8:22 AM 12/12/10
When I visited West Virginia, I was looking at the bookshelves, not my books, but my parents' books and everybody's books. There are random things in there, some of them from John, some from me, some from my parents.
I saw 'Being and Nothingness' on the shelf. When I saw it, I felt sickness, disgust, loathing, hatred, and contempt. The person who gave me that book was named George. He used to visit my father a long time ago. Originally, he lived close to us when we were in Greensburg PA. He was a member of the scuba diving club. He stayed friends with my father and continued to visit us every once in a while after we moved to West Virginia. My parents kept scuba diving for a while after we moved, but not for long.
I was around 9 or 10 years old, I think, or 11. Not yet a teenager. One time when George came to visit, he was picking me up and carrying me on his hip, even just to walk from room to room in the house. I let him do this because I didn't know how to say 'no.' I just did whatever I was told to do by an adult. George wanted to spend a lot of time talking to me and carrying me around. He wanted to carry me all the time. I became annoyed with this, but I let him do it because I didn't know how to tell him to stop. It must have surprised my parents too because they didn't tell him to stop either.
George always wanted a hug, every time I saw him. If I was walking up the stairs while he was walking down the stairs, he would want me to give him a hug. If I met him anywhere in the house, he would want me to give him a hug. He didn't visit very often, and he only just started doing this, and nobody knew what to do about it.
He must have decided everything was okay, because one day in the kitchen, he grabbed my breasts while he stood behind me and lifted me up onto the counter. He wanted me to sit on the counter and spread my legs while he stood against the counter in front of me. Again, I didn't understand any of this, but as soon as he grabbed my breasts, I was sick, and I knew that he shouldn't do that. That was the moment when I figured out for sure that he was molesting me. Up till then I hadn't realized I was being molested. I just felt that this was very annoying and I was starting to get sick of it.
There are people out there who would hear this story, and they would wish that they could have been standing there beside me with a gun at the moment when this happened. I know how that feels.
After he set me on the counter, I said, 'Don't ever do that again.' I said it in a non-threatening way, with a cutesy little voice and a cutesy little smile. He said, 'Okay, I won't,' in the same cutesy little voice.
After that, I told my mom what happened. She told me to avoid him whenever I saw that he was nearby, to just stay out of his way from then on. So I tried to do that. I did actually start saying 'no' to giving him a hug every time he saw me. He didn't visit us many more times, just a few more times after that. It's a long drive from Greensburg to the house in West Virginia. Not only that, but I don't know where he moved to. He was always changing jobs and moving from place to place. (There's probably a reason for that!)
It was after that that I picked up the book 'When I Say No I Feel Guilty.' I think I was 13 or 14 when I read it. It was on that same bookshelf upstairs that I was looking at now on my visit back to WV. I read the book. I started using the skills. They actually worked.
However, I started using it at school, too, and it made me less popular. I used to be popular because I was submissive and I had no dignity. As soon as I tried to have dignity and self-respect, as soon as I took myself seriously, nobody liked me anymore. I saw things differently after reading that book. I was able to see when people were pushing me to do things I didn't want to do. I was able to say no to them. I was able to see when people were making me inferior. Nobody liked me after I started telling the truth.
I had a couple of close friends who stayed with me all the time. But the 'general' friends, the casual friends, the people who weren't really close, most of them disappeared. I remember seeing the shocked, hurt look on one person's face whenever I stood up to him when he was treating me as inferior. I remember that he almost never spoke to me again after that. I don't remember who it was. It was just one of the casual friends. No, I wasn't happy about seeing a shocked look on people's faces. It didn't make me feel good at all.
The book didn't 'convince' me that I was being manipulated by people. It was something that I had always known and felt, but had no words to express. It gave me the words and the ideas to express what was going on. But the people around me weren't reading that book. They didn't know how to respond back to me. And that book isn't the end of it. There are a million more things to know about how to treat people with respect, and how to communicate. The people around me would have needed help to express themselves, too. Nobody ever taught THEM how to talk to ME.
Later on, my brother found 'The Fountainhead' in a list of books about individualism. You could write an essay about any of the books in that list, and he chose that one. So he showed it to me, and I eventually read it, and we also read Atlas Shrugged.
When George found out that my brother and I were reading Ayn Rand, he gave me 'Being and Nothingness' to help me fight back against the brainwashing. That book was supposed to convince me that Ayn Rand was wrong. I glanced briefly through it and saw that it was meaningless and useless to me, and I put it on the shelf and never looked at it again. It's still there. I felt that sick loathing and contempt when I saw it.
It's true, Ayn Rand had a cult of people who were brainwashed to act a certain way, to fit in with the cult, to never be 'irrational' or do anything that Ayn Rand didn't like. Nathaniel Branden wrote about what it was like to be part of that cult, and he wrote about how he broke out of it. He wrote critiques of Ayn Rand's books later on and explained how the books made people feel that everything they did was wrong and it actually stopped them from being themselves because they were constantly worried about doing anything that Ayn Rand wouldn't like. I agree with all that. We experienced the same thing. My brother went through a hardcore Objectivist phase where he judged me for everything I did and said, but later on, he gradually changed his mind and mellowed out about Objectivism, and so did I. But 'Being and Nothingness' wasn't what 'rescued' me from hardcore judgmental Objectivism.
George is an old man now. I haven't seen him in, like, decades. I still feel that same sick hatred and contempt, after all these years. He's going to die someday, and I will still loathe him till the day he dies. It's kind of sad. I would want to forgive him if I could, but I can't make myself not feel sick at the thought of him.
George is the reason why I am careful not to touch anyone if it could make them uncomfortable. It's the reason why I was always so cautious with Curtis even when it sometimes seemed like he was openly flirting with me. I never, ever wanted to violate him or disgust him the way that someone else had done to me. It's the reason why I would have instantly given up on him and left him alone, instead of ever, EVER trying to actually start up a relationship with him. I always assume that he is disgusted with me, that he feels that same sick feeling of being molested and violated, that I am ugly and unattractive and loathesome to him. It's the reason why I would have done NOTHING AT ALL with him, except that the murderers controlled me and forced me to initiate a relationship with him outside work. And I STILL believe that he loathes me, even though I remember the times when he seemed to be attracted to me or flirt with me. (This would not be such a problem, except that I also have unconventional grooming practices that don't conform to the standards of female beauty - I don't shave, I don't remove my mustache, and nowadays, I also am growing natural dreadlocks, which many people think are disgusting, since I'm using the no shampoo method of growing locks, instead of growing fake, manicured, high-maintenance dreadlocks. I don't feel as afraid of being rejected whenever I'm conforming to the mainstream grooming standards. But I am not going to change my practices because of that. This is part of my personal belief system now.)
I tried, and tried, and tried, to get Curtis to officially say 'no' to me, to make boundaries, to tell me to stop, and I also tried to tell his girlfriend to do that, too. But neither of them would do it. Neither of them would have a conversation with me about this. I told BOTH of them, more than once, that I 'hear voices' and I do things that they tell me to do, and apparently, they're not that worried about it. His girlfriend still writes letters to me occasionally and she is still friendly to me, but she doesn't understand why I was so desperately trying to get him to say 'no' to me and forbid me to see him. He is too nice and too gentle to say 'no' to me and make a strong boundary telling me not to touch him. So one of these days, I'm going to get the idea that since he didn't say 'no,' after I begged him and begged him to say 'no,' I'll get the idea that it's okay to do it, and I'll try something stupid, and he'll push me away and hurt me very, very badly.
And none of this would be happening except that 'they' are still forcing me to have false hopes about him and to keep trying to stay connected with him instead of just grieving, getting over it, and letting him go, which is what I would have done on my own in the real world. Not only that, but they're also giving me a fake 'loyalty' to him, so that I get attacked whenever I try to go looking for other men to go out with instead of him, and if I try, they tell me that he's hacking my computer and he knows that I'm looking at other guys and he's jealous about it, so they make me feel like I have to be loyal to him and not cheat on him. Curtis isn't hacking my computer. THE MURDERERS are hacking my computer, and THEY are jealous about who I'm dating, not Curtis. Curtis doesn't know what I'm doing, he doesn't think much about me, and he isn't hacking my computer, and he doesn't care if I go out with other guys. He barely even remembers that I exist unless I'm bugging him. Out of sight, out of mind.
(I inserted a bunch of paragraphs while rereading this. This is back on the subject of parents and children.) If you teach your children how to say 'no,' then they will also sometimes have to say 'no' to YOU, the parent. You have to decide where the boundaries are. On which issues will your command override your children's 'no?' Sometimes, there are dangers that they don't know about, and when you're protecting them against those things, you'll want to command them even if they don't want to obey you. There might be ways of communicating more clearly and more respectfully, but you will still have to set a boundary on some things.
However, on a lot of issues, parents are extremely disrespectful towards their children, even when it isn't a very important or dangerous thing, even if it's some trivial everyday thing, and it isn't necessary to force them to obey you about those minor things. Like, which shirt are you going to wear today. Parents and children can get into big fights about something that trivial. I've seen them, other people, having fights and being horrible towards their children over stupid things like that. They act like it's a life-or-death decision if you wear that pale pink shirt that makes your skin look sallow, or whatever. You could tell your kids your opinion on something like that, without actually commanding them or forcing them to wear what you tell them to wear. There are ways to communicate opinions without constantly nagging people or disrespecting them or forcing them, and after a while, after you've said it a thousand times, it's better not to say anything at all.
A lot of this wouldn't be a problem if we didn't have child labor laws. Children aren't allowed to earn money, and they can't leave home until they're eighteen years old. I think they can sometimes leave at age 16, but I forget how that works. Some kids would have wanted to leave home many, many years before that. They become teenagers, they start standing up for themselves, and if they could just move out, they wouldn't have to fight against their parents over every little thing.
*******
They woke me up this morning after a dream about 'girl toys.' That came from McDonald's, where I'm asking customers about whether they want a girl toy or boy toy with their Happy Meal. Yesterday, I heard myself saying 'boy toy or girl toy' and I was conscious of it, because I had just been reading in the crew book that we're not supposed to say that. In the beginning it was hard for me to say 'boy or girl toy', because I was thinking 'boy toy,' as in, a guy that you are casually dating, a non-serious relationship, with a young guy. I've gotten used to saying it now. It has fewer syllables. But actually, we're not supposed to say 'girl' or 'boy,' we're supposed to tell the customer what the toy is (right now, it's a Transformers toy or a Hello Kitty wristwatch), because somebody complained that tomboy girls might want to get the boy toys (I know, I would've wanted them too, the girl toys are usually pathetic, but I always liked action figures when I was a kid). So it's embarrassing to ask for a boy toy to give to your girl. (The boys don't usually ask for girl toys, but it could conceivably happen.)
In the dream I was playing with the toys, and they were like the toy collection I had when I was a little kid, like the My Little Pony toys. They had all these tiny little accessories, little pieces that were easy to lose.
But I was a perfectionist (with my toys in the real world, not the dream), and I never lost any of the pieces - until I took the toys over to my friend's house, and we played with them for a few hours, and I went home and found that things were missing, and she was too stupid and careless and apathetic to recognize that there were pieces of toys that didn't belong to her, even though I TOLD her that I had lost some of the pieces in her bedroom, and I described what they looked like, and I asked her to please give them back to me when she found them - sorry, I still haven't gotten over it.
The only explanation I have for this is that she didn't care about her own toys at all, and she didn't even remember which parts of toys and which accessories were hers, because ALL of her toys were junk to her and she wasn't interested in them. I have an analogy to this. I've been buying Goodwill clothes, and sometimes throwing them away when they get contaminated (chemical sensitivity), so I'm not attached to my clothing anymore. In the past, I would have strongly recognized which clothes were mine and which were someone else's. But when I visited West Virginia, my mom offered to do the laundry, and she was going to mix up all of my clothing into the batch with hers. I warned her not to do it, because I said I wouldn't recognize which ones were mine afterwards, and I wouldn't be able to pick them out of the mix. That's because all of my clothes are new, they are 'disposable,' I'm not attached to them, they're non-unique, and I've deliberately avoided 'bonding' with my clothing or falling in love with it or making it part of my special clothing style or image. (Yes, I did used to have special, unique clothing styles in the past.)
So if my old friend felt that way about her toys, if all her toys were junk, then she couldn't recognize, or care, which little tiny toy parts were hers and which ones were someone else's, because she never played with toys and didn't care about any of them at all. I didn't understand that back then. I couldn't imagine that somebody's parents would buy tons and tons of unwanted toys that they forced on their children (especially at Christmas) because they felt that it was necessary to buy lots of expensive toys for their kids, when their kids hate playing with toys and will just trash them all over the room, break them, and lose them, and forget about them. Most kids I've seen don't care about their toys at all. They would be just the same if nobody ever bought them any toys. They'd be better off. They DON'T WANT their toys! This is one of the reasons why I officially stopped celebrating Christmas.
Well, in this dream, it was a symbolic dream, and I am disgusted by people who use 'symbols' to communicate, but, the 'girl toys' had 'shoes' that were 'in the closet.' Years ago, I heard the word 'pedophile,' and I thought that it meant a foot fetishist, because 'ped' is the root of words like 'pedestrian,' a walker, a person on foot. It's also 'pod,' in the Latin names of animals and their body parts. So I knew 'ped' and 'pod' from biology, so I thought that a pedophile was a foot fetishist. (That's before I was using the internet.)
So my understanding of this dream, which was written by a loathesome person, is that the 'girl toy' is ME, and my 'tiny little shoe toys' are 'in the closet,' meaning, my own pedophilia is still a secret.
Why would people write dreams that disgust you, for the purpose of making you hate them? Why would they do this same thing over and over again, and never learn, and never understand, that their behavior is disgusting and it causes you to hate them? Apparently, they DO know that it's disgusting, because they never reveal themselves to their victims. And I'm not the only one experiencing this - it's the same with all the victims who are writing on the internet. Their attackers are disgusting, loathesome people who do the same disgusting things, the same stupid, loathesome, pathetic, contemptible, repetitive things, every single day, forever, without getting caught.
Will electronic mind control ever be accepted as 'common knowledge' in our society? How many centuries are we willing to wait for that to happen? How long until the police officers admit that this is real? How long until they become willing to investigate these attacks, to go to your house and put up detectors and tracking devices that will figure out which direction the attacks are coming from? How long until they get a reliable method of detecting attacks at the moment when they happen, and arresting the people who are doing them, and destroying the systems that they're using?
THAT will never happen. They're probably not using 'their own' systems. They're probably hacking into other people's systems. The systems they're hacking into are used for legitimate purposes at the same time. They're probably hacking into things like radio station towers and cell phone towers, I'm guessing, and making them emit frequencies and carry information that the owners wouldn't have wanted them to do. Isn't it wonderful to have all of our computers connected to an always-on insecure internet connection 24 hours a day? And isn't it wonderful to have those computers open and exposed to electronic weapon attacks that control them even when they're not connected to the internet? (The answer is No. I'm being sarcastic.) I'm tired of our society's ignorance that never ends. It just goes on and on and on and never stops. People never stop being ignorant.
I would end this blog in a better way than that. But I don't know how.
I'm going to try to get up and do something now. Today is Sunday. I'm off work tomorrow, which is when the Weekend Warrior mode kicks in. Everything that I have to do to rescue myself, to redeem my life, to make it possible for me to get married and have children, that all has to be done in the two days that I'm off work. After those two days are over, I go back to being a government slave, to earn my income, and a very big chunk of that income will be taxed out of my paycheck, to pay the government to send slaves to other countries to kill the slaves in those countries. The little bit of money left over out of my paycheck will be used to pay the rent, and the landlady will use those rent payments to pay the extremely high property tax on these apartments, and that property tax will be used to pay the slaves to go to foreign countries where they will kill other slaves. Am I seeing a pattern here?
I'd like to live in a small cottage on land that nobody owns, where I don't make a rent payment or a property tax payment. The cottage would be made of natural materials. Nothing toxic or moldy. It would be very small. I don't need much. Or I could live in an RV. Buying a trailer is too expensive - I looked into that. It's like $80,000 to buy a trailer and have it installed on a lot. That's more than a HOUSE used to cost. There's no such thing as 'trailer trash' anymore. Trailers are for rich people. Poor people live in apartments. It's 'apartment trash' now.
This blog still doesn't have a good ending.
Little by little I get done the things I need to do to recover from my disasters and make progress in my life. I don't know how long it will take, but I am trying. That is all I can do. I am being constantly attacked by people who want me to fail at everything I try. It's like Neo fighting Agent Smith and his millions of Smith viruses. After a few more decades of trying to fight them, and trying, and trying, and trying, eventually I will give up and die.
There's a song of despair that I heard once, on public radio, on one of the folk music shows. I only recorded the very end of the song, so I only remember a few lines from it.
'Life is a trial and love is a trouble, beauty will fade, and riches will flee, pleasures they dwindle and prices they double, and nothing is as I would wish it to be... Last night in my dreams I was stationed forever, on a far distant isle in the midst of the sea. My one chance of life was a ceaseless endeavor, to sweep off the waves as they swept over me. Alas, 'twas no dream, ahead I behold it, I see I am helpless my fate to avert. She lay down her broom, her apron she folded, she lay down and died and was buried in dirt.' The Housewife's Lament. People loved, and hated, that song so much that on the internet, they've added extra verses by new people, to try to fix it, to make it hopeful, to fight back.
Maybe I will just leave it with a bad ending today. Sometimes I can't fix it.
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