My Lingering Breaktime

These are not the days I thought would be going on when I reached mid-fifties. I’m writing all the time, griping about viruses on my technology, and budgeting every cent. I’m limiting my meals, cutting back on everything I love, I’m always trying to fit in more walk time.

My situation is as spastic as it ever was. I’m balancing more than a full-time job and maintaining a home. Though nothing I do is simple.

Whenever I get one teeny good day or positive news; Thunder and rain send me wailing into a spiraling downfall.

I picked up a hobby on journaling my days for the primary reason of filling in a graph. Listen I’ve hit too many lows not to do research; My lifetime graph shows little ‘peak’ times and all efforts to combat declines; Never improve. No surprises there.

Thus, I have become empty-handed at the second-half. Forget about retirement. There’s no money in the kitty.

The graph never picks up. Just a dead-line of constant plunging. I should be dead, but I’m breathing.

My findings should be a cause for concern for every human being. I’m just like everyone else.

I’ve worked since I was a teenager, raised two daughters with no support emotionally or financially, obtained higher education, and led my life like a professional.

Did I mention I’m frequently complimented on my appearance?

I believe it’s those qualities that are to blame for being handpicked for an adverse life game called; ‘Messing with ya.’

Also a term I’ve been told multiple times. But is nothing but a lazy excuse for consistent cutting off deserved rewards. To put this in simple terms, I was blocked from the achievements I planned by spending countless nights of studying and test taking.

I’ve worked hard. But No One has ever gave me credit for my work. No birthday cards, gifts, dinners.

Which tells me this is not isolated. Others do know. I’m probably hailed a hero for being picked out of millions. Though ‘lucky’ is not even close to what I feel.

So, “What is the one commonality?” You know “The Motive” behind all this mess.

I think if I were fat, ugly, dumb, or an addict. I’d never been picked for multiple years of harassment.

A rich man will not bother certain criteria. Fat or ugly. Guaranteed.

I’m an easy target for ‘professional haters’ who have enough money to reroute my life to destruction. By doing so, I’ll be forced into a shotgun relationship. What choice do you have? You have nothing. Either pick me and take what I offer or walk until you become roadkill. Because I’ve completely blocked you!

I know the only way anyone can prevent the things as I’ve been victim to is by having wealth and power.

Nothing else fits in the background as would a rich pro who has a hitman bucket-list. He, the hitman, added me to a blacklist. Which over time created constant financial issues. His next task is to reache out through his unethical psychology channels to sever relationships.

Everyone around me is exed.

“God made me. Man rules nothing. Man is me. Man may break me down to fit their pitiful scheme. I do not follow man.”

I checked and did the Math. I used my writing skills and memory to aid me as I began a twenty-year tally of unique plunges. I found whenever I had extra pocket money; I was hit with a backlash of flat tires, car problems, outside interference.

In seeing the information on paper light-up showing A consistency of plunges that I always questioned; I hit Rock Bottom.

I never rebounded; The dream was idled and left in a blackhole to never see daylight.

So the question remains, “Who have I passed during the past twenty years with enough gall to submit my name into a pot of potential private citizens to cause persistent life upheaval?”

It’s obvious the perpetrator is bold and cares nothing of ever being served justice.

I don’t know who it is. Because I have been blocked a very long time. I have no wealthy connections. I live my life on my own terms. I’ve always managed a low-key lifestyle. I am so glad I did, too. You’re either a relative, close relative, or someone who latched onto me and wouldn’t let go.

Other than that, I should not be on any list of potential candidates to harass.

I will not have any retirement money to aid any type of luxuries. I’ll barely get by. The work I have been able to do paid under fifteen dollars an hour. I was not offered benefits. So, I haven’t had regular medical examinations.

But I have been. There’s definitely a specialty hitman involved. And that person has ultimately life ruined my life and some others around me.

Once my life was handled. My relatives were also mixed in regardless if they knew about this or not.

The hitman planned his ‘game’ twenty years in advance. He blocked my internet usage. Kept me in low paying jobs with no chance of promotion. I was  continually subjected to apartment harassment and frequently overcharged.

Now, I couldn’t get an apartment if I tried. My wages are low economic, my credit is below fifty, and I am unemployed.

I imagine my name is on a Most Wanted poster somewhere.

To give meaning to my life, I started writing a book. Also, giving the hitman his due.

In the end I’ve discovered many around me may know about all this and were involved. How could they not know? I’ve also found how really hated I am. But I’m unbothered. Which should bother me.

I’m not crazy. I think very clearly. Any law enforcement agency or military outfit would he mesmerized to learn what I have connected.

I wonder “How many others were put to the ultimate test? as I have. “How much was paid for years of backhanded abuse and relentless torment?”

I’m silently concerned but cornered to ‘shut-up’ about this. I’ve been told to ‘let it go.’ Nothing will ever be done. You’ll never find out who is behind it.

Yes; I’ve been screwed over. My excuse; I’m a poor attractive woman who is unattached.

I’m single. My daughters are intelligent beautiful women. I have two grandsons. I have it all. Making me a Prime pick for old bachelors who want a wife to sit beside them and spoon ground food and change their diapers in their old-age.

“Not Happening!”

I don’t love anyone. I’ve not developed a relationship where I’d feel compelled to be in such of a position. And no one loves me. No one will ever help me if I became disabled. Because my years were stolen. Now I reap those benefits.

My social media sites flood with Johnny Depp photos. And billionaires.

But I don’t follow celebrities or social circles. Is this for sarcasm? Like you wish you could have someone like that.

I don’t. Never have.

Why keep harassing me? I’m “living under the bridge material.”

I’m never gonna be a wife to someone who lived and enjoyed theirs. Would that not be the kick of all kicks? Spending the last years of my life being a man’s free housekeeper.

Nope. No thanks. I’m done. I’m lucky I’ve gotten this far.

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