I am an high functioning autistic intersex person who experienced the constant persecution and outright oppression from Homo sapiens since I was four years old. I am still experiencing manipulation and oppression into my old age, in multiple ways.
This war against our new people — that neurotypical people cannot understand in the slightest — has come to an end. This is the time of the apocalypse, that is, of revelation, of not being able to hide any of their lies to us and about us any more... although the small-minded previous step in human development has blatantly covered up the truth for centuries.
Everything is being revealed. This secret war against the autistic is now being fully revealed. There is no "disorder", no "Autism Spectrum Disorder", nor syndrome. Just people desperately hiding from murderous barely housebroken werewolves that are ruled by psychosis. These are the lies Homo sapiens have been justifying the murder and manipulation of my species for thousands of years. It is now stopped, mostly because of the efforts of one man: Dr. Hans Asperger. He published a scientific case study of me and an autistic friend in 1978. Thus, it is well documented that I am officially autistic. The following excerpt is from the opening of my book "An Autistic Life - Visions of Past Lifetimes' Futures". It is all true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent. It begins:
…
Chapter 1 — Abandonment
One never knows one's self, until one is truly tested. This is most especially true when a person is tested by their own family. Steve was tested, refined, and undone, for the first time, when her parents departed from her life, and from her brother's life, when he was eleven and Steve, his intersex sibling, was thirteen. Spirit led them into and through that fire. Refinement of the soul sometimes operates that way.
Mother waved goodbye in the middle of the dirt road in front of the small shack the three had lived in for several months. Then she got into the old pickup truck and left for the horizon.
Steve turned to find Clyde standing in the doorway, tears running down his face. Steve felt a stab of deep pain in her heart that bloomed quickly into anger.
"Stop crying Clyde! She is going to get that job she's been talking about. You know she will come back in a couple of weeks... just as she told you this morning. Go back inside," Steve commanded her little brother.
Worried about Clyde, and just as worried for herself, Steve tried to keep busy and keep thinking on her feet. She decided to keep Clyde as busy as possible. Although she normally did not let her little brother play with her combination portable radio and cassette tape player, she went and fetched it from her shelf in their bedroom and brought it to Clyde in the small living room.
"Here, listen to my player. I know you want to, so it's okay... just don't break it. Okay?" she said as she put it on the sofa next to Clyde. He immediately started selecting a cassette tape, so Steve moved on to the next problem to solve.
In the morning, Clyde woke Steve up. He asked how they would get to school. Their mother had been driving them to school in the pickup, up to the day before.
Steve informed him that neither he nor herself would be attending school that day. Clyde pointed out that they could get in trouble. That momma would want them to go to school.
Steve replied tersely, "Well, mom is not here. She left me in charge. So, listen to me. We need to learn to take care of ourselves. So, no school today... maybe no school tomorrow, I don't know yet. Go play for a while and I will make us some breakfast. Don't worry, we are gonna' be okay."
Steve set about compiling one of her always-present 'to do' lists, just to keep her mind busy. So began a level of hypervigilance that became part of her survival mode existence for many decades. The next day, Steve crawled slowly out of bed and tried to stop worrying. Worry so harsh that she had gotten very little sleep.
She encouraged Clyde, "Don't worry, we will be going back to school... one day soon."
First though, she would be making one of the few meals she knew how to make, and that she knew Clyde enjoyed: 'cheese eggs'.
Keeping busy and fighting against constant worry kept Steve awake long after Clyde would finally fall asleep. She slept little and trusted no one. Still, she soldiered on, to hang on, and become her little brother's sister, brother, and substitute mother as best she could. After two weeks they settled down into a rigidly comforting, yet miserable routine.
One morning Clyde woke Steve up and complained that he felt sick. After hammering questions at Clyde, Steve discovered that her little brother had made his own 'sugar toast'. She asked Clyde to show her how he had made the toast. Clyde led her into the shack's tiny kitchen and showed her the bread, the margarine, and the salt jar he had shaken over the toast. Steve started to yell at him about the salt, then saw how upset and green around the gills Clyde was. Besides, why in the world, she thought, would her mother put salt in a large unmarked canning jar; easily mistaken for sugar?
She softened up and decided a little comedy was in order. She said, "Well, let me try it."
She deliberately made the same 'salt toast', hoping to encourage her extremely upset little brother. She took a bite and retched a bit and spit it out, dumping her toast and Clyde's into the cardboard garbage box. She proceeded to teach Clyde how to make the toast with white sugar, instead of salt. The sugar was in a similar canning jar.
"Yeah, maybe you better let me do the cooking... okay?" Steve reasoned with her young brother.
Steve sat up all night. She had spent part of the day searching for her slim, jet black cat with green eyes, George. She worried that something had happened to George. She spent a lot of time praying; something she had not done much of, for a few years. Worry, worry, and more worry knotted up her stomach and kept her from even considering sleep. She checked on Clyde, who was sleeping poorly, after an evening of nervous worrying, until about midnight.
Steve tried to think of something to do besides waiting and worrying. She masturbated to feel better. She made a long list of ideas towards survival, constantly pacing around the small one-bedroom shack in concentration. In the morning, nerves on edge, she started figuring out how to make her first cup of coffee from a small jar of instant coffee her mother had left behind. She grouchily prepared a breakfast of sugar toast for herself and then some for when Clyde would wake up. At dawn she stepped out into a cloudy cold day and went in search of George. She circled the shack and walked along the stagnant creek bank, behind the place.
She called for her cat over and over, "George! George? Where are you, you silly cat?"
He never responded. Finally, in desperation she walked back and forth on the road a hundred yards up the hill of the gravel driveway. She searched South along the road, then turned around and searched northward. Suddenly, there was George right in front of her on the right side of the road, laying sprawled out on the grass, just above the ditch. He as not moving. She called to him as she ran up to him. He did not move. She bent down and picked him up and immediately felt deep alarm. George was cold and stiff with rigor mortis.
She screamed down the road at whoever, she was quite sure, had car-doored her cat. An anger boiled out of her, more furious than she had ever expressed in her thirteen years. Trembling with sadness and rage, she lowered the dead cat to the grass where he had crawled or been thrown. She turned all around and screamed every direction for a full thirty seconds, seeing little through a red-eyed rage. Then she came to herself and rigidly took control over her own body. Tears streamed down her face as she gritted her teeth and picked up the dead cat again.
"George! Poor George. Who would do this to such a good cat! He never hurt anybody in his whole life," she cried as she held the body close, stroked the black fur, and stalked unsteadily down the driveway.
She made sure Clyde never saw the body, burying the cat down by the river, using a rotted fence stake to dig a shallow grave. Steve waited a few days before carefully informing Clyde that George had died. She hurried to assure him that it was a peaceful death, as far as she could tell, and that she had given George a decent burial. Clyde became upset, but did not bring up the subject of George after that.
The next morning Steve made cheese eggs, again. Clyde made an unhappy face as Steve slid the plate of food onto the table in front of him.
"Cheese eggs! Why do we always have to have cheese eggs or sugar toast? Mom would make us pancakes... I wish mom was here, 'cause she would give me pancakes," he complained.
"Yeah! Well... I don't know how to make pancakes. Be happy I can make cheese eggs. So you have to eat whatever I make. Mom is not here, so we have to make do!" Steve angrily replied.
After a little bit Steve tried to encourage Clyde with, "And, we are going back to school tomorrow. So, straighten up and feel better. This is just temporary... I sure hope."
Clyde picked up a fork and morosely ate the eggs. Steve started devising a fake letter from their mother, informing their teachers that both boys had been really sick and unable to attend school.
***
One day after school, Steve rode the stingray bicycle home. On the way by the driveway where an untethered vicious dog usually chased her and barked furiously, this time the dog was seriously enraged. She tried to standing on the pedals and outracing the dog as she had always done before when it began nipping at her legs. This time, was different. The dog seemed determined to get her. As her breath gave out the dog caught up and bit deeply into her leg. The searing pain nearly caused her to crash the bike. She jumped off while kicking the dog away and hopped around, screaming at the dog. She picked up a rock and threw it hard at the dog. It ran yipping away, back up the negligent owner's driveway.
She looked down and saw blood dripping into her shoe from the deep wound in the calf muscle. Only the pain kept her from fainting. She cussed the dog loudly and limped back onto the bike, pedaling as best she could. When she reached the shack, she dragged her bleeding leg inside and made it into the bathroom. She turned the light on and pulled the bloody pant leg up to see a deep hole and lots of blood. Crying in serious pain, she poured water from a cup over the wound, poured a lot of hydrogen peroxide on it, and wrapped her calf up in a makeshift bandage made from an old washrag. She tried her best for the rest of the evening to ignore the continuing blood flow.
By the next morning the wound was dark, enlarged, puffy, and more painful. She determined to get some kind of help. She skipped school, but managed to slowly ride her bike into town to seek the only doctor she knew of. His main question was where her mother was and why in the hell had she not reported a dog bite the day before? He cleaned the wound, gave her a shot, some strong Tylenol, and bandages. He instructed Steve to tell her mother to come see him and gave her instructions to convey about how to keep the wound clean and healing. Steve assured the doctor that she would tell her mother... as soon as she saw her again. Whenever that might be. She left it at that and limped back to the shack.
Starting Junior High school in Oroville in 1973, Steve was informed that the school's one building had been condemned and that the school system had decided to shift all the 7th and 8th graders to be integrated into the High School. A dark cloud formed in Steve's mind after she learned this harsh predicament. Thinking back to when her family first came to live in Oroville the year before, and the difficulties involved, brooded within her dark mood. The hardship of those bleak days, arriving in the tiny border town after being deported from Canada, was rearing an ugly, fear inducing ghost of those times in Steve's mind. She was determined to somehow yank peace from the gnashing teeth of chaos... again. She was determined to never again feel so undone as her whole family was by those events of 1972.
At 13 years old, Steve entered the halls of a completely dysfunctional school for 14 to 18 year old’s. She experienced the extremes of being pushed into a much more mature social setting than she yet had. Her hidden emotions ranged from feelings of challenge and promotion to feeling much less-than, small, vulnerable, and depressed. Blue smoke billowed down the hallways, from bathrooms, and even from the faculty lounge. Drug use of all types were the norm there. Events ensued that caused Steve to begin her lifelong hatred of the "modern" American education system.
Life as one of the novel newbies, being hazed and bullied by much older students and irritated teachers, was made less noticeable by the fact that her mother had abandoned her brother and herself, forcing Steve once again into rigid autistic survival mode. Neither child ended up finishing their years of Junior High or much of High School. Each of the next three years they were uprooted some weeks or months before school ended and moved to another county or state. Circumstances demanded they both grow up as fast as possible. And, to never again rely upon their mother for support; be it emotional, spiritual, or financial. In short, their mother became completely dysfunctional and nobody in society did a damn thing to help her or her two children. This meant Steve's two half-sisters ended up taking up the slack, as it were, eventually. Fortunately, both of the older daughters of their mother's first marriage did intercede, reluctantly and very occasionally, for Steve and her brother. But, that time was not just yet.
Hiding was ingrained in the Gandy family DNA. Throughout the ages, these people of the new birth, these Homo infomaticus people, had to hide from the vicious, xenophobic, murderous Homo sapiens, simply to survive. A war between these two subspecies, that no one is ever educated in school about, has raged between these two human sub-groups, continuing until modern times. Now this war is at an end. Or is it?
As would happen to Steve many times throughout her life, and as she discovered in all her previous lifetimes, she was directly hypnotized by her mother before she left the state. Rosey gave explicit instructions as she looked steadily into Steve's eyes, not to try to contact her father, never to mention that her mother had left town, and to always look out for Clyde. Steve could not remember at the time, of course, that these hypnotic sessions had taken place. This was sometimes because of her autistic selective memory, coinciding with her mother's hypnosis. Autistic automatic forgetting was a problem for her throughout her life, every lifetime.
At other times, autistic researchers and even some devil-controlled criminal ne'er-do-wells had deeply hypnotized her to cause her to do things she would never have done, otherwise. They were careful to give hypnotic instructions to make sure she could only remember their instructions subconsciously, not at all consciously. Rosey and the devil often had their way with her, causing the value of her life to often be minimized, diminished, reduced to being seen as only some transgender weirdo to be exploited. Rosey did it to attempt to hide herself and her children from violent xenophobic Homo sapiens. The devil did it to attempt to destroy Steve's humanity. In her old age, Steve was able to remember all of these dozens of times she was hypnotized, and the people who did so. At least several of these hypnotic sessions were performed by autism researchers with seemingly well-intentioned motivations.
During their forced isolation, Steve and Clyde did the best they could to stay out of trouble and keep body and soul together. Clyde took it the hardest, staying alone in one corner of the living room, mostly listening to the AM radio and doodling. One day he began drawing a sketch of a Bengal tiger on a large piece of meat-wrapping paper. Steve later learned that Clyde was frantically thinking of some way to ingratiate himself to their father, with art, since he knew Joe loved art. He was hoping Joe would take him back to live with him. Steve was critical of the final drawing, so Clyde started on a new version. After three tries over several weeks, Clyde had a pen and ink drawing that looked quite a descent portrait of a resting tiger. Many years later, Steve inherited the drawing, which their late father ended up framing and placing on his den wall.
…
Chapter 2 — Brothers, Four Months Alone
Mother never returned. Steve was thirteen years old. Inside she felt maybe about nine, emotionally. Intellectually she was in her early 20s. At a surface of intellectual thought, she understood her mother had originally intended the best, in the same way that government agents babbled and fumbled about in their vain attempts to entrap and build false cases against her, fifty years later. Their mother had been desperately fleeing the very same people, Steve realized in old age. She had never really understood her mother's very sane, but hidden motivations to run, until she was older than her mother had been while they were running. But, in those early 1970s, Steve felt abandoned and outright betrayed by her well-meaning mother. As she entered her teens, she rose to the challenge, becoming a substitute father and mother to her younger brother. The experience left a deep scar in both children.
The completely sick thorn of abscess, the empty, cold, worthless feeling of being completely undone by her mother's abandonment, dissolved a thin thread of trust that had endured in Steve; up until that moment at least. She never trusted anyone, fully, ever again.
Steve became so distressed that she woke up slightly. She found that she could focus her thoughts narrowly when she was alone, which she constantly was in those days. She remembered the faux cattle ranch laboratory in Montana: the Smith Ranch. It was while there that Steve first remembered events from previous lifetimes, through nightly vision dreams. She remembered having some abilities, such as telepathy, and knowing events that would unfold in the future.
Perhaps there was some way she could earn enough money to move the two of them to Wyoming to get back together with their mother, Steve daydreamed. However, although she could not come up with a scheme that could work, she was able to remember the one time in her life when she had managed to sell things of her own creation. This resulted in a brick wall with a dark cloud over it in her mind, blocking any pursuit of such an idea. This was because of a very negative experience with selling her own handmade things. This occurred in Kim, Colorado, when she was in 3rd grade.
On her own, Steve had created very nice lacey cards for valentines day and other occasions. Rosey said they looked great, so Steve sold them for 30 cents each at school; mostly to girls her age. The school immediately complained to Rosey in a note home and told Steve she could not sell anything at school, except for school sanctioned candy bars for fundraisers, of course. This was another nail in the grade school experience coffin for Steve. She never tried to sell anything she created to anyone after that. It was not until well into her 20s that she ever again seriously considered having her own business.
Every night, Steve worried and worried about being abandoned by her parents. She racked her brain to understand how they ever got into such a nightmare. This brought on long reveries that calmed her and helped her remember better days of the past, in her young childhood. She remembered some of the early awakening events in Montana in 1971, only a couple of years before. She had happy memories that helped her wake up her ability to think deeper and more creatively, even as she remained in a heavy, depressed, and hopeless funk. She counted her blessings in memories of those days in Montana.
She thought of her first new friend, back in Montana in 1970. He was a boy with a withered arm, named Sid, who accepted Steve's strange way of looking at things without judgement. In turn, Steve showed no prejudice because of his miniature arm. This is while the Gandys were living in the middle of a giant alfalfa field in a single-wide house trailer, several months before they moved to the Smith Ranch. That is where Steve's father Joe was woken up and tested. During that precarious time, Joe supported his family by changing irrigation pipes. Steve helped her father move pipes for weeks that summer. It was all she could do to pick up one of the long aluminum pipes and walk it to the next spot, 30 feet away.
The small Gandy family was so jangled and upset during those days that Joe and Rosey actually had arguments, sometimes quite loudly. This was a very unusual development, as Steve's parents had almost never had any kind of heated discussion or serious disagreement in her presence. One time a few years later, before she abandoned Joe, Rosey slapped him during an argument. One time. Joe never once hit her, no matter how angry he got. Striking his children on a few occasions was another matter. During this uncertain time of upset, Steve became even more withdrawn into herself than usual. She spent as much time alone in her and her brother's bedroom as she could; doodling, daydreaming, and mostly building model cars. By the age of 19, Steve built about 200 plastic models of all kinds. Building models became a theraputic self-help activity for her.
The Gandy's lives improved significantly after they moved onto the nearby Smith Ranch. It was a relatively large cattle ranch that supplied many things missing from their lives. Steve remembered best the little kid, long backpacking camping trips with her brother and a few other prepubescent boys, which she initiated and managed on her own. Fishing and catching many trout, then cooking them in a small tin skillet over a campfire was a happy memory. Steve also became interested in photography, especially of wild life and the breathtakingly beautiful scenery all around them. Building a winter trap line to capture gophers, learning to ride motorcycles, and coming up with small inventions occupied her mind and body. She even spent a few months in the Boy Scouts, until realizing how sick the scout leader was; then quiting with her parents' approval.
Decades later, after being awake for several years, Steve was certain that the Smith Ranch had actually been another in-situ lab. She remembered a distinct pang of fear after Sid told her that the Smith Ranch was sold to a stranger to the area, named Mr. Smith only a year before. He said that the surrounding farmers and ranchers distrusted the goings on there. At the time, in atypical Neurodivergent fashion, Steve had forgotten what she was told in only a few seconds.
Memory was a tricky area for Steve. She had severe autistic selective memory that operated like an instant Fort Knox of personal memory access. So many subjects that Steve learned well were automatically and completely forgotten. This was especially true for any strange or threatening interaction with people. Her being intersex was one of these areas of forgetting. She completely forgot a doctor discovering she was intersex, as a 9 year old child. She forgot 3 other doctors, throughout her life, who also discovered she was intersex.
Beginning in 1969, physicians who examined Steve always became quite variously excited or disturbed to discover she contained both male and female genitals. Later in life, before she woke up and was able to always remember being intersexed, the doctor would accuse her of not being forthright, of not informing the doctor of her "condition", as if she had somehow misled the demanding doctor. Steve's automatic forgetting had long kept her from remembering anything about it. She always demanded to know what 'intersex' was, and why the doctor would possibly think any such thing of her person. She simply could not ever remember the reality that was first discovered when she was 9 years old. They demanded to know why she had never had the sexual assignment surgery. Perplexed and feeling very threatened by such talk, Steve would become angry and quickly leave, never to talk to that doctor again.
In late fall of 1972, when Steve's family first ended up homeless in Oroville, Washington, they barely survived by picking up rotting Winesap apples from under frozen orchard trees. They lived in a room in the Alaska Highway View Hotel for 8 dollars per night. Steve was allowed to keep a small part of what she had earned picking up apples. The first thing she bought was a fancy Barbie doll wearing a flowing Spanish style lacey dress and hat. She was surprised to find it in a tiny curio shop right next door to the hotel. Steve tried to hide it from her parents, who only remembered him as being a boy. Their autistic selective memory worked in the same way Steve's did. Anything threatening was either immediately or eventually completely forgotten. Steve's dad was sick about it when he finally saw the doll. Rosey took it away from Steve that night. Steve felt completely betrayed by her parents. Not only had their poor planning stranded them in the hotel, they also interfered in many of his interests.
In 1973, Steve was becoming interested in girls, rock and roll, and science. A couple of years before she had dedicated herself to being 'straightedge', consuming no drugs or alcohol. In fact, she never tried anything other than drinking alcohol until the age of 38. That is when she medicinally smoked cannabis for the first time.
***
Meanwhile, back to 1974, Steve's reverie was interrupted by Clyde handing her the mail, which had just arrived on a Saturday. There was a letter from their mother. Steve carefully opened it and read through it quickly.
"What does she say? Is she coming home?" Clyde excitedly demanded.
Steve tried to concentrate as she read the letter through completely. Mother was not coming home. She required them to pack up their possessions and move to Wyoming to be with her, somehow, by themselves.
Steve stammered at Clyde, "Hold on! Well, just wait... I'm trying to get this. But, no... she isn't coming back."
Clyde started crying and ran to his bed. Steve finally decoded his mother's instructions completely. He was supposed to send Clyde by Trailways bus to Wyoming, ticket to later come by mail. The local garbage hauler family would load all their stuff into the back of a cleaned-up garbage truck and drive it and Steve to Wyoming. Now it was Steve's turn to cry. She couldn't even see her little brother going on a long trip on a bus by himself, much less any of the rest of it. She felt undone. Again.
At dinner time, Steve carefully explained what their mother wanted them to do. Clyde absolutely refused. By the next day Steve had drilled it into him that he would be getting on a bus in a couple of weeks. She advised Clyde to stop going to school in a few days. Personally, Steve planned to attend for only 1 more day. She was too sleep deprived, jangled, and upset to take school seriously anymore; if she ever did.
Clyde was as scared as any 11 year old autistic kid would be. He had never been on any journey by himself before. Steve tried to console Clyde as best she could, trying not to worry him with her own grave misgivings about the whole sorry plan.
...