am i really doing this?

7:54 PM 11/16/10

So I actually got a little bit sick today, and it wasn't just because of overexcitement. I might have caught a little bit of a virus, but it wasn't enough to make me vomit for real. I just wasn't able to eat, and I felt nauseated for most of the day, even after my excitement died down. So everything felt like nausea and sickness all day long.

I was thinking about how it feels to start a new physical relationship in the real world. It's disgusting, and imperfect, and disappointing, and strange. You see someone's naked body for the first time, and you're thinking, oh my god, is that really how you look naked? You're with them doing the things you fantasized about doing, and when it's happening you think, I can't believe I'm really doing this.

That's one reason why I'm a nudist. There wouldn't be any adjustment. You'd be used to seeing people naked all the time. It wouldn't be shocking to see them naked, it would just be closer than usual.

I made it sound like everything is bad. What I mean is, I WANT the real world, even though it is imperfect, or disappointing, or incomplete, or whatever else. I am programmed to always be dissatisfied. I accept this real and imperfect relationship for whatever it is. I want my expectations to be realistic. I know from experience how it feels when a fantasy relationship becomes a real one. I haven't been with very many people, but it is always strange when you cross over into the real world for the first time. I want the real world - I wouldn't have it any other way. Loneliness is the other way. I could have my fantasies and always be lonely. Everything would be perfect in the fantasies. In the real world it's never perfect. I choose the real world anyway.

He's going to think that he's too skinny, but that's not what I mean. I like him BECAUSE he is too skinny. That is what I like. But it takes a while to get used to somebody's real body even though you like it a lot. I've only fantasized about touching him. In the real world it won't be perfect.

This is all about anxiety, and strangeness, and how weird it is to have the 'new relationship' feeling, that sick feeling. I know I was sick all day long, I was nauseated, I think I had a virus, but it also felt like oxytocin sickness from having a new relationship. It felt like the 'Oh my god, am I really doing this?' feeling. I learned how to tolerate oxytocin sickness. It feels sick, but it feels good. It took a long time for me to learn that.

Socializing

8:21 PM 8/11/10

I visited Peter in the hospital today. They did an operation on the artery in his left leg to improve the blood flow to his foot. He says that the pain has been greatly reduced.

I have a bunch of different things to say, but I don't know if I'll be able to say them all.

the dream
inception
socializing
edward cullen
myspace
curtis (that's always in the list of topics)

I saw the movie Inception. I liked it and I might see it again. Somehow it didn't 'push my buttons' in quite the right way to make me feel strong emotions. It might be because there was too much music throughout the whole movie, constantly. I like it to be a little quieter. If I watch it again, maybe I'll figure out why it didn't quite work for me.

There are people who create every dream that I dream every night, just like in that movie. But it's not just one dream, and it's not to accomplish some big important purpose. I am just an ordinary person and there is no big purpose other than to entertain some people who are using software and equipment for purposes that they shouldn't be using it for. I don't know what kind of software or what methods they use to create my dreams, but I do know that all of my dreams are fake. I don't know when was the last time I had a real dream. They are doing it for harassment reasons, for entertainment, and probably, because somebody somewhere paid them to destroy my life, for unknown reasons.

I am familiar with something - I could relate to the victim, the target, in that movie - the guy whose corporation they wanted to break up. When he reconciled with his father, it was supposed to be a big, emotionally moving moment, something deep and wonderful and special. But it was fake, and it was done for somebody's purpose, and that purpose had nothing to do with helping that guy to develop himself spiritually. That guy thought that he was experiencing spiritual development, spiritual growth, by realizing that he shouldn't be like his father. But it was all fake and manipulated. My experiences are just like that. I had fake religious experiences when I was doing therapy with Judith Swack, and they were so fake and cheesy that I couldn't possibly have ever believed they were real. I don't know what her OTHER clients experienced, but if theirs was as fake and cheesy as mine was, then there must be a lot of other disillusioned people like me - I can't imagine ANYONE would believe it.

******
I think it was last night that I sent an email to Curtis. 'They' gave me a dream when I took a nap afterwards. Supposedly, he was grateful to receive the email. So they gave me a sexual dream. I'm actually not really angry about this particular dream. It was sort of cute. But I have to explain the story behind it.

The voices called me the 'COW' - Creepy Old Woman - as a joke, because I don't look really old, and sometimes, young guys find me attractive - though I haven't actually hooked up with any of them yet. So when we say that I'm the 'COW', we don't really mean it, it's a joke. (But when I get an email from Curtis on MySpace, which he claims he doesn't remember sending, because he was drunk all that week, and the email says that I'm 35 years old and it gives him the creeps, THAT, on the other hand, is NOT funny, and in fact, it hurt me very badly and I haven't forgotten it. As usual I question whether he really sent the email or whether it was from the hackers.)

*taboo alert* - I've been paying attention, in the last 24 hours, to my feeling of anxiety whenever I talk about a social taboo. Anytime I say some theory or belief of mine that I know most of society disagrees with, I feel this sense of anxiety, and it's exactly like in the movie, Inception, where all the 'subconscious projections' suddenly turn their heads and look directly at you, because they've detected an intruder. I get that feeling that all of society turns its hundred million hostile faces towards me, when I speak of a social taboo. There is danger in speaking a taboo. You can get committed to a mental hospital. You can get convicted of harassment or other crimes. You can lose your job. You can destroy your reputation. Many dangerous things can happen to a person who speaks a social taboo. 'We' have been paying attention to my social instinct in the last few days, as we study my Ichazo's Instinctual Stackings. The social instinct seeks protection and empowerment within larger social groups, and it fears displacement of your social position or harm to your reputation.

The taboo was: Hackers, unknown people, are reading my email, watching everything I do on my computer, and interfering with my life, for their own malicious reasons. They interfere with my emails, and I have gotten emails claiming to be from a particular person but which were written in a different style, as though some other person wrote it. This is all taboo - you can't just walk out on the street and talk about this with the average person. They will think it's a conspiracy theory and you're delusional. Hackers, however, and other groups of people, might agree with you, because they know it's possible, and they know people are malicious enough to do that. So some specific groups of people will believe you. That's my opposite of the hundred million hostile faces. For every million hostile faces, there are a million smiling faces somewhere else. You just have to find them.

So anyway, I am the COW. And because I'm the COW, Curtis is 'the bull.' So in the dream, they portrayed him as a black bull. Why was he black? Because he's another Angus cow, like I am. I'm an Angus cow, because I'm not a dairy cow: I don't have big boobs. And the Angus cows are beef cows, which means they're meant to be eaten. So that's why he was a black bull. Come to think of it, he doesn't have big boobs either. He was a rather small black bull, the size of a large dog, and he had long soft pettable fur, not like the usual fur on a cow or bull. I was sitting in my front yard at the house in West Virginia. That's probably because I was writing a note about my father's money, wondering about how much I will inherit someday (and may that be a long, long way off, I'm not rushing it). So that's why I was at that house, because I guess my brother John and I will inherit the house.

So this black bull runs up to me, and I get scared of it, because who wouldn't be scared when a big, scary, dangerous animal runs up to you. It laid down on its back in the 'submissive' position and wanted me to rub its belly. And I know which incident this is referring to. That was the time when, not too long ago, I was getting soup from the soup bar and Curtis came up to me and stood very close and called me some erotic words including the f-word and magnetically pulled me towards him to touch him. But instead I started laughing, the worst possible thing I could have ever done, and I lost an opportunity. So in the dream I didn't start laughing, I just rubbed the bull's belly like I was supposed to, and then I was jerking him off - I could feel the soft-hard skin sliding under my hand - and (I can't write this) he came on my leg, and I moaned when he came. And then he was relaxed and peaceful.

Then in the next dream he was a 'dragon,' and I've already blogged about the dragon some time ago. Curtis also has a dragon decal on his car. The dragon was dignified and serious and unapproachable - different from the black bull in the other dream. I think he was a pale, lavender purple color, but I'm not sure. I don't know why he was that color. The dragon was talking to me, unlike the bull, who said nothing, and the dragon told me things that I can't remember - I never can remember what they say in the dreams. Somehow I ended up climbing up on the dragon's head and then massaging its neck, all the way down its back, and I had something on my hands, something slippery like shampoo. I was stroking the dragon's back and I don't remember how it ended. I think I slid down its tail and landed on the floor. That was because I've touched Curtis's back once in a while in the real world, and I tried to tell him that these were not just casual, friendly touches, because I never touch anybody - I was touching him because I was sexually attracted to him, and all of the touching was sexual, not friendly.

Like I said, I didn't get mad about the dreams, because they were actually sort of cute and enjoyable.

I'm reading Twilight. When I told my brother I had seen the movie and I liked the soundtrack, he had a sort of 'ick' reaction, and I understood - originally I felt the same way. He had heard that the movies weren't very good. Actually, I myself feel that the movies weren't very well done, but I'm reading the books now and I like the books better, I think. They are not a life-changing masterpiece but I'm enjoying them. And I will probably enjoy them more as I go along. I didn't like Harry Potter at first, either, and before I read it, I was very strongly anti-Potter because it was so popular, and, in my experience, if something is very popular, it's something I won't like. I have an almost physical instinct to avoid everything that's popular, and look for little-known, esoteric, obscure things that nobody else has found. Still, now that I've read Harry Potter, and now Twilight, I'm in with the popular crowd on this opinion. But I can't use those books to tell me whether or not I'll like somebody. If somebody tells me that they like Harry Potter, I still might not like them overall as a person.

Anyway, Edward Cullen laughs at Bella a lot in the first book. It happened often enough that I noticed it. I wondered about this because I have accidentally laughed at Curtis several times and felt terrible about it. It usually ruined some opportunity or destroyed the trust that he feels for me.

Something that I'm feeling while I read the book is a frustration that they can't spend enough time together, and instead, they just have these special moments, with big spaces in between where they don't see each other enough. I know *exactly* how that feels.

I don't remember what specifically I was going to say about MySpace. I've been trying to socialize, to meet people online, and I'm only doing it little by little. I don't like meeting new people whenever I still have an obsession with one specific person in my mind, someone who looks more beautiful and more attractive to me than all these other people I'm meeting. And I'm afraid that I'll abandon them, the new people I meet, if Curtis gives me the slightest sign of being friendly, if he gives me any hope of a relationship outside work.

I think I'll post this now. The title turned out to be somewhat ironic. It's not really about socializing.

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.

Dating Rules

4:18 PM 8/3/10

Dating Rules

1. Be safe. Follow your instincts and avoid doing anything uncomfortable.
2. Be respectful. Be respected.
3. Be compassionate: try to understand why this person needs you.

Serial killers often kill people that they call 'prostitutes,' although, from what I've read, those people are usually homeless women, not necessarily prostitutes, and they called them prostitutes just to dehumanize them and to feel less guilty about killing them.

Disrespect: I don't want to be disrespected. I'm not a drug addict, so I'm not desperate for huge amounts of money. Therefore, I can set boundaries and I can make rules about what I will and will not do. I don't have to tolerate disrespect.

I always fought with my previous boyfriends, telling them NOT to pay for me when we went out to dinner. And I would try to pay for them instead. And I fought with them NOT to give me gifts, either. Eric always used to say, 'It's better to give than to receive,' and my feeling about that was, 'Exactly!' It's a way of making yourself better than someone else.

Don't rudely reject money. I've offered money before and had my heart broken when it was refused. It's what you do when you're desperate. It's painful to have your money rejected outright. It's the only thing that makes you feel like you have any power at all, anything to offer at all, when you have nothing.

I have never accepted money before, other than, for instance, guys paying for my meals, often without my consent, as it happened to me twice whenever I insisted that I would pay for my own meal, and the guy sneaked and paid for it anyway, and it was going to be a fight to make him *not* pay for it. Other than that kind of thing, and being given gifts after I explicitly told my ex-boyfriend several times *not* to buy me any gifts and he bought them anyway, and I warned him that I didn't buy gifts for people and that I would not buy him any gifts in return, only to have a fight later on because he was hurt whenever I didn't buy him any gifts for his birthday or Christmas - after I *told* him that I never bought gifts for anyone!

The fact that I've never accepted money before, and I cried about the idea of it, after talking to someone on the phone, made the voices say to me, 'Virgin.' It's something I've never done before. So I am a virgin to that particular thing.  (But I didn't cry just about the money.  I cried about the idea of spending time with men that I don't like.  It hurts to be with people I'm not sexually attracted to.)

Marriage is a prostitution monopoly. It means that a man pays you to stop seeing other men, and see only him. He pays you a large amount of money, every month, for the rest of your life. Child support, on the other hand, is when you keep paying a large amount of money, every month, for a certain number of years, like 16 years or so, for having, at least, *one* sexual encounter that resulted in pregnancy. So you don't even get the monopoly on her, and she's allowed to see other men, and if you don't pay the bill (for nothing, since you can't have sex with her anymore, usually) you go to jail. And 'everyone knows' that the child support money isn't needed for the child. It's usually WAY more than the minimum needed for the child, and it's calculated based on how much money the father makes, not how much the child and the mother need. Child support is... don't get me started!

There are things that I *don't* like. I don't like to be dominated in the wrong way by the wrong person; but yet, I've imagined scenarios where the right person could dominate me in the right way, and I would enjoy it. I've had bad experiences in the past where somebody talked down to me and dominated me in a way that I didn't like. It makes me feel angry. If I have angry vibes from someone, or condescending vibes, it will be hard for me to get along with them.

There are a few things that I am in danger of. I could become cynical and feel like sex is nothing. I could feel like sex isn't special. I'm not actually having sex with anyone yet, but eventually, I probably will. I don't know how someone could feel that sex was special if they were having sex with men they didn't love. You would have to somehow distinguish between the feelings of love that you have for special people, versus the type of sex you have with people who are paying you. I've never done that before, so I don't know how it would feel.

As for me, I got offered money merely to let someone pet my fur. That's what it's there for, so I don't necessarily even have to 'have sex' for real. Petting might be enough.

I won't be kissing anyone on the mouth, or any other body parts that are able to let germs in. I might be willing to kiss unbroken skin. I can't kiss people because I have some kind of herpes-like symptoms, even though I tried to get a doctor to do a test for it, and he told me the test came back negative, but that's wrong: the symptoms are real, even if the test says I don't have herpes. I get small cold sores around my mouth - they look like small pimples, but I can tell that's not what they are - and sometimes on my tongue. I also get spots on the back of my neck, and on the bottom part of my tailbone just above my butt, but that hardly ever happens, and it's only happened a couple of times. I call it herpes because that's the only explanation I have for it, and it happens when I catch a cold, just like other cold sores.

I've read about herpes, and they say that *both* kinds of herpes, or all kinds, or whatever, can appear on *both* the genitals *and* the mouth. Even if you supposedly have 'oral' herpes, it's able to appear on your genitals or get transmitted there or however it gets there. So I will not kiss or have saliva contact with anything that's able to catch germs from me. That will be reserved for my long-term bonds, people who love me so much that they would be willing to share my cold sores with me. (One of my most exciting 'bonding' moments with Curtis occurred one day when he showed me his cold sore in his mouth, and I told him that I get them too - although technically, I might have a different variation of the virus than he does. So I am still cautious.)

Marriage wouldn't be marriage if it didn't involve money and other life necessities, like food and housing. Usually, the man pays the woman to live in his house, rent-free, and she cooks the food and cleans the house and has sex with him and gives him love and intimacy. She doesn't have to pay for the food either. He pays all the bills. That is a traditional marriage. There is something good about that, which is, the mother can stay home and breastfeed. People stopped breastfeeding because they were so desperate to pay the bills, that both parents had to work, because the cost of living has gone up, and up, and up, and the rent is too high, and the taxes are too high, and people are losing their jobs. Then they forgot that there was any reason to breastfeed, so people kept on feeding them formula and they were taught that that's just how it's done around here.

Breastfeeding prevents obesity. It increases a child's intelligence. It teaches the child how to feel loved and how to feel close and intimate with other people. It teaches the child how to touch. It teaches the child how to feel sexually intimate, and how it feels to give and receive pleasure at the same time. It prevents health problems. It prevents food allergies. Breastfeeding is absolutely essential. So it's a good thing when a man pays a woman to stay home when she's raising the kids, because it enables her to breastfeed instead of working. That wouldn't be a problem if the workplaces would allow you to strap your baby onto your body while you do your job, and bring it with you, and breastfeed it freely at work whenever you needed to.

But if both parents are financially independent, and they're choosing to save the planet by refusing to have children and refusing to increase the population, and they haven't read any books by Julian Simon, then, there's no reason to get married and fill out the piece of paper. The piece of paper has to mean something to you. It means that the government and the church have approved of your bond. But if you reject the government (as I do), and if you reject the church (as I do), then you don't *want* their approval for your spiritual bonds. That piece of paper would be there to enforce the law if you wanted to get money and property from somebody. It's hard to understand why you want the piece of paper if you have no respect for the government or the church, and if you're not intending to use force to take money and property and children away from someone.

About my body hair *not* being unique: My body hair resulted from my following a set of rules. The rules can be followed by anybody. There is nothing unique about this at all. I am always insisting, when the voices ask me about it, that my body hair is *not* special, although it is scarce and rare, and people don't usually choose to follow that set of rules.

I want my hair to be less scarce and less unique: I want to see huge numbers of other women doing the same thing I'm doing, following the same set of rules. I want to see a world where there is *less* competition for this particular thing. I'm not afraid that that would 'put me out of a job.' I want less scarcity, not more scarcity.

I'm still not ready to call these people back yet, but there will be a call very soon. ... I can't stand people. I can't stand talking on the phone. I can't stand men. I can't love anyone. I can't love. I can't do this. I can't date people. I can't meet people. I can't talk to people.

grrr

11:10 AM 7/28/10

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.

Chobits: Why do people want to have sex with robots?

9:34 PM 7/13/10

I just finished the first book of Chobits. I didn't know there were two books. The second one isn't on the shelf at Barnes & Noble. I don't know if they're getting another copy of it, or what, but eventually I'll read it.

It's making me think about several things.

cuteness
social superiority
which instinct is left out
raising children
someone unable to judge you
pet names: sick, helpless, incapacitated, etc.
competing against someone and being unable to compete for reasons that are permanent and unchanging
death, self-preservation, children, immortality
touch, hugging, asking for what you want, social appropriateness, rejection

Cuteness: Cuteness is a real thing. It's not just subjective opinion. It's not just in the eye of the beholder. Cuteness is something that 'science' is able to describe. It's something universal. They can describe what makes someone cute or not cute. If they have big eyes in a small face, that's cute. That's only one of the traits that make someone cute. You can look up 'cuteness' in Wikipedia to see what I mean. They show images of the faces of babies and adults.

Japanese animation, and manga books, draw the characters looking 'cute.' Everybody and everything is cute. In American comic books, the superheroes aren't cute - they're realistic looking adults.

The persocoms in 'Chobits' are cute. It triggers your protective instincts and makes you love them. You can't help feeling that way when you see something cute. (Persocoms are computers that look like humans. They have different levels of artificial intelligence. Some of them are more realistic, others are less realistic and more like ordinary computers.)

Social Superiority: Why would people fantasize about cute, or sexually attractive, people who weren't really people? Why would we want androids or any other humanoid robot? Why would that be a good thing? Because they are socially inferior. They can't judge you and they can't boss you around. You tell THEM what to do. It doesn't matter who you are. You can be socially the lowest person in the entire world, and it doesn't matter - a computer will obey you, because a computer is socially lower than the lowest person in the world. It automatically obeys you and has no choice. You've gone your whole life being disrespected, bossed around, told what to do, socially rejected and looked down upon, but it doesn't matter - the computer will obey you.

A real girlfriend or boyfriend might act socially superior to you. Sometimes they will reject you, disobey you, laugh at you, boss you around, tell you to do things you don't want to do, or tell you to stop doing things you want to do.

I'm thinking of all this in the framework of Ichazo's Instinctual Types. The instincts are what I'm most interested in right now. Social, sexual, and self-preservation are Ichazo's three instincts. Different people have one of those instincts as their strongest, most well-developed instinct, while the other two instincts are weaker. The dominant instinct determines their behavior and determines what is or isn't important to them. Whatever you care about most is determined by your strongest instincts.

The social instinct is what makes people want to be able to boss someone else around, and it's what makes us want to be treated with respect, treated as equals, listened to instead of ignored, to be treated as though it matters what we want or don't want. When several people make decisions together, the socially superior people decide what gets done, and the socially inferior people are the ones who have to give something up, lose something, and not get what they want. However, the socially inferior people get protection by being in the group and by doing what they're told: this is what happens when a business owner hires 'inferior' people to work in his company, but he takes all the financial risks, and he's the one who loses millions of dollars if the business fails. He's taking a risk of losing something too. He protects the 'inferior' people working for him, because they're not the ones who lose millions of dollars when the business fails.

'Which instinct is left out': On a web forum about the instincts, someone commented that it helps you figure out what your instinctual stacking is if you notice which instinct tends to get left out the most. Which area suffers most while you try to meet the needs of your strongest instincts? I can give an example. The 'evil' characters in the His Dark Materials books - Lord Asriel and Mrs. Coulter - were both strong in the sexual and social instincts, and both were weak in the self-preservation instinct, weak about raising a family and protecting and loving their children. They didn't understand how to love their children until the very end of the books. They were more interested in accomplishing big social goals, or achieving social status.  They also were able to have sexual relationships and fall in love and attract partners - Mrs. Coulter especially was known for seducing everyone she spoke to. The self-preservation 'family' instinct seemed to be their weakest - that one was 'left out' because of all the other things that mattered more to them.  Mrs. Coulter might have had a slightly stronger family instinct than Lord Asriel, but even so, both of them were weak in that area.

Raising children: Raising a child is similar to teaching a persocom, training an artificial intelligence. The child is socially inferior to you. And I hate to say this, but it's the truth: a lot of people have kids because they want someone to boss around. It's something I read in Nathaniel Branden's books, too - he's a psychotherapist and he saw it with his clients. They'd have children, hoping that finally, SOMEBODY would be forced to listen to them and obey them, after they went their entire lives on the bottom of the social ladder. When you have a helpless baby or a little child, you can scare them and force them to do what you want. I've seen these people walking around in public with their children and talking down to them like they're worthless and inferior. You would never, ever talk to an adult that way. You would treat them with respect. They treat their children with horrible disrespect. They ignore them when they cry or get upset, tell them they're bad and they're stupid, tell them not to cry, tell them to shut up. I get angry when I see people talking that way to children.

When you raise a child, it's true, in the beginning they will listen to you and they are inferior. But sooner or later, they start to develop a mind of their own. Then they want to say 'no' to you, they want to do what they want instead of what you want them to do, they want to become a different kind of person than you want them to be, and as they get older, you have to let them be who they want to be. It's inevitable. They can't be 'inferior' to you forever.

Someone unable to judge you: This is why I like animals. I love animals because I can touch them freely, and they don't judge me. They don't tell me that I'm ugly or I'm weird or I'm creepy. For whatever reasons, animals almost never think I'm ugly and creepy, although every once in a while, I do find a cat or dog that just doesn't like me, but it hardly ever happens. Usually, cats and dogs are happy and delighted when I reach out and pet them. We instantly make friends and they're excited to see me every time I go to them.

Ugliness: I've been battling with the voices for the past couple years because I have chosen to grow my mustache and not bleach it and not wax it. The voices insist that all of my social insecurity is because of having a mustache. This is not true. I was socially insecure when I was a teenager. I had a little bit of a mustache back then, but it was not very visible, and I bleached it too. It was nothing. I was just ugly.

Some people thought I was ugly, and some people thought I was cute. It was unpredictable who would like me and who wouldn't. Some people, and some animals, and some manga book characters, are so irresistibly cute that EVERYONE is guaranteed to love them instantly, no matter who they are. I was never that way. I could only get some people, some of the time, to like me. So there was always a risk of being rejected. I couldn't go up to someone and touch them like I touch an animal, like a dog or cat. I couldn't just go up to a cute guy and give him a hug because I thought he was cute. He might think I was ugly and gross, and he'd rather touch someone else, and if I tried again, he'd think I was even more gross and creepy. And this was back during the time period when I was 'normal looking,' when I cut and styled my hair, didn't have a visible mustache, and did all the 'normal' things I was supposed to do. I still couldn't be sure that someone would accept me. I still was at risk of being rejected. This was when I was a teenager, when I was still 'cute.'

(Nowadays I describe myself as 'nice body, ugly face.' I think that I do have a nice body and I wouldn't change anything about it... although I guess if I could change anything, I would want to have longer legs and a shorter body, because I found out that I couldn't do certain things in gymnastics, like a back walkover or a back handspring, because I had a low center of gravity due to my short legs and relatively long body. I couldn't kick my legs back over because the center of gravity was in the wrong place, but everyone else could do it. It also makes it hard for me to dance, and I enjoy dancing.  I could show this easily in a diagram the reason why short legs and a long body gives you a low center of gravity. But anyway, this is something that I don't need to worry about in everyday life. My ugly face is more of a problem for me. I am still ugly even if I do conventional grooming and get rid of the mustache. I still can't just go out and get anybody I want, whoever I want, without worrying about being rejected. And I know that 'ugly faces' actually exist, because I myself look at the people around me, and I see 'ugly faces.' I know that I myself look at a face and think it's ugly or beautiful or cute.)

Pet names: Curtis calls me his pet names frequently. But I can't say pet names. I have never, ever been able to call people pet names, in my entire life. I never called anyone 'honey' or 'sweetie' until I was an adult, and I had to deliberately teach myself how to say it without choking. I say it but it comes out sounding strangled and unnatural. My voice tightens up. I can't say those words. But, like I said, I forced myself to learn how to say 'honey' and 'sweetie' and those are the basic pet names that I'm physically able to use. This was after I got used to having a boyfriend, in my adulthood.

However, there are situations where, all of a sudden, I'm able to speak. It happens in an emergency. It happened once when Eric and I and his daughter Tiana were in a restaurant, and she either ate too much, or got food poisoning. She ran towards the bathroom, didn't make it, and started throwing up on the floor in the middle of the restaurant. I'm terrified of people vomiting, but I was her protector, because Eric and his other friend who was with us had walked outside the building after paying their check. We had been on our way walking out of the restaurant when this happened, and they were already outside, and I was the only one left with Tiana when she ran for the bathroom. So I had to help her, and there was nobody else there but me.

I started automatically blurting out every soothing pet name I could think of, 'come on sweetie, it's okay hun, let's get you to the bathroom, it'll be all right...' I took her to the bathroom and helped her get cleaned up. She was crying and she wanted her daddy, and I couldn't get him because he was outside and he had no idea that anything had happened.

That's the only moment when I can call someone names, if they are sick, helpless, incapacitated, unable to speak, in an accident, or whatever. It makes them socially inferior and puts them in a 'needy' position, where I am strong and valuable to them, instead of weak and useless. I called Curtis 'hun' once, although I don't think he heard me because I muttered it so quietly, but it happened when he had cut himself really badly, he was bleeding, and he came to me looking for band-aids while he was panicking from his adrenaline rush (he has some kind of bleeding disorder and his cuts are a big deal when they happen).

I decided to call him some names in a text message, and of course I can write them, but I cannot speak them out loud, especially since they were unusual names that I don't ever say, nothing like 'honey' or 'sweetie.' I chose words that were truthful and accurate, but nothing I could say out loud. I chose the name I chose because, when he leaves work, everything seems dark and depressing when he's gone, like the light has gone out of everything.

Competing against someone, being unable to compete: I was thinking about this with regard to 'age.' I keep fighting with the voices because they are insisting that he's scared of me because of my age, or rejecting me because of my age. I keep telling them, that's not the problem. It's hard to explain though. Age DOES cause some problems. There are things you know about because of being a certain age. For instance I can't talk to Curtis about what it was like when the first Challenger space shuttle exploded while we watched it on TV when I was in fourth grade, because he wasn't born yet when that happened (*Note, I don't really CARE about talking about that particular subject, and I don't think about it, but it was just an example*). But I could mention that to someone my own age and they'd say, 'yeah, I remember what it was like when that happened,' and we could relate to each other. Things like that DO have to do with age. Your culture might be different. A lot of things can be different, for instance, you might be more financially comfortable because you've been settled into your job and saving money for years, while a young person still doesn't know what job they want to do and they're still having money problems.

An old person competing against younger people - that's more about 'cuteness' and the way you look when you get older. It's not just about wrinkled skin, either. The cuteness changes, your face changes. There are a lot of things that make teenagers more attractive than older adults. I've had people tell me that I don't look like I'm 35. They say I look younger, like maybe in my late twenties. I don't have lots of wrinkles, I haven't suntanned much, my skin isn't sagging, but even so, I'm still not as cute as a fifteen-year-old, because they still have the 'cute' shaped face, as their face and skull aren't fully grown yet.

The 'Chobits' book talks about people competing with the persocoms, and persocoms competing with people. Both sides feel left out. The robots feel sad because they'll never be real people, and the people feel sad because they'll never be young and cute and perfect and obedient and able to do all the things the computers can do. This is a big spoiler, in case anyone is actually reading those books, but, the main robot, Chi, can't have sex, and she was designed to be unable to have sex, designed that way on purpose, and this is one of the main issues of the book. She's different from the other persocoms who ARE designed to have sex, because people WANT to have sex with robots. So she needs to be loved by someone who won't have sex with her. (I wonder if there will be a 'Pinocchio' type of ending, where something happens to make her become more human? Or is she going to die? Or will she be with another robot?)

The idea is that you are competing against people who have something you don't have, and never will have. I mentioned that when I was talking about bisexuality and the fear that if I'm with a bisexual guy, he might be more attracted to men than he is to me. And no matter how hard I try I would never be a man. ("No matter how hard I try" is probably a 'joke' from the voices, because I let my mustache grow. But I am not 'trying to be a man.' I am following a natural grooming principle, letting every hair grow that my body is genetically capable of growing.)

In reality I am threatened by the young teenage girls that Curtis usually goes out with - he never goes very long without having a girlfriend, and he's almost always with SOMEBODY, although the relationships are unstable and he's had a lot of problems with them. Still, he dates other young teenagers, and I can't compete with them. I'm not 'old looking,' but I'm unhealthy - I have chronic illnesses, chronic problems, weird disasters that never end, strange things and terrible things going on in my life. All those young people who are friends with him, they have problems too, I'm sure, but they're still young and full of energy and life and they're more fun to be with - not boring and depressing like I am.

Being called 'creepy' was worse than the part that said I was 35. This was the email that supposedly came from him, on MySpace, supposedly when he was drunk - although I'm not even sure if he actually wrote it himself. It said 'Look ur 35 okay, it creeps me out, I want to stay single for a year or two.' Saying that I'm 35 doesn't bother me as much, because I know it's not really the problem. It's irrelevant. It directly goes against Curtis himself, who once brought me over to the seafood department into a conversation with the guy Branden who was working there, and had me tell him how old I was and what year I was born, and both of them were saying to me that I didn't look like I was 35, I looked like I was somewhere in my twenties, and both of them spoke of it in a flattering way to me. So the email directly went against that, and I didn't really believe that part of the sentence. It was 'creeps me out' that I believed.

I have told him about my hearing voices, I've told him that I hear voices and they make me do things that I don't want to do. That's creepy. I've told him I have people hacking my computer, messing with my emails, messing with my telephone, stalking me everywhere I go. That's creepy. I've sent him dozens of text messages, without getting answers from him, and they're strange and unusual text messages written in a different style than text messages usually are, talking in a different way than people usually write a text message. And I've given him several notes, although not a lot of them, but I've handwritten notes and given them to him. Those things are creepy. He could think I'm a dangerous, delusional, crazy person who might attack him and hurt him. 'Creepy' is believable.

I'm unable to compete against 'normal' people who don't hear voices, don't have drug residues giving them mood swings, don't have chronic fatigue making them unable to accomplish any goals. His friends and girlfriends are 'normal.' They don't have those same problems that I have, and they're not 'creepy.'

Continuing on the list of topics that I wrote at the top of this blog: Death, immortality, self-preservation instinct, children. I didn't have a lot to say on this. I'm reading the Chobits books and I'm not seeing as many themes about immortality, about robots not being able to die, about what a big deal it is that robots never get old and die. One of the robots did die, after having memory problems and then getting hit by a car. I'm not seeing 'immortality' as a main focus of the book. It's more focused on sex and relationships and love. 'Immortality' is there in an abstract way. The robots can have their memories erased, while their body is still intact, so part of them dies while their body remains alive. But it's not focused on that so much. Or, when I read it, my attention isn't focused on that theme.

I was just going to say that having children is the only real way to get immortality, but it's a partial immortality. The children are partly you, partly someone else, and partly themselves, but it does keep alive a part of you forever until the family line stops having children. The Chobits book doesn't talk about robots having babies. It focuses on robots having sex, for pleasure, and as part of a romantic love relationship, but having babies is never mentioned, and neither is the theme of wanting to have babies but being unable to have them.

That theme is very important to me as a 35 year old unmarried childless woman, with lots of health problems and personal problems that make it difficult to get married and have children. I want to have children before it's too late. 'Too late' is a concept that women have to worry about. Men are physically capable of having children, their entire life, however they still have to worry about being unattractive and being unable to compete with younger people, if they want to have children, so yes, men still do in a way have to worry about being too old to have children. Men can only have children with a fertile, pre-menopausal woman, so they have to be attractive enough to get with a woman that young. This is about having children, NOT about having a relationship and sex for pleasure. Anyone of any age can still have a relationship with SOMEBODY, although the passionateness, the feelings, the amount of attraction, all of those feelings will be different - it's like, imagine there's a really ugly person who 'settles for' another really ugly person, because that's all they can get. But in reality, they desire the magazine models, and the gorgeous teenagers, and all of the attractive people that everyone else wants, but they know they can't get them. But that's not what I'm talking about when I talk about having children. All that matters is being able to attract someone who's young enough to still be physically able to have children.

I've been interested in all of these subjects ever since I started reading about ephebophilia, hebephilia, and pedophilia, and read the blog of someone who is a hebephile, and learned more about how it feels for someone to be so strongly attracted to young people that they are less interested in adults, and to realize that I myself feel that way, but maybe not as strongly.

Last topic on the list: asking for touch. This is a rejection fear. The 'ew, get away from me' response. Or 'you did that once, but don't do it again, and don't keep doing it.' When you touch someone and you like it, you want to touch them again and again and again, every day, and you want it to be reliable, so that you can touch them every time you feel like it, every time you want to.

You don't want to go up to them, ask for touch, and have them be in a bad mood and say something mean to you and tell you to leave them alone. You want to know that they will always say 'yes' to the best of their ability, even if it's difficult for them.

That's why I'm an animal lover - they almost always say 'yes' to being touched. People, however, will be in bad moods, or they're in a hurry, or they're worried about something else, and they can be unkind and rushed and mean and rude to you. I even had it happen with Curtis once, but it was clearly an accident. I walked up to him, and I felt trusting and comfortable, and I said hi to him and was going to stand there for a minute talking to him. But he said, 'WHAT?!' in an angry, irritated way, and I said, 'nothing...' and I backed away and started to leave. But he knew that I was hurt, and so he started to talk to me again and keep me from leaving. He was just in a bad mood for whatever reason, he needed a cigarette or something, I'm guessing. People get irritable when they need a cigarette, when they're hungry or sick, when they're on drugs, or when they're drunk.

I HATED Eric when he was drunk, and he got drunk A LOT. I don't like talking to drunk people. I don't like the slurred speech, I don't like the angry irritable behavior, I don't like how they say mean, hurtful, cruel, abusive things to you and they're not responsible for what they say, and they say or do the worst possible things that they could do.

The fear of rejection, the fear that someone will be rude or angry or irritable, that it will be the wrong moment, even if they're nice to you SOMETIMES - the fear that they'll be inconsistent and unpredictable, that they'll do something all of a sudden and you don't know what to expect - that makes it hard for me to touch Curtis. I can tap him a little bit on the shoulder or the back for an instant, but not much more than that. And I can hardly ever do that, and when I do, it is a big deal. I'm terrified that one of these days, he's going to say something about it, like 'leave me alone' or 'I'm busy right now' or 'quit it' or something. He could say something cruel and hurtful and thoughtless.

It goes beyond just being afraid that he'll tell a manager or call the police. In the beginning, when 'they' were forcing me to try connecting with him, when they were forcing me to start writing notes to him and trying to text message him and asking him to call me on the phone, when they started forcing me to do those things, they only thought that I was scared of getting arrested, getting convicted of a crime, getting accused of sexual harassment, or getting fired from my job for harassing another employee.

But it's more than just that. It's true, I am afraid of those things. But I'm afraid of something more unpredictable, the 'bad moment', not knowing what to expect, not knowing if THIS time will be the wrong time, if maybe he's been tolerant of everything I've done up till now, but THIS time he suddenly decides to say something cruel and push me away, and I don't know when to expect that moment. And if he did that, even once, even just a little bit, it would be very, very, very hard for me to try again afterwards, just like it was terrible for a long time after I got the 'Look, ur 35 okay, it creeps me out, I want to stay single for a year or 2' email. (And I still don't know whether or not he sent that letter himself, sent it while drunk, sent it because he was a puppet, sent it because someone else suggested he say those things (like Carrie for instance), sent it as a way of saying "I read your blog," (because I wrote a blog saying that the voices called me the 'COW', which stands for Creepy Old Woman), or whether it was sent by someone hacking his email... or whether he sent that because it's true and he really means it. I still don't know.)

Being consistent: Being in a consistent mood is one of the most important goals that I have, the main reason for why I'm interested in the Feingold Diet, hyperactivity, eating the right foods and avoiding the wrong ones, and also, cleaning drug residues off my clothing and belongings. All of my relationships are damaged because of my mood swings and my inconsistent, unreliable behavior. Every day, nobody knows what to expect from me, because I could be in a bad mood, on drugs, haven't eaten anything, sick, etc. This is very important to me and I want to fix it. I want to fix it BECAUSE it ruins my relationships.

The voices told me today something which I don't believe is true, but part of me believes it MIGHT be true. They were telling me that he WANTS to get another phone call from me. The voices always do that. They try to make me believe that he misses me, that he wants to hear from me, that he needs me, and all that, but I don't believe those things. I think he forgets about me, and I cease to exist when he walks out the door of Weis. I only exist when he can see me, and when he can't see me, it's out of sight, out of mind. That is what I assume is the truth. The voices are always trying to make me believe that I matter to him, that he misses me when I'm gone, that I'm important to him, that he needs me, that he wants me to call him, that he keeps checking his voice mail to see if I've left him a message. It makes me angry when they try to make me believe those things. I think that in reality, he's just home watching TV or playing video games or hanging out with his REAL friends and girlfriends and family and his son, and doing ordinary things, and HE'S NOT THINKING ABOUT *ME*. I try to tell them this, I try to tell them that that's the realistic thing to believe, I try to tell them that this is what's most likely going on in the real world, but they keep insisting that I'm important to him and he misses me, but, for whatever reason, he can't bring himself to call me, or email me, or do anything like that, even though I've asked him to... which is why I rented the movie, 'He's Just Not That Into You,' out of curiosity to see what their explanations were for why a guy doesn't call you.

It's very annoying when I feel as though I myself am much more realistic, and much less delusional, than 'the voices' who are controlling me. THEY are the crazy ones, NOT ME. But I'm the one who gets all the blame, I'm the one who gets called crazy, because I hear voices that come from mentally ill murderers and criminals pushing buttons on a machine so that they can hide behind me and be as crazy and stupid as they want to be while I get all the blame. I'M the one screaming at them, 'HE'S JUST NOT THAT INTO ME!!!' and they're the delusional morons who refuse to listen. And no, I'm not literally screaming that at them, that was a joke, but you get the idea. I'm telling them over and over again that there are ordinary, mundane reasons why he's not calling me: he's not that attracted to me, he forgets that I exist when he leaves work, he has other people in his life who are much more important to him than I am. THOSE ARE THE REASONS WHY HE'S NOT CALLING OR EMAILING ME. I tell them this, over and over and over again. I get sick of fighting with them about it.

***
All of those thoughts were provoked by that manga book. I've enjoyed reading it.

easy pickings

10:15 AM 6/29/10

Warning, this one's really long.  I couldn't stop writing.  Today, I actually put the tag 'true romance' on my blog, because I looked at a true romance magazine yesterday, and I saw that this really is the genre that I am writing.

The 'easy pickings' strategy.

They woke me up this morning with the 'psychopath' feeling. There is this 'feeling,' a very specific feeling, a feeling of profound and extreme distrust, which represents the idea of a psychopath. I had to fight against the 'psychopath' belief system.

The 'psychopath' idea started a long time ago. I remember when I was a teenager, I was probably being interrogated by some attacker, but back then, I thought that it was a 'psychic' experience that I was having when I talked to voices in my head. I was being interrogated by someone who wondered if there was such a thing as absolute evil, and they were distrusting, and they asked me if *I* was evil. A soulless robot, unable to feel guilty about anything. Everything it does is insincere. Everything it does is manipulative, done to accomplish a purpose. I was aware of this idea all the way back when I was a teenager. I remembered it again in 2000 or so when I read John Douglas's books about serial killers. (It can also be called a sociopath. There are some slight differences between them.)

Maybe they woke me up with that feeling today because yesterday I wrote about the 'killing your best friend' dream. I'm not sure if I'm the best person to explain this, since it's not really 'my thing.'

If I wander too far off topic, I won't be able to explain the 'easy pickings' idea. I'll just say that really quickly and then go on to the other subject. The 'easy pickings' idea is this: Curtis is impossible to reach, by phone, email, text message, or even handwritten note. He responds to them, by changing his behavior, by being more trusting and affectionate towards me after reading a note, but he doesn't respond to direct questions or do things I ask him to do.

I see him as an 'at-risk youth.' He doesn't mind the idea of going into the military. He doesn't wear a seat belt. He gets drunk and goes driving his car. He lost his license but I know he is still driving, so sooner or later, he might possibly have another conflict with the law again.

Some of this might possibly fit the description of 'poor judgment,' in the description of what happens to a fetal alcohol syndrome baby. It changes the brain in ways that cause a person to have learning disabilities and poor judgment. His condition is mild, because they say that the more facial deformities you have, the more severe it is, and his face is relatively normal, except that he might have a cleft lip scar - there is a scar above his lip and I don't know if it was caused by an accident or cleft lip surgery. He might have a slightly reduced philtrum, the groove that runs from the nose to the lips, but if I recall, it looks like he still does have one. I'm not sure. I can't usually get a close enough look. Okay, I looked at a photo, and he does have one, but it isn't a very deep one. It varies from person to person anyway.

The TV show that I watched at Peter's house a few weeks ago showed 'at-risk youth' going into the military, and some of them came home and committed crimes and ended up in jail.

I don't want anything to happen to him, and it's clear that he is an 'at-risk youth.' In that respect, he is a victim, someone born with a problem or tendency that isn't his fault, born into a world that wasn't able to fix the problem. At the same time, there is only so much that I can do. I'm too poor to bail him out of jail or buy him new cars. I can only provide moral support. I can be someone he runs to whenever his girlfriends break up with him. But I live too far away to easily give him rides in my car, and anyway, I don't want him getting any drug residues on his shoes, and I'm the weird lady with plastic all over her car seats, so it wouldn't look good to have me driving him up to his friends' houses or wherever he was trying to go. So I can't even do much for him. And if I can't contact him and get a reply by any means, email, phone, or anything, then I can't even talk to him and find out what kind of relationship he would be willing to have with me.

So when I say 'easy pickings' I mean that sooner or later I just can't waste any more effort trying to do something that can't be done. I can find easier people to 'hang out' with, people who I can actually reach by phone or email. Even if it's not his fault, even if he can't answer the phone because he's being attacked, even if the phone calls don't get through, and those things aren't his fault, still, I can find people who are easier to reach. I can't do much for him anyway. I can enjoy his company, and he can enjoy mine. Other than that, I can't do much.

'They' have this idea that he represents 'the enemy,' in a way - that the button-pushers, as I call them, the people who are actually operating the electronic harassment equipment, the computers and devices and weapons being used to attack me, are in a lot of ways just like him. That sounds like 'the military' to me. The 'at-risk youth' go into the military, and they do what they're told, and they can't build a better life for themselves because they have reading and writing and math disabilities, and poor judgment, and poor self-control, and the military offers them a better paying job. And apparently the 'button pushers' are in a similar situation. They get paid to do what they do. So 'they' want me to see him as a lovable version of 'the enemy.' Look at what your enemies would be if they were cute and lovable and someone you felt attracted to and devoted to, someone you couldn't help loving no matter what they did to you.

I have to quickly mention the reason why I made the name 'button-pushers.' When the attacks first began, I assumed that the voice I heard in my head was actually being sent to me by the person who was saying whatever I heard. Like, if you heard a famous celebrity speaking to you (and no, I didn't usually hear the voices of celebrities, but this is just an example), you would believe that that person, theirself, was operating the equipment and talking to you. (I'm having a grammar problem. I don't like how English doesn't have a genderless pronoun for 'they' and 'them' with 'self.' You can say 'themselves' if it's plural, but you can't say it if it's singular. I want to say 'he or she himself or herself.' You know what I mean.)

To make that more clear, let's imagine that I said something to somebody else, like 'Hi, how are you?' and someone else recorded me saying that. Then, somebody plays back the recording, and beams it into somebody's head, so they mistakenly believe that I'm the one pushing the buttons on the device that's beaming it into their head, and I'm right that very moment saying 'Hi, how are you?' I would get blamed for talking to them, because it was MY voice they heard in their head. It's a way to trick someone into attacking innocent people. 'I kept hearing YOUR voice in my head! You must be an attacker!' But actually that's not true. It was recorded earlier, and even though it's my voice, I might have nothing to do with it at all. I'm not the one who tape recorded it and then beamed it into someone's head. The voice you hear might not actually be sent to you from the person who spoke the words.

After my cat Alexander died, it was a week or two later, and somebody beamed a recording of Alexander's meow into my head. His voice was recognizable. You can recognize a cat's individual voice the same way you recognize a person's. It was perfectly clear. Obviously, since I had seen Alexander's dead body and buried it myself, I knew Alex wasn't alive, and he wasn't meowing to me, and he certainly wasn't pushing buttons on an electronic harassment weapon. That's a clear demonstration showing that the voice you hear might not be the same person operating the equipment.

So I had lots of times when little scripted scenarios were going on in my head, in the beginning, especially back when I was using St. John's Wort, and I would fight with the voices and tell them I wanted to kill them and I would fantasize about killing them. They would respond by doing even more things to torture me and make me enraged. That is why I call them the murderers, because they REALLY DO try to enrage the victims and make them go postal and go out and shoot people. They REALLY DO try to make you do that. It has happened to me, except usually when they do it to me, they claim they're trying to protect me and prevent me from doing anything. I think that I have had an easier time than many other electronic harassment victims who describe much more horrible things happening to them.

The scripted fantasy scenarios would often involve a 'nice' person who was trying to help me, and I would respond by getting enraged at that person and threatening them. After a while, I realized that the 'nice' person probably wasn't the one actually pushing buttons on a device to put their voice in my head. In fact, the 'nice' person might, for all I know, be someone far away who thinks he's having a 'psychic experience.' He might fantasize that he's astral-projecting into the mind of someone who 'needs help,' when actually, a 'button-pusher,' the person operating a piece of equipment, is recording everything he says, beaming it into my head, and beaming my replies back to him. He and I are talking to each other through a system controlled by the murderers, but neither of us are actually operating the system. We both might interpret it as a 'psychic' experience.

That's the reason why I made up the phrase 'button-pushers' to refer to the people who are actually operating a piece of equipment, as opposed to the people who are speaking, the voices I hear, the people who interact with me - they might innocently think they're just having a 'psychic' experience with me.

Every time I write about something like this, I get attacks from people who try to imitate whatever I was describing. But those imitation attacks are usually the cheap, low-tech attacks, the kind of equipment that you can build in your own home. The attacks that I'm describing are much quieter and more subtle. The low-tech attacks usually silence my entire brain, put me into a trance for a second or two, and override everything I was thinking and doing, for a second, and if it goes on too long, I forget everything that they said to me while I was in the trance. I can only remember the last little bit of what they said. And it often has poor audio quality, like a badly tuned radio with static. Those are the low-tech attacks.

The high-tech attacks are much quieter, and they don't put me into a trance quite as badly. I feel like I can still remain conscious and functioning while I talk back to them, instead of being completely silenced and disabled. So I can have an actual conversation with the voices, while still being awake and not getting my brain 'shut off' and put into a temporary trance while a badly-tuned audio voice blanks out everything in my mind for a few seconds. It feels more 'real,' like 'psychic' experiences would feel.

I remember reading about a spelling bee contest. There were only a few kids left. When the one kid went up and it was his turn, he started to fumble on a word he couldn't spell. Suddenly, he collapsed to the floor. Then he stood up, and miraculously, he was suddenly able to spell the word he couldn't spell! It came to him in a vision when he fell to the floor. Can you say 'blatant, broad-daylight, cheating?' Somebody was betting money on him, I'm sure, and to win their money, they would use any means necessary to tell him how to spell his word. But the particular type of attack that they used is a blunt, clumsy, low-tech attack that causes you to black out and go into a trance, instead of being able to continue standing up and staying awake. Most of the time when I hear voices, I'm able to stay awake and look like everything is normal. But the spelling bee kid - and yes, I think he won the competition - was attacked by someone who didn't have the means to do a more subtle attack.

(The same kind of thing is able to help you win or lose a sports bet. You can cause someone to trip and fall, do something clumsy, that kind of thing. There are many ways electronic attacks can influence a sporting event. It would be like Hermione using a Confundus charm - except this is muggle magic. And they like to see themselves as doing magic, and they like to make references to Harry Potter, but in reality, it's a much more sad situation than that.)

Well, I am going to go back to the beginning and pick up a topic I left off. This is the topic I didn't feel like I was an expert on. I can give it a sympathetic view now.

When I first started noticing the computer harassment, it was the year 2000, and I had started visiting chatrooms and talking to Nerdman. Nerdman did a few things to me that I didn't understand, and wasn't expecting, back then. For instance, he talked about sex in a symbolic way, and I took him literally and didn't notice the sexual symbolism. It was his way of being secretive and superior to me - he ALWAYS used a secretive, intellectually superior way of talking, using big words and obscure references to literature, to say things without saying them, and I found it annoying, because sometimes I would figure out that it was sexual symbolism, or at least, later on I figured it out. He was talking about a 'goat', and the 'goat' fell into a 'hole', where it 'died.' And actually, I find this very annoying and irritating when I write about it - I can't even laugh about it now, years later. That's how annoying it was to me. I HATE when people are being secretly symbolic and using it as a way to be superior over me when I'm taking them literally, when I am a trusting innocent person and someone else is secretly insulting me, thinking he's superior because I'm too stupid to understand what he's talking about. The 'goat' was a penis, the 'hole' was a vagina, and 'death' meant that the penis had an orgasm and wasn't erect anymore and became soft again. To me, goats, holes, and death were all literal. So I was chatting to him in the chatroom and I was upset because he was talking about the cute little goat dying again and I just thought he was being weird and I couldn't explain it. Ha ha, very funny.

Well, one day, I forget how it started. Something happened that caused a disruption. I forget what it was. I said he was having trouble writing, or something, and there must be an earthquake going on and the building was going to collapse, or something like that. I was being literal and I was pretending. But he responded to this by starting up his sexual symbolism again. So he went along with the pretending and then he said that I, Nicole, was in the building and a piano fell on me and I died.

I wasn't expecting that he would kill me in a chatroom fantasy. I didn't know about electronic mind control back then, so I can't say whether my feelings and emotions were real or fake. But I felt an intense, humiliated, violated, traumatized feeling, and an extreme distrust and fear. I started to think that he actually might be a serial killer, someone who enjoyed killing people, for fun, for sexual entertainment. I felt extremely disrespected. To even TALK about killing someone, to talk directly to the person about it, to say things like 'I'm going to kill you,' is very disrespectful.

That was when I started reading the John Douglas books. I also read fiction books that Nerdman himself talked about. One of his favorite authors was Richard Powers. In the Richard Powers books, there were several scenes where a woman died, and the narrator of the story was fascinated with the woman's death. Nerdman also talked about other movies and stories that involved the death of a woman. There was one, and I hope I can remember the name of it - 'In Dreams.' It's a movie about a teacher who starts having a psychic connection to a serial killer. She uses the psychic connection to go find him, and I'm giving a spoiler here, but, in the end, she dies, although he does too, and it's supposed to be a happy ending because the serial killer is defeated. But in reality, the death of the woman is the main focus of the movie.

Back then, when this was going on, when I felt extremely disrespected and traumatized because of Nerdman talking about my death, and giving me references to fiction books and movies about the death of women, I started to *HATE* anybody who connected death and sex.

There are actually lots of movies and stories that show the death of a woman, and that death is the highlight of the movie, the most important thing in the movie, the thing we were all eagerly waiting for. Some people watch the movie, and see it as a tragedy, and say, 'Ugh, I didn't like that movie, that was a terrible ending, I wish she had survived.' That's *MY* response when I see those movies. And some people just like tragedies, and they enjoy being sad and miserable, and even if it's isn't a sexual fantasy, they just want to see a movie with a sad ending because they like sad endings. They watch Romeo and Juliet and they think it's 'cathartic', and they think it's romantic that Romeo and Juliet are 'together in eternity.' (I'm thinking of 'Don't Fear The Reaper,' a Blue Oyster Cult song, and I actually like that song. There was a remake of it recently.) Other people, however, think it's a happy ending BECAUSE the woman died. To them, it's the sexual fantasy that nobody else can see, and they're secretly enjoying it while everyone else is responding in a different way.

Well, over time, I gradually stopped worrying as much about this. I found out that I was being electronically attacked, and mind control was real. I used to fear that I was being stalked by a serial killer, but when I found out that mind control was real, I decided that if they wanted to kill me, they could do it anytime they wanted to, and I had no control over it. So why worry about it. There's nothing I can do. They can push a button, and cause me to have a car accident. They can make me sleepwalk, and go kill myself in the middle of the night, without knowing I did it. Maybe they can push a button that will directly shut off my brain or suffocate me or make my heart stop beating. I don't know what they can do, but I know enough to realize that if they wanted to kill me, they would and they could, at any random moment. That actually made me LESS worried, strangely enough. It was a sort of grim resignation. It was the realization that there are people attacking me and it's up to them whether I live or die, because I don't know who they are and I can't retaliate, I can't fight back. I can only focus on those things that I have control over, instead of worrying about things that I can't control.

It can give you a false sense of security. You might think you're safe from everything, because the mind controllers are watching you constantly. But that's not true either. You still have to take care of yourself. They don't control every molecule that moves in the universe. They don't control every random accident that happens. And there's more than one group of people controlling things. There isn't a monopoly, one single ruler of the world controlling everything. Instead, there are different groups and individuals fighting for their territory, fighting to control particular people, fighting to 'own' particular 'slaves' who are high value to them. One person's slave might attack another person's slave. It isn't all controlled by the same person. There's more than one 'ruler of the world.' There are many, and they're not all friends with each other.

Over the years I mellowed out a little bit and I don't worry so much anymore if I see people connecting death and sex. It's actually pretty common. There are different ways people do it. There are subcultures and fiction stories and movies that do this in different ways. Vampire culture, vampire movies and stories, that's a way of talking about erotic death. I don't freak out about it as much as I used to.

They brought Curtis into my life, and I say that 'they brought' him, because, by coincidence, he suddenly started working with me right after Martin left, and the voices talked to me about him immediately, and he was exactly the kind of guy that I would like, and I liked him as soon as I met him. He has this status: 'Curtis can do no wrong.' No matter what he does, I always like him again, and I can't help it.

I've seen his MySpace page, briefly, although I can't go there now, and he has erotic vampire-goth images on there. He also has similar things in his facebook page.  I have to add something that I forgot to mention.  Although it sort of seems like erotic death, it is also an expression of his own unbearable pain and suffering.  I had to go look at the images again, on facebook, and some of it is about suicide.  It fits with the 'screamo' genre of music, some of which I listened to, that expresses the unbearable pain by screaming.  This is something that I sympathize with.  However, in this blog I was focused on the 'erotic death' interpretation more than I was focused on the 'unbearable suffering' interpretation, but I had to mention it.

Some of it came from his mother, and it's an accepted thing in their family. His mother seems to be a sexual instinctual type too, and she has lots of tattoos, and some piercings, and she accidentally attracts men without wanting to. It happened when she worked at Nittany Mall McDonald's with me, years ago, for a short time before she quit. That's how I met her. She used to talk in a flirtatious way with the boss, but she might not have realized how flirtatious she was being, and how much she encouraged him. It wasn't long before the boss did a real-life, blatant, sexual harassment incident with her. (He did similar things to a couple of other women who worked there, too, but fortunately, he didn't do anything to me - I wasn't his type, and he wasn't mine, and I couldn't stand him, and I found him sexually repulsive.) She was doing overnight cleaning, and he asked her to meet him in the bathroom for something, in a few minutes. She assumed that he wanted to show her some task or cleaning project she was going to do. It was unexpected. She walked into the bathroom and found him standing there with his shirt off, and he asked her to massage his back. She told me this story, and she was ashamed and disgusted and afraid. I don't remember if she actually DID massage his back, or if she walked out, or what. I don't know. After that, she was talking to me about it, and other people, and she didn't know what to do, and she wanted to tell some authority about it. And I don't remember who she told, but she just quit and left after a while. It happened to some other people too, and that manager still works at McD, but he went to a different store.

I didn't know she was Curtis's mother. Once, I saw her walking around Weis, before I knew Curtis, before he worked at Weis. I saw that she was walking with a young guy in his teens, and for some reason, I thought he was her boyfriend. I'm not joking. I really, actually believed that she had a very young boyfriend. I didn't know he was her son. When I saw them together it seemed like they were dating, not family. One reason that I didn't understand was because he seemed too old to be her son. She's in her thirties, and he's in his late teens, so she had him when she was in her young teens. Something about them, their behavior, their intimacy, gave off boyfriend-girlfriend vibes when I saw them, and I felt a combination of disapproval, envy, and amazement. (Yesterday when I was writing about the 'weird dream' idea, where something really strange is happening but everyone thinks it's normal, the voices were mentioning another 'weird dream' idea, which was: 'You mean, I can fuck my mother FOR REAL, like I always wanted to?' That was partly referring to his mother, but it was also referring to me as an older woman only one year younger than his mother.)

So after he and I knew each other - I didn't recognize him as 'the guy I once saw walking around with Sabrina' - he informed me that I knew his mother, Sabrina, and she worked with me at McD years ago.

When he told me this, I was shocked and stunned, and then I became distrusting and afraid. I had a very intense reaction of fear and distrust. I remembered Sabrina getting sexually harassed, after openly flirting with the manager, and encouraging him. I had already gotten a crush on Curtis, who did the same thing, openly flirting with me and encouraging me. So I got scared that he was going to turn around and say that I was sexually harassing him. I felt very afraid and distrusting after that. I reacted very strongly when he told me who his mother was. He seemed to enjoy my reaction - he smiled, I think, if I recall correctly, because he could see that I was shocked and surprised - but he didn't understand all the things I was thinking and all the things I was afraid of. I can't remember why I thought he enjoyed the reaction. To him it might have seemed like I was afraid of her, afraid of Sabrina somehow. I think that's partly true, I probably am afraid of her somehow, or threatened by her, and jealous of her. I can't explain why but he seemed to enjoy my reaction.

The vampire-goth culture seems to come from her, and I don't know how much of it comes from within Curtis himself. Some of it might be because that's an accepted thing in their family. Tattoos are an accepted thing in their family, and she has lots of tattoos. I don't like tattoos, and 'the voices' were threatening me, telling me that they were going to force him to get the urge to get more tattoos. That scares me, because I see it as permanent destruction of beauty - I don't see it as making him more beautiful or more attractive.  He has freckles all over his arms.  He has tattoos on the underside of his arms, but if he got new ones on top of his arms, it would destroy the freckles so that you couldn't see them anymore.  And not just his arms, but all of his skin, I see it as being destroyed instead of enhanced by tattoos.

Some of the vampire-goth culture, in his pictures, in the images he collected off the internet, has erotic death themes. Or not necessarily erotic, but creepy death fascination, a focus on death, an interest in death and corpses. I saw this early on, in his jewelry - I loved his jewelry right away, and I was always asking him about whatever he was wearing. He has little metal skulls attached to his shoelaces and I remember commenting about those a long time ago when I was getting to know him. Somehow, 'Curtis can do no wrong.' When HE has an eroticized obsession with death and goth and skulls and vampires and blood, somehow it's sexy when it never was before. He once told me that he wanted to buy a hearse, and put a coffin in the back of it (and although he didn't explain this, I understood that you're supposed to have sex with someone in the coffin in the back of the car). He put dark tints on the back windows so you can't see inside. He's decorated parts of his car with neon lights, and he's put in his own stereo with a sub-bass, and he showed me these things. I never cared about those things before, I never liked neon lights added to cars, I never cared about what kind of stereo someone has, I never cared about tinted windows, but suddenly, when HE did it, I liked all of those things, they were great, they were sexy.

I had the same reaction to his image collection. I liked all of it, even though years ago I *hated* anybody who connected death/murder with sex in any way at all. He has one image of a man and woman kissing while one of them holds a gun, and the other holds a knife, if I recall, each one about to kill the other. It actually reminds me of an image I drew, years ago, when I was painting with the Caran Dache aquarelle crayons. I drew two people kissing and I drew their tongues twisting together, and it was a beautiful, sexy, erotic picture. I want to scan, or photograph, my paintings and put them on the internet someday, but right now, they're in a box in the storage unit. I used to draw and paint a lot and I sometimes drew erotic pictures, sometimes pictures of people kissing and touching each other. The images he collected reminded me of my own drawings, except there was the goth-like, vampire-like focus on blood, death, murder, suicide, and similar themes. But I felt the sense of them, the passion they express, and I understood it.

I just remembered two things that happened. Don't let me forget - one was the butt tattoo, the other was the handcuffs. I have to tell both stories. There was a girl who worked with us for a short time, and her name was also Becka - there were two people named Becka. She saw me talking to Curtis, and I hadn't mentioned anything to her at all about having a crush on him, about how much I liked him. I hadn't said anything. But she saw the way we talked to each other, and she said, 'Nicole's going to get your name tattooed on her butt.' When she said that I started laughing uncontrollably. It was so perceptive and accurate even though I hadn't told her anything. I was embarrassed, but I had to admit she was right, it was true. I didn't say anything to her, I didn't tell her how I felt about him, but she could tell by watching me.

The other incident: Christina was talking to me, and I forget why she said this. Something about committing a crime, or getting in trouble for doing something, or having to call the police. We were joking. She used to live next door to Curtis before they moved, and so they knew each other for years, and she's friends with his mother, so she's been to their house and she knew about his collection of knives, swords and other things. So she blurts out something like, 'We can go get Curtis's handcuffs,' or 'We can put Curtis's handcuffs on you,' something like that. My reaction was to get very embarrassed and I started laughing. The next thing she did was call him over to talk to us, and she told him that I wanted him to put me in his handcuffs, and I said, 'SHE'S the one who said that. *I* didn't say that!' I was laughing. 'Mortified' would be the word to describe it. This was another one of those rare exceptions. I never thought about handcuffs before and I wouldn't have wanted to be handcuffed, but with him, the idea of it was sexy.

I said that 'button-pushers' refers to the people who are operating the mind control equipment. But I sometimes say it in a metaphorical way too. He pushes all the right buttons in the right order - whatever he does it somehow works out and I like it.

I don't remember if I was supposed to go back to an unfinished topic or not, so I have to reread this...

My understanding of the death-sex connection is that ... well, this is hard to explain. Sometimes, something reminds us of something else. Or it's an image, or feeling, which is exaggerated or made more extreme. There was a word for this. I was reading about it recently. I was reading about instincts and about how animals respond to certain triggers or images. If you exaggerate the trigger image, they will respond more strongly to the fake thing than they do to the real thing. An example is a brightly colored fish. The male fish is brightly colored, and any males who see him know that he is the enemy, and they will attack. But if you make a fake fish, and the fake one is even more brightly colored than the real one, they'll attack the fake fish and ignore the real one. If you exaggerate or intensify the trigger image, they'll be more interested in the fake thing than the real thing. You can also put fake pheromones on something, and animals and insects will be more attracted to that than they are to the real animals putting out their pheromones, because the fake ones are so much stronger.

Some sexual fetishes, in humans, seem to be like that. It exaggerates something sexy, making it more extreme, so that you like the exaggerated fake image more than the real one. It's not just images, it's also sensations and ideas. If you make them more extreme or more exaggerated then they trigger sexual feelings more than the real world does. I respond very strongly to the image of pregnant women's bellies. The bigger they are, the more erotic it is. When I see it, I'm not thinking in a lesbian way that I want to have sex with the woman. I'm thinking of my own desire to have sex and get pregnant. I feel a sort of empathic sensation of my own belly being pregnant, and a feeling of envy, when I see someone else's.

It's similar to the gluttony fetish, but not exactly the same. The gluttony fetish exaggerates or makes extreme the sensation you feel in your stomach from eating. It happened to me the other day. I had just eaten and I took a walk, and one of the places I went to was a park with swings. I always like to swing on the swings. But swinging with a full stomach gave me an intense tickling sensation in my stomach, and it was somehow extremely pleasant, and extremely unpleasant at the same time, so I stopped swinging. That tickly feeling is involved in the gluttony fantasy and with bingeing and purging behavior. I'm phobic about vomiting, and I will do *ANYTHING* to avoid vomiting, but at the same time, I know how it feels to get a sort of 'reward' sensation after vomiting, maybe an opiate release? I don't know. A feeling of great relief and pleasure after the vomiting is over, a flood of numbness and relaxation - still, for me, it's not worth it, and the fear of vomiting is much worse than any 'reward' for vomiting. But some people don't mind it and they don't mind bingeing and purging. The gluttony fetish exaggerates and makes extreme that tickly sensation in your stomach from eating, and it exaggerates the images, and the empathy you feel with those images. It's not just the stomach, it's the entire abdomen that's able to feel that way, and it can sometimes happen with hormones or drugs too, anything that's an aphrodisiac.  The aphrodisiac can make your abdomen feel that way even if you haven't eaten much.

So I think that the death-and-sex connection is something similar to that. After an orgasm your entire body relaxes and becomes limp. It was an extreme experience similar to dying, similar to being killed. That is how I understand it.

Other people interpret it differently - to them, if you kill someone, it is about domination and power, about ownership, about being superior to the person you killed. That was how I felt whenever Nerdman pretended to kill me in the chatroom, when I wasn't expecting it - I felt that it was a terrible, disrespectful act of domination, something meant to humiliate me and make me feel small and helpless, and I did *NOT* enjoy it. It wasn't erotic at that time, in that way.

It's hard to describe where the boundary lines are, where the gray areas end, because the vampire-goth fantasies also have some domination and control themes, but it's much milder and it doesn't offend me. This is partly because vampires are doing something that I actually enjoy: biting people on the neck. That by itself is erotic, and it's enjoyable to the person being bitten. Nerdman, on the other hand, was just interested in the death itself and it didn't even have any connection, by my understanding, to doing something that would have been enjoyable anyway. With him, it was clearly meant to make the other person feel inferior, stupid, worthless, small, helpless. I can't really explain. Some of it might even be because the vampire images are usually people who I see as sexually attractive. Being dominated by someone sexually attractive is different from being dominated by someone sexually repulsive.

I just remembered a story I read somewhere which was supposedly true.  There was a guy exploring in Africa, and he was attacked by a lion.  The lion grabbed him in his mouth and shook him.  He described having a sensation of being pleasantly relaxed and submissive and helpless, like it wasn't real, and like he wouldn't mind dying.  He wasn't afraid, while it was going on.  I forget how he survived - maybe someone else was with them, and the other person killed the lion or something.  I can't remember where I read this story.  But I think that somehow, people know about that feeling, and it's involved in domination/submission fantasies and vampire fantasies.

I can't even really talk about these things without worrying that they will be taken the wrong way. I don't enjoy being humiliated. But for the past couple days, the voices have been talking to me about someone enjoying humiliation. It's because I laughed at Curtis when he walked up to me and was talking to me and calling me a nickname - there's a word for this that I can't remember. What are those nicknames called? There's a word for affectionate nicknames that lovers use for each other. Pet names? Something like that. I like the ones he uses - they're actually meaningful. It's not something like 'hello, my little love muffin,' or something like that. 'Love muffin' just doesn't sound sexy to me. I really WOULD laugh if someone called me that. When he calls me names, I laugh, but not because it's a ridiculous name like 'love muffin.' I laugh instead because the name is too flattering, too much of a compliment, something too good and too nice to be true.

Like imagine that there is a very fat woman, and I don't mean to insult fat people, and actually I'm interested in what causes obesity, and I don't think it's the fat person's fault at all - so I don't like to insult fat people, ever, although I called Carrie fat in my blog, after she advised me in an email that I should get rid of my mustache, and she labeled Curtis 'the dumbass'. But imagine there is a fat woman, and she's a terrible dancer, but she pretends to get up and dance around, and she's not really serious about it. But someone watching her says to her, 'You are a graceful ballerina,' and he says it in a dead serious voice, and he means it, and she bursts out laughing/crying because she knows she isn't really graceful, isn't really a good dancer, isn't really a ballerina, she's just an ugly, fat woman pretending to dance as a joke. And again, please do not take this as an insult to any fat people. I am just trying to think of the best example that I can, and this is always the example that I think of. Maybe it's something 'they' put into my mind. But that's how I feel when he calls me the flattering nicknames that exaggerate how beautiful and wonderful and special I am, when I'm not really as beautiful, wonderful, and special as the things he says I am.

But I feel like I really AM special and wonderful, though, because I choose life, and I am surviving something terrible. I feel that I am a unique, wonderful person that nobody understands, someone undervalued by the world. So when he says that I'm special and wonderful and unique and rare, I feel like it's actually the truth, like he can see inside me to where I value my own life, where I value myself, where I choose to live. But he couldn't possibly understand that. He couldn't possibly see that. He can't see inside my soul. No one can see my soul, because I am the victim of a crime, I am a mind slave, I am a zombie, with my soul suppressed by the constant attack following me 24 hours a day. So I laugh because it's impossible, and I cry because I really, really need it to be true. I want someone to see me and understand me and value me the same way that I value myself. When he says these things, it seems like he does understand, but I think he can't really.

I want to find another boyfriend, someone easier to reach, someone who will actually answer me, meet me, talk to me in person, when Curtis won't or can't. That's what I meant when I said that sooner or later I have to give up and go after 'easy pickings' instead, because it's impossible to actually be with Curtis in the real world, when I can't get him to respond to me except at work. I need someone to get to know the real me, to know the hell that I live in every day, not just from hearing voices but mostly from the drug residues and chemical sensitivity and chronic fatigue - to see through all of those problems and see that there is still a living soul underneath it - to see into my cage, to see that I am still alive even though I look like a zombie on the outside and I cannot speak my own words or make my own choices while being controlled.

I think that's enough for now.