I have just sent a report to the CCHR through their site. https://www.cchr.org/take-action/report-adverse-reactions.html

The content of the report is as follows with real names of related doctors included:

This is the part concerning the psychiatric abuse follwing my denunciation of harassment and aggression exerted on my person during years of my career at K., EMEA Branch, located at xxx Paris, France. I have testified for a colleague who engaged the company in legal action for systematically using pression, usually of transferring the employee from his/her current office to a geographically distant office with assignment of tasks that have nothing to do with the employee’s aptitude or work history. Since internal procedures amounted to dragging time while no substantial effort had been put on acknowledging and solving the problem of the aggression (I have been yelled at by a colleague about the same age as myself : yelling is an understatement – his eyes were popped out and face all red, his voice could be heard from outside the office with closed doors, probably. “Shut up! Keep your mouth shut when I speak!” he told me, when I replied, trying to keep my dignity, “Why are you yelling like that?”. This guy, after having filed a false report mentionning he never yelled but slightly raised his voice, ended up acknowledging he yelled – and the human resources manager had promised to my boss that he’d draw up preventive measures, which never happened, while the aggressor took the position of harassing me openly. This led me to contact the French Social Security for intervention on workplace aggression and harassment. Computer hacking at the workplace and at home started around this time.

After the plan of sending me off to the airport office (more than four hours daily commutation time) failed due to the intervention of a colleague who offered to go there in my stead, making a psychologically unstable person out of the employee who denounced the aggression as well as previous harassments throughout the years to French Social Security, the employee who testified for her colleague in a lawsuit against the company – has worked within the company, and I have been kidnapped and locked up to back this plan.

Computer hacking was intensified at home after I took a sickness leave. It was especially concentrated on my e-mail exchanges regarding my actions with the Social Security and exchanges with the colleague who sued the company and his lawyer, but what distressed me most of all, was the fact that the auto-psychanalysis I undertook with the family doctor was also being rummaged through, as well as all other personal mails – ostensible electronic signs had been posted on each line of my e-mail account so that I’d get the message I was being hacked. People who saw these showed reactions such as “K (the company) wouldn’t have the means to carry out this kind of advanced stuff” (an ex-colleague) or “May God protect you, my child” (a cardiologist, former Yugoslavian refugee).

That night, I couldn’t bear it any more – the signs were also on the e-mail exchanges I had with my husband, deceased in April 2009 after about two years of suffering – from renal cancer but most of all, due to the cancer drug side-effects – about a year before the hacking and other insidious Stasi-style attacks started. The insidious phosphorescent sky-blue signs were wiggling even on the e-mail exchanges I had with my husband around 2002. My heart felt like it was being pierced, I needed to talk to someone, so I went to the Hôpital Européen George Pompidou in Paris near our home. I remembered a psychologist there had helped me suffer less by listening to my ordeals while I took care of my husband who was literally decomposing day by day, and hoped to have someone like her to talk to.

A psychiatrist was on duty and received me – I told her what happened and showed her the video of the phosphorescent sky-blue “wigglies” next to my e-mails in the Yahoo Account. There was an elderly assistant by her side. Soon she proposed that I be hospitalized since I looked worn out. I refused at first, saying there was an interview preceding a planned dismissal from the company (Entretien préalable au licenciement), where I could defend myself from the company’s abusive handling of the aggression and other matters. The psychiatrist told me that I was in no condition to affront such a task, and proposed I be hospitalized to “take a rest”. I ended up agreeing, telling her that I could be hospitalized a day or two and then go to the meeting.

The psychiatrist made me wait outside in the hallway while she phoned – she had told me that there were no available beds in the hospital and that she had to try find a place somewhere else. I heard conversation through the door but couldn’t make it out; it was a long conversation. Time is subjective, to me it seemed like half an hour but maybe it was only twenty minutes.

I wasn’t admitted back into her office, but the assistant came out telling me that they found a place. Soon a hospital personnel arrived with a stretcher. The assistant told me to lie down so I could be transported. I did as she told me – even then firmly believing that I’d be hospitalized for exhaustion or burnout in a normal hospital. Once I lay down, the personnel attached me to the stretcher with the belts. Once this was done, the assistant clasped her hands, looked at me with pitiful eyes and told me “You’ll be taken to Ste.Anne”. Even then, I didn’t know what Ste.Anne was, I thought it was a normal hospital, smaller than this one.

The ambulance arrived in the dark of the night at Ste.Anne. The ambulance personnel undid the belts and told me in an ordering tone to descend out of the ambulance, which I did. The personnel, Bastien, came out to ‘greet’ me. He told me “I suppose you’ve been told how this place is run”. I was bewildered when I found out that I was kidnapped and locked up in a psychiatric ward. It was cold around the end of November, and I was given the pyjama-uniform to wear, I had my personal belongings confiscated and all contact was forbidden until a doctor saw me. Dr. C was the first doctor who saw me, who listened to what I said and prescribed “Xanax if necessary”. I was force-fed Xanax in liquid form because, according to the nurse who menaced to inject it if I didn’t drink it, I wasn’t sleeping in my room and was wandering around in the hallway throughout the night (I was writing a record of what was happening to me). Dr. B is the doctor who was in charge of me, who insisted I said “I heard voices in my head” while what I said was “It was like an inner voice telling me I did something wrong”. Later when she stressed this fact, I made the precision that what I meant by ‘inner voice’ was conscience”. Dr. B gave me the main-levée (freed me from forced psychiatry status) after about a year when my father in-law intervened saying it was unreasonable to keep me in surveillance while I was normal, and that the surveilled status was counterproductive to my health. But she didn’t know I hadn’t taken any of the Seroquel that was prescribed.

According to French law regarding psychiatric detention at that time – 2011 – two doctors had to confirm the need for psychiatric seclusion. One was Dr.B, from the hospital, and the other was, astonishingly, my family doctor (who I presume had been contacted by K (the company), following some odd instances I experienced with him). The family doctor, Dr. E, had given the green light just by listening to what a personnel from Ste. Anne told him. Later he tried to justify that by telling me that he trusted what his confrère told him, that he had ‘confiance’ in the medical personnel.

I could avoid swallowing pills in this first kidnap-lock-up that missed fulfilling its legal formalities. The illegality of the lock-up process being evident, this error on the medical system’s part has been righted in the subsequent lock-up. Since the human tendency in our busy times is to look thoroughly into the most recent case, and then make assumptions thereof for past instances, following all the rules in the second lock-up would somehow keep the attention from the illegality of the first lock-up. This strategy is often used by dishonest politicians and others, in falsifying stories to their advantage.

During this first lock-up, the company had taken all necessary measures in firing me according to the law : three registered mails, all in relation with my dismissal, laid untouched in the mailbox during the time I had been forbidden to even go get my mail – for three weeks.

I have received the “main-levée” or “declaration of being cured” without taking any drugs – the Seroquel, an antipsychotic, prescribed to me (for the establishment of the false record of me being a psychotic) had been paid for, but I asked the pharmacy employees to keep them in the drawer or recycle them, sell them to someone else who asks for them, that I didn’t need them. So the proof that I didn’t take the drugs was established.

Having been “cured” without the antipsychotics caused a problem to the pharmaceutical industry, no doubt. Maybe word got to the Pharma industry through the pharmacy. Another coincidence worthy of note is that the pharmacy’s employee has been replaced. The former employee who also knew my husband had told me that general physicians shouldn’t be prescribing psychiatric drugs like the one on the prescription form the family doctor – Dr. WE – handed me (he was intent to make me swallow pills). It was one of the new employees, who was known to be savvy about computers, who told me, when I showed it to her, that there was nothing strange in the fact of finding a closed circuit board inside the radio, however old the radio may be.

Stealthy infractions have intensified since then, as well as hacking to make me look illiterate or lacking logic in what I wrote for real-life purposes, like CVs. Who knows, maybe even what I had written in the past, at the time logical and without giving the appearance of illiteracy, have been modified.

I felt it was unjust to have one’s life, including cherished memories about my husband, soiled by these criminals. I also developed a tendency of not caring what others thought, they didn’t care anyway, if it bothered them, they’d come to me to tell me to cool down (and I actually asked the downstairs neighbors on many occasions if they weren’t bothered by the noise I was making in my appartment, to which they answered no) – and burned all my paintings on the balcony, surrounding it with carcasses of computer that I smashed against the floor. I wasn’t hurting anyone. I was just venting out the accumulated anger within my precincts. I admit I was in rage, at times like that. But who wouldn’t be, if “raped” in every aspect of one’s life while at the same time being made aware of being watched every step with the goal of total corruption of one’s life? (with automated installations being the main, this being backed-up with occasionnal real intrusions based on surveillance, no doubt, in hindsight).

The smoke from the fire on the balcony, however safely surrounded by computer carcasses to avoid any incidents, has probably been notified to the police, along with the noise of objects being thrown around. I didn’t receive phonecalls neither, having become retracted. A psychiatrist from Ste.Anne, Mme.Coste- a tall brunette – came with two policemen and acted out very scared and nervous while telling me to come along or force will be used, that a one-week examination under medical surveillance was necessary.

This is how I was locked up the second time. On our way to Ste. Anne, there was a visit at a hospital in Boulogne Billancourt (having a psychiatry section) to get a check-up, according to the crew in the ambulance, but in fact, it was to get a fake record of mental incapacity by one of the doctors there who didn’t even examine me, just exchanged greetings – but this could be extended to “examination” in these dishonest minds. I remember the hospital crew making fun of me among his colleagues when I asked if he was the doctor I was supposed to be examined by (since he took my blood pressure), while Dr. C. was away tending to her “business”. I can’t call it a kidnap this time, it’s more like – having been provoked over time, framed to act violently, ruthlessly, for the purpose of getting me noticed and notified to authorities. Note that provoking into committing acts disapproved by society and then saying “tut, tut”, shaking his head, waving his finger, is the twisted sadistic Nazi supremacist way.

I suspect Ste.Anne’s administration to be in collusion with the powerful to lock up whoever is designated – I have seen totally normal, competent (bilingual, for example) females locked up and of course, upset by the fact.

On one occasion, I had a chance of asking a psychiatrist other than those designated to me to let me know what is the basis of the lock-up. He showed me what was written in the computer shared by many psychiatrists, among whom Dr.C. (whom I’ve seen leaving the room in an odd hour), things that are supposed to be words from witnesses. According to what was written, the person concerned (me) could not be taken as anything else than psychotic. Medical records on shared computers are handy in modifying its contents for obvious reasons.

This second time, Ste.Anne didn’t take any chances – except for the first pill, all medication was given in liquid form at the daily lineup at the dispensary, to be swallowed under the watchfull eyes of the nurse, who’d make sure to talk to you to be sure you’ve swallowed the neurotoxin. There was another exception where it was a pill, but I understood that there was hidden videosurveillance to see if I took the pill or not while the nurse turned his back deliberately while I was supposed to take the pill. I was locked up for two months this time, during which time Dr. D, the head of psychiatrists in sector 18 at that time – in the year 2014 – tried to negotiate with me : if I accepted an implant that would release the antipsychotic over a month’s period, to be recharged each month, he’d let me go out sooner. I refused and stayed longer, and got broke in the process. More than 800 euros were charged monthly just for food. I was locked up for two months.

Of course, this time, I went to see the JLD (Juge des Libertés et de la Détention) in due time, according to the law, after having been forcefully drugged before hand, the medication being purposefully given in the morning for the purpose of discrediting what I said through my confused speech under the drug’s influence. The meeting with the JLD was so timed that I’d get to see her about three hours after drug intake, when its effects were at maximum. A public lawyer was at my disposal, but she was available only half an hour or so before the hearing, during which time, with confused mind, I had to try to convey to her information possibly pointing to the wrongfull institutionalization. She proved to be highly incompetent, but anyone would have been incompetent under such circumstances. I have terrible teeth problems and two of the frontal teeth are crowns, posed with dental glue. On the day of the hearing, the teeth that were steadfast until the previous night felt loosened, and fell. Who knows, since the bedroom doors cannot be locked, some twisted crook within the staff could have come in to hammer lightly on them so they’d detach, while I was in heavy sleep after being drugged. Ste. Anne is full of illegal activities going on. This is how I went to see the judge without the front teeth, which probably added to the ridiculousness of my status. There’s also the fact that the law permits the hospital to send a letter of opinion – which has been done : in the letter, it was mentioned “The patient can look totally normal for extended periods of time, but that is one of the characteristics of the mental disease she is suffering from. During fits, she would hallucinate, etc”

When I was released, I had to go every day to Ste.Anne’s medical center near Rue de la Pompe, also in the 16th arrondissement but about eight subway stations away – to swallow the antipsychotic Seroquel 400 mg or was it 500? Before the watchful eyes of the nurses. There were three visits by hospital staff to “see if everything was ok” – staff who didn’t forget to intimidate me that if I didn’t take the weekend pills (the center is closed on weekends) it would show, and that it will be “back to lock-up”. These daily travels were quite difficult under the influence of the drug; it felt like I had kilos of weight on me.

I was surprised at how docile I became – I tried my best to fit into the “docile patient” figure. I was telling the nurses that now I saw how wrong I was, how I messed up everything – taking the blame all to myself, without any mention of infractions since that would send me back to the hospital, with the word “relapse” resurging again. “Relapse” is psychiatry’s favorite word. In fact, the staff at Ste. Anne kept on hammering that I had a relapse because I “stopped taking the drugs” (they were probably falsely told that I had taken the drugs to get the “cured” sentence).

During this time, while I tried to keep whatever was left of my health, I have noticed that I developed incontinence and an anal deformation, as well as dislocation in the senses of the spinal chord. I have never recovered from the anal deformation – it would make the minds of the Nazis who perpetrated this, but the deformation is such that a piece of excrement is left hanging every time I went to the stool. Suicidal thoughts set in very soon, along with insomnia. I decided I had to make a choice of life or death. If I stayed, I’d surely die. I remember an incidence where a hospital staff tried to get me to enlist for government aid for the disabled, telling me that with the medication, I won’t be able to function correctly for at least five years.

This really set the alarms going off in my head. And by this, we can deduce that medical staff do know how incapacitating psychiatric drugs are, but that they’re led to believe that the “treatment” is inevitable. I have witnessed how, while visitors of inmates asked me why the hell I was there (after asking me if I came to visit someone at the hospital and learning that I was one of the inmates), the hospital staff looked at me through colored glasses and tried to interpret every one of my moves as psychiatrically related, with an air of superiority. Maybe it’s human nature, enjoying feeling superior to those around. Being a normal person (staff) is superiority in itself in a psychiatric ward among those tagged inferior – “mentally ill”.

In fact, Social Security (Assurance Maladie) had tried to invite me to get invalidity status, way before this, but I refused. Maybe it was a consequence of my family doctor’s efforts to enlist me in a long-term convalescent leave (ALD) previous to the institutionalization – he had falsely written down a list of psychiatric drugs for the status, while I protested I never took them. His words at the time was “You’re not thinking about going into politics, or running for the presidentials, right? This list is only formality, I have the duty to protect my patient, also at the social level.” I should have known better, but I was too naïve at the time, I sincerely believed the doctor cared for the widow of his patient who passed away a few years ago. It should have rung an alarm bell – so much kindness out of his way, going even against the rules by writing down false prescription (while he avoided by all means to sign the papers medically acknowledging the aggression at the workplace). But who knows, maybe he was successfully led by the “well-intentionned” airline company to believe that in fact I was a psychologically ill employee the company “dearly cared about” and wanted what was best for me (which, of course, was the exact opposite of the reality). In fact, when I asked him if he had been approached by a third party to discuss about my situation, he blushed but replied “no”. Some doctors seem to think they have the right to deceive patients since their job implies that they’re “helping” the patients. Anyway, the imaginative myth-making power of these chaebol people might deserve applause by their likes.

From the events I experienced, I can safely presume that Social Security had been on the company’s side since the acceptance of the documents I sent to the establishment for intervention.

One weekend, I decided to flee. I took out all the money I could take out from my bank account (there was a limit in cash withdrawal which obliged me to leave about a thousand or more euros from the amount I borrowed from a friend and my sister). I bought a one-way plane ticket and fled to Korea, and came to my parents’ apartment. From then on, it was cold-turkey. I had suicidal thoughts and terrible insomnia, this time from withdrawal no doubt, as well as the guilty conscience of having betrayed my parents’ wish and hope that I have a settled life in France, not in Korea where I had quite a difficult time adapting in the past. Thinking of that period of my life makes me shudder. Every night, I’d do sit-ups due to akathisia, hitting my chest, wanting to die. My body would retain water, I’d swallow liters of water only to let out half a liter per day. Constipation lasted for a month or so. My period stopped. I have anal deformation, it seems irreversible.