Psychiatric Abuse and MKULTRA

By Mauri

 

I remember my mother telling me I was sent to the psychiatrist because she had a dream I was drowning. She did seem to occasionally have a problem when it came to reality testing. What she really knew, I can only guess. But she dutifully drove me there and waited an hour for the session to take me home.  I knew why I was being escorted to the psychiatrist at the other end of town, I was in big trouble once again, a problem he was expected to solve.

My behavior as number one trouble-maker in the cult next caused me to be shunned. It was a condition that was to last the rest of my life. Being shunned didn't turn out too different from being the scapegoat, which was my previous role, so life continued much as before. My mother would drive me to the psychiatrist's office weekly and I got to know her on a more personal basis. 

 I don't look like I need weekly visits to the psychiatrist's office. But according to my family, I'm a big "trouble-maker."

Maybe a shot of scopolamine, a little electro-shock and few suggestions can turn me around.

 

Oh, oh!  It looks like Lotus Blossom. That Beta Programming just sticks like glue.

And now it is being reinforced by the use of Narco-hypnosis and electro-shock torture.

Good before and after shots, that psychiatrist really knows his stuff. 

 

 

 

 

The psychiatrists had originally entered our lives on what seemed like a positive and a negative note a few year previous.  Suddenly we were the center of their interest.  They gathered together to help us with their almost magical knowledge of the human mind.  A female psychiatrist arranged to send my brother to a sanitarium in the San Fernando Valley to help his depression.  I was unaware he was depressed.  I remember when we all visited my brother; it was traumatic to see him, as his personality was gone.  We all sat around a picnic table surrounded by Eucalyptus and Olive trees.  In the distance on one side was a structure that looked like a huge old house, in the other direction were courts where the residents could play ball.  The trees dribbled debris on us as we sat.  I would have considered the area beautiful if it were not for my brother.  He seemed unable to function in any way, as he showed us the craft he had done.  My brother, who was very skilled with his hands, showed us something that looked like a small child had made it.  I knew that he was being electro-shocked. This colored the memory to shades of a Frankenstein Movie. When we finally got him home my parents were furious.  It took a long time to nurse him back to health, and in some ways he was forever changed by the experience.  But still we couldn’t shake those psychiatrists.  

The first summer I went to the psychiatrist, I have no real memories of his office only that I was to see the same psychiatrist my mother had been visiting and his office was a long drive away, over the hills, past UCLA and in the Valley.  My father and brother went to a psychiatrist, Dr. T, whose office was much closer, the Crenshaw Medical Center. We had all visited him as a family the year before, so I remembered him.

The first summer I believe I was taken to the Valley and we met the psychiatrist at the same psychiatric hospital where my brother had been electro-zapped to vegetable status, a year or so previous.  I remember lying in a bed on wheels with an I.V. attached to my arm.  Many ladies all in white scurried around the spotless room.  I noticed their spotless white shoes that laced up to the ankle, and small square heels nurses-style.  One nurse in particular caught my eye, her shiny new white shoes with a pin hole design on the top, contrasted with the dark brown of the wood floor. I looked through the square pains of glass connect by wood panels in the doors and the windows out into a yard full of graceful trees.  I didn’t feel quite present, more on the verge of emotional departure from the scene.  The room began spinning and everything ran into everything else then went out of focus, and the memory ends. I guess the drugs from the IV were kicking in. By this memory I feel my meetings with Dr. Jacobs began at the sanitarium in the Valley, probably associated with UCLA, because the psychiatrists were associated with UCLA. Most likely it was Olive View Sanitarium.

My memories of the sanitarium were buried deep in my mind.  I guess that was the intention.  My visits there were to be kept secret especially from me.  I recovered memories of being drugged by my parents, driven to the Valley, then carried into the sanitarium in a drugged state.  I remember sitting in a chair, barely conscious of my surrounding when the psychiatrist with a head full of brown hair came into the room to talk with me.  This was my first meeting with Dr. Jacobs. In another vision I tip toed to the door, opened it and looked out, heard someone coming then ran back in.  If I looked like I might be in my right mind, I was quickly tied down.   Drugs and more drugs, electro-shock and fear of the nurses, I kept to myself as much as I could.  In my memories I see the doctors and nurses but have little knowledge of what might be said.  One doctor came into my room holding a human skeleton then began shaking it at me.  To me he looked like a man shaking a skeleton. I think he was trying to scare me, but I have no recollection of what he was saying.  I was used to being alone with nutty, crazy people. I remember my mother stating that she would have to make the drive to the Valley twice a week for the rest of the summer. I assume the first trip was to take me to the hospital and the second was to pick me up.  For the rest of my life I have done everything possible to avoid psychiatric hospitals, so the experience must have been an unpleasant one.

After the school year began, my mother would drive me to the psychiatrist's office weekly and I got to know her on a more personal basis. I vividly remember the drive with my mother to the psychiatrist's office. Sometimes we ate in the medical building coffee shop. I remember the small waiting room, with the table full of New Yorker magazines. I remember looking at the jokes, as the articles were a little beyond me. I remember going in the psychiatrist's main office, with brown everywhere. Dr. Jacobs had a head full of brown hair; the carpet was brown as was the furniture. But as to the session, for one hour every week I was amnesic. I became so concerned about what went on in that hour that I asked my mother if she knew. She said she didn't.  Once I remember he asked if I masturbated or if I’d ever had an orgasm. He was trying to convince me how much better I would feel if I would only participate in sex. Having three aspects to my personality left me confused as to the conversation. I didn’t know what in the hell he was talking about, and I thought it a bit inappropriate.

As an adult I spent a lot of time trying to recover what may have happened in that little brown office, with the brown haired man that for some reason I hated. I closed my eyes and a few images of oral sex came up and one of me threatening him with an open scissors. I may have had a small scissor, as I was now required to sew my own clothes. I later recovered more memories that gave big clues as to what was really going on. The session began with a shot. I was amnesic for a physical reason, scopolamine or some similar drug.  Most of the time was spent in that office doing narco-hypnosis, human experimentation and mind control programming.

I had become a guinea pig of the CIA, their psychiatrist consultants and MKULTRA. It is debatable how effect programming was under the influence of drugs that cause twilight sleep. It was too effective for my taste, but not effective enough for Dr Jacobs. He frequently seemed disgusted with me. But after all, if one is amnesic to the session, how is one expected to effectively remember the programming. I remember dipping my fingers into a liquid or jell, and then metal cylinders with black wires attached were put over my fingers. Electro-shock was used to monitor the session, be it programming or even investigations into my psychic abilities (sort of similar to the opening scene in “Ghost Busters”.) As my memories continued I could see him scurry around the little brown room as he made use of my 50-minute hour.  He seemed to have a list of projects that needed investigation, most of which resulted in pain or humiliation on my part.

Sometimes the Psychiatrist would bring out a white enamel basin partially full of water. This gave me great fear. He would place my bare feet in the basin, and then give me a large series of shocks of electricity. I think he was a sexual sadist because this seemed to arouse sexual feelings in him. These sessions were followed by my performing oral sex on him. For this my parents were paying him fifteen dollars for the hour.  I learned one big thing from this torture; it was not safe to be controlled by the use of pain. I became so dissociated to pain that when I went into labor with my daughter years later I felt the labor pains as pressure rather than pain, a learned response I'm sure. Having recovered these memories, my earlier memory of threatening the psychiatrist with an open scissors, became clear. Torture by electro-shock makes one very fearful and angry!

My education included suicide programming, some of which got through, as one day I left the office with a full bottle of pills, went dutifully home, straight to the bathroom and took them all. I immediately realized what I had done and reported it to my parents. I survived with little more than a stomachache, but who knew. A more serious attempt on my life through hypnotic programmed behavior occurred when he had finally become totally disgusted with my progress and decided more drastic action was needed. On my sixteenth Christmas I was sent away from home to live in a room in a strange house on the corner of two very busy streets, by the psychiatrist. I think it was his version of throwing me out. I did feel lonely, and a little bit lost. It was necessary for me to take public transportation by myself to get to school, so I was isolated from my few friends. It was here that the "walk on red" incident occurred, so maybe the psychiatrist was so disgusted he meant to get rid of me. He came close. I went to the corner to cross the very busy streets that lined both sides of the house where I had been moved and waited at the light. The thought kept going through my mind, "Walk on red, walk on red."  I became very confused thinking the red light meant go. I walked out in traffic to the sight and sound of cars heading toward me, breaks screeching. To this day I check to make sure I know it is walk on green. After a month or two living in the strange house my mother came to visit, she took me shopping, and then she just took me home.  I don’t know if in doing so she was crossing the government and it’s secret programs. We became better friends after that.

Was I one of the many victims of the secret government program Project MKULTRA?  It would appear.  Dr. Jacobs was a board certified psychiatrist, who was closely associated with a group of psychiatrists who worked out of a psychiatric sanitarium near Los Angeles, which was probably associated with UCLA, as were the psychiatrists.  It was here that my older brother was sent.  Since he had no psychiatric illness I can only assume they were experimenting on him.   I have little information on Dr. Jacobs.  I have more information on the second psychiatrist I was sent to after my divorce, in my early twenties.  Dr. T, I considered much nicer, but not too bright.  He diagnosed me as having sex problems, because I had refused to be gang raped by strangers I assume.  My view was different having chosen near electrocution over the gang rapes. He further diagnosed me as "making mountains out of molehills."  He would frequently lament, "Sometimes you have to hurt people."  I suspect he did.  I wondered what it was they were teaching in the school of psychiatry, to come to such conclusions.  But at least I was not amnesic to the sessions and no electric shock was employed.  We had one family session in which my father again repeated his complaints about me that I was always stirring up trouble.  I felt that was an untrue statement, so I just walked out.

I found Dr T's credentials on the Internet proudly displayed on his personal web pages.  Interestingly he graduated from High School in 1942, but instead of going into military service in World War II, he went on to college earning his Bachelors of Science degree in 1945.  He was in the U.S. Navel Reserve from 1943 to 1944 and again in 1946, so he owned them something.  He then earned his MD in less than two years.  Close association with the U.S. Military, no active duty, accelerated through school, somebody liked him. His Military record included Chief of Psychiatry at Barksdale AFB, Bossier City, Louisiana, Staff psychiatrist at Tachikawa AFB, Japan, and Chief of Psychiatrist Services at Headquarters 5th Air Force, Korea.  He did his residency in V.A. Hospitals.  And he was a part of such things as being the Psychiatric Consultant, Detached Service to U.S. Army, Operation "Big Switch", Ossan, Korea & USS Black.  He must have worked closely with the CIA.  He was associated with the secret societies, and the Nazis as my family knew him on a personal level.  And he wrote professional papers with Dr. Jacobs, who occasionally gossiped about him.  I assume if I had access to Dr. Jacobs' background, it would be similar.  Strangely his history is very similar to another famous psychiatrist, Dr. Louis Jolyon West, for many years director of UCLA’s Neuropsychiatric Institute and whose links to MKULTRA are virtually uncontested. Both West and Dr. T were born in 1924; both went to the University of Wisconsin, Madison, instead of active duty in the military.  Both earned an MD under the wing of the military’s specialized training program.  In 1952 both were stationed in San Antonio Texas, West as Chief of Psychiatry Services at the Lackland Air Force Base and Dr. T at the U. S. School of Aviation Medicine at Randolph AFB. (In 1953 he became Chief of Psychiatry at Barksdale AFB.)  Both were trained as psychiatrists and both were associated professionally with UCLA.  It’s hard to believe they didn’t know one another both personally and professionally.  The one big lesson I learned from the experience was "be worthless for any possible use."  I think it was the thing that made them finally give up on me.

More Freedom of Information Documents available: MK-Ultra

© 2005 by Mauri

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