MY personal EXPERIENCE with the insane INSTITUTION they call SCHOOLS

 The Polished version easy to read and God himself polished to add so much love where I hurt.

🔥 I Have a Son — And I Never Told Him He Was Wrong 🔥

I have a SON and I never told him he was wrong, even when you adults told me not to.
I hear you say my relationship was more like brother and sister than mother-son.
BECAUSE I SAW HIM AS EQUAL.
That was your problem — I SAW them for who they are: intelligent beings with the inability to remember.

I tried to keep him out of the programming as much as possible, with the entire world against me.
My EX-husband called me stupid for going along with (THE TRUTH) — the tales, as he would say (NOT I, THOUGH).

I didn’t get full recollection until I was 55 years old, and even then it came in pieces — and was very tough to digest in this DAY AND AGE.
Luckily, we had COVID — that drove us to isolate, which allowed us to wake up since we were kind of forced out of the MATRIX.
Great thing.

However… I did allow him full access to the internet — and for good or bad, I allowed him to naturally rise above with PURE LOVE AND INTENT for him to become a TRUE GENTLEMAN.

He is not successful by the standards of this world.
At 38, he is considered a “shut-in” by society…
BUT I KNOW THE TRUTH.
He is a brilliant man who I DID NOT — let me say this LOUD AND CLEAR to all who told me:

“Make him go to work.”
“He needs to make money.”

FOR WHO?
He ain't gonna give YOU his paycheck — so what the hell is it your problem?!

Every human who tries to tell me what to do will be told to F‑off.
I will not bow down before others just because — and that made me a weirdo, a freak.
In the 1970s I was stuck in SLD (Specific Learning Disability) with a 165 IQ tested at MIT in 1969 when I was 2 — and checked again at 5.

That’s how that program was then.

Then they used the R-word and basically hated me my entire schooling.
First off — I CAN’T take standardized tests — well, let me say that correctly:

I REFUSED TO TAKE THE TEST.

YES, I sat in the lunchroom while they yelled at me every day for three weeks, EVERY single year I was FORCED to take the FCAT.
So every human in the SCHOOL hated me for bringing a ZERO to their judgement day.

By third grade, my TENURED teacher — she couldn’t be fired —
pulled me out of my chair by my long hair (that went to the ground) and slammed me against the blackboard.

First time I ever had the air knocked out of me was in the hands of my ENGLISH teacher in 3rd grade — who got a paid vacation every time she slammed me.

The GOOD part?
We’d have substitute teachers for 3 weeks.
Then about 8–10 days of Mrs. Erin being back in the room — and I WOULD GO FLYING.

I’m LMAO now realizing how ridiculous this shit was.

Then in 5th grade — Miss Mitchel (who I called Miss “Bitchel”)
— even though she knew I was a slow reader and had a comprehension “problem” (I DIDN’T — you can’t just change words and expect me to follow your bullshit) —
made me stay after school EVERY DAY to actually do the work the other kids did in class.

I had homework that took longer too — dyslexia wasn’t diagnosed until I was 45.

So FCAT comes around again — and hell no, I still won’t take it.

Now she’s PISSED — and realizes I’m the reason for their zero score on these ridiculous assessments.

So she BURNS my folder — every single assignment I had done — GONE.
No modules. No graduation. Nothing.

So instead of staying until 4pm, I’m now staying until 6pm.
And here’s the laugh: Miss Mitchel had to stay with me.
No extra pay. She was single.
She fucked herself.

---

6th grade? Ohhh holy hell.

Now we’re in a fenced-in campus in the middle of a dangerous city — barbed wire on top like a prison.
We joked: no one’s breaking in — this fence is to keep US in.

And yeah, I had a potty mouth at 8 just to piss off my siblings (who were 16 years older).
If THEY could curse, so could I.
Most of the time I did it defending my mother — and she never punished me for that.

In 6th grade, my English teacher didn’t even bother.
Day one: hands me a dictionary and sends me outside to the basketball court — IN AUGUST — in Florida — to “write the dictionary.”

Why?
Because explaining grammar to the “R-word little child” wasn’t worth his time.

So I wrote the damn dictionary.

Guess what?
I became the WORD POLICE.
People hated that I knew what words meant and how they were used wrong — oh well.

Maybe don’t send a 165 IQ kid to write the freaking dictionary, then.

---

Junior High?
That’s when my mother and father start teaching me at home with tutors in the summers.
I’m absorbing stuff — but I’m still refusing grammar.
It’s man-made bullshit.
Why don’t we write as we talk?

You HEAR me in my writing — if you polish this, you lose ME.

Spelling?
Well, I type slower than I think — and dyslexia means I reread a few times.
But I got this far, didn’t I?

7th grade — I choose HOUSEWIFE as a career path in Future Homemakers of America.
That didn’t last long.

Because that year… the school replaced the punch card machines.
And each classroom got a computer.
The SAME computer I had just learned to program over the summer.

So I go from being a “problem student” to a PROGRAMMER.

And get this — I start writing the teachers’ tests using BASIC.
So yeah — I PASSED.
Straight A’s.
No one knew how to use the damn thing except me.

So yeah — I passed.
I wrote their damn tests.
And I laughed my way through the absurdity of it all.

But then…
High school came.

My mother decided over the summer that “housewife” was no longer enough — so she signed me up for secretarial training.

I get stuck in the main office on the phones, running a MANUAL switchboard.
Like, the kind you see in old movies — plug, patch, unplug, repeat.
And guess what?

I couldn’t leave the phone until the next student showed up to relieve me.
This wasn’t a class.
It was a fucking JOB.

But Mom’s getting sick.
Cancer.
And I needed to do what she asked.
Because when your mom is dying, you honor her wishes.
Even if those wishes are outdated career paths.

So I worked the board.
I did it with pride.

And THEN comes second period English.
I’m late every day — and the teacher loses his mind.

I get sent to the Dean’s office every single day for being late.
BECAUSE I WAS WORKING FOR THE SCHOOL.

And what subject is this man teaching?

Of course — English.
And he’s standing there like Gandalf, yelling,

“YOU SHALL NOT PASS.”

So I stopped going.
The office ignored him.
Eventually, a compassionate teacher pulled me into her SLD class, unofficially, where I actually helped the other students with vocabulary.
Because I KNOW WORDS.

And then my mother got worse.
10th grade — a kid pulled a gun on me.
I told a teacher.
He ignored it.

That same kid killed my best friend shortly after.
Her parents sued the school — and they used ME to win the case.

So the school became a war zone.
I was no longer protected.
The principal who cared retired.
The staff hated me.
And finally, after winter break, when I was legally allowed…

I QUIT.

Done.
Gone.
I walked away from that filthy forced programming model at age 16.

---

School hated me from the beginning.

Elementary school punished me because I didn’t go to preschool — because I lived on a mountain and was taught by my mother.

I stuttered.
I needed to understand WHY before doing anything.
And “because I said so” was NEVER a good enough answer.

I refused to take their tests — not because I couldn’t — but because they were torture.
Looking at those bubbles caused anxiety so deep it hurt my spine.
I’d sit there, numb, in pain.

And they’d say things like:

“I wish I could take you over my knee.”
To a six-year-old.

Disgusting.

But my mother had a note in my file: no corporal punishment.
Thank God.
Or I would’ve grown up with a flat ass from all the times they wanted to beat me for simply needing to think.

---

Here’s the thing.

All of this?
All of it happened to a child who was gifted, sensitive, awake.

I was here to teach.
But no one would listen.

And it confused the hell out of me —
Because the Love Movement was happening all around us.
My siblings caught it.
Hippies. Free spirits. They loved me with open arms.

Until 1977.

That’s when it ended.
Counterculture got hijacked.
Drugs became “evil” instead of sacred pathways to divine communion.
Alcohol became legal — to numb us.
But marijuana? The sacred plant? Criminalized.

We lost our reverence.
We forgot our stories.
We stopped loving all things — seen and unseen, animate and inanimate.

---

Let me say it now:

UNCONDITIONAL LOVE is the only way out.

Repent to the Earth.
To the table you slammed your hand on.
To the trees you cut without prayer.
To the child you silenced.
To the system you fed with your compliance.

As above, so below.

And most of all:
REMEMBERING requires your HEART.

Nothing can happen until you turn the HEART FILTER ON.

Let every thought, every word, every action
— run through it.
And then…

We rebuild Eden.
We resurrect Atlantis.
We make this planet the PEACE HAVEN it once was —
and WILL BE AGAIN.