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)