Request (desperately seeking to escape from the sadistic slavery hell in which I’ve been trapped for 13 years)

I am desperately looking to escape from the dysfunctional, lawless and abusive mess that the land of Brexit, Boris and Andrew is. But you’d have to finance my move. I am literally penniless; in fact, I have been without electricity and warm water for four months at the moment, although I must say that this is fairly common in Britain. I made a decent enough income until I was stupid enough to move from lifeless dreary Southampton to Portsmouth, which is little more than a sadistic mess, filled with little whiny and hostile Boris Johnsons. Need I say more?

In 2004, I made the, now in hindsight disastrous, decision to leave Amsterdam to move to England, with the idea of returning to the US a few years later, to resume a career in academia. Moving to England was financial, social and professional suicide. I got stuck here. And England and I don’t click. I have made four unsuccessful attempts to leave England behind me, twice of which on foot. I had no money. I still have no money. At the time of writing, I have been without electricity (hence also without warm water) for four months. I have often lived this way in the past ten years. It’s quite normal in the UK.

I have always been highly driven, a concept that is totally alien to most of the English. Enthusiasm is not done here, initiative frowned upon. The pace is very slow here and people here have no idea of what a deadline is. They don’t get the idea of someone working late to meet a deadline, they have no notion of what excellence is. They always strive to get away with the least possible effort. And they get a big kick out of wasting other people’s time.

With my apologies to the handful of English people to whom this does not apply. I know you exist.

Every country has these people, people who love leaving your urgent requests to approve the purchase of badly needed equipment sitting on their desks or in a desk drawer. But this is much worse in England because this is often the only sense of power, of agency, people can get over here. By frustrating and sabotaging others. Sadism.

When I arrived in England at the end of 2004, I was a marine biogeochemist and I do have that background but as I haven’t been able to keep up with the field, I can no longer contribute in the field and I would be useless in the lab too. What I can do, however, is manage things, oversee things, make sure that things run smoothly, liaise with people, spot bottlenecks, solve problems, and even mediate between staff or between departments.

I am totally unsuitable as an admin person. I am not the kind of person who loves to spend days at a desk entering data into databases and all that. I am also totally unsuitable for a paid position of salt pillar.

If you want to get in contact with me, please send me a phone with enough call credit as well as your number in its memory and video software installed with you as connection and an explanatory letter from you by courier, signed for (not “aangetekend” if you happen to be based in the Netherlands as “aangetekend” mail is treated as ordinary postal mail over here). Address it as follows:

Angelina Souren
6F Kingston Road
Portsmouth PO1 5RZ
England, United Kingdom

As you can read elsewhere on this website, the reason for my misery is a phenomenon known as sadistic stalking, which has included extensive hacking in my case. The people in question wouldn’t bother me in the US as they’d be too concerned about the possibility of being extradited to the US.

I’ve already made four attempts to return to the Netherlands.

One thought on “Request (desperately seeking to escape from the sadistic slavery hell in which I’ve been trapped for 13 years)

  1. As the English are also terribly easily offended – basically, any other person’s breathing offends them – I have been keeping the fact that I think that most of the English are total losers – it sounds very unkind – to myself for a very long time, but I can’t do it any longer.

    I know that there are people out there – that they exist – who would feel exactly the same. One person who comes to mind, by way of example, is Bob Byrne in St Petersburg. I’ve always regretted that that didn’t work out and I so wish that I’d had enough funds of my own so that I would not have gotten as immensely frustrated and desperate as I did back then and instead could have continued by PhD. But hey, that’s water under the bridge. I’m just saying that I know that I am far from crazy for not wanting to become even more typically “English” than I’ve already become. There is nothing wrong with being driven and motivated, with wanting to excel, with wanting to enjoy yourself and wanting to do something you enjoy.

    I don’t need to be perfect. I just want to be the best possible me, do the best I can, live well. I learn nothing from being a typically English obedient salt pillar or doormat. I contribute nothing that way. (All most English people seem to be doing is waiting for death. They’re already like zombies. I live the non-life of a zombie over here.)

    There are many other people in the world who are driven and motivated (by something else other than the fairly typically English urge to make the people around them as miserable as possible; it is considered great fun in many places over here, certainly including Portsmouth).

    I can’t stand losers who chose to be losers (and whine about being losers). Sorry. I hate seeing myself increasingly turn myself into a typically English loser doormat. That’s not me. That is not who I wish to be. I can be kind and friendly without being a loser and doormat. That’s not done here. Being me is not done here. Okay. Then I want the hell out of here.

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