Bad feelings. Making jewelry. Forcing myself to 'date' people. Modem hacking.

9:48 AM 8/5/10

This blog will offend some people, because I talked about sexual attractiveness. I get voices telling me 'you alienated your readers' anytime I say anything judgmental about people's appearance in my blog.

I have Peter's Wellbutrin on me. This past week, several times, I have had... 'bad feelings.' That is all the description that I will give to them. I recognized them. Also, the vinyl cover on my car seat came apart and moved into the wrong place, and I've been getting St. John's Wort on me from the car seat underneath the vinyl.

The antidepressants have enabled me to do some things that I don't usually do. If I suddenly am able to do some simple thing that I've wanted to do for months, that means I've had an exposure to antidepressants. I suddenly went shopping at Michael's Arts and Crafts and bought beads because I had been fantasizing about making a necklace for Curtis. In reality, it was 'their' idea to actually do it. They pushed the 'go' button on that idea. I am not, in reality, giving him any gifts, because I still feel that the 'Curtis is in love with me' idea is delusional. It's a fake idea and a fake obsession that they have put into my head. I am always fighting against that.

I made a little necklace, but it's only experimental. I wanted to make it a certain way, but I couldn't. I wanted the string to be a piece of leather string. Actually, I have a bunch of concepts for my jewelry and I wanted to meet all those criteria. I want jewelry without metallic objects touching the skin, because I am metal sensitive and I can feel the metal giving me a painful tickly sensation, and if it's the wrong metal, I will get a rash. So that's why I wanted a leather string for the necklace. And Curtis wears a necklace that actually resembles one that I used to have (I still have it - it's in a box in storage) with a leather string and a shamrock pendant - it happens to be exactly like that, except his looks different - on his, the shamrock is made of metal, but on mine, the shamrock was an image pressed and burned onto a little round piece of leather. I wore it for good luck. So anyway I wanted a leather string, but I couldn't get the beads to go directly onto the leather string, because it's too thick. So I got a thin string made of waxed cotton, but it's flimsy and weak, and I don't trust it for durability. The beads fit onto that though.

I have been wearing it a few times and testing it. I'm having a reaction to the hematite. I love the way hematite looks. I have little cubical hematite blocks. They reflect the light in a dull metallic flash. But apparently they are metallic enough to still give me a metal reaction. I know hematite contains some iron, but I don't know much more about it. The reaction that I have is a strange tickly feeling in my skin where it touches, and also, sometimes, a dopey, stupid feeling inside my brain, where I start to feel like I can't think, and like I'm going to have a seizure (but I don't).

So I designed a necklace that I imagined a guy could wear. And I followed the 'goth'/'vampire'/'blood' type themes that I've seen in his web pages, so I chose colors based on that. It's a small, simple necklace, with only a few little beads on it. The main problem is that it's wayyy too flimsy and weak. I wouldn't ever sell this to anybody and I would hesitate to even give it away as a gift, because it would easily break and fall apart. And if it broke the beads could slide off and get lost. I don't have them knotted down. It was made in haste, just as a test.

I don't usually do projects like that, not easily, which indicates that I am indeed on drugs. The vinyl car seat has been out of place for several days and I've definitely had some St. John's Wort reactions.

Also, the feeling that 'I hate my job and I *can't stand* to go in today' is how I feel whenever I've been exposed to St. John's Wort. That seems strange because it's an antidepressant and it's supposed to make you feel better, but I observed many times back when I was using the drug (on purpose) and when I was having accidental reactions to it that it also gave me the 'this is unbearable' feeling, especially about going to work. On a normal day, I don't necessarily *like* going in to work, but I don't have the 'this is unbearable, time is passing too slowly, I hate every minute' feeling. That feeling is caused by drugs.

I have been fighting with the voices, who keep wanting to insist that I am a Sexual Instinct person instead of a Self-Preservation instinct person. I had been working on self-improvement for *years* before the murderers got into my brain and started destroying all of my self-observation, self-control processes and preventing me from doing the things that were important to me.

Another 'rule' in my jewelry is that I'm opposed to using *dyed* stones. This happened to me a long time ago. My parents used to get a little catalog in the mail called 'Nature's Jewelry.' They had nature-themed jewelry and I bought a lot of stuff from them over the years. But there was this one necklace that I was looking at for a long time before I finally bought it. It was made of blue stones. I always love semiprecious stones - I don't usually wear things with precious stones like diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and sapphires - but I like multicolored stones and other semiprecious stones. This necklace was made of several things - turquoise, lapis lazuli (I think, but I'm not sure) and other blue stones. Maybe not lapis lazuli - I think that's more rare and more expensive.

Well, I bought it, after seeing the picture in the catalog for months, only to find that some (maybe not all) of the stones were artificially dyed blue. They might have originally been bluish-colored stones, but not the bright blue that they were dyed. I forget how I found out. I might have looked at them closely and noticed it, but also, I think it happened when I got the necklace wet, and it left a blue dye stain on something it touched. I don't like things that are fake. If the stones are only a little bit pale blue originally, that is fine with me. They are unique.

I could go out in my backyard and find a bunch of stones, carve them into beads, and then dye them blue if I wanted to.

So I check the labels to make sure the stones aren't dyed.

I haven't done any arts and crafts projects for years, so I was suspicious about doing one all of a sudden this week. I am sure it's a reaction to the antidepressants.

When I got up today I had a voice that was making sarcastic comments, which sort of supported me, and went against me at the same time, whenever they 'pushed the button' to make me get up and do something I've thought about doing for a while: bleaching out the refrigerator. I don't believe that bleach will do anything for the bone marrow vapors. I don't know what the chemical is and I don't know whether it can be broken down with bleach. I don't know whether it's a small, simple molecule, or a large, complex molecule. I know nothing about it at all. So I thought bleach would probably have no effect.

I opened the fridge door and didn't have a bad reaction right away. I didn't smell anything. The last time I worked on it, I nearly passed out when I opened the fridge door. That didn't happen this time. I started spraying bleach bathroom cleaner all over the inside of the fridge. It says that you're not supposed to use that stuff on plastic or other fragile surfaces that could be damaged by bleach. So the voices were saying, 'Today's project: destroy something expensive that doesn't belong to you.' (Sort of like Fight Club.) And I agreed. I was actually concerned about destroying the fridge with a bleach spray on the plastic. Then I shut the door and turned the fridge back on to get the bleach-filled air circulating in it. The bone marrow vapors circulated back through the fan, so it's all inside of places I can't reach. The air has to circulate. For a while, I had it turned on with the doors open, and a big fan blowing directly into the fridge to blow out the vapors, but even that wasn't enough. There are tiny traces in there still.

After I did this, I still felt fine for a few minutes. But it doesn't hit right away. It's five or ten minutes afterwards. And that happened. As I was walking around outside going to my car, I suddenly felt the vomit urge, a movement in my stomach, and my salivary glands started flooding saliva. It wasn't that bad though. It only lasted a couple minutes and went away. That happens, I think, because you inhale the vapors, they settle in your nose and throat, and then they get swallowed into the stomach.

I am going to cover up the car seat with vinyl again - I bought more vinyl. But I will still have some exposure's to Peter's Wellbutrin when I go visit him. And Wellbutrin is the last thing on earth that I want to have on me. Peter told me that, when he and I first met, he was on it, and I didn't know. But back then, I was growing, and using, St. John's Wort, and I was contaminated with it all the time, so I wouldn't have known it or noticed anything. I didn't notice contamination and drug residues back then.

My brother John is visiting Aunt Jeannie today, and I'm going over there to meet them. I guess we're just going to her house. I should check my email.

They were bombarding me with 'delusion support' material last night about Curtis. Anytime I start to change my mind about him, anytime I start to let go, or I start to get over him and move on, if I start to believe that he will be okay without me, that he doesn't need me, that he isn't secretly in love with me, anytime I start to believe those things, the voices start bombing me with fake beliefs again to re-train me to believe what I'm supposed to believe about him. One of their favorite beliefs to bombard me with is the idea that he's suicidal, and that he needs my support so that he will continue to choose life. But then sometimes the voices tell me that they're telling *him* the same thing about *me*.

Last night they 'pulled out all the stops,' and that's a phrase I don't use, because I don't like to carelessly use phrases that I don't know the meaning of. But they did. They did everything possible to re-connect me to him, to convince me that I was all-important to him and I must not let go of him no matter what. They told me, just like they did with Martin, that he was hacking my computer, that he had been reading everything I wrote, that he had been watching me for years and years, that he had known who I was ever since he was a little kid because he had already been hacking and spying on computers long ago, and that I was some kind of a 'hero' to the computer hacker underground, like a role model. They used that whole same speech back when they were trying to get me to be with Martin too - they made it seem like all these guys had been hacking and messing with computers for years and they all knew me, and Curtis knew me before he ever met me, and so did Martin, and it's all a big secret.

Back when it was 'only hackers' and not 'electronic mind control', I used to talk to the keyloggers and entertain them. I didn't know who was reading my keystrokes and messing with my computers, but I imagined that it was a cute little teenage boy who was hacking and exploring and going around claiming territory. I had this mental image of who he was. That's why they are telling me all about that now.

One of the ways I fought back: There was a time when I decided I would stop writing to the keyloggers, I would break the habit. But I didn't know that I was being given fake, forced urges. I tried to stop... and then I would feel this sensation, and I decided that I was 'psychic' - I felt this sensation of pain and grief and loneliness, whenever I stopped talking to the keyloggers, and it was an intense physical urge to start writing to them again because I felt sorry for them. They convinced me, back then, that I had a psychic, telepathic connection to some faraway person who was desperate to read every word I wrote because he was in love with me.

So I fought back by turning my mental image of him into something I didn't like. First I said that he probably WASN'T a cute little teenage boy, he was probably a (please forgive me for saying this) an old, fat, ugly old man who I would find very unattractive. And again, I'm sorry for saying that. But that is how I protected myself, by imagining that he was somebody I didn't want to be talking to.

Then I made it even worse, as I felt hatred and rage and anger - when I stopped writing to them, they 'did things', like turning off the electricity, giving us dozens of hangup calls and prank calls, and so on - so I was very angry. So I decided that I wasn't even talking to a man - I must be talking to a female, a lesbian. And not only that, but it was a stupid, mentally retarded lesbian. So for a while there, when I was hate-filled and fighting back against them (and I was on drugs at the time, I'm sure - I had started using St. John's Wort several years ago and I'm pretty sure that's when this was happening), I was referring to the hacker as the 'retarded lesbian.'

St. John's Wort helped me do certain kinds of things, but it also made me rage at the hackers and, later on, at the voices. Rage was a side effect. My ex-boyfriend Eric and I both tried a bunch of alternative medicine pills that we bought at Wal-Mart, and we tried them at the same time. We tried St. John's Wort, Ginkgo Biloba, and Ginseng, all at the same time. (Back then, I didn't know to be cautious!) And as soon as we did this, we had the *biggest most pointless argument ever* over nothing at all. I have a photograph of myself giving Eric the middle finger. I think I'm sitting on a tree branch in that photo. Eric and I were out back behind my apartment taking pictures of ourselves trying to climb the big tree before they cut off the lowest branch (because it might hit the roof of the house). We had a huge argument over nothing, and I really mean it was over nothing - I can't remember what we said, I can't remember what we did or why. Eric seemed to be acting like an asshole for no reason, and I think I was too, because I overreacted to him and fought back. This was all because of our drugs, and I didn't know it at the time.

I used to say the most horrible things to the keyloggers during that time period. That was the time when I was 'Kreacher' from Harry Potter. Kreacher said horrible things because he thought nobody could hear him. He did that because the painting of his mistress was the only thing left after she died, and the painting was crazy and it wouldn't really talk back to him the way a real person would, because those magical paintings in Harry Potter aren't really conscious or alive in quite the same way a human is. When you're talking to somebody who doesn't talk back to you, you start to attack them and say horrible, hurtful things, just desperately trying to get a response. You do this when a loved one dies. You might rage and scream at the dead person, saying things you never said before, telling them how you hate them, trying to wake them back up again, and they don't wake up. I felt that way about the hackers on the keylogger. I used to talk to Nerdman in the chatroom, and he was at least a real person who responded back to me. He wrote sentences and expressed himself. After he started ignoring my emails, the computer harassment began. And the hackers didn't talk to me. They never spoke. They just did things to the computers. I wanted a real person who would respond, someone who would give me a reality check. I didn't want just cold, faraway, online interactions with computers. I wanted warm, close, real people to touch. So it hurt me when they tried to force me to keep giving attention to the hacker, whoever it was, some imaginary person who probably, in reality, was unattractive and somebody I would never want to be with. It probably really wasn't just some cute little teenage boy like I imagined.

So that's the story behind why, last night, they decided to start up the 'Curtis is the hacker' story again. And I have to give a disclaimer when I talk about this. *ANYBODY* who wants to spy on someone else's computer or break into their email is able to read online about how to do this, go to forums where people will walk them through it and show them how, and download software designed to do this. All of it is on the internet. So for all I know, he really could be hacking my computer, and there would be nothing unusual about that. But I am not claiming that he *is*. I am just saying that he *can*, like everyone else. I myself haven't taught myself that particular skill, and, since I was a victim of it in the beginning, when I was being hurt and harassed and manipulated - I feel opposed to even learning how to do it. I might still do it someday, so that I can stop feeling like a victim. But I don't even have time to learn *anything* lately or do any projects, especially with chronic fatigue and me not using antidepressants anymore.

They gave me that story because I was getting ready to give up on him and move on to real people who actually wanted to be with me. They were telling me that he lied about his feelings for me, that I didn't actually give him the creeps, that he actually was attracted to me but he couldn't tell me. Again, those things are *possible*, but I don't want to assume them. I usually assume they're not true. So the voices were going over this with me, asking why not, and they said it must mean it's 'too good to be true.'

Usually, the only guys who like me are unattractive guys - that's been my experience. They wanted me to go to the dating website so I could be convinced that ordinary, attractive guys were able to be attracted to me. But I'm not convinced, because I won't be convinced until the young teenage guys with long hair, that category that I like the most, is going after me. Those are the ones who I believe don't like me. I already *know* that middle-aged men are attracted to me, and short-haired men, and fat men, and average-looking men, and men who have nothing in common with me and don't understand me at all, and men who don't share any of my beliefs or values. I already know *those* people are attracted to me, dozens and dozens and dozens of them. Men who I find unattractive are always attracted to me. I already know this. Men who I can't stand to be with are attracted to me all the time. There are some exceptions, some people who are moderately attractive, and if I kept on looking for them and reaching out to them, I would get some results. But the voices are trying to stop me from actually *using* the dating websites or using MySpace for real to actually meet new people and to go after the category that I find attractive - the puma/cub relationship or the MILF/SILF relationship :) - that is what I am trying to do. (I don't know if 'SILF' is a word but you can figure it out from MILF.)  (Hey - I didn't know Wordpress inserts a smiley image!)

That was the reason why I cried after I talked on the phone to the guy from the dating site. I wasn't crying because, woe is me, one of the people on the website offered me money and I was a whore. I was crying because, to me, the definition of 'dating' is: 'Spending lots of time with people you can't stand to be with, hoping that, after a while, it will get better.' That is my experience of dating. And I was also crying because if I'm really doing that, it means I'm letting go of Curtis, while still feeling very attached to him.

It reminds me of something Curtis did. I had my own explanation for why he was doing this. Whenever he first met Carrie he was talking about how he was going to start drinking alcohol the moment he left work and got in his car before going over to her house. (Actually, I have reason to believe they knew each other for a while, maybe through friends-of-a-friend, that kind of thing, before they dated - she made a comment on MySpace about how 'I was there for you even back when you didn't want me.')  I started imagining that he had to get himself really, really drunk so that he could force himself to get used to her, because he really didn't want to be with her. He could only stand to be with her if he was really drunk. I don't drink alcohol, but that's the way I feel about dating. I can't stand to spend time with most people. I don't like anybody. Nobody understands me, nobody is sexually attractive, nobody does their hair the way I want, nobody is interested in anything I have to say, nobody says anything that I find interested enough to listen to... That is my mental image of dating. In reality it might turn out to be better than that.

But I have to say 'no' to people *instantly* without even giving them a chance. How could I know merely from listening to them on the phone that I would be disgusted with them? How could I know instantly that there will never be any sexual attraction towards this person? I can know it from one single glance at their photo. I can know it from five seconds of listening to their voice on the phone. *I KNOW IT*. I know it instantly. How do I know it? I'm not exaggerating. Five seconds on the phone, and I already know that this relationship has no future. (You should have seen my face while I was listening to Martin talking to me on the phone, in our one conversation that we were actually able to have, before the interrogations and manipulations and mind control and interventions and intercepted emails and everything else. I listened to his voice with an expression of ecstatic joy on my face. I was hypnotized as he spoke, carried away with the images he described, seeing what he saw. I loved Martin's voice. I can tell instantly if there is any chance at all that I will feel sexually attracted to somebody.)

But the rest of my mind says, 'That's unfair. You have to give them a chance. You have to FORCE yourself to spend time with them and see whether you can get used to them.' So I would go on a date, and sit there, with every inch of my skin and every bone in my body wanting to run away and never come back. Maybe some of that is because I'm being burned by the murderers zapping me with something so that I can't relax. I don't know. Burning attacks *do* make you feel like you have to get up and leave. They do prevent you from relaxing and focusing. So I don't know if my attempts to date people in the past were ruined by the murderers making sure that I could never get to know anybody or get close to anybody. But at least *some* of the feeling is real, from within.

I don't like the unfairness of dating. How unfair is it that I only want to look for cute teenage boys? The voices were telling me that Curtis is a hebephile, that he only wants to have sex with twelve-year-old virgins, and there is some truth to this, because his ex-girlfriend Kayla, the mother of his child, he got her pregnant when she was very young, and I don't know how old she is now, but when they were having sex, she had to be younger than 15, I think. And he asked me if I was a virgin. I would be the 'petite, small-breasted virgins' category, if you are talking about an adult who is of legal age, that the other guy described in his hebephilia blog. But I'm not a virgin, and I can't help it that I'm not a virgin, and I can't do anything to go back to being one. It's like rejecting a guy because he's circumcised. Yes, I want to have sex with guys who have intact penises. But how unfair is it to reject someone for something he had no control over and no choice about, that happened a long time ago? How unfair is it that I'm a 35-year-old who wants to date teenagers, but what about the 50-year-old men who want to date *me*? Because there are dozens of those. If all I wanted was a sugar daddy who would pay me money to go out with him, an older man giving me gifts, I can find dozens of those. But I want to be physically attracted to his body, and for that, I am looking for teenage boys.

Every rule that I use to judge who I will and won't go out with, that rule can be turned against *me* so that *I* am the one being rejected. And I don't know what to do about that. I could be on the opposite end of that rule, on the other end of the phone line hearing the word 'no,' no matter what rule I use to decide who I won't go out with and who I will consider.

But I have played the opposite side. I dated older men for years. I've been seeing 'sugar daddies' since I was in my early twenties. I was with a 41-year old married man for a while when I was 23. Eric was several years older than me, though I can't remember how old now - I thought it was seven years? And Peter is also older than me. He's 43 now, I think. I keep forgetting how old he is.

Fair and unfair - those are concepts in my brain. But my body, my ears listening to the voice on the phone - it knows instantly within a couple seconds whether there is any chance at all, and I can't get around that snap judgment. It knows.

I need people who will talk with me about subjects that other people won't talk about. Those will be real friends. I want to be believed. That would mean that I should look for 1. computer hackers who believe me when I say that somebody is stalking me and harassing me over the computer, 2. people who believe in mind control, or, at least, people who believe in psychic power, telepathy, mind reading, paranormal experiences, and so on, 3. chemical sensitive people - although I have some trouble with them, they're hard to deal with. I don't really WANT to focus on chemical sensitivity forever and ever just because. I'm only focused on it now out of necessity. I want it to be over and done with.

I talked with a lady at work who once dated an Objectivist (if I recall correctly), and her daughter is named Dagny, which is how I found out she knew about Objectivism. She knew about the Weston Price diet and she worked for one of the stores that sells raw milk. She knew some of the things that I'm interested in. When I talked with her, when she worked there (she's in the pharmacy now, not the deli anymore), I felt as though she was on drugs or drug residues, and I felt somehow that she was too constantly cheerful. She was always positive and always cheerful. It's like a fake person on drugs. I don't like myself when I'm that way. I got that impression from her. Now that I've mentioned her, I'm afraid that the murderers are going to arrange a 'puppet' incident that would force me to talk to her, and I don't want to. I didn't like that constant drugged cheerfulness feeling. I want to be drug-free, and I want to be friends with other people who are drug-free. (The voices were saying that Curtis is on drugs, but I don't know whether they are telling the truth, or being metaphorical, or talking about secondhand drug residues. They say he's on something for ADHD, and an anti-anxiety drug, if I recall. This is one of those things that would be relatively easy to do a reality check about. They might be referring to tobacco and alcohol, though, because both of those drugs have useful purposes as 'self-medication.' Tobacco does help ADHD, and alcohol is obviously an anti-anxiety drug.) Anyway I don't want them to force me to have a puppet incident with that lady. I'm not looking for female friends.

I want to *choose* who *I* reach out to, for once, instead of passively letting people respond to my dating profile. I want to be the one who *asks* someone to go with me instead of being asked by him. I want to be the first one to write the first letter saying hello. Hello, I read your profile and I'd like to meet you.

And I don't want 'puppet' incidents where the murderers are 'trying to be helpful' by bringing me somebody that they think I would like, somebody they approve of.

I need to check my email, and time is passing... I should get online and post this now.

****
This is one of those stupid, petty things that the hackers/murderers do, something so petty and so stupid and so trivial, nobody would ever believe it, except for my fellow sufferers who are also being harassed. I know AJH at tiworld.blogspot.com would believe it - he knows about their petty stupidity. My modem - they did something to my dialup modem a long time ago, and it's been this way for ages now. They made it so that it has a 'whisper' in the sound it makes while it's dialing up. There's an ultrasonic, what's the word I'm looking for? It's like a subliminal message, in the noises made by the modem dialing up. It says 'What in the world is wrong with my computer?' and they think that's funny. Then another voice, later on, was written over that one, and it says, 'Leave her the hell alone.' Well, just recently, somebody 'cut out' that part of the dialup sequence on my modem, so it makes no sound at all during that moment, and then a second later continues to play the little dialup song. And somehow it still manages to connect to the internet even with that little piece of the dialup song missing from the modem.