Tuesday the 12th of May. Fourteen months ago today, the life that was mine ended. My time to be in a home and be with the ones I love was rapidly ticking away. It's 10:00 in the morning. At noon the sheriff's deputy would come. Then the woman with the white van would come, and we would have until 8:30 at night packed like sardines into that van to be together. The FBI put me out on the streets that day to function as bait for certain mafia types that they wanted to catch, and they have left me on the streets ever since. I have spent fourteen months suffering in ways I have tried to describe in this blog that's more than a year old now, and I have hoped in vain for readers who cared. In the flesh-and-blood world I am not someone people care about much: I'm odd, I'm reclusive, I have asperger's. But I hoped that in the world of the internet I would find a few people who cared. That hasn't happened. I am not delusional. The FBI goes to great lengths to make me a delusional in people's eyes, but I am not. They can't change the truth of who I am. But they can, and have, left me most of the time isolated and alone through this long ordeal of being their homeless piece of bait.