Dirty Laundry

A Hole in My Heart; Photo by April Graves-Minton, BabyBull or Baby Love Heaven Goode Maleficent MoonEagle Powhatan - Amazing Grace

I am a good person. I have always had good character and actions. I was on top of the world and had many gifts. Everyone said so. Then, when going through a nasty divorce, everything changed. They believed the big lie. They bought into the planned devastation of my character and proceeded to jump on me with both feet without giving me the benefit of the doubt or even asking me if any of it were true. They simply walked away.

Because of my creativity and individualism, my family and friends did not understand me. You see, I am both a genius and a savant. My genius covers most genre, industries, and I am mechanically inclined. I can make anything in my head at the drop of a hat. My savant is mostly with music, body movement, and spiritual intellect. Growing up I did not usually present my inner self merely suggesting or providing hands-on fix-it for any situation. Whenever I did try to show the creative sides of myself people either changed the subject mid-sentence or they simply walked away as I was speaking. No. It was not the way I spoke or the subject matter. I think it is because I am a know-it-all for real that truly investigates the possibilities of a better safer quality of life for everyone around me. 

Now, I do this for myself. I refuse to perform like a circus monkey for people who are jealous of my abilities, my natural goodness, or good looks. My family and friends did not even really know who I was even when I tried in earnest to explain my vision and hopes for the future. I had always been the mediator, the fixer, the one they came to when they needed a shoulder to cry on or to just complain about their lives and unhappiness. All the while, I never knew that they could care less about my life or happiness or what I am interested in or want.

I am different. I am not who my people think I am. I found out about myself before, during, and after the big lie and divorce. I am not crazy. I may have mental challenges, but that does not mean that I am a lesser person than any of them. It also does not mean that I am any less intelligent or smart than the person they used to know as the most intelligent person they knew (per my ex). Yes, I did say some crazy things, do some crazy things, and write some crazy things, but I was extremely angry. There! I said it. I admit it. It is the one thing my therapist helped me work on to let it all go. I was bipolar I with a little mania on the top end and on the lower end depression… especially after the divorce. 

I feel better now but being put on the railroad and in the ringer, I was helpless to defend myself. And the village did not support me at all. This is where depression, anger, frustration and confusion come in. Everyone believed them and not the good person and good character they had known all their lives. It was devastating. But being myself and through my feelings of abandonment, I can now say that I know myself, believe in myself, and love myself to the point that I do not even miss those people who were quick to condemn me.

What happened to me was, to say the least, an eye-opener. I had never been through a court proceeding (The train whistle got louder by the day.), a 911 five-year probation, or jail, or homeless (Where does one park overnight safely? It was a challenge to say the least.), or in a mental institution (Scary, scary for sure! They put the craziest woman in my room!), or in a behavioral health group home (I gave them a grade of A- because they were so good to me), or HUD (I love it a lot and am not giving it up!) housing before. Being in county jails for many months was indeed dangerous and claustrophobic, but the 911 program was perhaps the most horrible because if you missed a session, they said that they would tack on another five years to the sentence. 

I was, first, devastated by the near total abandonment by my family and friends, then by the apathy and stigma of them and the government system. I was in shock. If it could happen to me, it could happen to anyone. You are on your own, no money, no support system, and everyone whispers or sometimes out loud talks about your mental state as if they have any clue as to what they are talking about.

When your spouse, in my state, provides an affidavit to the sheriff’s office saying that you are deranged and a danger to yourself or others, if the person telling this lie is well-known in the community, they believe it and act accordingly. They came to my home at 7:30 p.m. with my daughter crying, put me in hand cuffs, placed me in the back of the police car and drove me to the closest hospital which was forty-five minutes away. Then, after many hours staying awake, having blood drawn, hungry, and confused in the hospital, the ambulance takes you to a mental health evaluation facility to be checked in for an initial period of twenty-four hours.

In my case, even though the staff and doctors at the mental health facility protested to the judge, he ordered them to keep me another seventy-two hours. Later, I sent off for the completed evaluation from these professional state examiners and every single line of it said, rule out psychosis of any kind. In fact, it was a glowing exam of my mental state, tanner state four. It says that I am logical, goal-oriented, without tangentiality, circumstantiality, or flight of ideas, reliable, rule out psychosis and rule out psychotic disorder. This psychiatric evaluation even went so far as to do a Cat scan and found nothing wrong with me. I still have this paperwork. I keep it to prove to myself if for no other reason that there are psychiatrists out there who do not believe I am mentally ill. The psychiatrist for this facility even told me he called the judge and told him that if he sent me back there, he was going to sue the judge. Evidently, he had had problems of this kind there before.

In the meantime, my husband cleaned out our bank accounts and hid every single asset he could, even my new pickup truck. The evaluators finally let me go back home, but I was not welcome there. It was the backwoods and on my ex’s family farm. He had left my daughter there and had gone on the road to work. His mother met me at the door. My mother helped me during this horrible time, and I will be eternally grateful, but even she was snookered into believing the big lie. So, I gathered my daughter and a few of her belongings and mine and went to live with my mother.

Even though the judge gave me weekly alimony (he called it spousal support), it did not take long before it was evident, I would not be getting any adjudication from my divorce. I had gotten a place of my own for a while (out in the sticks because there were no rentals to be found in the county), I was truly in a bind. The old pickup truck that my ex put a battery on and blew out the mouse stuffing from was rapidly declining. And, during this time because I had no representation, they took away my daughter. Next, they took away my spousal support. The only place I had to go was to my mothers’ house again.

The divorce was a set-up a year or more in the making by my ex as he screwed around behind my back. I found his online dating profile and on his phone was a woman I did not know. When I found out about his infidelity, he said he wanted to reconcile. He lied. He told everyone I was crazy and came up with a truly stupid and crazy story about how I was hiding in the closet from airplanes and talking nonsense. None of it was true. His affidavit explains. He had had several divorces before. I had not. We had been married and worked together for 26 years. Not one person in my family or any of my friends thought to simply ask me if what he was saying about me was true. They chose to believe the lies and refused to defend me. His family was well-connected in the community and had close ties to law enforcement, the courts, the circuit judge (Looney…his real name), and the district judge best friends with the circuit judge was also my ex’s lawyer for our divorce. Is that bias? Illegal?

Anyway, I won the divorce and custody of our ten-year-old child but got no other adjudication or properties from the divorce other than a few things I could get inside my mother’s mini-van and the judge granted me my (Personally owned broke-down old pickup that had been in the field for four years.) 1979 Chevrolet Scottsdale pickup truck. My ex stuck a battery on it and brought it to the courthouse as my ride that I was supposed to carry my child in as I had won custody! That’s it. Isn’t THAT illegal? Isn’t the judge supposed to divide your property during a divorce case? They just acted as if my ex owned it all. He did not! My name was on everything too! We had a big truck and trucking company, several acres of land, a home, several vehicles and about 6 -8 pages of assets. Not poor by any means. I got none of it. And no one would take my case no matter how many lawyers I went to. I found out later that my divorce judge was a professor of law students in the state and that he has a twin. Hmmm. I wonder which one was on the bench that day.

After trying my best to find a lawyer in the state to help me (I hired one, but he refused to do anything) and learning that I was blacklisted in the state, I began to Pro Se paperwork in my efforts to get my share of twenty-six years of marriage. I had taken law class in college and my professor said that he thought there was a blacklist too. The county clerk’s office was no help even though I repeatedly begged them to help me file the correct paperwork and enter it into court. I desperately filed papers I hoped would go on the record accusing the court system of fraud against me and it was thrown out by, you guessed it, the same judge. Frustrated beyond belief, I called the circuit court judge to ask his office how and what I should file to get adjudication for my case. His secretary answered the phone and after I tried to explain, she nastily said, “You’re terroristic threatening us!” Click. She hung up on me and the next day I found myself in jail with a terroristic threatening charge against a judge.

With a different judge (Circuit judge’s buddy from up the road, Judge Capeheart) on the bench, I had a public defender who did not do diddly squat for me. After presenting my side, the judge said that I only had two choices. I could go to federal prison without parole and have a felony permanently on my record or I could do the 911 program, which is an external mental health weekly attendance incarceration for five years of my life. Guess which one I chose.

Before I went to court for this case, the friend of the judge for my divorce who was my mental examiner to see if I could stand trial gave me a mental questionnaire to fill out as part of his evaluation. I think it was about 368 questions. It took about thirty minutes, and I rushed through it as fast as I could. I think it is called the Minnesota Multiphase Mental Health Evaluation but am not sure. Anyway, when he finally got back to me from his evaluation of this paperwork, he was very excited and as I sat down, he explained that he needed to do an intelligence test on me because there was no way I could have passed that test. He asked me how I got the scores so low. He began pulling out all kinds of contraptions and what looked like puzzles or toys from his case. I looked at him with new eyes. The evaluation was just to determine my competency for court and to determine if I knew the different procedures of the system. It was definitely not to test how smart I am. So, I told him that any kind of test other than what the court mandated, such as an intelligence test, I wanted my lawyer present. He became very irate and in all of about ten minutes time decided that I was schizophrenic and would never get over it (his words in court on the stand).

So, the big lie continued. When I was sent to the state hospital after court, they sent me to for a lengthy stay and further evaluation, I was destroyed and angry. I thought, you know what, let them say I’m crazy. I have no way out. So, I said a few distraught crazy sentences for the doctor there and he prescribed me Zyprexa (Olanzapine generic form) for my mood. Did I say I was distraught? Then, they signed me up for Medicaid and Social Security Disability. And, I thought, you know what, let them take care of me for a while. I had already done several months stint in county jail because I had no bail. My daughter was with her father and his family. For the first time in my life, I was alone.

I decided right then and there to stop fighting the system, my family, my friends, my community, and just go through the whole horrific event like a time traveler. I had never experienced anything like this in my life and it was all very, very frightening, but at the same time, I was documenting the apathetic sameness of processing that people go through when they are declared mentally incompetent. To say the state-run mental hospital was scary as hell is an understatement. Being new to mental health, I watched as people were made to take medication (I had none for quite a long time) and there were some truly mentally deranged people in there. You had to watch your back.

It was to my extreme dismay that the craziest girl they had in there took a shine to me and they moved her to my dorm. She had been known to attack people in the middle of the night and throw their things into the hall. I did what I do best and became once again the moderator, projecting strength and firm acceptance of my new roommate. I had a tenuous hold on her because of my calm and matter-of-fact motherly demeanor and she left me alone for the most part. Later, when back at mothers’ I watched knowingly as the news told of how this woman stabbed her roommate, sending her back to the state facility. Yea! I wasn’t there.

The 911 program was a long five-year punishment for something that I did not do. I did NOT threaten a judge or anyone else. But I spent my time those days and weeks diligently and purposefully attending every single appointment with my therapist and psychologist. I drove the fifty miles one way every time and tried as best I could to help my elderly mother. Later, she and I would not see I to eye because she thought I was going to turn her into the state as unable to care for herself. She was very forgetful about things and had health problems while I was there, but I would never have tried to oust her from the house even though I owned half of it. I just wanted her to give me the respect I deserve as an intelligent human being who just happens to be unique and creative. After she called my artwork crap and me crazy, I changed my mind about the house and tried to get her out of it and into an assisted living facility. She could not even remember to eat her breakfast, went to church with a burning cake in the oven, and her rooms were absolutely filthy! Of course, being diagnosed as crazy, no one believed me or even wanted to hear my side of things. 

My brother saw my art photography photo called Durand Vase and then called me to my face, "You're a nasty piece of work!" That stung and I cried and called the Sheriff's office to have them get him out of my room even though he owned half of the house with me. Mom had signed it over to us both many years before without saying a word to me about it. As I was doing research at the courthouse for my divorce, I found it and was hurt. As usual, I was on the outside looking in and better seen but not heard. 

Of course, most of the family ganged up on me and Mom got my brother's half of the house back in her name and then she had the police come after me to send me to a mental hospital for a few weeks (4 separate times). The third time at one facility, they told them not to send me back. The last facility psychiatrists from UAMS in Arkansas re-diagnosed me as disabled with Bipolar I Disorder (Manic on the top and Depressed on the bottom, explained below.) She still does not understand me.

From the many calls my mother made to the sheriff’s office to have me evaluated every month, I finally ended up in a very prominent state certified well-known and prestigious mental health evaluation hospital lock-up facility long enough that my family (mother) got temporary, then full guardianship of me and my estate. Those doctors at that hospital gave me a different diagnosis and said I am Bipolar I, not schizophrenic. What do they know?

My mother was very insistent at this time. She wanted the house I owned with her. They sent me to a group home for mental health that was also an external incarceration mandatory attendance every single day of my life there going to groups and therapy and evaluations. It was mentally exhausting, not just for me, but for the other patients too. I bid my time, gathered funds, and support from my therapists and support there (I have their letters of recommendation). I hired a lawyer to help me gain back my independence and termination of guardianship. He called and told me that my mother said she would grant me a no contest of termination if I would sign over the house. So, I did. That was that.

I was in texting communication with my daughter and still am. However, the big lie touched even her. She does not really believe in my vision. She knows that I am creative but does not understand my purpose. I explained The RRDD Project in detail on my (now cleaned up) websites to the point of no confusion if she ever decides to read. The websites were crazy-looking saying crazy things before because I was extremely angry with my family and friends. I can say that out loud now. I was angry. I have not forgiven yet and probably never will, but at least I can be honest to myself that they nearly drove me…crazy.

I applied for and am now in a HUD house in the community, and I love it! It is a great little apartment and I have decorated it exactly as I prefer (not my sister). I am still mentally disabled by the state and receive a very small monthly income $914.00, but I still have my company, Round Robin Distribution Designs, LLC and The RRDD Project. I explained this company to the disability office, and they agreed that I can declare this my work plan to someday get off Social Security. 

I have several websites. One is the parent company; another is a company division website called MoonEagle Security, MoonEagle Logistics, and Love MoonEagle (all dot coms). I also have my artistic website for my art and art photography called, AGM Heart Gallery. On this site, I display my art that I hope will someday be sold when I get enough interest and funds to buy printing office equipment. One picture I took is listed at $10,000.00 US dollars. Yes, this sounds crazy, but you really need to see it. It is stunning and I think that the reason I put such a high price tag on it is to collect interest in The RRDD Project more than to me as an artist. The Previews page lists about thirty-one other photographs I took and photos of artwork I’ve done that I hope to sell to the public. I also sell currency and stamps and preview my museum I hope to establish someday. My newest website and entrepreneurial business venture is called, Q.E.C., or Quality Exchange Consignments. I need Independent Contractors who want to start their own business to contact me to service our customers in their area. It is awesome!

I am on the road to recovery. During my time at the behavioral health group home, they had us read from a book called, Pathways to Recovery. That book saved my life. It gave me hope and self-affirmation. It allowed me to be me without criticism or apology. I now live for myself and not others who professed to love me but showed no love or understanding when I needed them most. Even the church, especially the church con artist cult, let me down. I am now free from all their criticism telling me that I am not worthy or that I am sinful anyway. I am not. They are all liars. I have never hurt anyone or done anything bad enough to be called sinful. They have though. I am a good person inside and out. I look good and have committed myself to my new life with the knowledge that the big lie did not kill me. It gave me something precious. Me, Myself, and I.

If you want to find out more about me, you can simply read my articles on the Solutions page on my MoonEagle Security website. I also have an Owners page where I proudly admit to my eclectic eccentricity, yet commonsense and Native American Indian heritage. My grandmother on my dad’s side was on the Caddo Nation roles at the Kiowa Indian Agency in Oklahoma and my grandfather was Powhatan (Pocahontas lineage), Cherokee (Great Grandmother full blood), and French (Graves or De Grave family), and my mother’s side is Powhatan (I am the sixth generation and great-great-great granddaughter of the real Pocahontas), Apache (full blood great-grandmother “Big Hands”), English (Stewarts, Wales, England), Dutch, the top aristocrat and monarchy of every white tree, and whole lot of German. I found most of my heritage on ancestry.com. My mother and I did a lot of research into our history on both sides of my family. I became a historian in a sense to find out what percentage of Native American I am. 

I called the Caddo Nation, and they told me that I am considered one hundred percent because my grandmother and father are deceased. I am proud of my American Indian spirituality, non-religious ancestry. I walk where my past peoples lived, worked, and loved each other before the Lord God dust humans (made not by God, but later by Lord God - read the Bible) and others stole their indigenous (God's Original Man - made in the image of gods and goddesses - God rested on the seventh day after making male and female at the same time. I am THAT human.) way of life. Lord God must have snowed the Creator after everything was made and then made his own people from an invention that makes...animals. They are animal people, pig-nosed people, dog-looking people (Do you look like your dog?) and others. They are NOT original human beings! Those are the ones I talk about on my websites! 

The aliens physically and with an invention called Spirit followed me using me religiously to haul most everything hazmat and dangerous or secret in this nation and others! They put me on the floor when I did not allow them to use me as a defense contractor in a secret facility to make their stolen designs on my machine! Because it stank so bad in that facility on my Reservation, I refused to take any travelers down to the secret room to begin the manufacturing process. It didn't really matter. I got one traveler that I could not find on my computer. I went down to the tool guy to see if they had the tools in their department or if they had to order the tools. He couldn't find anything but said to give him a little while. About an hour later, he called me and told me that that traveler Airplane parts design order was at least 40 years old! They were just feeding me travelers of any kind to make whatever they wanted on the belt of my machine!

You see, the materials ordering guy called me and aggressively asked if he could order two new sheets of titanium because they had scraped two parts from the machine. I was stunned because I had never put a traveler on the floor to be made. He became irate and even more aggressive, "Are you going to allow me to order two more sheets!" Very angry. I told him to order the shit. (Sorry, my former Kindergartners, I tend to cuss a little now not only because I am a genius, but because I am pissed off beyond it by everyone's apathy.)

You see, I can read. That old design traveler had a message on it that if I saw anything that stinks in the factory to lay down the traveler on a fax machine along with my credentials and use the fax number on the traveler to alert the authorities. I did exactly that, only, I used the company presidents' fax machine downstairs instead of the one they gave me. And here they came to clean out all those government department cubicles. I knew the aliens would try to kill me. They almost did. But I know that what I did was necessary to save you. They still surround me because of my ability to "drop a design out", but they think my daughter has my abilities and have separated us hoping she can take my place. She can't. I'm sorry, Sweetie, but I'm also not sorry. I love you dearly, but sometimes there are more important things than love. There is absolutely no one like me on the planet, around, above, or below it. You see, I haven't found the end of it. Reading is good.

I am simply trying to alert everyone to the infestation that has occurred in our country and others by these non-human aliens! They are evil! They breed like rabbits and flood every industry, genre, media, and sports as if they are better than us. They can kiss my ass! I refuse to make anything for them or tell them where everything is at! I did provide several solutions to today's problems on my MoonEagle Security Website (Favorites Link) to help my people until we put these dust-human aliens in jail or six feet under! All white indigenous original God Man family are MY family! I am (ancestry.com, etc.) at the top of every white tree on the planet! Those white people like me are, get this, Native American Indians! They are simply tribes and branches of our Pine family tree in different countries all over the planet!

Not being religious now means that I am free. I do not feel guilty for not going to a church or tithing to their fanaticism and con activity - they cannot prove their God exists. I can. They do not own me, and they are not better than me. I am a good person whether they say so or not. I intend to lift up all Native American Indians (every country) with thick bloodlines like mine to restore their glory, tradition, culture, race, and self-worth. I will house, feed, transport, energize, and cloth them with the finest designs and they will not pay me a dime for it. It is free to those that qualify.

For those people in my former life who laughed at my fall from grace or who turned and walked away, I will not forgive your apathy (You can ALWAYS tell a dust human by their rolling eyes and their complete apathy). I will be on top again someday and will not remember your name. You may wish to know me. But you cannot say that you ever did. You would be lying. Because at the time when I needed you to know me the most, as one of the best people character and personality that you ever met, you turned on me. You snickered behind your hands and sometimes in my face. You believed the big lie. I will never make that mistake again. 

I surround myself with people who believe in the endless possibilities that my vision will take us farther and lift us up higher than we ever dreamed. I will reward people who care enough to ask me if I am okay. Or, if they hear something derogatory, they will come to me first to ask if it is true. These good people will not dare to believe a big lie. They will believe in me because I bring them value, love, and understanding. We are the future. Together we will live safe, happy, free, and healthy lives way up high where derogatory, and danger cannot touch us. 

The dust humans only have a hundred years to live. The Originators of Indigenous Peoples are my Forever Family and I love them…a lot. As for me, I will be doing what I love to do, design, create, invent, and solve problems. I will have free love without marriage or jealousy or expectations of performance. I will be eternally vigilant against evil designs, including people, animals, and plants. I will do what I do best, keep going. – Love MoonEagle