Saturday, July 31, 2010
And now I have voices who have been saying that I'm 'playing games' with Curtis, when in fact, I am very badly hurt by things that he has said to me in text messages, and there is no such thing as 'playing games.' People are always real, no matter who they are and no matter what they're doing. You might not be able to understand them, but they are always real. People have feelings and they DON'T like the way it hurts. You can 'get away with' doing anything to anybody if you tell yourself that that person is a masochist who enjoys getting hurt. Most people are not masochists. They don't like to be hurt. And even masochists only want to get hurt in certain ways in certain situations, but not all the time and not in every possible way. They have specific ways that they like to be hurt. And, as I said, I'm not a masochist anyway. I don't like to be hurt.
So that song might be saying that the problems in their relationship are a bad thing, but it doesn't sound that way when you hear some woman singing that she likes the way it hurts and she loves the way you lie.
I haven't seen Curtis enough this week. Our schedules are both messed up. They're cutting hours, and I think they might have made a mistake with mine next week and I have to talk to the manager about it. We hardly saw each other at all. I couldn't look at him much, although I did a little bit, and we said a few things to each other, briefly. He called me my nickname, though I told him to stop doing that, in a text message. I didn't want to tell him to stop doing it, and I was being controlled when I wrote that, but nevertheless, I did send that message to him. He said it once, when he was with Stan, and I wondered what Stan was thinking, but he said it to me anyway. When I hear it, it sounds like 'I love you.' That is what I hear. He doesn't need to hurt me in order to test whether or not I love him. YES, I GET HURT! Yes, it hurts when you say those things. Stop testing.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
I bought a book last week at Barnes & Noble. It's called 'The Gentle Art of Verbal Self-Defense.' It's similar to 'When I Say No I Feel Guilty,' and other books about communication that I've read. It makes me aware of patterns of thought and speech, ways that we tell lies to each other.
This book made me aware that EVERY WORD that the voices try to force me to say to somebody is a verbal attack. The book makes you aware of verbal attacks, and you get in the habit of noticing them. I noticed that ALL of the forced speech, almost every word, almost without exception, is a verbal attack. They try to force me to say manipulative lies, to make people feel guilty, to 'placate' people by attacking myself first and apologizing first, and other tricks. Those forced speeches are not my own truth. My real self-esteem is higher than that.
Tonight I had the urge to send another text message to Curtis. He has rejected me and told me to leave him alone, at least, in text messages he has (is it really him? I don't know, I can't ask). I tried to resist the urge, because I have been hurt so many times, and I'm afraid that I will eventually push him too far so that he calls the police or something and uses them to make me leave him alone. I fought against the urge.
I was being bombarded with voices telling lies to me, trying to trick me into texting him, trying to make me believe he needs me, he misses me, he wants me to text him, he wants me to call him, he wants me to visit him, and so on.
I was getting ready to go shopping to buy new uniforms for myself, because my other new ones are slightly contaminated. They wanted me to get into a text conversation with him instead of going shopping.
I went out shopping instead. I thought about destroying the text phone so that I could never use it to text him again, but I can't do that until I write down the saved text messages that are on it. I already archived some of them on paper, but not all of them. I had to do it because I filled up the phone's memory and it couldn't save any more. But I decided to wait until I got home to do the phone archiving project.
While driving, the voices still attacked. The voice attacks seem to work this way: Something, an unknown cause, gives me a persistent 'feeling' that won't go away. It can be hormones, it can be drugs, it can be a food that I ate. Something causes me to have a mood. It has nothing to do with the attackers. But some kind of computer system alerts them to the fact that I'm in a 'mood.' The attacks begin. The attacks are designed to fit that mood. They become the 'rationale' for the unexplained, causeless mood. I'm angry, or I'm sad, and so the voices attack me in a way to 'explain' why I'm angry or sad. They force me to start rehearsing speech in my mind, in preparation for talking to somebody, in an angry or sad or clingy or demanding way. The forced speech fits the mood and starts to make me believe that 'I'm angry at this person, that's why I'm in a bad mood,' or 'That person hurt my feelings and rejected me, that's why I'm in a bad mood,' when actually, the bad mood is caused by drugs/food/etc. WHY the murderers do this, I don't know.
They were doing it tonight. They were forcing me to rehearse things that I was supposed to be forced to say to Curtis. They were forcing me to placate him and apologize and 'attack myself first,' making myself small and inferior and pathetic, instead of standing up for myself with the true dignity and honesty and self-respect that I have in my true soul.
I should have cleared out all of that behavior decades ago. I've been reading self-esteem books and communication skills books and psychology books and meditation books for decades. I've known this stuff for years. I used to practice meditation, before the murderers started zapping me, and I used to question myself, observe myself, and so on, and I could re-teach myself if I wanted to get rid of a behavior that I disliked. Long ago, I used to change my own mind at will, whenever I wanted. The murderers destroyed all that, and they changed me into a pathetic, sniveling, weak, helpless, apologizing victim unable to speak the truth.
I used to do it in an intuitive, nonverbal way. But the murderers zap and destroy all nonverbal meditation, anything intuitive. They destroy all deep understanding, all sense of perspective. The only tools I can use now are verbal speech. In order to defend myself against the forced, fake, self-destructive speech that the murderers make me say, I have to verbally whisper, 'out loud' inside my head, a verbal response that explains why their words are wrong. I can't just intuitively understand why it's wrong the way I used to. I have to use a word that describes why it's wrong.
So I am using that book to do that. It has labels for the bad kind of speech, the verbal attacks, the ones that I hate, the ones that I resist, the ones that I know are wrong and I fight against saying, the ones that I recognize as being 'not me,' not my true self.
I shouldn't have to do that. I shouldn't have to verbally whisper an explanation for why it's wrong, when it would be so much more effective and better and deeper if I understood it intuitively the way I did long ago.
Tonight, while driving my car to the store, when I was being forced to apologize and snivel and attack myself first, in my forced rehearsal of what I would say to Curtis, I verbally whispered: 'Placating. Self-directed, self-inflicted verbal attack, and therefore false.' Suddenly I burst out sobbing uncontrollably. I cried and howled loudly in the car for a couple of minutes while driving. It was because I felt grateful that I could fight against the lies being told, and grateful that I remembered my true self has much more dignity than this. I remembered that everything I have been forced to say and do, for years, has been a lie, has been puppet speech, that every word out of my mouth has been fake and controlled. I remembered that I am still alive, though I am silent and suppressed underneath the puppet self.
I was being forced to whisper to Curtis about how pathetic I am for trying to text him, and apologize for trying to talk to him, apologize for trying to connect with him, when actually, in the real world, why COULDN'T we be just friends? Why couldn't we have some kind of casual, relaxed friendship and just know each other as human beings? Why would that be wrong and shameful? *I* know there is nothing wrong with it.
It is absolute evil that I, and other people, have our true souls suppressed and silenced.
"There are not many people in the United States who believe that bacteria go to heaven. The Bible does not talk about heaven being filled with all the disease, putrefaction and pestilence that bacteria cause. And what, exactly, would go to heaven? Do all of the bacterium's molecules get transported to another dimension so that they can keep reacting? If that were happening, there would be thousands of tons of chemicals leaving earth every day. Clearly there is no afterlife for bacteria cells."
Thousands of tons of chemicals leaving earth every day...
Grrr. I went to POF and got rid of the 'bi-curious' description. That DEFINITELY was something that the voices made me decide to put there. The more I thought about it, the more sure I was that I could not sustain a long-term sexual relationship with a female, and in reality, I'm not even all that interested in a plain old FRIENDSHIP with females, although it could be possible. I wondered why I had friendships with females when I was younger. The main reason is probably because, when I was young, I didn't have boyfriends! I might possibly get a female friend, but there won't be very many of them, and like I said, she would have to be somebody special, and she'd have to be able to 'take care of herself,' as in, not need me all the time.
'Bi-curious' would describe me if I was seriously in the mood at this time in my life to try having sex with females. If I were, I would demonstrate that through my ACTIONS. I would be ACTIVELY SEARCHING for females and meeting them. It doesn't mean that I scroll through some pictures of lesbian/bi plentyoffish users and look at their profiles and get a reaction to them, which is what I did. That seems to be the limit of my bi-curiosity for now. I'm annoyed that 'they' made me do something which seems dishonest to me, in an attempt to be 'honest' and 'out' about who I am. I don't claim to do, and be, EVERYTHING to EVERYBODY. I break some of the mainstream rules, but I follow some of the mainstream rules as well, and I'm not bothering to go out and break all the rules for the sheer sake of breaking the rules when it doesn't reflect who I really am.
My actions in reality are 'ephebo-curious.' I've never had sex with a teenage guy before, except for a couple of unfinished attempts between me and Terry, like maybe twice or three times, and we never really succeeded because it was too difficult and I didn't know how to make it easier. (We should have had some kind of lubricant or something, probably.) All of my behavior nowadays is: this obsession towards a teenage guy. That's not what I call 'bi-curious.'
'They' woke me up with another idea this morning. It was the idea that Carrie is being disrespectful to Curtis and she also isn't having sex with him often enough. I already know that she is disrespectful to him in some ways - I've seen them together and she talks down to him. But I don't know anything at all about their sex life. It could be true or false. OF COURSE they would want me to believe that he isn't getting enough sex from her.
They portrayed her as the bisexual girl who isn't really interested in guys enough to have sex with them as often as she ought to, if he is going to be her husband. Not only that, but she might not even be bisexual, and she and Jayme might not really be 'making out.' That could still have been a joke or sarcasm to say 'They spend WAYY too much time together,' or something like that. That was true about me and Rachael - we spent wayyy too much time together - and lots of people thought that we were lesbians in a sexual relationship, but we weren't. So for all I know, he could have been being sarcastic. Or serious - I have no way of knowing unless I ask him, and I ... am scared to try starting up another text conversation or phone call right now. Carrie is saying on facebook that she doesn't care what anybody thinks of her and Jayme. Again, that statement could mean 'I don't care if they think we're lesbians/bi - we're not.' Or it could mean, 'We ARE having a sexual relationship, but I don't care how they judge us.' It isn't specific enough to know.
All of this could be, again, my wishful thinking. Wouldn't it be nice if he wasn't getting enough sex at home. That would mean he needed extra attention from me. As always, the voices encourage my wishful thinking.
The torture of trying to force myself to use the dating website... My anger is from feeling that all I want is to be believed. I would want to explain it, and show it, to someone, and have that person believe me, as though I'm a man, or as though I'm an Officially Recognized Expert on that subject. I'm tired of people only believing what the government tells them is true. I'm tired of people only believing what their elementary school education, and the television, and their neighbors, told them is true.
I haven't even been able to call these people back yet. I told them I was going to try to call. But I'm waking up really late because of some unknown problem causing severe fatigue - it's one of the drug residues or something, who knows which problem it is. Then, yesterday, I went out to go investigate a place where you can buy raw cow's milk - I saw it a week or two ago while I was out driving - and I was going to ask them to let me try a tiny bit of it (Note, I've already had raw goat's milk before, but it came frozen. I got it from Stone Soup. I survived drinking the raw goat's milk.). I would want to ask them how it was handled - did it go through an automatic milking machine? If so, could I buy some that I just milked by myself into a pail, so it wouldn't get bacterial/fungal slime from the walls of the pipes and tubes of the automatic milker and the containers it goes into? But instead of stopping there, I drove right by. I had just eaten something and my stomach was sick. I didn't want to do anything or talk to anybody. So I went on a long drive and got away from all of the emails that I was supposed to be sending, or phone calls I was supposed to be making. 'They' were telling me yesterday that I was acting more like a Sx/Sp, at least temporarily. The instinctual emphasis probably changes with your moods and hormones, I imagine.
Clarifying what I want on the dating website, and then, I think it's most important for me to GO OUT LOOKING instead of just passively answering the people who write to me. That's risky, but it's the same thing men have to do. I should make it hard for people to contact me, or something. Clarifying what I want, so that I can communicate it, seems to be most important, because I've discovered I don't just want guys who are willing to do my housework in exchange for sex, without even believing that drug residues and bone marrow vapors exist. In fact I can hardly bear the thought of it.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
It's hard to articulate what I want and why I feel so uncomfortable with the couple of results that I've gotten so far. I have to re-word the advertisement, and I have to know exactly what I am looking for, and that is not easy to do. All I can say is that I don't like any of it.
I don't want a guy who offers to clean my house just to get sex. He will just pretend and go along with me to humor me, but in reality, he won't believe a word about the invisible drug residues.
I want a man who can tolerate believing something that a WOMAN says. Could a woman tell a man something he didn't know? Could a woman know something that the rest of SOCIETY doesn't know? Could a woman know something that thousands of MEN don't know, scientists, public figures, government employees - that they ALL don't know? Because that is what I claim. I claim that I know something that they are all ignorant of. You have to be able to tolerate the idea that a woman, an inferior, and a small, five-foot-two, un-intimidating woman too, that this INFERIOR person knows something you don't know, and you don't know anybody else who knows it either.
I'm really not INTERESTED in drug residues for their own sake. I'm only interested in them because they are there, whether I like it or not, and I have to deal with them. I am the unwilling expert on drug residues, but I'd much rather be learning about other things that I'm really interested in. So I won't continue on to become the world's leading specialist in drug residues, because once I'm rid of them, I don't want to ever bother thinking about them again, until and unless they become a problem. However, I am interested in them in that they have an effect on moods, health, and personality. I'd use that information to troubleshoot somebody with a behavior problem, and they will be part of any troubleshooting procedures that I have for health and behavior. That is why they are included in the religion as part of a cleansing and purification process. You don't need to be clean just for the sake of being clean. You need to be clean (of drug residues) because they affect your health and your relationships.
But right now, I am 'the expert' on drug residues whether I want to be or not. And they are what has to be cleaned. Before anything else, I want someone to BELIEVE ME. Imagine that a WOMAN knows what she's talking about.
Some of the men who responded were talking to me as though housecleaning was done to 'please' me. I'm not a dominatrix and I'm not going to whip them for doing a bad job. I only care about reality. Are the drug residues still there? Is the guy going to lose patience with me because I insist they're still there even though we've shampooed the floor a dozen times?
I'd like to do a simple demonstration. I've never tried this before, so I don't know how it would go. This would be an experiment. Somebody would get a bunch of handkerchiefs and draw a number on each one with magic marker. Then they would randomly pick one of the handkerchiefs. There would have to be a bunch of handkerchiefs, not just two - it would be more like a dozen to choose from. Then, after numbering them, they would pick ONE handkerchief at random, and roll it with some tobacco, like a crushed cigarette. They would have to make sure that it doesn't leave any visible stains, so maybe we would have multicolored, patterned handkerchiefs where you couldn't see any small marks that might be left from the crushed tobacco leaves. They would write down on a piece of paper which handkerchief, by number, had been rolled with the tobacco. Then, I would touch all of the handkerchiefs, and tell them which one was contaminated with tobacco residues, by feeling it and touching it. We would have to make sure I couldn't SMELL it, because it's possible I could cheat by smelling the tobacco, so maybe I could do this with my nose plugged shut or something, or the handkerchief could be inside of a box and I'd have to reach my hands inside, or something where I couldn't smell it. I would have to observe the tickly sensation of drug residues going through my skin, and then observe the pounding heartbeat, the sudden 'rush' of pleasure and excitement that comes from touching tobacco, and all the other symptoms that I observe from touching tobacco.
I could also do that with any other herb that I claim that I can feel, like St. John's Wort. I'd do it very easily with ephedra, but it's too dangerous to handle ephedra - I would have to order a new packet of seeds, and I don't want to have another 'explosion' of new ephedra poison in my house or in my mailbox. If I had ephedra seeds, I could demonstrate it to THEM instead of just doing the test myself. I'd rub the ephedra seeds on their skin, and then tell them, 'Now go home and try to take a nap. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!' Then they would be awake for three weeks in a row. The only problem with doing the demonstration that way is, they will spread the ephedra residues from their skin, to all of their clothing, and the blankets of their bed, and the steering wheel of their car, and everything they touch or brush against. So they'd have to do this test in a chamber where it wouldn't matter what you touched or what got contaminated, instead of ruining their belongings.
I want to be believed. Being believed and taken seriously is, probably, even more important than actually having someone do the work. I can't even begin to boss someone around if he shows the slightest sign of humoring me or disbelieving me. If he's thinking, 'I'll just do whatever she says to do, until finally she agrees to have sex with me,' that will just make me angry. I can easily see through someone who's only pretending to believe me. I want them to be able to understand it, and, even better, to agree completely, to feel the drug residues themselves, to touch a piece of fabric and say, 'my gosh, this really does have something on it!' For them to touch the contaminated test handkerchief and correctly identify which one it is. For them to experience a couple nights of insomnia because of ephedra contamination, where you lie there in bed, and you just lie there, and nothing happens at all, for hours and hours and hours, and then daylight comes and you get up and you've slept zero hours that night. I want to be believed. More than anything else.
But another thing I don't want is a woman-worshipper. I don't want to be worshipped. I've read Warren Farrell, so I know that there is feminism, and there is masculism, or masculinism, or whatever it's called. There are two sides to this, and both of them have legitimate grievances. I want a man to take seriously the knowledge and observations and interpretations that I have, but I want him to believe it because it's real, not because I'm a goddess who rules over him. I want him to believe it because it's real. Not because I say so. Now, it's true, sometimes you trust a person so much (from past experience) that you'll believe their observations even without testing them, because you know that person really well and you've seen that they're right most of the time. That's different. I've had authors who I believed, almost no matter what they said, because I'd read previous books they had written, and those other books made sense to me. I'd have only small disagreements with them over specific things.
For instance, if I recall correctly, Harry Browne sometimes made fun of people who claimed to be 'psychic' or to have had foresight of an event that happened, like people who said that they predicted the 9/11 Twin Towers attacks. But I myself had something happen that night, before the attacks - the voices were doing something with me before it happened. They were saying that I chose to stay here and stand my ground, that I had chosen not to leave the country, and that no matter what happened, no matter who attacked, I would stay here and protect my home. I was fantasizing about people invading my home, and wondering what I would do about it if that happened. I didn't know anything specific that they might be talking about. It was just something that I was thinking. To me, it seemed like it had to do with the computer hackers, instead of a physical attack. But the next day, the Twin Towers were attacked. Somebody knew about it ahead of time and the voices were warning me, but they could not be specific about what the nature of the attack would be, they only knew it was going to be an attack.
So I myself experienced a 'psychic' prediction that some kind of attack was about to happen, the night before 9/11. Back then, I didn't know about electronic mind control, I only knew about computer hackers, so I didn't know that I was talking to real people in my head. But Harry Browne disbelieved people who claimed to have predicted the attacks, and after I learned about electronic mind control, I could easily see how a person really would know about something in advance, if the mind control people were connected in some way with government, or criminals, or people in other countries who were responsible for the attacks. So I disagreed with Harry Browne about whether it was possible to 'psychically' predict that some things would happen.
Anyway the point was that I had a few disagreements with favorite authors that I trusted, but overall, I trusted what they said.
It only seems fair that I've read a lot of books written by men, I've studied belief systems written by men, I've learned so much from men, that it only seems fair that I would tell something to a man, and he would listen to me. It seems fair, because I've listened to the men so many times. I've learned so much from them. Why would it seem so hard to listen to a woman who had special knowledge that no one else has, and believe her?
Warren Farrell talks about the position of men and how they are not necessarily the ones who have all the power. A man might not want to listen to a woman's knowledge, because he feels as though that woman already has all the other powers, like power over sex. He needs sex more intensely than she does. A woman can easily find lots and lots of men to have sex with, but it's harder for a man to find a woman willing to have sex with him. That is based on what I've seen at the dating website. I'm not beautiful, I'm just, ehh, average, but even so, all I have to do is open up a profile on a dating website - even if I don't have any photos! - and dozens upon dozens of men will contact me immediately, within a couple of days, while I sit there and do nothing at all. It isn't because I'm special. It happens even if I don't put up any photographs, and even if I don't write anything specific in my descriptions. There are dozens of men desperately trying to find women, and failing. The woman just has to sit there. So maybe a man doesn't want to listen to a woman's knowledge, and believe her, and trust her reasoning, because he's already angry and resentful about how badly he needs sex, and how easy it is to be in her position, just sitting there waiting to be bombarded with dozens of requests from total strangers. If you don't believe me, men, you can try it yourself. Go to a dating website and fill out a profile pretending to be a woman. Better still if you can find a photograph of a woman and pretend it's you. Then, just sit there. Dozens of guys will contact you in just a few days. Then, go fill out a profile as a man. You will hear nothing but dead silence for weeks or months. Nobody contacts the men.
But in spite of all this, I still need to find someone willing to believe me.
I wrote 'bi-curious' on my profile, but I'm not sure if that will last long. I think it's just a temporary fad that I did because the voices suggested that I should do it. It's mostly because of Curtis and his bisexual girlfriend and their threesome. Bi-tolerant would be more accurate. Non-homophobic would also be accurate. But I still feel that if women were trying to fall in love with me, I would not be interested in putting much into that relationship. I'm not fascinated with them in the same way - I don't intensely desire to know everything about them and 'merge.'
Let me give an example. I saw some of Curtis's 'world' when I looked at the images he saved in his facebook page. He has some beautiful, surreal paintings of landscapes and other worlds. I saw them and I felt that I wanted to *BE* him, I wanted to *become* him, to see those paintings and feel however he felt when he looked at them. They were beautiful to me, not just because I agreed that they were beautiful, but because HE thought they were beautiful. I wanted to see what he saw, feel what he felt, love what he loved, and when I looked at those paintings, I felt that I was merging with his world. But I don't usually feel that way about a woman. In fact, I can't think of any woman who I've ever felt that intensely fascinated with. I can't recall a time when I met a woman and desperately, passionately, intensely wanted to know what she knows, love what she loves, see what she sees, the way that I feel about Curtis or other guys that I have had intense crushes on. So I hesitate to even say that I'm 'bi-curious.' Even THAT seems to be saying too much. But I did write it on the profile. I might remove it after a while. Unfortunately, I might just be a plain, vanilla, boring old heterosexual like all the other mainstream people.
Going to a dating website, while still being brokenhearted and obsessed with somebody else, is almost impossible to do.
the bisexual threesome thing - how does that make me feel
'bi-tolerant' - tell about how the murderers tortured me when the attacks began, so that I got scared to even admit that I was 'bi-curious,' and can't even think about it without getting upset because of the attacks
'i don't need anything you could give me'
He might not be a Type Six. But I've just suspected that he was, from the beginning when I met him. I make a lot of mistakes guessing people's enneagram types. It was the tattoos and earrings, and what happened with his mother being sexually harassed when we worked together at McD, when she sort of... gave encouraging signals to the manager who harassed her. And no, I don't mean to blame her for it, because it was the manager who decided to do what he did, while some other person might have resisted the urge to do that. But I had the same feeling from him: harass me, don't harass me, leave me alone, I need you, I don't need you, I trust you, I distrust you. It all felt like a Six. Tattoos, counterphobic pain endurance, ear piercings, these things all feel like a Six. (Uh-oh, I'm saying the same phrase more than once. That means it's going through my head, which probably means it's coming from 'them.')
And I have that feeling: I love Sixes, but at the same time, I can't stand dealing with them. You're hot then you're cold, you're yes then you're no, and so on. I love that song. Is that 'Pink' again? I'll have to look it up, I forget who it is. (No, it says Katy Perry.) That's a song about a Six. My first long-lasting boyfriend in high school was DEFINITELY a Six, with an abusive family environment and some drug use, both of which made him much more inconsistent and unpredictable. And I remember the love I felt for him. I felt a strongly protective feeling towards him, a desire to make it all better, to fix everything, to see the vulnerable child inside him. My feelings for him were the strongest love that I have ever felt for anyone. (Now that I've discovered I'm an 'ephebophile' I understand that my feelings for adult men are much weaker, and if I were with a 16-year-old boy again, I would probably feel that intense love.)
The voices also told me that he might be a Five. There are some signs of that. He might be a Six with a Five wing, or a Five with a Six wing. The voices are always saying that he and I are 'identical.' That he's just like me. He's clearly a Sexual instinctual type. The voices called him an 'approval junkie.' They tell me that his frequent cuts are not accidental. (Although I'm not saying that he has control over that, either.) They tell me that he drives too fast and recklessly, and I believe it, and I thought I heard his car recently in the rain, or rather, the voices told me it was him. He shows some 'testing' behavior like a Six. The 'are you telling the truth? I'll test you to find out,' behavior.
"Sixes and Fives can quite readily mistype, especially if the wing is strong and the Six is intellectual. It is typically Sixes who mistype, or are mistyped by others as Five, rather than the reverse. Both types can be drawn to systems of thought, and counterphobia in Sixes can mimic the iconoclasm common in type Five. Sixes, however, tend to relate far better than Fives do to whomever is a part of their social scene, and Sixes, in general, tend to find it easier to find a niche than do the more idiosyncratic Fives. Also, as a general rule, Sixes are more likely to look for and find practical applications to theory than do Fives who are often uninterested in such considerations. Finally, Sixes, unlike Fives, do not habitually detach under pressure." http://www.ocean-moonshine.net/e142857369/index.php?module=pagemaster&PAGE_user_op=view_page&PAGE_id=9&MMN_position=33:33
The 'fuck it - don't even try' attitude is more like a Five. And he sometimes says that.
I can't stop obsessing about him even as I use the dating website. I hate it, I really do. And I can see that no matter what happens I will probably still be connected with him. Every day when I see him at work, even though I can't look at him when he's near me and potentially able to talk, I still look at him when he's far away across the room, and I'm happy to know he's there. I said that he was my ray of sunshine and I didn't mean it sarcastically, I meant it seriously. He brightens everything up just by being there and it's dark when he's gone. Even if we are 'fighting,' quote unquote, because something hurtful was said to me in a text message, I am still always glad that he is there.
Oh, I still didn't write about the bisexual threesome thing.
I interpreted Carrie and Jayme as being best friends instead of bisexual lovers. I blogged about it a few weeks ago, and commented about how women sometimes say things that aren't literally true, like they might call each other 'lover,' that kind of thing, and Carrie calls Jayme her 'wifey.' I know a woman who called me 'lover' just recently, even though we are barely more than strangers, and I took it to be meant affectionately. I had a best friend for eleven years, the longest non-family relationship that I have ever had, but we did not do anything sexual, though we were together constantly and talked on the phone for hours. So I assumed Carrie and Jayme were like that.
In the long text conversation we had, when I asked him what he could see right now (because I had the feeling I was talking to a computer instead of a person), he said 'I see Carrie making out with her friend Jayme.' I wasn't sure if this was a joke or literally true. I wasn't sure if he was saying it just to get a reaction from me. It might not have been happening at that very moment, but it probably does happen.
Later on, I wrote (on paper) my reactions to that. I had a lot of feelings about it. I got this feeling, this image, of him being secure and comfortable and happy, in a relationship where he had everything he wanted. A lot of people fantasize about having a threesome relationship, or they want to watch two women making out, so his situation seems like 'I have something that other guys only dream of.' The other part of the implied message was 'I don't need you. There's nothing you can give me that I don't already have.' So, this was one of the hurtful things that he said to me, in text, that have been adding up to this list of hurtful things making me afraid to text him anymore or reach out to him anymore. I'm afraid to try talking to him because he could always say something like that, something unexpected and hurtful. And yes, I know all about being a puppet and being forced to say hurtful things, but that knowledge doesn't help. I still get traumatized when these things are said to me. And maybe, in a free world where we were not being attacked by mind control, he would be more trusting and he might not impulsively say those kinds of things to me. I don't know. I don't know how people behave in a free world.
My reaction isn't so much like, 'Oh my god! I'm a religious prude, and the idea of two women making out is blasphemous and disgusting!' That's not how I feel. I can tolerate the idea of it and I have always been open-minded about bisexuality, although I still feel threatened or jealous about it, but that's not the same as judging it to be wrong or evil, it's just another kind of jealousy. I'd feel jealous if he was with other guys and having a special relationship that I could never have with him, and ignoring me and leaving me out. If I weren't being ignored, it would be different, and I wouldn't worry about it as much. So I'd feel threatened by that, and also, I feel threatened/jealous about his having the 'threesome' relationship, which is something that I'm not doing.
About my own 'bi-curiosity,' that was suppressed a few years ago when the murderers started attacking me. They forced me to have traumatic, disgusting nightmares with disgusting images of being forced to suckle female breasts and that kind of thing, and they associated a feeling of rage and disgust and being violated and raped. In reality, I'm a little shy with women, and other women might talk casually about their bodies, for instance, saying something crude like 'I've gotta go take a piss' or something, and that makes me feel nervous and prudish and uptight. I can't talk that way. I was raised to use words like 'urinate.' I can't use vulgar words for bodily functions (piss, fart, poop, and so on), and I can't be casual or open about exposing my body to other women. Some heterosexual women don't seem to care at all about, for instance, walking around naked or half naked in the presence of other women, but I would be uptight about doing that.
Some of it is from repressed sexual feelings, because I do respond sexually to women, in the right circumstances, especially during my strong hormone phases, or when I'm on drugs. It happened the other day, and it was caused by, you guessed it, drinking cream again. I ate some soups from the deli, because I wanted to get seafood in my diet, and I mixed together the clam chowder and the lobster bisque - the lobster bisque by itself is nothing but broth, so I didn't want to have just that - and both of those are made with cream. I ate a lot of it, and afterwards I was having the 'hormone flood' feelings again. I was walking around feeling sexually aroused and looking at everybody, including women, and often when I feel that way, it's fat women that I like to look at. (Who knows why, but fat women have something erotic about them when I am in that mood. That would also be the time when I like fat men and I'm looking at their 'moobs,' which I commented about the other day. The sensation that I feel, in that mood, is that I myself feel fat, and the feeling is pleasant and erotic.)
This is why I tend to feel comfortable with lesbians or bisexual women. I feel that they care more about me than heterosexual women (who are competing against me). The lesbian/bi women are focused on ME because they like ME. They are less hostile towards me. With heterosexual female friends, I feel as though they're my friends for a 'reason,' like they have to gain something from me somehow, instead of liking me for myself. If I'm with lesbian/bi women, I also feel less afraid of the sexual feelings. If I am in a mood of being sexually aroused by women, I don't have to be worried or ashamed about it when I'm with them. But with heterosexual women or homophobic women, I would have to hide it. If I get that feeling around les/bi women, I can relax and accept it, while still feeling anxious, repressed, and prudish, and they would have sympathy for me instead of being disgusted.
However, the 'fear of being overwhelmed,' an enneagram Five thing, is something that happens to me with les/bi women. It stops me from acting on any sexual feelings I have for them. I'm afraid that the women will be attracted too strongly to me, and sooner or later, I won't be in the mood for it, or it will disgust me on a different day, or I won't care about them strongly enough, and they'll need me too much, and be too clingy or too desperate. If a woman fell in love with me, it might be hard to deal with, if I didn't feel as strongly towards her. I always had crushes on boys, ever since I was in nursery school, so I identify as heterosexual, and I've never made out with a woman in real life, only in the chatroom. So I don't know what it would be like if I were required to 'be there' for a woman who was in love with me and needed my attention all the time.
In some ways, it might be easier than a relationship with a man. I know from experience, and also from scientific studies, and from 'common knowledge', that women really are different from men, their brains are different, their skills are different. When I talk to women, they are able to talk about feelings more easily, and able to talk about relationships more easily, and able to look inside themselves in a 'psychological' way and say 'I feel this, I want this, this is who I am.'
Men have a harder time doing that, not just because of our culture, but because their brains really are different. However, GAY men are able to talk about feelings and relationships, because their gay brains are different from hetero male brains. The stereotype of the gay best friend is true, the gay guy who gets along well with women and thinks and acts like a woman, is true. I've often fallen in love with men who later turned out to be gay, or I knew they were gay all along but I couldn't help loving them anyway, or they were bisexual. One guy I was with for a little while in high school later came out as gay. I loved his weirdness. He was really unusual. I can't remember any details of HOW he was unusual, except I know that he was obsessed with Japanese animation at a time when the internet barely existed and nobody knew about Japanese animation. That's only one of the many weird things about him.
I don't like to go around with man-hating women. I don't want to walk around in a group of women who are complaining about how much they hate men and how inferior men are and how evil men are. This might be something about me, but it might also be because I read Warren Farrell's books and decided not to ever be a man-hater because of his books. A lot of heterosexual women become friends and go around in a group for the purpose of hating men and complaining about men, and that's not the kind of female friends that I want to have.
I read about bonobo apes and I envy them for being relaxed about bisexual sex. With them, it's a casual thing and no big deal. That is the way it should be. They are the closest relatives of human beings, and we are THEIR closest relatives as well. Gorillas are farther away from bonobos than WE are. We think that bonobos and gorillas are a lot alike, because they both have fur all over their bodies, and humans don't have much fur. But the fur is the only thing that makes them similar. In reality, the bonobos are much more similar to the furless humans. I read that in a library book about bonobos.
Bonobos have made me feel much more comfortable about any bisexual feelings that I've had. They also make me comfortable about any pedophile urges that I've felt, because bonobos allow the children to watch them during sex, to approach them and touch them, and they also have been seen doing their 'genital rubbing' with the children. With bonobos, sex is an everyday part of life, and it's just another way of bonding, as common as hugs and handshakes, instead of being something to be afraid of. 'Sex' isn't in a separate category from all other kinds of touch. With humans, 'sex' and 'touch' are two different categories, and 'sex' is a big, secret category that has to be kept private and it's a big huge deal, while 'everyday touch' is supposed to be normal and safe and calm and appropriate. With bonobos, all types of touch are in the 'everyday' category. They're fascinating to read about.
Trying to do anything new that I haven't tried before - the voices have been urging me to try out a relationship with a woman, and at the same time, they weren't sure if I'm ready to do that just now. I feel like I'd be doing it just to prove something to Curtis, to prove that I'm just as good as his bisexual girlfriend, to compete against her. I don't want to do it for THAT reason, because then, whatever woman I was with would eventually be abandoned, since I didn't love her for herself, I was only USING her to prove something to Curtis. I would have to be with a woman because I was focused on her for herself. I would have to find a very special woman. It couldn't be just ANY woman, and it couldn't be a casual playful affair. Not only that, but I would be frustrated with the butch-lesbian haircuts that they tend to have. I like hip-length hair (or natural afros or dreads, if applicable) and unplucked eyebrows on women just as much as I like long hair on men, and so we would be fighting about getting her to stop plucking her eyebrows, stop using makeup, and when you try to change somebody's grooming behavior, it doesn't matter whether it's a man or a woman, it will always be a battle.
My memories of my relationship with Rachael are the 'template' for what I imagine a female-female friendship could be like. Rachael and I always had deep conversations. Same with Valencia later on, my best friend in college, although she didn't have the same type of deep conversations that Rachael and I did. Rachael was DEFINITELY an ENFP, because everything was abstract and symbolic to her, she was interested in 'meanings' and 'synchronicity' and other abstract ideas, and she wasn't good with the 'real world,' doing everyday things and practical reality. She wrote poetry where she played with the pieces of the words, the Latin roots, words broken into fragments, with punctuation in strange places to convey a meaning. Every detail of the poem had to be explained, and it was full of layers of meaning. That's the 'template' for the special kind of woman that I would want to be friends with.
At the same time, I felt inferior to her. I'm not abstract-minded. I didn't understand a lot of what she said. It was always interesting, but yet, I couldn't participate in it that much, I couldn't add to the ideas she had. When she left me for her husband, when she joined his 'cult' and decided that 'everybody is evil, including Nicole,' that made me feel like any Myers-Briggs intuitive, or Idealist, would eventually leave me because I couldn't give them what they needed. I'm distrusting of ENFPs now because of her. I'm thinking, 'they can't REALLY like me.' Eventually I will disappoint them by being too dull and down-to-earth.
So basically, I am an impossible-to-satisfy pervert in the most inconvenient ways possible. I'm a bi-curious (or 'bi-tolerant'), long-hair-loving pedophile who doesn't feel strongly attracted to fully grown short-haired clean-shaven men; loves teenage boys in the whole range from 'very illegal' to 'slightly illegal' to 'barely legal'; loves short skinny guys instead of big tall muscular guys, the skinnier the better; feels attracted to women SOMETIMES when I'm in the right mood, but might not be able to sustain a female relationship if I had to ALWAYS be in the sexual mood for them; and not only that, but I can't even explain about the personality/intellectual things that make somebody 'interesting' or 'boring' to me - I can't even articulate those things. I'm most attracted to people who are 'weird' in some way, but I can't define 'weird.' And I don't like ALL weird people - in fact, some weird people really annoy me, and I can't relate to them at all. But yet, 'normal is boring,' and I can't be myself and be understood by someone who's too normal. Oh, and I forgot to mention that I also love intact uncircumcised penises, but that is too much to expect when you live in the USA, and somebody has to meet all the other criteria of attractiveness in addition to that.
Impossible to satisfy. This is why I hate using a dating website to meet people. But I guess it's better than it was in the old days when we didn't have the internet...
The feeling that I can't offer anything Curtis needs or wants - that I can't even offer him MONEY - I can't even get him to agree to let me visit him for a five-minute conversation, or say 'yes' to a hug, or promise any kind of continuing relationship beyond the workplace - 'I don't need you' is the theme going on right now. And when I see him, when I look into his eyes, his beautiful brown eyes, all I can feel is '*I NEED YOU!*'
I guess I'll post this now.
9:40 AM 7/27/10
I'm using PlentyOfFish.com again. Inner_silence is my name there, but I'll soon be making it invisible to the search results again to stop people from emailing me. I am asking people to cook, clean, and shop for me. I have to process the people who have already emailed and I don't want to get bombarded with dozens more over the next few days. I wish those other women would help me out. I get the impression, from reading things in the forums (which don't seem to exist anymore - I can't find them) that women hardly ever answer the people who are writing to them. This is painful for me to see happening. I'd like to write about 'The Perceived Scarcity of Women,' but I've already written about it in a few other blog entries.
I hate doing this. I hate meeting strangers and asking them for help. Every one who tries to work with me will have to be 'trained' - I will have to teach them about the horrible misery of my life and explain why these things are happening. I will have to get through the barrier of their disbelief and skepticism. NO ONE knows about drug residues, or, even less, about trying to cook bone marrow and having its vapors fill up your refrigerator so that all the food you put in there gets bone marrow molecules in it that make you have to stifle the urge to vomit every time you eat or drink anything from the fridge. No one believes it. No one has ever heard of it. I have to explain everything for the first time, every time.
Telling people that I hear voices and I talk to them is actually LESS of a problem than trying to explain the drug residues, or any chemical residues at all, including the bone marrow. Those chemicals have more of a damaging impact on my life than the voices do. They affect everything I do at home. I don't even like to talk about the details of how I survive. For instance, right now, I'm sleeping on a piece of cardboard. Why am I doing that? Because for a while there, I was buying pieces of foam for a mattress, soft foam, and covering it with a vinyl bed cover. But in reality, if ephedra gets on the vinyl bed cover, for all practical purposes I have to just throw it away - I can try to wipe it off, but it really won't wipe off. There's no point in wasting money on the bed cover. I have had to throw away so much money on things, and so I switched back to using cardboard because I was having such a bad contamination incident the past month or so, ephedra over and over again. It was life or death. I had to have something that could be quickly and easily replaced for free, because it would get contaminated again and again.
I already know what will happen the first time someone walks into my house trying to 'help' me. They will see that I don't have a bed, and they'll be like, 'Oh, I'll go buy you a new bed.' So they'll buy me one (if I let them, which I won't) and it will be ruined in two days. The mattress will have ephedra on it, which prevents sleeping, which is why I've had to have temporary beds that I throw away. The legs of the bed, the metal parts, the frame, will gradually get little bits of drug residues on them, which will get on any new mattresses or mattress covers I buy.
They'll see that I don't have any furniture, and since you're 'supposed' to have furniture, they'll want to buy it for me. I left all my stuff in storage and I'm gradually throwing it away. I don't want to buy more stuff until all the residues are totally gone.
The kind of help I need: I don't want someone to come in and tell me what I should do to fix my problem. I want someone who will listen to me as I tell *them* what needs to be done, and then support me as I gradually do those projects.
I woke up several times during the night because of the murderers. Once when I woke up, they had me feeling hate for everybody. I had to think of which people I hated the least. I'm not in a good mood today. I have extremely severe exhaustion, and I think it's some of the drugs from Peter's house. One of his drugs causes me to sleep, and sleep, and sleep, and I wore a shirt yesterday that I had worn when I was with him. The mood I feel is 'I hate everything.' I hate society for not knowing about drug residues, for not knowing they exist, for not knowing they go through the skin. I hate modern medicine for not knowing anything about proper nutrition, and just giving everybody drugs for the slightest problem. I hate everybody for not growing their hair the way I like it, both men and women, for making themselves ugly to me in every possible way, so that I can't bear to look at them.
I guess I'll just post this now... I don't think I'm up to writing about 'the shortage of women' again, although I might try to later.
I still can't look at Curtis. This last week we had a long text conversation and I can't remember whether I've already written about it or not, but basically I left with a terrible feeling of rejection, as usual, and the 'I have everything I want, I don't need you, and I don't even care whether you live or die' message. After another bad incident during another text interaction, I am so afraid of texting him that I can't even do it anymore, although I was able to do it once, only to tell him that I had sent him emails, because I didn't know if he used his email or not, and he might not know that I was sending him anything.
I switched to email because I don't get hurt as quickly and easily as I do with texting. Texting is a quick, efficient way to hurt someone very badly very quickly with very few words. I hate texting too, along with everything else I hate today. (He actually TOLD me, out loud, on the telephone, during one of our rare, brief telephone conversations, that I could feel free to text him at any time of the day or night, as much as I want, because he has unlimited text messaging now, and doesn't get charged per message. But that wasn't a promise not to say anything that would hurt me if I did try texting him.) With email, at least I shut off the computer and walk away and I don't get an immediate reply. However, chances are that we will probably have another 'Look ur 35 okay' incident if I rely on email too much. The murderers won't let me directly ask him whether he said these things: they silence me and prevent me from asking, because they don't want me to find out the truth, whatever the truth may be. So I can't just ask him, 'Did you actually say X to me in a text message / email?' to find out whether it was really him or whether it was hacked by someone who sent something malicious.
I can't look at him, but he was looking at me across the room several times. I saw him from far away. I looked directly at him once during a conversation when somebody else was standing there beside him, because I had to ask him a work-related question and there was nobody else I could ask. They messed up my schedule: I had offered to help do the inventory in the salad bar, and I requested that day more than a week ago, but they ignored it because we've had OTHER managers coming in and meddling with our schedules and ignoring our availabilities and our requests off. So I got scheduled to work in food service, so I decided to do both, just stay longer and do the inventory after I got done in food service. That day, when I came in, I asked him if the manager was there, and I told him what happened with the schedule. I could look at him, because it wasn't a 'potentially intimate' moment. It was a social, co-worker moment, when I wouldn't express any feelings or talk about anything sensitive or tell him how I feel. So I could do it. But later on, I saw him walking by when he was getting ready to leave, and I had to look down and not look at him, because it was a 'potentially intimate' moment: I could talk to him, I could say goodbye to him, I could ask him what was going on in his life, I could take a few seconds and have a personal conversation with him. So I had to prevent that (to avoid being rejected), so I didn't look at him.
Doing the salad bar inventory was kind of fun. I kept thinking of him while I was there. I closed down the salad bar and I had to pull out those big racks with the zipper covers on them, where we put all the salad bar stuff, and I remembered all the times I'd seen him do that on the nights when he used to close in produce. That was always my signal that he was going to be leaving soon, when I saw him pulling out the zipper bag racks to put away the salad bar stuff. He usually doesn't work evenings anymore. Those evenings were the times that he and I were together alone, and we had long conversations, which is something that always made me anxious because we were on the clock and not getting work done. But I remember that and I loved that time. It makes me sad now because I don't get to spend any time with him, and he won't bond with me - he won't make any kind of promise to continue seeing me even if he or I leave this job, and he won't even spend five minutes to see me someplace away from work. So I am just a temporary co-worker, barely even a friend, and if he or I leaves, there's nothing at all.
I think I have PMS today too. It's getting to be about that time. I've been usually on the end of the month and the beginning of the next month, somewhere right in between months. I am in the most horrible mood today. I should just post this and do whatever I was going to do. Continue feeling miserable? I think that's what I was going to do.
Sometimes I believe things that I don't usually believe. I should have texted him a couple nights ago. It was rainy, and his brakes don't work when it rains. I should have texted him to see if he was okay. This is just like an enneagram Six: I need you, I don't need you, I really do need you, I don't need you. I just don't know how much of it is really being said by him. It's an open invitation for him to see me at home, but with the 'puppet' phenomenon, chances are that I will always be either out, or forced asleep and unable to hear the doorbell, or I'd think it was the census takers, if he ever did come over. But that's why he'd have to leave a message. That's why I've asked him to play phone tag with me. I've asked him to, but he won't. We have to plan a time in advance when we both will be expecting it.
(The census lady found me, though, and I haven't had any more doorbells since then. She caught me when I was going outside to my car. I was checking on my little herb garden at the time, and she walked over and spoke to me. I smelled her adrenaline, and it made my own heart beat faster, but I recognized that it was not my own. She was excited and afraid because she had finally caught her prey after ringing my doorbell for months. I was crouching on the ground next to my herb garden, holding a pencil and a piece of paper, because I was about to write a shopping list, and, out of courtesy, because I smelled her fear, I quietly laid the sharp pencil on the ground and left it there when I stood up, so that I wouldn't seem scary or threatening with sharp objects in my hand. Yes, I really did that. She was afraid, and she didn't know what to expect - was I a hostile government-employee-hater? (Yes, I hate government, but I practice nonviolent civil disobedience instead of attacking the human beings who are employed in the government.) I explained that yes, I was indeed refusing to take the census, that it wasn't just an accident that she had never gotten a reply. Since then, they haven't knocked again. I don't know if or when they will.)
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
The voices said, 'Dear world: I apologize for obsessing still more about this topic.'
Every once in a while, Curtis would ask for my help with some of his work. He would usually ask for something simple, like for me to finish washing the salad bar tongs, or to help him with some kind of accident, like a flooded drain in the back room.
One day I was running behind a bit, and I think I had also helped him with something earlier, at my own expense when I was already a bit late in closing the food service department.
He came over to me, and he seemed nervous like he was getting up his courage for something. He said, 'Can I help you with anything?' He seemed reluctant, stiff, uncomfortable. It seemed exactly like the times when the voices are forcing me to do something I don't want to do.
I got scared by this. I said, 'Oh, no, no, that's okay, you don't have to help me with anything!' I was thinking, but I didn't say out loud, 'You don't have to DO anything to be my friend.' I didn't want him to think that he had to 'do things for me' or 'pay' me in some way, to receive love and friendship. I didn't want to make him 'work' in order to be loved. It seemed like expecting too much if I asked him to help me finish my work.
He reacted instantly when I said no. 'I offer to help you, and you neglect me?' He said 'neglect,' not 'reject,' but I knew what he meant. He backed away and he seemed afraid and anxious. I can't describe exactly what his hands did, but he sort of blocked himself with his hands, putting them up in front of himself protectively. He's done that gesture before. Palms up and outwards facing me, if I recall - I'm trying to imitate the gesture he made, but it was so long ago, I don't remember.
I am more and more sure that someone is interfering with our electronic communication.
(*This one's a bit rambling and disorganized. I'm not writing at my best. I woke up, had a cup of coffee, and haven't eaten any breakfast. When I do that, I'm writing while hungry and caffeinated. Hunger causes obsession about guys. This is obviously the 'obsession' kind of blog post today. Going on and on about the same thing in detail, and not writing very well, and not having any kind of conclusions or decisions.*)
I've started to feel REALLLLY paranoid about the person answering Curtis's text messages. Now I'm curious to see him in person and see what he says and what he remembers from 'our' conversations. I've been fantasizing about using disinformation (lying) to see if anybody slips and believes the lie.
Actually, this might be 'their' idea - it was what I've been thinking about this morning since I woke up, and I've been laughing hysterically at some of the ideas. They said I should mention about how Curtis's nickname for me is 'Whiskers' and he loves my mustache. Carrie said she herself grows facial hair, so I was going to make it sound like Curtis loves my facial hair the most about me, and Carrie should try growing hers if she wants to compete with me. I should talk about the time he called me 'buttercup' (which, in reality, he called HER that name once on facebook, so it would be like he was calling me the same pet name he called her), or talk about all the times he's grabbed my ass or brushed his hand against it - I can make it sound really believable, because there actually WAS an ass-brusher, but it wasn't Curtis, so I can describe in a realistic way about how he would 'accidentally' tap his hand against my butt when he walked by in small spaces where two people can't fit easily past each other, that kind of thing, and I'll have lots of realistic details, and I can sound really paranoid, about how I wasn't sure at first that he was doing it on purpose, but then I decided he HAD to be doing it on purpose, because it happened again and again.
Lies are destructive, and if I started a disinformation war, chances are it would have some harmful consequences, and I'm not trying to destroy or destabilize their relationship, especially when she's taking care of him by letting him live with her, and I CAN'T let him live with me, because I have drug residues here, and I can't explain it to anyone else, and my fridge still has bone marrow vapors in it. The things I'd have to explain are too weird and unimaginable.
But I could have a bitch war with Carrie. I've worried about that a little bit. A bitch war is a scary thing. I thought about bitch wars a few months ago when I had an incident with a girl who worked at McD. Her name was Whitney, and I don't even know if she still works there. She happens to know Curtis and his ex-'wife' Kayla (the one receiving child support), and she said she was living with Kayla. She once asked me if I knew Curt. She asked me that shortly after I sent him a text message for the first time, and I got paranoid that Whitney might be getting Curtis's text messages. (This is why I always mention people being puppets, where they might be forced to say something or do something at the exact moment that would lead you to believe they were hacking or spying, when they weren't.)
Whitney was an aggressive, reactive type of person, always arguing and fighting with people. She was loud and extroverted. That was my impression of her. I didn't know her very well. I was a little bit afraid of her. One time I came in at 10:00 and got ready to use the headset and take orders in drive-thru, and I took some money from a customer and put it in the cash register. People aren't supposed to share the same drawer in the cash register - if one person is using it, then ONLY that person must use it, because somebody could steal money, or make mistakes, and you would get blamed for it. But on overnights, we all use the cash drawer whenever we have to, because sometimes I might be all the way across the restaurant and I'm not close enough to get there quickly, and someone else might be standing right there when the customers drive up, and it's usually a manager anyway, so I let them get in the drawer and think nothing of it. So I thought nothing of it when I got in Whitney's drawer when I took the money from the customer.
Whitney freaked out. She started talking over the headset to someone else about 'Guess who I found getting her hands in my drawer? She was getting all in my drawer and messing up my money...' She made it sound like I had the drawer open and was rummaging around in it just for the hell of it and messing up the money and doing this gleefully and deliberately and maliciously and laughing while I did it - that's the mental image I had from the descriptions she was giving, from the way she said it. I was this evil malicioius thing like a gremlin or something deliberately messing things up and causing chaos and stealing her money and getting her blamed for it. She totally exaggerated what had happened, like there wasn't even a customer at the window when I had the cash drawer open, like I somehow just opened it up with the key or something and was moving the money around and taking stuff out.
I had to settle this with her and I apologized and told her I didn't realize that it was a big deal, because on overnights, it isn't. She said, 'You NEVER get in someone else's drawer!' I knew most people didn't react as badly as she did, but even so, I learned to be more careful and make sure they changed the drawer first.
Whitney was like that, always getting in a fight over something small, so I started to wonder what would happen if she and I got in a bitch war. I've sometimes had the theory that it's actually WOMEN who are responsible for my becoming an electronic harassment victim. Usually I imagine them as men, or the military, or random criminals who are usually men. But sometimes the 'Competing Females' theory makes sense too. Females can destroy other females just as viciously as males can destroy other males. And it's true, I was being attacked for a very long time, but not as badly as I have in the past few years, so SOMEONE was attacking me, but the worst of it began right after my Judith Swack therapy, so I thought she was doing it. Again, though, I can remember things going on long before that. But once in a while I get the 'hostile females' idea anyway.
I could imagine a bitch war, sort of like that Judy Blume book, 'Blubber,' where a gang of females are tormenting another girl. It scared me - I wondered how far they would go, how malicious they would be, would they destroy property, that kind of thing. Would they cut my tires? Tell lies about me to destroy my reputation? Send destructive computer viruses? It seems scarier to me to imagine fighting against females, because they would be more competitive and less sympathetic to me. I've always felt that men would hesitate to attack me, that they tend to feel protective.
Anyway I was thinking of all that with regard to Carrie.
But I don't WANT to get in a war with her, and I'm not planning to. Still, 'they' amused me this morning with the lies that they imagined telling.
I'll see him soon, so we'll find out how much he remembers from our text conversations. It would seem pretty obvious that I could just ask him about our text messages, but the last time I did that, he rationalized that he must have written it while drunk. I had asked him about the mean letter I got from MySpace when I was, briefly, his MySpace friend for like three days before he de-friended me. He was confused and he said, 'MySpace? I haven't been on MySpace in, like, months. I always use Facebook.' When I asked him again about it later, he told me he had been drunk every night that week - it was the week that he found out he was losing his license for nine months. So he explained it like that, that maybe he was drunk when he sent the mean letter to me. He would probably do the same thing if I said that I'd had a long text message conversation that he couldn't remember having.
I don't think it would help if I started telling lies and then seeing who repeated them. But it was a hilarious fantasy for a few minutes anyway. Telling them he's been calling me 'buttercup!' That's not the name he calls me. He really did call Carrie buttercup on facebook though. I'll probably fantasize a few more hilarious things that I could say, but in reality, I won't do them. Or, I hope I don't. Again, I'm not trying to harm their relationship, not when he's in this vulnerable and helpless position of needing a place to live, and needing someone to drive him around, and Carrie's the only one who can do it.
If I told lies, I should tell lies that make him look like a really nice guy. The person I'm talking to keeps saying 'no' in the text messages, while Curtis himself seems to say 'yes' in real life. So I could make up a story about how I tried, and failed, to seduce him, or something like that. Remember the time when... when I tried to do, whatever, and you said no, you had a girlfriend. That kind of thing. Or you said Carrie was the only one for you. And actually, he did say something like that when I tried to ask him to let me talk to him on the phone once, and he said that there wasn't much time to do that because he was working a lot of hours and then spending the rest of his time with his girlfriend. That annoyed me, because I wasn't calling just to chat, I was calling to settle my mind about what kind of relationship he and I have, so I can move on to another guy. Because I can't move on: the memory of Curtis inhibits me, and also, the voices attack and they tell me lies, and they tell me Curtis needs me, when actually, he probably doesn't need me and he probably doesn't even remember that I exist when he leaves Weis and goes back to his own world.
How can I believe one thing is true, but also believe what the voices tell me? The voices lie to me using my weaknesses, my false hopes, my wishful thinking. They tell me things that seem believable. For instance, it really is believable that Curtis MIGHT be attracted to me as a woman and not just a friend, because, in reality, I HAVE had boyfriends in the past, for many years, so obviously SOMEONE finds me attractive once in a while. And the 'somebody is hacking the text messages' theory makes a loophole that no theory can escape from. No matter what he says in text, I'll always wonder whether maybe someone hacked the message.
Why do I avoid calling him? Well, I HAVE actually called a couple times. I have left a few voice mails. He never calls back, or if he does, he doesn't leave messages. He has answered the phone twice and talked with me for real, but we haven't been able to get relaxed and trusting and used to each other, so that we can talk openly about 'our relationship.' I can only talk about such vulnerable subjects in writing, not out loud. It takes a lot more trust and relaxation, and we have to spend more time together, and not be rushed. It takes longer, and I have to test each statement, each risky little thing I say, carefully, and say one small vulnerable thing, and get his reaction, and then say another small vulnerable thing, and get his reaction, one by one, statement by statement. Talking openly about sexual attraction, and about physical touch, is vulnerable. Questions I can't ask: Do you like it when I touch you? Do you want me to touch you more often than I do? Do you want me to touch you in a loving way, like giving you a hug? Do you want me to touch you in a sexual way? I hardly ever touch him, but when I do, I swear, I SWEAR that I get the feeling he likes it and he wants me to do it. And if I DON'T touch him, I get hurt feeling vibes from him - not just 'hurt,' but 'I'm disgusting, that's why she won't touch me' or 'I'm needy, and I can't ask her to touch me.'
It happened not too long ago. We were working together in the morning. I had seen him in the back room when I was on my way to do something, probably to go to the cooler to get chickens. We said hello and we were chatting a little bit. I was relaxed and enjoying myself, but I also felt rushed, because in the morning, I have to hurry to get certain things done by a certain time. I forget what we were talking about. I was probably just asking him about his DUI thing and what was going on in his life right at the moment.
I felt that I really wanted to touch him. I had touched him recently, I think. That might have been after the day when I went up and scratched his shoulder and then petted him, so he was aware that I could touch him, and remembered it. But I restrained myself, I didn't do it, and I just separated from him, and went away and went back to work.
I remember I mentioned, as I was walking away, that I had had an incident where I spontaneously started coughing and choking really badly, and I was coughing for like twenty minutes afterwards. My throat had been irritated during the time when I was drinking cream in my coffee (I've finally stopped doing that, regretfully - the cream is actually addictive and I miss it), and I was having a problem with my voice box seeming to have a tumor or a swelling or something which was giving me a scratchy throat and making me lose my voice. And I think it was the murderers attacking me, when I would spontaneously start choking out of nowhere for no reason - I think they did something to burn my throat - but they were attacking an irritated area that already existed. I already know that they've made me have a tickle in my throat before, and they sent me a link to a web page that described radio frequency weapons that irritated the cells - the cells that have to do with allergic reactions - I forget. It's usually done to make you gag or vomit, but this particular attack only caused lots and lots of coughing. So it was a combination of already having an irritated throat from the cream, and the murderers attacking it and triggering twenty minutes of coughing and choking. That had happened to me, and I mentioned it to Curtis as I was walking away. (I didn't mention that I thought 'they' had caused it to happen.)
I said something like, 'So, everyone thinks there's something wrong with me, but there really isn't.' Everyone noticed I was coughing and choking and they asked if I was okay. It was embarrassing. So at that moment, I felt like a weirdo, like a loser, like somebody disgusting and strange. But that feeling was happening at the same moment that I was walking away from him, without touching, when I felt as though I needed to touch him.
I use the 'I'm rubber, you're glue' theory a lot. I'm rubber, you're glue, whatever feelings I feel originally came from you. I often notice that I have a feeling during an interaction, and that feeling seems to belong to the other person. I don't know if this happens in the real world, or if it's a fake feeling caused by the murderers. However, it's well known that people 'pass along' feelings by making someone else feel that way: for example, if parents are beating and abusing a little child, that child will go to school and he will bully and abuse the other children, passing along the feeling of being a victim and being attacked and helpless. That's well known. But I think it happens with more subtle feelings, with more complicated feelings, about social inferiority usually, not just with something about being beaten up. Or sexual rejection. It can come from subtle things we say and do, or subtle things in our body language or tone of voice. (That's why I love books about communication skills. They actually talk about these things. This book I'm reading now mentions the 'melody' of the voice, the intonation, the songs we sing when we speak a sentence.)
So the feeling I felt, when I looked at him, when I looked at his shoulders from behind - his shoulders were hunched down in a way, and he looked ashamed, and pathetic, and disgusting, and needy. He looked rejected. I had walked away without touching him. I can't tell which feelings are my own, and which feelings are his. I can't tell if I project feelings onto him, or if I read his own feelings accurately. But I avoided touching him because *I* felt needy, disgusting, and pathetic. I passed that feeling along to him, and it seemed like his shoulders were expressing that. I don't know how I see it, but I can read the position of his shoulders. I've seen it many different times in different situations, where some tiny angle of his neck and shoulders expresses 'a thousand words' of feelings.
He reflects and resonates feelings from me and has done this in many of our conversations. So it might not even be his own.
I should go ahead and post this - I should eat breakfast instead of obsessing and I should stop this bad-writing-quality disorganized rambling.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
I only have heard this song about twice, but I got enough of the lyrics to google it. It's by Pink. I never knew I liked Pink before, but I love this song. I'll have to hear the whole thing.
Glitter In The Air lyrics
Songwriters: Mann, Billy; Moore, Alecia;
Have you ever fed a lover with just your hands?
Close your eyes and trust it, just trust it
Have you ever thrown a fist full of glitter in the air?
Have you ever looked fear in the face
And said I just don't care?
It's only half past the point of no return
The tip of the iceberg, the sun before the burn
The thunder before lightning, the breath before the phrase
Have you ever felt this way?
Have you ever hated yourself for staring at the phone?
Your whole life waiting on the ring to prove you're not alone
Have you ever been touched so gently you had to cry?
Have you ever invited a stranger to come inside?
It's only half past the point of oblivion
The hourglass on the table, the walk before the run
The breath before the kiss and the fear before the flames
Have you ever felt this way?
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
There you are, sitting in the garden
Clutching my coffee, calling me sugar
You called me sugar
Have you ever wished for an endless night?
Lassoed the moon and the stars and pulled that rope tight
Have you ever held your breath and asked yourself
Will it ever get better than tonight? Tonight
Yesterday I went out and got a bunch of cardboard out of the dumpsters at McD. I don't mind messing around in McD's dumpsters because I'm an employee and I'm so familiar with those dumpsters already, even though I wasn't at my own store. I need cardboard for my drug residues at home. I put it in certain places, like to cover the floor of an area with the residues, or to use as a box to put things in to keep them off the floor and away from other contaminated objects. I go through a lot of cardboard, but it's free, except the cost of the effort of getting it and bringing it home.
I slept badly. I put down a plastic drop cloth over my bed. It was meant to cover the residues that seemed to be on my bed. However, I still couldn't sleep. My skin stuck to the plastic and it moved with me every time I moved. The murderers were bothering me too, attacking and forcing me to stay awake. I still felt like there was ephedra on me somehow. I know from experience that ephedra can go through plastic, and I have to use paper or cardboard instead. Paper has worked very well all this time, but plastic is somehow too thin and it seems to be permeable to the ephedra molecule. I think ephedra might be a nonpolar molecule, but I'm not sure. I just wasn't ready to get all the cardboard and paper out of my car and set up the bed. That will be today's project.
The drugs need to be patched up very soon. They are making me more aggressive than I should be. I am ashamed to tell about what happened with Carrie, but I ought to tell about it, I think. Sometimes I do things that I feel ashamed of because of the drugs pushing me to go against my better judgment, or I say something to someone in a way that is too rude or ungrateful or something.
Here is the Carrie situation.
Several months ago, I first saw Carrie when Curtis brought her into Weis and walked around with her, and then brought her over to introduce her to me. We talked a little bit and she was nice to me.
A while later, maybe a few weeks or months, I forget, I decided to try to find Curtis on facebook. I found him and asked him to be a friend. But before he even responded, Carrie responded first by requesting me to be a friend. And she saw me in person and asked me if I had gotten her friend request, because she said that sometimes she sent a request and people didn't get it. (I can relate to that.) So I said yes to her, and Curtis said yes to me. I was temporarily his friend on facebook, but that didn't last long. I did it because I wanted to see updates about what was going on in his life, because there was a chance that he was going to go to jail for drunk driving. I didn't want him to just disappear without me knowing what was going on. So I wanted to see facebook.
I have written a couple of emails to Carrie. Once I wrote to her because she broke up with Curtis. I told her a couple of things: 1. that I was interested in him, and 2. that I wanted him to be happy, which meant that he needed a stable relationship with somebody who wouldn't break up with him as a way to 'punish' him, control him, or because of something trivial and petty.
She responded to me and said that I would never be able to understand what had happened between her and him. She said that he needed to figure some things out before they could get back together. Also, she advised me that I should shave my mustache and cut my hair and put on a little makeup if I wanted to get a guy. (If I wanted to get just 'any guy,' I don't need to do anything at all. I can go to a dating website and find, literally, THOUSANDS of men, and that is not an exaggeration, who would go out with me this very instant, the way I am - but they're guys who I find unattractive, because I am very picky, and because I'm a skinny-guy-o-phile, whatever that is.)
I had some help from 'the voices,' who put words into my mouth. I don't know what I would have said in the real world. Probably nothing at all. They made me say, 'I'm not here to talk about how I style my hair,' or something like that, 'I'm here to tell you that I want him to be happy and that means he needs someone who won't break up with him.' I don't recall my exact words.
That conversation ended, after a few letters, and we let it go.
But I have written to her again just recently. I was panicking, and I was on drugs, like I have been over the past couple weeks with my drug residues. It's intensifying my emotions and making me more aggressive and making me more emotional. I WANT to get rid of the drug residues. I don't want to live this way. I am not doing this on purpose. But it's impossible to explain to any mainstream-world people who have no idea that you can handle a few seeds and a few tiny plant sprouts and then contaminate everything you own, forever and ever, with drug residues that go through your skin and cause intense reactions from a tiny microdose.
I was panicking because he told me he got thrown out, and he was moving in with Carrie, and he's about to lose his license, so she'll be driving him. Because of panicking, I wrote to her too, before I talked to him on the phone and had my questions answered. There are situations where I can do something socially inappropriate because I am so scared of losing someone that nothing matters anymore. 'They,' the voices, are comparing it to the time when I was courageous enough to ask Martin to give me a hug, because I knew I was losing him when he went away for the summer at the end of the semester. I can do things like that when I am scared of losing someone, when it's the last time I'll see them, when something important or terrible is going on that makes it so nothing else matters. So I didn't care much about what Carrie thought, or how she might feel, or whether I was being cruel to her by talking to her about her boyfriend, I just did it, I sent her an email.
I asked her some questions like whether he had to pay rent. She responded mostly by telling me that I should get over Curtis, that I was too mature for him and that I needed to find myself a mature guy. (This is laughable for someone who is learning that I can call myself a hebephile or an ephebophile because I am so strongly attracted to teenagers, and grown men are mostly unattractive to me.) She put on a big loud 'display' on facebook, on her status updates, talking about how wonderful he was, how great it was to be with him, how much they loved each other, and he responded the same way and wrote much the same thing under her comments. I'm calling it a 'display' because I've been thinking of this as animal behavior, where an animal puts on a display, making loud noises or fluffing up its feathers to scare off the threatening competitor, that kind of thing. A display. On FB she said things like, 'Sorry to all the girls who wanted him and can't have him, I've got him and I'm not letting him go,' that kind of thing.
'Displays' are something that I actually like about Curtis. He instinctively does them. Once we were in the back room and I was pushing a cart and going somewhere when he stopped and talked with me. Some other guys were there. I was talking to another guy at first, and then Curtis came over to the cart I was pushing, touched it and leaned on it, became the center of attention, and talked to me and blocked out the other guy who was talking to me. He did it in a subtle, quiet way, a minimal way, just a few small things to take my attention away from the other guy, to stop that conversation and make me talk to him instead. And the other guy sensed it, and he looked down at the floor. I don't know if he was angry, he probably was. The other guy stopped talking to me. I called it a 'display,' a social display saying that he was my first priority, and again, this was subtle. He does little things like that frequently.
He also 'brownnoses' me, and that's not my word, that's somebody else's word, because some of the other guys said he was a brownnoser. There is no reason on earth to brownnose me. I am nobody. I'm not a manager, I'm not anybody important, I'm just another employee. He flatters me and calls me his pet names, and he often does it in front of other people, sometimes in front of customers, sometimes in front of an 'inferior,' or a new guy. The other day he called me his name in front of the new guy, to show that he has something special going on with me and the new guy shouldn't try to compete.
No, I don't think that I'm actually all that special to him, because he does this kind of thing with lots of different women, and he is popular with women, and they all seem to be fond of him, although they haven't all tried texting and calling him and giving him notes and doing all the other things I have done. Most of them probably haven't tried to take it outside the workplace. Many of the women are older than he is. I don't usually get a chance to see him talking to young women his own age. From talking to him, I know that he is almost always dating somebody, although he might go a month without having a girlfriend if he breaks up with someone. He has mentioned several girlfriends over the year that I've known him.
('Why didn't anything get done?' 'I was writing.' I was thinking of asking someone to help me by calling me and checking to see what tasks and projects I had gotten done this week, and asking me (compassionately) why things didn't get done. Writing is all I ever want to do. I haven't played video games in a while, thank goodness, but when I have them, video games are all I want to do, until I win.)
It's strange to me, my blog is getting read by a steady number of people. There is always someone reading it even on the days when I haven't posted anything. People are finding me in the google results, and the ones that are getting the most hits are the same subjects that I'm fascinated with. For instance, one of my most popular posts is 'Yulia Tyroschenko,' and I might not be spelling that correctly, where I wrote about how I googled her and tried to find out whether that braid around her head is fake. Everyone else wants to know the same thing! That tells me that I'm not the only one, that LOTS of people are interested in long hair and unusual hair styles, especially if they see it on celebrities, politicians, and other people in the media. All I have to do is talk about celebrity hairstyles and lots of people will start reading my blog, I guess. But anyway I get the impression that a lot of people are finding certain blog posts, particular ones, in google results, for subjects that a lot of people are googling. It doesn't necessarily mean that they permanently subscribe to my blog and they keep reading all my romance-novel, love-story, diary-entry blogging. They might only read about Yulia Tyroschenko (or whatever) and then never see me again. Still it's interesting to see the steady stream of people looking at my blog.
Getting me a social life... Somebody other than Curtis. It's always been very difficult to make me be sociable. This is a brief history of my social life:
Elementary school: I didn't have a 'friend group.' I usually had just one best friend, and barely saw anyone else, though I might visit someone else once in a while. I played with toys, and read books, alone, or with my brother John - and I loved my brother dearly and we both felt that we were the only people on earth who understood each other. (Yes, we fought sometimes when we were kids, and it wasn't always perfect, but in general we had a good relationship.)
Middle school: Best friend Rachael. A couple other friends, but they didn't really understand me, and I couldn't be alone with them. They usually worked best if it was me, Rachael, and the other girls together in a group. Being alone with the others was awkward, nothing to talk about, nothing to do, no chemistry.
High school: I started dating Terry and spent most of my time with him, and the rest of my time with Rachael. Sometimes I sat at a table in the morning and talked with the group sitting there, but I didn't really care about them or open up to them. Still, it resembled a group.
College: This was my strongest 'group' time. I had several friends and we went everywhere together. We were all in the AP group, Advanced Placement, for people who got good grades in high school and had taken AP classes and AP tests. We had a few college credits already because of that, so we took different classes than everyone else did, and we took them together, and we lived in the same hallway in the same dormitory. Our little group went to the cafeteria together most of the time, and the center of the group was Valencia, who talked the most, and told the most stories, and made everyone laugh. Any one of us could be alone with Valencia, but we (the rest of us) could not easily be alone with each other. Valencia was able to be everyone's best friend. (This might mean that her instinctual stacking is So/Sx, the 'best friend.' She always had multiple friendships. And she was a comedian, making jokes, making fun of people in a gentle way, and 'comedian' is another thing associated with the So/Sx type.) Still, the rest of us could eat lunch together if we couldn't find Valencia to 'glue' the group together, and I got along well with Jessie, the girl who had some disease that made her unable to walk straight and keep her balance. So Jessie and I often ate together.
Eating meals together was the most important social activity we did. I will always miss that. In fact, the books about intentional communities say that eating meals together is, almost, the number one most important thing that a community needs to do to guarantee that it 'feels like a community' and stays together. Eating meals together is crucial. You can't build a community and actually FEEL together unless you eat together. And you will probably remember the same thing, eating meals in the cafeteria in school with your group of friends, and how that was 'the' social time period where everything happened. (Although I guess things happened during recess, too.)
After college: Total isolation. I became a hermit. I had a couple housemates, but after moving into my boyfriend's house, I didn't keep in touch with the old housemates. Then I moved into my own place, alone, and sometimes visited my boyfriend, and that was all. Now, I'm not with him anymore, and the only boyfriend I have is the guy who's married, who I can't visit freely, and he's sick, and we don't do much together except go to the store. Plus, I'm in Pennsylvania, far away from my school friends. So the online world is where I read about things other people are doing, and that's about all I have.
I would be more sociable IF:...
if the people believed some of the same things I believe. I need to be around people who can tolerate the idea that maybe, just maybe, they don't know all that there is to know in the world. They have to be just a little bit open minded about the unknown, the strange, the weird, the secrets and conspiracy theories, the UFOs, psychic powers, ghosts, the mind control systems, whatever. (No, I don't worry about UFOs, and in fact I never think about them, but that's just an example.) They don't necessarily need to dwell on those things, they just need to be SLIGHTLY open to the possibility of them, and SLIGHTLY interested in things that are strange and unusual. Slightly aware that the world isn't just a simple place where everything is what it seems. My entire life is lived in a world of strange things that nobody else knows about, and I can't even begin to get close to somebody if they can't tolerate the slightest hint of strangeness.
If you've read Harry Potter, then think of it as, you're making friends with Luna Lovegood. You will have to get used to hearing unexpected comments about things you've never heard of before. There's always some weird long story about why she does what she does. She wears shoes to bed because she sleepwalks, but somebody's stealing all of her shoes, and she suspects nargles are behind it, so she wears a charm to repel the nargles. As for me, I take off my shoes before getting into your car or your house - although I might not take them off before getting into the car, but I will really, really feel guilty if I don't - because there are drug residues on the bottom of my shoes that will cause you to have extremely severe insomnia, and you won't know what's causing it, and you'll go to the doctor and get addicted to sleeping pills because of my ephedra footprints. Trying to explain that to a closed-minded 'mainstream' person who believes that the only truth is what the government and the television tells us is true...
I think I'll go ahead and post this... I need to do some projects today, and I'm focused on patching up the drug residue outbreaks... I also need to make a 'smaller infinity,' get rid of some contaminated belongings in the storage unit, so that the contamination isn't infinite, so it won't last forever, so I don't feel hopeless about it.