9:29 PM 6/30/10
Oh, by the way. I saw a poster of the band Lamb of God when I was walking around the mall today. Lamb of God has the hair and beard style that I'm talking about. I should find a link that shows a photo of them, but I guess you can google it. - Okay, I googled it myself. Actually, I should say they ALMOST have the hairstyle. It looks like they shave some parts of their face, while letting the rest of the beard grow long. ARGH! I thought I had a good example. This is so annoying! Why shave PART of the face? I hate this! It really looked like a full beard without any parts missing, in the poster that I saw at the mall.
Today I did a couple of things. I bought a small fridge, another one. The first time I bought a fridge, I got the cheapest one, and it turned out that it wasn't designed to hold perishable foods. It can't get cold enough and stay cold. It was only made for holding non-perishable beverages that don't need to be refrigerated, like bottles of water and soda. I found this out the hard way. And I read the instructions, and the instructions said that no, it wasn't made for perishables. The cooling method used isn't strong enough to keep it really cold. So I was watching out for that when I bought another one today. It was slightly more expensive, and it showed pictures of perishable items in the fridge. I haven't tested it yet.
I had to do that, because I tested my real fridge again the other day. All I did was open it up, and fumes from the bone marrow poisoning floated out and made me feel weak and dizzy. I felt like I was dying and I wanted to pass out. This happened even though I had the fridge door open and a fan blowing directly into the fridge, for many days, and I even turned on the fridge with the door open so that its internal fan would circulate air from within, where the fumes might linger, back deep inside it where the air comes from. Still, after doing all that, and wiping it all down several times inside, it still has enough residual vapors from the bone marrow that I can't eat anything I put in there, because the vapors land in the food and drinks, and they trigger the vomit reflex if I eat them.
So buying another small fridge was part of my disaster recovery today.
I have a perspective on this disaster, a perspective that 'the voices' gave me, and it helps me to feel better about it. Technically, there really have been only TWO major contamination incidents, one of which was in 2007, and the other of which was in 2010. The first one was really big - the drug residues, at my other apartment. It got all over everything, and all of the contamination I've had has been leftover since then, because I haven't been adding any more to it (other than drugs I get at Peter's house or drugs I get from going to places like the doctor's office, which are minor outbreaks, not the type of thing that ruins an entire apartment full of my belongings). The second incident was the bone marrow poisoning, a totally different kind of poison contamination, from 'food,' in the refrigerator. It ruined the refrigerator and made it impossible to use. Technically there have been only these two major contamination incidents. It reassures me when I look at it that way. It seems like I've had a million little incidents, but actually the drug residues are all from that one time long ago, and they are gradually being reduced as I get rid of things.
I didn't just buy a fridge today. I also went to the storage unit and threw away a few things that I could get rid of. I can throw away things that aren't sentimental, things that aren't extremely expensive, and things that aren't electronic devices or important data or papers. I have a bunch of categories in my mind, exceptions, things that I will keep, even if I have to put them inside a box and seal it up and label it 'danger: contaminated.' Or whatever.
The one thing I wished for, while going through the storage unit, was I wanted a new place to move stuff into if I was going to keep it, so that I could push things aside if I had already checked them and decided to keep them. I don't want to move things into my apartment yet.
I had to fight with the voices. The voices were frequently telling me not to throw this or that away. They don't understand that the objects I'm throwing away are NOT sentimental. There are a lot of things I own that I don't really care that much about. And the slightest bit of ephedra residue, or any other drug residue, can cause a major outbreak. It is too much of a risk. And when I throw something away, if I feel sad or wasteful because of it - I don't like to do it, and I've always complained about Penn State students buying lots of furniture and then leaving it on the curb when they go home - but I'm doing it for a good reason: I want to have kids. When I throw stuff away and feel sad, I remind myself that I am protecting my children. A few years from now, when I have kids, they will be crawling around and touching everything. They would be touching the drug-contaminated legs of the tables from that apartment, getting ephedra onto their hands and into their mouths, and little toddlers staying awake all night long and never sleeping due to ephedra poisoning is a very, very bad thing. I would rather be sad about throwing away a couple of non-sentimental items, instead of totally miserable a couple years from now because my babies are being poisoned by drug residues and I don't know where it's coming from. And you can clean something, over and over and over again, but not get rid of all the poison. I know because I've done it.
When I feel sad about the objects in the trash, I think of my children. Which should I keep, and which should I throw away? If I keep the contaminated objects, then I am throwing away my children. If I throw away the contaminated objects, then I am keeping my children. Which matters more?
I watched Toy Story 3 - I don't remember if I ever saw Toy Story 2, but I saw Toy Story 1. I used to feel that way about my toys. My toys were living things. It was unthinkable to throw them away. I'm not throwing away toys or things that resemble living creatures. Still, I feel that there is some life in all of the objects that I own, some part of me, just because they belonged to me, even if they aren't toys or animal-like objects. It reminds me of Dust, in the His Dark Materials books. Everything I own has some Dust on it that indicates that it belongs to me. But the 'life' of those nonliving objects is less important than the life and the health of my future children. I fight with the voices about this, over and over, every time I try to go through my stuff.
Anyone who hasn't experienced a drug residue contamination can't understand this. You can't imagine how tiny of an amount it takes to have a major outbreak. A few molecules of ephedra on your clothing will give you insomnia for months. It's the type of insomnia where you NEVER sleep, not a single instant, not at all. You will be awake 24 hours a day for weeks, and maybe you will drop off into a doze for a couple minutes now and then, if you're lucky. It is unimaginable. And I have other drug residues besides ephedra, and they cause other symptoms.
Today, I finished the book at Barnes & Noble, The Amber Spyglass. You all know I'm going to give out big spoilers, in case you haven't read it yet. I wished Will and Lyra would have stayed together somehow, and I was disappointed. However, I believe that people can fall in love with more than one person in their lifetime. You don't just have one, and only one, true love. So they can both fall in love again. But it's not likely that they would find many people who could talk about, and understand, the strange experiences they had had, traveling to other worlds and fighting against The Authority.
In a way, I know how that feels. I've had such strange experiences, no one can understand them. It's odd, everybody might think that 'hearing voices' and talking to them in my head and being followed around by people reading my mind and controlling me - you'd think *THAT* was the 'weird experience' that no one else on earth could understand. However, I've been able to find lots of people on the internet who have similar experiences. And if I loosen my definition of electronic harassment, so it includes all of the people who believe that they are 'psychic' or that they are dealing with 'ghosts', 'poltergeists,' and other paranormal phenomena, then there are HUGE numbers of people who can understand what I'm going through. They just interpret it differently.
It's the drug residues that no one understands. I haven't seen anyone on the net writing about how they tried to grow, for instance, marijuana plants in their closet with a grow light, only to find that they plants put out vapors and left oils all over their belongings so that they were constantly high on marijuana even if they didn't want to be, so they had to throw away hundreds or thousands of dollars worth of their belongings because it wouldn't clean out. And no, I wasn't growing marijuana, but that's one of the most likely drug plants that people would try to secretly grow indoors, in a closet, in a place where it's going to contaminate everything they own.
(LSD flashbacks are probably caused by residues left on objects and clothing. Some people believe that the LSD is trapped inside your body somewhere, but I believe it's OUTSIDE your body, and you're having a new exposure to it, and it goes through your skin again. My experiences are just like LSD flashbacks.)
The drug residues are life-ruining. This is something that I feel NO ONE understands. I could search for people who have similar experiences, but from what I've seen, it's not easy to find, and it's not easy to describe in the right words so that I have the right search terms to get them from the internet.
Ugh, I have to get up early to go to work tomorrow. I don't know what time I go in, and I have to go down to the car to look at my schedule. But I will hopefully be wearing a new fake uniform tomorrow. The shirt will be way too huge, and I might tuck it in. I'll try it on tonight sometime. I don't know if I work with Curtis or not. I'm thinking of his conflicting messages, and thinking of how his mother did the same thing, sending conflicting messages, flirting and encouraging the manager, and then deciding afterwards that she didn't want to be sexually harassed. I can interpret Curtis's behavior the same way. For some reason he feels like he has to flirt with me and encourage me, but then doesn't want to actually talk about it and get everything settled and out in the open so that we can both know what type of relationship we have in the real world. I just need to know.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Justin Bieber's New Hairstyle
12:01 AM 6/30/10
When I see him, I want to reach into the picture and brush his hair back off his face. So I am going to give him my makeover. The hair should be brushed back off the face, and since they want him to have a unique style that nobody else has, it can be center parted, because almost everyone parts their hair on the side. A center part is unusual. Maybe he will be a trend setter, and center-parted hair will become the new in thing. No joke, I am serious. Then they should let it grow long. I'd request that he be allowed to grow a beard, but I know that's asking too much. Beards are completely taboo. They don't exist. There's no such thing as beards. But what a trend setter that would be, if he grew all of his hair, including his beard, and grew the hair and beard long without stopping it - the beard long and fluffy, instead of just the usual short stubble-length beards everyone else has - and he's the one face on all the magazines everywhere. Unfortunately, no one cares what I want.
When I see him, I want to reach into the picture and brush his hair back off his face. So I am going to give him my makeover. The hair should be brushed back off the face, and since they want him to have a unique style that nobody else has, it can be center parted, because almost everyone parts their hair on the side. A center part is unusual. Maybe he will be a trend setter, and center-parted hair will become the new in thing. No joke, I am serious. Then they should let it grow long. I'd request that he be allowed to grow a beard, but I know that's asking too much. Beards are completely taboo. They don't exist. There's no such thing as beards. But what a trend setter that would be, if he grew all of his hair, including his beard, and grew the hair and beard long without stopping it - the beard long and fluffy, instead of just the usual short stubble-length beards everyone else has - and he's the one face on all the magazines everywhere. Unfortunately, no one cares what I want.
Lyra and Will in the land of the... huge spoiler warning
10:30 PM 6/29/10
There are drug residues on the chairs at Barnes & Noble. Every time I sit in the cushiony chairs, I get a reaction.
Okay, I could barely stop reading, but it was time to leave because B&N was closing. This is a huge spoiler. I don't know if anyone else has read those books yet, but I am in The Amber Spyglass right now. Lyra and Will are in the land of the dead. I had to stop reading it and leave. They had just gotten on the boat and gone across the water, and their hearts were breaking.
I somehow knew when Roger died that they were going to save him somehow. But I believed that they were going to go back through time to the moment of his death, and catch him before he died. It's not turning out quite that way. I'm not sure what exactly they will do, but they are going to find him right now. And I had to leave!
So that explains why I've been talking about death.
(*I heard voices telling me it wasn't a preoccupation with 'death' so much as it was about 'blood.' That was referring to the previous blog post, about C's 'goth' style pictures and vampire-like images. I don't recall actually seeing any vampires there, but he told me that he was reading the Twilight series books because someone else had told him to, and I don't recall who told him. (Yeah, that goes against the 'he can't read' theory, I know.)*)
Then, on my way home, the voices urged me to write 'Run, Atreyu, run!' as my facebook status. I decided against it. It's a similar moment in a movie, where a character gets through a terrifying, impossible gateway, makes a transition, and reaches something similar, a land of the dead, a place where everything is dead and gone and they have to start over, and you meet someone who's been with you all along, like how Lyra's death was with her all along, hiding.
*********
This has no connection to anything at all, except for the fact that I was at Barnes & Noble, and I saw Justin Bieber again. They suggested that I should write a blog entitled, 'Justin Bieber is the only boy for me!' He really is the *ONLY BOY IN THE UNIVERSE*. His face is the only face on all the magazines. I wonder about him. I've never read his biography, so I don't know any of the story, but I'll probably look him up on Wikipedia.
Here is my impression. I can't stand his hairstyle, but they do it that way on purpose, because nobody else has that uniquely recognizable hairstyle. Nobody's copying that hairstyle, and with good reason. It's awful, but it's officially declared to be a great hairstyle, because his face, and his hairstyle, are on ALL THE MAGAZINES. I think that a lot of people KNOW that it's an awful hairstyle. It's like they enjoy secretly humiliating him. He seems like a puppet and a victim. Who is getting rich? Probably his mom. There was a picture saying his mom was his best friend, and they had their arms around each other. I'll read his wikipedia entry and see what it says. I might get more impressions after that. When I say 'he's a puppet and a victim,' I actually mean that in the conventional sense, the way most people mean it. He's a puppet of the media, doing what they want, doing what his handlers want, a victim, a slave, somebody earning money for someone else, and he probably doesn't benefit much from it. What's going to happen to him in the future?
They've artificially put his face everywhere. It's arbitrary. Somebody decided that his face would be on all the magazines, the same way that Bill Gates said there would be a PC on every desktop. It was somebody's vision. They set out to do it, and they did. Why aren't there any other boys in the world? There are only a couple of familiar faces on ALL the magazines. They don't like variety very much. Justin Bieber is everywhere, and so is the guy on New Moon who cut his (fake) hair off and became a werewolf, and was a LOT less attractive after cutting the long hair, and all they ever show of him is the short-haired version, and he never grows long hair in the real world. I guess he is keeping his real hair short in the movie anyway, and he's continuing to make the movies, so he wouldn't be able to change it or grow it long again. And I thought he was ugly to begin with, his face, but the long hair was the only redeeming thing about him, and now that that's gone, I see no reason to look at him at all, but he's all over the magazines too. (Sorry, long rambling sentences. I'm very hyper again tonight. I've been drinking coffee with cream, and the cream is giving me a rash on my face. I know that's what's causing it, because that's the only thing I've been doing differently lately, and I keep getting hives all over my face.)
I feel sorry for Justin Bieber. How long until 'they' decide to destroy his fame, throw him down and replace him with someone else? If they could just set out to put HIS face on all the magazines and make him king of the world, why can't they just decide tomorrow to make someone ELSE the king of the world? There is nothing special about Justin Bieber that would justify or explain the reason why HE, and he alone, and no one else, is the king of all the magazines. Somebody chose for it to be that way, so it was.
Now I'm really curious to read about him. I've never listened to his music, but I'm guessing it sucks. I'm picky about music, so I'm pretty sure I won't like his. Who knows.
Okay, I just read about him on Wikipedia. I'll have to listen to his music sometime when I'm on a computer that can download music, because I can't do it very well on dialup. I've probably heard some of the songs and not known who sang them. After reading about him, I feel like his fame is more legitimate than I thought it was originally, and he might actually have talent. He was popular on YouTube before anybody actually paid him to sing. His mom might not be an evil handler stealing all his money, after all. But he is still a child celebrity, and they don't ever have easy lives.
There are drug residues on the chairs at Barnes & Noble. Every time I sit in the cushiony chairs, I get a reaction.
Okay, I could barely stop reading, but it was time to leave because B&N was closing. This is a huge spoiler. I don't know if anyone else has read those books yet, but I am in The Amber Spyglass right now. Lyra and Will are in the land of the dead. I had to stop reading it and leave. They had just gotten on the boat and gone across the water, and their hearts were breaking.
I somehow knew when Roger died that they were going to save him somehow. But I believed that they were going to go back through time to the moment of his death, and catch him before he died. It's not turning out quite that way. I'm not sure what exactly they will do, but they are going to find him right now. And I had to leave!
So that explains why I've been talking about death.
(*I heard voices telling me it wasn't a preoccupation with 'death' so much as it was about 'blood.' That was referring to the previous blog post, about C's 'goth' style pictures and vampire-like images. I don't recall actually seeing any vampires there, but he told me that he was reading the Twilight series books because someone else had told him to, and I don't recall who told him. (Yeah, that goes against the 'he can't read' theory, I know.)*)
Then, on my way home, the voices urged me to write 'Run, Atreyu, run!' as my facebook status. I decided against it. It's a similar moment in a movie, where a character gets through a terrifying, impossible gateway, makes a transition, and reaches something similar, a land of the dead, a place where everything is dead and gone and they have to start over, and you meet someone who's been with you all along, like how Lyra's death was with her all along, hiding.
*********
This has no connection to anything at all, except for the fact that I was at Barnes & Noble, and I saw Justin Bieber again. They suggested that I should write a blog entitled, 'Justin Bieber is the only boy for me!' He really is the *ONLY BOY IN THE UNIVERSE*. His face is the only face on all the magazines. I wonder about him. I've never read his biography, so I don't know any of the story, but I'll probably look him up on Wikipedia.
Here is my impression. I can't stand his hairstyle, but they do it that way on purpose, because nobody else has that uniquely recognizable hairstyle. Nobody's copying that hairstyle, and with good reason. It's awful, but it's officially declared to be a great hairstyle, because his face, and his hairstyle, are on ALL THE MAGAZINES. I think that a lot of people KNOW that it's an awful hairstyle. It's like they enjoy secretly humiliating him. He seems like a puppet and a victim. Who is getting rich? Probably his mom. There was a picture saying his mom was his best friend, and they had their arms around each other. I'll read his wikipedia entry and see what it says. I might get more impressions after that. When I say 'he's a puppet and a victim,' I actually mean that in the conventional sense, the way most people mean it. He's a puppet of the media, doing what they want, doing what his handlers want, a victim, a slave, somebody earning money for someone else, and he probably doesn't benefit much from it. What's going to happen to him in the future?
They've artificially put his face everywhere. It's arbitrary. Somebody decided that his face would be on all the magazines, the same way that Bill Gates said there would be a PC on every desktop. It was somebody's vision. They set out to do it, and they did. Why aren't there any other boys in the world? There are only a couple of familiar faces on ALL the magazines. They don't like variety very much. Justin Bieber is everywhere, and so is the guy on New Moon who cut his (fake) hair off and became a werewolf, and was a LOT less attractive after cutting the long hair, and all they ever show of him is the short-haired version, and he never grows long hair in the real world. I guess he is keeping his real hair short in the movie anyway, and he's continuing to make the movies, so he wouldn't be able to change it or grow it long again. And I thought he was ugly to begin with, his face, but the long hair was the only redeeming thing about him, and now that that's gone, I see no reason to look at him at all, but he's all over the magazines too. (Sorry, long rambling sentences. I'm very hyper again tonight. I've been drinking coffee with cream, and the cream is giving me a rash on my face. I know that's what's causing it, because that's the only thing I've been doing differently lately, and I keep getting hives all over my face.)
I feel sorry for Justin Bieber. How long until 'they' decide to destroy his fame, throw him down and replace him with someone else? If they could just set out to put HIS face on all the magazines and make him king of the world, why can't they just decide tomorrow to make someone ELSE the king of the world? There is nothing special about Justin Bieber that would justify or explain the reason why HE, and he alone, and no one else, is the king of all the magazines. Somebody chose for it to be that way, so it was.
Now I'm really curious to read about him. I've never listened to his music, but I'm guessing it sucks. I'm picky about music, so I'm pretty sure I won't like his. Who knows.
Okay, I just read about him on Wikipedia. I'll have to listen to his music sometime when I'm on a computer that can download music, because I can't do it very well on dialup. I've probably heard some of the songs and not known who sang them. After reading about him, I feel like his fame is more legitimate than I thought it was originally, and he might actually have talent. He was popular on YouTube before anybody actually paid him to sing. His mom might not be an evil handler stealing all his money, after all. But he is still a child celebrity, and they don't ever have easy lives.
easy pickings
10:15 AM 6/29/10
Warning, this one's really long. I couldn't stop writing. Today, I actually put the tag 'true romance' on my blog, because I looked at a true romance magazine yesterday, and I saw that this really is the genre that I am writing.
The 'easy pickings' strategy.
They woke me up this morning with the 'psychopath' feeling. There is this 'feeling,' a very specific feeling, a feeling of profound and extreme distrust, which represents the idea of a psychopath. I had to fight against the 'psychopath' belief system.
The 'psychopath' idea started a long time ago. I remember when I was a teenager, I was probably being interrogated by some attacker, but back then, I thought that it was a 'psychic' experience that I was having when I talked to voices in my head. I was being interrogated by someone who wondered if there was such a thing as absolute evil, and they were distrusting, and they asked me if *I* was evil. A soulless robot, unable to feel guilty about anything. Everything it does is insincere. Everything it does is manipulative, done to accomplish a purpose. I was aware of this idea all the way back when I was a teenager. I remembered it again in 2000 or so when I read John Douglas's books about serial killers. (It can also be called a sociopath. There are some slight differences between them.)
Maybe they woke me up with that feeling today because yesterday I wrote about the 'killing your best friend' dream. I'm not sure if I'm the best person to explain this, since it's not really 'my thing.'
If I wander too far off topic, I won't be able to explain the 'easy pickings' idea. I'll just say that really quickly and then go on to the other subject. The 'easy pickings' idea is this: Curtis is impossible to reach, by phone, email, text message, or even handwritten note. He responds to them, by changing his behavior, by being more trusting and affectionate towards me after reading a note, but he doesn't respond to direct questions or do things I ask him to do.
I see him as an 'at-risk youth.' He doesn't mind the idea of going into the military. He doesn't wear a seat belt. He gets drunk and goes driving his car. He lost his license but I know he is still driving, so sooner or later, he might possibly have another conflict with the law again.
Some of this might possibly fit the description of 'poor judgment,' in the description of what happens to a fetal alcohol syndrome baby. It changes the brain in ways that cause a person to have learning disabilities and poor judgment. His condition is mild, because they say that the more facial deformities you have, the more severe it is, and his face is relatively normal, except that he might have a cleft lip scar - there is a scar above his lip and I don't know if it was caused by an accident or cleft lip surgery. He might have a slightly reduced philtrum, the groove that runs from the nose to the lips, but if I recall, it looks like he still does have one. I'm not sure. I can't usually get a close enough look. Okay, I looked at a photo, and he does have one, but it isn't a very deep one. It varies from person to person anyway.
The TV show that I watched at Peter's house a few weeks ago showed 'at-risk youth' going into the military, and some of them came home and committed crimes and ended up in jail.
I don't want anything to happen to him, and it's clear that he is an 'at-risk youth.' In that respect, he is a victim, someone born with a problem or tendency that isn't his fault, born into a world that wasn't able to fix the problem. At the same time, there is only so much that I can do. I'm too poor to bail him out of jail or buy him new cars. I can only provide moral support. I can be someone he runs to whenever his girlfriends break up with him. But I live too far away to easily give him rides in my car, and anyway, I don't want him getting any drug residues on his shoes, and I'm the weird lady with plastic all over her car seats, so it wouldn't look good to have me driving him up to his friends' houses or wherever he was trying to go. So I can't even do much for him. And if I can't contact him and get a reply by any means, email, phone, or anything, then I can't even talk to him and find out what kind of relationship he would be willing to have with me.
So when I say 'easy pickings' I mean that sooner or later I just can't waste any more effort trying to do something that can't be done. I can find easier people to 'hang out' with, people who I can actually reach by phone or email. Even if it's not his fault, even if he can't answer the phone because he's being attacked, even if the phone calls don't get through, and those things aren't his fault, still, I can find people who are easier to reach. I can't do much for him anyway. I can enjoy his company, and he can enjoy mine. Other than that, I can't do much.
'They' have this idea that he represents 'the enemy,' in a way - that the button-pushers, as I call them, the people who are actually operating the electronic harassment equipment, the computers and devices and weapons being used to attack me, are in a lot of ways just like him. That sounds like 'the military' to me. The 'at-risk youth' go into the military, and they do what they're told, and they can't build a better life for themselves because they have reading and writing and math disabilities, and poor judgment, and poor self-control, and the military offers them a better paying job. And apparently the 'button pushers' are in a similar situation. They get paid to do what they do. So 'they' want me to see him as a lovable version of 'the enemy.' Look at what your enemies would be if they were cute and lovable and someone you felt attracted to and devoted to, someone you couldn't help loving no matter what they did to you.
I have to quickly mention the reason why I made the name 'button-pushers.' When the attacks first began, I assumed that the voice I heard in my head was actually being sent to me by the person who was saying whatever I heard. Like, if you heard a famous celebrity speaking to you (and no, I didn't usually hear the voices of celebrities, but this is just an example), you would believe that that person, theirself, was operating the equipment and talking to you. (I'm having a grammar problem. I don't like how English doesn't have a genderless pronoun for 'they' and 'them' with 'self.' You can say 'themselves' if it's plural, but you can't say it if it's singular. I want to say 'he or she himself or herself.' You know what I mean.)
To make that more clear, let's imagine that I said something to somebody else, like 'Hi, how are you?' and someone else recorded me saying that. Then, somebody plays back the recording, and beams it into somebody's head, so they mistakenly believe that I'm the one pushing the buttons on the device that's beaming it into their head, and I'm right that very moment saying 'Hi, how are you?' I would get blamed for talking to them, because it was MY voice they heard in their head. It's a way to trick someone into attacking innocent people. 'I kept hearing YOUR voice in my head! You must be an attacker!' But actually that's not true. It was recorded earlier, and even though it's my voice, I might have nothing to do with it at all. I'm not the one who tape recorded it and then beamed it into someone's head. The voice you hear might not actually be sent to you from the person who spoke the words.
After my cat Alexander died, it was a week or two later, and somebody beamed a recording of Alexander's meow into my head. His voice was recognizable. You can recognize a cat's individual voice the same way you recognize a person's. It was perfectly clear. Obviously, since I had seen Alexander's dead body and buried it myself, I knew Alex wasn't alive, and he wasn't meowing to me, and he certainly wasn't pushing buttons on an electronic harassment weapon. That's a clear demonstration showing that the voice you hear might not be the same person operating the equipment.
So I had lots of times when little scripted scenarios were going on in my head, in the beginning, especially back when I was using St. John's Wort, and I would fight with the voices and tell them I wanted to kill them and I would fantasize about killing them. They would respond by doing even more things to torture me and make me enraged. That is why I call them the murderers, because they REALLY DO try to enrage the victims and make them go postal and go out and shoot people. They REALLY DO try to make you do that. It has happened to me, except usually when they do it to me, they claim they're trying to protect me and prevent me from doing anything. I think that I have had an easier time than many other electronic harassment victims who describe much more horrible things happening to them.
The scripted fantasy scenarios would often involve a 'nice' person who was trying to help me, and I would respond by getting enraged at that person and threatening them. After a while, I realized that the 'nice' person probably wasn't the one actually pushing buttons on a device to put their voice in my head. In fact, the 'nice' person might, for all I know, be someone far away who thinks he's having a 'psychic experience.' He might fantasize that he's astral-projecting into the mind of someone who 'needs help,' when actually, a 'button-pusher,' the person operating a piece of equipment, is recording everything he says, beaming it into my head, and beaming my replies back to him. He and I are talking to each other through a system controlled by the murderers, but neither of us are actually operating the system. We both might interpret it as a 'psychic' experience.
That's the reason why I made up the phrase 'button-pushers' to refer to the people who are actually operating a piece of equipment, as opposed to the people who are speaking, the voices I hear, the people who interact with me - they might innocently think they're just having a 'psychic' experience with me.
Every time I write about something like this, I get attacks from people who try to imitate whatever I was describing. But those imitation attacks are usually the cheap, low-tech attacks, the kind of equipment that you can build in your own home. The attacks that I'm describing are much quieter and more subtle. The low-tech attacks usually silence my entire brain, put me into a trance for a second or two, and override everything I was thinking and doing, for a second, and if it goes on too long, I forget everything that they said to me while I was in the trance. I can only remember the last little bit of what they said. And it often has poor audio quality, like a badly tuned radio with static. Those are the low-tech attacks.
The high-tech attacks are much quieter, and they don't put me into a trance quite as badly. I feel like I can still remain conscious and functioning while I talk back to them, instead of being completely silenced and disabled. So I can have an actual conversation with the voices, while still being awake and not getting my brain 'shut off' and put into a temporary trance while a badly-tuned audio voice blanks out everything in my mind for a few seconds. It feels more 'real,' like 'psychic' experiences would feel.
I remember reading about a spelling bee contest. There were only a few kids left. When the one kid went up and it was his turn, he started to fumble on a word he couldn't spell. Suddenly, he collapsed to the floor. Then he stood up, and miraculously, he was suddenly able to spell the word he couldn't spell! It came to him in a vision when he fell to the floor. Can you say 'blatant, broad-daylight, cheating?' Somebody was betting money on him, I'm sure, and to win their money, they would use any means necessary to tell him how to spell his word. But the particular type of attack that they used is a blunt, clumsy, low-tech attack that causes you to black out and go into a trance, instead of being able to continue standing up and staying awake. Most of the time when I hear voices, I'm able to stay awake and look like everything is normal. But the spelling bee kid - and yes, I think he won the competition - was attacked by someone who didn't have the means to do a more subtle attack.
(The same kind of thing is able to help you win or lose a sports bet. You can cause someone to trip and fall, do something clumsy, that kind of thing. There are many ways electronic attacks can influence a sporting event. It would be like Hermione using a Confundus charm - except this is muggle magic. And they like to see themselves as doing magic, and they like to make references to Harry Potter, but in reality, it's a much more sad situation than that.)
Well, I am going to go back to the beginning and pick up a topic I left off. This is the topic I didn't feel like I was an expert on. I can give it a sympathetic view now.
When I first started noticing the computer harassment, it was the year 2000, and I had started visiting chatrooms and talking to Nerdman. Nerdman did a few things to me that I didn't understand, and wasn't expecting, back then. For instance, he talked about sex in a symbolic way, and I took him literally and didn't notice the sexual symbolism. It was his way of being secretive and superior to me - he ALWAYS used a secretive, intellectually superior way of talking, using big words and obscure references to literature, to say things without saying them, and I found it annoying, because sometimes I would figure out that it was sexual symbolism, or at least, later on I figured it out. He was talking about a 'goat', and the 'goat' fell into a 'hole', where it 'died.' And actually, I find this very annoying and irritating when I write about it - I can't even laugh about it now, years later. That's how annoying it was to me. I HATE when people are being secretly symbolic and using it as a way to be superior over me when I'm taking them literally, when I am a trusting innocent person and someone else is secretly insulting me, thinking he's superior because I'm too stupid to understand what he's talking about. The 'goat' was a penis, the 'hole' was a vagina, and 'death' meant that the penis had an orgasm and wasn't erect anymore and became soft again. To me, goats, holes, and death were all literal. So I was chatting to him in the chatroom and I was upset because he was talking about the cute little goat dying again and I just thought he was being weird and I couldn't explain it. Ha ha, very funny.
Well, one day, I forget how it started. Something happened that caused a disruption. I forget what it was. I said he was having trouble writing, or something, and there must be an earthquake going on and the building was going to collapse, or something like that. I was being literal and I was pretending. But he responded to this by starting up his sexual symbolism again. So he went along with the pretending and then he said that I, Nicole, was in the building and a piano fell on me and I died.
I wasn't expecting that he would kill me in a chatroom fantasy. I didn't know about electronic mind control back then, so I can't say whether my feelings and emotions were real or fake. But I felt an intense, humiliated, violated, traumatized feeling, and an extreme distrust and fear. I started to think that he actually might be a serial killer, someone who enjoyed killing people, for fun, for sexual entertainment. I felt extremely disrespected. To even TALK about killing someone, to talk directly to the person about it, to say things like 'I'm going to kill you,' is very disrespectful.
That was when I started reading the John Douglas books. I also read fiction books that Nerdman himself talked about. One of his favorite authors was Richard Powers. In the Richard Powers books, there were several scenes where a woman died, and the narrator of the story was fascinated with the woman's death. Nerdman also talked about other movies and stories that involved the death of a woman. There was one, and I hope I can remember the name of it - 'In Dreams.' It's a movie about a teacher who starts having a psychic connection to a serial killer. She uses the psychic connection to go find him, and I'm giving a spoiler here, but, in the end, she dies, although he does too, and it's supposed to be a happy ending because the serial killer is defeated. But in reality, the death of the woman is the main focus of the movie.
Back then, when this was going on, when I felt extremely disrespected and traumatized because of Nerdman talking about my death, and giving me references to fiction books and movies about the death of women, I started to *HATE* anybody who connected death and sex.
There are actually lots of movies and stories that show the death of a woman, and that death is the highlight of the movie, the most important thing in the movie, the thing we were all eagerly waiting for. Some people watch the movie, and see it as a tragedy, and say, 'Ugh, I didn't like that movie, that was a terrible ending, I wish she had survived.' That's *MY* response when I see those movies. And some people just like tragedies, and they enjoy being sad and miserable, and even if it's isn't a sexual fantasy, they just want to see a movie with a sad ending because they like sad endings. They watch Romeo and Juliet and they think it's 'cathartic', and they think it's romantic that Romeo and Juliet are 'together in eternity.' (I'm thinking of 'Don't Fear The Reaper,' a Blue Oyster Cult song, and I actually like that song. There was a remake of it recently.) Other people, however, think it's a happy ending BECAUSE the woman died. To them, it's the sexual fantasy that nobody else can see, and they're secretly enjoying it while everyone else is responding in a different way.
Well, over time, I gradually stopped worrying as much about this. I found out that I was being electronically attacked, and mind control was real. I used to fear that I was being stalked by a serial killer, but when I found out that mind control was real, I decided that if they wanted to kill me, they could do it anytime they wanted to, and I had no control over it. So why worry about it. There's nothing I can do. They can push a button, and cause me to have a car accident. They can make me sleepwalk, and go kill myself in the middle of the night, without knowing I did it. Maybe they can push a button that will directly shut off my brain or suffocate me or make my heart stop beating. I don't know what they can do, but I know enough to realize that if they wanted to kill me, they would and they could, at any random moment. That actually made me LESS worried, strangely enough. It was a sort of grim resignation. It was the realization that there are people attacking me and it's up to them whether I live or die, because I don't know who they are and I can't retaliate, I can't fight back. I can only focus on those things that I have control over, instead of worrying about things that I can't control.
It can give you a false sense of security. You might think you're safe from everything, because the mind controllers are watching you constantly. But that's not true either. You still have to take care of yourself. They don't control every molecule that moves in the universe. They don't control every random accident that happens. And there's more than one group of people controlling things. There isn't a monopoly, one single ruler of the world controlling everything. Instead, there are different groups and individuals fighting for their territory, fighting to control particular people, fighting to 'own' particular 'slaves' who are high value to them. One person's slave might attack another person's slave. It isn't all controlled by the same person. There's more than one 'ruler of the world.' There are many, and they're not all friends with each other.
Over the years I mellowed out a little bit and I don't worry so much anymore if I see people connecting death and sex. It's actually pretty common. There are different ways people do it. There are subcultures and fiction stories and movies that do this in different ways. Vampire culture, vampire movies and stories, that's a way of talking about erotic death. I don't freak out about it as much as I used to.
They brought Curtis into my life, and I say that 'they brought' him, because, by coincidence, he suddenly started working with me right after Martin left, and the voices talked to me about him immediately, and he was exactly the kind of guy that I would like, and I liked him as soon as I met him. He has this status: 'Curtis can do no wrong.' No matter what he does, I always like him again, and I can't help it.
I've seen his MySpace page, briefly, although I can't go there now, and he has erotic vampire-goth images on there. He also has similar things in his facebook page. I have to add something that I forgot to mention. Although it sort of seems like erotic death, it is also an expression of his own unbearable pain and suffering. I had to go look at the images again, on facebook, and some of it is about suicide. It fits with the 'screamo' genre of music, some of which I listened to, that expresses the unbearable pain by screaming. This is something that I sympathize with. However, in this blog I was focused on the 'erotic death' interpretation more than I was focused on the 'unbearable suffering' interpretation, but I had to mention it.
Some of it came from his mother, and it's an accepted thing in their family. His mother seems to be a sexual instinctual type too, and she has lots of tattoos, and some piercings, and she accidentally attracts men without wanting to. It happened when she worked at Nittany Mall McDonald's with me, years ago, for a short time before she quit. That's how I met her. She used to talk in a flirtatious way with the boss, but she might not have realized how flirtatious she was being, and how much she encouraged him. It wasn't long before the boss did a real-life, blatant, sexual harassment incident with her. (He did similar things to a couple of other women who worked there, too, but fortunately, he didn't do anything to me - I wasn't his type, and he wasn't mine, and I couldn't stand him, and I found him sexually repulsive.) She was doing overnight cleaning, and he asked her to meet him in the bathroom for something, in a few minutes. She assumed that he wanted to show her some task or cleaning project she was going to do. It was unexpected. She walked into the bathroom and found him standing there with his shirt off, and he asked her to massage his back. She told me this story, and she was ashamed and disgusted and afraid. I don't remember if she actually DID massage his back, or if she walked out, or what. I don't know. After that, she was talking to me about it, and other people, and she didn't know what to do, and she wanted to tell some authority about it. And I don't remember who she told, but she just quit and left after a while. It happened to some other people too, and that manager still works at McD, but he went to a different store.
I didn't know she was Curtis's mother. Once, I saw her walking around Weis, before I knew Curtis, before he worked at Weis. I saw that she was walking with a young guy in his teens, and for some reason, I thought he was her boyfriend. I'm not joking. I really, actually believed that she had a very young boyfriend. I didn't know he was her son. When I saw them together it seemed like they were dating, not family. One reason that I didn't understand was because he seemed too old to be her son. She's in her thirties, and he's in his late teens, so she had him when she was in her young teens. Something about them, their behavior, their intimacy, gave off boyfriend-girlfriend vibes when I saw them, and I felt a combination of disapproval, envy, and amazement. (Yesterday when I was writing about the 'weird dream' idea, where something really strange is happening but everyone thinks it's normal, the voices were mentioning another 'weird dream' idea, which was: 'You mean, I can fuck my mother FOR REAL, like I always wanted to?' That was partly referring to his mother, but it was also referring to me as an older woman only one year younger than his mother.)
So after he and I knew each other - I didn't recognize him as 'the guy I once saw walking around with Sabrina' - he informed me that I knew his mother, Sabrina, and she worked with me at McD years ago.
When he told me this, I was shocked and stunned, and then I became distrusting and afraid. I had a very intense reaction of fear and distrust. I remembered Sabrina getting sexually harassed, after openly flirting with the manager, and encouraging him. I had already gotten a crush on Curtis, who did the same thing, openly flirting with me and encouraging me. So I got scared that he was going to turn around and say that I was sexually harassing him. I felt very afraid and distrusting after that. I reacted very strongly when he told me who his mother was. He seemed to enjoy my reaction - he smiled, I think, if I recall correctly, because he could see that I was shocked and surprised - but he didn't understand all the things I was thinking and all the things I was afraid of. I can't remember why I thought he enjoyed the reaction. To him it might have seemed like I was afraid of her, afraid of Sabrina somehow. I think that's partly true, I probably am afraid of her somehow, or threatened by her, and jealous of her. I can't explain why but he seemed to enjoy my reaction.
The vampire-goth culture seems to come from her, and I don't know how much of it comes from within Curtis himself. Some of it might be because that's an accepted thing in their family. Tattoos are an accepted thing in their family, and she has lots of tattoos. I don't like tattoos, and 'the voices' were threatening me, telling me that they were going to force him to get the urge to get more tattoos. That scares me, because I see it as permanent destruction of beauty - I don't see it as making him more beautiful or more attractive. He has freckles all over his arms. He has tattoos on the underside of his arms, but if he got new ones on top of his arms, it would destroy the freckles so that you couldn't see them anymore. And not just his arms, but all of his skin, I see it as being destroyed instead of enhanced by tattoos.
Some of the vampire-goth culture, in his pictures, in the images he collected off the internet, has erotic death themes. Or not necessarily erotic, but creepy death fascination, a focus on death, an interest in death and corpses. I saw this early on, in his jewelry - I loved his jewelry right away, and I was always asking him about whatever he was wearing. He has little metal skulls attached to his shoelaces and I remember commenting about those a long time ago when I was getting to know him. Somehow, 'Curtis can do no wrong.' When HE has an eroticized obsession with death and goth and skulls and vampires and blood, somehow it's sexy when it never was before. He once told me that he wanted to buy a hearse, and put a coffin in the back of it (and although he didn't explain this, I understood that you're supposed to have sex with someone in the coffin in the back of the car). He put dark tints on the back windows so you can't see inside. He's decorated parts of his car with neon lights, and he's put in his own stereo with a sub-bass, and he showed me these things. I never cared about those things before, I never liked neon lights added to cars, I never cared about what kind of stereo someone has, I never cared about tinted windows, but suddenly, when HE did it, I liked all of those things, they were great, they were sexy.
I had the same reaction to his image collection. I liked all of it, even though years ago I *hated* anybody who connected death/murder with sex in any way at all. He has one image of a man and woman kissing while one of them holds a gun, and the other holds a knife, if I recall, each one about to kill the other. It actually reminds me of an image I drew, years ago, when I was painting with the Caran Dache aquarelle crayons. I drew two people kissing and I drew their tongues twisting together, and it was a beautiful, sexy, erotic picture. I want to scan, or photograph, my paintings and put them on the internet someday, but right now, they're in a box in the storage unit. I used to draw and paint a lot and I sometimes drew erotic pictures, sometimes pictures of people kissing and touching each other. The images he collected reminded me of my own drawings, except there was the goth-like, vampire-like focus on blood, death, murder, suicide, and similar themes. But I felt the sense of them, the passion they express, and I understood it.
I just remembered two things that happened. Don't let me forget - one was the butt tattoo, the other was the handcuffs. I have to tell both stories. There was a girl who worked with us for a short time, and her name was also Becka - there were two people named Becka. She saw me talking to Curtis, and I hadn't mentioned anything to her at all about having a crush on him, about how much I liked him. I hadn't said anything. But she saw the way we talked to each other, and she said, 'Nicole's going to get your name tattooed on her butt.' When she said that I started laughing uncontrollably. It was so perceptive and accurate even though I hadn't told her anything. I was embarrassed, but I had to admit she was right, it was true. I didn't say anything to her, I didn't tell her how I felt about him, but she could tell by watching me.
The other incident: Christina was talking to me, and I forget why she said this. Something about committing a crime, or getting in trouble for doing something, or having to call the police. We were joking. She used to live next door to Curtis before they moved, and so they knew each other for years, and she's friends with his mother, so she's been to their house and she knew about his collection of knives, swords and other things. So she blurts out something like, 'We can go get Curtis's handcuffs,' or 'We can put Curtis's handcuffs on you,' something like that. My reaction was to get very embarrassed and I started laughing. The next thing she did was call him over to talk to us, and she told him that I wanted him to put me in his handcuffs, and I said, 'SHE'S the one who said that. *I* didn't say that!' I was laughing. 'Mortified' would be the word to describe it. This was another one of those rare exceptions. I never thought about handcuffs before and I wouldn't have wanted to be handcuffed, but with him, the idea of it was sexy.
I said that 'button-pushers' refers to the people who are operating the mind control equipment. But I sometimes say it in a metaphorical way too. He pushes all the right buttons in the right order - whatever he does it somehow works out and I like it.
I don't remember if I was supposed to go back to an unfinished topic or not, so I have to reread this...
My understanding of the death-sex connection is that ... well, this is hard to explain. Sometimes, something reminds us of something else. Or it's an image, or feeling, which is exaggerated or made more extreme. There was a word for this. I was reading about it recently. I was reading about instincts and about how animals respond to certain triggers or images. If you exaggerate the trigger image, they will respond more strongly to the fake thing than they do to the real thing. An example is a brightly colored fish. The male fish is brightly colored, and any males who see him know that he is the enemy, and they will attack. But if you make a fake fish, and the fake one is even more brightly colored than the real one, they'll attack the fake fish and ignore the real one. If you exaggerate or intensify the trigger image, they'll be more interested in the fake thing than the real thing. You can also put fake pheromones on something, and animals and insects will be more attracted to that than they are to the real animals putting out their pheromones, because the fake ones are so much stronger.
Some sexual fetishes, in humans, seem to be like that. It exaggerates something sexy, making it more extreme, so that you like the exaggerated fake image more than the real one. It's not just images, it's also sensations and ideas. If you make them more extreme or more exaggerated then they trigger sexual feelings more than the real world does. I respond very strongly to the image of pregnant women's bellies. The bigger they are, the more erotic it is. When I see it, I'm not thinking in a lesbian way that I want to have sex with the woman. I'm thinking of my own desire to have sex and get pregnant. I feel a sort of empathic sensation of my own belly being pregnant, and a feeling of envy, when I see someone else's.
It's similar to the gluttony fetish, but not exactly the same. The gluttony fetish exaggerates or makes extreme the sensation you feel in your stomach from eating. It happened to me the other day. I had just eaten and I took a walk, and one of the places I went to was a park with swings. I always like to swing on the swings. But swinging with a full stomach gave me an intense tickling sensation in my stomach, and it was somehow extremely pleasant, and extremely unpleasant at the same time, so I stopped swinging. That tickly feeling is involved in the gluttony fantasy and with bingeing and purging behavior. I'm phobic about vomiting, and I will do *ANYTHING* to avoid vomiting, but at the same time, I know how it feels to get a sort of 'reward' sensation after vomiting, maybe an opiate release? I don't know. A feeling of great relief and pleasure after the vomiting is over, a flood of numbness and relaxation - still, for me, it's not worth it, and the fear of vomiting is much worse than any 'reward' for vomiting. But some people don't mind it and they don't mind bingeing and purging. The gluttony fetish exaggerates and makes extreme that tickly sensation in your stomach from eating, and it exaggerates the images, and the empathy you feel with those images. It's not just the stomach, it's the entire abdomen that's able to feel that way, and it can sometimes happen with hormones or drugs too, anything that's an aphrodisiac. The aphrodisiac can make your abdomen feel that way even if you haven't eaten much.
So I think that the death-and-sex connection is something similar to that. After an orgasm your entire body relaxes and becomes limp. It was an extreme experience similar to dying, similar to being killed. That is how I understand it.
Other people interpret it differently - to them, if you kill someone, it is about domination and power, about ownership, about being superior to the person you killed. That was how I felt whenever Nerdman pretended to kill me in the chatroom, when I wasn't expecting it - I felt that it was a terrible, disrespectful act of domination, something meant to humiliate me and make me feel small and helpless, and I did *NOT* enjoy it. It wasn't erotic at that time, in that way.
It's hard to describe where the boundary lines are, where the gray areas end, because the vampire-goth fantasies also have some domination and control themes, but it's much milder and it doesn't offend me. This is partly because vampires are doing something that I actually enjoy: biting people on the neck. That by itself is erotic, and it's enjoyable to the person being bitten. Nerdman, on the other hand, was just interested in the death itself and it didn't even have any connection, by my understanding, to doing something that would have been enjoyable anyway. With him, it was clearly meant to make the other person feel inferior, stupid, worthless, small, helpless. I can't really explain. Some of it might even be because the vampire images are usually people who I see as sexually attractive. Being dominated by someone sexually attractive is different from being dominated by someone sexually repulsive.
I just remembered a story I read somewhere which was supposedly true. There was a guy exploring in Africa, and he was attacked by a lion. The lion grabbed him in his mouth and shook him. He described having a sensation of being pleasantly relaxed and submissive and helpless, like it wasn't real, and like he wouldn't mind dying. He wasn't afraid, while it was going on. I forget how he survived - maybe someone else was with them, and the other person killed the lion or something. I can't remember where I read this story. But I think that somehow, people know about that feeling, and it's involved in domination/submission fantasies and vampire fantasies.
I can't even really talk about these things without worrying that they will be taken the wrong way. I don't enjoy being humiliated. But for the past couple days, the voices have been talking to me about someone enjoying humiliation. It's because I laughed at Curtis when he walked up to me and was talking to me and calling me a nickname - there's a word for this that I can't remember. What are those nicknames called? There's a word for affectionate nicknames that lovers use for each other. Pet names? Something like that. I like the ones he uses - they're actually meaningful. It's not something like 'hello, my little love muffin,' or something like that. 'Love muffin' just doesn't sound sexy to me. I really WOULD laugh if someone called me that. When he calls me names, I laugh, but not because it's a ridiculous name like 'love muffin.' I laugh instead because the name is too flattering, too much of a compliment, something too good and too nice to be true.
Like imagine that there is a very fat woman, and I don't mean to insult fat people, and actually I'm interested in what causes obesity, and I don't think it's the fat person's fault at all - so I don't like to insult fat people, ever, although I called Carrie fat in my blog, after she advised me in an email that I should get rid of my mustache, and she labeled Curtis 'the dumbass'. But imagine there is a fat woman, and she's a terrible dancer, but she pretends to get up and dance around, and she's not really serious about it. But someone watching her says to her, 'You are a graceful ballerina,' and he says it in a dead serious voice, and he means it, and she bursts out laughing/crying because she knows she isn't really graceful, isn't really a good dancer, isn't really a ballerina, she's just an ugly, fat woman pretending to dance as a joke. And again, please do not take this as an insult to any fat people. I am just trying to think of the best example that I can, and this is always the example that I think of. Maybe it's something 'they' put into my mind. But that's how I feel when he calls me the flattering nicknames that exaggerate how beautiful and wonderful and special I am, when I'm not really as beautiful, wonderful, and special as the things he says I am.
But I feel like I really AM special and wonderful, though, because I choose life, and I am surviving something terrible. I feel that I am a unique, wonderful person that nobody understands, someone undervalued by the world. So when he says that I'm special and wonderful and unique and rare, I feel like it's actually the truth, like he can see inside me to where I value my own life, where I value myself, where I choose to live. But he couldn't possibly understand that. He couldn't possibly see that. He can't see inside my soul. No one can see my soul, because I am the victim of a crime, I am a mind slave, I am a zombie, with my soul suppressed by the constant attack following me 24 hours a day. So I laugh because it's impossible, and I cry because I really, really need it to be true. I want someone to see me and understand me and value me the same way that I value myself. When he says these things, it seems like he does understand, but I think he can't really.
I want to find another boyfriend, someone easier to reach, someone who will actually answer me, meet me, talk to me in person, when Curtis won't or can't. That's what I meant when I said that sooner or later I have to give up and go after 'easy pickings' instead, because it's impossible to actually be with Curtis in the real world, when I can't get him to respond to me except at work. I need someone to get to know the real me, to know the hell that I live in every day, not just from hearing voices but mostly from the drug residues and chemical sensitivity and chronic fatigue - to see through all of those problems and see that there is still a living soul underneath it - to see into my cage, to see that I am still alive even though I look like a zombie on the outside and I cannot speak my own words or make my own choices while being controlled.
I think that's enough for now.
Warning, this one's really long. I couldn't stop writing. Today, I actually put the tag 'true romance' on my blog, because I looked at a true romance magazine yesterday, and I saw that this really is the genre that I am writing.
The 'easy pickings' strategy.
They woke me up this morning with the 'psychopath' feeling. There is this 'feeling,' a very specific feeling, a feeling of profound and extreme distrust, which represents the idea of a psychopath. I had to fight against the 'psychopath' belief system.
The 'psychopath' idea started a long time ago. I remember when I was a teenager, I was probably being interrogated by some attacker, but back then, I thought that it was a 'psychic' experience that I was having when I talked to voices in my head. I was being interrogated by someone who wondered if there was such a thing as absolute evil, and they were distrusting, and they asked me if *I* was evil. A soulless robot, unable to feel guilty about anything. Everything it does is insincere. Everything it does is manipulative, done to accomplish a purpose. I was aware of this idea all the way back when I was a teenager. I remembered it again in 2000 or so when I read John Douglas's books about serial killers. (It can also be called a sociopath. There are some slight differences between them.)
Maybe they woke me up with that feeling today because yesterday I wrote about the 'killing your best friend' dream. I'm not sure if I'm the best person to explain this, since it's not really 'my thing.'
If I wander too far off topic, I won't be able to explain the 'easy pickings' idea. I'll just say that really quickly and then go on to the other subject. The 'easy pickings' idea is this: Curtis is impossible to reach, by phone, email, text message, or even handwritten note. He responds to them, by changing his behavior, by being more trusting and affectionate towards me after reading a note, but he doesn't respond to direct questions or do things I ask him to do.
I see him as an 'at-risk youth.' He doesn't mind the idea of going into the military. He doesn't wear a seat belt. He gets drunk and goes driving his car. He lost his license but I know he is still driving, so sooner or later, he might possibly have another conflict with the law again.
Some of this might possibly fit the description of 'poor judgment,' in the description of what happens to a fetal alcohol syndrome baby. It changes the brain in ways that cause a person to have learning disabilities and poor judgment. His condition is mild, because they say that the more facial deformities you have, the more severe it is, and his face is relatively normal, except that he might have a cleft lip scar - there is a scar above his lip and I don't know if it was caused by an accident or cleft lip surgery. He might have a slightly reduced philtrum, the groove that runs from the nose to the lips, but if I recall, it looks like he still does have one. I'm not sure. I can't usually get a close enough look. Okay, I looked at a photo, and he does have one, but it isn't a very deep one. It varies from person to person anyway.
The TV show that I watched at Peter's house a few weeks ago showed 'at-risk youth' going into the military, and some of them came home and committed crimes and ended up in jail.
I don't want anything to happen to him, and it's clear that he is an 'at-risk youth.' In that respect, he is a victim, someone born with a problem or tendency that isn't his fault, born into a world that wasn't able to fix the problem. At the same time, there is only so much that I can do. I'm too poor to bail him out of jail or buy him new cars. I can only provide moral support. I can be someone he runs to whenever his girlfriends break up with him. But I live too far away to easily give him rides in my car, and anyway, I don't want him getting any drug residues on his shoes, and I'm the weird lady with plastic all over her car seats, so it wouldn't look good to have me driving him up to his friends' houses or wherever he was trying to go. So I can't even do much for him. And if I can't contact him and get a reply by any means, email, phone, or anything, then I can't even talk to him and find out what kind of relationship he would be willing to have with me.
So when I say 'easy pickings' I mean that sooner or later I just can't waste any more effort trying to do something that can't be done. I can find easier people to 'hang out' with, people who I can actually reach by phone or email. Even if it's not his fault, even if he can't answer the phone because he's being attacked, even if the phone calls don't get through, and those things aren't his fault, still, I can find people who are easier to reach. I can't do much for him anyway. I can enjoy his company, and he can enjoy mine. Other than that, I can't do much.
'They' have this idea that he represents 'the enemy,' in a way - that the button-pushers, as I call them, the people who are actually operating the electronic harassment equipment, the computers and devices and weapons being used to attack me, are in a lot of ways just like him. That sounds like 'the military' to me. The 'at-risk youth' go into the military, and they do what they're told, and they can't build a better life for themselves because they have reading and writing and math disabilities, and poor judgment, and poor self-control, and the military offers them a better paying job. And apparently the 'button pushers' are in a similar situation. They get paid to do what they do. So 'they' want me to see him as a lovable version of 'the enemy.' Look at what your enemies would be if they were cute and lovable and someone you felt attracted to and devoted to, someone you couldn't help loving no matter what they did to you.
I have to quickly mention the reason why I made the name 'button-pushers.' When the attacks first began, I assumed that the voice I heard in my head was actually being sent to me by the person who was saying whatever I heard. Like, if you heard a famous celebrity speaking to you (and no, I didn't usually hear the voices of celebrities, but this is just an example), you would believe that that person, theirself, was operating the equipment and talking to you. (I'm having a grammar problem. I don't like how English doesn't have a genderless pronoun for 'they' and 'them' with 'self.' You can say 'themselves' if it's plural, but you can't say it if it's singular. I want to say 'he or she himself or herself.' You know what I mean.)
To make that more clear, let's imagine that I said something to somebody else, like 'Hi, how are you?' and someone else recorded me saying that. Then, somebody plays back the recording, and beams it into somebody's head, so they mistakenly believe that I'm the one pushing the buttons on the device that's beaming it into their head, and I'm right that very moment saying 'Hi, how are you?' I would get blamed for talking to them, because it was MY voice they heard in their head. It's a way to trick someone into attacking innocent people. 'I kept hearing YOUR voice in my head! You must be an attacker!' But actually that's not true. It was recorded earlier, and even though it's my voice, I might have nothing to do with it at all. I'm not the one who tape recorded it and then beamed it into someone's head. The voice you hear might not actually be sent to you from the person who spoke the words.
After my cat Alexander died, it was a week or two later, and somebody beamed a recording of Alexander's meow into my head. His voice was recognizable. You can recognize a cat's individual voice the same way you recognize a person's. It was perfectly clear. Obviously, since I had seen Alexander's dead body and buried it myself, I knew Alex wasn't alive, and he wasn't meowing to me, and he certainly wasn't pushing buttons on an electronic harassment weapon. That's a clear demonstration showing that the voice you hear might not be the same person operating the equipment.
So I had lots of times when little scripted scenarios were going on in my head, in the beginning, especially back when I was using St. John's Wort, and I would fight with the voices and tell them I wanted to kill them and I would fantasize about killing them. They would respond by doing even more things to torture me and make me enraged. That is why I call them the murderers, because they REALLY DO try to enrage the victims and make them go postal and go out and shoot people. They REALLY DO try to make you do that. It has happened to me, except usually when they do it to me, they claim they're trying to protect me and prevent me from doing anything. I think that I have had an easier time than many other electronic harassment victims who describe much more horrible things happening to them.
The scripted fantasy scenarios would often involve a 'nice' person who was trying to help me, and I would respond by getting enraged at that person and threatening them. After a while, I realized that the 'nice' person probably wasn't the one actually pushing buttons on a device to put their voice in my head. In fact, the 'nice' person might, for all I know, be someone far away who thinks he's having a 'psychic experience.' He might fantasize that he's astral-projecting into the mind of someone who 'needs help,' when actually, a 'button-pusher,' the person operating a piece of equipment, is recording everything he says, beaming it into my head, and beaming my replies back to him. He and I are talking to each other through a system controlled by the murderers, but neither of us are actually operating the system. We both might interpret it as a 'psychic' experience.
That's the reason why I made up the phrase 'button-pushers' to refer to the people who are actually operating a piece of equipment, as opposed to the people who are speaking, the voices I hear, the people who interact with me - they might innocently think they're just having a 'psychic' experience with me.
Every time I write about something like this, I get attacks from people who try to imitate whatever I was describing. But those imitation attacks are usually the cheap, low-tech attacks, the kind of equipment that you can build in your own home. The attacks that I'm describing are much quieter and more subtle. The low-tech attacks usually silence my entire brain, put me into a trance for a second or two, and override everything I was thinking and doing, for a second, and if it goes on too long, I forget everything that they said to me while I was in the trance. I can only remember the last little bit of what they said. And it often has poor audio quality, like a badly tuned radio with static. Those are the low-tech attacks.
The high-tech attacks are much quieter, and they don't put me into a trance quite as badly. I feel like I can still remain conscious and functioning while I talk back to them, instead of being completely silenced and disabled. So I can have an actual conversation with the voices, while still being awake and not getting my brain 'shut off' and put into a temporary trance while a badly-tuned audio voice blanks out everything in my mind for a few seconds. It feels more 'real,' like 'psychic' experiences would feel.
I remember reading about a spelling bee contest. There were only a few kids left. When the one kid went up and it was his turn, he started to fumble on a word he couldn't spell. Suddenly, he collapsed to the floor. Then he stood up, and miraculously, he was suddenly able to spell the word he couldn't spell! It came to him in a vision when he fell to the floor. Can you say 'blatant, broad-daylight, cheating?' Somebody was betting money on him, I'm sure, and to win their money, they would use any means necessary to tell him how to spell his word. But the particular type of attack that they used is a blunt, clumsy, low-tech attack that causes you to black out and go into a trance, instead of being able to continue standing up and staying awake. Most of the time when I hear voices, I'm able to stay awake and look like everything is normal. But the spelling bee kid - and yes, I think he won the competition - was attacked by someone who didn't have the means to do a more subtle attack.
(The same kind of thing is able to help you win or lose a sports bet. You can cause someone to trip and fall, do something clumsy, that kind of thing. There are many ways electronic attacks can influence a sporting event. It would be like Hermione using a Confundus charm - except this is muggle magic. And they like to see themselves as doing magic, and they like to make references to Harry Potter, but in reality, it's a much more sad situation than that.)
Well, I am going to go back to the beginning and pick up a topic I left off. This is the topic I didn't feel like I was an expert on. I can give it a sympathetic view now.
When I first started noticing the computer harassment, it was the year 2000, and I had started visiting chatrooms and talking to Nerdman. Nerdman did a few things to me that I didn't understand, and wasn't expecting, back then. For instance, he talked about sex in a symbolic way, and I took him literally and didn't notice the sexual symbolism. It was his way of being secretive and superior to me - he ALWAYS used a secretive, intellectually superior way of talking, using big words and obscure references to literature, to say things without saying them, and I found it annoying, because sometimes I would figure out that it was sexual symbolism, or at least, later on I figured it out. He was talking about a 'goat', and the 'goat' fell into a 'hole', where it 'died.' And actually, I find this very annoying and irritating when I write about it - I can't even laugh about it now, years later. That's how annoying it was to me. I HATE when people are being secretly symbolic and using it as a way to be superior over me when I'm taking them literally, when I am a trusting innocent person and someone else is secretly insulting me, thinking he's superior because I'm too stupid to understand what he's talking about. The 'goat' was a penis, the 'hole' was a vagina, and 'death' meant that the penis had an orgasm and wasn't erect anymore and became soft again. To me, goats, holes, and death were all literal. So I was chatting to him in the chatroom and I was upset because he was talking about the cute little goat dying again and I just thought he was being weird and I couldn't explain it. Ha ha, very funny.
Well, one day, I forget how it started. Something happened that caused a disruption. I forget what it was. I said he was having trouble writing, or something, and there must be an earthquake going on and the building was going to collapse, or something like that. I was being literal and I was pretending. But he responded to this by starting up his sexual symbolism again. So he went along with the pretending and then he said that I, Nicole, was in the building and a piano fell on me and I died.
I wasn't expecting that he would kill me in a chatroom fantasy. I didn't know about electronic mind control back then, so I can't say whether my feelings and emotions were real or fake. But I felt an intense, humiliated, violated, traumatized feeling, and an extreme distrust and fear. I started to think that he actually might be a serial killer, someone who enjoyed killing people, for fun, for sexual entertainment. I felt extremely disrespected. To even TALK about killing someone, to talk directly to the person about it, to say things like 'I'm going to kill you,' is very disrespectful.
That was when I started reading the John Douglas books. I also read fiction books that Nerdman himself talked about. One of his favorite authors was Richard Powers. In the Richard Powers books, there were several scenes where a woman died, and the narrator of the story was fascinated with the woman's death. Nerdman also talked about other movies and stories that involved the death of a woman. There was one, and I hope I can remember the name of it - 'In Dreams.' It's a movie about a teacher who starts having a psychic connection to a serial killer. She uses the psychic connection to go find him, and I'm giving a spoiler here, but, in the end, she dies, although he does too, and it's supposed to be a happy ending because the serial killer is defeated. But in reality, the death of the woman is the main focus of the movie.
Back then, when this was going on, when I felt extremely disrespected and traumatized because of Nerdman talking about my death, and giving me references to fiction books and movies about the death of women, I started to *HATE* anybody who connected death and sex.
There are actually lots of movies and stories that show the death of a woman, and that death is the highlight of the movie, the most important thing in the movie, the thing we were all eagerly waiting for. Some people watch the movie, and see it as a tragedy, and say, 'Ugh, I didn't like that movie, that was a terrible ending, I wish she had survived.' That's *MY* response when I see those movies. And some people just like tragedies, and they enjoy being sad and miserable, and even if it's isn't a sexual fantasy, they just want to see a movie with a sad ending because they like sad endings. They watch Romeo and Juliet and they think it's 'cathartic', and they think it's romantic that Romeo and Juliet are 'together in eternity.' (I'm thinking of 'Don't Fear The Reaper,' a Blue Oyster Cult song, and I actually like that song. There was a remake of it recently.) Other people, however, think it's a happy ending BECAUSE the woman died. To them, it's the sexual fantasy that nobody else can see, and they're secretly enjoying it while everyone else is responding in a different way.
Well, over time, I gradually stopped worrying as much about this. I found out that I was being electronically attacked, and mind control was real. I used to fear that I was being stalked by a serial killer, but when I found out that mind control was real, I decided that if they wanted to kill me, they could do it anytime they wanted to, and I had no control over it. So why worry about it. There's nothing I can do. They can push a button, and cause me to have a car accident. They can make me sleepwalk, and go kill myself in the middle of the night, without knowing I did it. Maybe they can push a button that will directly shut off my brain or suffocate me or make my heart stop beating. I don't know what they can do, but I know enough to realize that if they wanted to kill me, they would and they could, at any random moment. That actually made me LESS worried, strangely enough. It was a sort of grim resignation. It was the realization that there are people attacking me and it's up to them whether I live or die, because I don't know who they are and I can't retaliate, I can't fight back. I can only focus on those things that I have control over, instead of worrying about things that I can't control.
It can give you a false sense of security. You might think you're safe from everything, because the mind controllers are watching you constantly. But that's not true either. You still have to take care of yourself. They don't control every molecule that moves in the universe. They don't control every random accident that happens. And there's more than one group of people controlling things. There isn't a monopoly, one single ruler of the world controlling everything. Instead, there are different groups and individuals fighting for their territory, fighting to control particular people, fighting to 'own' particular 'slaves' who are high value to them. One person's slave might attack another person's slave. It isn't all controlled by the same person. There's more than one 'ruler of the world.' There are many, and they're not all friends with each other.
Over the years I mellowed out a little bit and I don't worry so much anymore if I see people connecting death and sex. It's actually pretty common. There are different ways people do it. There are subcultures and fiction stories and movies that do this in different ways. Vampire culture, vampire movies and stories, that's a way of talking about erotic death. I don't freak out about it as much as I used to.
They brought Curtis into my life, and I say that 'they brought' him, because, by coincidence, he suddenly started working with me right after Martin left, and the voices talked to me about him immediately, and he was exactly the kind of guy that I would like, and I liked him as soon as I met him. He has this status: 'Curtis can do no wrong.' No matter what he does, I always like him again, and I can't help it.
I've seen his MySpace page, briefly, although I can't go there now, and he has erotic vampire-goth images on there. He also has similar things in his facebook page. I have to add something that I forgot to mention. Although it sort of seems like erotic death, it is also an expression of his own unbearable pain and suffering. I had to go look at the images again, on facebook, and some of it is about suicide. It fits with the 'screamo' genre of music, some of which I listened to, that expresses the unbearable pain by screaming. This is something that I sympathize with. However, in this blog I was focused on the 'erotic death' interpretation more than I was focused on the 'unbearable suffering' interpretation, but I had to mention it.
Some of it came from his mother, and it's an accepted thing in their family. His mother seems to be a sexual instinctual type too, and she has lots of tattoos, and some piercings, and she accidentally attracts men without wanting to. It happened when she worked at Nittany Mall McDonald's with me, years ago, for a short time before she quit. That's how I met her. She used to talk in a flirtatious way with the boss, but she might not have realized how flirtatious she was being, and how much she encouraged him. It wasn't long before the boss did a real-life, blatant, sexual harassment incident with her. (He did similar things to a couple of other women who worked there, too, but fortunately, he didn't do anything to me - I wasn't his type, and he wasn't mine, and I couldn't stand him, and I found him sexually repulsive.) She was doing overnight cleaning, and he asked her to meet him in the bathroom for something, in a few minutes. She assumed that he wanted to show her some task or cleaning project she was going to do. It was unexpected. She walked into the bathroom and found him standing there with his shirt off, and he asked her to massage his back. She told me this story, and she was ashamed and disgusted and afraid. I don't remember if she actually DID massage his back, or if she walked out, or what. I don't know. After that, she was talking to me about it, and other people, and she didn't know what to do, and she wanted to tell some authority about it. And I don't remember who she told, but she just quit and left after a while. It happened to some other people too, and that manager still works at McD, but he went to a different store.
I didn't know she was Curtis's mother. Once, I saw her walking around Weis, before I knew Curtis, before he worked at Weis. I saw that she was walking with a young guy in his teens, and for some reason, I thought he was her boyfriend. I'm not joking. I really, actually believed that she had a very young boyfriend. I didn't know he was her son. When I saw them together it seemed like they were dating, not family. One reason that I didn't understand was because he seemed too old to be her son. She's in her thirties, and he's in his late teens, so she had him when she was in her young teens. Something about them, their behavior, their intimacy, gave off boyfriend-girlfriend vibes when I saw them, and I felt a combination of disapproval, envy, and amazement. (Yesterday when I was writing about the 'weird dream' idea, where something really strange is happening but everyone thinks it's normal, the voices were mentioning another 'weird dream' idea, which was: 'You mean, I can fuck my mother FOR REAL, like I always wanted to?' That was partly referring to his mother, but it was also referring to me as an older woman only one year younger than his mother.)
So after he and I knew each other - I didn't recognize him as 'the guy I once saw walking around with Sabrina' - he informed me that I knew his mother, Sabrina, and she worked with me at McD years ago.
When he told me this, I was shocked and stunned, and then I became distrusting and afraid. I had a very intense reaction of fear and distrust. I remembered Sabrina getting sexually harassed, after openly flirting with the manager, and encouraging him. I had already gotten a crush on Curtis, who did the same thing, openly flirting with me and encouraging me. So I got scared that he was going to turn around and say that I was sexually harassing him. I felt very afraid and distrusting after that. I reacted very strongly when he told me who his mother was. He seemed to enjoy my reaction - he smiled, I think, if I recall correctly, because he could see that I was shocked and surprised - but he didn't understand all the things I was thinking and all the things I was afraid of. I can't remember why I thought he enjoyed the reaction. To him it might have seemed like I was afraid of her, afraid of Sabrina somehow. I think that's partly true, I probably am afraid of her somehow, or threatened by her, and jealous of her. I can't explain why but he seemed to enjoy my reaction.
The vampire-goth culture seems to come from her, and I don't know how much of it comes from within Curtis himself. Some of it might be because that's an accepted thing in their family. Tattoos are an accepted thing in their family, and she has lots of tattoos. I don't like tattoos, and 'the voices' were threatening me, telling me that they were going to force him to get the urge to get more tattoos. That scares me, because I see it as permanent destruction of beauty - I don't see it as making him more beautiful or more attractive. He has freckles all over his arms. He has tattoos on the underside of his arms, but if he got new ones on top of his arms, it would destroy the freckles so that you couldn't see them anymore. And not just his arms, but all of his skin, I see it as being destroyed instead of enhanced by tattoos.
Some of the vampire-goth culture, in his pictures, in the images he collected off the internet, has erotic death themes. Or not necessarily erotic, but creepy death fascination, a focus on death, an interest in death and corpses. I saw this early on, in his jewelry - I loved his jewelry right away, and I was always asking him about whatever he was wearing. He has little metal skulls attached to his shoelaces and I remember commenting about those a long time ago when I was getting to know him. Somehow, 'Curtis can do no wrong.' When HE has an eroticized obsession with death and goth and skulls and vampires and blood, somehow it's sexy when it never was before. He once told me that he wanted to buy a hearse, and put a coffin in the back of it (and although he didn't explain this, I understood that you're supposed to have sex with someone in the coffin in the back of the car). He put dark tints on the back windows so you can't see inside. He's decorated parts of his car with neon lights, and he's put in his own stereo with a sub-bass, and he showed me these things. I never cared about those things before, I never liked neon lights added to cars, I never cared about what kind of stereo someone has, I never cared about tinted windows, but suddenly, when HE did it, I liked all of those things, they were great, they were sexy.
I had the same reaction to his image collection. I liked all of it, even though years ago I *hated* anybody who connected death/murder with sex in any way at all. He has one image of a man and woman kissing while one of them holds a gun, and the other holds a knife, if I recall, each one about to kill the other. It actually reminds me of an image I drew, years ago, when I was painting with the Caran Dache aquarelle crayons. I drew two people kissing and I drew their tongues twisting together, and it was a beautiful, sexy, erotic picture. I want to scan, or photograph, my paintings and put them on the internet someday, but right now, they're in a box in the storage unit. I used to draw and paint a lot and I sometimes drew erotic pictures, sometimes pictures of people kissing and touching each other. The images he collected reminded me of my own drawings, except there was the goth-like, vampire-like focus on blood, death, murder, suicide, and similar themes. But I felt the sense of them, the passion they express, and I understood it.
I just remembered two things that happened. Don't let me forget - one was the butt tattoo, the other was the handcuffs. I have to tell both stories. There was a girl who worked with us for a short time, and her name was also Becka - there were two people named Becka. She saw me talking to Curtis, and I hadn't mentioned anything to her at all about having a crush on him, about how much I liked him. I hadn't said anything. But she saw the way we talked to each other, and she said, 'Nicole's going to get your name tattooed on her butt.' When she said that I started laughing uncontrollably. It was so perceptive and accurate even though I hadn't told her anything. I was embarrassed, but I had to admit she was right, it was true. I didn't say anything to her, I didn't tell her how I felt about him, but she could tell by watching me.
The other incident: Christina was talking to me, and I forget why she said this. Something about committing a crime, or getting in trouble for doing something, or having to call the police. We were joking. She used to live next door to Curtis before they moved, and so they knew each other for years, and she's friends with his mother, so she's been to their house and she knew about his collection of knives, swords and other things. So she blurts out something like, 'We can go get Curtis's handcuffs,' or 'We can put Curtis's handcuffs on you,' something like that. My reaction was to get very embarrassed and I started laughing. The next thing she did was call him over to talk to us, and she told him that I wanted him to put me in his handcuffs, and I said, 'SHE'S the one who said that. *I* didn't say that!' I was laughing. 'Mortified' would be the word to describe it. This was another one of those rare exceptions. I never thought about handcuffs before and I wouldn't have wanted to be handcuffed, but with him, the idea of it was sexy.
I said that 'button-pushers' refers to the people who are operating the mind control equipment. But I sometimes say it in a metaphorical way too. He pushes all the right buttons in the right order - whatever he does it somehow works out and I like it.
I don't remember if I was supposed to go back to an unfinished topic or not, so I have to reread this...
My understanding of the death-sex connection is that ... well, this is hard to explain. Sometimes, something reminds us of something else. Or it's an image, or feeling, which is exaggerated or made more extreme. There was a word for this. I was reading about it recently. I was reading about instincts and about how animals respond to certain triggers or images. If you exaggerate the trigger image, they will respond more strongly to the fake thing than they do to the real thing. An example is a brightly colored fish. The male fish is brightly colored, and any males who see him know that he is the enemy, and they will attack. But if you make a fake fish, and the fake one is even more brightly colored than the real one, they'll attack the fake fish and ignore the real one. If you exaggerate or intensify the trigger image, they'll be more interested in the fake thing than the real thing. You can also put fake pheromones on something, and animals and insects will be more attracted to that than they are to the real animals putting out their pheromones, because the fake ones are so much stronger.
Some sexual fetishes, in humans, seem to be like that. It exaggerates something sexy, making it more extreme, so that you like the exaggerated fake image more than the real one. It's not just images, it's also sensations and ideas. If you make them more extreme or more exaggerated then they trigger sexual feelings more than the real world does. I respond very strongly to the image of pregnant women's bellies. The bigger they are, the more erotic it is. When I see it, I'm not thinking in a lesbian way that I want to have sex with the woman. I'm thinking of my own desire to have sex and get pregnant. I feel a sort of empathic sensation of my own belly being pregnant, and a feeling of envy, when I see someone else's.
It's similar to the gluttony fetish, but not exactly the same. The gluttony fetish exaggerates or makes extreme the sensation you feel in your stomach from eating. It happened to me the other day. I had just eaten and I took a walk, and one of the places I went to was a park with swings. I always like to swing on the swings. But swinging with a full stomach gave me an intense tickling sensation in my stomach, and it was somehow extremely pleasant, and extremely unpleasant at the same time, so I stopped swinging. That tickly feeling is involved in the gluttony fantasy and with bingeing and purging behavior. I'm phobic about vomiting, and I will do *ANYTHING* to avoid vomiting, but at the same time, I know how it feels to get a sort of 'reward' sensation after vomiting, maybe an opiate release? I don't know. A feeling of great relief and pleasure after the vomiting is over, a flood of numbness and relaxation - still, for me, it's not worth it, and the fear of vomiting is much worse than any 'reward' for vomiting. But some people don't mind it and they don't mind bingeing and purging. The gluttony fetish exaggerates and makes extreme that tickly sensation in your stomach from eating, and it exaggerates the images, and the empathy you feel with those images. It's not just the stomach, it's the entire abdomen that's able to feel that way, and it can sometimes happen with hormones or drugs too, anything that's an aphrodisiac. The aphrodisiac can make your abdomen feel that way even if you haven't eaten much.
So I think that the death-and-sex connection is something similar to that. After an orgasm your entire body relaxes and becomes limp. It was an extreme experience similar to dying, similar to being killed. That is how I understand it.
Other people interpret it differently - to them, if you kill someone, it is about domination and power, about ownership, about being superior to the person you killed. That was how I felt whenever Nerdman pretended to kill me in the chatroom, when I wasn't expecting it - I felt that it was a terrible, disrespectful act of domination, something meant to humiliate me and make me feel small and helpless, and I did *NOT* enjoy it. It wasn't erotic at that time, in that way.
It's hard to describe where the boundary lines are, where the gray areas end, because the vampire-goth fantasies also have some domination and control themes, but it's much milder and it doesn't offend me. This is partly because vampires are doing something that I actually enjoy: biting people on the neck. That by itself is erotic, and it's enjoyable to the person being bitten. Nerdman, on the other hand, was just interested in the death itself and it didn't even have any connection, by my understanding, to doing something that would have been enjoyable anyway. With him, it was clearly meant to make the other person feel inferior, stupid, worthless, small, helpless. I can't really explain. Some of it might even be because the vampire images are usually people who I see as sexually attractive. Being dominated by someone sexually attractive is different from being dominated by someone sexually repulsive.
I just remembered a story I read somewhere which was supposedly true. There was a guy exploring in Africa, and he was attacked by a lion. The lion grabbed him in his mouth and shook him. He described having a sensation of being pleasantly relaxed and submissive and helpless, like it wasn't real, and like he wouldn't mind dying. He wasn't afraid, while it was going on. I forget how he survived - maybe someone else was with them, and the other person killed the lion or something. I can't remember where I read this story. But I think that somehow, people know about that feeling, and it's involved in domination/submission fantasies and vampire fantasies.
I can't even really talk about these things without worrying that they will be taken the wrong way. I don't enjoy being humiliated. But for the past couple days, the voices have been talking to me about someone enjoying humiliation. It's because I laughed at Curtis when he walked up to me and was talking to me and calling me a nickname - there's a word for this that I can't remember. What are those nicknames called? There's a word for affectionate nicknames that lovers use for each other. Pet names? Something like that. I like the ones he uses - they're actually meaningful. It's not something like 'hello, my little love muffin,' or something like that. 'Love muffin' just doesn't sound sexy to me. I really WOULD laugh if someone called me that. When he calls me names, I laugh, but not because it's a ridiculous name like 'love muffin.' I laugh instead because the name is too flattering, too much of a compliment, something too good and too nice to be true.
Like imagine that there is a very fat woman, and I don't mean to insult fat people, and actually I'm interested in what causes obesity, and I don't think it's the fat person's fault at all - so I don't like to insult fat people, ever, although I called Carrie fat in my blog, after she advised me in an email that I should get rid of my mustache, and she labeled Curtis 'the dumbass'. But imagine there is a fat woman, and she's a terrible dancer, but she pretends to get up and dance around, and she's not really serious about it. But someone watching her says to her, 'You are a graceful ballerina,' and he says it in a dead serious voice, and he means it, and she bursts out laughing/crying because she knows she isn't really graceful, isn't really a good dancer, isn't really a ballerina, she's just an ugly, fat woman pretending to dance as a joke. And again, please do not take this as an insult to any fat people. I am just trying to think of the best example that I can, and this is always the example that I think of. Maybe it's something 'they' put into my mind. But that's how I feel when he calls me the flattering nicknames that exaggerate how beautiful and wonderful and special I am, when I'm not really as beautiful, wonderful, and special as the things he says I am.
But I feel like I really AM special and wonderful, though, because I choose life, and I am surviving something terrible. I feel that I am a unique, wonderful person that nobody understands, someone undervalued by the world. So when he says that I'm special and wonderful and unique and rare, I feel like it's actually the truth, like he can see inside me to where I value my own life, where I value myself, where I choose to live. But he couldn't possibly understand that. He couldn't possibly see that. He can't see inside my soul. No one can see my soul, because I am the victim of a crime, I am a mind slave, I am a zombie, with my soul suppressed by the constant attack following me 24 hours a day. So I laugh because it's impossible, and I cry because I really, really need it to be true. I want someone to see me and understand me and value me the same way that I value myself. When he says these things, it seems like he does understand, but I think he can't really.
I want to find another boyfriend, someone easier to reach, someone who will actually answer me, meet me, talk to me in person, when Curtis won't or can't. That's what I meant when I said that sooner or later I have to give up and go after 'easy pickings' instead, because it's impossible to actually be with Curtis in the real world, when I can't get him to respond to me except at work. I need someone to get to know the real me, to know the hell that I live in every day, not just from hearing voices but mostly from the drug residues and chemical sensitivity and chronic fatigue - to see through all of those problems and see that there is still a living soul underneath it - to see into my cage, to see that I am still alive even though I look like a zombie on the outside and I cannot speak my own words or make my own choices while being controlled.
I think that's enough for now.
Monday, June 28, 2010
weird dreams, skinny guys, new clothes
6:09 PM 6/28/10
Let's see if I can remember to write all the different things I was thinking of writing about.
the candle dream and the new pants
new uniforms
calling curtis
small guy taboo in men's clothes
a weird dream where people take things for granted
mcd manager
I've been hyperactive ever since this morning when I ate at The Waffle Shop. I don't know which food chemical made me feel that way, but I was so restless that I went on a long walk after I got out of the restaurant, and still, even now, at the end of the day, I'm hyper and restless and irritable. I didn't eat waffles. I ate eggs, rye toast, corned beef hash, cranberry juice, bacon, and tomato slices. Any of those things could have triggered the hyperactivity, but it probably wasn't the cranberry juice - I usually tolerate cranberry juice pretty well. This was a strong hyperactivity reaction that has lasted all day. I think it might be some preservative or nitrate in the corned beef hash, because that was the only unusual thing that I don't normally eat. The other foods are things that I have eaten other times recently and not had any problems with. It's been a very long time since I was this restless and hyper, so it has to be something I don't normally eat.
A weird dream: I didn't actually have a dream. I was just thinking about dreams in general. There is a dream where something really strange or scary is happening, but everyone around you thinks that it's normal, and nobody seems worried about it except you. Imagine that, for instance, you are in a society where people kill their best friends, and then go get a new best friend. (This is something the voices were talking to me about. I guarantee that it's going to have 'special meaning' or sexual symbolism to some reader or that somebody actually had this dream recently.) Everyone thinks this is normal except you. You see everyone doing it, and they act perfectly calm and happy and not upset about it at all. But it scares the crap out of you.
The interpretation for this dream is that it's symbolic for something that you feel like MIGHT kill someone, but it wouldn't really. You're terrified of doing something to your best friend, but in reality, it won't actually kill that person. You're just afraid that it will. Everyone else is acting like it's normal and okay, and they're not afraid of it, and that's supposed to tell you that there's a different way of looking at things. Maybe you're being afraid of something when there's no need to be afraid of it. Whatever you're afraid to do, it wouldn't actually kill that person.
So that's what the voices were talking to me about. I guess somebody out there actually had this dream. Like I said, I already know it's going to have a sexual meaning to somebody. Things like this always do.
Okay, the candle dream. Well, this has to do with my clothing. I am lucky about one thing: I think that I have a nice body. It doesn't make it easier for me to meet people, because there are so many OTHER things that get in the way. But I don't have the problem of feeling fat, or anything else like that. I only gain weight temporarily and lose it again, and it's usually a reaction to drugs.
So, I had a pair of pants that fit perfectly. I hate buying pants. But I have to buy new clothes often when old ones get contaminated. I can't keep using my favorite clothes for long. This is why I try to buy as many things from Goodwill as I can, at $0.29 if possible. I hate back pockets on pants, and I hate pants that are badly shaped, or that don't have any pockets on the side (the pockets that I actually USE), or that don't have belt loops, or have other strange 'fashion' designs that ruin the practical use of the clothing. I hate women's fashion and the stupid things they do. I want just a plain, simple, classic design that stays the same forever, something practical and functional.
Well, I had a perfect pair of pants, but I had to get new ones, because the perfect ones were gradually getting contaminated. So I got some badly-fitted ones at Goodwill, and I go through lots of badly-fitted Goodwill pants, and I don't really think much about it.
However, as soon as I put on the badly fitted pants, 'they' gave me a dream that night. There was a 'bird,' which means a girl or female (in the slang of England, that's what a bird is, or at least it used to mean that). The 'bird' was flying around with a 'candle' on its lower back, and the candle means 'hot' or 'flame'. But the bird was trying to light the candle, and it wouldn't light, so it wasn't 'hot.'
When they woke me up from the dream, they were asking me why the bird's ass wasn't hot anymore. Another voice explained that it happened because I was wearing a badly fitted pair of pants that hung down too loosely so you couldn't see my butt anymore.
When I was in fifth grade, I had a crush on this kid in my class, and I think he must have had a little crush on me, too, but we were too scared to get together. He told me (all the way back in fifth grade) that I had a 'bubble butt.' I didn't know what he meant at first. He meant that it sticks out. It does stick out just a little bit, enough to be noticeable. It always has.
So I was wearing a different pair of pants just recently, and they're not very well fitted either. They're temporary, and I'm trying to find better ones. However, I had voices talking to me last night, and they said, 'Oh my gosh, you can see right through those!' And other voices were saying 'Those pants are very... thin.' It is actually a thin fabric. I wasn't intentionally wearing see-through pants, but apparently they are.
I'm trying to find some that fit well and that aren't see-through.
I bought some fake uniforms today. My imitation Weis uniform is way too big. I don't really NEED a fake Weis uniform, because I'm allowed to order new uniforms myself - I talked to them on the phone about it and the lady told me how to order them. But I definitely need new fake McD uniforms, because I'm not allowed to order my own McD uniforms - only the store manager can do it, and they say he supposedly ordered lots of stuff, but it's been months since he supposedly ordered it, and nothing has come in, so I don't believe he ever will. So I got my own fake McD uniforms too.
The fake Weis shirt came from the men's section at Wal-Mart. It's HUGE. It comes down to my mid-thighs, almost to my knees. It was the smallest size. And the size says 'Medium.' Often, I've noticed that men's clothing doesn't start with the size 'small.' It starts with 'medium' as the smallest size. I think this is because it's insulting to call a guy 'small.' What guy wants to be labeled 'small?'
I talked about this already. I wrote about mainstream pornography and the skinny guys taboo. You can't find any porn with small, skinny guys in it, for those of us who love small, skinny guys. All the men are big and muscular, and I don't like that type at all. I didn't know there was anything that unusual about this until I started hearing voices calling me a pedophile (and then I found out there are other words like 'hebephile' and 'ephebophile' for liking young teens or older teens). I actually agreed with them - I'm not really attracted to fully grown men anywhere near as much as I like small, skinny teenagers. But the mainstream world doesn't understand that 'small' isn't a bad thing. And they also don't seem to know that female perverts exist: they believe that only MEN can be perverts and pedophiles, not women. So, the 'small guys' taboo exists in men's clothing too, and everything starts with 'medium' size. (Note, I DID find a few things that were called 'small,' but lots of things start with medium.)
*******
I told the store manager at McD that I was interested in becoming a manager. I've worked for McD since 2005, although there were a few times when I took time off work, and a while when I was fired and didn't get rehired for a year or so. I've had enough experience and knowledge that it's reasonable for me to try to become a manager.
He told me that I had to talk to Jodi about it, and that he would talk to her for me. Immediately, I felt distrust. What if he didn't talk to her? What if he didn't report back to me? And somebody else was standing there, and they said, 'You could call her cell phone.' But the store manager didn't want me to call her on her cell phone. That made me feel even more distrusting: why CAN'T I just talk to her myself? Why do I have to wait for him to do it?
But then, I got an explanation later. Jodi is on vacation right now. So, there is an actual reason to leave her alone and not bug her with work-related questions while she's trying to relax. I agreed with that, so I programmed an alarm into my cell phone to remind me again, a few weeks from now when she's back from vacation, to ask about it again, and try to talk to her.
*******
With new uniforms, my drug-induced behavior and drug-induced moods should stop, and I should go back to my normal self. That means I will be quiet, withdrawn, and not friendly. Fewer people will talk to me. I won't be smiling. It also means that I won't have the guts to do things like go up to Curtis and pat him on the back. But if I can't do it while I'm sober, then I shouldn't be doing it at all.
The other day I had the guts to ask again if I could call him on the phone. He gave me a number to call, told me that I could call today (Monday), and that if he didn't answer, he was probably asleep. I called, and got routed to a voice mail, the kind where it isn't the person's own voice, but instead it's just the generic female recording. I left a message and said I'd try calling back later. Then I went out shopping, and the afternoon was over, and I didn't think I should call him during dinnertime, and now, it's evening, and he usually does things with his real-world friends in the evening, if I understand correctly, so now doesn't feel like a good time to call either. I told him he could call me back, but I haven't gotten a message from him.
I told him, at work, that I wanted to talk and get everything out in the open because I didn't want things like that email incident to happen again ('Look, ur 35 okay, it creeps me out, I want to stay single for like a year or 2'). That's why I want to get everything out in the open, so that I don't get conflicting messages, like him coming up to me and using the f-word and calling me affectionate nicknames while standing very close to me, and then, on the other hand, getting an email like that, and my phone calls not being returned and all my text messages not being answered. That is what I tried to explain to him.
And I can't know whether he's just not returning my call, or if the murderers are interfering with my phone calls, and I will have to ask him if he got my message, next time I see him. I tried to explain about the murderers, and I didn't call them 'the murderers,' I just said 'some people' were messing with me, hacking my computer and harassing me, so I never knew if emails were received or not. I gave him that explanation, but I don't know if he believes me. I wrote that in a handwritten note, I think.
That's all I can think of that I was going to write about.
Let's see if I can remember to write all the different things I was thinking of writing about.
the candle dream and the new pants
new uniforms
calling curtis
small guy taboo in men's clothes
a weird dream where people take things for granted
mcd manager
I've been hyperactive ever since this morning when I ate at The Waffle Shop. I don't know which food chemical made me feel that way, but I was so restless that I went on a long walk after I got out of the restaurant, and still, even now, at the end of the day, I'm hyper and restless and irritable. I didn't eat waffles. I ate eggs, rye toast, corned beef hash, cranberry juice, bacon, and tomato slices. Any of those things could have triggered the hyperactivity, but it probably wasn't the cranberry juice - I usually tolerate cranberry juice pretty well. This was a strong hyperactivity reaction that has lasted all day. I think it might be some preservative or nitrate in the corned beef hash, because that was the only unusual thing that I don't normally eat. The other foods are things that I have eaten other times recently and not had any problems with. It's been a very long time since I was this restless and hyper, so it has to be something I don't normally eat.
A weird dream: I didn't actually have a dream. I was just thinking about dreams in general. There is a dream where something really strange or scary is happening, but everyone around you thinks that it's normal, and nobody seems worried about it except you. Imagine that, for instance, you are in a society where people kill their best friends, and then go get a new best friend. (This is something the voices were talking to me about. I guarantee that it's going to have 'special meaning' or sexual symbolism to some reader or that somebody actually had this dream recently.) Everyone thinks this is normal except you. You see everyone doing it, and they act perfectly calm and happy and not upset about it at all. But it scares the crap out of you.
The interpretation for this dream is that it's symbolic for something that you feel like MIGHT kill someone, but it wouldn't really. You're terrified of doing something to your best friend, but in reality, it won't actually kill that person. You're just afraid that it will. Everyone else is acting like it's normal and okay, and they're not afraid of it, and that's supposed to tell you that there's a different way of looking at things. Maybe you're being afraid of something when there's no need to be afraid of it. Whatever you're afraid to do, it wouldn't actually kill that person.
So that's what the voices were talking to me about. I guess somebody out there actually had this dream. Like I said, I already know it's going to have a sexual meaning to somebody. Things like this always do.
Okay, the candle dream. Well, this has to do with my clothing. I am lucky about one thing: I think that I have a nice body. It doesn't make it easier for me to meet people, because there are so many OTHER things that get in the way. But I don't have the problem of feeling fat, or anything else like that. I only gain weight temporarily and lose it again, and it's usually a reaction to drugs.
So, I had a pair of pants that fit perfectly. I hate buying pants. But I have to buy new clothes often when old ones get contaminated. I can't keep using my favorite clothes for long. This is why I try to buy as many things from Goodwill as I can, at $0.29 if possible. I hate back pockets on pants, and I hate pants that are badly shaped, or that don't have any pockets on the side (the pockets that I actually USE), or that don't have belt loops, or have other strange 'fashion' designs that ruin the practical use of the clothing. I hate women's fashion and the stupid things they do. I want just a plain, simple, classic design that stays the same forever, something practical and functional.
Well, I had a perfect pair of pants, but I had to get new ones, because the perfect ones were gradually getting contaminated. So I got some badly-fitted ones at Goodwill, and I go through lots of badly-fitted Goodwill pants, and I don't really think much about it.
However, as soon as I put on the badly fitted pants, 'they' gave me a dream that night. There was a 'bird,' which means a girl or female (in the slang of England, that's what a bird is, or at least it used to mean that). The 'bird' was flying around with a 'candle' on its lower back, and the candle means 'hot' or 'flame'. But the bird was trying to light the candle, and it wouldn't light, so it wasn't 'hot.'
When they woke me up from the dream, they were asking me why the bird's ass wasn't hot anymore. Another voice explained that it happened because I was wearing a badly fitted pair of pants that hung down too loosely so you couldn't see my butt anymore.
When I was in fifth grade, I had a crush on this kid in my class, and I think he must have had a little crush on me, too, but we were too scared to get together. He told me (all the way back in fifth grade) that I had a 'bubble butt.' I didn't know what he meant at first. He meant that it sticks out. It does stick out just a little bit, enough to be noticeable. It always has.
So I was wearing a different pair of pants just recently, and they're not very well fitted either. They're temporary, and I'm trying to find better ones. However, I had voices talking to me last night, and they said, 'Oh my gosh, you can see right through those!' And other voices were saying 'Those pants are very... thin.' It is actually a thin fabric. I wasn't intentionally wearing see-through pants, but apparently they are.
I'm trying to find some that fit well and that aren't see-through.
I bought some fake uniforms today. My imitation Weis uniform is way too big. I don't really NEED a fake Weis uniform, because I'm allowed to order new uniforms myself - I talked to them on the phone about it and the lady told me how to order them. But I definitely need new fake McD uniforms, because I'm not allowed to order my own McD uniforms - only the store manager can do it, and they say he supposedly ordered lots of stuff, but it's been months since he supposedly ordered it, and nothing has come in, so I don't believe he ever will. So I got my own fake McD uniforms too.
The fake Weis shirt came from the men's section at Wal-Mart. It's HUGE. It comes down to my mid-thighs, almost to my knees. It was the smallest size. And the size says 'Medium.' Often, I've noticed that men's clothing doesn't start with the size 'small.' It starts with 'medium' as the smallest size. I think this is because it's insulting to call a guy 'small.' What guy wants to be labeled 'small?'
I talked about this already. I wrote about mainstream pornography and the skinny guys taboo. You can't find any porn with small, skinny guys in it, for those of us who love small, skinny guys. All the men are big and muscular, and I don't like that type at all. I didn't know there was anything that unusual about this until I started hearing voices calling me a pedophile (and then I found out there are other words like 'hebephile' and 'ephebophile' for liking young teens or older teens). I actually agreed with them - I'm not really attracted to fully grown men anywhere near as much as I like small, skinny teenagers. But the mainstream world doesn't understand that 'small' isn't a bad thing. And they also don't seem to know that female perverts exist: they believe that only MEN can be perverts and pedophiles, not women. So, the 'small guys' taboo exists in men's clothing too, and everything starts with 'medium' size. (Note, I DID find a few things that were called 'small,' but lots of things start with medium.)
*******
I told the store manager at McD that I was interested in becoming a manager. I've worked for McD since 2005, although there were a few times when I took time off work, and a while when I was fired and didn't get rehired for a year or so. I've had enough experience and knowledge that it's reasonable for me to try to become a manager.
He told me that I had to talk to Jodi about it, and that he would talk to her for me. Immediately, I felt distrust. What if he didn't talk to her? What if he didn't report back to me? And somebody else was standing there, and they said, 'You could call her cell phone.' But the store manager didn't want me to call her on her cell phone. That made me feel even more distrusting: why CAN'T I just talk to her myself? Why do I have to wait for him to do it?
But then, I got an explanation later. Jodi is on vacation right now. So, there is an actual reason to leave her alone and not bug her with work-related questions while she's trying to relax. I agreed with that, so I programmed an alarm into my cell phone to remind me again, a few weeks from now when she's back from vacation, to ask about it again, and try to talk to her.
*******
With new uniforms, my drug-induced behavior and drug-induced moods should stop, and I should go back to my normal self. That means I will be quiet, withdrawn, and not friendly. Fewer people will talk to me. I won't be smiling. It also means that I won't have the guts to do things like go up to Curtis and pat him on the back. But if I can't do it while I'm sober, then I shouldn't be doing it at all.
The other day I had the guts to ask again if I could call him on the phone. He gave me a number to call, told me that I could call today (Monday), and that if he didn't answer, he was probably asleep. I called, and got routed to a voice mail, the kind where it isn't the person's own voice, but instead it's just the generic female recording. I left a message and said I'd try calling back later. Then I went out shopping, and the afternoon was over, and I didn't think I should call him during dinnertime, and now, it's evening, and he usually does things with his real-world friends in the evening, if I understand correctly, so now doesn't feel like a good time to call either. I told him he could call me back, but I haven't gotten a message from him.
I told him, at work, that I wanted to talk and get everything out in the open because I didn't want things like that email incident to happen again ('Look, ur 35 okay, it creeps me out, I want to stay single for like a year or 2'). That's why I want to get everything out in the open, so that I don't get conflicting messages, like him coming up to me and using the f-word and calling me affectionate nicknames while standing very close to me, and then, on the other hand, getting an email like that, and my phone calls not being returned and all my text messages not being answered. That is what I tried to explain to him.
And I can't know whether he's just not returning my call, or if the murderers are interfering with my phone calls, and I will have to ask him if he got my message, next time I see him. I tried to explain about the murderers, and I didn't call them 'the murderers,' I just said 'some people' were messing with me, hacking my computer and harassing me, so I never knew if emails were received or not. I gave him that explanation, but I don't know if he believes me. I wrote that in a handwritten note, I think.
That's all I can think of that I was going to write about.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Ichazo's Instinctual Type
They decided to 'declare' me to be an Sx/So. Chances are, this will change later on. They've changed my enneagram type so many times, and also my instinctual type. Part of the description says, "Motivation: to impact others, question assumptions, challenge convention." ocean-moonshine.net
Accept all of who I am
9:34 PM 6/26/10
Nathaniel Branden writes about self-acceptance, and also, acceptance of others, and of reality in general. Accepting doesn't mean you necessarily like or approve of something. It just means that you face reality, and accept that something is true whether you like it or not. You can accept the reality of things about yourself without liking those things. You can accept good and bad things.
My life is compartmentalized - it's divided into pieces, separate compartments, that don't connect with each other. I have a blog here, but in the real world, I can't imagine that Curtis would ever read my blog, and in fact, I'm not sure if he feels comfortable enough with reading to spend this much time reading my very long blog entries. So the blog world is separate from the real world. Everything I've written here has to be re-told if I need to talk about it in the real world, because I assume he doesn't know anything at all.
I am on drugs. I'm having a skin reaction to St. John's Wort and ephedra. It's gotten on my uniforms. The symptoms are unmistakable. Everyone can tell that I'm more alert and friendly. Everyone is talking to me. Curtis himself approaches me and calls me nicknames when I'm on drugs, but when I'm off drugs, he avoids me a lot more.
This is frustrating. I want to get new clothes and not have a drug reaction all the time. But when I clean it off, I won't be friendly anymore. I won't have the courage to touch Curtis, no matter how much I want to, no matter what the circumstances. Touching him is a temporary thing. And I want so badly to explain that to him. I want him to know that I'm having a drug-induced mood swing, but it's temporary, and soon, I won't have the courage to touch him, but I'll still want to, very badly, every day, no matter what mood I'm in. I want us to trust each other enough to do that, no matter what moods we're in. I tried to explain it to him, in notes, text messages, and in the blog, which I gave him the URL to. But I don't think he understands. In order to touch him on drug-free days, I have to feel confident and know that I have permission to touch him. I've never been given explicit permission.
I want him to accept all of who I am. I write a blog. So he would have to accept that I am a blog writer. And I also have drug-induced mood swings. I want him to accept me when I'm on drugs, and also when I'm off drugs. I want us to still be friends and able to touch each other when I'm off drugs and I'm not friendly anymore.
The drug residues are the greatest obstacle between me and other people. I can hide the fact that I hear voices. The voices don't interfere much with my life, unless I'm reacting to drug residues. Then they control me and make me do strange things. I have to explain those weird things to people, and it's hard to explain. I can't say, 'I was trying to accomplish this purpose,' because actually, I am obeying a forced urge, and accomplishing someone else's purpose, not my own.
The drug residues make me do strange things. I don't want people to get contaminated by touching me. In fact, I think I contaminated the aprons at McDonald's, because another girl who works there said that she went home last night and absolutely could not sleep, no matter what, for no reason. She wears the aprons too - there are only a couple of aprons, and we share them, and they don't always get washed - so she would have worn an ephedra-contaminated apron. Ephedra has given me severe insomnia several times recently, very badly, and I had to go shop at Wal-Mart to buy myself new bedding materials (I have a foam pad covered in vinyl, and I also have paper to put over it if it gets contaminated). So I feel anxious about letting someone touch me when I'm wearing drug-covered clothing. If I had done what I wanted to do, the other day, when Curtis was magnetically pulling me towards him, I would have been in his arms, hugging him. But he would have gone home with a drug mixture on HIS clothing, and he wouldn't understand why suddenly his insomnia was so severe, or why he was having strange mood swings.
And I have to do other strange things, too. I can't wear my shoes into someone else's house, or car, because they are contaminated on the bottom from the floor of my car. So before I walk in, I take off my shoes. It would be terrible to leave drug residue footprints on the carpet of someone who doesn't understand. And it doesn't even matter if you DO understand, because the footprints cannot easily be shampooed out, even if you know they're there and you know you need to clean them up. So that makes it hard to do simple things like get into someone's car, or their house.
I want to explain all of that to him. But we haven't been able to talk. And I don't know if he can read well enough to understand what I write. I'm not making fun of him. I seriously have started to doubt whether he is able to read. I know he can read a little bit, but if it's a long, complicated sentence, he might not understand all the logic of it. He's not dumb, but he just might have trouble reading.
Again, the voices in my head are NOT the greatest obstacle between me and other people. You might think that they are. That seems like the craziest and the weirdest thing. But the drug residues affect all of my behavior, the things I buy, where I can walk, how I dress, where I can step while wearing shoes, who I can touch and when. The drugs give me extreme mood swings that change drastically, so that I'll be very friendly and approachable for a few weeks, and then I'll be withdrawn and quiet for a few weeks.
I'll be able to touch him again, probably, until I can get new clothes. And he won't understand why I suddenly become scared to touch him again. He really can see that I'm in a different mood. He talks differently to me when I'm on the drugs. He's explicitly sexual and much more trusting and friendly. It's visible on me because I tend to have a 'permagrin,' even if it's only a mild one, with the corners of my eyes wrinkled up. I also make a lot more eye contact, and my whole body expresses a better mood. But I don't want to be on drugs all the time. I want to clean it up.
Accept all of who I am, on drugs and off drugs, every 'compartment' of my life, the online me and the real world me. And even if you don't agree with me, accept that I feel that I'm the victim of a terrible crime, a terrible constant attack, that suppresses my true self and makes me unable to think, feel, or function normally, the way my true self would - even if you don't agree with my explanation for that feeling. Accept all of me.
Nathaniel Branden writes about self-acceptance, and also, acceptance of others, and of reality in general. Accepting doesn't mean you necessarily like or approve of something. It just means that you face reality, and accept that something is true whether you like it or not. You can accept the reality of things about yourself without liking those things. You can accept good and bad things.
My life is compartmentalized - it's divided into pieces, separate compartments, that don't connect with each other. I have a blog here, but in the real world, I can't imagine that Curtis would ever read my blog, and in fact, I'm not sure if he feels comfortable enough with reading to spend this much time reading my very long blog entries. So the blog world is separate from the real world. Everything I've written here has to be re-told if I need to talk about it in the real world, because I assume he doesn't know anything at all.
I am on drugs. I'm having a skin reaction to St. John's Wort and ephedra. It's gotten on my uniforms. The symptoms are unmistakable. Everyone can tell that I'm more alert and friendly. Everyone is talking to me. Curtis himself approaches me and calls me nicknames when I'm on drugs, but when I'm off drugs, he avoids me a lot more.
This is frustrating. I want to get new clothes and not have a drug reaction all the time. But when I clean it off, I won't be friendly anymore. I won't have the courage to touch Curtis, no matter how much I want to, no matter what the circumstances. Touching him is a temporary thing. And I want so badly to explain that to him. I want him to know that I'm having a drug-induced mood swing, but it's temporary, and soon, I won't have the courage to touch him, but I'll still want to, very badly, every day, no matter what mood I'm in. I want us to trust each other enough to do that, no matter what moods we're in. I tried to explain it to him, in notes, text messages, and in the blog, which I gave him the URL to. But I don't think he understands. In order to touch him on drug-free days, I have to feel confident and know that I have permission to touch him. I've never been given explicit permission.
I want him to accept all of who I am. I write a blog. So he would have to accept that I am a blog writer. And I also have drug-induced mood swings. I want him to accept me when I'm on drugs, and also when I'm off drugs. I want us to still be friends and able to touch each other when I'm off drugs and I'm not friendly anymore.
The drug residues are the greatest obstacle between me and other people. I can hide the fact that I hear voices. The voices don't interfere much with my life, unless I'm reacting to drug residues. Then they control me and make me do strange things. I have to explain those weird things to people, and it's hard to explain. I can't say, 'I was trying to accomplish this purpose,' because actually, I am obeying a forced urge, and accomplishing someone else's purpose, not my own.
The drug residues make me do strange things. I don't want people to get contaminated by touching me. In fact, I think I contaminated the aprons at McDonald's, because another girl who works there said that she went home last night and absolutely could not sleep, no matter what, for no reason. She wears the aprons too - there are only a couple of aprons, and we share them, and they don't always get washed - so she would have worn an ephedra-contaminated apron. Ephedra has given me severe insomnia several times recently, very badly, and I had to go shop at Wal-Mart to buy myself new bedding materials (I have a foam pad covered in vinyl, and I also have paper to put over it if it gets contaminated). So I feel anxious about letting someone touch me when I'm wearing drug-covered clothing. If I had done what I wanted to do, the other day, when Curtis was magnetically pulling me towards him, I would have been in his arms, hugging him. But he would have gone home with a drug mixture on HIS clothing, and he wouldn't understand why suddenly his insomnia was so severe, or why he was having strange mood swings.
And I have to do other strange things, too. I can't wear my shoes into someone else's house, or car, because they are contaminated on the bottom from the floor of my car. So before I walk in, I take off my shoes. It would be terrible to leave drug residue footprints on the carpet of someone who doesn't understand. And it doesn't even matter if you DO understand, because the footprints cannot easily be shampooed out, even if you know they're there and you know you need to clean them up. So that makes it hard to do simple things like get into someone's car, or their house.
I want to explain all of that to him. But we haven't been able to talk. And I don't know if he can read well enough to understand what I write. I'm not making fun of him. I seriously have started to doubt whether he is able to read. I know he can read a little bit, but if it's a long, complicated sentence, he might not understand all the logic of it. He's not dumb, but he just might have trouble reading.
Again, the voices in my head are NOT the greatest obstacle between me and other people. You might think that they are. That seems like the craziest and the weirdest thing. But the drug residues affect all of my behavior, the things I buy, where I can walk, how I dress, where I can step while wearing shoes, who I can touch and when. The drugs give me extreme mood swings that change drastically, so that I'll be very friendly and approachable for a few weeks, and then I'll be withdrawn and quiet for a few weeks.
I'll be able to touch him again, probably, until I can get new clothes. And he won't understand why I suddenly become scared to touch him again. He really can see that I'm in a different mood. He talks differently to me when I'm on the drugs. He's explicitly sexual and much more trusting and friendly. It's visible on me because I tend to have a 'permagrin,' even if it's only a mild one, with the corners of my eyes wrinkled up. I also make a lot more eye contact, and my whole body expresses a better mood. But I don't want to be on drugs all the time. I want to clean it up.
Accept all of who I am, on drugs and off drugs, every 'compartment' of my life, the online me and the real world me. And even if you don't agree with me, accept that I feel that I'm the victim of a terrible crime, a terrible constant attack, that suppresses my true self and makes me unable to think, feel, or function normally, the way my true self would - even if you don't agree with my explanation for that feeling. Accept all of me.
Friday, June 25, 2010
I laughed again
12:03 PM 6/25/10
The obsessive blogging has changed a bit. It doesn't seem as bad this week. That might be because I was doing other computer projects instead. One thing I did was get some photos transferred to this computer. Everything I did took a really long time. No matter how simple it should have been, it took forever. Slow-running computers, dialup, slow data transfer from camera to laptop, that kind of thing. My PC is fast-running, even though it's full of malware, but the laptop is the slowest thing I've ever used, and it's never touched the internet except to get security updates that the people gave me at the store when I bought it. So I had to restart the laptop several times because the photo software crashed it, and a restart takes like five minutes each time.
My work schedule is settling in: McD has it figured out, but Weis hasn't quite got it yet. They keep scheduling me for hours when I'm not available, but several times, I've gone in and worked those hours anyway because we were lucky enough not to have a conflict with McD's hours. McD has me scheduled for all four days that I'm supposed to work, but Weis is just able to give me a day here and there, so I'm getting days off when I don't want them. I'm expecting that to change soon. One of the guys working in food service seems to be temporary. He's school age and he will be going to college or something in a few months. The other lady, I don't know. She might or might not stay. Those are both the new people who've been hired who are competing for the hours. When either of them leave, I will probably get more hours.
Well, yesterday something happened with Curtis, and he is the focus of my obsessive blogging for now. I was at the soup bar getting soup for lunch, and he came up to me directly, in a trusting, friendly way - he always surprises me - I still keep thinking that the email I got is the truth. So I was thinking that day, before coming in to work, how am I supposed to act with him? Am I supposed to leave him alone and avoid him? That would be painful, and it would feel like a loss, but if I had to, I would. But he wasn't acting like he wanted me to leave him alone - the other day, he came up to me several times and was talking and asking for my help and that kind of thing, not avoiding me.
So he came up to me yesterday, stood very close next to me, and called me a string of nicknames that included the f-word. And this wasn't done in a mean way, it was done in a talking dirty sort of way. I wasn't expecting this at all. He stood close enough to me that I felt this psychic, magnetic urge to hit him, like he was pulling my arm, and all of me, towards him, and I almost did it automatically, but somehow, I didn't. (The voices said just now, 'He was using magic.') Instead, I did the worst possible thing. I burst out laughing. Then it almost changed into crying. I covered my mouth with my hand. He said, 'Fine, f- you and f- the horse you rode in on.' Then I said, a few seconds later, 'I wasn't expecting that,' (the nicknames/dirty talk). He then changed the subject and talked about getting ready to buy a used car, and then another lady came up and got into the conversation, and she seems to like him too (but all the women seem to). Don't ask what he is going to do with a used car when he is losing his license for nine months - I didn't ask. Maybe it will just, um, sit there waiting for when he's ready to use it, nine months from now. I'm guessing that's it. Because I don't want to see any MORE citations or conflicts with the law, yet I fear that they are going to happen.
I hurt him when I laughed at him, and I didn't mean to. He actually got me very excited, but for a variety of reasons, I block it when I get excited. It's too strong of a feeling. I wasn't trusting him enough. I'm still thinking 'look, ur 35 okay, it creeps me out, I want to stay single for like a year or 2.' We can't talk long enough, and openly enough, to find out what he wants to do. Anyway, after my lunch, I went up to him immediately and told him, 'When I laugh, I'm not laughing at you.' He was confused. He said, 'What? You're laughing at me?' (I didn't mean right that very moment, I meant when he talked to me a while before. That made me want to laugh again, but I didn't.) 'No, I'm NOT laughing at you,' I said, and I got flustered too and tried to explain that I meant, 'a while ago,' but I couldn't, and I tried to say I was apologizing, but I couldn't. He understood it well enough, though. He said, 'It's okay to laugh at me.' But I didn't think so.
But that incident made me feel that I could not leave without touching him, and it had been quite a while since I have touched him. I'm not sure when the last time was. We have briefly touched fingers while handing over money during transactions, that kind of thing, and I have slightly brushed against him while walking around him, but I haven't done direct, deliberate touch with my hands for a while. I felt that I absolutely had to, and I could not leave without doing it. It was awful that I laughed, and I should have touched him then, when the psychic-magnetic pull was making me do it.
So when it was time for me to leave, I couldn't catch him alone. He was with a co-worker, The Invisible Guy. We have all known an Invisible Guy, I'm sure. This guy has worked here since I started, in 2007, I think, but I still don't know his name, I just recognize his face. He doesn't make much eye contact and doesn't say much to anyone, at least, not while I've been watching. I recently heard him speak a short sentence, and my reaction was, 'You can talk???' (I didn't say that out loud.) He keeps his hair shaved short all the time, and it never changes. And I'm not saying this to be cruel, but, he isn't very good-looking, but at the same time, there are other people on earth who are much uglier - he's not really ugly. He's just not noticeable. I'm sure he has a family, and friends, and with them, he's visible, and he talks, and he's fun to be around, and he has a wild side, because the quiet invisible people usually do have a wild side when you get to know them. He seems to be nice, and pleasant.
He doesn't give off the angry vibes that Adam Weaver gave off. I was scared of Adam Weaver before he died. I used to feel that he was going to go postal, and it turns out that he actually was on an anti-rage medication. Adam was quiet too, and avoided eye contact with me. But he seemed like he was being quiet because he wanted to kill you. But this other guy is different, he's quiet and mellow.
(It's weird how I've reacted to Adam's death. Adam Weaver died of complications from cancer. He got mouth cancer, and he stopped going to work, and for a while, I didn't notice he was gone, but then I thought, I haven't seen Adam Weaver in a while. And suddenly people were telling me he had cancer. He was in his early thirties. So he had surgery on his mouth and he was being fed through a tube. They say that he died because the cancer moved into his brain, but I'm sure it's more complicated than that. But afterwards, I would see someone in the crowd of people, someone who looked like Adam, and I would think Adam was still alive, because to me, he only disappeared for a while without an explanation. I didn't see him sick, and I didn't see him dying. My brain and my body remembered that he was just gone for a little while, and he was going to come back. And I didn't even like him. I was scared of him. But many times, I thought I saw him in the crowd, and I couldn't believe he was dead. I kept seeing the little photocopied posters they made with him walking on the beach and smiling, and I thought, I never saw Adam smile, I didn't know he could. Other people told me that actually, when you got to know him, he was a sweet guy, and fun to be around. I think I liked him better after death than I did while he was alive. It was one of those things.)
So, yesterday, Curtis and the Invisible Guy were together when I had to leave. I usually can't approach him when there are people around him. However, I was able to do it, because I don't know the Invisible Guy, and I felt like maybe, he wouldn't care. He seemed like a non-threat.
If there were managers around, I wouldn't have been able to do it, and I have trouble talking to him if Dave is around, too - Dave is the guy who took over many of the evening shifts when Curtis went to day shift, and I've always felt like, 'YOU'RE the SUBSTITUTE. I refuse to like you.' Dave is actually nice, but I'm refusing to bond with him because he replaced Curtis, and also, because I feel like Curtis gets first priority. I don't want to go bonding with one person after another, and have lots of close relationships with lots of guys, in the same location, all at once. Dave has stayed long enough that I could probably have a conversation with him once in a while - most people only work here a few weeks and you don't ever get to know them. But I haven't tried talking to him. He knows that I've been talking to Curtis, and he knows that I behave strangely with him, and I get emotional, and I sometimes talk to him with a tone of 'ownership.' So he knows that something is going on. I feel humiliated if I have to talk to Curtis in front of Dave - he knows too much, and he's seen me getting upset.
But the Invisible Guy probably wouldn't say anything to me, or look me in the eye, or comment to me. And again, I felt that this was very important to do, and I wasn't sure when I'd see him again - it could be a whole week before I saw him. And he was trusting and open, coming up to me and standing next to me and trying to make me touch him, but I laughed, and it had to be fixed. So I went up to him, sneaked around to the other side that was away from the Invisible Guy (the voices have told me his name might be Bradley, but I don't think that's right), and then I sort of scratched his shoulder and patted him. It was so light, it probably tickled, and I know how that feels - it's usually annoying when someone taps you so lightly that you can barely feel it. I said, 'See ya. I gotta go.' I then walked away, and I looked back at him. He was standing there, looking frozen. He said something, but I was too far away and too deaf to hear it. I said, 'What?' and I think he said, 'Bye.'
I felt that I had to do it. I could not leave without doing something to fix it.
So that is where we left off. I won't see him today, I'm off at Weis. I don't think I'll see him tomorrow - I think he works earlier in the day than I do.
That's the guy-obsession blog for today.
The obsessive blogging has changed a bit. It doesn't seem as bad this week. That might be because I was doing other computer projects instead. One thing I did was get some photos transferred to this computer. Everything I did took a really long time. No matter how simple it should have been, it took forever. Slow-running computers, dialup, slow data transfer from camera to laptop, that kind of thing. My PC is fast-running, even though it's full of malware, but the laptop is the slowest thing I've ever used, and it's never touched the internet except to get security updates that the people gave me at the store when I bought it. So I had to restart the laptop several times because the photo software crashed it, and a restart takes like five minutes each time.
My work schedule is settling in: McD has it figured out, but Weis hasn't quite got it yet. They keep scheduling me for hours when I'm not available, but several times, I've gone in and worked those hours anyway because we were lucky enough not to have a conflict with McD's hours. McD has me scheduled for all four days that I'm supposed to work, but Weis is just able to give me a day here and there, so I'm getting days off when I don't want them. I'm expecting that to change soon. One of the guys working in food service seems to be temporary. He's school age and he will be going to college or something in a few months. The other lady, I don't know. She might or might not stay. Those are both the new people who've been hired who are competing for the hours. When either of them leave, I will probably get more hours.
Well, yesterday something happened with Curtis, and he is the focus of my obsessive blogging for now. I was at the soup bar getting soup for lunch, and he came up to me directly, in a trusting, friendly way - he always surprises me - I still keep thinking that the email I got is the truth. So I was thinking that day, before coming in to work, how am I supposed to act with him? Am I supposed to leave him alone and avoid him? That would be painful, and it would feel like a loss, but if I had to, I would. But he wasn't acting like he wanted me to leave him alone - the other day, he came up to me several times and was talking and asking for my help and that kind of thing, not avoiding me.
So he came up to me yesterday, stood very close next to me, and called me a string of nicknames that included the f-word. And this wasn't done in a mean way, it was done in a talking dirty sort of way. I wasn't expecting this at all. He stood close enough to me that I felt this psychic, magnetic urge to hit him, like he was pulling my arm, and all of me, towards him, and I almost did it automatically, but somehow, I didn't. (The voices said just now, 'He was using magic.') Instead, I did the worst possible thing. I burst out laughing. Then it almost changed into crying. I covered my mouth with my hand. He said, 'Fine, f- you and f- the horse you rode in on.' Then I said, a few seconds later, 'I wasn't expecting that,' (the nicknames/dirty talk). He then changed the subject and talked about getting ready to buy a used car, and then another lady came up and got into the conversation, and she seems to like him too (but all the women seem to). Don't ask what he is going to do with a used car when he is losing his license for nine months - I didn't ask. Maybe it will just, um, sit there waiting for when he's ready to use it, nine months from now. I'm guessing that's it. Because I don't want to see any MORE citations or conflicts with the law, yet I fear that they are going to happen.
I hurt him when I laughed at him, and I didn't mean to. He actually got me very excited, but for a variety of reasons, I block it when I get excited. It's too strong of a feeling. I wasn't trusting him enough. I'm still thinking 'look, ur 35 okay, it creeps me out, I want to stay single for like a year or 2.' We can't talk long enough, and openly enough, to find out what he wants to do. Anyway, after my lunch, I went up to him immediately and told him, 'When I laugh, I'm not laughing at you.' He was confused. He said, 'What? You're laughing at me?' (I didn't mean right that very moment, I meant when he talked to me a while before. That made me want to laugh again, but I didn't.) 'No, I'm NOT laughing at you,' I said, and I got flustered too and tried to explain that I meant, 'a while ago,' but I couldn't, and I tried to say I was apologizing, but I couldn't. He understood it well enough, though. He said, 'It's okay to laugh at me.' But I didn't think so.
But that incident made me feel that I could not leave without touching him, and it had been quite a while since I have touched him. I'm not sure when the last time was. We have briefly touched fingers while handing over money during transactions, that kind of thing, and I have slightly brushed against him while walking around him, but I haven't done direct, deliberate touch with my hands for a while. I felt that I absolutely had to, and I could not leave without doing it. It was awful that I laughed, and I should have touched him then, when the psychic-magnetic pull was making me do it.
So when it was time for me to leave, I couldn't catch him alone. He was with a co-worker, The Invisible Guy. We have all known an Invisible Guy, I'm sure. This guy has worked here since I started, in 2007, I think, but I still don't know his name, I just recognize his face. He doesn't make much eye contact and doesn't say much to anyone, at least, not while I've been watching. I recently heard him speak a short sentence, and my reaction was, 'You can talk???' (I didn't say that out loud.) He keeps his hair shaved short all the time, and it never changes. And I'm not saying this to be cruel, but, he isn't very good-looking, but at the same time, there are other people on earth who are much uglier - he's not really ugly. He's just not noticeable. I'm sure he has a family, and friends, and with them, he's visible, and he talks, and he's fun to be around, and he has a wild side, because the quiet invisible people usually do have a wild side when you get to know them. He seems to be nice, and pleasant.
He doesn't give off the angry vibes that Adam Weaver gave off. I was scared of Adam Weaver before he died. I used to feel that he was going to go postal, and it turns out that he actually was on an anti-rage medication. Adam was quiet too, and avoided eye contact with me. But he seemed like he was being quiet because he wanted to kill you. But this other guy is different, he's quiet and mellow.
(It's weird how I've reacted to Adam's death. Adam Weaver died of complications from cancer. He got mouth cancer, and he stopped going to work, and for a while, I didn't notice he was gone, but then I thought, I haven't seen Adam Weaver in a while. And suddenly people were telling me he had cancer. He was in his early thirties. So he had surgery on his mouth and he was being fed through a tube. They say that he died because the cancer moved into his brain, but I'm sure it's more complicated than that. But afterwards, I would see someone in the crowd of people, someone who looked like Adam, and I would think Adam was still alive, because to me, he only disappeared for a while without an explanation. I didn't see him sick, and I didn't see him dying. My brain and my body remembered that he was just gone for a little while, and he was going to come back. And I didn't even like him. I was scared of him. But many times, I thought I saw him in the crowd, and I couldn't believe he was dead. I kept seeing the little photocopied posters they made with him walking on the beach and smiling, and I thought, I never saw Adam smile, I didn't know he could. Other people told me that actually, when you got to know him, he was a sweet guy, and fun to be around. I think I liked him better after death than I did while he was alive. It was one of those things.)
So, yesterday, Curtis and the Invisible Guy were together when I had to leave. I usually can't approach him when there are people around him. However, I was able to do it, because I don't know the Invisible Guy, and I felt like maybe, he wouldn't care. He seemed like a non-threat.
If there were managers around, I wouldn't have been able to do it, and I have trouble talking to him if Dave is around, too - Dave is the guy who took over many of the evening shifts when Curtis went to day shift, and I've always felt like, 'YOU'RE the SUBSTITUTE. I refuse to like you.' Dave is actually nice, but I'm refusing to bond with him because he replaced Curtis, and also, because I feel like Curtis gets first priority. I don't want to go bonding with one person after another, and have lots of close relationships with lots of guys, in the same location, all at once. Dave has stayed long enough that I could probably have a conversation with him once in a while - most people only work here a few weeks and you don't ever get to know them. But I haven't tried talking to him. He knows that I've been talking to Curtis, and he knows that I behave strangely with him, and I get emotional, and I sometimes talk to him with a tone of 'ownership.' So he knows that something is going on. I feel humiliated if I have to talk to Curtis in front of Dave - he knows too much, and he's seen me getting upset.
But the Invisible Guy probably wouldn't say anything to me, or look me in the eye, or comment to me. And again, I felt that this was very important to do, and I wasn't sure when I'd see him again - it could be a whole week before I saw him. And he was trusting and open, coming up to me and standing next to me and trying to make me touch him, but I laughed, and it had to be fixed. So I went up to him, sneaked around to the other side that was away from the Invisible Guy (the voices have told me his name might be Bradley, but I don't think that's right), and then I sort of scratched his shoulder and patted him. It was so light, it probably tickled, and I know how that feels - it's usually annoying when someone taps you so lightly that you can barely feel it. I said, 'See ya. I gotta go.' I then walked away, and I looked back at him. He was standing there, looking frozen. He said something, but I was too far away and too deaf to hear it. I said, 'What?' and I think he said, 'Bye.'
I felt that I had to do it. I could not leave without doing something to fix it.
So that is where we left off. I won't see him today, I'm off at Weis. I don't think I'll see him tomorrow - I think he works earlier in the day than I do.
That's the guy-obsession blog for today.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
the current situation
11:59 AM 6/22/10
Well, here is the current situation.
He spoke to me Sunday. We had a few hours working together. He told me that he will be losing his driver's license for three months, and then for six more months - there are two separate crimes. One crime was underage possession of alcohol, the other was driving under the influence. He says he will walk to work, but I am hoping his parents will take him, or maybe he can get the manager to arrange his hours to fit around a bus schedule. It's possible to walk that far, but it's hard to do it, and he will show up late for work a lot. I've seen it happen before to someone else who tried to walk a long distance to McD, and was always showing up late because of it. He got fired for being late, but the manager who fired him was a, well, there's no nice way to say it. She wasn't very popular, and she was just being mean. That sums it up. I just don't want Curtis to get fired for being late, that's all.
I told him that I would've wanted to know what was going on the past week, but I couldn't ask, because I couldn't get emails through, and then I got de-friended. He said that he had been drunk every night this week. He vaguely made it sound as though, maybe, he had de-friended me, and written the unkind email, while drunk. He didn't openly admit to anything, he just vaguely suggested that anything could have happened while he was drunk. And still, even now, I won't know whether he really wrote it himself, whether it expresses a true feeling, whether they were puppet words that he was forced to say, or whether the computer hackers wrote it and he had nothing to do with it at all.
This doesn't explain much. It doesn't explain why all the OTHER text messages were never answered, and it doesn't explain why he never called me back when I left a phone message months ago, and it doesn't explain why he didn't answer the direct questions that I asked him in the written notes. It only MIGHT POSSIBLY explain one small incident, one time.
So on Sunday he did things to get me to be friends with him again, talking to me often, since nobody else was there. I walked in on everybody having a bad day. The lady up at the front of the deli started talking to me the minute I walked in, and told me she was covering for somebody else who wasn't showing up, and she didn't want to be there. It got so busy that she needed help closing the deli because she was running behind, so I helped her a little bit, and I also visited Curtis a couple times, and in reality, it was only a couple minutes of talking when I first came in, and then, I went to the cooler later because a big stack of boxes fell over and spilled blueberries on the floor, and when I saw it, I laughed, and he said it wasn't funny (and the voices attacked me for the rest of the afternoon because I laughed, but it wasn't directed at him, it was because of the weirdness of a huge pile of blueberries all over the floor - it wasn't like, ha ha, you klutz, you knocked stuff over, or ha ha, you get to clean that up - it wasn't like that. It was, ha ha, oh my gosh, that's a huge pile of blueberries on the floor where they don't belong, I've never seen anything like that.). I think I'd better end that sentence - apparently, my sentences aren't coherent this morning.
I accidentally forgot to write Louis a note telling him that I didn't get to do the strombolis. I knew I would never even get a chance to begin the strombolis, because I came in at 5:00, and it was one random thing after another, and even on a perfect day, 5:00 is too late to try starting strombolis, when I have chronic fatigue, and I'm being zapped, and I can't jump efficiently from one task to another.
The voices woke me up the next morning with fake feelings of fear and shame over having forgotten to tell Louis about that. In the real world, I would have been totally clueless - I would've forgotten it forever, and that would've been the end of it. They wanted me to call him on the phone and apologize.
They also urge me to do unnatural things like tell my dad Happy Father's Day, and I might actually do that - in the real world, people like me will have a friend, or a spouse, who urges them to do those things, but it is *NOT* acceptable to have a murderer pushing buttons on a machine to force you to get urges to do trivial things like that - that's what real-world friends are for. So, I didn't call Louis to apologize about the strombolis and apologize that I forgot to write him a note.
I still don't know how well Curtis is able to read my handwritten notes, but 'they' still keep urging me to write notes to him anyway. In fact, they won't leave me alone about it. They keep pushing, and pushing, and pushing for me to write him another note. In the past, he has responded to notes that I've written, but he only responded through his behavior. I've written him a note that said I loved him, and he responded by being friendly and secure and calling me his nickname, and showing more trust. He's able to read them enough to get the general idea. But they're filled with unnecessary crap, because the voices have to insert a million tons of garbage into them, instead of letting them be direct and straightforward.
I was getting attacked again this morning about sexual fetishes. It started when somebody was talking to me about all my on-hold, or abandoned, projects. We were looking at all the things the projects have in common, to see the different categories of projects, to look at the different levels of purposes they were trying to achieve. There are high-level and low-level purposes. I need to do chores every day, like eating, and cleaning things, and those will always be just mundane chores to maintain my life. There might be better ways of doing them, but in the end, I will still need to do something mundane like prepare a meal somehow. Then there are projects that have higher level purposes, like, saving up enough money that I will be able to use it in my old age, when I can no longer work. There are projects like, 'increase my income.' That kind of thing.
So, we were going over all these projects, and they noticed that I had a lot of old projects from the past, where I wanted to learn something or try something, and they were random things. I wanted to go to a certain place just to see it, or try some random activity just to try it, or learn something just to learn it. They wondered what all that was for, and what all the random things had in common. I said that I used to have a manic feeling that I had to learn, and do, everything in the world that there was to do, and not miss any opportunities. I didn't like choosing one path, and neglecting another path.
This is where it went wrong. Somebody, one of the murderers, started to interpret this in a sexual way as 'gluttony,' like I had to eat the whole world. You can laugh, and it might sound funny, but this is the same, stupid, pathetic bullshit that they do to me all the time, over and over again, misinterpreting non-sexual things as being a sexual symbol, and then forcing me to see disgusting or horrifying sexual images, which is what they then did. They showed me a disgusting, terrifying image of a person who was trapped inside a small thing that looked like a pipe, full of water, and only their belly was sticking up out of it, but their face and the rest of their body was under water, and they were trapped there by someone else who forced them to be there, drowning and panicking. This is the typical image that they show me, pictures of people being suffocated or drowning and panicking.
Then they started arguing, and I know this is fake bullshit, but they started 'pretending not to understand,' when in reality, they do understand, there's a big difference between anything that I fantasize about, versus what they themselves are doing. When I fantasize about something, it stays in my head and is never acted out in the real world, and the intentions behind it are drastically different. What THEY are doing is pushing buttons on a machine to force innocent people to see disgusting and horrifying images without wanting to see them. Then they started telling me that I was doing the same thing by walking down the street wearing shorts when I don't shave my legs. It's not the same thing at all. There is a big difference between unshaven legs (a natural thing that everybody has, it's harmless, we evolved that way, the human brain doesn't get any NATURAL instinctive fear triggers from it, and if any fear is triggered, it's social anxiety, nothing more) versus the image of a person trapped inside something and drowning and dying, being forced into my head while I am lying in bed in my own house, from a person whose company I do not want. So they pretended not to know that there was any difference between these things, because they wanted to upset me enough that I would threaten to kill them. They always want to upset me enough to trigger death threats.
There is the 'reward' behavior that they do. I want it be 'Life is a journey, not a destination' - I want to enjoy the process of what I do, every moment, as I do it. THEY, on the other hand, say 'Life is a destination, not a journey.' Life is about doing something you hate, in order to get artificial 'rewards' from an external authority figure. I finally fixed my car, and the murderers 'rewarded' me by allowing me (or I should say, forcing me) to think about my sexual fetish, one time, for one day. So I'm supposed to do 'good things' and be 'obedient' in order to 'get a reward' later. That is how they view the world. They don't understand what it means to enjoy every moment of your life, in all that you do, because you aren't being constantly zapped by some kind of energy attack that makes you unable to focus your mind. And no matter how many times, no matter how many ways, I explain it to them, they don't understand that the 'reward and punish' belief system is foul and evil and it destroys human life.
So this morning they were making it seem like they had to go in people's heads and watch their sexual fantasies and look for any sexual deviants because all unusual fantasies meant that you were an evil serial killer who was really going to act on those fantasies, and that's what gave them the right to destroy my life. And they have to suppress the fantasies, in order to achieve no particular goal at all - it doesn't stop people from doing evil things, because those people weren't going to do anything evil anyway. It just ruins people's lives.
Back to Curtis. They're attacking me about him, because I'm supposed to verify that he didn't really say, or didn't really mean, the thing that the email said. But I don't even want to do that. I can't get enough time to talk to him. And they won't leave me alone about it. It made me distrusting towards him and reluctant to be friendly, and I certainly don't want to give notes anymore.
They did the same thing to a guy named Chris who used to work here at the same time that they were trying to force me to get together with Martin. Chris and I were friendly to each other. One day, he complimented me about my long hair, when we were alone together. I thanked him and I was talking about it a little bit with him. The murderers reacted as though he and I were going to start having sex that very instant, at work. They forced me to say something to destroy trust and 'put him down.' I looked at him, and felt like I was searching for something to say, and all of a sudden I said, 'What is on your HAT?' in a disdainful tone of voice. And that was NOT ME. I could clearly see that what was on his hat was a bunch of stickers. They had been fooling around and they put stickers on his hat, for fun. I've done that kind of thing myself, just goofing around. So I didn't need to ask what was on his hat, or express disdain. They were stickers that we have from the workplace, I forget what, just some of the stickers we use in the deli, like stickers that say 'PAID' and that kind of thing.
So he suddenly became flustered and ashamed, and he felt ridiculous, and he said that they had just been goofing around and put them there, which I already knew, and I would never, ever have said that in the real world. After that, he was never the same again. When he spoke to me, we had been equals. Now, he was inferior. He would look at me in a hesitant, apologetic way, and be a little timid when he said hello. The feeling I had, the feeling I compared it to, was a friendly, trusting puppy dog, who would always go up to you and get petted, and one day, you kicked it for no reason, and it was in the dog's nature to go up and be friendly to you again afterwards, but never as trusting as before, and it would go up timidly to be petted again, and you'd pet it, but it would always be a little bit afraid. I've seen this happen with dogs. And I can't remember when I saw it, because I don't go around randomly kicking dogs to be mean. It's more of a general idea, from years of experience with dogs, my own and other people's dogs and stray dogs.
I couldn't explain to Chris, 'I am the victim of a crime. Murderers put words into my mouth, using electronic devices, and force me to say things. I did not say that myself.' And even if I told him that, he might not understand it anyway. His body, his brain, remembers seeing me, my face, my voice, saying those words. It's recorded that way in his brain and his body.
I feel the same way now with Curtis. I don't know whether he really said it, or really meant it, or not. And now, they have me doubting whether he's able to read my handwritten notes.
I can't get Curtis to say this: 'I was drunk every day this week, so I don't know what I did. I never found the email you were talking about. I don't even know what it said. I don't know whether I deleted it or whether I even wrote it. And the thing that it said, was false.' I can't get him to say that, because we would need a lot of time to talk.
********
A long time ago, I used to spend all day writing in my journal. I remember that. This is what I'm doing now. It's my default activity. The quality of the writing is not that great. I write best when I write with a purpose and an audience. I'm capable of good writing.
One small nice thing: the seeds that I planted are sprouting. I enjoy watching them grow up. There's a variety of herbs and ordinary garden plants out there. I think I have broccoli in there too. I'd rather have a cow that I could milk every day, and free-roaming hens laying eggs that I could eat every day, but I have a tiny green-plants garden instead.
Well, here is the current situation.
He spoke to me Sunday. We had a few hours working together. He told me that he will be losing his driver's license for three months, and then for six more months - there are two separate crimes. One crime was underage possession of alcohol, the other was driving under the influence. He says he will walk to work, but I am hoping his parents will take him, or maybe he can get the manager to arrange his hours to fit around a bus schedule. It's possible to walk that far, but it's hard to do it, and he will show up late for work a lot. I've seen it happen before to someone else who tried to walk a long distance to McD, and was always showing up late because of it. He got fired for being late, but the manager who fired him was a, well, there's no nice way to say it. She wasn't very popular, and she was just being mean. That sums it up. I just don't want Curtis to get fired for being late, that's all.
I told him that I would've wanted to know what was going on the past week, but I couldn't ask, because I couldn't get emails through, and then I got de-friended. He said that he had been drunk every night this week. He vaguely made it sound as though, maybe, he had de-friended me, and written the unkind email, while drunk. He didn't openly admit to anything, he just vaguely suggested that anything could have happened while he was drunk. And still, even now, I won't know whether he really wrote it himself, whether it expresses a true feeling, whether they were puppet words that he was forced to say, or whether the computer hackers wrote it and he had nothing to do with it at all.
This doesn't explain much. It doesn't explain why all the OTHER text messages were never answered, and it doesn't explain why he never called me back when I left a phone message months ago, and it doesn't explain why he didn't answer the direct questions that I asked him in the written notes. It only MIGHT POSSIBLY explain one small incident, one time.
So on Sunday he did things to get me to be friends with him again, talking to me often, since nobody else was there. I walked in on everybody having a bad day. The lady up at the front of the deli started talking to me the minute I walked in, and told me she was covering for somebody else who wasn't showing up, and she didn't want to be there. It got so busy that she needed help closing the deli because she was running behind, so I helped her a little bit, and I also visited Curtis a couple times, and in reality, it was only a couple minutes of talking when I first came in, and then, I went to the cooler later because a big stack of boxes fell over and spilled blueberries on the floor, and when I saw it, I laughed, and he said it wasn't funny (and the voices attacked me for the rest of the afternoon because I laughed, but it wasn't directed at him, it was because of the weirdness of a huge pile of blueberries all over the floor - it wasn't like, ha ha, you klutz, you knocked stuff over, or ha ha, you get to clean that up - it wasn't like that. It was, ha ha, oh my gosh, that's a huge pile of blueberries on the floor where they don't belong, I've never seen anything like that.). I think I'd better end that sentence - apparently, my sentences aren't coherent this morning.
I accidentally forgot to write Louis a note telling him that I didn't get to do the strombolis. I knew I would never even get a chance to begin the strombolis, because I came in at 5:00, and it was one random thing after another, and even on a perfect day, 5:00 is too late to try starting strombolis, when I have chronic fatigue, and I'm being zapped, and I can't jump efficiently from one task to another.
The voices woke me up the next morning with fake feelings of fear and shame over having forgotten to tell Louis about that. In the real world, I would have been totally clueless - I would've forgotten it forever, and that would've been the end of it. They wanted me to call him on the phone and apologize.
They also urge me to do unnatural things like tell my dad Happy Father's Day, and I might actually do that - in the real world, people like me will have a friend, or a spouse, who urges them to do those things, but it is *NOT* acceptable to have a murderer pushing buttons on a machine to force you to get urges to do trivial things like that - that's what real-world friends are for. So, I didn't call Louis to apologize about the strombolis and apologize that I forgot to write him a note.
I still don't know how well Curtis is able to read my handwritten notes, but 'they' still keep urging me to write notes to him anyway. In fact, they won't leave me alone about it. They keep pushing, and pushing, and pushing for me to write him another note. In the past, he has responded to notes that I've written, but he only responded through his behavior. I've written him a note that said I loved him, and he responded by being friendly and secure and calling me his nickname, and showing more trust. He's able to read them enough to get the general idea. But they're filled with unnecessary crap, because the voices have to insert a million tons of garbage into them, instead of letting them be direct and straightforward.
I was getting attacked again this morning about sexual fetishes. It started when somebody was talking to me about all my on-hold, or abandoned, projects. We were looking at all the things the projects have in common, to see the different categories of projects, to look at the different levels of purposes they were trying to achieve. There are high-level and low-level purposes. I need to do chores every day, like eating, and cleaning things, and those will always be just mundane chores to maintain my life. There might be better ways of doing them, but in the end, I will still need to do something mundane like prepare a meal somehow. Then there are projects that have higher level purposes, like, saving up enough money that I will be able to use it in my old age, when I can no longer work. There are projects like, 'increase my income.' That kind of thing.
So, we were going over all these projects, and they noticed that I had a lot of old projects from the past, where I wanted to learn something or try something, and they were random things. I wanted to go to a certain place just to see it, or try some random activity just to try it, or learn something just to learn it. They wondered what all that was for, and what all the random things had in common. I said that I used to have a manic feeling that I had to learn, and do, everything in the world that there was to do, and not miss any opportunities. I didn't like choosing one path, and neglecting another path.
This is where it went wrong. Somebody, one of the murderers, started to interpret this in a sexual way as 'gluttony,' like I had to eat the whole world. You can laugh, and it might sound funny, but this is the same, stupid, pathetic bullshit that they do to me all the time, over and over again, misinterpreting non-sexual things as being a sexual symbol, and then forcing me to see disgusting or horrifying sexual images, which is what they then did. They showed me a disgusting, terrifying image of a person who was trapped inside a small thing that looked like a pipe, full of water, and only their belly was sticking up out of it, but their face and the rest of their body was under water, and they were trapped there by someone else who forced them to be there, drowning and panicking. This is the typical image that they show me, pictures of people being suffocated or drowning and panicking.
Then they started arguing, and I know this is fake bullshit, but they started 'pretending not to understand,' when in reality, they do understand, there's a big difference between anything that I fantasize about, versus what they themselves are doing. When I fantasize about something, it stays in my head and is never acted out in the real world, and the intentions behind it are drastically different. What THEY are doing is pushing buttons on a machine to force innocent people to see disgusting and horrifying images without wanting to see them. Then they started telling me that I was doing the same thing by walking down the street wearing shorts when I don't shave my legs. It's not the same thing at all. There is a big difference between unshaven legs (a natural thing that everybody has, it's harmless, we evolved that way, the human brain doesn't get any NATURAL instinctive fear triggers from it, and if any fear is triggered, it's social anxiety, nothing more) versus the image of a person trapped inside something and drowning and dying, being forced into my head while I am lying in bed in my own house, from a person whose company I do not want. So they pretended not to know that there was any difference between these things, because they wanted to upset me enough that I would threaten to kill them. They always want to upset me enough to trigger death threats.
There is the 'reward' behavior that they do. I want it be 'Life is a journey, not a destination' - I want to enjoy the process of what I do, every moment, as I do it. THEY, on the other hand, say 'Life is a destination, not a journey.' Life is about doing something you hate, in order to get artificial 'rewards' from an external authority figure. I finally fixed my car, and the murderers 'rewarded' me by allowing me (or I should say, forcing me) to think about my sexual fetish, one time, for one day. So I'm supposed to do 'good things' and be 'obedient' in order to 'get a reward' later. That is how they view the world. They don't understand what it means to enjoy every moment of your life, in all that you do, because you aren't being constantly zapped by some kind of energy attack that makes you unable to focus your mind. And no matter how many times, no matter how many ways, I explain it to them, they don't understand that the 'reward and punish' belief system is foul and evil and it destroys human life.
So this morning they were making it seem like they had to go in people's heads and watch their sexual fantasies and look for any sexual deviants because all unusual fantasies meant that you were an evil serial killer who was really going to act on those fantasies, and that's what gave them the right to destroy my life. And they have to suppress the fantasies, in order to achieve no particular goal at all - it doesn't stop people from doing evil things, because those people weren't going to do anything evil anyway. It just ruins people's lives.
Back to Curtis. They're attacking me about him, because I'm supposed to verify that he didn't really say, or didn't really mean, the thing that the email said. But I don't even want to do that. I can't get enough time to talk to him. And they won't leave me alone about it. It made me distrusting towards him and reluctant to be friendly, and I certainly don't want to give notes anymore.
They did the same thing to a guy named Chris who used to work here at the same time that they were trying to force me to get together with Martin. Chris and I were friendly to each other. One day, he complimented me about my long hair, when we were alone together. I thanked him and I was talking about it a little bit with him. The murderers reacted as though he and I were going to start having sex that very instant, at work. They forced me to say something to destroy trust and 'put him down.' I looked at him, and felt like I was searching for something to say, and all of a sudden I said, 'What is on your HAT?' in a disdainful tone of voice. And that was NOT ME. I could clearly see that what was on his hat was a bunch of stickers. They had been fooling around and they put stickers on his hat, for fun. I've done that kind of thing myself, just goofing around. So I didn't need to ask what was on his hat, or express disdain. They were stickers that we have from the workplace, I forget what, just some of the stickers we use in the deli, like stickers that say 'PAID' and that kind of thing.
So he suddenly became flustered and ashamed, and he felt ridiculous, and he said that they had just been goofing around and put them there, which I already knew, and I would never, ever have said that in the real world. After that, he was never the same again. When he spoke to me, we had been equals. Now, he was inferior. He would look at me in a hesitant, apologetic way, and be a little timid when he said hello. The feeling I had, the feeling I compared it to, was a friendly, trusting puppy dog, who would always go up to you and get petted, and one day, you kicked it for no reason, and it was in the dog's nature to go up and be friendly to you again afterwards, but never as trusting as before, and it would go up timidly to be petted again, and you'd pet it, but it would always be a little bit afraid. I've seen this happen with dogs. And I can't remember when I saw it, because I don't go around randomly kicking dogs to be mean. It's more of a general idea, from years of experience with dogs, my own and other people's dogs and stray dogs.
I couldn't explain to Chris, 'I am the victim of a crime. Murderers put words into my mouth, using electronic devices, and force me to say things. I did not say that myself.' And even if I told him that, he might not understand it anyway. His body, his brain, remembers seeing me, my face, my voice, saying those words. It's recorded that way in his brain and his body.
I feel the same way now with Curtis. I don't know whether he really said it, or really meant it, or not. And now, they have me doubting whether he's able to read my handwritten notes.
I can't get Curtis to say this: 'I was drunk every day this week, so I don't know what I did. I never found the email you were talking about. I don't even know what it said. I don't know whether I deleted it or whether I even wrote it. And the thing that it said, was false.' I can't get him to say that, because we would need a lot of time to talk.
********
A long time ago, I used to spend all day writing in my journal. I remember that. This is what I'm doing now. It's my default activity. The quality of the writing is not that great. I write best when I write with a purpose and an audience. I'm capable of good writing.
One small nice thing: the seeds that I planted are sprouting. I enjoy watching them grow up. There's a variety of herbs and ordinary garden plants out there. I think I have broccoli in there too. I'd rather have a cow that I could milk every day, and free-roaming hens laying eggs that I could eat every day, but I have a tiny green-plants garden instead.
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