Hi : ) My name is Jeff. At the age of two, I played Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake on organ and piano as
if it had already been mastered somehow, somewhere before. By age five, I was able to speak fluently about celestial mechanics and astrophysics while other children were barely talking about ice cream and toys.
My very first teacher wanted me placed in a top school for gifted children. But instead of being supported at home, I was abused violently mentally and physically almost every day for 17 years.

Then a bully pushed me into another pupil who was sent into the street and was almost killed by an oncoming car. I was blamed because no one saw the shove from the large angry youth behind me that did not belong in this first grade line up. I was five years of age. Two days later, that wonderful teacher was gone without a note or explanation to the class and she was replaced by an old school disciplinarian who targeted me for every possible real or made-up infraction. The ensuing years in education were dismal. No more special treatment or even standard considerations. It was punishment, degradation and inferior supports to help with academic and emotional success. Both my spirit and talents died. Pupils ganged up, chided and beat me regularly while I crawled home cut and bruised with papers and books torn only to be beaten up again. No one cared. They just chalked it up to how boys play rough to justify their convenient non-intervention.
Neighbors didn't care. They just slammed their windows shut to keep out the noise of the adult verbal abuse and beatings. This was a nightmare worse case scenario that I could not escape no matter what I did or didn't do.

Schools only exacerbated the serious and life threatening problem by misreading the trauma as daydreaming and uncooperative behavior and sent degrading notes home causing further beatings and more vicious psychological torture. I would go in, heartbroken and traumatized as usual only to be chastised for looking out the window. I was focusing on green: the trees, the grass: Green. I would often be bullied, frightened to death and left out of normal activities and friendships. Finally, my parents separated and the main source of abuse was no longer a part of my home. Though separation and divorce is a great hardship in itself, this was the lesser of two evils and I was quite relieved in this case. I was bouncing back fast and able to believe in myself more and more.
My talent started coming back like a waterfall. Teen years can most often be turbulent. And certainly I wasn't above venting out all that pain inside from a whole childhood of abuse on top of the endless societal incredulousness and censoring. Even so, I did it mildly as possible without hurting anyone. Others in the same boat might have done considerable damage. But those cruel members of the family I told you about used one of my fits of venting and convinced my then alone and alcoholic mother to have me arrested and put in a tough juvenile over Christmas. I only needed one more year to work out the frustration, post traumatic stress and depression out on my own. Some understanding, kindness (which goes a long way), therapy and especially opportunities around my gifts would have turned it all around.

I had to go to my dad to get me out of the juvenile center. This was totally humiliating and repulsive. But payback
came to him later. He tried to humiliate me after my coming home from the Marines and I socked
him one so that he flew across the kitchen and dented an eye level wooden cabinet door with his head.
I couldn't believe the power that came through in that one punch. I kept looking at my fist and asking
myself if I had really just done that. Similarly, another triple dose of adrenalin raced though my whole
body when I finally beat the crap out of two tormentors years earlier in school. And all, and I mean
ALL of the abuse stopped right there ; ) The whole school even covered up the incident so I would
not face administrative troubles while news of my "victory" spread like a fire along with unanimous respect.
I would never fight to hurt someone for vengeance or right. I just didn't believe in it. I believed good
communication and role modeling was the way to solve social problems. But it felt good to know I could
clobber the tyrannical and powerful when there is no more choice.

Meanwhile, the cruel family members had me removed by police again and this time taken to a hotel in the city--for one night. After that, I was on the street. My cruel sister was married to a family of undisciplined cops with Mafia connections. They made bets that I wouldn't make it one week on my own. Well, homelessness was also the lesser of two evils because now I didn't have to be dictated to by ignorant doubters and haters. Immediately on the first day, the head manager at CETA personally took note of some of my art work which showed extreme tactile steadiness and geometric perfection that yet made up a free flowing patterned line drawing with a theme. She physically dove me to the state college and I was hired as a graphic artist. There happened to be a mentor there who took me under his wing as his only professional student and I learned the ins and outs of media on all levels. Not long after that, I showed up playing piano in major hotels across the US. You know, the talent that had died rose again. I was getting standing ovations. One person who let me go from his advertising company because he felt he didn't need the extra person saw me getting a standing ovation at a tropical Marriott days later and he practically died on his feet.

The beyond amazing: Before the gifts and the subsequent ongoing abuse began (before age two), I was already having contact experiences with visitors from the stars. At least three major contact events had been suppressed and shuffled to less accessible regions of the brain because of the severe mistreatment and trauma caused by the very people surrounding me I needed to count on. When my father was finally caught cheating on my mother, the aerospace company he worked for fired him. Then my parents separated and eventually divorced. This created enough peace that ships could now appear and I could remember every one. I also made my talent take off even though there was still no support. After a few local concerts, I began performing in major US hotels. I began writing many unbelievable songs but the bands I worked with dragged the music down to a lesser state. Attitudes were sour and disbelieving--certainly not conducive to excellence in creativity. So the music again died, but this time only publicly. I went into voluntarily restoring natural resource and forest environments which culminated into my being hired as a supervisor over a 35,000 arce preserve with a million dollar host lodge in NW Maine. After that, I worked to help the behaviorally challenged and helped them in ways that clinical staff could never. Finally I walked into a mental health day center and told them about my then sketchy UFO and visitor contact experiences. But I passed all screens for TLE, psychosis and neurological damage with flying colors. But somehow, I still had mental anguish, periodic memory drop outs and depression. I was a natural at peer support though and was able to reach patients both one on one and through the arts. Then I was voted in on the state steering committee and finally as chair over the New Hampshire Comsumer Council. I was also on Gayle Bluebird's national arts board. Politically, I integrated patients and expatients onto the board of mental health--first in NH. Then, like some eccentric recluse, I began to design all my own sounds and create a library of music. This was complete in 1995 just when another great experience happed which left evidence in a laser perfect triangular scar and memories of contact with a powerful but peaceful coalition of worlds. I still wasn't completely out of the woods yet. I was experiencing peaceful contact, but at the same time, religion was blanket demonizing and the media was monsterizing or sillifying out of both sides of its mouth the subject of contact and abduction. Motion pictures were also continuing to monsterize and villanize since the 50s only with more convincing finesse. So, between the mid 80s and mid 90s, the stress caused by the conflicting information made me progressively more and more unstable. I was drinking two pots of coffee around the clock, smoking two packs of cigs, drinking but thankfully not excessively. I had an event in 1986 that shook me up because a religious cult had gotten a hold of me in the early 80s and convinced me that all "aliens" were from the devil (said with a concluding and ignorant drawl)--and that my soul and all its substance, the music, art, mind, heart were all the devil's filthy trash. This, of course, is a grave misuse of the argument for salvation.

A friend intervened in 1997 and referred me to Joe Nyman, mentor to the late Dr. John Mack.
From here, though I didn't know it yet then, my life quickly changed for the better. I became a
National Forest recreation area host and manager at one of the most beautiful locations on the planet,
reduced coffee intake to one mug a day, quit smoking (and never went back), went into estate caretaking and
now estate management, competed and won major talent awards, spoke and presented at a National
UFO Conference, won an Audubon Golden Clipper award and connected with someone who will help with my book, and have been connecting with some great experiencers online--one here, one there. I was now able to access my memories without interference and it was like uncorking a bottle of very fine wine. When the truth flows, it will set you free.

I'm not all banged up anymore! : ) They could not kill me or cripple me. I can give you my hug, love and deepest regard. I can embrace you as a friend who knows just what the hell you have been through.
And I know we are strong together. In fact, we are undefeatable. There is nothing to fear.

All my love and regard,

Jeff

<<I feel selfish, for I do not have much to be depressed about>>

Hey never, we bp's don't need reasons to be depressed. Not our fault. Not something we do intentionally.

Anyway, welcome to the icarus project. Check out the forum if you haven't done so yet. I've found it a very safe, friendly, non-judgmental place to dump, share, and expressmy creativitry. Not too many places I can do this. It took me awhile, studing the threads here before being triggered to respond and or start a dialogue. Well, maybe that is not the right word, because I'm not very talkative or verbiose online anyway. I plugged into the creativity/art/poetry section of the forum mostly cuz that's what I do.

Again, welcome neverendingstruggle. HOW 'bout NES for short? :)