As is expressed repeatedly, please do not read this if you are compassionate or sensitive, because the account of a very traumatic Life that the walk-out of this body has went through, will tear down even the most hardened of souls and have you wondering why and how a child could go through all that I am about to discuss.

I am not kidding, it’s sickening. Please turn back now if you don’t think you can handle a discussion of trauma, abuse and rape.

Written unfortunately, by Wes Annac

Every day as of late seems to be an uphill clearing of old and former energies within myself. I apologize for the clearly lower state of my mood and vibrations as I write this; I am currently undergoing the most intense phases of my clearing process while dealing with energies that feel like they are taking me under at times.

Please do not let this message lower your vibrations, though it may be a bit unavoidable and if you stay with me, you will see why. I have within this temple inherent sadness and distress that relates to former pains and traumas the walk-out of this body experienced, and this distress is coming to the surface in the form of manifestations in my personal Life that are getting harder to deal with.

Though my distressed energies hardly allow me to make this statement at present, I know that in the end all pains will be healed and I will be happier than I ever have been. For now, though, I’m in the thick of a process that just won’t let up.

Even while posting every day and happily channeling and writing, it has been difficult to get through one day without crying or uncovering truly ridiculous traumas that the walk-out of this body had buried, suppressed and left behind for me to rediscover and clean up. These traumas are sickening, and since rediscovering them I now have a pretty good view of why the walk-out of this body left.

I simply cannot hold these traumas in anymore and must allow myself to write them out as a part of my cleansing process. I have tried to avoid having to do this but there is simply no avoidance.

Please, if you are sensitive and cannot resonate with or take the discussion of gruesome traumas, do not read any further. To put the story in proper context, there are going to be bad words and hey, I hated hearing them just as much as a kid as you are going to hate reading them. If you may find yourself in a highly compassionate state, than the material you are about to read may vastly lower your vibrations, and I don’t want that to happen to anybody. Again, though, I need to write out and express these traumas that have been buried within the subconscious memories of this temple, so I will very reluctantly begin.

My first conscious memory of this Life is floating above the living-room of my old house, viewing my family from a bird’s eye view. This memory among many others things have validated for me, my walk-in and the fact that I am not the original soul inhabiting this body. At the time of this first memory, the walk-out was about three and to the best of my knowledge, had not yet experienced the traumas I am about to discuss.

Slowly but surely, my perception began to zoom-in more and more until all that I could perceive was a view of being directly in front of the walk-out at all times, seeming to move as he moved while still staying perfectly in alignment with him. I had begun to let myself think that this is how Life is supposed to be perceived; in a manner wherein you perceive of yourself from an outward point of view at all times.

Eventually, there was a ‘pop’ moment and I found myself existing within this temple silently, perceiving of the ongoing Life Plan of the walk-out before I would ultimately ‘take over’ this body at around the time the walk-out was seventeen. I was there with the walk-out, and experienced every trauma and abuse that he had suffered. I carry rediscovered memories of these traumas that have been hidden within the subconscious of this body and that my walk-in has always been meant to expose to me, so that I could heal the immense pain garnered from the traumas we will soon be discussing.

The family of the walk-out would, to an outside stranger, seem like an ordinary American family. Parents who worked hard all of the time to provide for the family; three teenagers who were quite rebellious, with one moving out before the walk-out was 5; and me, the little one who was ‘new to the scene’ and who was quite spited by the two brothers of mine who had not moved out yet because they were not yet of age.

To make things easier, from here on out I am going to say ‘me’ or ‘I’ instead of ‘the walk-out’. I experienced these traumas too and it simply makes the story easier to word. The brothers had a separate mother than I did and because of this and because of continual fighting between my father and their mother, along with their mother routinely abandoning them for estranged, drug addict boyfriends and my mom attempting to take over and become their mom; they resented and spited me quite strongly.

As I had not known or perceived of the pains that they were forced to go through [and there were a lot] and had just come from a place of Heavenly Love and Light [I was very young] and as a result did not feel or express the pain that they held inside, I was the naïve girly ‘faggot’ whom which they could take all of their anger and repressed rage out on. And they did. The third brother who had moved out, always Loved me and before moving out, would protect me from the other two. He changed my diapers and fed me as a baby more than my mother did, as she was herself young at the time and was experiencing her first baby.

The other two brothers however, saw me differently and ironically enough, were pretty much put in charge of watching me all of the time as my parents were always working. In essence, my parents had left me alone all of the time with two sadistic teenagers who would take the rage out on me that most of the time, my parents would cause.

The two brothers were always getting in trouble; smoking cigarettes and weed at a young age and always seeming to get caught doing something they weren’t supposed to. My parents, who were only acting on the disciplinary methods that had been forced onto them as children by their unawakened parents, had my two brothers constantly grounded to the house, to me, for all of the trouble they would get in on a routine basis.

My dad would take to getting physical with them but of course, only if they stepped out of line. It was the method his father, my grandfather who is now in Nirvana, had used on my father and his brothers and sisters.

I was once told a story of one of my brothers getting suspended at school and not telling my dad, and whenever my dad found out about it he was very angry. He laid my brother on the bed and, only to instill fear and not to actually hurt him, grabbed him by his shirt and violently shook him up and down, up and down on the bed.

The brother in question had bruises all over his chest as a result, and at school one of the teachers noticed the bruises and had child services called. I don’t remember them ever being at our house or even the incident in question, but somehow the environment was safe enough for our family to stay together. Which I am not saying is wrong, because for many different karma-based reasons this family, who behind all the violence truly did and do Love each other, needed to stay together.

It should be expressed that the father was not inherently abusive, and never took to abusing me in physical ways. He was simply acting on a [in my opinion] bullshit method of parenting [sorry for the language] that proclaimed that if your kids got out of line, just hit em’ or do something else to instill a strong sense of fear in them.

At another, later time, that same brother who had messed up the first time, messed up again and was to face a very heavy punishment for it. My brothers would always walk me home from school and during one day that we were walking home, the aforementioned brother was in distress. He had gotten in trouble again and lied to our father about it, and once again our father found out. I guess it could be said that they were not very clever about getting into mischief.

The brother was nearly in tears the entire walk home, telling myself and the other brother how scared he was of what was going to happen whenever we got home. Keep in mind that the brothers were in Jr. High at the time, and were around the respective ages of 13-15.

I remember coming home and going straight to my room as I heard the yelling ensue. My father was yelling very loud and angrily, my brother was yelling, crying and pleading, and all I wanted to do was get my homework done. I started working on my homework in my room as the ‘fight’ continued. The yelling in itself was very traumatic and served to instill much fear about my father into myself, but that just wasn’t enough.

My father began repeatedly slamming my brother into the door of my bedroom. My door of my bedroom, and I was 8 or 9 at the time. It’s really just a wonderful thing to force a nine year old to go through [that is sarcasm]. I began blasting the cabalist pop music that I was fond of as a child, in an effort to drown out the yelling and the slamming of my brother against my bedroom door.

So, for a long time, the yelling, slamming and blasting of pop music by me in an attempt to drown out what was going on, continued. Since that day I had developed a very strong fear of my father that was intended to never see me ‘step out of line’.

I’m the father and you’re the son, and I’m bigger than you. You better not step out of line or get in trouble, or God forbid the consequences.

This was just one trauma that both myself and one of my brothers went through, and they themselves had to experience so much pain and trauma centered around their mother and our father.

I remember being a child and watching my father fight with their mother over her taking them for the weekend. I remember hearing my dad yell along the lines of ‘get out of that car boys!’ and the boys getting out of the car, only for their mother to yell ‘no! get back in the car now!’ forcing them to go back into the car, and this roundabout continued for quite some time. Can you imagine what that is like for three brothers, to have to listen and adhere to two screaming authorities who were constantly fighting and arguing?

My mother did not make the situation much better. Though attempts were made to let the brothers see their mother whenever controversy was not abounding, my mother pretty much tried to assume the role of being my brothers’ mother, and of parenting them and enacting a sense of ‘authority’ as a result that my father strongly reinforced. I’m sorry, but that is completely out of line for ANYBODY to do to a child, much less three of them, no matter how screwed up their birth mother was.

As a result of the traumas forced onto my brothers by my father and at times, forced onto me; and as well as a result of their sheer hatred of my mother for trying to replace theirs, the two brothers who had not grown and moved out took out much hatred on me. They saw my mother as the ultimate evil bitch and wished they could ‘get back at her’ knowing full well they couldn’t, lest they face the wrath of our father.

However, I was the birth child of that evil ‘bitch’ and there was nothing that I could do to defend myself, not to mention the fact that I was left alone with them nearly every day after school. Let the trauma ensue!

If I was ever being particularly ‘annoying’ the two brothers’ favorite methods of forcing me into fear and submission was what they playfully called ‘torture time’. Please understand, I am not making this up.

Unless I apologized to them or vocally said that I was stupid, they would hold me down, pull my pants down and drop things on my testicles. I hope you compassionate readers are not still with us, because that is a heavy admission to put on paper. I still remember the feeling of having my arms held down by one of them, trying so hard to break free and knowing full well that I couldn’t.

What was the worst was the unending fear that I would feel right before they dropped something. Sometimes they would hold something heavy above me for quite a few minutes, just to watch me squirm, beg and plead for them not to do what they were going to do anyway. I remember with any pain, I would scream particularly loud before and as it was happening in hopes that the screaming would nullify the pain a little bit.

Worried that neighbors would hear, they then started taking to forcing their palm around my mouth, so my screams could not be heard by anybody but them and myself. Again, the only way this torture could stop was if I apologized for whatever I had done to make them want to do this to me [what could have possibly been that bad]. One of their favorite things to drop on me was a very heavy toy; one of those metal or plastic pin toys that you could put your hand or face in and, keeping the toy steady, be able to see an imprint of whatever you put in there. I know that that description is a really bad one, and most will likely not know which toy I am talking about.

This was just one trauma that this temple has experienced, and it is enough keep one in a never-ending depression for the rest of their Lives. I strongly feel that the walk-out would have sputtered into a full-on disaster of self had he not made the choice to leave, because of the traumas mentioned above and because of other traumas I am about to share.

The two brothers were also quite fond of pornography, and exposed me to it at an unbelievably young age. I still have sickening issues with lust as a result that I am working on transmuting, and hopefully the writing of this will help me to clear some of them away. They would find video tapes, dvds, magazines and whatever else they could find to feed a pornographic lust of the flesh. One of their favorite utilizations was the internet, and they were able to find much more than simple porn on there.

For whatever sickening reason, the two brothers became interested in and started watching short snuff films. If you don’t know what that is, it is essentially a video that is either real or fake (I can’t tell you which) wherein somebody is getting murdered in front of a camera. It is so horrible and awful and even writing about it nearly reduces me to nothing.

I just had to express to one of the brothers that the videos scared me and as a result, was forced to watch a few of them. By forced, I mean forced – One of them held my eyes open while the other one held me in the chair, and they forced me to watch people getting killed.

Again, I can’t say if the videos I was exposed to were real or fake, but they were f***ing traumatic and ridiculous. The worst one that I was forced to watch, was of a woman tied up pleading for her Life. As she begs, pleads and screams, you see a gun slowly enter the frame and press up against her temple.

As she is still begging and pleading, the gun goes off and you see her head basically explode, with blood going everywhere. Tell me, how the hell is anybody supposed to function in Life after being forced to watch such a thing, as a f***ing child? I am censoring my own cussing on purpose, by the way.

I am crying heavily and uncontrollably as I write this. The tears are necessary as I write this and are a part of the necessary cleansing process. But it still hurts so much. The people in those videos did not deserve to have that happen to them if the videos were indeed real, and I DID NOT deserve to be exposed to them as a child. Nobody does.

Another video I remember is of a man getting his head cut off. You do not see the action take place, but you see the man, another man with a knife, and then the man’s headless body. It sounds like an Illuminati dream.

Hopefully there is not more that has been suppressed, because that is all I can remember of the snuff films. But there are still more memories to go. [I know, you may be pleading and wishing this horrible account was over, but far from it.]

If anybody is familiar with the rapper Eminem, he is an Illuminati shill who was only put in the position of a rapper to fulfill the Illuminati’s plans of associating rap music with crime, violence, death and destruction. Eminem’s music is rife with all of those elements, quite on purpose.

There is a song of his wherein he murders his wife Kim [many of his songs are all about hating his wife] and you can hear him audibly murdering her in the middle of the song. Again, my naïve self just had to express that that scared me [wouldn’t it scare you as a child?] and this was taken advantage of. My arms were once again held down so that I could not cover my ears, and I was forced to listen to somebody getting their throat cut. The sound was a gagging sound; the type of sound you would expect from somebody getting their throat cut.

You know, it’s pretty interesting; I was never once hit as a child yet went through so much of this other trauma that would serve to burden one with a strong and lasting depression for the rest of their Lives and for Lives to come. And yet, you dear friends see the Light signature of the work I happily perform all of the time. This, dear friends, is because I am a walk-in and not the original soul who experienced these things, though I was again, silently present and integrating myself into this abused temple at the time.

I hope I can comfortably say that the worst of the abuse and trauma from the brothers of the walk-out has been successfully expressed, and that I don’t wind up uncovering even more ridiculous, sickening trauma that the poor soul inhabiting this body was forced to go through. I am quite confident in stating that the walk-out would not in a million years, be able to make the admissions that I am making. As a teenager, he completely covered all of this abuse up and had consciously forgotten about it.

Along with this abuse from my brothers, I went about every day being a girly faggot to them [as well as being my mother’s son], with them routinely reminding me that two things I would never get were ‘pussy and respect’. [Reference to an Illuminati weed movie]. Note that they were teenagers in high school while all of this was going on.

The things that I had to witness as a mere child were awful and sickening. I remember one day, going to ask one of my brothers for a glass of milk and finding them both sitting in two different chairs, with their penises and testicles hanging out. Both of them. Together. And that didn’t seem to bother them in the slightest.

They ignored the request that I had repeatedly asked and eventually one of them told the other, right in front of me, ‘every time he says something to one of us, just rub your balls’. And they did, and I have no freaking idea why. The purpose of that, besides just to be crude and sickening, still eludes me to this day.

So, what do we have so far? A strong panic and fear induced at a young age by my father as I listened to him knock around one of my brothers against my door, coupled with insane traumas caused by physical, mental and emotional torture by brothers who were taking the negativity caused by our father, their mother and my mother, out completely on me, a helpless child.

Oh yes, I should express the reason that my parents were never made aware of this abuse. Fear can have a very strong hold on someone who has experienced trauma, and the fear of having to experience something much worse the moment my brothers were alone with me, than I already had for ‘telling on them’ was something I did not want to test. They also purposefully got me into cigarettes and porn at a young age, so they would ‘have something on me’ if I ever threatened to tell on them.

Oh, you’re gonna tell on us for torture time? Why don’t I tell dad about that cigarette you smoked or that porn you watched? And they had me completely.

To the best of my knowledge, this concludes what I can remember of the trauma I experienced with my brothers. Now, to get into the most difficult section of this writing [it gets more difficult?] I have to discuss and express the sexual abuse that the walk-out suffered as a child and that I was within this body, silently watching, as it happened.

I don’t want to divulge the identity of the attacker or explain how I knew them. I don’t want their identity to be known in any way, as I watched them go through the heavy karma for what they had done in a very intense way, and they are now a different person having gone through that karma and would never again do what they had done to the walk-out of this body.

The sexual abuse was not forced [though it actually was]; it was asked of me to allow it happen. The hold that the attacker had was a mental and emotional one, and had built up a trust in them on my part, for whatever reason. I remember every discussion that took place. [This may be the most sickening part of this entire account.]

Come on, just let me feel your butt. Please? I won’t be doing it again. It will be just this once. Look at this porn while we do it… [the porn, while also given to me by my brothers, does not link the attacker to them as some may think or assume; giving porn is a common method of inducing and having the victim be more comfortable with the sexual abuse].

Pants were pulled down, and ‘feeling’ ensued.  And of course, the ‘feeling’ turned to insertion. [Gahh, I’m sorry for making you read that word.]

Whenever something like sexual abuse happens, the abused learns to void oneself of all emotions or feelings while it is happening, and this can result in much long-standing depression, trauma and a general sense of having no emotions, as the happy and joyful emotions were essentially taken from the abused by the abuser; it is an energy exchange and a long-lasting one, whether the abuser realizes it or not.

This is why the Illuminati rape their own, in an effort to gain the victims’ youthfulness and energy.

The sexual abuse has been among the most traumatizing of experiences to recount and yet, I was able to do it almost easily. It is as if I know that a supreme weight is to be lifted, if I can even bring myself to posting this after having written so much.

Despite the abuse and traumas that would likely serve to void one of all feeling, emotions and caring, all throughout this Life, the walk-out feared his father because of the dominance and authority that had been displayed with my two brothers. Even though looking back on it, I strongly feel that the father should have had NO authority over the walk-out as he was not there for the walk-out to actually do his job as a parent rather than as a worker-bee and protect me from the things I witnessed, they were still good parents who did all they could for their family and who were simply acting and existing under angry, outdated [though not at the time] mindsets.

And yet still, the father had this authority over me and the walk-out that lasted well into the teen years. The father was the ultimate person to fear and whenever the walk-out/I began experimenting with marijuana and found the resulting higher and purer states of consciousness that would ultimately lead to the awakening that would lead to my inhabiting this body full-time, there was still much fear over the walk-out’s father finding out about the pot and becoming abusive to ‘punish’.

Again, no hand was ever laid on me by my parents as a child or teenager. Despite not being there for me when I needed them the most to prevent happenings that would be a parent’s worst nightmare and despite their outdated, authoritarian mindset, they were still very good parents to me. Supportive, Loving, and my dad didn’t kick my ass when he found out I was smoking marijuana. Rather, he was not surprised. He had as a teenager and watched all three of my brothers get into it [without experiencing the higher states of consciousness it granted me], so he was likely expecting it.

Were my parents to find out all that has happened to me, they would probably be sick. I am still not sure whether I should let them know what has happened or simply let them find out upon passing on to Nirvana and reviewing their Lives. Please, do not comment on this message telling me that I need to tell them, as that is in my opinion inappropriate, uncalled for and rude. My Guides will let me know in due time what the appropriate course of action is.

Despite all that you have just read about this temple, you see daily the smiling happy person who channels and writes happy, uplifting words, all to assist this world in ascending. If you ever did, do you still doubt the reality of walk-ins?

Writing this account has been one thing and bringing myself to post it will be entirely another thing. I almost feel like I shouldn’t post this;  like it is unfair of me to push this burden onto you dear friends who come to my websites to be uplifted and filled with happy emotions, rather than a traumatizing account of rape, abuse and snuff films.

I know that I will feel a very strong sense of upliftment after getting this account out there, and perhaps it can help dismiss the argument that all channelers and perceived ‘new agers’ are and speak of nothing more than fluffy bunnies and rainbows, as some rude people suggest.

That’s it. I have no way to end this account. The next time you see a message from me, written or channeled, it will be the uplifting and happy material that you come to my websites to read. As I will have finally surfaced all of these traumas, there will be no reason to continue discussing them in future writings.

In essence, this is about the darkest piece of material you will ever read from me and I intend now to let the traumas and darkness go, and continue on assisting in our ascension as I have always been meant to.

I’ve been working on a completely redone story of my walk-in, how I found my way into this body and where I was before making my way here. Up until now, I have felt the account to be too focused on myself and my story, and didn’t want to sound vain with its publishing.

However, with the clearing of the most intense trauma that the walk-out of this body has experienced and with essentially telling his story as I have here, I am now ready to tell my story. I hope you enjoyed [it’s just a phrase, nobody enjoyed reading this] learning about Wes Remal, the walk-out, and next you will be learning about Wes Annac, the Pleiadian; me.

Wes Annac – Recounting the buried traumas of a dear, poor, misunderstood walk-out.

WesAnnac.com

AquariusChannelings.com