once, in a greener day (redux)


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Anne and Mishi

Anne Nakis and Mishi

by: mishi

Posted on: 06-20-2009 @ 11:33 am



Sat 20 June 2009     Greenfield

Anne is someone different than she was for 55 years, before the taking of her home and everyone she loves. She’s someone different because of things a man told her about her life being in danger and protection from feds. He’s the same person who told me I had Aspergers after these public-run tests were over. I believed I had Aspergers anyway, and have believed it for several years. After everything that has happened in the last fifteen months, my fear of other people is greater than ever, my distaste for them is greater than ever. My desire not to look at their eyes is greater than ever, and I’m certainly less inclined to smile than I ever was.

Mishi was one of the two dogs that were taken from me in this whole illegal eviction disaster. He was supposed to be in foster care and I was supposed to have a chance to get him back. He would have been 11 years old last July, but this is what I suspect happened to him, based on small things that were said: That he and my other dog ended up in the possession of the mentally disturbed landlady who had evicted us, and that she soon had Mishi put to sleep because she didn’t want to deal with his epilepsy. I believe she kept my other dog, Mishi’s daughter, and has her still. No one has ever told me definitively what happened to my two dogs, but this is what I believe from small utterances both before and after the eviction.



Yet Again

by: mishi

Posted on: 06-12-2009 @ 09:56 am



Fri 12 June 09           Greenfield

I don’t know how many of you have read any of my posts from last year, but this is in case some of you have.
Last year in July a man here in Greenfield started taking me to his apartment and telling me shocking things about my life. I found this man believable, for reasons I’ve described in more than one place in these journals. He told me I was being protected by the FBI from some people who wanted to hurt me, and that my grandfather whom I’d never known had been some kind of organized crime guy. I can’t tell you how shocking all this was, on top of the devastation of losing my home and all my animals. And since this man mentioned “big fish” needing to be caught, I came to see myself as the bait for these big fish. I’m still in no way sure that this wasn’t the case, as Matthew never took any pains to deny it.
But I was living on stingy information and a great deal of tension and anxiety. I was never told how many  people were protecting me, or how many people were around who wanted to hurt me, or how long all this would last, so I had no idea of the scope of the thing. In all the strain I was forced to wonder if every unfamiliar face was on one side or the other.
And then the tests run on me in public places last June. They certainly looked like Aspergers tests to me. When they were over, this same man told me that I had it, and on later occasions he referred to me as autistic.
I still believe the things he told me last year, because no one credible has come forward to say that he just played a hoax on me and is not undercover law enforcement. I believe that for some period of time I was being protected to some degree or other, but the scope of it I still don’t know. It has all been undercover, I haven’t been treated in an above-board manner, and all the questions are still unanswered.
Meanwhile, this man has not yet returned to his real home in the town of Deerfield. He is still here. I spent some time with him yesterday, but he will not give me anymore information.
I believed things that were told to me, and so far I still believe them. But in my anxiety and tension, and left to guessing, I pulled many more people and events into the field of my “protection” than probably belonged there. The strain of all the months was too much pressure for me. I lived in a constant state of wondering and nervousness, and waiting. Waiting for these protectors to locate me somewhere. And this individual Matthew, knew perfectly well I was waiting for this and never deigned to tell me that it was no longer the plan.



Lontano Dagli Occhi

by: mishi

Posted on: 06-08-2009 @ 12:24 pm



It’s been way too long since I’ve written here. I get the feeling that most of you writing on wrongplanet are younger than I am, and perhaps we have nothing but Aspergers in common. But I am struggling, and am very sad, and would appreciate making a connection, at least on the internet, with someone else with Aspergers. I’m 56, and if you can stand that, please email me at annenakis@yahoo.com. thanks.

And returning in August 2010, to say that the response from the particular Asperger’s community on WrongPlanet was always extremely sparse, at best.


For Those Who Betray…

… dante’s ninth circle

by: mishi

Posted on: 01-29-2009 @ 01:26 pm



thurs 29 jan 2009          Northampton

HELL IS OTHER PEOPLE    ~~   (j.p.sartre)

and I could add: especially an egomaniac named matthew.

Update 19 August 2009:  Not much to add here. I was angry, and I think rightly so. I was back in Northampton from 8 Jan to 9 Feb this year, staying at a shelter. But there now comes a long gap in time before I wrote again. From 9 Feb this year to 23 April, I didn’t have access to a computer. And how that all came about was as bizarre and suspicious and immoral and, as far as I know illegal, as many other things that have happened over the last 17 months.


The Hollow Men

Thursday 12 August 2010          Turners Tears

Throughout my blogging of nearly two and a half years, one of my recurring themes has been the hollow men (it’s the title of a T.S. Eliot poem). I use this phrase to refer to the women who destroyed my life, to Matthew and his cohorts, and to neurotypicals in general, whom I indeed find to be mostly hollow. Hollow in terms of conscience, depth of thought, depth of emotion and compassion. Like wandering and meandering, the subject of hollowness comes up often in the nine blogs that make up my website.


How Many Are There?

by: mishi

Posted on: 01-21-2009 @ 12:58 pm



Wed 21 Jan 09 Northampton

How many innocent people are there in amerika who’ve ended up with organized crime after them and in illegal, undercover federal “protection”? How many non-criminal people like me have that happen to them? Maybe 10? In the whole country? And of those possible 10, how many of them already had PTSD before the government came on the scene? Maybe 3? And of those 3, how many have asperger’s? Maybe none? I’m sick and tired of people telling me “we’re all in the same boat, we all have problems.” I may very well be a one-of-a-kind amerikan, and your problems, jane doe, and your platitudes, bear no relevance whatsoever to the one-of-a-kind hell I, according to Mr. Matthew, am living in. Not to mention the fact that before I ever spoke a single word with Matthew, a psychotic landlady, her mob-connected tenant, and a totally unscrupulous gang at the Department of Mental Health robbed me of everything that was my life and left me on the streets. We are not all in the same leaking boat, and your problems are not like mine.

Update 24 August 2009:  So angry. It had been building for months. And yes, if  Matthew’s words to me were true about what was going on in my life, then I was indeed quite possibly a one-of-a-kind amerikan. And I still want to scream when people give me those cliches mentioned above: I don’t know a single other person who’s had their home and everyone they love yanked away from them, and then been told they’re being protected by undercover federal criminals from people who want to kill them. Not one other person.



by: mishi

Posted on: 01-17-2009 @ 10:39 am



Saturday 17 January 2009 Northampton

Chan, Chailin and Ziidjian, three souls I love deeply, would have been 13 today if they had not been taken from me, hidden, euthanized… under the caring, treacherous hand of the Department of Mental Health. 

I’d love for an activist lawyer or journalist to someday come and read how various agencies of various kinds of government have treated me; these things I was looking for way back in the beginning when I started my on-line journals. I still need them.

Update 24 August 2009:   I’m actually not sure to this day if the federal “protection” situation had anything at all to do with my illegal eviction and the disappearance of my animals. Maybe yes, maybe no. But I was still in the fiercest of my anger and the worst of my anxiety when I wrote this post, and now I’ve edited out a lot of that ferocity. After all, in our current societal mood, angry = insane. So many people by the time I wrote this post had told me that the FBI can do anything it wants, without conscience or scruples, that anything that happened to me or didn’t happen could potentially have had them behind it. I still don’t know how much had them behind it, because these are some of the many questions Matthew will not answer.


The Scrapbook Art II


A sampler of some of the photos and art I’ve used on the post pages.                                                                           

If you have nothing better to do and are bored, you could wander around the interlinked blogs and try to find them. Jesus, even I’m not that  bored.                             

                The Scrapbook Art I    


The Scrapbook Art III




unending unanswered questions

 by: mishiPosted on: 01-13-2009 @ 04:06 pm



Tuesday 13 Jan 2009….        Northampton

 It all goes on, into a new year. The “protection.” The baithood? Matthew certainly never denied this baithood. The homelessness. The waiting, the things Matthew wouldn’t tell me, and the things he did. The location somewhere, as a “protected” person, that never comes.

Tell me, any readers there might be, a little about love.

Update 26 Aug 2009:   Love. Yes, the man who told me these shocking things about my life supposedly loved me, at least last year. When I wrote this post, I had been going from place to place since the 20th of Aug 08. What kind of protection was that? Why didn’t I get protected in a home, as other people do? Was Matthew lying? I found very believable the things he told me, because very strange, out-of-place things had been going on in my life for a good while before he told me these things. But where was Matthew’s love? I wonder if he ever in all my wandering months tried to prevail upon his superiors to locate me somewhere and show me some IDs.

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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2008-2011 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.