After I had published my memoir of journalising on Fleet Street – called In for The Kill, I was doing a round of TV appearances. I was also invited on radio, BBC World Service and BBC News 24 – for TV, Channel Four News, Channel 5 and ITV.
I was dizzy with book publicity, most of my book had been about how I hunted evil all of my life. Huntress of Evil, they called me. I had interviewed serial killers and terrorists and my publisher felt he should give the book a subtitle, Hunting Evil.
I was thought to be a Clarice – a hot shot reporter who burrowed into my evil mass murdering prey of serial killers.
I got home after the round of interviews and I felt a complete fraud. Was I really a hot shot investigator? Was I really hunting evil? These men were caged. Not only that I had been seeking something far more personal.
I had an odd taste in my mouth.
I was a single Mother. The publicity for the book didn’t impact on sales.
I began to panic. I was living in a rich area having moved there after I sold my home in a poorer area looking to upgrade. I was working for The Sun newspaper.
Bad luck struck; I lost my job after another reporter called Nick Parker had made a scam on Heather Mills then passed me a phone to speak to Mills who had sussed his fake emails. Heather then put our phone conversation on her website.
Rebecca Brooks, my boss, felt it was my fault for not slamming the phone down on Mills.
The sacking hurt me; I earned 50k a year off them and they used my investigative reporting skills for over six years. I had many front pages under my belt.
It was after The Sun kicked me out the door - then an unemployed hack, I began to write a book I called ‘In for the Kill’ after successfully publishing an earlier memoir about my life as an orphan for Hodder and Stoughton that became a Sunday Times listed best seller that was translated into Indian.
I looked around and saw that the other school run mothers my age were living in comfortable houses; my life was impoverished and I had no husband or home and had worked solid from about age 25, not really stopped to give any relationship what it needed. I was loveless.
I assumed I was a workaholic. I assumed my way was the right way and yet these other Mothers wore the pastel clothes of women who were totally taken care of by men – they were free to take care of their children. Mostly they didn’t, instead they arranged play dates nonstop and palmed them off on nannies – but I wanted that freedom to be with my little boy and not worry about a roof over our heads; I had earned that by demanding work yet I seemed to not have the money to cover it. Was it because a man was supposed to give me that? Why hadn’t I ever really fallen in love and married? The wives looked down on me clearly seeing it as my fault and that I was a bad person because I wasn’t like they were. ‘Think of how you feel when you see a tramp, my friend Julie said. ‘They wives fear ending up like you and view you, well like that – a tramp.’
Bad enough to be loveless – now I was a tramp! What had gone so wrong in my life?
I was lucky that I had some savings so I was there when my son was out of school but my money was running out fast and so I was writing books nonstop to try to get us a permanent home and sometimes when he was playing I had to be on the typewriter the other side of the room ignoring him while I tried to earn us some bread.
We lived in a rented house and after five years of challenging work on the book and the lack of income from it and a novel I’d written I was fast getting depressed. Why was I unsuccessful at everything? Once I had been feted in Fleet Street and thought my life was only going to get more golden.
I looked around and saw how other women had done it properly – married got a home early and built up together.
One of those women from a reading group I’d joined found about my book and left a nasty review on Amazon it said how I couldn’t write and my book was full of absurd adventures and I was a joke.
Depression then hit but my son was a tiny light who lit up my darkness of self-hate and confusion. We went to Lyme for the summer and I found purpose in him – I was a mother that was my direction. Sod everything else – even ambition and love.
I planned to work in a supermarket …. anything just to make sure he was ok. I lived for him and I found my way out of that darkness.
I felt alone – I was alone. I found it hard to make friends with the other women – they were from another world of being protected by men and my adoptive father had sexually abused me and my boyfriends had all been men who had violent tendencies or drinkers.
I began to think my goals to write a best seller and get my son and I a house were just all ego. Why hadn’t I found a good man who wanted to marry me? Why hadn’t I built up property and made security. My troll was there to reinforce my self-recrimination that I wasn’t a writer and I should just go and kill myself.
Amazon didn’t help, they said it was opinion and they protected free speech.
It was round this time that a reader of In for the Kill had contacted me to tell me that I was a MK Ultra victim, a Monarch. According to the American woman I was one of the Vatican’s chainless slaves that had been mentally spliced and operated on as a child in one of their Jesuit run orphanages to spy for the State by the Vatican.
I didn’t believe her reader, why would I, yet she spun me into a world of people who believed that they had this done to them.
I made a journey down what they call the ‘rabbit hole’ and experienced a place where everything looked different because I had pierced a veil.
What was a Monarch?
Mind Programming? Surely such a thing did not exist? I was curious enough to google it. It seemed a Monarch was a person who had been tampered with as a child, usually orphans and used thereafter as either sex slaves or spies – some of the men were used as killers or assassins or shooters. How weird a concept is that!
It seemed like I would have to drop further down the rabbit hole to find out the truth – to explore the other side of the looking glass and if I wanted to investigate what had really gone on in my days in Fleet Street – with two infamous serial killers, the notorious Real IRA Commander – I had spied on in Dundalk, a no-go area for the British Army and who had then been imprisoned.
I was a Vatican orphan placed into a military and Vatican clergy linked adoptive family who had sexually abused me as a child. At 19 and believing I was ugly and knowing I was unloved I had already made six attempts at suicide and had two stomach pumps.
Mind Programming – by traumatising the child by abuse, sexual and physical and then honey combing their minds by programming one part and attaching a demonic entity to it - so the victim had psychic gifts overlaying their own chakra system and meridians. The keys to unlock the way out of these bonds lay down a mysterious rabbit hole of occult science.
I wanted to look back at my own life to explore the truth of the matter – reader you decide for yourself whether such things exist by reading my story.
I found out I was loveless and middle aged with no money home and a career in tatters – yet I found out what the world was all about. I had a so-called awakening and was to find out that the whole world was in trouble – it was a hologram run by dark gods who loathed humanity.
I learned that I was loveless because I had always been their slave. Like Persephone I rose out of that darkness and saw clearly that the ones who had enslaved me had done same to everyone. I was loveless no more in the dawning of a Kingdom that I had always been part of – one stomped out in Ancient Egypt and one that was mystical, magical and powerful – I call this dawning the dawning of the snake. A rising up against the altered Bible and the lies therein about the fallen angelic who were not evil or bad and did not enslave humanity. I learned about how the darkness operated out of the Roman Catholic Church and how the only way out of bondage was through the use of the reversals.
Excerpt from Loveless - weird that I can't find a literary agent for this.
