May 19, 2000. Late Friday night.
I am at home, in St Kitts, West Indies enduring immense emotional anguish. The emotional and psychological pain and suffering I am experiencing right now exceeds anything I have felt in my life. I am miserable and deeply despondent. The emotional weight and incredible stress I am experiencing is immense and seems greater than mere words can convey. Nothing in my life has even come close to the wretchedness I am now experiencing.
The war launched against me by the Secret Service, the IRS and SEC along with all their minions, is misdirected and grossly unfair. It is not my personal economic loss that is tearing me apart, although it is hugely worrisome at my age and state of health, it is the individual loss my actions have caused so many others. Good people have trusted in me and I have failed them. I am unable to withstand the onslaught of those wielding their incredible power and the result is that innocent people will likely suffer irreparable damage because of the government’s desire to bring me down.
Government enforcers have reacted to what they see as my crimes against them. They are largely wrong, not entirely, but mostly. It feels as though all the good I’ve tried to generate in my lifetime is now for naught. Overzealous and overreaching enforcers apply their power and in so doing ruin the lives of many good and honorable people. They exercise unrighteous dominion based on their own conspiratorial imaginings.
The enforcers destroy the creative, the bold, the entrepreneurial, the builders, the risk takers, those that create employment and improve the lives of others. They assume the worse and seek only information to support their assumptions, thus proving to themselves how wise they are. They lay waste to that which they do not, or do not care to, understand. These are the power mongers, self-righteous in their deceit, wrapped in the flag, concerned about their objectives only, not fettered with the pursuit of truth, value, or rightness.
Enforcers are needed to protect, but who protects us from the enforcer’s unbridled application of power? Their unrighteous dominion is everywhere present. Those impuned with the authority to protect, have themselves become those we need protection from. In this, history repeats itself and the great countries of North America are not exempt from the unfortunate tendency of mankind to abuse the power which they hold.
How to make things right? What to do? Where to go? How to live? Can I be even a small force for good while so much evil is spread about me? Is there value I can yet bring to others in the midst of this turmoil? Or am I doomed to draw on the energies of others and be a taker and not a provider? I feel trapped in every direction. No matter what I say, what I do, or how I act, these things are used against me.
This evening I reread an interesting passage well over two thousand years old:
“Nevertheless, there were some among them who thought to question them, that by their cunning devices that they might catch them in their words, that they might find witness against them, that they might deliver them to their judges… Now it was these men who sought to destroy them, who were lawyers, who were hired or appointed by the people to administer the law at their times of trials… Now these lawyers were learned in all the arts and cunning of the people; and this was to enable them that they might be skilful in their profession.”
Things have not changed much in these past several thousand years, the abuse of bureaucratic power continues, even in America, the greatest country the world has ever known.
I am struggling to believe there is some contribution I may yet make to society, to family and friends. It is hard to see beyond the continuing misery that has so increasingly beset me these past five years. When will it end? How many innocent people must suffer along with me so that the enforcers can once again prove their prowess? They have succeeded in destroying my work, but how many other people’s lives will they also ruin?
May 20th 2000, Saturday morning.
My eyes are swollen and my body exhausted, another fitful night. Very little sleep, and that of the poorest quality. I am plagued with constant stomach and bowel problems. In the past, during stressful circumstances I’ve gained weight, the result of seeking comfort through food, but no matter the quantity of intake now, food does not stay with me long.
The days are incredibly hard, much harder than I can allow anyone to know. The constant stream of phone calls for help and action are overwhelming. My personal sources of income have been crushed but I have little time to consider my own financial ruin in view of all those who have looked to me for assistance, those who are and will continue to suffer at the hands of an abusive government process.
Last Sunday was an exception to the cycle of overwhelming days, I was able to spend time with others involved in good deeds and although my current problems were never far from mind, there was some relief in the distraction of accomplishing some worthwhile service for others.
No matter how stressful the days, the nights are worse. Without warning I will sob out loud and cry miserably. Sleep evades me and I have little peace. Hour after hour my mind races in spirals of confusion. Herbs and sleeping aids are not sufficient to provide respite. I know better than to allow myself to worry about not getting enough sleep, it simply increases the problem. But what to do? I read the scriptures until my eyes will not stay open and with the help of herbs and drugs I fall asleep, only to awake a short time later experiencing some form of psychedelic nightmare of impending doom. Thereafter it seems close to impossible to fall back asleep. Sometimes I walk the floors in a daze, other times I try to read again, but my mind is so confused in the darkest hours that I cannot focus on words, and I turn pages without knowing what I’ve looked at or attempted to read.
May 20, 2000 late afternoon
I recall that over the years I’ve several times counseled with individuals suffering deep emotional stress and sickness. I understand the concepts of seeing past current misery to believe in a better future. I know the story of Job and how much worse was his plight. Nevertheless I find myself trapped in an emotional abyss, not quite able to envision a better tomorrow. It must be the exhaustion, the constant loss of sleep and unrelenting pressure. My logic is failing; it has fallen into a pit of fatigue.
Hopelessness is a terrible place to be; it is literally hell. That place where the souls of the wicked suffer in exquisite torment, the damned, those without hope for a brighter tomorrow. This awful anguish overwhelms my pride, which is without doubt my most prevalent sin, and drives me to repent and seek the Lord’s forgiveness for my arrogance and sins of both omission and commission. It is only because of my prayer routines that I am able to remember to seek the Lord’s help for others, the sick and afflicted, the starving and depraved, the leaders of the nations, and all those that are in need of succor. I am miserably self-possessed with the problems before me, and it takes reserves of energy to be thankful and concerned for those beyond the realm of friends, clients, and family.
I crave relief but am terrified of alcohol or drugs. I feel quite certain that to seek temporary respite in this way would evoke a devastating finale. Watching a friend and partner lose everything due to Jack Daniels and Valium is testimony enough that this avenue is not relief. It is suicide.
We’re taught that fight or flight constitutes our biological programming. It is evidently not in our make up to stand and endure complete character assassination and not either hide or fight back. I’m told there is no legal option under which I can take the offensive when dealing with the government and of course flight is not an option. But I would rather attack and die trying, than stand and be so thoroughly maligned. I must find a way to offensively engage, or death will shortly be upon me.
May 21, 2000, Sunday morning
Up several times but a much better night. It’s a beautiful morning but looks to be a very hot day. For two days there’s been no breeze, the trade winds have died, and the ocean is calm and flat. Flies and mosquitoes are collecting on the beach, a most unusual situation, but there’s no ocean wind to keep them inland.
Am leaving for church early, the missionaries want me to pick them and an investigator up for church. I’d also better check on President Hanley in that he has returned the van we’ve been renting for the branch. President Kenneth Mason, the Mission President for the West Indies is here for our branch conference. I’ve prepared a letter offering to purchase a van for the St Kitts branch in lieu of renting same, provided the Mission will be responsible for the costs of operation. This will save a lot of money as the van rental has been running about one thousand US per month and I hope to buy a used van from a Japanese auction over the Internet and have it shipped here for less than the rental costs for a year.
Maureen is due to arrive late this evening. I am so looking forward to reunion with my eternal companion. This is an extremely tough time for both of us, and we need each other for support.
This afternoon, after church is over, I’ve committed to teach a missionary lesson in an investigator’s home. It’s already really hot out, and locals do not have air conditioning. Once I’m wearing a tie and have spent several hours in chapel without air conditioning I will be wanting to strip off my clothes. Oh well, tis better to be active and involved in good works than cool, comfortable, and focused on my own misery.
May 21st Sunday Evening
Church was excellent, every speaker, every scripture, and the general discussions in Sunday School and Priesthood all seemed to be aimed straight at me. A very humbling experience but it demonstrated quite clearly to me, at a most personal level, that the Lord was communicating with me. If only I would just stop and truly listen more often.
Today, as so many times prior during these last several years, I had a strong desire that Maureen and I be called to full time service in the church. I suppose I’d like best to be called to a third-world environment where people of necessity are humble. It is probably because I need the humility so much myself that this is what comes to mind each time I think of serving a mission. Maureen and I are in agreement that this would be the highest and best use of our time at this point in our lives. If the Lord sees fit that we be able to reorganize our affairs and be released from the litigation that encompasses virtually everything we now do, our mission papers will be submitted within the very week of the litigation cessation.
After church Archie Williams, a quasi-investigator of considerable stature in the local community, came to Leeward Cove with the missionaries and we had a wonderful afternoon discussing education, the Gospel, and scripture.
Maureen arrived on the last flight in from San Jose, Puerto Rico. Between a wonderfully spiritual day and Maureen’s arrival I feel like I’ve the strength to carry on. Now, if I can just get some rest.
May 22nd Monday
Sometime after midnight Maureen and I went to bed. Two hours later I was up with my mind a blaze. No sleep again, a bad night in all. Took Zot to the early ferry for Nevis. The lack of sleep finally got me late afternoon, and Maureen gave me some prescription drugs she brought, and I crashed into a deep sleep until almost 10pm when we were due at the airport to pick up Kevin and Debra Andersen.
May 23rd Tuesday
Up again very early. Maureen is sleeping quietly. I spoke with S D at 6am. If the tickets are straightened out today he will fly to St Kitts tomorrow.