Okay, sorry if the preceding was to long, but that story had to be told first. As I had related, that was my first experience with gangstalkers. After I had left that area, more people, total strangers to me, would call out my name, at just about every place I stopped at. And during all this, I was bombarded with "memories" I never had before. It like a floodgate in my brain had opened, and memories, of myself and others, flooded into my head.
Between the recall, and all these people who seemed to know me, I was loosing it.
I found myself somewhere in east Texas, and I was freaking out. I had a motel room, put down one beer shy of a twelve pack, and spent the night wandering around, stone cold sober, trying to figure out if I was really crazy or what.
The sun was coming up as I stood beside an outer road, that paralled I-10. I saw a car coming, and waiting till it got close, then ran in front of it, bent over so the car would hit my upper body.
I can remember flying a little, then hitting the pavement, and rolling multiple times. I was face down, and couldn't move. Couldn't feel anything. I smiled, thinking, "It's over.".
But as I laid there, feeling started coming back, and I stood up in dismay. Nothing felt broken. Not a scratch.
A few cars on the interstate and pulled off to the side. I could hear the sirens. I just stood there. Two Mexican Cops handcuffed me. They got a statement from the driver and his wife, and then put me in the back of their car. We stopped at my room at the motel, and retrieved my meager belongings.
When we got to the station, they put me in a holding cell. I heard one of the cops saying that the driver had said that he was doing fifty when he hit me. They looked at me, pacing back and forth in the cell, not knowing what to make of me.
They called an ambulance, and I was transported to a hospital, where they had to strap me down. Truth is, I was pissed, 'cause somehow I was still alive.
Later, they stuck me in a psyche ward. Apparently they had been told all about me. The next day, in the TV room, a guy said, "You should've stayed in Missouri!" I replied, "Do I know you?" He didn't answer. I hadn't told anyone where I was from.
I was there a couple more days before they released me, and I went back to hitch hiking.
Everywhere I went, my Persecuters happened to be. Years later, it occurred to me that I was being tracked. That's the only way they could know where I'd be. And I realized that all this was a very well coordinated effort.
In the meantime, the memories kept flooding my head.