Here is a copy of the email I sent to Operation Yewtree today. I believe this event is connected to the Satanic Ritual Abuse Sect that I have been a victim of.


Dear Jackie
I hope you remember me from our previous communications.
Something strange and very frightening happened to me on the 13th May 2014. I almost died because of two police officers. I don’t know who to tell so I’m telling you. I believe it has something to do with the group I escaped from.
I was being harassed by a neighbour and that, together with other problems, caused me to slash my wrist. As soon as I saw the blood spurt up the wall and the three inch wide, half inch deep gashes I knew I’d done the wrong thing.
I got Dean to get me a towel and wrapped it hard applying pressure and got Dean to ring an ambulance. It was sometime either side of mid-day. The woman on the phone said the ambulance would be with us in fifteen minutes, along with more instructions on what to do.
Fifteen minutes passed – no ambulance. After half an hour the doorbell to the actual flat – not the block entrance – rang, Dean answered and two policemen shoved their way roughly into the flat, without any invitation or warrant, passed Dean and into the living room where I was sitting at the table. And still no ambulance.
Dean came down the hall behind them and asked about the ambulance and one of the PCs used his bulk to literally force Dean back up the hall and into the bedroom, telling Dean to “BACK OFF!!!”
My Jack Russel pup, Stiggy, was running about, wondering what was going on, not barking or anything, and the policeman said there would be” trouble if someone didn’t control that dog.” I locked Stiggy in the kitchen and sat back down at the table.
Dean came back into the room and asked again, “Where is the ambulance, please?” and he was told no ambulance had been called, which is weird as Dean HAD called them himself.
Dean left and went to the shop to get an e-cigarette and when he came back he saw the policeman out on the balcony. There was no reason for him to be on the balcony except to show me up in front of my neighbours. Dean came back in and asked me to ask the PC if he HAD to stand on the balcony. The PC must have heard because he bellowed, “WELL, WE ARE HERE!!!” once again making sure the neighbours could see and hear him.
Dean came in and asked again about the ambulance and one of the PCs said an ambulance was on its way. Dean then said he was going out to consult a friend, but after leaving he turned around and came back quietly into the flat going into the bedroom adjoining the lounge. The policemen failed to notice his re-entry and they began to question me, asking if Dean had cut my arm. I kep telling them what happened but they kept on for ages.
(Remember, I have a slashed wrist wrapped in a blood-soaked towel all the time this is going on. By some miracle, my prompt actions and lack of panic had staunched the blood, but they had no way of knowing this.)
After a while the started asking about illegal drugs. I told them I don’t take illegal drugs. I buy from a shop, legal highs only and then they started trying to confuse me. I just kept telling them, the packets were legal. I buy it from a shop. In the end I explained as simply as I could that “I don’t want to deal with the criminal element.”
It must have been an hour or so they were on at me. Eventually they took me off, without my purse, coat, ID or keys – they left the flat open, still under the impression that Dean was out. Why was that. So the neighbours could have a good look round? Why?
I don’t remember anything after the police said I had to go with them – until however much later it was that I found myself wandering around in Seymour Road, Bristol, half zonked out and not knowing where I was. (I googled Seymour Road. The only ones are in totally the wrong direction if I was walking from the BRI. I actually am a walker, with a very good sense of direction and know my way back from Bristol to Brislington. There is no way I would be going North East when I live in South East Bristol.) There was a dressing on my arm, and I had a card for the BRI Psychiatry dept which had been ripped from another piece of paper, as shown by the remnant in the corner I felt terribly sluggish and completely disorientated. I was outside a school and I asked one of the mothers, in a car, if there was any chance she could take me to Brislington or at least point me in that direction. Obviously she wasn’t going to do that but luckily her friend was nurse and recognised my distress, The nurse called an ambulance and waited with me until it arrived.
It was now about four twenty in the afternoon, according to the copy of the incident report, no. 579. What had been happening during that time? The Ambulance woman rang the BRI after I explained what I thought had happened and they confirmed I had been there,

On the incident form it says:-
“- Not Suicidal
– Orientated and appropriate behaviour/conversation
– States she was upset as she doesn’t have money, phone or know where she is (lost). Asking for taxi or directions.”
“Contacted BRI A & E. Spoke to Carey, who spoke to Doctor Carva. Doctor stated wounds have been dressed + she self-discharched + and is fine to go home unless presenting with mental health problems in ambulance.”

The ambulance woman rang my carer/friend/flatmate Dean and checked I was who I said I was and that he would be able to pay for the taxi and once that was done she ordered me a taxi and waited with me til it came and I went home.
Only by some miracle did I not bleed to death. Was that why they stopped the ambulance and kept me at the flat. Did they want me to die? What happened in the end? Did an ambulance come, like they’d told Dean it was going to – eventually, or did they take me to the hospital. Dean said when he came out of the bedroom after they had taken me, leaving the flat wide open to all and sundry, he found dressing wrappers on the table, as if they had dressed my wounds. Where is the paper the BRI Mental Health card was attatched to?
The last thing is the wounds themselves. I’d been too scared to look at them myself so I’d put some thick sterile padding over the – I would call it meagre, considering – dressing and another bandage on top of that. Topped off with some tubigrip it felt a lot better protected. Just as well I did that and kept it up in a sling for the first week to ten days, as it turns out.
It took me over a week before I managed to get to the surgery to see
Doctor Jeff Clarke at the Nightingale Valley Practice
Brooklea Health Centre, Wick Road, Bristol, Avon BS4 4HU. ‎
0117 330 4300
and tell him about the suicide attempt. But it was when I saw the nurse, Jean, for a dressing change that I really got worried. The Head Nurse’s face left me in no doubt what she thought. She was horrified. “They should have been stitched.” she said. The wounds had not been stitched. Not even glued. They’d been left open. Any hard knocks could have restarted the bleeding. So wtf were BRI playing at? Was it even them that dressed the wounds? I am going to be massively scarred for life too. How did the police intercept our ambulance call? Why did they? Why did they not get me straight to hospital? If they HAD to attend for some reason why cancel the ambulance?
I have no idea who to take this to so I’m bringing it to you. Please find out what happened or find me someone who will. I think this was going too far and I’d like some answers.
Thank you.

Yours sincerely


About Carole Anne Rogers

I have opinions and like to share them. My views are my own. I am a visionary artist. a musician, writer, a philosopher and a poet. Our band can be found here: @CARogersNo1 @CriminalSuicide
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