The Strange Case of DelGaudio’s Daughter

DUTY TO WARN:
A disturbingly true tale.

halloween

Eugene Del Gaudio, as I understand it, has a reputation for being a notorious Gangster Catholic politician, and is a former CIA agent, who lives in Virginia.

According to sources, Del Gaudio was involved in child brainwashing scandals and studied brainwashing techniques through the use of advertising signs, in CIA research many years ago.

This strangely reminds me of all the good ol’ boys in Martinsburg, West Virginia,  and the creepy place a few lots down from my own place of business.  It is a “sign” business which is always doing weird things with signs. Also, a neighboring businessman (now deceased) stole my own business sign (a life size cut out of a shepherd girl) and a large political one on my property was vandalized –  just this past week.

People seem to be very superstitious about signs – or hope to effect those who are, by playing with them.

Sometimes it is in the placement of a sign, that the intent to send a message is revealed or implied, as if its positioning is designed as a threat.  This is particularly true during the political season.

I do not fear such cowardly threats – or the masculinity of men who would steal a business sign – or create a cartoon sign of a woman being raped.

Use your brains, folks. 

A small real estate for sale sign was even recently placed wrongly on my lot in front of my own place of business, which is definitely not for sale.

Of course I quickly removed it – when I saw it after coming back from vacation –  and placed it back on the golf range owner’s property (whom I suspect stole my shepherd girl sign.)

But somebody please wake me up.  I feel like I’m living in Hazard County with only a turkey leg-gnawing sheriff to protect me, more corrupt than the town.

However, it is the now deceased good ol’ boy golf range business owner’s land that’s for sale, not mine.

The weird sign manufacturing place right across from where I have to pull out onto the road (right before my business) is where the Roger Rabbit sign was placed like a threat, as if to rape a sexy women from behind. Just a political statement?  Our drug implicated sheriff was “set up” by a sexy woman?

How’d she do that?

Lovely ain’t it, living in West Virginia?

But getting back to Del Gaudio.

I do not know about Del Gaudio’s past, nor do I particularly care to, but I do know he came out to my car when I was driving his grown daughter home one day (a year or two ago)  and tried to show me some cheap little sign that he had made.  He was standing there with his adult son, smiling in a strange, crazy, leering kind of way,  showing me a sign that said “Welcome Miss America.”

The old coot creeper simply leaned over into my window and said “You are Miss America and so is my daughter” as if in an attempt to implant some grandiose delusional themed message into our brains.

And you, I thought silently, are a very nutty and dangerous man.

When I first met Del Gaudio’s thirty two year old daughter, I was just minding my own business.  I had no idea whose daughter she was.

Yet, even to blog about it today is somewhat unpleasant for me, because Cat’s repeated visits to my house about a year ago were so hair-raising and frightening, for a short time she deprived me of sleep and almost managed to induce paranoia in me.  I am calling her Cat because she said that was her “code” name, and I want to protect the true identity of such an obviously traumatized (as a child) and subsequently delusional person.

I believe Cat enmeshed herself with me on purpose to obtain information from me –  I know not of what – maybe to bring back to her father, for whom she said she was “helping”.  Perhaps my father (now deceased) may have known of DelGaudio’s corruption, and had tried to help Cat as a little girl.

Ultimately I was stalked by her, stolen from, and believe at one time she even gave me LSD or some other kind of narcotic, of which I have no idea what it could have been, placing drugs in herbal supplements she brought for me or induced me to buy.  I have never knowingly used drugs in my life, and neither has any member of my immediate family of which I know.

But I haven’t been scared either, ever since I escaped my psychotic, highly functioning sociopath ex.

Until I met Cat.

Cat at first would seem the most unlikely person in the world to be dangerous, just as my sociopathic ex husband had come off as a benign, “intellectual” and a social incompetent.

Cat had shown up at Dom Daniel Oppenheimer’s priory one day, accompanied by a mutual friend and overdressed for the weather, in a hot sweater way up her neckline, even though the rest of us were sweating profusely in normally sane looking clothing.

She came off as shy, and unable to speak clearly most of the time.  She exhibited delusions of grandeur, flat effect and paranoia.  It took effort and unusual degrees of patience to even really understand anything she was trying to say.  Cat casually would explain to me that she didn’t “really” have a stammer, but her voice problems were a result of a stroke induced by a physical assault from her brother, or his “doppelganger”.  What? Physical assault? Have you reported this to the police?

And that she had been locked up in a psyche ward where they would not believe her problems were caused by child traumatization or physical abuse. She said they kept telling her she didn’t have any brother or sisters to help get out of her parent’s home.

Of course what did register as true to me was that, in general, her mental issues were due to the trauma of being raised by a corrupt political family.

But when I accepted her friendship to try to help her, I was shocked when she told me things she knew about me and my personal life – that I couldn’t imagine how she could have ever known.

That is what made her sound so “convincing”, like a “mind reader” who tells you secrets you thought you told no one.

The details she had found out had to do with what specific stories I made up and told my son each night in bed, when he was just a little boy.  There were one or two errors mixed in in her version, but enough details of the stories I had made up to entertain my son with to be shockingly accurate.

She said all political families knew my family, my stories, and knew about me and my mother and my father.

In retrospect, this reminds me of the lure a a cult leader, a brainwasher, or someone involved in the satanic would lure a victim in with:  Tell the victim they are special.

Cat said the stories went that I was “Jesus’s Little Girl”. She even admitted being “jealous” of me when she was growing up.

She was known as “The Brain” she said, or something like that, and that her mind was like a human computer, but she was not “Jesus’s Little Girl”.  She said her mother had tried to have her brainwashed, but she was the only child who could “resist” brainwashing.

She told me my life story on the other hand, is all over the internet, in various formats.  I hadn’t even started blogging then. But she “proved” it by providing information “very few people could have possibly have found out about me” unless my stories were not publicized somewhere.

Wierd, right?

To induce your victim to paranoia, tell them they are famous, you hear sounds outside at night, and then move things around in their house.

Tell your victim you are willing to sleep over and make sure no one is lurking around while your victim sleeps.

Then tell the victim you know their dangerous ex wants to come back and kill them, but you will be happy to keep watch at night, so she can get her sleep.

This was how Cat did it to me.

Then she would disturb me all night to keep me awake and asked me all night long questions about what I was dreaming about – as if she knew in advance I would hear locutions.

This bothered me the most on two points.   1) It was like attempted hypnosis and 2) I know sleep deprivation is a brain washing (and paranoia/psychic phenomena inducing) technique.  This obviously disturbed young lady had nonetheless been expertly trained.

My second ex husband (the dangerous one) had used similar “techniques” on me, a genius man, who was also a pathologist. He sometimes kept me awake for three nights in a row and threatened the life and welfare of others, including my children, should I disobey his commands.

Grove in particular threatened punishment if I should even sit down on the bed just for five minutes.  Then he’d finally “allow” me to sleep for a few minutes, but hover in the doorway, watching in the shadows, or staring an inch from my closed eyes, as if waiting to hear what I was dreaming about.

Much like Cat did.

Did they sense I was an HSP – and wanted to “steal” the secrets of my “enlightenment”?

As well (follow if you can) I believe it was Grove who  was involved on the assault on my father with Willis Smallwood,  that gave my poor father the “stroke” in the first place.  Yes, I really do believe things like that happen –  not because a mental patient named Cat told me they do –  but because I have evidence for this one –  and I was the one who found my father after the attack.

I remember when I fled to my parents house with my children and dogs, after finally breaking free from the hold Grove had on me, I would look out the window and wonder why his black truck would be sitting in the driveway of the neighbor who betrayed my father, with the motor running, late into the night – like he wanted me to know – he’d be always “watching”.

I believe Grove is also implicated in the death of my uncle, a Franciscan priest, that he coldly admitted to me he saw at his hospital before they flew my poor uncle off to the head trauma unit. Grove told me he was “greatly jealous of” my uncle because I loved him so much, and made a big point of implying he was involved in causing my uncle’s death.

But you never know with criminally involved and wealthy genius nutters why they say what they do.

I guess the part Cat told me about my father proudly telling some of his friends about my heavenly dreams (that I revealed to him as a little girl) was true.  That could explain how she “knew things.” But dear Lord, so many errors got mixed in with the stuff Cat got correct about my life. And then she said she tried to eat her family pets as a child.  Creepy is an excellent word to describe how she was making me feel.

She tossed black socks around my kitchen (like Philip used to do), rearranged things on my back deck in the middle of the night, boarded up all my windows (like she told me she had to do every night at home to protect herself)  and of course I found a credit card missing or two –  and suddenly broken rosaries in my purse.  I believe all this was done in an attempt to make me paranoid.

She convinced me (now extremely sleep deprived but starting to question the “herbal” supplements she was feeding me to “get better”) that I needed to get in touch with an ex boyfriend that I thought I still loved at the time “to save me”, because he really worked undercover for the government, or some such bunk.

Her training in brainwashing was most disturbingly excellent, and eventually I really did imagine I needed some strong man to help save me, even as she expressed a child like aversion herself to anything having to do with  men, as if she was literally terrified of them.

I never asked her if her father had touched her.

Cat seemed to make excuses for all of her father’s behavior and bad influence, while stating her mother (who was really a “witch”) had taken her to be brainwashed ( but she was the only one “un brain washable” child in all the world.)

Had Cat’s mother tried to get her psychiatric help, while her father told her to resist, because it was just “brainwashing”?

Cat never expressed any emotion the whole time she ensconsed herself in my home, when she was casually telling me these horrific tales and was walking around my own house in the middle of the night as if she owned it. I fought desperately for sleep and she would try desperately to find something she was looking for in the middle of the night “to help me” or try to find out what I was dreaming about.

Uh…I’m dreaming about getting some peaceful sleep  – for once?

I kept running out of high blood pressure pills at this time as well – for some strange reason –  which I need to regulate my heart beat because I have very high blood pressure and a benign, if treated, arrhythmia.

But when I drove Cat around and she started “directing” my every turn while I drove, just like Philip used to do, I started to break free from her faulty grasp on reality and the terrorized state she sought to impose upon me.  It was all too familiar. I recognized she was abusive and manipulative.

My own healthy grown daughter called me up and the sound of her voice helped clarify in my mind I needed to set boundaries against Cat, who desperately had not wanted me to talk directly to my daughter on the phone, as if she knew that that would happen.

In retrospect, I realize just how real and effective brainwashing techniques are, and how much the sound of voice has to do with it.  The sound of one person’s voice can trigger disassociation, whereas the sound of the voice of those you trust can snap you right out of any errors starting to form –  in an instant.

Voice.

Like that they took from my father.

That I today silently hear in my dreams, silently.

So I can give his voice back to him.

Towards the end of my time spent with Cat, she had thrown her head back and her eyes rolled in the back of her head so I started screaming at her, to wake her up out of whatever crazy demonic fit had possessed her. “Wake up!  Wake up!  Snap out of it!  You are acting like YOU are a witch –  You’ve been brainwashed or something.”

I still feared for her so much and felt so sorry for her.

As she started to cry for the first time and shake I realized she was now paranoid of me, but at least she was crying and showing emotion again. This was so much better than that psychotic cold, trance like stare that was so like the one my psychotic ex used to level at me.  She told me I must be evil because only evil people yell. She told me, “I bet your father never yelled at you.”

I said you bet he did.

Like when he told me my mother in her mentally ill state was a great danger to me and I did not want to know it.  I was only 11 or 12 at the time.  He yelled at me: “This is important!  Listen to me!” If not for the urgency and strength and loud sound of his voice, I would not know the truth of his love and concern for me in that very moment, and know I needed to remember it.

But Cat was too far gone.

She accused me of all kinds of crazy things.

She wanted me to let her out of the car on the side of the busy, deserted highway, with no money, no nothing. She was so paranoid, unjustly angry and bitter.

I remember ironically she had been the one who accused me of being angry at every one who suffered less than I, her words frightening me so much (I am a very conscientious person – could it be true?) in that sleepless and stressed state. I had even scheduled a confession with Father Dom Daniel Oppenheimer.  This was the confession of which he broke the seal, and subsequently lied about what I confessed.

Oppenheimer spread the word that I had confessed “acting” out of anger at my mother (which I never have) like he somehow knew what my mother accuses me of, or what Cat had accused me of, when she got me into the priory to confess to him.  This begs the question, are all the mentally disturbed who turn to the dark side, somehow intertwined?

The last time I saw Cat I had let her out at a quick stop, with some change to make a phone call and she, a thirty two year old woman, was stammering for me to stay away from her. She was going to call mummy and daddy to pick her up, or something like that.

So I yelled into the security cameras for someone to get real help for this poor girl, or her father Del Gaudio was going to have to deal with me.

I might have added in something a little more graphic.  I do not remember.  I was highly stressed, and pissed.

I hope I did though. 

I probably made it graphic enough in another attempt to shock Cat awake, as she wrongly  was taught by someone that  women should only be “demure and diminutive”.

So strange. Now so many things are coming back to me, like pages from an old magazine ripped out, and thought lost forever. I remember one day in my father’s office when my son was just a little boy, once of those incidences of a long time ago.

My father was telling my mother about a very evil politician in Maryland or Virginia whose little girl he had tried to help, but could not.

He felt so bad about it.

He told me her name.

I do not remember it for sure, but I think it was Cat’s real name that he told me.

I think (as usual) I had asked my father why he was telling me all this, my own life being busy with an abusive husband or young children at the time, and not yet unraveled to the point where I could see the significance in these things like I can today. His response was something along the lines of “because if I cannot help her, I’m hoping you will one day.”

Yes Daddy, I will. At least I’ll try.

I will always help you take out the trash, if it’s the last thing I do.

That’s why I felt I must write this post.  It is the only way I know of in which I could possibly help Cat, while protecting myself and my family.  Bold public revelation of truth is the only thing that can ever help abused children, relieve them of what has been unjustly imposed upon them.

I will not abandon anyone on the side of life’s road, even if they, not in their right mind, abandon me.

Because therefore but for the Grace of God and a loving father – goes I.