The Vase, Part I

I can no longer access this post.

It has been unlawfully edited.

Original post mentioned a witness to the gang stalking. When a stranger in Westfield looked at me and called me a “retard”, my friend asked “do you know him”, to which I replied “no, it happens every day”.



When I came to Sydney nearly two decades ago I was like a beautiful, delicate, fragile glass vase. Crystal Clear fine lines traced at least on the surface a seemingly flawless form. I had graduated with a bachelors degree in psychology. I was young, gregarious, compassionate, generous, spirited and intellectual.

I moved to the Eastern Suburbs of Sydney and have lived here now for 15years. I mingled with people from all walks of life, a socialite who could have penetrated most groups if I wanted to although I do not play games nor tell people what they need to hear. I am a straight shooter and live authentically.

I entered the Sydney scene an open, spirited, beautiful young women with the world at her feet. I had long virginal blonde hair, no wrinkles, no damaged skin, blue eyes wide open in anticipation and full…

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