sticking out like a sore thumb

10:33 AM 1/3/11

This morning I was working on a project. I had some ceiling panels that I decided to get rid of. I had bought them because I was looking for soundproofing materials at Lowes, and I saw that ceiling tiles had a noise reducing ability. I was going to build a shielded box area that would reduce ambient noise, and I was going to cover it with foil to reduce ambient radio waves as well. Then I would get inside it and see what I would observe, what I would feel. If you can reduce all the noise and the electromagnetic fields from 'normal' sources, like radio stations, neighbors, etc, then a couple of things will happen. 1. You can use your senses and just observe whatever symptoms continue to happen, and 2. you can use equipment to detect whatever attacks keep happening, without the distraction of ordinary background noise, so that the attacks 'stick out like a sore thumb.'

But it turns out that the ceiling panels are toxic. In fact, they actually KNOW that they're toxic. The instructions explicitly say that the ceiling panels are made of a toxic material. They say that if you touch your clothing against them, your clothing is contaminated, and you should wash that clothing separately from other clothes. (That's exactly what I experienced with contaminated clothing: don't wash it with anything else, or the whole batch will be ruined.) When I bought them, I either didn't see those instructions, or else I believed that I might possibly not have a reaction to this material. I'm chemical sensitive, but I don't always have problems with the 'typical' chemicals that lots of people react to. For instance, bleach doesn't bother me, unless large amounts of it are used in an area with the windows closed. Perfume doesn't bother me either. 'Bleach and perfumes' are what chemical sensitive people always complain about, so I have to be specific when I say that I'm chemical sensitive, but only to certain things. Anyway, it turns out that I DO react to the ceiling tiles. After touching them, and after inhaling the dust from them, I become severely exhausted, so totally exhausted that I have to lie down and I can't work anymore. So I decided to get rid of them.

I advertised them on Craigslist and some people said they wanted them. I was giving them away for free, because actually, I had considered just throwing them in the dumpster to move them out of the way without a hassle. But I hate to throw things in the garbage. I have thrown away so much stuff in the past few years out of necessity, because of contamination, and because I don't want to give away contaminated clothing to Goodwill, to people who will buy it and won't understand why they suddenly have heart problems and severe insomnia that won't go away no matter what. So I've thrown away lots of things that seem to be perfectly good.

And it makes me angry to see the college students throwing away huge amounts of 'stuff' on the curbs when they leave school, when THAT stuff ISN'T contaminated with toxic residue. They're just too lazy to keep it and move it. They buy tons of stuff they don't really need, then throw it in the garbage when they leave school. I hate to see that. I hate it that I have to be 'one of those people' who do that, but when I do it, there is a good reason why. I have heard stories from people who go in the dorm rooms and clean up after the students leave, and they talk about how wasteful and disrespectful a lot of the students are, how they destroy things and leave behind expensive items and don't care about anybody or anything, and expect someone else to clean it all up. I don't want to be like that.

So I decided I would give away the ceiling tiles. I got responses to my ad right away, and I am giving it to the first person who responded.

But suddenly I think my emails might not be getting through. Curtis's girlfriend Carrie sent me an email saying that I haven't been answering her. But I did answer. I sent her a big long email a day or two after I got hers, at the beginning of December. 'They' are hacking the email and blocking them for harassment purposes, to accomplish whatever it is that they are trying to accomplish. Sometimes they do this, and sometimes they don't, so I never know for sure when my emails aren't getting through, or when I'm being ignored, or when somebody doesn't want to talk to me and they want me to leave them alone, or when someone is just too busy to write back or too lazy or they're just procrastinating but they mean to write back sooner or later. I never know for sure which it is. And a lot of my emails DO get through. So I don't know.

So I wrote back to this lady because she stopped responding and we didn't settle on a date and time to pick up the ceiling tiles. She asked if she could pick them up Monday, today, and I wrote back saying yes, and I told her a few more things and asked her what time, but she didn't write back in answer to that email. So now I'm not sure what to expect.

So I had to take Vivarin this morning and I got myself up and put the tiles into a cardboard box that was a little too small for them. I ripped the side of it a bit to put them in. While I was handling the box, in the kitchen, I lifted up the cardboard box and I accidentally tapped one of the light bulbs in the chandelier. I watched as the light bulb disconnected and fell through the air in slow motion and then exploded on the kitchen floor. Then I started laughing helplessly. It wasn't a mercury-filled retina-burner compact fluorescent bulb, so everything is okay. It was only an old incandescent bulb. So I don't have to call the Poison Control Center or the Environmental Protection Agency and I don't have to open the windows and I don't have to spend thousands of dollars to clean up the mercury. Because that is what happens when you break a compact fluorescent bulb. Making incandescents illegal is one of the stupidest and most insane things that the government has done yet... but why should I be surprised when the government does things that are insanely stupid and evil? ('Lifetime supply.' Buy lots of incandescents, and put them into a box somewhere, and keep them forever. If you go to Europe, bring some of them with you and resell them for a high price.)

The government, and governments AS SUCH, have been doing insanely stupid evil things for all of human history. I like Harry Browne's book, 'Why Government Doesn't Work.' It talks about government AS SUCH. All government. It doesn't say that the government would be fine if only this particular person or that particular party would get out of office. Instead, it says: all government doesn't work, ever, no matter who is in there, and the best thing to do is make government as small as possible, to get rid of as much of it as we can.

****
I started using facebook again, but I've been using the mobile website, because that site works pretty well on my computer. Actually, it works great, and I've decided that I *LOVE* using mobile websites, and that I wish all websites were designed that way, seriously, and I would like to see how they are designed. And I looked at the source code for that web page, and it was a small, short file - I could tell that it was small, because the scrollbar on the side of the document was a relatively large scrollbar. Usually, when I look at the source code for one of the huge, bulky, garbage-filled websites, it's a teeny tiny little scrollbar on the text document, a HUGE web page with lots and lots and lots of code. Less is more. I love mobile. If mobile phones get smarter and smarter, if they get more and more memory, if the technology of mobile phones becomes more advanced, then website designers will start adding more and more junk and garbage and advertisements and pictures and 'flash' to their mobile websites, which will destroy them. I want 'less is more' to be the design principle, something that you do deliberately, consciously, and intentionally, even when you have tons of memory space to waste and you can afford to make a huge flashy bulky website. Voluntary simplicity.

I also emptied the internet cache, and reloaded the facebook website, and it seems to be working better now that I did that - the 'normal' website, the 'immobile' one. So now that it's working again, I keep going and looking at Curtis and Carrie's web pages to see if anything new is going on. I am using it as a substitute for real interaction.

'The voices' are talking to me about him; they asked me to go see him one more time and bring something for him; they had been saying 'this is the last one' and then watching my reaction, whether I would feel grief and start crying, or what. They are now asking me to go do it again. And they know that I am willing to go see him again. However, I don't know when or if they will start urging me to spend time with him in a 'leisure' setting, at home, or taking a walk, or visiting Carrie, or what.

I also wonder how I would feel if I met his son. I've seen him several times, going through the drive-thru at McD, and I've seen his photos. He has a son who lives with his ex-girlfriend, and that's one of the reasons why he is staying in this local area, to be near him. I don't like to 'bond' with children unless I know for sure that I am going to stick around for a long time. Children are trusting, and they don't expect you to leave, they expect you to stay there forever, and they expect you to live forever and never die, and they expect you to have infinite strength and to never fail at anything you do, and they expect you to be all powerful and all knowing. They don't understand that adults are fragile and weak and sick and helpless and unstable, some adults anyway. So I don't want to bond with him and then hurt him by leaving.

I already feel bad enough for bonding reluctantly with Curtis, even though Curtis isn't a baby, but he was innocent and trusting when we met, and I wrote him notes warning him over and over that I'm crazy, and that I'm being controlled, and I can't help doing the strange things that I do, and saying strange things, and that something bad will happen between us sooner or later. I warned him, I tried and tried, but it eventually happened anyway, I did something that hurt him, I did several things that I DID NOT want to do. What did I do - well, first, I got his phone number off the wall in the back office and started sending him lots of text messages, even though I didn't want to, and I started getting forced to do it by 'them', and sending messages at the most inconvenient times, long stupid annoying messages worrying about this and that. He didn't answer most of them, although every once in a while he would text back and say 'who is this?' even though I had texted him several times in the past and told him who I was. I never knew if he was receiving the messages or not.

So the trust was slowly broken down, over and over again, when I texted him and he didn't answer. I would get hurt, every time I sent a message and got no reply. I tried to write him notes on paper, saying that I had hackers who often blocked my messages. I asked him now and then if he was getting my messages, and sometimes, he would say no, he wasn't getting them. But other times, he DID get them, and didn't answer them, so I couldn't tell which one it was. What *I* wanted was to NOT TEXT HIM AT ALL, but 'they' were forcing me to do this. So it broke the trust every time I got hurt.

Then they forced me to look him up on MySpace and Facebook and to start emailing him there and asking him to be my friend. I temporarily was friends with him on MySpace - his page is private and only friends can see it - but then there was a time when Carrie broke up with him, and he was drunk all week long, and I sent him an email asking 'Which email do you like to use, this one, or that one?' and instead of answering that question he wrote me back an email saying that I was too old for him and this was creepy and he wanted to stay single - even though all I said was, which email did he like to use. Then he de-friended me.

I asked him about that email later on, and he said that he didn't even remember sending it. So I can't know if he was a puppet, forced to write that when he was drunk and didn't know what he was saying. Or I don't know if he was consciously aware of sending it, and he knew what he was saying. He was stunned and confused when I told him that I had gotten the email from MySpace, and he claimed that he never used MySpace at all anymore, and he said he hadn't been on there in months. But I looked, and there was activity recently, and it said he had been logged in, and there was the 'activity stream' of things that he had been doing. So he was sometimes telling lies about it and denying that he did it, and I couldn't know for sure if his account was being hacked, or if he was lying. And I tried to ask him about these things, to tell him that I had problems with computer hackers, and that they caused confusion because I couldn't tell the difference, I couldn't know if communication problems were caused by the hackers interfering, or if I was actually being ignored and avoided and rejected, or if somebody had actually said whatever it said in the letters. And he wouldn't ever talk openly with me about this. I even wrote some of the notes on paper, explaining this, and he never responded, never wrote a note back to me, never addressed the problem, never acknowledged that I had said anything. So these communication problems gradually destroyed more trust.

On my own, I would have just allowed him to be a co-worker, and nothing but that. I would have loved him, I would have been his friend, I would have had a crush on him, I would have been attracted to him, I would love to look at him and hear his voice and stand close to him and talk to him..... but I wouldn't have tried texting, emailing, or calling him outside of work. I wouldn't have tried to start up a 'relationship.' And if he had quit, or lost his job (which happened eventually), I would have grieved and cried about it, I would have been in pain for a while, and then I would let go. That is what I would do on my own. But 'they' forced me to try to make it be more than that. And when 'they' tried that, over and over again, and failed to get responses, failed to get him to talk about it with me, it broke the trust in our relationship more and more.

For several weeks, for a long time afterwards, after the 'old and creepy' email, I was so devastated that I couldn't even look at him. Eventually 'they' forced me to write him a text message saying that he cannot call me his nickname anymore, because it made me feel like I was special, like he cared about me, like I was important to him, like he loved me, but all of that was a lie, he didn't really care, he was just leading me on, he was just enjoying the attention, blah blah, that kind of thing. *I* don't see it that way, but the puppeteers controlling me are distrusting, paranoid people who see the worst motives in everyone, people who 'test' other people by hurting them and then watching to see whether or not they express pain, and if they do express pain, the controllers say, 'Whoops, you're human after all, my mistake!' Meanwhile, I assume they're human and capable of feeling pain, from the beginning. The murderers don't. They always assume the worst. So anytime anything goes wrong, they get the brilliant idea of 'I know! Let's try hurting this person really, really badly, and see what happens! Then we'll finally know for sure whether they're human or not!' So I myself knew NOT to send that text message, I knew it would hurt him, I knew it would only make things worse, but 'they' had the bright idea to do this. And I was right, it made things much worse, and he started acting like he was hurt when he saw me, and he wouldn't look at me, and he really did stop calling me his nickname, even though I wanted to hear it, I loved to hear it, I missed hearing it. Now he won't call me his nickname anymore at all. I tried to tell him afterwards that it was okay, but no, he still won't say it.

Then, the weeks went by, and not too much longer after that, he quit or got fired, whatever it was that happened. Then he tried to sign up for the military. To me, that qualifies as 'suicidal.' Signing up for the army is a statement of your intention to commit suicide. It is Russian Roulette. If you don't know what that is, let me explain. (Yes, you could google it.) It's something people do with the type of gun where you put the bullets into a wheel thing that spins around, and since I don't handle guns I don't know what the name of that thing is.

(I have deliberately avoided buying a gun, because I am a mind controlled puppet, a victim, and an occasional drug user who gets murderously angry at the people who are attacking me. So anything could happen. 'They' might force me to believe that I know the identity of the people attacking me, and 'they' might force me to go try to kill that person. Or they could force me to kill myself. They could control me and I wouldn't even know what I was doing. I could be totally hypnotized.)

So I'm clueless about guns. Everything I know about guns comes from playing video games like Half-Life. But anyway you can put, like, six bullets into this wheel. They put only one in there, and the rest of the spaces are empty. Then they spin the wheel around and then fire the gun at themselves, or at someone else, not knowing whether it has the bullet in it, or if it's on one of the empty spaces. So that's for anyone who doesn't know what Russian Roulette is. You know that there is a bullet in the gun somewhere, but you don't know which one, you don't know when it will happen, you don't know if it will happen this time or next time or eventually, and you could get lucky for a while, you could get lucky over and over again for a while, and the bullet wouldn't get you this time, but you know it's still in there and it could be the next time. That is what it means when you sign up for the army. That is what you are doing.

So when he tried signing up for the army I totally freaked out. I was trying to email him, trying to get a message to him, not knowing where he lives, not knowing how to contact him, not knowing if the hackers were blocking my letters or not. And of course, I got no answers from him. And his mobile phone number changed too, so I was texting the wrong number for a while. If the puppeteers wanted him to die, they could block the letters, they could make the letters say whatever hurtful things they wanted them to say, they could write fake letters to him telling him horrible things that would make him want to die even more. So I was helpless to reach him and didn't know where he lives. I could try to reach his family members, but 'they' didn't force me to go that far. I was able to email his girlfriend though, and we got a few letters through.

And that is how we got to be where we are now. I went hunting for him, when Carrie told me he got a new job, at a non-military place. The goal is to keep him out of the military, all branches of the military, forever. He will be frustrated at his job, frustrated at working minimum wage, frustrated at having a meaningless mindless pointless food service job - and yes, he expressed that to me, he doesn't want to work in food service forever, and I know how that feels - and so I am being used to support him somehow, support his life, and do whatever is in my power to influence him to stay away from the military, and stay out of jail, and stay safe.

I couldn't do anything to keep him out of jail. He kept driving his car, and driving drunk, without a seat belt, and driving again after he lost his license and wasn't allowed to drive, and I had no control over that, so he was still at risk. He went to jail for a couple of days and he lost his license. One of the goals is to prevent him from dying in a car accident. The other goal is to keep him out of jail too.

I don't know what he's doing now. I don't know why he was driving, whether he thought he needed to do it for a reason, or what. Since it's very hard to get answers to my emails, and since he doesn't write paper notes either, I can't ask questions and get direct answers easily. So I don't know what's going on, and I can't do anything about it. Meanwhile I am struggling with my own problems.

And my official title - I don't have an official title - I am a 'former co-worker,' and I am a 'facebook friend.' I am not a 'friend in the real world,' not very much. I am not a 'family member.' I am not a 'girlfriend.' I am not even an 'ex-girlfriend.' I am not a 'baby mommy' as they call it, which his ex-girlfriend is, the one that his son lives with. I am pretty much nothing. 'I am nothing' is one of the things that I sometimes say to myself when I am preparing to go visit him. It's like meditating, putting myself in my place, preparing for the humiliation and grief and vulnerability and helplessness and smallness that I feel, when I need him, I miss him, I love him, I want him, but I can't be with him. I still often start crying after I see him.

I don't blame him for the destruction of the trust. I blame *THEM*. They forced me to do things that I knew were destructive and harmful things to do.

Next time I see him, I might be on drugs, or I might not be. I might be able to touch him, I might not. I might hug him, or I might talk for a couple minutes and then walk away without ever getting close to him. I might give him a gift, I might give him a letter without a gift, I might give him nothing at all.

There is one thing that bothers me - it bothers me that I can only talk about work-related, impersonal subjects. 'How do you pay your taxes?' is what it all comes down to. We are all working really, really long hours so that we can pay our rent (an indirect tax), and our income tax (a direct tax), and the high prices of food and other goods (an indirect and direct tax).

I can't stand there long enough to calm down and relax. I can't follow him into his work area and stand beside him while he's doing his job. I can't stand next to him and say nothing at all for a few minutes. I can't just watch quietly. I can't go lean against him or put my arms around him. Instead I have to hurry. I am an intruder, in a workplace where I don't belong, where everyone is hostile to me. I know they're not really hostile, but they are potentially hostile. All the employees there recognize me as an outsider. I am a 'customer,' so I am not allowed in work areas. He is often working behind the counter at the salad bar when I go there, and I can't go back there. Sometimes, occasionally, he might be working out in the middle of the store, where the customers can walk, but that's not usually where I find him. And if he is out there, I'm still not really welcome. I could be distracting him from his work. I could be an unwelcome visitor. I could be someone that he wishes would go away, but he's too nice to say it.

I feel helpless. I want him to have the things that he wants in life. I want him to have a job he enjoys, the same thing that I want for myself. If I can't get it for myself, how can I help someone else get it? I want him to be happy, but I can't make myself happy, I can't get out of my problems, I can't get control of my own life. How on earth can I do anything for him at all? All I can do is tell him that I love him and that I want him to live. All I can do is give him my notes and my gifts, to make sure that he receives them, to make sure that he hears me. And most of the time I don't even know if he gets the messages unless I write them by hand. I don't know anything and I can't do anything. I am just barely on the edges of his life, not really included, not really part of it.

That is why I always say, again and again, that I don't know where this relationship is going, that I don't know what we will be doing in the future, that I don't know what 'they' will make me do from here on. I don't know what power I have to help him when I can't help myself. And I don't have many opportunities to simply enjoy being close to him, either. I would like to just enjoy his company.

I am glad that he never got in the military, and that he isn't in jail yet.

Well... enough for now.