumn days and yellow that was locked up inside of me have been healed. 

Thursday, July 2, 2015

America - Remembering God's Country

Today, we Americans celebrate a nation 

that no longer exists 

except in our rear view mirrors.

by Carolyn Hamlett
Repost from July 4th of last year

Today, as I think back on all the July 4th's I have seen through the years, I cannot help but be thankful that I have lived during some of the best days this country has ever seen....and sadly, probably the best this country will ever see again. 

I have watched the decline of this country since prayer was taken out of the school system, since the assassination of JFK, since George H.W. Bush's NWO speech, and especially since 911: the globalist's planned and executed pretext to rob us of our freedoms and ride us to war after war.  

Today, we Americans celebrate a nation that no longer exists except in our rear view mirrors. We are no longer a nation under God or the land of the free and the home of the brave. We are a nation under the globalist's heel and are rapidly taking on the likeness of their God, Lucifer.

I mourn for you, America, like I mourn for the death of a very dear friend. I am so very thankful that God allowed me to be born when I did, so I could know the best of you. 

"If you could go back to any time period in your life, what time would you choose?" 

I always say around 1960 because those days were a good time in middle class America. 

Hopes and dreams were attainable. Family was a unit that shared the same hopes and dreams with never a thought that they would cease to be a unit for life. 

Boys were raised to be men feeling proud to be taking the role as protector and provider. 

Little girls dreamed of the day they would have a family themselves where they could be the one to come along side their husband as an equal partner working together as journey mates through life. 

It was a time when girls were shy and showing less skin was more sexy than nudity. 

Sweet 16 and never been kissed was not so odd. Being homosexual was odd, hence the term "queer". 

It was a time when God was honored in school and in this country whether you were Jewish or Christian or of any other faith. 

Family values and treating one another fairly was the practiced 'religion'. 

Yes, those were the good ol' days. 


As I think back to my days as early as 1959 when my first grade class was being taught "The Pledge of Allegiance" line by line, repeating after our teacher, I smile within myself. I remember looking at the far wall of the class room where to the left was a picture of Abraham Lincoln and a few feet from that was a picture of George Washington. For some reason I felt secure with their strong representation overlooking our class everyday all day long. 

I know this may sound like deep thoughts for such a little girl, but nevertheless, I had those thoughts and more. 

To me the pictures of the men on the wall represented honesty, integrity, and strength of courage to do what is right, and strength and fearlessness to follow it through. I felt that we were in good hands. We were being taught in the classroom those values. 

We were being taught that we lived in such a nation that was still one nation under God. I had no reason to feel any other way. We felt safe in the wholesomeness of God being honored in our class and the world around us. Our families also bore the model of a safe place under a protective man.

As the teacher repeated each line of the Pledge, I thought about each word as it came out of my mouth. I knew that for myself, I was not pledging my allegiance to any flag, but to God and to all that He stood for. 

That flag represented to me what made a great nation and what could keep a nation great. Not great as in the sense of instilling fear in other nations, but great in the strong representation of a nation of people who demonstrated the characteristics of God..the same characteristics of a good father who provides and protects and who is loving, who always takes the stand for righteousness and boldly says no to evil.

When I said the "Pledge" and I got to the words, "one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all", I was talking to God, like the Lord's prayer of "let your Kingdom come, your will be done on earth as it is in heaven". In fact I could not separate the thought of God from the Pledge because God was honored daily in my classroom as was God honored in the "Pledge".

Through the many days of many years of saying "The Pledge", I wonder if there was a single time that I was not thinking the same thoughts as I have written here. I was proud of my country, not because it was powerful, but because I loved God and I was thankful to be in a land that seemed to honor him.

Our everyday in class of that first grade year began with honoring God by prayer, by thanking God for our country as we said the "Pledge" followed by the singing of the first and last verses of "America" which speaks of God and our country. I still get 'goose bumps' when I sing these lines:

My country, 'tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing;
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims' pride,
From ev'ry mountainside
Let freedom ring!
Our fathers' God to Thee,
Author of liberty,
To Thee we sing.
Long may our land be bright,
With freedom's holy light,
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God our King.

The other children may have not been thinking of the words, but I don't think there was a single time that I was not moved in spirit toward God in thankfulness as I sang that song. I thought about every word.

I miss you, America. Maybe you are somewhere in God's Heaven. 

If we should meet again, I shall run barefooted in your sweet rain washed streets to the park where I shall roll in your freshly mown grass to the pond where I shall feed the ducks and geese, where I shall watch the sun set one more time...over your purple mountains majesty. 

May God shed His Grace on thee.

 "America - Remembering God's Country" is a repost of Henry Makow's abridged and perfect blend of my 2 articles: