Archive for April, 2010

The Restaurant I Didn’t Go To; The Homeless Guy; No More “Yes Man”

April 28, 2010

/28/10 1:36:23 AM

When I left work from Weis on Sunday I had an incident with ‘them.’

Earlier that day, the guy I called my ‘temporary workplace friend’ had mentioned that he was going to eat at my favorite restaurant that evening. He did not say it to me – he said it to another guy that was there while we were taking the trash out. I was walking around and didn’t hear all of the conversation, so I didn’t know if he was going by himself, or with his girlfriend, or with his family, or why he was going there. He was glad to get to eat nice food instead of cereal. I know how that is because when I lived with my parents I always ate cereal as a snack too, sometimes three or four bowls every day, because there was nothing else to eat. (He did live with his parents, although I wasn’t sure if he had moved in with his girlfriend, and I haven’t asked.)

So when I left work that evening, I was leaving a little bit early, and I often go driving around just to do something and get off my feet for an hour between jobs. I turned left and drove AWAY from the direction of the restaurant, on purpose, to protect myself and to protect him. Immediately ‘they’ started talking to me and trying to force me to turn around. They told me that he said it in front of me because he wanted me to meet him there at the restaurant. I didn’t believe that. Also, I didn’t know if he was going there alone or with somebody. Even if he was alone, I don’t want to go meet him someplace if he didn’t explicitly ask me to meet him there, because I don’t want to scare him any more than I already have. It’s scary enough to be getting asked out on dates and to be given notes and to be told over and over that text messages and phone calls are being intercepted, and to be told that I ‘hear voices’ and have other strange problems. I also told him I loved him (I’ll get to that story in a minute.) (Oops – I finished this post and was rereading it, and I forgot to ever tell the story.  Basically, I gave him a note telling him I love him and have enjoyed the time I’ve spent with him – I won’t go into detail.)  He doesn’t reciprocate and he doesn’t initiate. He just responds if I choose to do something. I take that as a kind of negative sign, something to be cautious about.

So I drove, and they gave me this intense physical sensation of being pulled away from something, a tingling sensation at my back commanding me to turn around and drive to the restaurant. They were talking to me and telling me over and over that I was supposed to go there and that I must think of how hurt and disappointed he was going to be if I didn’t show up, and that kind of thing, making it sound like he really, really wanted me to be there. And they didn’t give up, either. They kept saying it and giving me that sensation.

So I started shouting at them while I drove. ‘HE’S THERE WITH HIS *FAMILY*!’ Every time I said it, they made me feel weak and uncertain. It’s true, I didn’t know for certain who he was with, but I assumed the worst. I assumed he was there with other people, instead of assuming he was alone and that he deliberately said it to invite me to go meet him there. I imagined that he had left work and gone home and then his whole family had gone out to eat together. I thought his girlfriend lived a little further away, so it seemed less likely that she would have been there. When I had a conversation with her she had said where she lived, and I vaguely remember where that town is, but I’m not sure.

I am already being creepy enough by giving him these notes and stealing his phone number from the wall of the office and texting him (although he says he hasn’t received a lot of my messages, only a few of them, and I can’t know for sure.) It would be even more creepy to show up at the restaurant and go sit with him when I wasn’t explicitly invited. It would be awkward and uncomfortable if I showed up and he was there with other people. I’d have no excuse for being there, because there wasn’t enough TIME for me to actually sit down and eat, since I was between jobs and had only an hour, minus the driving time to get to the restaurant. I’d be able to sit down for about ten minutes at best, which means I couldn’t claim that I had gone there to actually order food and eat it.

So, like I said, I drove the opposite way and used up my time between jobs, while shouting at the voices and arguing with them and telling them that it was inappropriate for me to try to meet him there. They kept making me imagine him eating there all by himself, wishing that I would show up, and making me feel sorry for him, and telling me that this was going to make him unable to ask me out again because I had disapointed him and he expected me to be there and I didn’t show up. It’s true, if he DID expect me, then I would feel bad for him, and I would definitely want to go. But he never invited me, he just mentioned it in front of me, and, as I said, I am already being creepy enough, and I don’t want to scare him.

Eventually I turned around and went on to the next job at McD.

When I went in, there was a homeless guy sitting at a booth in the corner, with a laptop, using the wireless internet, playing music and singing loudly off-key. His bike was outside with a bunch of blankets and stuff in the basket. I was told he’d been sitting there all day. I talked to him. He showed me a bunch of pictures that he was getting from Google, pictures of Captain Crunch boxes that had been changed into joke pictures or pornographic versions, and he was collecting them. I asked him if he wanted any more food, because he had an empty tray with some wrappers on it. So I got him some food and I paid for it myself, on purpose, because that felt somehow better than using my free employee meal to buy him something.

He told me he used to live in Bloomsburg and his house burned down, but I don’t know how it burned down. He used to be married, but his wife died in a car accident.

Several other employees had talked to him and one lady agreed with me that he seemed friendly enough, but another girl was very, very scared of him. He told me he had Tourette’s Syndrome (you suddenly make loud noises or shout strange things and curse words) and I could see he was, overall, not mentally healthy – he was hyperactive and couldn’t control his impulses. He also had back pain, so he walked stooped over. Also, later on, he told me that he had been in and out of psychiatric hospitals all of his life, and he had been on Thorazine (and lost all his teeth because of it, he said) and Haldol, and just about every other horribly poisonous drug that has ever been invented, so he has permanent twitches and other effects from those. So, for all those reasons, his behavior was strange and inappropriate. The girl who was scared of him said that he had been banging on the bathroom door while she was trying to clean the bathrooms, and he was saying ‘I’m coming to get you, girly,’ and things like that.

We had to close the lobby at 1:00 AM. I had warned him that it was closing, but he didn’t leave. I went out again and talked to him. After sitting and talking with him for a few minutes, I offered to let him sleep in my car that night. So we got that settled – the manager didn’t have to call the police and have him thrown out, which we all wanted to avoid.

He slept in my car that night. When I left work in the morning, I took him home to my apartment. He was begging for me, or somebody, to give him a chance, to trust him, to love him, and to let him live with them.

There are a couple reasons why I did this. First, I really do need help at home. Having someone there helps me get things done, although it has to be someone who has self-restraint, someone who can leave me alone when I need to be alone. I was thinking that I could ask him to do my housecleaning and cooking with me (I can’t just tell someone to do something by themselves – I have to do it *with* them, because I want things to be done a certain way).

Second, I really do feel compassion for people who are mentally ill. Mental illness is only physical illness. It’s not something you ‘choose’ to do. I have spent many years reading books and learning things to understand what causes ‘mental’ illness. It isn’t a ‘bad belief system.’ It isn’t because you’re ‘thinking negative thoughts’ or ‘distorted thinking’ or anything like that. It’s a physical sickness in the body, and it’s caused by something. For instance, there is a particular nutritional problem where your body isn’t able to absorb a particular vitamin, I forget which vitamin, and if you have that disease, it causes symptoms of extremely severe mental illness, distorted thinking, being unable to speak clearly, having strange beliefs, etc. I remember reading that in a book that I bought, called ‘When Psychiatric Problems Mask Medical Disorders,’ or something like that – I forget the exact title, because it’s in a box in storage right now. The idea of the book is that you can have ‘psychiatric’ or ‘mental’ problems that are actually a sign of a medical problem. I don’t think this is a rare exception, I think instead that ALL ‘psychiatric’ problems are actually physical diseases, or, at least, are made worse by health problems.

Third, in 2008, ‘they’ began brainwashing me to become a ‘Yes Man,’ like Jim Carrey in the movie, where I must say ‘yes’ to opportunities and things that people ask me to do. They always tell me that if I make friends with a particular ‘unwanted’ person, like a homeless guy or a guy like Dennis (a customer who used to go to Weis – most people didn’t like him and thought he was creepy), then that person would become loyal to me and would ‘join the order’ or ‘become a member.’ It would be more accurate to say that they are trying to find guys who are likely to rape me. (And no, my ‘favorite guy’ is *NOT* in that ‘unwanted’ category. He has friends, girlfriends, and family, and I get the impression that women seem to like him.)

So they brainwashed me to say ‘yes’ if guys ask me out, even if I think the guy is unattractive, and I’m supposed to ‘make friends’ with people who I really don’t enjoy being with. They did it to me lots of times over the past couple years, especially if I had been exposed to drug residues and was therefore friendlier than usual. I gave my email address to several people and then had the burden of talking about *their* problems and *their* interests when I myself could barely cope with the hell of my own life. It would be nice if I could talk with people about a subject I was interested in, but no, these were always just random people who had no interests in common with me, people who didn’t care about anything that I cared about, or believe anything I believed.

‘They’ always brainwashed me to believe that, sometime later on, there would be some benefit or reward for making friends with this person, like I would need a friends network of people with certain skills and knowledge, and I was supposed to build an underground economic system of people who would trade favors and sell things outside of the government’s fiat money system, in a black market where we would employ each other to do jobs. I had been trying to do this, but it did not fit with my personality – I kept arguing about whether I agreed with their values and beliefs, whether I would help people who were doing things that I didn’t believe in, whether I would work for people who were doing tasks that I thought were unimportant, or outright harmful, or just boring, or something I wasn’t interested in. Like, if I had a black market employment network, would I want to work with people who were selling a product that I didn’t like, like face makeup or unhealthy foods. (I didn’t want to be a cake decorator because I didn’t want to make brightly colored cakes with icing made of Crisco, but would have to make cakes that were Feingold, all natural, and then, actually, I started to believe that even cakes in general are something you shouldn’t eat, even if they’re all natural, because you should avoid eating white flour and wheat products and baked goods in general, and sweets in general, and eventually, I believed that everything about cakes was just ‘wrong’ and that I couldn’t stand to make a living by decorating cakes.) So, ‘they’ always brainwashed me to believe that I would somehow get benefits from social networking, at some vague time in the future, by working with people who I strongly disliked, or people who I only liked a little bit but not very deeply, and instead it was always just me listening to them talking about their problems, or hanging out with an unattractive guy who wanted to have sex with me, and none of them were interested in ‘cooperating to make a black market employment network’ which would support us as the government’s fiat money system collapsed, as more and more people became unemployed.

The closest we came to a ‘black market employment network’ was when the unattractive guy, Dennis (his whole body smelled like kerosene), started giving me computer gadgets that I didn’t really want, as ‘prepayment’ for sexual favors that I was expected to perform in the future, and paying for my food when we ate together at a restaurant when I EXPLICITLY TOLD HIM that *I* was paying for my own food separately – when I got up to go to the bathroom, he *sneaked* the bill and paid for all of it against my will, and it was over and done with when I came back, and I was expected to be grateful for this and accept it as a prostitution payment, because it was obvious from everything he did, all these ‘gifts’ that he kept giving me and paying for things, that he wanted to pay me for sex. (Warning, if you are a guy and you go on a date with a woman who *insists* that she wants to pay for her own food, LISTEN TO HER! Do not sneak-pay the bill when she walks away! This was the ultimate insult and very disgusting, and pretty much a guarantee that you will *NOT* get to have sex with her. However, actually, that isn’t necessarily true, it’s only true if you already know that you’re somebody that women don’t like, if women always reject you anyway. That applied to this guy. But he only made it worse by paying the bill when I told him not to.)

Anyway, another reason why I took the homeless guy with me was because I like the idea of healing people who have problems, but in reality, it’s very difficult to force people to do the things that I think they need to do in order to heal themselves. I always have some kind of a plan or troubleshooting protocol in my mind, which would give someone a sort of ‘health makeover’ if they are unhealthy – for instance, I imagine putting them on a different diet, like the Feingold Diet or a diet based on Weston Price’s primitive diets, and taking out their dental fillings, and decontaminating their belongings, and moving them into another trailer that uses all-electric appliances instead of kerosene or propane or heating oil, and then seeing whether their health improves. (That is why those things are in the Order. People are supposed to join it voluntarily, not by force. They are supposed to be persuaded to believe that these procedures might help them, and they must voluntarily choose to try those things, and then observe the results.)

But I know that you can’t just tell people to change their diet – that’s very expensive, hard to do, and it requires learning how to cook new foods, and how to eat them *safely*, because there are reasons why we avoid a lot of foods. For instance, lobster liver and fish livers do have valuable vitamin A in them and other vitamins, but they can also contain residues of manmade pollution, mercury, or paralytic shellfish poisoning, or red tide toxins, etc. So you can get food poisoning from eating the livers. We need a *test* to find out if the liver contains those poisons, instead of simply sayiing ‘Oh well, we’ll just never eat fish livers again,’ throwing out the baby with the bathwater and giving up lots of valuable nutrients that we need badly. We need an easy test kit that you can use at home. Our modern diet ‘threw out the baby with the bathwater’ a LOT of times for many different foods that we never eat anymore. Anyway, those lifestyle changes are very, very hard to do, and I myself cannot comply with those rules, as I haven’t even begun to change my diet (although I am on a ‘slightly Feingold’ diet, avoiding artificial colors and flavors for the most part).

So I always meet these random people, get brainwashed to believe that they’re going to obey me and follow the troubleshooting protocols that are meant to improve their health, and then they’ll become loyal to me and all that, but in reality they are always people who aren’t at all interested in obeying things that I tell them to do, and they’re not interested in anything that I like, etc. So when I spend time with them, it is wasted time. I don’t even enjoy myself, except just a little bit, but mostly it’s a strain. Or if I do enjoy myself, that only encourages them, and they think it means I’ll want to have sex later, when I was only enjoying the ‘field trip’ or whatever we were doing. I went with one guy, Ken, who works with me, to visit some dairy farms in the area, and I find him unattractive, and I don’t really enjoy conversation with him either, but I am nowadays in the habit of ‘being nice’ and just not talking about anything I’m interested in, and just letting the other person decide what to talk about, and I cease to exist, and everything I believe in and everything I care about ceases to exist, I just listen while they talk.

Ken and I went to some dairy farms and it really was interesting. I learned that automatic milking machines are disgusting, and the farmers don’t seem to notice that they’re disgusting. I saw one farm where the milking machines sent the milk through these pipes, and you could see through the clear plastic of the pipes, and the inside of the pipe was lined with clotted milk all the way through the pipe. It was this hardened, solidified milk, and all the new milk was going through that pipe, touching the old solidified stuff. How long that was in there, I don’t know. They rinsed it out by pumping water through it, but the rinsing had almost no effect on the solid white milk lining the whole pipe, it was all still there. So I decided that anything that sends milk through a pipe is probably unsanitary, and it’s one of the reasons why milk makes me sick. Instead, milk must be squeezed into a pail, and must never go through any pipes, in order to keep it sanitary.

I know this is true because the same thing used to happen with my drip coffeemaker. I’d buy a brand new coffeemaker, and in the beginning, the coffee didn’t make me sick at my stomach. But after using it for a few months, it would get so dirty inside that it couldn’t be cleaned, even if I boiled vinegar through it. The inner surfaces and pipes were coated with fungus or slime or something that couldn’t be removed. I’d get sick every time I drank the coffee, until buying a clean new coffeemaker, and suddenly the coffee didn’t bother me anymore. I have lots of experiences with things where an unclean surface is touching a liquid, and I get sick if I drink it, so I’m sure the same thing applies to the dairy farms.

Well, that was my field trip with Ken. But he wants to continue being friends with me and he still calls me and asks me to do things with him. And I don’t enjoy his company, I merely enjoyed going on a field trip.

Those were all other examples of people I was brainwashed to say ‘yes’ to whenever I didn’t really enjoy their company. This homeless guy was the same way.

I took him home. He talked constantly. He interrupted every sentence before I was even halfway through if I tried to talk back to him. (Troubleshooting: Feingold Diet for hyperactives. Give him a wheat-free, milk-free diet. Food has to be ground up for him because he has no teeth left and he can’t chew vegetables or other hard foods.) Severe mood swings of emotional clinginess – he would beg me over and over again to love him, love him, love him. (Troubleshooting Step 1: Decontaminate the tobacco from all of his belongings. I touched him – he kept hugging me and touching me a lot – and I reacted very badly to whatever is on him. Lots and lots of tobacco, and something else I’m not sure about, some substance that made me feel miserable and depressed, the way I felt after touching Dennis and getting his kerosene/tobacco/unknown poison mixture. The ideal way to decontaminate from tobacco is to move somebody into a clean house and keep them away from touching all of their old belongings. Troubleshooting Step 2: Feed him healthy foods. Someone who begs to be loved, over and over again, is probably hungry for healthy food. When you ‘feel needy,’ it’s often because you actually feel hungry. Thirsty, too – give him water, not soda, not juice, not coffee, but plain water with nothing in it. He did, however, have a cup of water, so that might not be the problem. Troubleshooting Step 3: Drug withdrawal, stop all drugs. Troubleshooting Step 4: Heal his back pain. He would come to me for a hug whenever his back was hurting him, and say ‘I hurt, I hurt.’ It was heartbreaking. I don’t know how to heal back pain. I only know about nutrition. Proper nutrition can fix osteoporosis. I would troubleshoot osteoporosis and troubleshoot arthritis. Forbid him to drink any milk that contains synthetic vitamin D – he must drink milk that does NOT have any synthetic vitamins added to it – they can cause osteoporosis, and can cause calcium buildup in connective tissue where you aren’t supposed to have calcium buildup, which can cause pain in the joints and possibly in the back. Also, he was using Tums, an antacid, or maybe it was the other brand of antacid. Antacids are EXTREMELY bad for you and I suspect that they can cause osteoporosis as well. So he must never use antacids again. All over-the-counter drugs are dangerous. He said that his back pain just started a year ago for no reason – he didn’t have an injury or an accident, so it’s caused by some kind of gradual deterioration.)

I have all of that knowledge, but no way to enforce it. I don’t have a decontamination center where I can send people to live so that they can withdraw from tobacco. I don’t have a cafeteria that will serve people nothing but high-quality, Feingold Diet, Weston Price foods from pasture-fed cows and chickens and all that stuff. I don’t have much knowledge about healing back injuries and osteoporosis, so I might try these things and they might not help – so we might still need some kind of safe painkiller, and I have no knowledge of cheap, homemade, home-grown painkillers, unless I grow poppies and give them morphine – and I’d rather not try to do that right now, with all my experience of herbal drug residues getting all over everything. Withdrawal from morphine causes terrible symptoms, so if you got contaminated with the oils of poppies, you would keep having those up-and-down swings of getting hit with a drug and then withdrawing from it, every day, every time you touched things.

So in reality, I just spent time babysitting this guy who talked constantly and couldn’t listen, and wanted to show me his Captain Crunch box pictures, and he made a bunch of balloon animals – he’s really good with that, and he used to work at fairs and festivals making balloon animals. I bought him foods from Burger King, because I still can’t really cook in my kitchen, for a variety of reasons, long story (all my pots and pans are in storage; I’m not using Teflon anymore so even if I had my pots and pans out, I wouldn’t want to use them, I’d still want to get new ones without any Teflon; my fridge still has the vapors of bone marrow poisoning from a couple months ago, although it’s probably been reduced somewhat). So I couldn’t even give him a healthy diet, although there are worse things than Burger King.

I slept a couple of hours, but ‘they’ woke me up, as always, and the guy (his name was Barry Bartlett) slept out in my living room area, but he couldn’t sleep very well, and he was mostly playing his music on his laptop. He got my music CDs when he was in the car and he loaded them onto his computer, and I don’t mind, that’s okay with me. So now he has some John Denver and Blondie songs that he likes, and he was playing them over and over. (He didn’t get the electronic music, which was on the driver’s side of the car, in the little pocket on my door, but he couldn’t have played them anyway because they’ve gotten all scratched and they don’t work anymore – I desperately need new CDs.)

Eventually I woke up, as I said, and I had to go out and talk to him. I was trying to accept this burden, imagining myself living with him long-term, for months or years. I imagined that I would be responsible for his food and his health and for entertaining him constantly, because he couldn’t just calm down and quietly read a book or something. He would be someone who watches television constantly and has it turned up really loud. I can’t stand television, especially LOUD television. Peter does that too, and it bothers me when I go over there, but I like Peter a lot more for other reasons and just in general. I don’t have a TV, so Barry was bored, and he was going to be doomed to an eternity of boredom if he had to sit in my house doing nothing without a TV.

I spent all of Monday with Barry. I took him to Goodwill and was going to get him a couple items of clothing. But he refused to look at clothing. He told me to just get him something of a particular size. I can’t do that. I can’t know what kinds of things he likes or dislikes. I wanted to get him something that wasn’t contaminated with tobacco and mystery-poison, whatever it is. But he wouldn’t try on clothing – instead, he went to the gadgets section and wanted to buy a scanner. Not a scanner that scans photos for the computer, but a radio scanner, a police scanner that can listen to truck drivers on their CB radios and all that. It had a broken antenna, but he tested it and it still worked. I bought it for him. He never was able to get anyone to respond to him when he tried to talk, but he was able to occasionally hear them, so it was like the microphone didn’t work anymore.

There were two incidents where he actually did scare me. He would often lie there on his blanket in the living room, holding his pair of pliers and just swinging the pliers so that they opened and closed, making a clicking noise, over and over. I started to feel scared that he was going to attack me with the pliers. The other incident was when I had explained to him (or, I tried to explain, but he interrupted me every couple words, so he never understood) that I was having a very bad mood because I didn’t feel well, because I was sensitive to his tobacco, and he had been smoking in the car with me, and smoking outside the apartment (after I told him he had to smoke outside – he had smoked inside at first, without asking permission, and I saw him having a Tourette’s twitch episode while holding a lit cigarette in his hand, and the sparks flew off the cigarette while his hand was jerking around, and I wondered if that was the reason why his house burned down), and also because he had hugged me and the residue went through my skin – I could feel the tingling sensation where it was on the skin of my chest. So I was very uncomfortable and sullen and quiet and unhappy. I apologized for being in a bad mood, and explained that it was my chemical sensitivity. He scared me by saying, ‘Are you the same person? Or are you somebody else?’ He spoke as though he literally believed that I was another person who looked exactly the same, but was a different person underneath, like an evil twin or a clone. That scared me – there was no logical way that I could prove I was the same person. I said, ‘I’m the same person!’ in a surprised, hurt tone of voice, and I felt scared. I tried to explain that it was just a very bad mood because I wasn’t feeling well, but I was actually the same person.

So after spending a day with him, trying to get a few minutes alone here and there so I could think about what needed to be done, and having him knock on my door a couple times when I was alone, and begging to see my computers in the bedroom, begging to ‘fix’ my laptop because it was ‘slow’ even though I never told him anything was wrong with my laptop, and it doesn’t have adware because it never touches the internet – after a day of all that, and his constant talking, I knew it would be impossible for me to help him. I couldn’t do all of the things needed in my imaginary troubleshooting protocol, unless I had lots more help and resources than I have now. I would need other babysitters to cycle through the time spent with him, because everyone goes crazy after a couple hours of being with him. And he would have to agree to do the special diets and the decontamination and all that, when he might not want to. And this was all happening on Monday, which is my day of rest after working two jobs four days in a row.

So I asked him where he would like me to take him. I told him that I would need to take him someplace and let him go because I could only help him a little bit. He said, ‘You’re doing the wrong thing,’ over and over, in a miserable way, and it made me start crying. (By now, I was seeing him in two different ways, two visions of him. I saw him as the annoying, intolerable person who exhausted me with his constant need for attention, but I also saw him as an older, much sicker, much more pitiful version of my favorite guy at work, the ‘temporary workplace friend,’ who also has a back injury from a car accident, if he were much more severely hyperactive (he’s actually somewhat quiet, and gentle and pleasant to be around) if he were homeless and had been on drugs and in psychiatric hospitals and lost all his teeth and all his friends and family and his home – it broke my heart, to know he was a real person, somebody who could be loved and cared for, but I couldn’t do it.) But he agreed to pack up his stuff and bring it back down to my car. We had put his blankets and clothes in the dryer because they’d gotten rained on, and after they were dry, we packed them all up. We put his bike into my trunk again, and his walker in the back seat with his bags.

So I took him back to Williamsport. He had left Williamsport for two reasons: One, he got thrown out of Wegmans for doing the same thing he did at McD – using his laptop and singing loudly. Two, he needed Vicoden, and the doctors wouldn’t give it to him anymore, he said, so he was going to try the doctors in Harrisburg and see if they would give him Vicoden. But he decided to go back to Williamsport anyway, and that’s good, because I wasn’t really comfortable with the idea of driving around in Harrisburg on a day when I still felt tired and sick, with a guy who talked constantly.

I had accidentally taken the wrong highway and gotten on 180, not understanding that I could get there more easily by going on 220. So our trip was longer than it should have been. But we got there. I needed to go to a gas station, and he wanted to get some food with his food stamps card. I drank a Starbucks Coffee, for the first time in a couple months – I really did quit all coffee and all chocolate, but I felt tired enough that it might not be safe to drive home. Peter called me on my cell phone while we were still sittting next to the gas pump. I told him where I was and that I wouldn’t be home for a while, but I’d go see him in a couple of hours. He didn’t ask too many questions. I explained that I was taking a homeless man to Williamsport.

We found his street in Williamsport easily enough. He called his pastor on the phone – this was a church pastor that he only met last Wednesday. The guy didn’t know him very well, but was trying to help him. It was the middle of the night, and Barry wanted to keep explaining everything over and over to the pastor on the phone, when he surely had been sleeping. So I whispered, ‘hey – he needs to sleep, and I need to get home,’ and luckily, Barry was able to wind down after a couple more tellings of the story, and was able to let the pastor go and say they’d talk sometime in the next couple days.

I let him out at a house by the church, and it looked like the house was sort of connected to the church – I’m not sure whether it was or not. There was a porch that he slept on, where he had a wheelchair that he used for putting his bags and stuff into. The wheelchair was there like he said it would be. We got all his stuff out of the car and I hugged him goodbye, but I wasn’t crying anymore. I cried a few times after deciding that I would have to take him someplace and let him go. (By the way, I offered several times to take him to the homeless shelter, and I forgot to mention that earlier in the story, but he refused to go there – he said he got sick by being in an enclosed place with other homeless people, and I believed it – it’s like going to the hospital and getting sick from BEING there, which has happened to many other people, including Peter. Barry said he got bronchitis because of the sick people in the homeless shelters, so he didn’t want to go there anymore.) So he got out his blankets and got ready to sleep on that porch, and I got in my car and left. I took 220 home and it was faster.

I made it home and went straight to Peter’s house. I felt like I didn’t want to touch Peter, or he didn’t want to touch me. I felt sick and miserable from the tobacco-mystery poison mix on Barry which was now all over me. I felt socially exhausted, too, from listening to someone who can’t stop talking all day long. I felt violated and endangered, and regretted that I had brought Barry home with me – what if he had killed me, or raped me, or attacked me? I was mad at myself for having no boundaries and letting people in again, dangerous people, when I ought to have said no to them. I still felt a sense of Barry’s presence. Sometimes ‘they,’ the voices, the attackers, do that to me – they force me to replay somebody’s memory in my mind after I leave them, the same way that they force me to keep hearing a song that played on the Muzak at the stores and other public places, the songs I can’t stand, the awful radio music that I’ve heard a million times and never liked to begin with. I couldn’t just disconnect and forget him, and I think it was partly because of ‘them,’ but not entirely. I also felt that I had already hugged Barry too many times today, and like I didn’t want to hug anybody anymore, because Barry had been touching me so much all day long, so I felt reluctant to touch Peter. (By the way, all of these bad feelings got much better after I got home, took a shower, got out of the contaminated clothes, and slept.)

So I told the story to Peter, and Peter expressed the same compassion I had when I told him about Barry going in and out of mental hospitals and being on drugs and all that. I stayed at Peter’s house for a couple hours and mostly listened to him because he was in a bad mood, too, and wanted to rant about several problems having to do with his wife’s job. He also told me some entertaining stories about what it used to be like working at McDonald’s in the old days when the grills were different – you used to actually flip the burgers, when nowadays, there is a thing that closes down over top of them so that the top and bottom get cooked at the same time. He told me how they would put about a hundred burgers on the grill at once, and feed the college fraternities that would go there for the $0.59 burger deal. I also played solitaire on his computer and used the internet a little bit.

The next morning, I was talking to the voices when I woke up, and we were discussing what I needed to do to stop myself from doing these dangerous things over and over again. I occasionally picked people up and gave them rides in my car, or went on dates with guys I wasn’t attracted to, or let homeless guys into my house, and so on, and I needed to make boundaries protecting me against doing those things. So I explained to the voices that I had been brainwashed into being a ‘Yes Man’ like the movie (or ‘Yes Woman’). In the old days, I said ‘no’ to almost everyone, almost all the time. I didn’t go on dates with random unattractive guys or anything. I didn’t used to form friendships with some vague idea of ‘social networking’ with people whose values and beliefs were drastically different from my own. So I explained all that, and we made some rules for things that I am now officially forbidden to do.

I haven’t even had a chance to talk about ‘The Golden Compass’ yet (the book is called ‘Northern Lights’ in Europe) which I’ve been reading – it’s about mind control, or the slavery and murder of the spirit, and other things that are very similar to my everyday experiences, so I can relate to that book and I’m enjoying it a lot. I saw the movie first. I think I’ll talk about it in a separate post. Enough for now…

The Order, continued

April 20, 2010

This is a temporary URL – I don’t like it, it’s clunky and cumbersome.  I’m writing the rules of the order in one place, online, all of the rules that I have written on paper but never published in an organized way yet.  I might leave the URL that way or I might change it.  Right now I’m just getting it all out there.  This will make it easier for me when I put up advertisements.  I will direct people to look at the website.  The rules will be listed, and the reasons for them.  There will be enough space to explain everything in more detail.  It would be too big of a book if it were written on paper, although I will eventually need to have it printed on paper as well.

If you go there, you will see a couple of ‘dummy’ web pages where I just wrote silly stuff.  They’re not done yet.  Some of the pages are real and some aren’t.  They’re also not in any particular order, so it’s a mess and it will change gradually as I organize it.

The goal is to persuade other people to believe what I believe, value what I value, and do what I do.  (Or, do what I want to do but haven’t been able to do yet.)

The Temporary Workplace Friend

April 20, 2010

4/20/10 3:04:16 AM

I think some of my bad mood comes from handling my computer. After I use it, I get into a bad mood for hours. I know that it got contaminated at the other apartment, and even though I’ve wiped it off many times since then, it still has some residues on it, and also on the cardboard that I’ve set it on. I call it the ‘duckpond drug mix’ (it was the house at the duckpond). It’s an unknown combination of several drug residues, including mostly tobacco and St. John’s Wort, but maybe other things as well (I also handled the seeds of Camellia Sinensis tea, cacao beans, coffee bean seeds, ephedra, butterfly weed, and Stevia Rebaudiana.)

I went to see Peter tonight, and after being there for a while, sitting at his computer fooling around with games and the internet while he made some kind of egg salad, my mood started getting bad again.

I haven’t been able to make love with him very much for a long time. We never did very much, not even in the beginning, but after he got onto the blood pressure drugs and other drugs, he became more numbed down and lifeless, and I don’t just mean erectile dysfunction, but his whole body and the aura around him. I get the drugs in me when I touch his skin or kiss his lips, and they make me feel numb and tired and sedated. It’s an anti-sexual feeling. I get secondhand drugs from his skin and from other surfaces in his house, like tables and chairs and the floor. Something on the floor there seems to mess up my thyroid.

When I look in his eyes, I see sickness. His eyes are red and sticky-looking, dried out, and swollen partly shut. This is from all his drugs, his diabetes, his kidney failure, his thyroid problem, a problem with his tear ducts, and his dehydration (he refuses to drink any water because the dialysis people tell him not to. I would say screw them, drink as much water as you need, but he won’t.) I don’t see energy or vitality or life. I don’t see a connection, I don’t see understanding of who I am, a connection with my spirit.

We were hugging and kissing a little bit, but my miserable feeling got worse and worse and it made me want to leave instead of trying to make love with him. Being with him just made me terribly sad and depressed and I felt desperate to get out the door. I kept thinking of the guy at work. I think also that my blood sugar was going lower or something – it was some kind of reaction, or drug withdrawal after touching the computer – I felt hungry and I started yawning and I wanted to cry. So I left. He knows to expect that kind of thing from me. Usually, there’s almost always a reaction of some kind when I go over there, or else I get attacked and they give me a forced urge to leave, an unbearable sensation that I cannot relax and calm down and stay there, but instead I am being burned and I have to get up and leave.

I got home, ate something, and felt better quickly after eating. But I don’t feel like it was just from wanting food. The bad mood makes me think about the guy that I’m unable to connect with at work. I asked him a couple times if he’d gotten my messages, and he said he hadn’t. His tone of voice and his overall behavior made it look like he was telling the truth – he really didn’t get some of my messages.

Then he explained, a couple days later, that his phone was limited in the number of messages it could receive per month. That makes me uncertain. I don’t know how that works. Somehow, when we were in the middle of a text message back-and-forth conversation, some of his responses made it seem like he had read a different message than what I had actually sent. I sent something, but maybe he received an old message from a long time ago instead of the message I was currently writing. That’s the time when he said, ‘idk, you give me notes, you hear voices, wtf, i know this nicole,’ which had no connection with anything I had been saying. I received that message three times in a row. Then, I became unable to get any response from him at all after that.

There was actually some kind of a problem. I don’t think his telephone’s message limit explains it. I think instead that it’s the people hacking my computers and messing with my emails. It happens in email too, even though there’s no ‘message limit’ of any kind. And that means it’s hopeless – there’s no reliable way to reach him by text message.

I have tried to explain to him that messaging him is hopeless. This means that my relationship with him can only be a temporary thing, only in the workplace, and not outside of work, and it cannot continue after he or I leave that place, when one of us quits or gets fired (I don’t see either one of us being there for a really long time, like decades or something). I know that this is a forced project that they gave me – I wouldn’t have even TRIED to do this on my own, because I was sure it was futile and impossible from the beginning – but even so, whenever they brainwash me to believe it’s possible, I do get my hopes up. They’re trying to make me form a long-term friendship with him that will continue outside the workplace and after he or I leave.

I can’t persuade him to agree that this friendship is important or useful to him. Why would somebody want to do this? What does he have to gain? The type of friendship that I am offering is something where, for instance, if his car breaks down, I can give him a ride somewhere. Or if he gets thrown out of his house, I can take him in. (I’d have to prepare first, though – my drug residues and chemical sensitivity have forced me to do strange things in here, like cover the carpets with paper to walk on.) I can help with projects and things he needs to get done. I can encourage him and help him if he needs to look for a job – and I would go get job applications and fill them out for him, the easy parts, since I’m used to filling out job applications by now. I am offering to support him in a variety of ways, as a friend. And yes, he has a girlfriend right now, but if he felt that he wanted to have more than one lover/girlfriend, or if he broke up with his girlfriend, I would like to be with him.

So they’re making me try to do this instead of leaving him alone.

He is in a different world from me. He lives in the normal world where it’s all light and happy and nothing bad happens. In that world, there aren’t any people hearing voices or getting attacked by electronic weapons. There aren’t any drug residues poisoning people. He’s in the mainstream world where people don’t know about, and don’t care about, the things that I suffer every day of my life. It’s a place where you watch television together in the evenings. (I don’t have a TV in my apartment, and haven’t had one for a very long time. Television represents the whole mainstream reality to me, the world of people who don’t know what I know, don’t experience what I experience, and don’t value what I value.) It’s a place where you get a job, and you don’t get laid off from your job over and over again, and the economic system is only having a termporary little glitch which will all get better very soon. Unemployment isn’t a problem in that world. And even if unemployment DID exist there, it would be something that only happened to people in faraway cities, and the government would do something to fix it quickly, and it wouldn’t affect you personally. There is no mind control and surveillance system, there are no stalkers and hackers, and we’re all free to think our thoughts, feel our feelings, and say what we ourselves want to say.

My spirit, the world that I live in, is a world of darkness and slavery. I am not free to think my own thoughts. I cannot be myself. I can’t feel my own feelings. I can’t meditate or observe myself without being zapped or controlled or forced to daydream and see images and hear voices. And worst of all, I cannot connect with other people. You look someone in the eye, and they see into your cage, they see into the world that you live in, and it matters to them, and they understand how important it is, how much it matters to be free and to be yourself.

I want to remember that my life matters and my freedom matters and that I have to do something about it. I want to break out of the learned helplessness that the murderers have trained me to feel. They have tortured me constantly, every day, so that I can no longer even TRY to fight back.

And I have so many things that I need to do, but they are terrible things that are almost impossible, like going through all my contaminated belongings and choosing which things to throw away, and which things to keep and try to clean off. I also need to make the refrigerator useable again, because ever since I put the container in it when I cooked the soup bones, the refrigerator has been filled with a vapor, and the housecleaner guy tried to help me clean it out, but it’s not gone, and I recently cleaned it out again and I have the door open to air it out, but it’s still not safe. Whenever I have an open bottle of water anywhere in this house, not only in the fridge, but in the bedroom or anywhere, the molecules land in it and contaminate the water, and if I drink the water, I get bone poisoning again. It makes me feel like I’m going to throw up a couple seconds after I swallow it, and it feels exactly like it did when I ate the bone marrow, except milder. So I have to drink tap water, and I can’t keep any food in the fridge, and I can’t keep any open bottles of anything in here. And it’s unimaginable to anyone who hasn’t experienced this. So I can’t eat healthy food – I have to eat nothing but restaurant food. I can’t keep, for instance, a bag of leafy greens in the fridge, or something, and I am really craving leafy greens, and I’m sick of eating cooked food and processed food and fast food and restaurant food.

The drug residues have to be gotten rid of. They give me severe mood swings. They also make me controllable: when I’m on drugs, I do the things that the murderers tell me to do. I obey the urges they give me. When they wake me up from sleep and give me the idea of trying to send text messages to this guy, I do it. When I’m off the drugs, it’s much harder for them to make me do things.

The happy world can’t imagine any of this. Mine is a different universe than the one they live in. If I had someone supporting me, someone with more life, more hope, more energy, I’d get enough spirit to do the things I need to do. That person would have to see the world that I live in, and ask me the reasons why I do all the strange things I do, and why I believe all the strange things I believe. Sometimes, if you ask ‘why,’ it makes you remember things you’ve forgotten. Sometimes you remember that there might be another, better way of doing things, a different way. Sometimes you remember that the original reason is gone, and you no longer need to do the things you’re doing.

I know some of this because I had a best friend for eleven years, when I was in middle school and high school, and during some of college, before we split apart. She was probably a Myers-Briggs ENFP. She was interested in abstract ideas and symbolism. And she was someone who believed me if I told her something: she had faith that I was telling the truth and that my observations were correct. Most people hear the things that I say, and they immediately assume that all of it is a big delusion. Or they might slightly believe me, somewhat, but they don’t understand how important it is. They don’t see that my life is worth saving. They don’t see that my future still has potential, even though I am trapped right now and unable to accomplish any goals. Back then, when she was my best friend, she understood that I had potential, that my life was important, that my observations were correct. She could see me the way I see myself.

When she found her husband, she said that he understood her even better than I did. I met him once. He talked really fast, a high-speed babble that I could barely understand, the same way she does – she was also very fast. I am medium-slow speed, average speed. He is also abstract-minded, another Myers-Briggs intuitive like she is. After they got together, they developed a delusional world where everybody except them is an evil monster behind a human mask. They decided that I, too, was one of the evil monsters in a mask. This is very close to a literal description of what they believe. They think that people are all mindless, evil, soulless robots. Or at least, that’s what they believed a few years ago, the last time I talked to her on the phone. She had these paranoid ideas that I was going to try to be her friend again and drain the life out of her and corrupt her with my evil belief system. She kept asking, ‘Why did you call me? What’s your REAL reason?’ as though there was some evil, sinister motive behind everything I was doing. She disconnected from all of her family and wouldn’t give them her addresses or phone numbers (although I can kind of understand that, because her grandmother who she lived with was abusive, constantly nagging and criticising and making fun of her in cruel ways, and her mother was like that too).

But even so, with all that, I still remember how it felt when we were friends. Because of that, I know that friendship really exists. I know it’s possible for someone to look at me and see me the way I see myself, to know that my life is important.

So, what’s happened with this guy recently? Well, I sent him a few text messages, and he says he didn’t get them – I already mentioned that up above. So I gave him a note where I wrote some of the things on paper that I had tried to get to him in the text messages.

Where I left off, a couple blogs ago, he and I saw each other at work, he asked me if I had a note for him, and I said, ‘No – you told me not to!’ and he walked away (‘looking even more anxious’). The next time he saw me, he looked depressed. He walked past me without looking at me, and I called his name to make him turn around and come back. He was reluctant, but he turned around and dragged himself back to talk to me. He was not at all happy.

The last time I’d seen him, I had been recovering from the ‘crying and screaming all afternoon’ incident, and I was avoiding eye contact with him and acting very sad. I know, at least, that he sees me as a ‘temporary workplace friend.’ It doesn’t go outside the workplace, and it doesn’t last forever, but it is a friendship, at least a little bit, and he was miserable because this friendship had ‘broken up’ and been hurt badly by a misunderstanding. He didn’t want to hurt me.

So I asked him a couple questions – ‘Did you get my message?’ ‘No.’ ‘Okay, don’t worry about it. Are you leaving?’ (He had looked like he was walking away whenever I called to him.) ‘No – lunch.’ So I let him go. But I could tell that he was slightly perked up just because I had spoken to him instead of ignoring him. The feeling became more relaxed immediately. Later on, I gave him an envelope full of several notes. Each time I’ve given him my ‘love letters’ there have been more and more of them packed into a single envelope. I started writing them as I became convinced that he wasn’t getting my messages.

When I handed him the envelope I said, ‘It isn’t your fault – what’s been happening with the text messages. It happens to me ALL THE TIME.’ I asked him how he was feeling – he was having a toothache because of a broken tooth that had been there for a while and had started hurting again recently. I got worried about that because I remembered reading in my Weston Price book that in the parts of the world – I know this is dumb to worry about, but in the parts of the world where they started trading with the primitive tribes, and they gave them white flour and sugar and other modern foods, it ruined their teeth, but they were in such isolated places that they didn’t have any dentists to help them with their cavities, so their teeth were all exposed to the pain constantly, and, it said, that toothache was the only major cause of suicide in those parts of the world. So I started thinking ‘toothache, suicide’ and worrying about him, wondering if the pain was unbearable. It’s actually kind of funny, I know, but not really – I was sincerely worried about him.

I sometimes get voices in my head telling me that so-and-so is suicidal and I need to rescue them right now. Sometimes, that’s actually one of their symbolic ‘jokes,’ because I had written in a blog that ‘suicide’ was ‘the s-word,’ but I also was talking with the voices and we said ‘the s-word’ is the word ‘sex,’ and that I had to use ‘the s-word’ to describe what type of relationship I wanted to have with this guy. So whenever they tell me that somebody is ‘suicidal’ it can also mean that they are feeling sexual or having sex, or something like that. That’s the way they think. Everything has a secret double meaning. They are all very specific and unique, these little secret symbols.

In the Myers-Briggs intuitives, they use symbols. In the sensors, they use ‘signals’, not symbols. That was in David Keirsey’s book, I think it was the second book, Please Understand Me II. There was a chart showing the way that they use language. I understand it whenever people give me ‘signals,’ and I prefer to receive signals instead of symbols. I can’t talk about this yet, but this guy and I had a little inside joke where he would do something that sometimes made me laugh, and when he did that it would prompt me to touch him. I had said I only touched him a few times, though. It was like a signal, something only I could understand.

I have to describe something about this guy. He smells like pheromones. I learned about pheromones a long time ago, and as a chemical-sensitive person I know that pheromones really exist. Very small quantities of hormones can affect people. They vaporize out of your skin and your sweat into the air. Maybe you even breathe them out of your lungs, I don’t know. When I’m standing next to Peter if his blood sugar is crashing, I inhale secondhand adrenaline (or it might also be insulin, sweating out through his skin and vaporizing), and I feel my stomach clench to get ready to vomit, and my bowels move – losing control of your bowels is something that can happen if you have severe low blood sugar from insulin poisoning. I start shaking and trembling with adrenaline, and I know it’s not my own. It happens if I walk in the door and haven’t even seen him yet – all I have to do is open the door, step inside, breathe the air, and I immediately feel a sensation of fear and dread because of all the adrenaline in the air. Then I’ll walk over and find him standing there staring into space looking scared and not answering when I talk to him, and I know he’s crashing. So I know all about breathing the vapors around a person, and getting secondhand hormones and drugs from them. I don’t know if they’d really be called pheromones, but vaporized hormones are similar enough.

So whatever it is in the air around this guy, I like it. Maybe he’s using synthetic human pheromone perfume, or maybe it’s just him. Maybe he’s on some of the drugs that affect the way you smell. Maybe he used the perfume a long time ago and it’s still contaminating his clothing – since I’ve had so much experience with contamination, I know that’s possible. I’ve never bought that perfume to find out if it works, but I’ve read about it. You might think that being contaminated with pheromones would be a wonderful thing, but actually, the pheromones would affect you yourself just as much as they affected everyone around you. I’m not buying any, but I assume that it is a severe contamination risk, based on my past experiences with contamination. I’m guessing that if somebody contaminated themselves with sex pheromones, they would want to have sex constantly, all day long, and it would be a nuisance.

So, later on that day, I walked up to say something to him. I was just chatting about something that had happened a few minutes before – it wasn’t important. His voice was softer and lower than usual. Standing next to him, I got the pheromones feeling again, and my body got a message like ‘yes yes here now right now’, like we were going to have sex right then and there at work. It actually seemed REAL, like it was going to happen, right at that moment. My response feeling was ‘I’m not ready!!!!’ I panicked and walked away from him.

That’s usually what I feel whenever I stand close to him – intense excitement – and sometimes I panic and I leave quickly. It’s always triggered by some small thing, like when I notice that he’s a couple inches taller than I am, or I hear the sound of his voice. Sometimes I don’t leave, I stay there, but I can’t hear a word he’s saying anymore and can’t understand anything with my brain. It’s worst if I’m in a small enclosed space with him.

So, for a few minutes after that, I was all wound up and excited and restless and couldn’t calm down. It’s not easy to do my job when I feel that way. He seems much more important than doing my job. This is why I have tried to get him to see me AWAY from work, so that I don’t have to worry about that.

I can compare the way he makes me feel, to the way some other people make me feel. I have occasional incidents with men, sometimes at work, sometimes in other situations, where a man tries to be sexual with me, but I feel disgusted (for whatever reason) and I don’t want to. He gave me a similar feeling, except with him, it was a good feeling, not a bad one. It makes me feel sick and violated and dirty, but in a good way. (If you can find a way to explain that any better, feel free!)

The feelings are so intense that it’s very unusual, which is why I’m theorizing about what could be causing it, and wondering about pheromone perfumes. There are also drugs that act like aphrodisiacs, making people much more sexual than usual – it used to happen to me sometimes with St. John’s Wort, but not always: SJW is variable, depending on the conditions that the plant was grown in, and the particular ‘breed’ of the plant. SJW produces a wide variety of slightly different drugs with slightly different effects. It’s also affected by how old the drug is, how oxidized it is, and so on. But something in there was an aphrodisiac. When I’m on SJW, everybody around me is affected by it as much as I am. Everybody is nicer to me. They also see that I have a permanent smile on my face, and everybody is nicer to you if you have a permanent smile on your face. It makes my eyes twinkle and I look young and lively and pretty. When I’m off the drug, I frown and look depressed, weary, sad, sick, tired, and lifeless. I’m much less approachable. And I think that I don’t smell as good.

Actually, I’ve had that problem a couple times in the last few days. Setting up my computer, using it, and getting exposed to the old SJW residue on it and around it, made me have the permanent smile on my face at work the other day. It affected EVERYONE. It caused me to make frequent eye contact with everyone, all my co-workers, and to have random conversations about anything at all. It affected how this guy behaved – he trusted me again and was friendlier than usual to me. I worry when that happens, because it won’t last – it’s temporary – I always wish I could explain to people that I’m only having a drug-induced mood swing, and this isn’t the real me, and my goal is to clean up the drug residues so that they won’t affect me anymore, so eventually I will go to the ‘depressed me’ instead of the ‘drugged and friendly me’, and people will have to love me for who I am when I’m not on drugs anymore. (It’s also caused me to write very long, detailed blogs like this one.)

On the downside, the drug sometimes makes me feel like I don’t need anyone – I don’t need relationships – I’m fine alone. I can do my projects and activities, and not need any friendship, because the drug makes me feel fake-happy and I have no desire for people. But when I’m off the drug, I feel a need to love and be loved, to be close to people – I feel a NEED for people and love again. And, off the drug, I’m less pleasant and likeable, and I need people really badly, but they don’t like me very much. So it’s harder to get what I need. I have less courage, and can’t approach people or start a conversation very easily. I also find people to be less tolerable – if there’s something I dislike about them, I’m more aware of those negative feelings when I’m off the drug. So everyone looks ugly to me when I’m off the drug. I’m very, very picky about which people I think are beautiful and pleasant to look at. When I’m ON the drugs, everybody is beautiful and I’m not picky anymore. (And yes, obviously I like the way this guy looks, all the time, when I’m off drugs or on them.)

The next time I worked with him, I tried to make an arrangement for him to call me on the phone. But he has been working a lot, and then spending the rest of his time with his girlfriend, and sleeping. I’m not sure, but I think he’s living at his girlfriend’s house, and I haven’t had a chance to ask him yet. I know how it is to work a lot and not get any time off – that’s why I set up my work schedule to be the way it is: I only work four days a week, at both jobs, four very long days, and then I have three days off in a row. Having several days off in a row is crucial for me to feel well rested and to have time to get things done, or go on a trip out of town, or whatever. So he explained that there really wasn’t a good time when he would be able to talk to me on the phone. He had tears in his eyes when he said it to me, when he explained that it probably wasn’t going to happen – I know that he doesn’t want to hurt me, but he can’t promise anything to me, and he can’t say yes to me. We made a plan for him to call me on his day off, but he said he might not be able to, if he was still asleep. And no, I didn’t get a call.

He can’t say yes to me, and he can’t say no. He doesn’t want to hurt me. Like I said above, he was NOT at all happy whenever I got hurt and I wouldn’t look at him all day. When I handed him my most recent envelope full of notes, I said again that I didn’t HAVE to give him notes, and if it bothered him, I could stop doing it. He said, ‘I’m fine,’ in a stiff abrupt way. I didn’t understand. I said, ‘You mean that it’s okay for me to give them to you?’ or something like that, and he said it was okay. I felt like he was lying, or not telling the whole truth, or hiding something from me, and it had to do with not wanting to hurt me, and I’m guessing it’s also because he has conflicting feelings, because he may be attracted to me but can’t promise anything since he is already with his girlfriend and he has a busy life and no free time. I know he doesn’t want to cause another incident of me getting hurt and not speaking to him all day long. So he won’t tell me ‘no’ in quite that way again. But he can’t really do anything to say ‘yes’ either. If he wanted to be with me at all, he still wouldn’t want to risk ruining his other relationship. He can just receive notes if I give them to him, and he can’t do much more than that.

When I go home, I try to control my own brain again. I try to make myself believe all of the things that I need to believe, in order to make a decision and take action. I try to remember that this is futile and hopeless, that it will never happen. (They zapped me right now while I was writing this, to prevent me from telling the truth – it made me forget everything that I was about to write. I forgot the whole ‘feeling’ of the idea, the way it feels to believe this.) I try to remember that he has another girlfriend and a happy life and he doesn’t need me and my darkness. I try to remember that it’s sexual harassment, or just harassment in general, or stalking, if you keep giving love notes to somebody who doesn’t want to keep getting notes from you, someone who tries to say ‘no,’ someone who doesn’t initiate any contact with you. I try to remember that he is a ‘temporary workplace friend’ instead of a ‘long-term romantic friend.’ I try to remember all of my foresight about what would happen if he and I were in a serious relationship or if we got married. I try to remember all of the times when unattractive men tried to get me to go out with them, and how they always thought that they had a chance with me, because I was being ‘nice’ to them, just to be nice, because I don’t want to be mean and I don’t want to hurt them. I know how it feels to be on the receiving end of somebody asking you out over and over and you don’t want to hurt their feelings, and you’re still trying to be nice to them.

I try to remember all of that, to make the decision to leave him alone, to stop trying to send text messages, to stop writing love letters, to stop asking him to call me on the phone or go meet me somewhere away from work. I did actually give him something important in one of my latest letters – I gave him my physical address and my parents’ address, the same way that they forced me to do when they were forcing me to write letters to Martin – and this is because if, someday, he remembers me, for whatever reason, in the distant future, and wants to come back and find me, because for whatever reason, he needs something that only I can give, or needs to talk about things that I know about, he will be able to find me again after our separation, and the door will be open to him. They did that with Martin and they’ve done it again with this guy, offering that my door will be open to him in the future if he needs me. They have this belief that someday in the future, they’ll think of Nicole because they need to talk about things that only Nicole can talk about. Or that I’m going to be somebody big and famous and important and wealthy, some kind of celebrity, and they’ll see me in the news and they’ll want to contact me again. Those are the beliefs that they put into my head.

So since he has the address now, I can supposedly quit trying to contact him, and give up. There’s no way to reach him by phone or by text message. And I can’t look him up online – I’m not ‘allowed’ to search for his name online, to find any web pages he might have, and I’m not allowed to write on those web pages or communicate with him over the computer. And it would be bad if I did, because it would be another cyber-relationship instead of a real world relationship. Then the hackers would get involved even more than they are now.

So even though I supposedly can quit writing love notes to him, now that he has the address, they are still urging me to write more notes. This time, my job is to boost his ego. I can give up on attempting to persuade him to call me or contact me – he won’t. But now my job is to tell him how wonderful I think he is, how attractive I think he is, and to tell him all the things that I like about him – that’s what they want me to do in the love letters from now on. So they haven’t stopped trying to force me to write to him. I’m supposed to just write nice things to him, but not actually have any real-world contact with him except at work. I don’t know if they’ll succeed in making me write a letter or not. If I don’t write one, they will be nagging me constantly about how he ‘wants’ to receive these letters from me, and how disappointed he is that he didn’t get one, and how he can’t tell me that he likes getting the letters. That is what they will make me believe. I don’t know how long it will be before I write another one.

So that’s where we stand right now…


April 15, 2010

1:42 AM 4/15/10

I have been thinking for a couple weeks now that I’d like to change my work schedule. I’m working only a few hours at Weis in the evening, and then overnight at McDonald’s. But I don’t like the overnight at McDonald’s much. How did I get on that shift in the first place?

I’ve been working for McD since 2005, except for a period when I got fired, and then got rehired. During that time I’ve had several disasters. For a while, a couple years ago, I had to take some time off because of illness. And I think it may have been, if I recall, because of the herbal contamination incident. That was when I tried to grow some dangerous medicinal herbs in my other apartment, and I contaminated my belongings with the essential oils of the herbs, and the oils went through my skin, causing severe symptoms.

When I went back to work, I asked to work the night shift instead of the afternoon shift. This was partly because I wanted to make myself more useful to them, and partly because I was thinking of getting a second job during the day.

I had to ask myself why I got on that shift in the first place, because I needed to know if there was a good reason why I had to stay on that shift. I don’t think there is.

It’s a cold and lonely shift. I get to sweep and mop the lobby, and that’s about it. I also answer the headset, taking orders on drive-thru. I don’t get a chance to cook, which is what I enjoy most. And there are so few people there that the social environment is pretty dull. I spend most of the time by myself.

I want to try something I’ve never done before. So I am thinking about going to the breakfast shift. This is all just an idea for now. I still need to ask them if it would be possible.

Then the next part of the idea is that I would go back to my old schedule at Weis, coming in at 12:30 in the afternoon. I don’t like my job at Weis as much as I like McDonald’s, but at least for now, I might work more hours at that job. There’s a reason why I’m doing this. But I’m not even sure if I can do it yet.

I met him at a time when I was still getting frequent exposures to the St. John’s Wort drug residues from my other apartment. I hadn’t moved out of that place yet. It was summer. Martin had just left.

Martin and I had a couple of emails, a couple phone calls, and then we were never able to reach each other again. He took photos for his facebook page to indicate that he was still reading my blog, photos that very specifically had to do with things I was writing. But we weren’t able to communicate directly.

I am more and more certain that emails were being intercepted. For instance, there was one incident where I got a message, allegedly from him, on facebook, that said, ‘I am getting tired of this. You crossed a line that was unacceptable. I really will call the police if you continue,’ something like that. It wasn’t really his style of writing. Martin then did a photo mockery of ‘I am getting tired’ by crawling into a bunch of car tires. He was always mocking things that *I* had written to *him*, to indicate that he received it or had read the blog, but that ‘I am getting tired’ letter was supposedly sent to *me* from *him*. It was as if he had also received the same letter, as if it was from me.

He had been doing the photos pretty regularly, so this wasn’t just one ‘mockery’ photo out of a whole bunch of normal photos (which would mean that maybe I was ‘interpreting’ it as meaningful when it wasn’t). No, he was doing lots and lots of ‘yes, I’m reading your blog’ photos, and they were very obvious. (He did a very good imitation of a face that I made in my test video on YouTube.)

I had known when they first started forcing me to try to contact Martin that it was going to be another ‘I email you and you don’t answer’ situation. I knew about hackers. I knew about being forced to ‘entertain’ the hackers by writing more and more extreme emails in desperation to get a response, by doing more and more extreme things to try to get this person’s attention. I did it all before. So I stopped myself from doing it, or rather, I tried to. But being exposed to antidepressant drugs makes me more willing to obey those forced urges to do things, so I still wrote him a rather large number of letters. I only got a small number from him, four or five or so.

When you write letters to ‘entertain’ the hackers, they start messing with your computer in response to things you’ve written. I don’t know who ‘the hackers’ are, but I think a good answer to that question is ‘somebody you don’t want to talk to.’ Somebody OTHER than the person you’re desperately trying to contact. They will convince you that your letter recipient is reading your mind, torturing you, watching you grieve and suffer, deliberately taunting you. I have another story to tell someday, but not right now, about the first time I did this, and how I learned about it – that original guy, the first person, was indeed receiving my emails – I had a third party verify this for me. Long story for another day.

But this guy I’m talking to now, in the present… I was still exposed to St. John’s Wort frequently when we met. So I was in the friendly, cheerful mood where I have the courage to touch people. I touched him several times, although even with the occasional drugs, it still took an enormous amount of courage and it was terrifying.

He got hired at our store, and I began hearing voices telling me about him. I agreed with their advice. They said, ‘Enjoy every precious moment you have with him.’ and ‘Love him for *himself*, not because he’s a substitute for Martin.’ In other words I shouldn’t see him as a way to get revenge on Martin by hanging out with some other guy to make Martin jealous, or something like that.

So even though I had just lost Martin before I even had a chance to develop much of a relationship with him, I was now focused on somebody new. I quickly learned that he was a different person with a different style and I loved him for different reasons.

I clearly remember every time I’ve touched him, except once – I’d swear there was another incident, and I can’t recall what it was. The first time I remember doing it, we were standing next to a shelf where some of the containers were covered with drops of black stuff that came from an unknown location, and we were trying to figure out how it had gotten there. He figured out what was happening – some of the containers on the shelf above were leaking, and it soaked down through the black paint on the shelf – and I tapped him on the arm lightly and said, ‘You’re right, thanks for troubleshooting.’ They were all very little incidents like that, just lightly hitting him on the arm or shoulder, that kind of thing, but all of them were very special moments. I can only remember doing this a small number of times, like 5 or 6 times.

After a while, I decided I shouldn’t do this anymore. First, I had gotten some of the St. John’s Wort ‘patched up’ so that it wasn’t contaminating me anymore. I have to do things like buy new pairs of shoes, and cover up my car seat with clear vinyl, to stop the residues from touching my skin. Anyway, reducing the St. John’s Wort exposures made me less friendly. But it was also because I got overexcited every time I touched him and I felt like it was going to become sexual harassment, like I would do more than just tap him on the arm, like I would put my arms around him and give him a hug, or anything else that would be too much for the workplace. So I totally stopped doing it. I resisted every impulse to touch him when he was near me.

I gave him my home phone and cell phone number at one point. He asked why. I said that if he left, I would be very, very sad that I couldn’t be friends with him anymore. That was as close as I could get to the truth. The truth would be more complicated. If he left, and I lost contact with him, I’d get over it, I’d survive, but I would feel as though there was no reason to go into work every day. It would be a dark place full of boring dull people who I didn’t care to see. I’d get used to it, of course.

In the beginning, I was sort of like a teacher or guide to him. He was new, didn’t know how to do things, and so he often came over to me asking questions or asking for help with something. Eventually he didn’t need me for that anymore, so I had fewer chances to talk with him. Then a couple things happened. He had a car wreck, without a seat belt on, and injured his back and his neck. He’s lucky to be alive. The air bags stopped him from hitting the steering wheel or going through the windshield. (There’s nothing I can do about it, but I might say that the murderers set up his car accident. I have no way to know for sure. The murderers aren’t responsible for EVERY horrible accident or disaster that happens in the world; and yet, they are indeed capable of causing car accidents, and they are motivated to do it.)

After that, it was harder for him to do the evening shift, partly because in the evening we have to lift large boxes of garbage into the dumpster, and it’s bad for his back. So then, he went on the morning shift, and spent even less time with me. And I never got any phone calls from him either, but I didn’t push him to call me – I never insisted, I just gave him the number. Just before he changed his schedule, he gave me a very small signal telling me to hold on and not let go. I can’t say what he did, but I noticed it and the voices pointed it out to me in case I hadn’t noticed it. (It’s hard to explain how ‘the voices’ can be both my friends and my enemies, supposedly helping me sometimes, and destroying my life at other times. I don’t know the answer to explain that, except that there is probably more than one group of people doing it.)

Then, after my strange heart problems, I cut my shift short even more, and when I started going in to work very late in the afternoon, he had usually left before I got there, so I didn’t get to see him at all. That’s been for the past few weeks. This is the time when I drive up in the parking lot, see that his car isn’t there, and spend a couple seconds crying if I feel like it.

I already know that trying to call him or text him is hopeless. I have done all of this before. I can only make contact with people who I have sort of ‘ho-hum’ feelings for. If I’m just kind of blah, or neutral, about somebody, or if I feel distaste or disgust, or if I can’t stand the person or don’t like them at all, I’m always able to easily reach them with emails, texts, and phone calls. I’m easily able to start up a relationship with people I don’t like. I can have relationships with people who feel sexually attracted to ME when I don’t feel sexually attracted to THEM. And there are lots of guys I don’t like who are sexually attracted to me, but only a small number of guys I like who are attracted to me. I can easily go to an online dating site and find large numbers of men who, forgive me for saying this, are so desperate, or who have extremely low standards, who will go out with anyone or anything that they can find. But if I meet someone in person, and I have an intense response to that person, if I feel strongly attracted, if I feel an intense emotional connection, that person is taken away from me forever and I can’t reach them by emails, phones, text, anything at all. It happens again and again.

The electronic harassment takes away everything that you care about. It takes away your ability to sleep at night, it takes away the silence of your mind and the comfort of your body, it takes away the people you love, it destroys your reputation.

Right now when I’m with him, it is painful that I can’t touch him. I’ve tried to find out whether or not he wants me to, whether he minds it or not. Even so, even if I think it’s okay, I still can’t do it. I would want to touch him too much for the workplace. I can’t just keep it at a casual level, but instead I want to express my love through touch, and that is something that there isn’t enough time to do, and we obviously would get in trouble if a manager found out that I’m standing there hugging and kissing him for ten minutes instead of working. So I don’t touch him at all. And I started automatically avoiding places where he might be, even though I don’t want to avoid him. Yet I can’t stand not to look, can’t stand to be cut off from him. Nowadays I barely see him at all, and can’t get the text messages to go through – and of course, I can’t prove whether he’s lying or telling the truth, whether he’s getting them and ignoring them, whether he’s avoiding me, or whether they really aren’t going through to him at all. His behavior tells me that… well, it doesn’t seem like he’s happy about this. Like I said, the other day he was anxious, and then even more anxious when I said I didn’t give him a note because he had told me not to give it to him.

I can’t stop the attackers from doing what they do.

I might possibly make this change to my work schedule, at both jobs, for other reasons, not just because of him, but hopefully, to improve my enjoyment of work at both places – and yes, it is somewhat or partly because of him, but not entirely. I still benefit somewhat from doing this, even if it doesn’t get me to have any more contact with him. I can’t control everything, and I am anxious about making any changes at all in my life. I am afraid that I will somehow lose what little contact I have with him. If that happens, again, I will survive, but life will be darker.

Today is a work day, so I’ll be busy for the next couple days. I won’t be blogging constantly.

A long rambling story where I ended up in the porno movie store

April 14, 2010

8:31 PM 4/14/10

I am writing again, because today is a very scattered, anxiety-ridden day. I haven’t been able to focus enough to get anything done. All I got done was going to get my car registration renewed yesterday. Today, I did nothing except blog, eat, sleep, and try to contact what’s-his-name (and didn’t get a reply). I hate days like this. The hours of my life go by.

Well, here is a strange story. It goes into unexpected directions. First, it began at Barnes & Noble, where I have been reading a Schaum’s Outline of College Physics. Occasionally, I’ve been going to the math book section to get some help, because the beginning of the book does a math review, and it’s been a very, very long time since I took those classes.

Well, this Tuesday I saw an interesting book in the math section. It was called ‘How To Calculate Quickly,’ by Henry Sticker. (It used to be called ‘The Art of Calculation.’) I picked it up and looked at it (and ended up buying it – it’s only a small book, $6).

I got excited looking at this book. It teaches you how to do mental math, and gives lots of practice exercises. It tells you things that break the rules that you were taught in elementary school. We’re taught to add and subtract starting from the right side and working to the left. This book teaches you how to start on the left and go to the right. It also has you memorizing the multiplication tables to a much higher number, up to 25, instead of stopping at 10 or 12 the way we did in school. (We went up to 12, but it wasn’t emphasized very much, and I never managed to memorize the 12 or 11 multiples. Another thing not taught in school: the importance of dozens. I love dozenal counting systems, base 12. There are websites that advocate the importance of dozenal counting systems and explain the reasons why they are so useful. In school, I got the attitude that dozens were some kind of primitive, useless, stupid, archaic counting system used back in the days when people were much dumber than they are in modern times. The opposite is true: it was a much smarter way of doing things.)

Meanwhile, as I walked around B&N, I heard a voice saying ‘spark notes.’ I went to the spark notes and I glanced at one for sociology. It listed some of the great debates in sociology. One debate was about whether society should be viewed as a group of people working together by consensus, or whether some groups of people dominate other groups.

So anyway after buying this math book and bringing it home, I was looking through the lists of other books published by this company, in the back of the book. I noticed one about the Magic of Abramelin or something, and I can’t remember the title now, but I looked it up on google. So I started reading about Abramelin and magic.

A lot of what I read looked like it was about domination again. ‘Domination’ started to seem like a theme that they wanted me to notice. I’ve had voices telling me that I should learn how to be a professional dominatrix. (Since I’m writing from home instead of the library, I can talk about these subjects again.) I don’t really feel comfortable in a dominating role. Anyway, this book was about how the evil spirits are called upon because their punishment is to serve the good, so that’s the reason why the mages are calling for evil spirits to do their work for them. It talks about how to make the evil spirits submit to your command and how to prevent them from questioning your authority.

So then, for the rest of the night, as I was lying there trying to sleep, the voices were talking all about domination and how I should view everybody else as inferior people who either exist to serve me, or else that their needs are second to mine, that my needs are first. This probably has to do with the enneagram, because enneagram five is supposed to ‘integrate’ towards enneagram type eight, and eight is ‘the boss,’ the most dominant of all the types. This integration towards eight is supposed to be a sign of good health and security. The closest I ever came to integration towards eight has been while studying assertiveness training, many years ago. Every now and then I pick up books that talk about communication skills and social skills that have to do with empowerment and getting other people to do what you want them to do.

And no, I’m not actually DOING any of this right now. It was just the ‘theme’ of last night.

So, today, they sent me on a mission to go to the sex toy store. I haven’t been there in years and years, and I only went once or twice. I went again today. They wanted me to see something, but I think I missed it. I kept hearing voices saying ‘did you find it? you didn’t see it? nothing at all?’ as if there was something specific they wanted me to look at, so they could get my reaction to it. I didn’t see anything especially unusual or noteworthy. They had me look at the books about domination, but since you can’t actually open the books, since they’re wrapped in plastic and you have to buy them to open them, I couldn’t glance into them to see if the books were any good.

Well, I could talk about my complaints about the pathetic state of mainstream pornography. I walked all around the store, but I didn’t find long-haired men ANYWHERE on the magazines or videotapes. I could only see the front covers of the magazines, so I don’t know if there were any actually IN the magazines. They had a couple of guys with hair that was just a couple inches long, but it was in the gay section.
Long beards are totally nonexistent, anywhere. I’m not talking about ‘bears’ with beards, the large hairy men or fat men, but rather, ordinary slender men with long hair and beards. (I don’t like to see short head hair with a long beard. I like to see both long head hair and a long beard. You don’t find this anywhere in mainstream society. Most bearded men keep their head hair short. I talked about this in the natural grooming rules page. This includes afro textured hair as well as straight or wavy hair.) You can find some ‘bears’ on the internet, but they’re usually big men. And there was not even a ‘bear’ magazine in this store, or I didn’t find it.

There also weren’t any skinny guys. All the men were muscular. I have always liked skinny guys, for some unknown reason, all my life. (When ‘they’ started interrogating me, they told me that I’m a pedophile. It would be more accurate to say I’m a teenageophile or something like that, because I’m not sexually attracted to prepubescent children, but I love teenagers, and that includes teens that are not even close to being legal.) There was only one skinny guy that I saw, and he was in the gay section too. All of the men were muscular, and they had the extremely short hair that I find intolerable, the hair that is shaved down to less than one inch long.

(I don’t know how I’m going to show my face at work tomorrow after writing this blog.)

I also did not see any natural women. There was nothing at all for people who love either 1. very long head hair, or 2. natural body hair. All the women had makeup (‘masks’), overplucked arched eyebrows, and shoulder length hair ranging down to mid-back length, or waist length at the absolute most. Most of them had huge breasts, probably fake. What’s there for people who love small breasts? Little or nothing. They did have one magazine that had young women, supposedly eighteen year olds, and they mentioned ‘flat chested’ girls, but they didn’t actually show flat chested girls on the front of the magazine. The only girl who looked eighteen was one with unplucked eyebrows. (Eyebrow plucking does something horrible to your appearance: it makes you look old and sick.) The other girls had arched, plucked brows, and they didn’t look eighteen, they looked older.

I saw a few occasional magazines or sex toys that showed uncircumcised men, which is a good thing, but there wasn’t enough of it. Not in the USA.

There was nothing non-mainstream in that entire store. All of the men, and all of the women, looked exactly the same. No variety. Why are people even bothering to freak out about that store? The Christians and the prudes made a big fuss about it, and the store was required to relocate to a farther distance outside the town, a few years ago. All they have is the softest softcore stuff, the most middle-of-the-road mainstream porn that I have ever seen. I was so bored I could have fallen asleep.

There was nothing beautiful or spiritual. It was shallow, unemotional.

I know one reason why they wanted me to talk about sex and pornography. It’s because ‘they’ want me to theorize about my ‘instinctual stacking.’ We’ve changed my instinctual stacking several times. Usually, when I’m having a reaction to drug residues, they start telling me that I’m actually a Sexual type, but that’s only when I’m on drugs. The rest of the time, I don’t seem like a sexual type. (Sexuals are portrayed as sort of the ‘best’ or the most interesting and charismatic of the instinctual types, so it’s desirable to be one of them, and less desirable to be a ‘boring’ type like self-pres or social.) Instinctual types – you can read about that on the web page (the web page that has to be googled, because if you type it into your URL, it gives an error message, and the only page that works has some kind of weird long URL). Oscar Ichazo wrote about the instincts and how they connect with the enneagram.

The last couple days, they’ve been theorizing that I’m either a Sexual/Social or a Social/Sexual. That’s only the latest theory. I’m sure it will be changed again later. So far, I’ve thought that I might be: Self-Preservation/Social, Self-Preservation/Sexual, Sexual/Social, Social/Sexual, Sexual/Self-Preservation, and Social/Self-Preservation. And, amusingly enough, that covers ALL SIX of the possible stackings. So I haven’t settled on any particular one, and I’ve tried them all. Everybody HAS all three instincts, but different people have strengthened or emphasized one instinct the most, followed by a weaker instinct, and then the weakest instinct of the three, in a certain order.

So I’ve returned home and I’ve blogged about this. I still haven’t gotten anything useful done today. Writing blogs doesn’t count as ‘useful.’ I didn’t want people to read my blog merely for the sake of reading my blog. The craigslist advertisement about an alternative religion wasn’t just a ‘publicity stunt’ to get people to look at my blog. It was an actual attempt to start contacting people to talk about an alternative religion, people who would work with me and actually start living our lives differently.

Anyway, that’s it for this rambling story.

I need to straighten out a few small things

April 14, 2010

9:19 AM 4/14/10

I’m having a bad couple of weeks. It’s hard to describe it without going into too much unnecessary detail. I’m not sure where to start.

First it seemed like I was having extremely bad PMS, a bad mood, and I felt like it was caused by trying to take out my plastic dental filling. When I first got those fillings, I had extremely severe PMS and mood swings for weeks and weeks as I reacted to the bisphenol-A in the fillings. It was like that again.

It manifested as ‘grieving.’ The surveillance people, the people controlling me, always interpret my emotions as being ‘real,’ when I myself interpret them as being magnified and exaggerated by drugs and chemicals and therefore ‘not real.’ ‘They’ always think that my strong emotions need to be acted upon. Oh no! She feels grief! We’ve got to DO something about it! But they always choose the wrong thing to do. Instead of cleaning up the chemicals and drug residues and other things I’m reacting to, THEY think that I have to take action in the interpersonal realm: try harder to convince this guy to go out with me, because the grief and strong feelings are ‘real.’

This is hard to explain. The feelings are based on real feelings, but they are intensified by my reactions to drugs and chemicals. I REALLY DO feel attracted to this guy, I really do feel love for him, and in the real world, if, for instance, we were next-door neighbors, able to visit each other easily on impulse whenever we felt like it, then I would very likely be hanging out with him a lot, playing video games, doing whatever, going on bike rides – it would be the kind of friendship I had with people when I was a young child. For a long time, I haven’t lived in any kind of neighborhood where I could get to know my next-door neighbors, so that hasn’t happened for many years.

Okay, so I’ve lived in an apartment where yes, I could possibly get to know people, but almost everyone is boring to me and I don’t really want to hang out with them. They’re either boring, or they don’t understand me at all, or whatever. It’s rare that I find people who I actually enjoy spending time with. And it’s not good to say this to my blog readers, whoever they are, because they might take it personally, like, ‘Hmm, well, you wouldn’t like ME then, goodbye!’ And I don’t mean it that way.

So I actually grieved for the past couple weeks, crying a lot, and to me, this was a chemical-induced mood swing. I grieved when I didn’t get to see him often enough, I cried for a minute when I showed up for work and saw that his car wasn’t there, that kind of thing. And again, they are real feelings, just more intense than usual.

I finally got to work with him a couple of times. Once, I got to ask him if he had received a couple of recent text messages that I had sent him.

They are replaying the whole thing that happened with Martin. When it happened with Martin, they used to force me to ‘rehearse’ verbally inside my head all these things they wanted me to say. For instance, they tried to force me to go up to him at work and say things like, ‘WHY AREN’T YOU ANSWERING MY EMAILS!’ (always shouting, never just asking) and that kind of thing. ‘ANSWER MY QUESTIONS!!!’ I don’t behave that way, and I always resisted and fought back against the constant rehearsing.

But the net effect was that I became unable to speak to Martin at all, which is probably the real result they wanted to achieve: prevent us from communicating. I was bombarded constantly with fake things to say to him, and it prevented me from saying or doing anything real at all. I think that usually, the ‘net effect’ is the result they are trying to achieve. In other words, they’re not ‘trying and failing’ to do something, but instead, they successfully achieved their goal. If Martin and I had been able to become friends, we would have influenced each other a lot and talked about things that people are ‘not allowed to talk about.’ In the couple of emails that we managed to get to each other, he mentioned being interested in a guy who was an electronic harassment victim, the guy who wrote these songs, and I can’t rememeber his name, but he wrote a song that was on ‘Supersize Me.’ I could look him up – I know I would recognize the name. It’s in my email somewhere.

Anyway, we would have had too much influence on each other, and too much support for each other. They think it could have developed into a terrorist cell or something (and no, I don’t think it would). I think that’s what they’re afraid of. If people talk about the mind control, and then try to support each other to DO something about it, they’re afraid we’re going to just start bombing and killing people and rioting against the government and that kind of thing. So they successfully prevented us from communicating.

Well, I’m having unsuccessful communication all over again. I asked this guy (not Martin, but the guy I’ve been talking to lately) if he’d gotten a particular text message the other day. He said no, he hadn’t.

Inconveniently, another guy walked into the room at that moment, and they were both getting ready to leave work. The other guy was waiting to walk out with him, so he was nearby. I asked him again, a couple times, ‘Are you serious? You DIDN’T GET that message? It was on either Tuesday or Wednesday, during the day. You DIDN’T GET IT? When’s the last one you got from me?’ He said it had been a while since he’d gotten a message from me.

I had been sending them occasionally, not too often. I had asked a couple of direct questions that needed a response. Direct questions: Is there a good time that I could call you on the phone when you’re not busy? and, Could we see each other away from work somewhere, like go for a walk or go out to eat someplace? No answer to any of those texts. And again, I’m not spamming him with a hundred text messages a day. This is occasional, like maybe once a week.

He could see that I was upset. I couldn’t tell if he was getting them, ignoring them, and then lying to me about it – or if he really wasn’t getting them at all. And actually, it doesn’t matter. I get voices in my head who !!!FREAK OUT!!! about the possibility that he might be lying to me (oh my god! he’s lying! evil incarnate! Satan!), and they’re all second-guessing him about it, and to me it’s like, No, it doesn’t matter if he’s lying, I have to take the same actions regardless of whether he’s lying or telling the truth.

For all practical purposes, he either hasn’t received them, or he has to pretend the lie is true, and he now has to ACT LIKE he hasn’t received them. Either way, he now has to act like he hasn’t received them, so I have to take the same action: act like I’m sending them again, or whatever, and then verify that he gets them. I don’t freak out about whether he might be lying or not. I understand why he might be lying, and it’s not the end of the world. He’s human, he’s young, he doesn’t know how to talk to me about difficult things, and he doesn’t know what he wants to do. There are a million reasons why he might lie, and it’s not the end of the world.

So I was asking him this and almost crying; the other guy was nearby and he would have seen me behaving strangely, as I was talking quietly and evasively, trying not to be too explicit about what we were talking about, trying not to be overheard, and I was clenching my eyes shut and pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers and talking in a shaky, upset voice – this wasn’t just an ordinary discussion about something having to do with work.

‘You really didn’t get that message?’ I asked. He said, ‘No, my [flattering nickname], I did not.’ He occasionally calls me something, and I can’t help being flattered by it, I can’t help being happy to hear it. He could tell that I was very upset.

Flattery is something that he, and other people, are able to do, and I see and hear them doing it frequently with other people – I saw another woman who works there flattering the (female) co-worker who she was asking to ring her up at the cash register. She said, ‘Thank you, so-and-so, you’re such a wonderful person!’ (Merely because she rang her up at the cash register.) Asking for a favor, they jokingly flatter people excessively (I say ‘jokingly,’ because it always makes me laugh when they do that – I think they can’t possibly be serious – and the other person goes along with it, pretending that they’re doing a really BIG favor and going out of their way to help someone, while I watch them and laugh at all of it), and it works, and it’s a harmless way of smoothing things over when you have to ask somebody to do something for you.

He occasionally flatters me that way, sometimes when asking for a favor, sometimes when thanking me for a favor, little things. A couple times when he called me that name, I started laughing uncontrollably, in fact, laughing a little too hard, in kind of a crazy way, almost to tears. He asked what I was laughing about, and he repeated the nickname, and I nodded, that’s what I was laughing about. I won’t say what exactly the nickname is, but let’s imagine it’s something like this. There’s an ugly, unattractive woman, but you call her these excessively wonderful things about her amazing beauty, that kind of thing. Something that seems ridiculous, the opposite of the real truth. (He doesn’t say that I’m beautiful, but it’s similar enough that you can understand what I mean without me actually having to say it.) It hurts to hear that name, because I want him to MEAN IT. I don’t want it to be just a flattering joke.

I worry about what other people are going to think. Here is what I assume about this guy: I assume that he likes me for a casual workplace friend, but not a very important friend, and not somebody that he really wants to be with outside the workplace. I am a take-it-or-leave-it kind of friend. When he leaves, or if I leave, he will miss me a little bit for a while, but no big deal. So when I talk to him in front of other people, when other people know that I’m trying to ask him to go out with me, trying to escalate the relationship to something beyond just ‘workplace friends,’ it’s humiliating to get rejected and have everybody see that I’m trying to do this and getting rejected. I’m not just humiliated because of him, but also because I can imagine that everybody else is looking at me and calling me a creepy stalker or whatever.

Forcing people to ruin their reputations is a typical electronic harassment attack strategy.

He doesn’t outright reject me. I just haven’t gotten answers, neither yes nor no, and not even a ‘I got your message, but I’m not sure yet what I want to do,’ or anything at all. I don’t even know if he has gotten the messages.

So then, later on, I texted him and he answered right away. Usually I am sending things hopelessly, in a futile way, not expecting an answer, because I have been forced to do this same thing again and again since about the year 2000, when it all began with a guy named John who I met in a chatroom.

I am already familiar with the ‘I send him emails and he doesn’t respond’ pattern. I already know all about it. They have made me do this over and over again, each time slightly differently. It’s like the movie Groundhog Day. Do it again and again until you do something differently and learn from it. (There’s a similar show that I liked, which was an episode of Star Trek Next Generation where they got stuck in a spacetime loop, and they had to replay the same series of events, while trying to send a message to themselves in the next iteration of the loop, telling themselves not to do a certain thing that would cause the whole ship to be destroyed and everybody killed, and finally Data got the message from seeing the number 5 (I think it was 5; maybe it was 3) that he was supposed to obey the suggestion from someone with 5 stars in their rank instead of obeying the other person. They went through the time loop several times and failed, and finally got it right.) Anyway, I’ve done this so often by now that I don’t even really expect any answers. It always surprises me when they actually speak back to me.

So he texted back, and he was there and responding. I had sent him a hopeless message, saying that I must try to give him a paper note, to make sure that he received it, instead of a text message that I wouldn’t be sure about – that was the basic idea. The paper notes are there for that reason, so that I can know for sure he’s received it. Even if he doesn’t answer them, it’s not as bad, because I KNOW that he’s getting them and not answering, which is different from not knowing anything at all.

He said ‘What’s up?’ and I talked a little bit, told him I had woken up and couldn’t get back to sleep and had too many thoughts going through my head. He asked, ‘Who is this?’ As before, he wasn’t sure if I was really Nicole. I’m texting him from a different phone, because my old cell phone can’t send and receive text messages properly, no matter how many times I’ve called tech support and tried to get them to fix it. It can receive but not send, so I just don’t bother trying to text anyone on the old phone. A while back, I gave him my old phone numbers, the landline and the old cell phone, so of course he would be confused when I start texting him from a new unfamiliar number. And I don’t know how his phone works, but maybe it doesn’t show who the sender is when he gets a message. You might have to go into an inconvenient menu or something to find out the phone number of the sender.

(No, he never called me when I gave him those old phone numbers, or if he ever did, the message was deleted or covered up. Once I thought I heard a male voice talking for a millisecond before it was suddenly covered up with an automated telemarketer’s voice. It was just there for a moment. The people have been messing with my phone for years and years now and they’ve demonstrated that they can hack the phone to do whatever they want it to do, so I’m not surprised if messages don’t get through. Someone told me that they heard my answering machine talking to them, saying to leave a message, and all that, and they DID leave a message, but I was standing there listening at the time, and all I heard was silence and it disconnected. Then, later, somebody else got through and left a message and it worked just fine. The person who couldn’t get through was somebody I REALLY NEEDED to get a message from.)

So after a couple of messages, he expressed some annoyance or irritation about this whole thing. And I didn’t really understand the message because it seemed like a word had been left out of the sentence, and it was a text message problem, where you’d easily understand if you had been talking out loud. He had said, ‘I know this Nicole,’ and I thought he meant ‘I know this isn’t Nicole,’ since he had asked me ‘Who is this?’ But I think now, he meant, he already knows what I’m telling him, or something. He said, ‘idk, you give me notes, you hear voices, wtf I know this Nicole.’ He already knows something I’ve told him several times. But he might not know that I was sending him messages trying to ask him to talk to me on the phone and trying to ask him to go someplace with me – those are the messages that he claims he didn’t receive at all. I was trying to tell him things he DIDN’T already know.

So I responded to his annoyance by telling him that I didn’t have to give him any more notes if it bothered him. In fact, I would much rather NOT be forced to do these things, and I assume that he just sees me as a ‘casual workplace friend,’ a throwaway friend, someone you might miss a little bit for a while when they leave, but not really. I assume that he would rather not talk to me at all, would rather not be bothered with any of this, and he’s only reluctantly answering me just out of courtesy, just to be nice. Anyway, I said I didn’t have to give him notes and I wish that he would just tell me ‘no’ – I said I wanted him to tell me to stop doing it. That’s not really what I want, but it’s that type of distorted message that they force me to say whenever they’re preventing real communication. I don’t ‘want him to tell me to stop.’ Instead, I want him to tell me WHAT HE WANTS, his true feelings, a truthful response to the things I’m asking him. They force me to say distorted things instead of speaking the truth clearly. They have some mysterious purpose of their own for forcing me to command him to tell me to stop. They’re playing their own little games. They wanted me to command him to hurt me, to do something that would cause me pain. That is what happened. Making a long story short, I was forced to command him to hurt me.

So he said, ‘okay just stop please,’ and then I thanked him for telling me that (even though this is all fake and has no connection with reality or my true feelings and what I really want). That was the end of the messaging.

I took this as a real ‘no,’ a real request to stop, reflecting his true feelings about all of my notes and my attempts to talk to him. (There have actually been only about four notes so far; some of them were all together in one envelope.) I took it as a final ‘no’ telling me to leave him alone. I took it as ‘no means no’ and ‘take no for an answer’ – UNLIKE *SOME* PEOPLE who do NOT take no for an answer, people who, for instance, control other human beings by putting voices in their heads, and fake beliefs, fake feelings, and other things into their minds and their bodies 24 hours a day.

So I spent the rest of the afternoon crying. When I say crying, I mean, I suppressed my screams because I’m in an apartment and I don’t want the neighbors calling the cops to bang on my door and find out why I’m screaming my lungs out and sobbing. So I was actually screaming with grief and putting my hands over my mouth to silence it, trembling and shaking, crying and sobbing, with an actual physical pain in my chest, for a couple of hours, crouching on my bed, remembering things from the past that I had loved, things we had said and done together, things he did, and saying to ‘them,’ ‘why did you make me do this?’ – until finally, a feeling of numbness, weakness, and total exhaustion made me unable to cry anymore.

This is the type of entertainment that the murderers like to watch, so I was very entertaining for a couple of hours. I’m sure they saved the tape recording and have sold it around amongst all their friends and made a lot of money off it. It’s that type of incident that they LIVE for. Trying to create as many of those incidents as possible, and make money off them, I’m guessing is one of their goals. Let’s watch somebody while they experience unbearable suffering, and then sell the videotape to other sadists who want to watch people in unbearable suffering. This is why they forced me to ‘command’ him to hurt me. They forced me to say that I ‘wanted him to tell me to stop,’ or ‘wanted him to reject me,’ when, in reality, I actually ‘want him to tell me his true feelings and what he really wants.’

Meanwhile, I had to get ready to go to work that evening.

My wisdom says, ‘Relationships never end.’ This is what I believe. I learned this all the way back in my teenage years dating Terry. Terry was always breaking up with me and getting back together. Eric, later on, did the same thing: he would talk to me on the phone, get angry about something, and hang up on me, then claim later on that we ‘broke up.’ ‘Breaking up’ is a phrase that doesn’t mean anything to me. With Eric, it probably meant, ‘Not having sex.’ But we’d be still talking and communicating, we’d still be in a relationship, there would still be some connection between us. (Actually, Eric in particular, I haven’t even spoken to in a long time, and I don’t feel much of a need to speak to him. That’s another story.) But anyway, I have learned that people always ‘break up and get back together’ over and over again, and it’s not a real permanent breakup. Permanent breakups DO happen, but it’s not as simple as merely having an argument and hanging up the phone on somebody.

(My permanent breakup with Eric happened after I had been evicted from my apartment and temporarily went to live with Eric because my local relatives were not really comfortable with the idea of letting me live with them; and Eric was banging on my bedroom door every day to have a shouting match over nothing, while I was working two jobs and needed to sleep; and at one point while shouting at me, he tried to yank the cat off my lap, my beloved cat Alexander, and he was going to yank him up by the back of the neck and throw him off my lap, and when he reached towards Alex, I BIT him on the arm, very hard, and he got all offended that I had bitten him while he was trying to inflict injury on my cat. He took photos of the bruise on his arm, and threatened to show the photos to a lawyer and file a lawsuit over the injury. That cat died a little bit later, maybe a couple weeks after: Eric, while drunk, videotaped himself with some neighbors, launching Alex through the air into a pile of leaves as a joke. It wasn’t much later that the cat started vomiting every time he tried to eat or drink anything, and then he died. I think he might have had internal organ injuries from being thrown through the air. Maybe he ate something poisonous or had a blockage, but the internal injuries from being thrown is another theory. Alexander’s death was pretty much the end of my relationship with Eric. I had to keep the cat at his house because I wasn’t allowed to keep cats at my place, and Alex was just a stray who happened to live near Eric’s house. I had moved back out, and gone back to my apartment, and so I couldn’t watch over Alex. When Alex got sick, we watched him for a couple days, hoping it would go away, and I was just beginning to debate whether or not I should take him to the vet; Eric then told me that he seemed like he was getting better, and I took his word for it, and I didn’t call the vet. Then he died. Shortly after that, I met Peter, and I just didn’t go over to Eric’s house anymore, and we gradually stopped talking.)

(It was actually the voices that gave me the name ‘Alexander.’ I didn’t think of that name myself. They told it to me. I think that Alexander is the name of some important scientist who invented something used for mind control or discovered some important technique – I’ve read the name somewhere while researching mind control. Now, one of my co-workers is having a baby that will be named Xander.)

So, ‘relationships never end.’ I didn’t think that this text messaging/hours-of-grief incident was really the absolute permanent end of my connection with this guy. I knew I would see him at work, I knew he was confused and didn’t know what he wanted and didn’t know how to respond to me. He isn’t really negative, but he isn’t really positive either. I think he said ‘okay just stop please’ as kind of an impulsive thing, like ‘what happens if I say this?’ while in an irritated mood, and not meaning it in an absolute way.

I went to work that evening, saw that his car wasn’t there, and figured I wouldn’t see him at all – I assumed he had left before I got there. He usually works earlier in the day than I do. I was, after all this, sad that the car wasn’t there. Then a couple hours later, he showed up, on an unusual schedule. I saw him and was shocked. Then I started scowling and not looking at him. I didn’t speak to him for a while. He became anxious and he approached me and asked if I had a note for him, since I had told him I did. I said, ‘No – you told me not to.’ (I deliberately left the note at home – I still have it, but I didn’t bring it with me. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t tempted to give it to him.) He then looked even more anxious, and walked away. After that, he did a couple things to make me laugh, and I did laugh, I couldn’t help it. He said my name in a funny voice, and I laughed, but I still mostly avoided looking at him or talking to him. Eventually he went home. We didn’t have a conversation that day, just a few brief interactions. He mostly seemed anxious because I was so hurt and I wasn’t looking at him.

It would be easier if we could talk on the phone instead of texting. I’ve asked him several times, in a text, is there a good time that I might call you? Those are the messages that he’s never answered. I’m sure I already know what would happen if I tried to call: there would be no answer, and I would never get through – or, no, it’s actually more complicated than that: they let you get through A FEW TIMES so that you believe it’s POSSIBLE, and THEN they won’t let you get through ever again. Like I said, this has been going on since the year 2000, when I started having problems with computer hackers. I know ALL ABOUT how it is when you try to call someone and they never pick up their phone. I know all about phone hackers (phreaks), and I know also that the government itself has surveillance on the entire phone system, and I have had incidents of people trying to call me and not getting through.

Basically the phone cannot be trusted. Whatever happens, if you think you’ve gotten their answering machine, it might not be real. You might be hearing something fake, while your call gets redirected to some mysterious location elsewhere and they never get the answering machine message that you swear you recorded. Then you think that this person is avoiding you, when actually, they really WANT to hear from you, and they never received your call. Or, then again, they might really be avoiding you, and you have no way to know for sure. You simply cannot know any information for certain if you are using the telephone. It is untrustworthy, when you’re being hacked and harassed and your whole life manipulated to cause you pain and suffering.

So I have to ask first: can I call you at a certain time, when you’ll be EXPECTING the call, expecting to pick it up, available to talk, not busy, not avoiding me, and then we can verify afterwards, ‘did you get my call at such-and-such date and time?’ ‘yes/no.’

Well, this is what I meant when I said that I would be able to write longer, more boring blogs.

So right now, the voices keep urging me to try again to call him or text him and straighten out the situation. They woke me up this morning, telling me lies and false beliefs, the way they always do. For instance, they tell me that I *HAVE* to talk to him because he’s SUICIDAL and it’s URGENT. I don’t believe that’s true. (*Note, I am cautious about using the S-word, because I had an incident several years ago when I used the s-word in a letter to someone, and they responded by throwing me into The Meadows on an involuntary commitment. I should be cautious even using that word about SOMEBODY ELSE too. ‘Suicidal’ being the s-word that I must not use. But, that is what the voices were saying to me.*)

But when they force me to believe it, it temporarily feels like it’s true. I feel like I have to communicate with him in order to help HIM, as though HE is in trouble and needs my help. It’s true that his life isn’t settled and he has some problems, but in reality there is not much that I can do to help him, because, for instance, he probably isn’t going to come over here and live in my apartment with me, or anything like that. That’s the idea that they keep putting in my head, that I’m supposed to try to get him to live with me. I can’t even get him to agree to talk on the telephone with me! yet they believe that he wants to move into my apartment. And I would enjoy being with him, although I’d have to make arrangements for the problems with chemical sensitivity. But I don’t actually believe that he’s anywhere near something like that. I keep saying, he sees me as just a ‘workplace friend,’ nothing more than that. They wake me up and they put these ideas in my head, these false beliefs about him.

That’s most of the story; that’s where things stand right now. Sooner or later I will try again to text him and ask if we can talk on the phone; and I will promise to him that the phone call won’t take too long, and it won’t be too much of a bother, I just want to straighten out a few small things. This is what I’ve been struggling to do for weeks and weeks – straighten out just a few small things. It takes forever.

(okay, that will be the title of this blog, then.)

Home computer back online – it’s not ergonomic, but there’s no more time limit

April 13, 2010

My computer is sitting on the floor on a couple pieces of cardboard. The cardboard is there to prevent the computer from getting any herbal residues onto the carpet. The computer has some stuff on it from the other apartment. It’s not that bad, but I’m taking precautions.

I’m going to write a bit more often now, but the downside of this is that the blogs might be longer and more boring, since I have plenty of time to sit there writing for longer than two hours.

Loving a Six; Survivor’s Joy

April 6, 2010

I’m not sure where to start.  Writing a blog is different from writing in my paper journal at home.  In the paper journal, I don’t worry about what the voices are forcing me to say, because nobody is reading it.  But when people read the things they force me to say, there are consequences.

I make lots of mistakes when I try to guess people’s enneagram types, including my own, especially because they constantly attack me whenever I try to look within myself to understand.  I can’t think a single thought without being attacked, so I have to passively wait while somebody else suggests enneagram types and then ‘tests’ me to see if I fit that type.

I picked up a different enneagram book by a different author, and it made it easier for me to understand Type Five.  I fit the description in that book better than the Riso and Hudson book.  The R&H book is very abstract.  ‘Fear of being overwhelmed’ and ‘the world is closing in on you’ and that type of thing – it’s hard for me to see that in my real life.  But in the other book, she described it more like, being afraid to feel.  Feelings are too intense, so you avoid all strong feelings.  If something makes you feel too strongly, you avoid it.  That’s more understandable to me than the description in the other book.  I forget the author’s name, but it was on the shelf above the R&H book at Barnes & Noble.  Anyway.

I thought this guy was a Six very soon after meeting him.  Again, I make lots of mistakes.  (I thought Morpheus from the Matrix was an Eight, but now I think he’s probably a One.  And ‘they’ have sent me around and around the enneagram trying on, like, at least five different types by now, not knowing what I am.)  But I think this guy is a Six.  He has issues with fear and courage, authority, defiance, phobic and counterphobic behavior, trust, and most of the other things that go with Six.

I’m using the L-word, the four-letter L-word with a V instead of a K, because, in my old age, I’ve decided that it’s okay to use the word ‘love’ to describe the feeling that I have for some people.  I think that I stopped using the word ‘love’ because of the fights I had with Terry as a teenager.  Terry used to interrogate me every time I said that I loved him.  He would question it and doubt it and out-argue me by saying things that didn’t make sense.  I couldn’t win an argument against him, because he would make statements that were totally illogical and I couldn’t even understand the idea behind them.  Every time I said I loved him, it led to a big fight about whether my love was real and whether I would still love him tomorrow and what I would DO to prove that I loved him and whether I was lying or telling the truth and whether I was really human or just some evil demon wearing a fake human costume.  It was impossible to get him to believe that I loved him.  So I had to avoid using that word if there was the slightest weakness or uncertainty in it.

So I’ve gone all these years saying that I don’t love this person or that person, not for real, because of all these reasons, like, ‘I don’t know him very well,’ or ‘We don’t spend much time together,’ or ‘I’m not planning on marrying him,’ or whatever.  There’s always a reason why I can’t call it love.

‘They’ started urging me to use that word again, with Peter.  I’ve done things that demonstrate that I love him.  I even moved to Bellefonte to be closer to him, when I had to leave the duckpond apartment, and I hate driving a long way to go to work and to go shopping in State College, but I did that for Peter.  It felt terrible being stuck in State College while he was stuck in Bellefonte after they became unable to drive their cars (he and his wife both cannot drive right now – he lost his license because the doctor took it away since he gets low blood sugar, which makes you drive like you’re drunk, and his wife can’t drive because of some insurance and paperwork problems that haven’t been resolved).  That’s just one example.

I’ve been thinking that there’s no such thing as a perfect relationship.  For a long time now, I already believed there was no such thing as ‘The One,’ your one single soul mate, the one and only person you ever will love, out of the seven billion people on earth and out of all the future people who will be born, only one.  I don’t believe that.  I think it’s possible to love many different people, and each relationship is unique, and you love different people in different ways for different reasons.  It’s true, sometimes your feelings are stronger or weaker, more intense or less intense.  Some relationships are easier or harder, healthier or unhealthier.  But there isn’t a perfect relationship where you can get everything you need from one person.  I always used to think that the ‘perfect’ relationship would be called ‘love,’ and I’d be able to use that word to describe it, but only that perfect relationship.  Now, I’m changing that.  I can call it ‘love’ even if they aren’t the one-and-only perfect ultimate soulmate out of all the humans in the universe.

I’m afraid that either he or I will get fired or quit, and we won’t be able to see each other at work; and then I won’t be able to call him or text him, because the phone will get hacked, and my messages will get blocked.  Right now we’ve had a few back-and-forth text messages, not many, but a few.  I still can’t get him to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to anything.  He gives me very, very small ‘yes’ signals sometimes but I have very strong denial and disbelief – I believe it’s hopeless and futile and I shouldn’t bother trying.  My urge is always to give up and quit.

He brought his new girlfriend with him one day and I saw them walking around together.  At first glance I thought she was his mother (I know his mother, I used to work with her) but then I looked again and realized this was some new person I hadn’t seen before.  So there was a few minutes of torture where I could see them and I could not stop myself from looking, and at first I was smiling, happy to see him, and then when I figured out that this was some unknown female, I stopped smiling and started feeling like I wanted to cry.  Some random person gets to walk around with him and be with him for hours and hours, while I don’t get any time with him at all, barely a few minutes, once in a while if we’re lucky enough to work together, and we have to constantly worry that we’ll get in trouble for talking instead of working, so we can’t really talk at work either, and yes, there is a real risk of being fired right now – lots of people really are getting fired, and they didn’t even get a warning.  So basically I can’t talk to him at all.  I don’t even know how he met this girl or how long they’ve known each other.

Then he came over and talked to me, and all of a sudden I wasn’t feeling as miserable, and I was able to talk and it seemed like it was okay.  She’s nice enough and she seems like a type Nine.  She reminded me a bit of Caitlin, who also seems like a Nine.  (I could be wrong – it’s only a guess.)  I was grateful that he was being nice to me, coming over and saying hello – that seemed like a nice thing to do – it made me feel somewhat better anyway.  (From another way of looking at it, it seems like he’s ‘being mean’ instead of being nice – after all he’s walking around with his girlfriend in front of me when I’ve told him how I feel.)  But not being able to get any clear communication, not being able to get any clear ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or ‘what time is a good time to call?’ kind of thing – that’s what’s frustrating me right now.  I can’t even call him on the phone ‘as a friend.’  I can’t even get him to say that I’m a friend and that we are able to talk to each other or hang out together as ‘friends.’

I’ve given him a couple paper notes along with text messages.  I gave him a note recently and when I handed it to him, he looked at me, and all of a sudden, I had to leave very quickly.  It was involuntary, I had no control over it, I had to walk away.  I held up my hand to sort of wave goodbye, but it was also to block him out.  This is what I mean about avoiding strong feelings.  If I am too close to him or if I look at him I have to stop looking.  It wouldn’t be so bad if we were away from work.  At work I am constantly afraid because of the context:  ‘I’m gonna get fired, I’m gonna get fired’ is the thought that’s always in my mind all day long at work.  I’m going to get fired because I’m not doing enough.  I have chronic fatigue and chemical sensitivity reactions and it’s always something, I can’t get much work done, I’m gonna get fired.  So anything that puts me at risk of being fired is very threatening.  If I see him or if I’m close to him, I can’t touch him at work, and if I get the slightest urge to touch him, I have to walk away or distract my attention or do whatever I can to stop it from happening.

I’m going to have to log out and log back in in a minute here.  But the phrase ‘Survivor’s Joy’ is something I was saying to myself recently.  I have told him a little bit about the misery and suffering my life, about the problems I have, the things that I’m worried about.  But he’s never seen me when I was happy and safe and didn’t have all these terrible things going on.  The joy underneath the misery is my big ‘secret’.  I’m not keeping it secret on purpose.  It’s just something nobody can see.  They see that I’m sick and tired all the time, that I work too many hours, that all my projects are postponed, that I still haven’t had any children, that I can’t finish writing a song, that I can’t sleep at night.

‘Survivor’s Joy’ means that when these problems are taken away, I will instantly bounce back to being happy again, if I don’t have to deal with the drug residues anymore, and if I slept at night without being attacked by the murderers waking me up.

When they’re testing and interrogating me, they ask me what he has to gain in a relationship with me.  Then they try to say (speaking for me instead of letting me speak for myself) that the ‘correct’ answer is that I’m supposed to be this knowledgeable person who’s doing big, important things, like starting my own religion, changing the world, fixing the problems in society, that I know things nobody else knows, and I talk about things that nobody else talks about, and that’s what he’s supposed to gain by being with me.  But that’s not the answer that I want to give.

Why would somebody want to be with me?  Because I have this joy underneath the misery that everyone else sees – this misery feels temporary – it only began recently, in adulthood, but I had a good childhood and I still see the world that way.  The murderers, the chemical sensitivity, the exhaustion and insomnia and working too many hours while the IRS takes away all my income, and the fiat money system combined with the property taxes raises the land prices so my rent is too high… all these things began after I became an adult.  Feeling like a slave and a victim of attackers that I can’t avoid, and overwhelming health problems – that’s all anyone else can see when they look at me.  But I’ve enjoyed being alive, sometimes, and I hope I will again.

I expect that in the future, a lot of these problems will change or be gone and I will have a chance to be happy again.  I see the problems as temporary.  The murderers are always there and they always attack, now that they’ve begun attacking, and I’m not saying that the murderers are going to suddenly stop being evil and insane and inhuman.  I’m saying that, even in spite of the murderers, some of my problems can still be solved and some of my life can still be improved.  And I’m not in the mood to talk about what needs to be done about finding the murderers and stopping them from zapping people, and preventing new attackers from doing it, and hunting them down and finding them when they do, and shutting down the entire system that’s being used to attack people – I’m not talking about that right now.  I’m just talking about the relatively small problems that are making me suffer right now.  Some of them are solvable, and when they are gone, I will immediately be much happier and much more at ease.  That’s the phrase ‘survivor’s joy’ that I am talking about, surviving something and being alive again after it’s over.

Every time I talk about hope, or about things getting better, or about being happy in the future, the murderers immediately threaten to attack me, and they did it just now while I was writing.  As soon as I started talking about this, they started threatening to find more and more terrible ways to constantly ruin my life so that I would suffer a neverending burden of terrible misery forever.  They told me that they were going to find some new problem for me to deal with as soon as I fixed the problems I was dealing with right now.  That is why I call them evil and insane, because they cannot just leave people in peace.  They are not doing any good for the world, they are doing evil, by not leaving people alone.

So they want to make it look like I have some secret knowledge or special skill that would make it worthwhile to be in a relationship with me.  But I don’t.  All of my ‘knowledge’ is knowledge that came from misery and suffering, and to me, that doesn’t count as real knowledge.  Joy and happiness are just as real as pain and misery.  I know how to prevent and cure certain kinds of health problems; I know how to do other things that I’ve learned or observed or read in books, but that’s not the same as my knowledge of how it feels to be happy and alive.  I want to share something good with people in my relationships, not just my misery.

I have been very unhappy for a very long time now, and it goes on and on, and there’s always some new problem that resulted from the murderers forcing me to do new ‘experiments’ that are intended for me to ‘learn’ some terrible new danger that I didn’t know about, some new poison or drug or chemical that I never encountered before, some new method of attacking and hurting people, some new way of hacking computers to spy on me wherever I go, some new way of reading my mind and controlling my thoughts and destroying my soul.

From everyone else’s point of view, it looks like it’s just me, doing stupid things to myself over and over again – that’s what my parents think.  Anytime I’ve written a letter home to my parents to tell them good news, the murderers attack immediately – for instance, every now and then in the past I’d write home to tell them that I got a raise at work, or something, and my parents would be happy about it, and the murderers would instantly cause some disaster to happen to destroy my parents’ approval – they always responded very strongly if my parents ever approved of me for even an instant – one of their main goals has been to make me look really bad to my parents.  My parents don’t believe in electronic mind control, and they say that I’m just crazy and I’m hurting myself because I’m crazy.  The murderers want them to believe that.  Ruining my reputation, especially my reputation with my parents, is their goal.

That is why I call them insane, because they can’t just ignore me and go their own separate way and leave me alone – instead, they have to be focused on me and obsessed with me and competing against me and having their pathetic little egos threatened by everything I do and by every success that I have and all of my talents and intelligence and all of my achievements.  I don’t even know them, I don’t even know who they are, but they’re obsessed with me and they won’t go away.

Let me mention that there are different ways of attacking someone and different degrees of how bad it is.  If somebody made a homemade cheap little device to put voices in someone’s head and they occasionally talked to someone that way, it’s one thing.  That is a relatively small type of attack.  The attack that I am complaining about, the total life-ruining attack, is some kind of ‘beam,’ and I call it that because I have no other way to describe it, since I don’t know what it is – it is some kind of beam that follows me around CONSTANTLY, as in, every second of every minute of every hour of every day of the entire year.  It literally follows me constantly no matter where I go.  It puts music in my head, constantly, in the background, and words into my mouth, constant speech, and it zaps me if I try to think a single independent thought for a single second of my own free will.  That is the life-ruining soul murder that I am complaining about.

So if some random person just made a homemade device to put voices in my head occasionally, THAT’S NOTHING in comparison to the system being used to follow me everywhere I go, and it is a much, much, MUCH smaller crime in comparison.  I don’t know how it’s done, so I can’t describe it, and it doesn’t necessarily HAVE to be a ‘beam,’ it could be a ‘field’, I don’t know, an electromagnetic field that surrounds me but it’s broadcasting a frequency that only I can hear, or something.  I am comparing those two types of attacks to put it into perspective, because the hatred I feel towards the ‘system’ people is much worse than what I feel towards the random criminals using low-tech equipment that they bought or made at home.  And yes, those random people are able to do terrible damage too, but so far I have been lucky – the worst attacks were in the beginning, and those mostly stopped happening, and now instead I have the constant surveillance beam-or-whatever.  I think that I am lucky, in comparison to all the other attack victims that I’ve read.

Eleanor White said somewhere (I probably won’t be able to find it on her web page) that she doesn’t like to talk about electromagnetic hypersensitivity because it will ‘derail’ the conversation into the wrong direction.  She doesn’t want it to take away the focus on criminals attacking.

However, I disagree with that somewhat.  It’s true, the murderers attacking is much worse than just the background radiation that surrounds us.  But if you don’t understand electrosensitivity, then you don’t understand why the murderers attacking and surveilling constantly is so harmful.  A very low-level, weak radiation, beamed at you all the time, for the purpose of ‘watching’ you, is actually not just ‘watching,’ it is also disturbing and disrupting and influencing you.  I think of something called ‘Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle.’  You can’t know the exact position of a molecule, while also knowing its exact velocity (speed and direction), because in order to look at the molecule, you have to hit it with something which will knock it into a different direction.  The same thing happens with people.  When you shoot them with a surveillance beam, they behave differently, because the weak, low-level beam is disrupting their body and their mind constantly.

I call it soul murder or ‘soul-time’ murder, because it prevents your soul from expressing itself in the limited time you have on earth.  If you stopped attacking them, they would immediately come back to life, so it’s not total permanent murder of the soul, it’s ‘temporary suppression.’  But since they never stop doing it, it is in fact permanent.  It goes on for years or decades, totally destroying lives.

Anyway, electrosensitivity explains why even the weak, low-level surveillance beam is harmful.  It disrupts the very weak, subtle signals in the brain and body in many ways, making people constantly uncomfortable and unable to function.  So it’s still helpful to read about electrosensitivity even if you believe that the attackers are much more important to worry about.

I don’t have much time left on this login, so I’ll do a quick check to see if I missed anything and then I have to go.