The voices think that the 'real me' is too boring. No, really???

10:56 AM 8/2/10

Carrie isn't as sociable on facebook now that Curtis is living with her. She must have been lonely at home and that's why she spent so much time on facebook. Now she has someone to be with at home.

The voices were tormenting me at work yesterday. It was because Curtis wasn't there, and I haven't seen him very much, and they were worried that he quit his job (which is what they always worry about) and they wanted me to swear that I would try to find out what happened if he left. So I promised them that I would try to find out where he went, and one voice told the other voices to 'have faith.'

Then for the rest of the day I was sick because I had started my period. I haven't been using Ibuprofen anymore, for a long time, but I can only do that if I'm lucky enough to start my period on one of my days off. I started it at the worst possible time, early in the morning just before going to McDonald's, so I was going to have an entire day of torture and cramps if I didn't take ibuprofen right then.

That explains why I was in the 'mood' that is the combination of sad/lonely/wanting to have sex with little boys mood. I'm calling them 'little boys', but in reality, that's disrespectful. When I was a teenager, I didn't want to be called a 'little girl.'

There are dozens of teenage guys on MySpace who do, indeed, have the Justin Bieber hairstyle. And I'm serious when I say I don't like that hairstyle, but at the same time, I'm grateful that their hair is a couple inches long, because that's the most I can expect out of them. So I was searching through MySpace and looking at all the profiles of teenage boys with couple-inches-long hair. When I look at them, I feel sure that they would never be attracted to me. I always felt that way even when I was younger.

'They' had me changing my Ichazo's instinctual type on my MySpace page a couple times recently. Why? Here is what happened. I started wearing shorts again, and letting the whole world see my hairy legs, so they decided to call me a Sx/So. Why? Because the Sx/So challenges conventions and questions assumptions. But so does the enneagram Five in general. So that doesn't mean I'm a Sx/So. Then I tried to change it to a Sx/Sp because that seemed more like me. But then they got angry yesterday and made me change it back to Sp/Sx, as it was originally, because somebody was messing with it and telling lies, and the only way that I can ever, ever fall in love with someone is if I tell the truth about myself and know who I really am. If I am pretending to be someone else, I can't be loved.

They don't like the self-pres types. Supposedly, they're boring. But I really didn't care what anyone thought of me, and I really didn't care whether I was 'too boring,' until some murderer decided to start reading my mind, spying on me, and controlling every word that I wrote and every word that I spoke and putting fake words in my mouth and judging my life to be too boring and in need of more excitement. THEY are the ones who care whether or not I'm 'too boring.'

I wasn't this boring before the drug residues. The murderers have little sympathy for me with the drug residues: they LIKE having all of my belongings covered with a drug that makes me an easily controlled puppet. Some of them KNOW that the drug residues are real, and they WANT them to be there. So they do everything possible to get in the way of my cleaning it up and getting rid of it. THEN they tell me about how boring I am because all I ever do is worry about the drug residues. I only worry about them because they're there!!! If they weren't there, I'd be thinking about all the other wonderful things I could be doing in my life.

Peter, my only local friend, is having problems with his foot. There is a circulatory problem which I think might have been triggered by his riding in my passenger seat when there's ephedra on the seat, and putting his grocery bags into the back of my car when I have been moving stuff and putting it in the trunk and contaminating it, again with some ephedra and other drugs. Those poisons cause *ME* to lose circulation in my feet, and I'm the one with supposedly normal blood circulation. I tried, all this time, to prevent him from getting contaminated when he rode in my car and went grocery shopping. He doesn't believe in the existence of drug residues. Gradually I gave up fighting against his disbelief and I let him put his grocery bags wherever he wanted. He uses those 'green' bags, the ones made of fabric, so he's using the same bags again and again, which means they are constantly contaminated.

Do I *WANT* to worry about drug residues all the time? No. I would have had this all fixed long ago except that the murderers decided to force me to do other things and be distracted and not complete any projects. I want to worry about all the other things in life, like enjoying music, and having children, and exploring my mind and knowing myself, and knowing other people, and all of the other infinite things there are to do and to know in the world.

Peter's foot is in constant pain. When I say 'constant pain,' I mean, every second of every day, even when I'm busy and I've forgotten about him, even when my mind is on other things, even when I'm at work, even when I'm asleep, Peter's foot is having these recurring waves of pain. His foot lost circulation and there are big black spots on it, big scabs where the skin cracked open. They looked at his leg with an MRI and found that his artery is mostly blocked. This is something that can happen with diabetes and kidney dialysis, but I think my drug residues triggered it or made it worse. He is in terrible pain and he had to get a prescription painkiller, and I can't remember what drug it is. It's something like 'Proxypene HCL.'

He is going to get surgery to do something about the blocked artery. I imagine this is dangerous surgery. He could die. Peter is the only person I know in this local area. Everyone else, all the people on MySpace and Facebook, are my old high school friends who looked me up online. I have a few co-workers on those web pages too, but I don't visit them or do anything with them, and they don't know me or understand me.

I have an aunt who lives in Bellefonte, but I don't do much with her, and I have a couple cousins and second cousins, in Pleasant Gap and Altoona, but again, I don't do much with them either. They were always the faraway family when I was growing up: I grew up in West Virginia, and also in Greensburg PA, so even when I was younger, the aunts and cousins were in a faraway city and we didn't see them much. So I'm not close to any of them, and I separated from everyone even more, a few years ago, when the problems in my life became so bad that I couldn't bear to even go eat holiday dinners with them. I couldn't just talk to them and pretend everything was normal, while *THEIR* lives were all going well and everything was normal for them. They all live in a bright, happy normal world where scary, terrible, horrible things never happen to anybody, mind control isn't real, there are no 'drug residues,' chronic fatigue is something that happens only to crazy hypochondriacs, and so on. They simply can't imagine, and have no NEED to imagine, that there is darkness in the world, the evil is real, and terrible things are going on, terrible secrets and evil, terrible dangers: their world is bright and happy and safe. In their world, people are trustworthy, the government is a good thing that makes the world a better place, and so on. In their world, it's possible to ignore the craziness and go on living a mundane life. They can't understand me.

So if Peter dies, I won't have anybody. Peter doesn't understand me either, but at least he understands how it feels to have a chronic illness, and he understands the idea that 'there's something wrong with the system,' in particular the healthcare system. And he understands that people have 'spiritual' experiences, although to him, those spiritual experiences are the result of psychic, supernatural phenomena, but still, he at least can tolerate the idea that I hear voices and I talk to them and they follow me everywhere I go. I won't have anybody else if he dies.

I think that's one reason why the voices have been pushing me to go after Curtis, even though he's hard to reach, and even though I often think somebody is interfering with our online conversations, the few conversations we've had. He is the most beautiful person I know. I mean that he is sexually attractive to me, and I love the way he acts, I love the way he expresses his feelings with his whole body, I love the things that he says to me and his sincerity, his realness.

And I have to fight with the voices thinking I'm too boring, when I'm being myself. I wouldn't *BE* too boring if they allowed me to sleep an entire night uninterrupted, and so my mind could refresh itself and I could think new thoughts and feel new feelings and I could deeply pay attention to everything I do. And I'd have more time to read more books and learn new things, and when you learn new things, you're less boring. And I'd be able to have conversations with people, and when you meet new people and learn from them, you're less boring. And if they let me do my projects at home, cleaning up the poisons and doing everything I need to do to get rid of them, instead of keeping them there to guarantee that I'm an easily controlled puppet for them to manipulate, then I'd be able to worry about other things in life besides that, and I wouldn't BE so boring! I'm bored too! I hate worrying about the same thing all the time! The voices think that I don't *KNOW* that!

I think that's it for now...