..A Chosen One: Not by My Will..

Warning: this document is intended for persons over the age of eighteen years of age only and does contain mental and subconscious triggers for those who have suffered from the Central Intelligence Agency’s Mk-Ultra Trauma Based Mind Control Projects.

This page contains some of the first memories that I have of my youth growing up in a Satanic and pedophilic family hiding in the Mormon Church and connected to the Central Intelligence Agency. This page also discusses when I met Alex Houston at the age of five years old and was tested for my ability of disassociation along with my brothers and older sister. I passed the test and became inducted into the Central Intelligence Agency’s Mk-Ultra Trauma Based Mind Control Project at the age of only five years old.

My name is J.R. and I am a survivor of the Central Intelligence Agencies MK-Ultra mind control projects. Persons such as myself are also known within the Intelligence Community circle and those in the know, as a CIA kid or A Chosen One; I am what many in this world would consider to be quite simply, a CIA Sleeper Agent. I was literally groomed for service to my country, the United States of America upon my birth, through extreme incestual sexual abuse, torture, hypnosis, harmonics, trauma, brainwashing, and electrocution administered by my father, grandfather, grandmother, CIA handler, Senator Robert Byrd, country musician Charlie Pride, Dick Cheney, Gordon B. Hinckley and many others involved within the Project and the Intelligence Community and the elite. The family that I was raised in was “designed” to appear as normal as any perceived good and wholesome Christian (“Mormon”, many Mormons do consider themselves to be Christians and are good people) American family should be in this world. From outside appearances it would be difficult for one to understand the deep state that lies behind my family’s pale white mask in the shadows of past and present.

                I was born in the western United States, and was raised to be devout to the Mormon Church in a large family with a strong sense of patriotism and a firm military and religious background. I do not remember much about living in the area that I was born at because I was very small at that time. Nonetheless, there are some things that I have been able to work through though I do not remember exactly where this event occurred. I was an infant, and not an adult; adults were big and knew everything it seemed. I wore a baby’s clothes and at that time I had a comfortable and warm onesie suit that I really liked and would wrap me in warmth and security in the insecure world to which I was born. I also had a small stuffed bunny rabbit that I really liked and was a comfort in my life. I had an older brother, and an even older sister. I could not use words at that time as speaking with words is something we learn as we grow and age but I was learning many things at that time. There was some kind of a device/chair that my mother would put me into when I needed to be in one place so that she could do things around the house; I was the youngest at that time and this device has three toys that hung down for me to play with. I can remember being in this child’s seat in the kitchen area of the home with my mother as she was working in the kitchen. I was having fun playing with the little toys that hung down from it to entertain me. My older brother and sister were in another part of our home taking a nap. My father had been gone and he arrived and entered the kitchen; he had been out somewhere for the day. My mother and I were happy to see him; she was happy to see him because this was her husband; I was happy to see him because this was my father and one of the most important male figures in my life at that time.

My mother welcomed my father, and I can remember them embracing and kissing there in the room in front of me as though I was not there; I was a small person though a person, nonetheless. Then my father said hello to me, and my mother told him that she needed to go and check on my brother and sister and perform some other chores away from the kitchen for a moment. She told my father to keep an eye on me while she was away. She left the room, and I was there alone with my father. He had a bulge in his pants and being a curious infant not understanding that he had begun to get an erection while he was kissing and embracing my mother, I pointed at it and expressed my curiosity. My father was all too happy to show me what was causing the bulge in his pants and he unzipped his zipper and let his now erect penis out through the open fly. He said something to the effect of “oh, do you want to see it”. I was in the child’s seat and was at the height where I was close to his now protruding man member, and he moved very close to me with it. I reached up not knowing any better as to me this was simply my father showing me something that a grown man has. I grabbed his penis in my hand and held it there for a moment before my mother returned to the room. She stopped at the door and she said, “what are you doing?” and she acted surprised to find us like this. I immediately let go of his penis as I had been surprised by my mother’s reaction. My father told her that he was just showing me his penis as she had caused it to harden on him. He told her that when he had it out, I had suddenly reached up and grabbed it. The whole thing was played off as though it was my fault, and the issue was laughed away, and I was told not to do such things as they were only for my mother. This was all very confusing to me as an infant but a great deal many things were confusing in our household and in my life as a child and young adult.

Another early memory was when I was around two years old or so and I was beaten by my father in front of my grandparents and my mother for saying what they all considered to be “bad words”. Now, I was used to getting a good spanking for doing something wrong around the house, but this was more than your average punishment for a perceived wrong by a child. My parents and grandparents were all sitting at the dining room table: my father, mother, grandfather and my grandmother.  I was sitting in the living room adjacent to them and watching a television program that my father had on the TV set; it was a western.  My parents and grandparents were talking about me as they sat around the table in conversation, and they were saying how I was growing up to be such an intelligent and healthy child. I was feeling proud of myself listening to their conversation and watching the television program when one of the actors on the TV said a composition of words that I liked the sound of, “son of a bitch”.  It sounded powerful to my young mind, so I said it just as loud and as clear as I could. I was at that time learning to speak in words and had thought that my parents and grandparents would be proud of my saying it so well. But everyone at the dining room table went silent, and they all turned and looked at me hard, not with approval for how well I had pronounced the words, but with anger and extreme disapproval. Looking at me with a glare of death my father said sternly, “what did you just say?” He did not wait for an explanation, rather he ran over to me and proceeded to beat the shit out of me right there in front of everyone and told me that the words that I had said were, “bad words”.

I remember feeling so confused because the beating was so bad physically, and I was so humiliated taking it right there in front of everyone; I thought that I had pronounced the words so well, but my grandparents and my mother just looked on approvingly at the beating that I had obviously deserved.  Though it is normal for a parent to punish their child for misbehaving; a great many things in the house in which I was raised were not normal, and our family had many secrets that it needed to hide, and one had to learn when, and when not to speak certain words. This has always been one of the first memories of my father’s disassociation and violence and my family’s acceptance and approval of such violence against children. After the beating I was taken to a dark place and left confused and terrified at what had just happened to me in the upside-down world that I was born into and raised within.

My parents moved to Salt Lake City, Utah when I was very young, and we spent a few years there living in the Salt Lake Valley amongst the brothers and sisters of the Mormon church in the heartland of the Restored Gospel. I can remember living in a small apartment in Salt Lake City as a young child. This apartment was not on the main floor of the building but was on one of the upper floors and we had to climb a flight of stairs to get to it. We did not live in the apartment long before we moved to a basement apartment in a split-level home there in the Salt Lake valley that was owned by my uncle. This home had two floors with a basement unit built as a one floor apartment and the main floor which was set up as a single level home. We lived in the basement and my uncle aunt and uncle lived in the main level of the home above us. I can remember that my mother did not like living in this home because it was in the basement and she had to live, literally under my aunt and uncle.

There is one experience I will share of this place as it holds context to this work. I was a small child at this time of my life as was my older brother and sister. We were living in the basement apartment and my uncle was having the roof of the home re-shingled. The work was being performed by a local contractor who worked alone. One day my mother told the three of us children to go outside and to spend some time playing outdoors together. The man was working outside on the roof at that time but we as children did as we were told by our mother and we went outside to play. Outside there were old shingles on the ground with nails sticking out of them, a ladder set up leading to the roof and the sound of work being performed above us. We ran around the building playing as children do when the man on the roof saw us below playing in his work area. He did not like this, and he got pissed and yelled at us all. As small children this man up on the roof was quite intimidating in a dirty t-shirt and having long hair below his shoulders. I can remember that he called us the devil’s children, and he said that we had better get back inside before the devil himself comes back to find us. This was terrifying as children and we all ran screaming back inside to our mother. We told her what had happened, and she reassured us that the devil was not going to come and get us, but she told us to stay inside after that.

The man came right down from the roof after we had gone in and he knocked on the door. My mother answered it and the man angrily told her that the children needed to stay inside and away from the work he was performing on the roof. My mother apologized and that was that, but this man, the roofer was acquainted with my Uncle and he understood that we came from a Satanic family. He knew that we as children had a legitimate fear of the Devil.

We moved when I was around a year and a half or so from Salt Lake City to the once small town of Nampa, Idaho and it was there in Southern Idaho that I spent many of my childhood years. The town of Nampa is situated just outside of Idaho’s capital city of Boise and being located just to the north of the state of Utah, and Salt Lake City it is well connected with the Mormon community there; Southern Idaho is Mormon country, and my family was very deeply involved with the satanic side, (Left-Hand Path) of the Mormon Church. As a small child one is unable to see and or understand the wrong in the path that their family has chosen, but for myself there were signs, phobias, scars, and memories of my past, and my families past that began to expose what exactly was wrong, some memories that I have always been able to recall but only recently have been able to understand and comprehend.

I have been terrified of people my entire life and I still have trouble with being in large crowds to this day. When I get into a large crowd of people, I impulsively want to get far away from them to a place that is clear of others.  One of my early memories from my childhood is of doing just that; of running from my father’s brothers, my uncles, and hiding in a small entry closet at one of my uncles’ homes. This occurred at about the time that we were moving from the Salt Lake Valley to Nampa. I remember being terrified and genuinely afraid that my uncles were going to cause me physical harm. My parents were not there at the house but were on their way to pick us up: my older brother and sister, and myself. Thinking to entertain us, my uncles had asked me, my cousin and my older brother if we wanted to play a game with them while we waited for our parents to arrive. Being young and naive we of course agreed. Our uncles took us upstairs to a bedroom and began to tie us up with towels and cloth and gag our mouths so that we could not scream or call out for help. It was terrifying as a child, and this did not seem to be a game that I wanted to play. They had told us that this was how they treated kids like us on the railroad.

As soon as they let us go and freed me from my bonds I ran and hid in the entry coat closet of the home shaking and terrified from the experience. I only wanted my mother and the security that she provided. I stayed in the closet for some time before my aunt brought me a grasshopper mint Oreo cookie to try to get me to come out of the closet. At the time I could not believe that someone had done something nice for me and I was astonished by her act of kindness; I was surprised by it as I was accustomed to people hurting me and causing me pain.  The cookie tasted wonderful, and I disassociated into the crispy mint flavor, but I still did not emerge from the closet until my mother arrived to comfort me in an upside-down relationship of love, hate, fear, pain, silence and confusion. The abuse I endured as a child was a family affair.

My grandfather became involved with the Central Intelligence Agency soon after he came back from fighting in the Pacific Theatre during World War Two.  He was involved with the Country Music Industry and worked for the Union Pacific Railroad which acted as a cover for his dirty work for the federal government. My grandfather was well connected in the world outside of the little po dunk town of Nampa, Idaho and was a key player in the implementation of the Central Intelligence Agencies MK-Ultra mind control projects. My grandfather personally oversaw much of the construction of the trauma based mind control programming facilities located underneath and within Disneyland in Anaheim California, and he worked directly with Walt on the location of these facilities up until Walt died. This was difficult to see for a young child as to me and my siblings he was just our grandpa; our grandpa who knew everybody, could talk to anybody, and would take away our memories.

Disneyland is a key Human Bio Programming and Controlled Trauma center located in Anaheim California and is used extensively by not only the Central Intelligence Agency but also by members of the Satanic elite. When I was five years old my parents were sent to Disneyland in southern California to gain an understanding of the secret processes for accessing this underworld of Trauma Based Mind Control Programming which some of their children would be made to endure. While our parents were off on a “romantic vacation” together at Disneyland learning how to put their children through the programming facilities there and how to raise U.S. kids in the Project, my siblings and I stayed at my grandparents’ house for the week. While we were there each one of us was tested to see, who it would be from our family that was Born to Serve and would become one of the governments satanic chosen. This test occurred towards the end of the week of our stay with our grandparents and I can remember that our grandfather had invited an old friend and acquaintance of his over to the house to entertain U.S. children for the evening; we were told that this man was a member of the church, though which church is much debatable. This man was a ventriloquist by the name of Alex Houston.

It was getting late in the evening and I can remember Alex coming over to do a little show of some kind for all of us kids with his dummy, Elmer. It seemed innocent enough and was fun and exciting for us children. At that time, my grandparents lived outside of Nampa. They had a long driveway and when Alex arrived, he could be seen coming up the drive in his R.V.. My grandfather went out to meet him and the rest of U.S. waited inside in anticipation of his arrival. They came inside and we all sat in the living room and Alex and Elmer put on a show for us. It was incredible how he could project his voice and as children it seemed as though Elmer was truly alive. After the show had ended my grandfather wanted to do some kind of a test on us children before Alex and Elmer had to leave for the night. Alex went out to his R.V. and he brought back in a shoe box and he and my grandfather told us kids to wait in the dining room while they set up the test. They went back into one of the back bedrooms of the home and closed the door.  After a few minutes they were ready, and my grandfather came back out of the room down the hall and he talked to us for a moment. He told us that we were going to be taken one by one back to the bedroom where Alex was waiting. He said that we would be given a short test of some kind and then we would be brought back to the dining room to wait with the rest of the kids. He told us that once we had been back to the room and tested, we were not allowed to talk about what had occurred in the room with any of our siblings or our grandmother who was there watching us as we waited our turns. He said that they were going to start with the oldest and then he told my sister that she was to be the first to be administered the tested. She was taken by the hand back to the room down the hall with my grandfather.  My brothers and I waited in the kitchen area with our grandmother while our sister went back to the room to be tested. After a minute or so went by we all heard a loud and terrible high-pitched scream come from the room down the hall that was obviously from my sister. After a couple of moments our grandfather brought my sister out of the room and back down the hallway to the dining room where the rest of us were still waiting. He told my sister that she was done with the test, and he reminded her not to talk about what she had seen with any of us. My sister had a look of shock and horror about her as well as that of confusion when my grandfather brought her back to the dining room. She looked as though she was considering simply running like hell from the house she was in at that moment, but it also seemed somehow humorous to her at the same time, as though whatever it was that she had seen seemed to be some kind of sick inside joke. Something had happened to her back there in the room with my grandfather and Alex Houston that had shaken her up and traumatized her.

Next my grandfather took my older brother back down the dark hallway to be tested while my younger brother and I waited in the kitchen with our now terrified and confused older sister. After a couple of moments of my brother having entered the room down the hall, we all heard a terrifying scream from behind the closed door. Whatever it was that they were doing also scared the hell out of my older brother. A couple of moments later my grandfather brought him back down the hallway and to the dining room where we were waiting.  Like my sister he was shaken up and looked like he had just seen a ghost, but it was somehow supposed to be funny in some way and he looked confused and terrified. Grandpa seemed disappointed in him and told him that he was done with the test, and he reminded him that he was not to talk about what he had seen back in the bedroom. Then my grandfather looked at me.

Now it was my turn to go back to the room with my grandfather. He reached out his hand and he took me down the dark hallway and into the room where the ventriloquist was waiting for me. I was very afraid upon entering the room as I knew that there was a frightening surprise sure to follow. When we entered the room, Mr. Houston was sitting on the bed and there was a box on the bed next to him. He had some paperwork that he seemed to be filling out and looking at me he told me to tell him my name for the records. I told him my name which he made note of and then he told me that he had something that he and my Grandfather would like to show to me there in the shoe box and he asked if I would not like to see it.  I said that surely, I would as that was the reason that I was there. Houston held out the shoebox and took off the lid. Inside of the box on silken linen was a human hand cut off at the wrist. I instantly disassociated from the situation and did not move, I just stared at the severed hand in the box. Houston put the lid back on the box and had a questioning but pleased look about him as he stared at me in my response. Grandpa simply lead me out of the room with a proud demeanor about him and led me back down the hallway to the kitchen where my siblings were waiting for me. I was so confused and felt as though I must have missed something because I could not remember screaming back in the room down the hallway as my older brother and sister had.

Grandpa left me there in the dining room and he told me not to talk to my sister or brother about what I had seen down the hallway and he took my younger brother by the hand and back down into the bedroom. We were quiet as our younger brother was in the back bedroom and after a short time he emerged and like myself, he had not made a sound when he was there; he also did not scream upon seeing the hand in the box. My grandfather brought my younger brother back down the hall and to the dining room and then he went back down the hall to where Mr. Houston was packing up his things in the bedroom. Alex Houston left that night with my youngest brother and myself having both passed the test of disassociation, which is a critical component of trauma-based mind control programming.

When my parents finally got home from their trip to southern California and the Disneyland programming center there, we children were very happy to see them and they were both well informed on how to raise their children successfully in the Project. But the next summer it would be our turn to all go to Disneyland and for years to come it would be our families vacation destination as my younger brother and I would both be subjected to Trauma Based Mind Control Programming at the Disneyland facilities during these vacation getaways. A short time after my parents had returned home from California and we had gotten all settled into life as normal again I can remember being in the living room one evening when a man came on the television who was a ventriloquist that worked with his dummy named Elmer. I told my parents that the man on the television was the man who had visited us at our grandparents while they were in California. It was so strange to see Alex and Elmer on t.v. but there he was; the guy who had entertained us at our grandparents’ house. My siblings also saw him there on the television and we all had a laugh at the wide range of people that my grandfather was familiar with. These are just some of the earliest memories that I have of the Project and traumas of childhood.

This work is a Journaled Memory of the author: J.R. Sweet

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