People thought I had lost touch with reality. The doctors called it delusion or disorientation, but it amounted to the same thing: nobody wanted to hear what I had to say. The day they walked me into the psych ward, it hit me how simple it is to bury an inconvenient truth along with everything else.
I never raised my voice. I wasn’t aggressive. I was quiet, maybe too quiet for someone who claimed to know things that weren’t supposed to see daylight. It started when I was cleaning at a secure government facility. I’d catch fragments of conversation that stopped the moment I stepped into a room. Papers I had just dusted would vanish by the next shift. At first I thought I was imagining it.
Then I began to see connections. Names that showed up on lists one day and were gone the next. Reports of missing people that never led anywhere. Families who suddenly stopped asking questions after receiving quiet settlements. One late shift, I overheard coordinates mentioned in a low voice. Not addresses, not landmarks—positions in the earth. That night changed everything for me. I tried to report it through the proper channels. The response was swift. No investigators came. Only doctors. No real questions, just prescriptions. Read more https://drbokko.com/?p=35909
