Archive for June, 2010

Progress made in disaster recovery

June 30, 2010

9:29 PM 6/30/10

Oh, by the way. I saw a poster of the band Lamb of God when I was walking around the mall today. Lamb of God has the hair and beard style that I’m talking about. I should find a link that shows a photo of them, but I guess you can google it.  – Okay, I googled it myself.  Actually, I should say they ALMOST have the hairstyle.  It looks like they shave some parts of their face, while letting the rest of the beard grow long.  ARGH!  I thought I had a good example.  This is so annoying!  Why shave PART of the face?  I hate this!  It really looked like a full beard without any parts missing, in the poster that I saw at the mall.

Today I did a couple of things. I bought a small fridge, another one. The first time I bought a fridge, I got the cheapest one, and it turned out that it wasn’t designed to hold perishable foods. It can’t get cold enough and stay cold. It was only made for holding non-perishable beverages that don’t need to be refrigerated, like bottles of water and soda. I found this out the hard way. And I read the instructions, and the instructions said that no, it wasn’t made for perishables. The cooling method used isn’t strong enough to keep it really cold. So I was watching out for that when I bought another one today. It was slightly more expensive, and it showed pictures of perishable items in the fridge. I haven’t tested it yet.

I had to do that, because I tested my real fridge again the other day. All I did was open it up, and fumes from the bone marrow poisoning floated out and made me feel weak and dizzy. I felt like I was dying and I wanted to pass out. This happened even though I had the fridge door open and a fan blowing directly into the fridge, for many days, and I even turned on the fridge with the door open so that its internal fan would circulate air from within, where the fumes might linger, back deep inside it where the air comes from. Still, after doing all that, and wiping it all down several times inside, it still has enough residual vapors from the bone marrow that I can’t eat anything I put in there, because the vapors land in the food and drinks, and they trigger the vomit reflex if I eat them.

So buying another small fridge was part of my disaster recovery today.

I have a perspective on this disaster, a perspective that ‘the voices’ gave me, and it helps me to feel better about it. Technically, there really have been only TWO major contamination incidents, one of which was in 2007, and the other of which was in 2010. The first one was really big – the drug residues, at my other apartment. It got all over everything, and all of the contamination I’ve had has been leftover since then, because I haven’t been adding any more to it (other than drugs I get at Peter’s house or drugs I get from going to places like the doctor’s office, which are minor outbreaks, not the type of thing that ruins an entire apartment full of my belongings). The second incident was the bone marrow poisoning, a totally different kind of poison contamination, from ‘food,’ in the refrigerator. It ruined the refrigerator and made it impossible to use. Technically there have been only these two major contamination incidents. It reassures me when I look at it that way. It seems like I’ve had a million little incidents, but actually the drug residues are all from that one time long ago, and they are gradually being reduced as I get rid of things.

I didn’t just buy a fridge today. I also went to the storage unit and threw away a few things that I could get rid of. I can throw away things that aren’t sentimental, things that aren’t extremely expensive, and things that aren’t electronic devices or important data or papers. I have a bunch of categories in my mind, exceptions, things that I will keep, even if I have to put them inside a box and seal it up and label it ‘danger: contaminated.’ Or whatever.

The one thing I wished for, while going through the storage unit, was I wanted a new place to move stuff into if I was going to keep it, so that I could push things aside if I had already checked them and decided to keep them. I don’t want to move things into my apartment yet.

I had to fight with the voices. The voices were frequently telling me not to throw this or that away. They don’t understand that the objects I’m throwing away are NOT sentimental. There are a lot of things I own that I don’t really care that much about. And the slightest bit of ephedra residue, or any other drug residue, can cause a major outbreak. It is too much of a risk. And when I throw something away, if I feel sad or wasteful because of it – I don’t like to do it, and I’ve always complained about Penn State students buying lots of furniture and then leaving it on the curb when they go home – but I’m doing it for a good reason: I want to have kids. When I throw stuff away and feel sad, I remind myself that I am protecting my children. A few years from now, when I have kids, they will be crawling around and touching everything. They would be touching the drug-contaminated legs of the tables from that apartment, getting ephedra onto their hands and into their mouths, and little toddlers staying awake all night long and never sleeping due to ephedra poisoning is a very, very bad thing. I would rather be sad about throwing away a couple of non-sentimental items, instead of totally miserable a couple years from now because my babies are being poisoned by drug residues and I don’t know where it’s coming from. And you can clean something, over and over and over again, but not get rid of all the poison. I know because I’ve done it.

When I feel sad about the objects in the trash, I think of my children. Which should I keep, and which should I throw away? If I keep the contaminated objects, then I am throwing away my children. If I throw away the contaminated objects, then I am keeping my children. Which matters more?

I watched Toy Story 3 – I don’t remember if I ever saw Toy Story 2, but I saw Toy Story 1. I used to feel that way about my toys. My toys were living things. It was unthinkable to throw them away. I’m not throwing away toys or things that resemble living creatures. Still, I feel that there is some life in all of the objects that I own, some part of me, just because they belonged to me, even if they aren’t toys or animal-like objects. It reminds me of Dust, in the His Dark Materials books. Everything I own has some Dust on it that indicates that it belongs to me. But the ‘life’ of those nonliving objects is less important than the life and the health of my future children. I fight with the voices about this, over and over, every time I try to go through my stuff.

Anyone who hasn’t experienced a drug residue contamination can’t understand this. You can’t imagine how tiny of an amount it takes to have a major outbreak. A few molecules of ephedra on your clothing will give you insomnia for months. It’s the type of insomnia where you NEVER sleep, not a single instant, not at all. You will be awake 24 hours a day for weeks, and maybe you will drop off into a doze for a couple minutes now and then, if you’re lucky. It is unimaginable. And I have other drug residues besides ephedra, and they cause other symptoms.

Today, I finished the book at Barnes & Noble, The Amber Spyglass. You all know I’m going to give out big spoilers, in case you haven’t read it yet. I wished Will and Lyra would have stayed together somehow, and I was disappointed. However, I believe that people can fall in love with more than one person in their lifetime. You don’t just have one, and only one, true love. So they can both fall in love again. But it’s not likely that they would find many people who could talk about, and understand, the strange experiences they had had, traveling to other worlds and fighting against The Authority.

In a way, I know how that feels. I’ve had such strange experiences, no one can understand them. It’s odd, everybody might think that ‘hearing voices’ and talking to them in my head and being followed around by people reading my mind and controlling me – you’d think *THAT* was the ‘weird experience’ that no one else on earth could understand. However, I’ve been able to find lots of people on the internet who have similar experiences. And if I loosen my definition of electronic harassment, so it includes all of the people who believe that they are ‘psychic’ or that they are dealing with ‘ghosts’, ‘poltergeists,’ and other paranormal phenomena, then there are HUGE numbers of people who can understand what I’m going through. They just interpret it differently.

It’s the drug residues that no one understands. I haven’t seen anyone on the net writing about how they tried to grow, for instance, marijuana plants in their closet with a grow light, only to find that they plants put out vapors and left oils all over their belongings so that they were constantly high on marijuana even if they didn’t want to be, so they had to throw away hundreds or thousands of dollars worth of their belongings because it wouldn’t clean out. And no, I wasn’t growing marijuana, but that’s one of the most likely drug plants that people would try to secretly grow indoors, in a closet, in a place where it’s going to contaminate everything they own.

(LSD flashbacks are probably caused by residues left on objects and clothing. Some people believe that the LSD is trapped inside your body somewhere, but I believe it’s OUTSIDE your body, and you’re having a new exposure to it, and it goes through your skin again. My experiences are just like LSD flashbacks.)

The drug residues are life-ruining. This is something that I feel NO ONE understands. I could search for people who have similar experiences, but from what I’ve seen, it’s not easy to find, and it’s not easy to describe in the right words so that I have the right search terms to get them from the internet.

Ugh, I have to get up early to go to work tomorrow. I don’t know what time I go in, and I have to go down to the car to look at my schedule. But I will hopefully be wearing a new fake uniform tomorrow. The shirt will be way too huge, and I might tuck it in. I’ll try it on tonight sometime. I don’t know if I work with Curtis or not. I’m thinking of his conflicting messages, and thinking of how his mother did the same thing, sending conflicting messages, flirting and encouraging the manager, and then deciding afterwards that she didn’t want to be sexually harassed. I can interpret Curtis’s behavior the same way. For some reason he feels like he has to flirt with me and encourage me, but then doesn’t want to actually talk about it and get everything settled and out in the open so that we can both know what type of relationship we have in the real world. I just need to know.

Justin Bieber’s New Hairstyle

June 29, 2010

12:01 AM 6/30/10

When I see him, I want to reach into the picture and brush his hair back off his face. So I am going to give him my makeover. The hair should be brushed back off the face, and since they want him to have a unique style that nobody else has, it can be center parted, because almost everyone parts their hair on the side. A center part is unusual. Maybe he will be a trend setter, and center-parted hair will become the new in thing. No joke, I am serious. Then they should let it grow long. I’d request that he be allowed to grow a beard, but I know that’s asking too much. Beards are completely taboo. They don’t exist. There’s no such thing as beards. But what a trend setter that would be, if he grew all of his hair, including his beard, and grew the hair and beard long without stopping it – the beard long and fluffy, instead of just the usual short stubble-length beards everyone else has – and he’s the one face on all the magazines everywhere. Unfortunately, no one cares what I want.

Lyra and Will in the land of the… huge spoiler warning

June 29, 2010

10:30 PM 6/29/10

There are drug residues on the chairs at Barnes & Noble. Every time I sit in the cushiony chairs, I get a reaction.

Okay, I could barely stop reading, but it was time to leave because B&N was closing. This is a huge spoiler. I don’t know if anyone else has read those books yet, but I am in The Amber Spyglass right now. Lyra and Will are in the land of the dead. I had to stop reading it and leave. They had just gotten on the boat and gone across the water, and their hearts were breaking.

I somehow knew when Roger died that they were going to save him somehow. But I believed that they were going to go back through time to the moment of his death, and catch him before he died. It’s not turning out quite that way. I’m not sure what exactly they will do, but they are going to find him right now. And I had to leave!

So that explains why I’ve been talking about death.

(*I heard voices telling me it wasn’t a preoccupation with ‘death’ so much as it was about ‘blood.’ That was referring to the previous blog post, about C’s ‘goth’ style pictures and vampire-like images. I don’t recall actually seeing any vampires there, but he told me that he was reading the Twilight series books because someone else had told him to, and I don’t recall who told him. (Yeah, that goes against the ‘he can’t read’ theory, I know.)*)

Then, on my way home, the voices urged me to write ‘Run, Atreyu, run!’ as my facebook status. I decided against it. It’s a similar moment in a movie, where a character gets through a terrifying, impossible gateway, makes a transition, and reaches something similar, a land of the dead, a place where everything is dead and gone and they have to start over, and you meet someone who’s been with you all along, like how Lyra’s death was with her all along, hiding.

*********

This has no connection to anything at all, except for the fact that I was at Barnes & Noble, and I saw Justin Bieber again. They suggested that I should write a blog entitled, ‘Justin Bieber is the only boy for me!’ He really is the *ONLY BOY IN THE UNIVERSE*. His face is the only face on all the magazines. I wonder about him. I’ve never read his biography, so I don’t know any of the story, but I’ll probably look him up on Wikipedia.

Here is my impression. I can’t stand his hairstyle, but they do it that way on purpose, because nobody else has that uniquely recognizable hairstyle. Nobody’s copying that hairstyle, and with good reason. It’s awful, but it’s officially declared to be a great hairstyle, because his face, and his hairstyle, are on ALL THE MAGAZINES. I think that a lot of people KNOW that it’s an awful hairstyle. It’s like they enjoy secretly humiliating him. He seems like a puppet and a victim. Who is getting rich? Probably his mom. There was a picture saying his mom was his best friend, and they had their arms around each other. I’ll read his wikipedia entry and see what it says. I might get more impressions after that. When I say ‘he’s a puppet and a victim,’ I actually mean that in the conventional sense, the way most people mean it. He’s a puppet of the media, doing what they want, doing what his handlers want, a victim, a slave, somebody earning money for someone else, and he probably doesn’t benefit much from it. What’s going to happen to him in the future?

They’ve artificially put his face everywhere. It’s arbitrary. Somebody decided that his face would be on all the magazines, the same way that Bill Gates said there would be a PC on every desktop. It was somebody’s vision. They set out to do it, and they did. Why aren’t there any other boys in the world? There are only a couple of familiar faces on ALL the magazines. They don’t like variety very much. Justin Bieber is everywhere, and so is the guy on New Moon who cut his (fake) hair off and became a werewolf, and was a LOT less attractive after cutting the long hair, and all they ever show of him is the short-haired version, and he never grows long hair in the real world. I guess he is keeping his real hair short in the movie anyway, and he’s continuing to make the movies, so he wouldn’t be able to change it or grow it long again. And I thought he was ugly to begin with, his face, but the long hair was the only redeeming thing about him, and now that that’s gone, I see no reason to look at him at all, but he’s all over the magazines too. (Sorry, long rambling sentences. I’m very hyper again tonight. I’ve been drinking coffee with cream, and the cream is giving me a rash on my face. I know that’s what’s causing it, because that’s the only thing I’ve been doing differently lately, and I keep getting hives all over my face.)

I feel sorry for Justin Bieber. How long until ‘they’ decide to destroy his fame, throw him down and replace him with someone else? If they could just set out to put HIS face on all the magazines and make him king of the world, why can’t they just decide tomorrow to make someone ELSE the king of the world? There is nothing special about Justin Bieber that would justify or explain the reason why HE, and he alone, and no one else, is the king of all the magazines. Somebody chose for it to be that way, so it was.

Now I’m really curious to read about him. I’ve never listened to his music, but I’m guessing it sucks. I’m picky about music, so I’m pretty sure I won’t like his. Who knows.

Okay, I just read about him on Wikipedia.  I’ll have to listen to his music sometime when I’m on a computer that can download music, because I can’t do it very well on dialup.  I’ve probably heard some of the songs and not known who sang them.  After reading about him, I feel like his fame is more legitimate than I thought it was originally, and he might actually have talent.  He was popular on YouTube before anybody actually paid him to sing.  His mom might not be an evil handler stealing all his money, after all.  But he is still a child celebrity, and they don’t ever have easy lives.

easy pickings

June 29, 2010

10:15 AM 6/29/10

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

The ‘easy pickings’ strategy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I think that’s enough for now.

weird dreams, skinny guys, new clothes

June 28, 2010

6:09 PM 6/28/10

Let’s see if I can remember to write all the different things I was thinking of writing about.

the candle dream and the new pants
new uniforms
calling curtis
small guy taboo in men’s clothes
a weird dream where people take things for granted
mcd manager

I’ve been hyperactive ever since this morning when I ate at The Waffle Shop. I don’t know which food chemical made me feel that way, but I was so restless that I went on a long walk after I got out of the restaurant, and still, even now, at the end of the day, I’m hyper and restless and irritable. I didn’t eat waffles. I ate eggs, rye toast, corned beef hash, cranberry juice, bacon, and tomato slices. Any of those things could have triggered the hyperactivity, but it probably wasn’t the cranberry juice – I usually tolerate cranberry juice pretty well. This was a strong hyperactivity reaction that has lasted all day. I think it might be some preservative or nitrate in the corned beef hash, because that was the only unusual thing that I don’t normally eat. The other foods are things that I have eaten other times recently and not had any problems with. It’s been a very long time since I was this restless and hyper, so it has to be something I don’t normally eat.

A weird dream: I didn’t actually have a dream. I was just thinking about dreams in general. There is a dream where something really strange or scary is happening, but everyone around you thinks that it’s normal, and nobody seems worried about it except you. Imagine that, for instance, you are in a society where people kill their best friends, and then go get a new best friend. (This is something the voices were talking to me about. I guarantee that it’s going to have ‘special meaning’ or sexual symbolism to some reader or that somebody actually had this dream recently.) Everyone thinks this is normal except you. You see everyone doing it, and they act perfectly calm and happy and not upset about it at all. But it scares the crap out of you.

The interpretation for this dream is that it’s symbolic for something that you feel like MIGHT kill someone, but it wouldn’t really. You’re terrified of doing something to your best friend, but in reality, it won’t actually kill that person. You’re just afraid that it will. Everyone else is acting like it’s normal and okay, and they’re not afraid of it, and that’s supposed to tell you that there’s a different way of looking at things. Maybe you’re being afraid of something when there’s no need to be afraid of it. Whatever you’re afraid to do, it wouldn’t actually kill that person.

So that’s what the voices were talking to me about. I guess somebody out there actually had this dream. Like I said, I already know it’s going to have a sexual meaning to somebody. Things like this always do.

Okay, the candle dream. Well, this has to do with my clothing. I am lucky about one thing: I think that I have a nice body. It doesn’t make it easier for me to meet people, because there are so many OTHER things that get in the way. But I don’t have the problem of feeling fat, or anything else like that. I only gain weight temporarily and lose it again, and it’s usually a reaction to drugs.

So, I had a pair of pants that fit perfectly. I hate buying pants. But I have to buy new clothes often when old ones get contaminated. I can’t keep using my favorite clothes for long. This is why I try to buy as many things from Goodwill as I can, at $0.29 if possible. I hate back pockets on pants, and I hate pants that are badly shaped, or that don’t have any pockets on the side (the pockets that I actually USE), or that don’t have belt loops, or have other strange ‘fashion’ designs that ruin the practical use of the clothing. I hate women’s fashion and the stupid things they do. I want just a plain, simple, classic design that stays the same forever, something practical and functional.

Well, I had a perfect pair of pants, but I had to get new ones, because the perfect ones were gradually getting contaminated. So I got some badly-fitted ones at Goodwill, and I go through lots of badly-fitted Goodwill pants, and I don’t really think much about it.

However, as soon as I put on the badly fitted pants, ‘they’ gave me a dream that night. There was a ‘bird,’ which means a girl or female (in the slang of England, that’s what a bird is, or at least it used to mean that). The ‘bird’ was flying around with a ‘candle’ on its lower back, and the candle means ‘hot’ or ‘flame’. But the bird was trying to light the candle, and it wouldn’t light, so it wasn’t ‘hot.’

When they woke me up from the dream, they were asking me why the bird’s ass wasn’t hot anymore. Another voice explained that it happened because I was wearing a badly fitted pair of pants that hung down too loosely so you couldn’t see my butt anymore.

When I was in fifth grade, I had a crush on this kid in my class, and I think he must have had a little crush on me, too, but we were too scared to get together. He told me (all the way back in fifth grade) that I had a ‘bubble butt.’ I didn’t know what he meant at first. He meant that it sticks out. It does stick out just a little bit, enough to be noticeable. It always has.

So I was wearing a different pair of pants just recently, and they’re not very well fitted either. They’re temporary, and I’m trying to find better ones. However, I had voices talking to me last night, and they said, ‘Oh my gosh, you can see right through those!’ And other voices were saying ‘Those pants are very… thin.’ It is actually a thin fabric. I wasn’t intentionally wearing see-through pants, but apparently they are.

I’m trying to find some that fit well and that aren’t see-through.

I bought some fake uniforms today. My imitation Weis uniform is way too big. I don’t really NEED a fake Weis uniform, because I’m allowed to order new uniforms myself – I talked to them on the phone about it and the lady told me how to order them. But I definitely need new fake McD uniforms, because I’m not allowed to order my own McD uniforms – only the store manager can do it, and they say he supposedly ordered lots of stuff, but it’s been months since he supposedly ordered it, and nothing has come in, so I don’t believe he ever will. So I got my own fake McD uniforms too.

The fake Weis shirt came from the men’s section at Wal-Mart. It’s HUGE. It comes down to my mid-thighs, almost to my knees. It was the smallest size. And the size says ‘Medium.’ Often, I’ve noticed that men’s clothing doesn’t start with the size ‘small.’ It starts with ‘medium’ as the smallest size. I think this is because it’s insulting to call a guy ‘small.’ What guy wants to be labeled ‘small?’

I talked about this already. I wrote about mainstream pornography and the skinny guys taboo. You can’t find any porn with small, skinny guys in it, for those of us who love small, skinny guys. All the men are big and muscular, and I don’t like that type at all. I didn’t know there was anything that unusual about this until I started hearing voices calling me a pedophile (and then I found out there are other words like ‘hebephile’ and ‘ephebophile’ for liking young teens or older teens). I actually agreed with them – I’m not really attracted to fully grown men anywhere near as much as I like small, skinny teenagers. But the mainstream world doesn’t understand that ‘small’ isn’t a bad thing. And they also don’t seem to know that female perverts exist: they believe that only MEN can be perverts and pedophiles, not women. So, the ‘small guys’ taboo exists in men’s clothing too, and everything starts with ‘medium’ size. (Note, I DID find a few things that were called ‘small,’ but lots of things start with medium.)

*******

I told the store manager at McD that I was interested in becoming a manager. I’ve worked for McD since 2005, although there were a few times when I took time off work, and a while when I was fired and didn’t get rehired for a year or so. I’ve had enough experience and knowledge that it’s reasonable for me to try to become a manager.

He told me that I had to talk to Jodi about it, and that he would talk to her for me. Immediately, I felt distrust. What if he didn’t talk to her? What if he didn’t report back to me? And somebody else was standing there, and they said, ‘You could call her cell phone.’ But the store manager didn’t want me to call her on her cell phone. That made me feel even more distrusting: why CAN’T I just talk to her myself? Why do I have to wait for him to do it?

But then, I got an explanation later. Jodi is on vacation right now. So, there is an actual reason to leave her alone and not bug her with work-related questions while she’s trying to relax. I agreed with that, so I programmed an alarm into my cell phone to remind me again, a few weeks from now when she’s back from vacation, to ask about it again, and try to talk to her.

*******

With new uniforms, my drug-induced behavior and drug-induced moods should stop, and I should go back to my normal self. That means I will be quiet, withdrawn, and not friendly. Fewer people will talk to me. I won’t be smiling. It also means that I won’t have the guts to do things like go up to Curtis and pat him on the back. But if I can’t do it while I’m sober, then I shouldn’t be doing it at all.

The other day I had the guts to ask again if I could call him on the phone. He gave me a number to call, told me that I could call today (Monday), and that if he didn’t answer, he was probably asleep. I called, and got routed to a voice mail, the kind where it isn’t the person’s own voice, but instead it’s just the generic female recording. I left a message and said I’d try calling back later. Then I went out shopping, and the afternoon was over, and I didn’t think I should call him during dinnertime, and now, it’s evening, and he usually does things with his real-world friends in the evening, if I understand correctly, so now doesn’t feel like a good time to call either. I told him he could call me back, but I haven’t gotten a message from him.

I told him, at work, that I wanted to talk and get everything out in the open because I didn’t want things like that email incident to happen again (‘Look, ur 35 okay, it creeps me out, I want to stay single for like a year or 2’). That’s why I want to get everything out in the open, so that I don’t get conflicting messages, like him coming up to me and using the f-word and calling me affectionate nicknames while standing very close to me, and then, on the other hand, getting an email like that, and my phone calls not being returned and all my text messages not being answered. That is what I tried to explain to him.

And I can’t know whether he’s just not returning my call, or if the murderers are interfering with my phone calls, and I will have to ask him if he got my message, next time I see him. I tried to explain about the murderers, and I didn’t call them ‘the murderers,’ I just said ‘some people’ were messing with me, hacking my computer and harassing me, so I never knew if emails were received or not. I gave him that explanation, but I don’t know if he believes me. I wrote that in a handwritten note, I think.

That’s all I can think of that I was going to write about.

Ichazo’s Instinctual Type

June 26, 2010

They decided to ‘declare’ me to be an Sx/So.  Chances are, this will change later on.  They’ve changed my enneagram type so many times, and also my instinctual type.  Part of the description says, “Motivation: to impact others, question assumptions, challenge convention.” ocean-moonshine.net

Accept all of who I am

June 26, 2010

9:34 PM 6/26/10

Nathaniel Branden writes about self-acceptance, and also, acceptance of others, and of reality in general. Accepting doesn’t mean you necessarily like or approve of something. It just means that you face reality, and accept that something is true whether you like it or not. You can accept the reality of things about yourself without liking those things. You can accept good and bad things.

My life is compartmentalized – it’s divided into pieces, separate compartments, that don’t connect with each other. I have a blog here, but in the real world, I can’t imagine that Curtis would ever read my blog, and in fact, I’m not sure if he feels comfortable enough with reading to spend this much time reading my very long blog entries. So the blog world is separate from the real world. Everything I’ve written here has to be re-told if I need to talk about it in the real world, because I assume he doesn’t know anything at all.

I am on drugs. I’m having a skin reaction to St. John’s Wort and ephedra. It’s gotten on my uniforms. The symptoms are unmistakable. Everyone can tell that I’m more alert and friendly. Everyone is talking to me. Curtis himself approaches me and calls me nicknames when I’m on drugs, but when I’m off drugs, he avoids me a lot more.

This is frustrating. I want to get new clothes and not have a drug reaction all the time. But when I clean it off, I won’t be friendly anymore. I won’t have the courage to touch Curtis, no matter how much I want to, no matter what the circumstances. Touching him is a temporary thing. And I want so badly to explain that to him. I want him to know that I’m having a drug-induced mood swing, but it’s temporary, and soon, I won’t have the courage to touch him, but I’ll still want to, very badly, every day, no matter what mood I’m in. I want us to trust each other enough to do that, no matter what moods we’re in. I tried to explain it to him, in notes, text messages, and in the blog, which I gave him the URL to. But I don’t think he understands. In order to touch him on drug-free days, I have to feel confident and know that I have permission to touch him. I’ve never been given explicit permission.

I want him to accept all of who I am. I write a blog. So he would have to accept that I am a blog writer. And I also have drug-induced mood swings. I want him to accept me when I’m on drugs, and also when I’m off drugs. I want us to still be friends and able to touch each other when I’m off drugs and I’m not friendly anymore.

The drug residues are the greatest obstacle between me and other people. I can hide the fact that I hear voices. The voices don’t interfere much with my life, unless I’m reacting to drug residues. Then they control me and make me do strange things. I have to explain those weird things to people, and it’s hard to explain. I can’t say, ‘I was trying to accomplish this purpose,’ because actually, I am obeying a forced urge, and accomplishing someone else’s purpose, not my own.

The drug residues make me do strange things. I don’t want people to get contaminated by touching me. In fact, I think I contaminated the aprons at McDonald’s, because another girl who works there said that she went home last night and absolutely could not sleep, no matter what, for no reason. She wears the aprons too – there are only a couple of aprons, and we share them, and they don’t always get washed – so she would have worn an ephedra-contaminated apron. Ephedra has given me severe insomnia several times recently, very badly, and I had to go shop at Wal-Mart to buy myself new bedding materials (I have a foam pad covered in vinyl, and I also have paper to put over it if it gets contaminated). So I feel anxious about letting someone touch me when I’m wearing drug-covered clothing. If I had done what I wanted to do, the other day, when Curtis was magnetically pulling me towards him, I would have been in his arms, hugging him. But he would have gone home with a drug mixture on HIS clothing, and he wouldn’t understand why suddenly his insomnia was so severe, or why he was having strange mood swings.

And I have to do other strange things, too. I can’t wear my shoes into someone else’s house, or car, because they are contaminated on the bottom from the floor of my car. So before I walk in, I take off my shoes. It would be terrible to leave drug residue footprints on the carpet of someone who doesn’t understand. And it doesn’t even matter if you DO understand, because the footprints cannot easily be shampooed out, even if you know they’re there and you know you need to clean them up. So that makes it hard to do simple things like get into someone’s car, or their house.

I want to explain all of that to him. But we haven’t been able to talk. And I don’t know if he can read well enough to understand what I write. I’m not making fun of him. I seriously have started to doubt whether he is able to read. I know he can read a little bit, but if it’s a long, complicated sentence, he might not understand all the logic of it. He’s not dumb, but he just might have trouble reading.

Again, the voices in my head are NOT the greatest obstacle between me and other people. You might think that they are. That seems like the craziest and the weirdest thing. But the drug residues affect all of my behavior, the things I buy, where I can walk, how I dress, where I can step while wearing shoes, who I can touch and when. The drugs give me extreme mood swings that change drastically, so that I’ll be very friendly and approachable for a few weeks, and then I’ll be withdrawn and quiet for a few weeks.

I’ll be able to touch him again, probably, until I can get new clothes. And he won’t understand why I suddenly become scared to touch him again. He really can see that I’m in a different mood. He talks differently to me when I’m on the drugs. He’s explicitly sexual and much more trusting and friendly. It’s visible on me because I tend to have a ‘permagrin,’ even if it’s only a mild one, with the corners of my eyes wrinkled up. I also make a lot more eye contact, and my whole body expresses a better mood. But I don’t want to be on drugs all the time. I want to clean it up.

Accept all of who I am, on drugs and off drugs, every ‘compartment’ of my life, the online me and the real world me. And even if you don’t agree with me, accept that I feel that I’m the victim of a terrible crime, a terrible constant attack, that suppresses my true self and makes me unable to think, feel, or function normally, the way my true self would – even if you don’t agree with my explanation for that feeling. Accept all of me.

I laughed again

June 25, 2010

12:03 PM 6/25/10

The obsessive blogging has changed a bit. It doesn’t seem as bad this week. That might be because I was doing other computer projects instead. One thing I did was get some photos transferred to this computer. Everything I did took a really long time. No matter how simple it should have been, it took forever. Slow-running computers, dialup, slow data transfer from camera to laptop, that kind of thing. My PC is fast-running, even though it’s full of malware, but the laptop is the slowest thing I’ve ever used, and it’s never touched the internet except to get security updates that the people gave me at the store when I bought it. So I had to restart the laptop several times because the photo software crashed it, and a restart takes like five minutes each time.

My work schedule is settling in: McD has it figured out, but Weis hasn’t quite got it yet. They keep scheduling me for hours when I’m not available, but several times, I’ve gone in and worked those hours anyway because we were lucky enough not to have a conflict with McD’s hours. McD has me scheduled for all four days that I’m supposed to work, but Weis is just able to give me a day here and there, so I’m getting days off when I don’t want them. I’m expecting that to change soon. One of the guys working in food service seems to be temporary. He’s school age and he will be going to college or something in a few months. The other lady, I don’t know. She might or might not stay. Those are both the new people who’ve been hired who are competing for the hours. When either of them leave, I will probably get more hours.

Well, yesterday something happened with Curtis, and he is the focus of my obsessive blogging for now. I was at the soup bar getting soup for lunch, and he came up to me directly, in a trusting, friendly way – he always surprises me – I still keep thinking that the email I got is the truth. So I was thinking that day, before coming in to work, how am I supposed to act with him? Am I supposed to leave him alone and avoid him? That would be painful, and it would feel like a loss, but if I had to, I would. But he wasn’t acting like he wanted me to leave him alone – the other day, he came up to me several times and was talking and asking for my help and that kind of thing, not avoiding me.

So he came up to me yesterday, stood very close next to me, and called me a string of nicknames that included the f-word. And this wasn’t done in a mean way, it was done in a talking dirty sort of way. I wasn’t expecting this at all. He stood close enough to me that I felt this psychic, magnetic urge to hit him, like he was pulling my arm, and all of me, towards him, and I almost did it automatically, but somehow, I didn’t. (The voices said just now, ‘He was using magic.’) Instead, I did the worst possible thing. I burst out laughing. Then it almost changed into crying. I covered my mouth with my hand. He said, ‘Fine, f- you and f- the horse you rode in on.’ Then I said, a few seconds later, ‘I wasn’t expecting that,’ (the nicknames/dirty talk). He then changed the subject and talked about getting ready to buy a used car, and then another lady came up and got into the conversation, and she seems to like him too (but all the women seem to). Don’t ask what he is going to do with a used car when he is losing his license for nine months – I didn’t ask. Maybe it will just, um, sit there waiting for when he’s ready to use it, nine months from now. I’m guessing that’s it. Because I don’t want to see any MORE citations or conflicts with the law, yet I fear that they are going to happen.

I hurt him when I laughed at him, and I didn’t mean to. He actually got me very excited, but for a variety of reasons, I block it when I get excited. It’s too strong of a feeling. I wasn’t trusting him enough. I’m still thinking ‘look, ur 35 okay, it creeps me out, I want to stay single for like a year or 2.’ We can’t talk long enough, and openly enough, to find out what he wants to do. Anyway, after my lunch, I went up to him immediately and told him, ‘When I laugh, I’m not laughing at you.’ He was confused. He said, ‘What? You’re laughing at me?’ (I didn’t mean right that very moment, I meant when he talked to me a while before. That made me want to laugh again, but I didn’t.) ‘No, I’m NOT laughing at you,’ I said, and I got flustered too and tried to explain that I meant, ‘a while ago,’ but I couldn’t, and I tried to say I was apologizing, but I couldn’t. He understood it well enough, though. He said, ‘It’s okay to laugh at me.’ But I didn’t think so.

But that incident made me feel that I could not leave without touching him, and it had been quite a while since I have touched him. I’m not sure when the last time was. We have briefly touched fingers while handing over money during transactions, that kind of thing, and I have slightly brushed against him while walking around him, but I haven’t done direct, deliberate touch with my hands for a while. I felt that I absolutely had to, and I could not leave without doing it. It was awful that I laughed, and I should have touched him then, when the psychic-magnetic pull was making me do it.

So when it was time for me to leave, I couldn’t catch him alone. He was with a co-worker, The Invisible Guy. We have all known an Invisible Guy, I’m sure. This guy has worked here since I started, in 2007, I think, but I still don’t know his name, I just recognize his face. He doesn’t make much eye contact and doesn’t say much to anyone, at least, not while I’ve been watching. I recently heard him speak a short sentence, and my reaction was, ‘You can talk???’ (I didn’t say that out loud.) He keeps his hair shaved short all the time, and it never changes. And I’m not saying this to be cruel, but, he isn’t very good-looking, but at the same time, there are other people on earth who are much uglier – he’s not really ugly. He’s just not noticeable. I’m sure he has a family, and friends, and with them, he’s visible, and he talks, and he’s fun to be around, and he has a wild side, because the quiet invisible people usually do have a wild side when you get to know them. He seems to be nice, and pleasant.

He doesn’t give off the angry vibes that Adam Weaver gave off. I was scared of Adam Weaver before he died. I used to feel that he was going to go postal, and it turns out that he actually was on an anti-rage medication. Adam was quiet too, and avoided eye contact with me. But he seemed like he was being quiet because he wanted to kill you. But this other guy is different, he’s quiet and mellow.

(It’s weird how I’ve reacted to Adam’s death. Adam Weaver died of complications from cancer. He got mouth cancer, and he stopped going to work, and for a while, I didn’t notice he was gone, but then I thought, I haven’t seen Adam Weaver in a while. And suddenly people were telling me he had cancer. He was in his early thirties. So he had surgery on his mouth and he was being fed through a tube. They say that he died because the cancer moved into his brain, but I’m sure it’s more complicated than that. But afterwards, I would see someone in the crowd of people, someone who looked like Adam, and I would think Adam was still alive, because to me, he only disappeared for a while without an explanation. I didn’t see him sick, and I didn’t see him dying. My brain and my body remembered that he was just gone for a little while, and he was going to come back. And I didn’t even like him. I was scared of him. But many times, I thought I saw him in the crowd, and I couldn’t believe he was dead. I kept seeing the little photocopied posters they made with him walking on the beach and smiling, and I thought, I never saw Adam smile, I didn’t know he could. Other people told me that actually, when you got to know him, he was a sweet guy, and fun to be around. I think I liked him better after death than I did while he was alive. It was one of those things.)

So, yesterday, Curtis and the Invisible Guy were together when I had to leave. I usually can’t approach him when there are people around him. However, I was able to do it, because I don’t know the Invisible Guy, and I felt like maybe, he wouldn’t care. He seemed like a non-threat.

If there were managers around, I wouldn’t have been able to do it, and I have trouble talking to him if Dave is around, too – Dave is the guy who took over many of the evening shifts when Curtis went to day shift, and I’ve always felt like, ‘YOU’RE the SUBSTITUTE. I refuse to like you.’ Dave is actually nice, but I’m refusing to bond with him because he replaced Curtis, and also, because I feel like Curtis gets first priority. I don’t want to go bonding with one person after another, and have lots of close relationships with lots of guys, in the same location, all at once. Dave has stayed long enough that I could probably have a conversation with him once in a while – most people only work here a few weeks and you don’t ever get to know them. But I haven’t tried talking to him. He knows that I’ve been talking to Curtis, and he knows that I behave strangely with him, and I get emotional, and I sometimes talk to him with a tone of ‘ownership.’ So he knows that something is going on. I feel humiliated if I have to talk to Curtis in front of Dave – he knows too much, and he’s seen me getting upset.

But the Invisible Guy probably wouldn’t say anything to me, or look me in the eye, or comment to me. And again, I felt that this was very important to do, and I wasn’t sure when I’d see him again – it could be a whole week before I saw him. And he was trusting and open, coming up to me and standing next to me and trying to make me touch him, but I laughed, and it had to be fixed. So I went up to him, sneaked around to the other side that was away from the Invisible Guy (the voices have told me his name might be Bradley, but I don’t think that’s right), and then I sort of scratched his shoulder and patted him. It was so light, it probably tickled, and I know how that feels – it’s usually annoying when someone taps you so lightly that you can barely feel it. I said, ‘See ya. I gotta go.’ I then walked away, and I looked back at him. He was standing there, looking frozen. He said something, but I was too far away and too deaf to hear it. I said, ‘What?’ and I think he said, ‘Bye.’

I felt that I had to do it. I could not leave without doing something to fix it.

So that is where we left off. I won’t see him today, I’m off at Weis. I don’t think I’ll see him tomorrow – I think he works earlier in the day than I do.

That’s the guy-obsession blog for today.

the current situation

June 22, 2010

11:59 AM 6/22/10

Well, here is the current situation.

He spoke to me Sunday. We had a few hours working together. He told me that he will be losing his driver’s license for three months, and then for six more months – there are two separate crimes. One crime was underage possession of alcohol, the other was driving under the influence. He says he will walk to work, but I am hoping his parents will take him, or maybe he can get the manager to arrange his hours to fit around a bus schedule. It’s possible to walk that far, but it’s hard to do it, and he will show up late for work a lot. I’ve seen it happen before to someone else who tried to walk a long distance to McD, and was always showing up late because of it. He got fired for being late, but the manager who fired him was a, well, there’s no nice way to say it. She wasn’t very popular, and she was just being mean. That sums it up. I just don’t want Curtis to get fired for being late, that’s all.

I told him that I would’ve wanted to know what was going on the past week, but I couldn’t ask, because I couldn’t get emails through, and then I got de-friended. He said that he had been drunk every night this week. He vaguely made it sound as though, maybe, he had de-friended me, and written the unkind email, while drunk. He didn’t openly admit to anything, he just vaguely suggested that anything could have happened while he was drunk. And still, even now, I won’t know whether he really wrote it himself, whether it expresses a true feeling, whether they were puppet words that he was forced to say, or whether the computer hackers wrote it and he had nothing to do with it at all.

This doesn’t explain much. It doesn’t explain why all the OTHER text messages were never answered, and it doesn’t explain why he never called me back when I left a phone message months ago, and it doesn’t explain why he didn’t answer the direct questions that I asked him in the written notes. It only MIGHT POSSIBLY explain one small incident, one time.

So on Sunday he did things to get me to be friends with him again, talking to me often, since nobody else was there. I walked in on everybody having a bad day. The lady up at the front of the deli started talking to me the minute I walked in, and told me she was covering for somebody else who wasn’t showing up, and she didn’t want to be there. It got so busy that she needed help closing the deli because she was running behind, so I helped her a little bit, and I also visited Curtis a couple times, and in reality, it was only a couple minutes of talking when I first came in, and then, I went to the cooler later because a big stack of boxes fell over and spilled blueberries on the floor, and when I saw it, I laughed, and he said it wasn’t funny (and the voices attacked me for the rest of the afternoon because I laughed, but it wasn’t directed at him, it was because of the weirdness of a huge pile of blueberries all over the floor – it wasn’t like, ha ha, you klutz, you knocked stuff over, or ha ha, you get to clean that up – it wasn’t like that. It was, ha ha, oh my gosh, that’s a huge pile of blueberries on the floor where they don’t belong, I’ve never seen anything like that.). I think I’d better end that sentence – apparently, my sentences aren’t coherent this morning.

I accidentally forgot to write Louis a note telling him that I didn’t get to do the strombolis. I knew I would never even get a chance to begin the strombolis, because I came in at 5:00, and it was one random thing after another, and even on a perfect day, 5:00 is too late to try starting strombolis, when I have chronic fatigue, and I’m being zapped, and I can’t jump efficiently from one task to another.

The voices woke me up the next morning with fake feelings of fear and shame over having forgotten to tell Louis about that. In the real world, I would have been totally clueless – I would’ve forgotten it forever, and that would’ve been the end of it. They wanted me to call him on the phone and apologize.

They also urge me to do unnatural things like tell my dad Happy Father’s Day, and I might actually do that – in the real world, people like me will have a friend, or a spouse, who urges them to do those things, but it is *NOT* acceptable to have a murderer pushing buttons on a machine to force you to get urges to do trivial things like that – that’s what real-world friends are for. So, I didn’t call Louis to apologize about the strombolis and apologize that I forgot to write him a note.

I still don’t know how well Curtis is able to read my handwritten notes, but ‘they’ still keep urging me to write notes to him anyway. In fact, they won’t leave me alone about it. They keep pushing, and pushing, and pushing for me to write him another note. In the past, he has responded to notes that I’ve written, but he only responded through his behavior. I’ve written him a note that said I loved him, and he responded by being friendly and secure and calling me his nickname, and showing more trust. He’s able to read them enough to get the general idea. But they’re filled with unnecessary crap, because the voices have to insert a million tons of garbage into them, instead of letting them be direct and straightforward.

I was getting attacked again this morning about sexual fetishes. It started when somebody was talking to me about all my on-hold, or abandoned, projects. We were looking at all the things the projects have in common, to see the different categories of projects, to look at the different levels of purposes they were trying to achieve. There are high-level and low-level purposes. I need to do chores every day, like eating, and cleaning things, and those will always be just mundane chores to maintain my life. There might be better ways of doing them, but in the end, I will still need to do something mundane like prepare a meal somehow. Then there are projects that have higher level purposes, like, saving up enough money that I will be able to use it in my old age, when I can no longer work. There are projects like, ‘increase my income.’ That kind of thing.

So, we were going over all these projects, and they noticed that I had a lot of old projects from the past, where I wanted to learn something or try something, and they were random things. I wanted to go to a certain place just to see it, or try some random activity just to try it, or learn something just to learn it. They wondered what all that was for, and what all the random things had in common. I said that I used to have a manic feeling that I had to learn, and do, everything in the world that there was to do, and not miss any opportunities. I didn’t like choosing one path, and neglecting another path.

This is where it went wrong. Somebody, one of the murderers, started to interpret this in a sexual way as ‘gluttony,’ like I had to eat the whole world. You can laugh, and it might sound funny, but this is the same, stupid, pathetic bullshit that they do to me all the time, over and over again, misinterpreting non-sexual things as being a sexual symbol, and then forcing me to see disgusting or horrifying sexual images, which is what they then did. They showed me a disgusting, terrifying image of a person who was trapped inside a small thing that looked like a pipe, full of water, and only their belly was sticking up out of it, but their face and the rest of their body was under water, and they were trapped there by someone else who forced them to be there, drowning and panicking. This is the typical image that they show me, pictures of people being suffocated or drowning and panicking.

Then they started arguing, and I know this is fake bullshit, but they started ‘pretending not to understand,’ when in reality, they do understand, there’s a big difference between anything that I fantasize about, versus what they themselves are doing. When I fantasize about something, it stays in my head and is never acted out in the real world, and the intentions behind it are drastically different. What THEY are doing is pushing buttons on a machine to force innocent people to see disgusting and horrifying images without wanting to see them. Then they started telling me that I was doing the same thing by walking down the street wearing shorts when I don’t shave my legs. It’s not the same thing at all. There is a big difference between unshaven legs (a natural thing that everybody has, it’s harmless, we evolved that way, the human brain doesn’t get any NATURAL instinctive fear triggers from it, and if any fear is triggered, it’s social anxiety, nothing more) versus the image of a person trapped inside something and drowning and dying, being forced into my head while I am lying in bed in my own house, from a person whose company I do not want. So they pretended not to know that there was any difference between these things, because they wanted to upset me enough that I would threaten to kill them. They always want to upset me enough to trigger death threats.

There is the ‘reward’ behavior that they do. I want it be ‘Life is a journey, not a destination’ – I want to enjoy the process of what I do, every moment, as I do it. THEY, on the other hand, say ‘Life is a destination, not a journey.’ Life is about doing something you hate, in order to get artificial ‘rewards’ from an external authority figure. I finally fixed my car, and the murderers ‘rewarded’ me by allowing me (or I should say, forcing me) to think about my sexual fetish, one time, for one day. So I’m supposed to do ‘good things’ and be ‘obedient’ in order to ‘get a reward’ later. That is how they view the world. They don’t understand what it means to enjoy every moment of your life, in all that you do, because you aren’t being constantly zapped by some kind of energy attack that makes you unable to focus your mind. And no matter how many times, no matter how many ways, I explain it to them, they don’t understand that the ‘reward and punish’ belief system is foul and evil and it destroys human life.

So this morning they were making it seem like they had to go in people’s heads and watch their sexual fantasies and look for any sexual deviants because all unusual fantasies meant that you were an evil serial killer who was really going to act on those fantasies, and that’s what gave them the right to destroy my life. And they have to suppress the fantasies, in order to achieve no particular goal at all – it doesn’t stop people from doing evil things, because those people weren’t going to do anything evil anyway. It just ruins people’s lives.

Back to Curtis. They’re attacking me about him, because I’m supposed to verify that he didn’t really say, or didn’t really mean, the thing that the email said. But I don’t even want to do that. I can’t get enough time to talk to him. And they won’t leave me alone about it. It made me distrusting towards him and reluctant to be friendly, and I certainly don’t want to give notes anymore.

They did the same thing to a guy named Chris who used to work here at the same time that they were trying to force me to get together with Martin. Chris and I were friendly to each other. One day, he complimented me about my long hair, when we were alone together. I thanked him and I was talking about it a little bit with him. The murderers reacted as though he and I were going to start having sex that very instant, at work. They forced me to say something to destroy trust and ‘put him down.’ I looked at him, and felt like I was searching for something to say, and all of a sudden I said, ‘What is on your HAT?’ in a disdainful tone of voice. And that was NOT ME. I could clearly see that what was on his hat was a bunch of stickers. They had been fooling around and they put stickers on his hat, for fun. I’ve done that kind of thing myself, just goofing around. So I didn’t need to ask what was on his hat, or express disdain. They were stickers that we have from the workplace, I forget what, just some of the stickers we use in the deli, like stickers that say ‘PAID’ and that kind of thing.

So he suddenly became flustered and ashamed, and he felt ridiculous, and he said that they had just been goofing around and put them there, which I already knew, and I would never, ever have said that in the real world. After that, he was never the same again. When he spoke to me, we had been equals. Now, he was inferior. He would look at me in a hesitant, apologetic way, and be a little timid when he said hello. The feeling I had, the feeling I compared it to, was a friendly, trusting puppy dog, who would always go up to you and get petted, and one day, you kicked it for no reason, and it was in the dog’s nature to go up and be friendly to you again afterwards, but never as trusting as before, and it would go up timidly to be petted again, and you’d pet it, but it would always be a little bit afraid. I’ve seen this happen with dogs. And I can’t remember when I saw it, because I don’t go around randomly kicking dogs to be mean. It’s more of a general idea, from years of experience with dogs, my own and other people’s dogs and stray dogs.

I couldn’t explain to Chris, ‘I am the victim of a crime. Murderers put words into my mouth, using electronic devices, and force me to say things. I did not say that myself.’ And even if I told him that, he might not understand it anyway. His body, his brain, remembers seeing me, my face, my voice, saying those words. It’s recorded that way in his brain and his body.

I feel the same way now with Curtis. I don’t know whether he really said it, or really meant it, or not. And now, they have me doubting whether he’s able to read my handwritten notes.

I can’t get Curtis to say this: ‘I was drunk every day this week, so I don’t know what I did. I never found the email you were talking about. I don’t even know what it said. I don’t know whether I deleted it or whether I even wrote it. And the thing that it said, was false.’ I can’t get him to say that, because we would need a lot of time to talk.

********

A long time ago, I used to spend all day writing in my journal. I remember that. This is what I’m doing now. It’s my default activity. The quality of the writing is not that great. I write best when I write with a purpose and an audience. I’m capable of good writing.

One small nice thing: the seeds that I planted are sprouting. I enjoy watching them grow up. There’s a variety of herbs and ordinary garden plants out there. I think I have broccoli in there too. I’d rather have a cow that I could milk every day, and free-roaming hens laying eggs that I could eat every day, but I have a tiny green-plants garden instead.

Random things

June 20, 2010

3:09 PM 6/20/10

My heart rate was at 120 today, or at least, the blood pressure monitor said it was. That thing is inaccurate, but it was over 100 – I could feel it. It happened because I wore my sandals without socks, which was what set off the outbreak of tachycardia drug residue in the first place, a few days or a week ago. My sandals must have socks because the floor of the car has drug residue on it, and the sandals gradually get contaminated. I need new shoes, actually, but it’s hard to find the kind I like, when Wal-Mart doesn’t carry them anymore. They were the – I forget the name. Clogs, or something. That’s not it. They’re made of a kind of styrofoam, and they’re made for getting wet. I hate the style that they have – I used to buy a different style that looked like a normal sandal. But anyway, I got those hoping they would wash off more easily, and because they were cheap.

I had the sandals without socks on and had the bad reaction a few days ago. I did it again today and by the time I got home my blood pressure monitor said my heart rate was at 120. I washed off my feet thoroughly, waited a few minutes, and then I took my heart rate again. The BP monitor said it was now at 102. Then I took it by hand, looking at a stopwatch, and got 90 something a few minutes later. It quickly goes down when I wash my feet.

This reaction is causing a lot of stress. I’m not sure where it went, but I think it got onto the floor of the bathtub, and that’s why I was getting it all over my body in the shower, and then getting it into my uniforms. Now it’s in the uniforms, and I’m getting tachycardia at work, along with intense emotional reactions. I also seem to have intestinal parasites, or colon cancer, or something, and the murderers are zapping and burning my intestines anytime I have to try to do something that takes courage. My intestine, the lower bowel, has been hurting a lot over the last couple weeks. Something is wrong with it. I may have picked up parasites while walking at Fisherman’s Paradise, but I think it started before I went there. I’m not sure.

Everyone gets upset when I talk about the vigilante fantasy. Yes, every once in a while, I need the vigilante fantasy. It is worst when I’m having a bad drug reaction while also being attacked. It’s the wish that someone, somewhere, will kill the people who are pushing the buttons on the zappers, the constant attack system that zaps my brain and body every couple seconds, no matter where I go, so that I never stop hearing voices and getting distracted. Whoever owns that computer system, that weapon system, that’s doing that – the fantasy that some vigilante would destroy that system and kill the owner-operator so they will never rebuild it again. Everyone, the voices, the attackers, gets freaked out when I mention the vigilante fantasy. It is usually a sign that I am having a very bad drug outbreak and can’t stand the discomfort of being zapped and tortured.

They always get scared that I’m going to snap and go after the wrong people, innocent people. I am nowhere near that. My drug outbreaks are low-dose layers of residue on my clothing, the floor of my car, and some of my belongings. It goes through the skin. It is nowhere near as high as the drug doses of people who take prescription pills and then go out into a public place and shoot a bunch of people and then kill themselves. Those are very high doses of drugs.

I’m probably going to buy some fake uniforms for both jobs, something that matches the color and style, until I can get new official uniforms. This is another reason why I’m a nudist. I was already a nudist, but I became even more of a nudist after drug residues poisoned my clothing, and I found out how life-ruining that is.

****
Voices told me his dad committed suicide. I’ll believe it when I see it. If he tells me in person, I’ll believe it. I went to his dad’s, or the guy who I thought might be his dad’s, facebook page, and he hadn’t been there for a couple weeks. It looked like he was just playing games there, and I don’t know how often he went there to play games.

Curtis had written something about death, on his own page, and had the crying Caden portrait, and I assumed it was because his girlfriend was abusing him and breaking up with him and making his life miserable somehow. I’d love to ask, but they won’t let me send him any emails, and he won’t respond. I called him once and left a voice mail, and he never called me back on that, either. I know not to try. That was quite a few months ago now that I tried leaving that voice mail.

It doesn’t matter that the voices told me this. I still won’t be able to look at him. I might try, but I can’t talk to him in front of other people, and other people are always there.

It would explain why he seemed numb, dazed, and depressed. He seemed apathetic. When I spoke to him to ask about the email, he had a sort of dazed voice, like, ‘Huh?’ Like he barely even heard me. He didn’t seem to understand what I was saying and didn’t really care. He answered, a little bit. I haven’t talked to him since then. Yesterday I asked them what they were doing when he was making a noise with a duck, a squeaky toy, like a dog toy – I think I’ve seen them in the pet section. Of course, they had to use a duck, because all that anyone sees is that I took photos of a Muscovy Duck biting and pecking me. That was at the duckpond apartment. The landlord got that duck from someone, and it was too friendly. It always ‘attacked’ people, when actually, it wasn’t attacking, it was trying to climb on your back and have sex with you. I tried petting the duck and being nice to it, and I was able to keep it on my lap – it climbed onto my lap on its own if I crouched down or sat down on the ground, but it was so annoying and kept pecking everything, and at first I thought it was looking for food. But then it started climbing up on my back, getting tangled in my hair, and trying to have sex with my back, and it would do this every time it saw me, and it did it to everybody else, too, so the landlord gave it away and got rid of it. So, of course, they would be honking a duck toy. I heard the noise and asked what it was, and Curtis said, ‘a duck,’ and showed it to me, and that’s all we said to each other yesterday.

‘Being set up to fail.’ That’s exactly what they’re doing to me. Forcing me to write letters to someone with a reading disability. Being forced to call him when he’s going to be drunk, or worse, in jail. And they’re doing the same thing to him. He probably was just trying to make me laugh, but it made things worse. And still, it didn’t matter – there were other people around, so I couldn’t talk to him. I can’t talk to him and tell him, ‘I’ve been trying and trying to reach you, and haven’t gotten any replies to my text messages or emails.’

They told me that Carrie has actually seen the movie, Finding Nemo. I assumed she never saw the movie, and she just saw the phrase ‘the dumbass’ under Dory, and decided to label that as Curtis. However, they told me this morning that Carrie has actually seen the movie, so she knows Dory’s character, and it fits because Carrie said there is more to him than meets the eye. Dory is the character who only seems to be dumb, but she actually has unexpected skills and knows how to do things – she could talk to whales, she could read human language, and she remembered that they were supposed to go through the scary looking chasm instead of over it. I remember the time when he figured out what was the source of the drops of black water on the salsa containers in the refrigerated shelf – the containers above it were leaking because they expired and the containers swelled up and leaked, and the liquid ran along the black painted shelf and dripped onto the ones below. And whatever ‘special skills’ he has, they’re not helping to get through the communication barrier. He will have to talk to me. And he will have to do this while I’m suffering from a drug residue outbreak, which puts me into an unapproachable, cold mood, which is even worse after being rejected and insulted and not knowing for sure if he did it himself. I won’t know what to believe until we can talk about it.

Forced crimes and special favors. Who’s the puppeteer?

June 19, 2010

BJ recipient: my imaginary friends want a word with you.

(*Actually, the blowjob recipient might not be the puppeteer.  There is no reason to assume they are the same person.  That was the conclusion I drew at the end.*)

Read the ending first. The beginning is hateful. The ending resolves it, bringing us to Rule Number One: Always assume that everyone you see is an innocent puppet. They are being forced to do what they do. The real attackers are hiding somewhere far away pulling the strings and framing innocent victims while they themselves stay safe.

Electronic mind control – used to force people to commit crimes. I remember I never tried very hard to make phone calls to him, or to get him to call me. I knew from past experience that phone calls don’t get through. But the one day when I was forced to try really, really hard to get him to agree to call me on the phone was the one day when he said he was going to be hung over because he was planning to go drink with his girlfriend that night. I was asking for ‘one phone call.’ Ha ha, nice joke. ‘One phone call,’ as in, the phone call you’re supposed to be allowed to have if you go to jail. I didn’t know that when I was asking him to give me my ‘one phone call,’ but it was explained afterwards. So somebody knew, a day ahead of time, that he was going to be making ‘one phone call’ after he got drunk. They KNEW that he was going to get drunk and then go to jail.

Let me explain this again.

Saturday: I think that’s what day it was. I started getting forced to ask him if he could talk on the phone to me. He said he’d be off tomorrow, Sunday, if I recall. I was asking for this ‘one phone call.’ We’ve never talked on the phone, so this is our only one. I suddenly had the idea that now was the time to try pushing him to talk with me on the phone. He said he would try if he could, but he was going to be hung over and asleep because he was planning to drink with his girlfriend that night. Why would I suddenly be pushed to try asking for this one phone call?

Sunday: apparently that’s the day he went to jail. They took pictures when they got drunk. Taking lots of pictures is often one of the things people are forced to do whenever they’re being controlled, and no, that doesn’t mean ALL picture-taking is forced, but it’s something they frequently force people to do.

Why isn’t he in jail yet? Why won’t he talk about it? Why hasn’t there been any kind of decision or paperwork? I kept asking and kept trying to find out. In fact, that was why I went to facebook in the first place, to see what was going on, so that I would know if he was going to jail again.

Some people got very angry today when they saw my blog and interpreted it to mean that somebody somewhere got a special favor to keep him out of jail. We’ve all been wondering about this jail thing, and nothing has happened yet. Who gave what favor to whom?

Somebody gets forced to commit a crime that was planned ahead of time, and then somebody gets forced to give someone a special favor to keep someone out of jail. That’s what electronic mind control is used for. Hey, I have a great idea. Why don’t I spontaneously go driving around for no reason and get caught in an isolated place, by someone who followed me for no reason, while I’m drunk. Great idea. What happened, to whom, with whom, and where. He went to jail for three days, but then got out, and was supposed to go to court again, or something, and it hasn’t happened. Nothing has happened at all. I’m glad nothing has happened, but also, it means that somebody somewhere made a painful, disgusting sacrifice to protect him, and hopefully, he didn’t have to do it himself. In my experience, police officers and government employees are usually the ugliest looking humans that I have ever seen. I don’t normally feel much of a desire to give them blowjobs just for the fun of it. So somebody did it, not for fun. That’s what I’m assuming until I hear more information about why nothing has happened yet.

So is the blowjob recipient the same person who operated the electronic mind control equipment to force him to get the idea to commit the crime? The people who planned it in advance, planned it and made a ‘joke’ of me trying to get ‘one phone call’ from him, in advance.

Some of my imaginary friends today told me that they were very angry and they ‘jokingly’ said that they would hand-carve the names of the people responsible into each and every shotgun pellet. I don’t own any guns or bullets, so obviously this isn’t me. It was just one of those little jokes that imaginary friends like to make once in a while. I’m sure nobody knows the names of anyone responsible for anything. It’s one of those things that we wish we could know, sometimes, when things like this happen, when people are forced to commit crimes because somebody uses electronic mind control to give them the idea. We wish we could do something, sometimes. It would be nice to stop the problems from happening ever again. We all know that electronic mind control is being used to do things like this. We also know that it can be used more directly, instead of a roundabout way. When events happen in a roundabout way, in an indirect way, I usually think the people involved are puppets. However, somebody somewhere isn’t a puppet. That’s why I’m not writing down anybody’s names right at the moment, because I’m going to assume that the people involved might not have been responsible for their own actions. I would want to make sure that I knew who really was responsible for what. And again, this isn’t me, it’s the imaginary friends. I myself can’t do anything. I only noticed that we hadn’t heard anything for awhile about that jail thing, and nothing seemed to have happened, and it occurred to me that somebody somewhere got a blowjob, but I stopped thinking about it. It’s easy to get me all worked up and angry whenever I’m having a major drug residue outbreak on my work uniforms. I probably have high blood pressure or something right now, since I just got home, and haven’t taken a shower yet.

Imaginary friends: Every once in a while, when I feel terrible, when, for whatever reason, I’m being attacked and hurt too much, if I’m sick, or on drugs, or if something is going terribly wrong and I can’t stand the pain and suffering that I feel, I sometimes imagine that somebody out there is a friend, a vigilante, who will stop the attackers from zapping me and putting voices in my head, when the attacks are too much. I can only imagine it. It’s not something that I would do myself. They would have to somehow know who is responsible, and that’s not easy to know, because the people responsible are good at hiding behind puppets, framing innocent people, and tricking people into believing lies. Then, the attacks would continue if you stopped the wrong people. They hide behind their puppets, their lies, their tricks, their framing people, everything they do is a lie. I am not fooled. I know there is someone behind it. I am not fooled into going after the wrong people, and then going to jail myself. That’s why I always assume, no matter what happens, that I cannot know who is responsible for what. I always assume everybody is an innocent puppet. That is rule number one. Always assume that everyone you see around you is an innocent puppet, no matter who they are, because the real attackers are hiding someplace far away and protecting themselves with lies and manipulations. You only hurt yourself if you ever try to go after the innocent puppets. No matter how foul and horrible and evil they seem, they are still probably a puppet.

Assume innocence. No matter what. Don’t hurt the puppets unless you’re in an immediate life-or-death situation when someone is attacking you. People can defend themselves if their life is in immediate danger. But we don’t go after people for revenge or troubleshooting, because we have to investigate to find out who is REALLY responsible for whatever happened.

And I have to add this:  imagine that you actually caught someone red-handed, sitting in the bushes outside your house, holding a device in their hand that was being used to electronically attack you.  Guess what.  We are going to assume that person is a puppet too.  Somebody gave them the idea to sit outside your house in the bushes.  They probably lied to that person.  Somebody probably told them YOU were a criminal, or a bad person, or an electronic puppeteer.  ‘Hey, Nicole is an evil murderer.  Go punish her.  Have fun.  She deserves it.’  That’s what they tell them.  So the red-handed people sitting in the bushes pushing buttons on their electronic weapons, we are going to assume THEY are puppets too, until we have investigated who told them what, and what thoughts are in their mind, what ideas do they have, what delusions do they have about the person they’re attacking.  They’re puppets too.

I am going to take a shower. Hopefully I will wash the drugs off my skin. I keep getting tachycardia after the shower. This drug residue outbreak will have to be patched up soon. It is causing too many symptoms and mood swings.

bonobos and bisexuality

June 19, 2010

8:21 AM 6/19/10

The Bonobo Taboo

By the way, yes, I am having a major drug residue outbreak. It’s in my work uniforms. I’ve been having tachycardia, a fast heartbeat, many times in the past couple weeks. I opened up a new Weis uniform that I had kept wrapped in the original plastic all this time, but that one already got contaminated, and I need to buy new ones. I requested new uniforms at McDonald’s, but my store manager has to order them… and I don’t trust him. I think that he isn’t ordering anything, because if you order things and repair things, that’s an expense, and it makes his profits look bad. He wants to skip doing any repairs, because his profits go down. I don’t trust him at all. I ‘like’ him, as in, when he’s around, being charismatic and friendly, I ‘like’ him as a co-worker and a guy, but I don’t trust him at all as a store manager. I think he’s a liar and he’s incompetent and he puts on a superficial appearance of everything being wonderful, while underneath he’s hiding things and, for instance, not repairing a really important piece of broken equipment for months. I distrust him so much that I am actually thinking about transferring to another store, except that he probably will be fired sooner or later if I just wait. A lot of store managers step down or get fired. I don’t know, for now I’m just waiting it out. I don’t trust him at all. So anyway, they say they ordered new uniforms for me, but it might be six months before I get them. I am going to have to get ‘fake’ McD uniforms by just buying a white shirt that resembles it but doesn’t have the McD logo embroidered on it.

I woke up with voices talking to me about sexual orientation and giving me an ‘uncertain’ feeling. That’s because his FB profile originally said something about liking men and then it disappeared, it changed, and it wasn’t written there anymore. That happened when I became his friend. I had written that I felt insecure at the idea of his being bisexual, because I’ve read that, a lot of times, people call themselves bisexual when they actually are homosexual and just haven’t really admitted it yet. It’s something I’ve read. I haven’t talked to lots of bisexuals to ask them if they really do like having sex with both men and women, or if they just decided later that they were gay/lesbian.

Anyway, I said that I would feel envy, and hurt, and left out, if he liked guys more than he liked me, because I can never, never be a guy. An ugly woman is still a woman. Sometimes a man might be desperate enough to get with an ugly woman, even though he’d rather have a pretty woman. The ugly woman is still a woman. So she always has some hope. But a man is something totally different from me, and I can never, ever be that, so there is no hope at all.

This is a moment when I could talk about Ichazo’s instinctual types, the self-preservation, social, and sexual instincts. If you have a very strong self-preservation instinct, you will probably go marry and have babies with someone of the opposite sex, even if you’re gay. But if your strongest instinct is the sexual instinct, you are going to ask questions like ‘What do I really want? Who do I want to fall in love with? Who do I feel the strongest feelings for? Who do I feel closest to emotionally?’

Anybody can google bonobos and read about them, so there’s no point in having me tell all the details of bonobos and what they do. Do I have an opinion, or interpretation, about bonobos? That would be different from just repeating the same things that you can google and read for yourself.

But I have to tell about them anyway. Bonobos are a type of ape, and they are the closest to the humans of all the apes. We are their closest relative, and they are our closest relative. This is hard to explain, but, bonobos are more like us than they are like the gorillas. I read that in the library in a book about bonobos. Even though we look at them and we think that they’re all grouped together with the rest of the apes, because they have fur all over their bodies, they’re actually more like us than they are like any other apes. No other ape is closer to us, genetically.

Bonobos are not very well known. Why don’t we know about bonobos? Why don’t we see them on TV? Why did I never even hear the word ‘bonobo’ in school, growing up, and I only learned that they existed when I grew up and found them mentioned on the internet somewhere?

You don’t see them in zoos very often. They say zoos don’t want them because the bonobos are having sex all the time, and that would offend the Christian prudes. And it would offend all the other human prudes who take their children to the zoos and they’re too ashamed to teach their kids about sex, even if they aren’t Christian. (Sorry, to anyone out there who’s Christian and isn’t anti-sexual. Some Christians DO want their kids to know about sex.)

Bonobos really do have sex ALL the time. They have brief, casual little sexual encounters, many times a day, for social reasons, to say hello, to settle arguments about food, and to release any other kind of stress or tension, and just to have fun. Are they pregnant all the time? Do they have high fertility? No. Somehow, bonobos have a baby only every few years. They have some natural way of not getting pregnant all the time. They nurse a baby for many years, like four years, and some people nowadays are advocating that humans should also nurse their children to an older age, instead of weaning them early.

Bonobos are bisexual. Well, I can’t say that. Bonobos have sexual contact with both sexes, every day. But who do they FALL IN LOVE with? They are probably mostly heterosexual when they fall in love, but I’m not sure. Everything that you think about humans is questioned, so I can talk about animals falling in love with each other, and this is perfectly normal to me. Some people are horribly offfended at the idea that any other animal could be similar to a human, could feel feelings, and fall in love.

About bonobo families: Bonobos seem to live in a group – but that could be wrong. They might possibly have family groups as well. But they all live together, outdoors, and they don’t build their own little closed houses to block out everybody else, the way humans do. A human builds a house with walls, and only the family can live in that house. Bonobos don’t. So it isn’t as obvious that a ‘family’ is living together, when you look at the bonobos. But they might sleep side by side. They might spend more time with each other.

I was offended by something, I was sure it was wrong, when I read it in the library book. They showed a picture of a male bonobo ‘talking to’, and I shouldn’t even put that in quotes, he really was talking to a baby bonobo. He was talking to a baby bonobo, and the caption under the picture said that this baby was probably his son, but the males ‘had no way of recognizing’ which children were theirs. I was shocked and offended by that. No way of recognizing? Can’t they observe that they were the one having sex with the female when she got pregnant? Are the ‘too stupid’ to notice that? Can’t they look at the recognizable face of a baby, and say, ‘I see my…’ I just said oops. They don’t have mirrors. They don’t know what they themselves look like. If you don’t have a mirror, and don’t know what you look like, you can’t look at a baby and recognize your own eyes. But they probably have other ways to know themselves. And the mother is able to recognize them, and all the other apes are able to recognize them, and say, ‘He looks like you.’ They talk to each other, in bonobo language. And I will NOT argue about whether they are just ‘making random noises’ or whether they are talking. They’re talking. The end. The bonobos sit together and ‘make random noises’ while doing nothing. So, they’re able to tell the father, ‘My baby looks like you.’

Bonobos are so peaceful that they could be integrated into human society. We could cooperate with them, teach them to do manual labor in exchange for food and housing. We could work with them economically, voluntarily, instead of using them as slaves. Other animals don’t really know how to cooperate with us, or they aren’t able to because they don’t have hands. A plow horse isn’t able to pick up the harness and put the harness onto its own back to show that it’s ‘voluntarily’ pulling the plow for us, to cooperate. Dogs hunt for us and do other work for us, and with dogs, it DOES seem to be done voluntarily, out of love and trust. They don’t really seem like slaves. Dogs will follow a group of humans around, and lurk near them, and eat their food, and they let you pet them and touch them and look in their eyes, and they act like they love you.

Bonobos are human enough that they could be taught to do certain kinds of labor, and we could give them money or food in exchange, and actually, a bonobo might be able to understand money better than a mentally retarded person. I can never remember the word I’m looking for – mongoloid, retarded, there’s a word for this. Down’s Syndrome, that’s it. A Down’s Syndrome person is probably less intelligent than a bonobo.

But about bisexuality. Females have sex with females very often. It’s a social friendly thing. They don’t make a big deal out of it. And I see female humans doing this too, but I can’t do it. I am too shy and a prude and socially awkward to do it. However, I know lots of females who call other females their ‘wifey,’ and that’s somebody specific that I’m referring to, and everybody sees this and thinks it’s normal. And I see other females at McD shaking their boobs at other females, and females responding by grabbing their boobs, and this is normal. I call them ‘females,’ I should call them ‘girls,’ that would be easier. I saw a girl at Lykens talking to a female co-worker and calling her ‘lover’ in a casual way, when it seemed like they were just friends. It’s very common for girls to do things that seem sexual, with other girls, in a careless, casual, easygoing way, without being serious about it.

Bonobos are like that too, but even more. Female bonobos actually do ‘genital-genital rubbing.’ They rub against each other, but since there is no penis, it’s only external rubbing without penetration. This is the most common type of ‘social’ sex that the bonobos do.

Males also do genital-genital rubbing with other males. It happens in stressful situations. An example in the book was, two males had been separated from each other for a long time, but they remembered each other. The one male came back, and saw his old friend. They stood there and looked at each other and were talking to each other, and both had erections, and after a few minutes they finally embraced and rubbed against each other, and after that, they were calmed down. They don’t ejaculate every time, they just rub. Or at least, I don’t THINK that they ejaculate every time. I don’t know, the book didn’t really say that.

So I get the impression, from everything I’ve read, that the ‘sex’ bonobos are having is just something quick, without orgasms. They enjoy it, and they SOMETIMES have orgasmic sex, but probably less often than the brief rubbing type of sex. And again, I haven’t read a lot about them, and it’s hard to find information about them, so I don’t know.

Everything that the bonobos do, humans do too, except a lot of it is forbidden with humans. Men probably get erections when they see a long-lost friend, but I wouldn’t know. It’s possible. They wouldn’t talk about it if they did.

Bonobos also let the children and babies crawl up to them and watch while they’re having sex. The children touch the adults’ bodies and touch their genitals and actually are curious about it. There is a picture of a child touching the genitals of one of the adults when they were having sex. The book also says that the adults have sex with the children too. I don’t see photos of that in the book. Maybe I read that on the net. That’s another taboo, because they don’t want to encourage human adults to think they can have sex with children. However, ‘sex’ might mean brief, casual rubbing without orgasm. People hug each other all the time, but we’re dressed in clothing, so we can’t see whether somebody has an erection, and we can’t see whether their genitals are touching each other or not.

I don’t know about bonobos falling passionately in love with the opposite sex, or having crushes. I’m sure they do, but I’ve never watched them. They say that when you look into the eyes of a bonobo, you feel a kindred spirit. You see a living soul in there, someone who understands you – another human, but with fur all over them.

I think the only reason we don’t talk to them is because it’s hard to imitate their voices. Their voices might be higher-pitched than ours. I’ve never heard the voice of a bonobo, because I’m on dialup, so it’s always a hassle to try to listen to MP3 files. They can make noises we can’t make. So we’d need a machine or device to imitate bonobo noises.

They only live in one small place in Africa, and how many people get to go visit Africa, and avoid the wars, and the diseases? I could talk about the wars, about how the United States is contributing to almost every war around the world – anytime somebody is having a constant war, the USA has something to do with it. But that’s another subject. You don’t get to go visit Africa and go into the woods and meet the real bonobos in the wild, in their groups. In the zoos, they are unnatural and enclosed. They are slaves, in jail. It’s like going to jail for no reason, and staying there till you die, even though you didn’t commit a crime. It’s not like a ‘house’ because they aren’t allowed to leave and go walk the streets.

We’ve read about incidents with pet chimpanzees that became violent and killed people. The drug Xanax was involved, that’s all I have to say. It proves even more that those drugs cause murder and suicide, when it’s done by a non-human animal.

Bonobos are nonviolent. Chimps probably are less violent than we think they are, in the right circumstances, but I don’t know. Bonobos are the most peaceful, and we could safely let them walk the streets. They would probably return home to the most familiar place if they felt safe there, if we gave them food.

I was horrified and disgusted to see that they were giving the bonobos ‘vitamins’ when they had a bonobo sanctuary in Africa. There was an enclosed area of woods, and they were partially feeding the bonobos. Vitamins are very bad for you. I will make a slight exception, that a vitamin pill might be better than nothing at all, if you had no other way to get any vitamins. But they are very toxic and should not even be used by humans, but they were giving Flintstone vitamins or something to the bonobos. Bonobos need the ‘Weston Price Diet for Bonobos.’ They eat meat sometimes, raw meat – they catch and kill wild pigs (or is it a type of small deer? I forget. It’s called a ‘duiker.’ Maybe it’s a small deer). Other apes do too. They eat other animals. If we integrated bonobos into society, we would need to grow the special types of native vegetation that they are eating in the jungles of Africa. We should not get them into the human diet, the diet that’s so bad that even WE shouldn’t be eating it.

Animals in captivity become sick and infertile because of the artificial diets we feed them. Wild animals are healthier, although they might have more parasites. They need their native diets.

Anyway, to make a long story short, bonobos make you question everything you ever thought about sex and social life. It’s normal for females to rub against females sexually, and also do it with males, and also for the males to do it with each other, and adults with children. And again, since I’m on dialup, and since I don’t want to do this in the public library, I can’t watch online videos of all the different ways that bonobos have sex.

The point is, it’s probably normal to be somewhat bisexual. Probably more than we think.

The human social life has some difficulties. We have as our number one enemy, a hostile gang of people in a faraway city, a gang called ‘government.’ They steal our money from us, and they put us in jail. So, everything we do in our lives is done to avoid making the gang put us in jail. We pay tributes to the gang so they won’t put us in jail.

So when we fall in love, we worry. Can I raise a child, buy food, and have a house, without angering the hostile gang in the faraway city? I’m not allowed to just build a hut out of mud and sticks, in my backyard, because that will anger the hostile gang, who will say something about ‘zoning laws.’ So instead of building a cheap house out of mud and sticks, I have to ‘buy’ an extremely expensive house and go into debt for hundreds of thousands of dollars, because the zoning laws require me to. This is a HUGE demand on human life. It changes everything. All of our life is centered around doing things to please the hostile gang and avoid going to jail. ‘Buy’ a house is in quotation marks, because FSKrealityguide pointed out that you never really own your property if you have to pay a ‘tax,’ also known as ‘rent,’ on that land forever and ever. It doesn’t matter what name you call it – paying property tax is the same as paying rent. If you don’t pay the ‘rent,’ you will get ‘evicted’ from your land. So you don’t own it, you rent it.

So we worry about things when we want to start a family, when we want to fall in love. Will I be safe from the hostile gang? Does my spouse make enough money to pay for the food that we have to buy? We can’t just go hunting for food outdoors, because wild food doesn’t grow in the city, and the zoning laws say we can’t hunt anywhere we please, so we have to buy grocery store food, using the type of money that the hostile gang wants us to use.

All of that makes us worry about things like bisexuality. Is this going to disrupt my family? Is this going to make the gang attack me? Will my spouse be spending more time with their ‘other’ friends, instead of me? Will they keep on paying money to me? I can’t just hunt for food myself. The bonobos can hunt for their own food. A husband doesn’t have to pay for the wife’s food. (Bonobos DO pay for things, with sex. They do argue over food, and they have sex to settle the disagreements. Males usually lose those arguments, and the females get the most food. It’s a matriarchal society, with the women in a superior role.) Still, everyone can hunt for their own food, and get enough. So a husband doesn’t have to become a money-slave to his wife who is a prostitute, getting paid to have sex with him and only him. The monogamous prostitute. You get paid to have sex with only one man. We do that because it isn’t easy to hunt for our own food, and if we go wandering outdoors, building our own mud huts, hunting and foraging on other people’s ‘land’ that they ‘own,’ then the hostile gang will attack us and put us in jail.

(That’s why they call me an anarchist.)

Who do you pay for? If you aren’t afraid of the hostile gang, if you live in a place that lets you marry the same sex, would you marry the same sex, spend most of your time with that person, and try to raise adopted kids, or surrogate-parent kids, with that person, and divide the household labor with that person?

It’s who do you want to spend the most time with. Who do you feel most curious about. When you want to get to know someone, who is it. People have sexual fantasies, and when I was a kid, when I was in nursery school, I had fantasies about kissing boys, so I call myself heterosexual. But if you are a guy, and you spend a lot of time fantasizing about kissing guys, and you really want to, and feel frustrated because you can’t, then that tells you something. I have occasionally seen a girl in one of my classes in college, or in a place where I worked, and I would think that this girl seemed interesting or attractive somehow, and I would pay more attention to her, but that was as far as it went. I wouldn’t go home and fantasize about her, I would go home and forget about it. When I went home, I’d think about the boys, not the girls.

Drugs strongly affect this. I’ve had days when I am in an extremely sexual mood, from drugs, or from anything that enhances fertility, like the time I ate caviar and then ovulated very strongly, more than I have in years. On that day or two when I was very fertile, I was looking at both men and women, and looking in people’s eyes, including a woman at McD who is probably a lesbian. I look at all of their bodies in a sexual way. This is a temporary feeling and it greatly decreases when I go back to my ‘normal’ level of fertility, when the drugs and hormones wear off, or whatever.

I can’t explain how I get crushes on guys. I feel excited when the guy is close to me. I don’t feel that way with women.

It might be a different level of intensity. Maybe you feel excitement with both sexes, but one of them lasts longer, happens more often, or is more intense. Again, I’ve never really been bisexual, or homosexual, so I don’t know how it feels.

Anyway, that’s what they were asking me about this morning.

Now that I think about it, I am probably selective and picky about who my friends are. I would probably have ‘bonobo-style’ sex with another female if I found someone who I deeply trusted and felt very comfortable with, and if I knew, at the same time, that my boyfriend wouldn’t mind. (I love the song ‘I kissed a girl and I liked it,’ and I just thought of that because the song says ‘hope my boyfriend don’t mind it,’ or something like that.) I’m just antisocial and I have hardly any friends, and my sex drive is usually low unless I’m on drugs or have something else that affects my hormones. I don’t feel much desire to rub against the bodies of other females. But if I had a strong sex drive and lots of hormones, I might.

Actually, I tend to like females who call themselves lesbians or bisexuals. I can think of three women at McD who are lesbian/bi, and I like all of them. It makes me feel like I’m needed. A heterosexual woman doesn’t really care about me that much and isn’t that interested in me as a human. She’s a competitor, and she will be hostile towards me – I am a threat to her. I might ‘steal’ the men she wants. I like to feel as though somebody desires me, cares about me, and is interested in me. All three of the lesbian/bi women at McD are people who I enjoy talking to. I sort of reciprocate the feeling, but I don’t act on it, because like I said, I’m selective and I’m antisocial, so I don’t spend any time with these people outside of work. I don’t spend time with ANYBODY outside of work. Only a few minutes with Peter a couple times a week.

I am attacked by voices all day long. That destroys my social energy. If I weren’t being attacked all day, I would be more sociable, I would become lonely, I would be able to sleep and rest and withdraw, then be ready to go back to my social life. But I can never withdraw, I can never rest, ever – I never rest, at all, 24 hours a day. The attacks are constant. Who knows how social I would be if I were able to rest.

Now that I think about it, I don’t see the female-female casual sexuality happening on television. The most they might do is kiss each other on the cheeks, on TV. But it’s normal for me to see things like girls shaking their boobs at someone else and that person grabbing their boobs, and they still call themselves heterosexual, and they still chase after guys. I don’t see that happening on TV shows. So apparently, this is normal in the real world, but on TV, it’s taboo. I hate mainstream television. I hate the taboo on sex.

They get anxious doing it in front of me, because I am socially awkward, and they see that I’m uncomfortable. I envy them for being so relaxed and for not worrying about it. I can’t act that way. I don’t know anyone I feel comfortable enough with to be able to touch other women like that. So I laugh when I see them doing it. People probably don’t like it that I laugh at everything.

Anyway that’s enough for now on that. I’ll think of more stuff later after I publish this.

eyes

June 18, 2010

10:05 PM 6/18/10

I’ve had voices telling me that he can’t see very many of my blog posts – that he can only see a few, because the hackers are hiding the other ones from him, the ones where I talk about how I feel about him. It’s theoretically possible – one of those things that I can’t prove. It’s one reason why I distrust everything on the net – somebody could selectively hide things, and the internet could look different from server to server.

For the past few days, I’ve been going to work on day shift at Weis, sometimes working in the mornings, and sometimes working in the evenings but starting at an earlier hour. I’ve also left night shift at McD, so I’m sometimes mornings, sometimes evenings there too. It’s much more cheerful when the place is full of people and I’m not closing and cleaning the same things every night. So I think I will enjoy both jobs more.

And I get to see Curtis for a few hours, more often. When I was going in at 4:00, he often left at 2:30 or 3:30, and so I wouldn’t see him at all. Now I might see him for an hour, or several hours. This helps me enjoy my job.

But today I had a gift for him, and the gift is still in my pocket. I saw him and I felt like I was being rejected for real. I felt doubtful and uncertain. Then I saw him texting, and when he’s texting, I assume he’s talking to his semi-ex-girlfriend. That made me feel, right away, that I wasn’t needed.

I still don’t know how many of our communication problems are caused by hacker interference, versus something that he himself is doing, or not doing. After all, he never answered the questions I asked him when I gave him a note on paper. I think he doesn’t want to write back and make mistakes, and misspell words, and maybe misread or misunderstand the questions I was asking. I don’t know if he really has a reading disability or not, and I haven’t had any long conversations with him recently where I would be able to ask about it.

But I remember one incident that happened. One time, Dee left him a ‘map’, a diagram, showing the places where he was supposed to move things to. He was supposed to move the displays around, and he was left there by himself in the evening, and he had to figure this out, and he was new. He was anxious, and he asked me for my thoughts about it.

I looked at the diagram and I didn’t really understand it either, but I had a feeling that if I kept looking, and kept trying, I would eventually understand it. She had written in really small handwriting some unreadable words in tiny little boxes. He might have bad eyesight too, because he has glasses, and sometimes glasses don’t completely correct your vision, so it might have been hard to see the tiny words that were messy and unfamiliar. And he might have a reading disability.

Whatever the reason, he pointed at one box, and I could read it, but he couldn’t. I thought I knew what it meant, but he didn’t really understand. After we both tried looking at this diagram, he suddenly gave up and abandoned it, and decided to wait till later, because someone else was going to come in, and that person would help him.  I remember that he ended up asking Dee, and she explained it to him. It did seem like a lot to leave for a new guy to do by himself, when he had never done it before. But I felt as though he didn’t even really try very hard to read the diagram – it seemed like he gave up quickly, after only glancing at it.

Now that made me remember another incident. It was during the time when I started touching him, when I had touched him once or twice, I think twice, just a tap on the arm, that kind of thing. There was a display that had to be assembled. It was for a box of apples. He was trying to do it by himself, and he came over and asked me if I could help.

So I started trying to read the instructions. I am one of those people who loves to read the instructions, loves to have the entire instruction manual, loves to do everything exactly by the book – and then somebody else comes along, doesn’t read ANYTHING, and just puts it together quickly, maybe with a mistake or two, but it gets done. This was one of those times. I struggled to understand the instructions, and then I had to leave, because something was going on – I had to help a customer or something.

I came back and the apple display was already assembled! He was standing next to it. I said, ‘Yes!’ and I looked all over it to see how it was put together.

Then a strange thing happened, and it’s hard to explain. I ‘interpreted’ his body language, so my interpretation might be wrong.

I didn’t touch him. I kept away. I restrained myself. I had touched him several times, and I enjoyed it a lot. I enjoyed it too much. It was very exciting each time I had done it. So I got scared and started to think I shouldn’t do this anymore, because it was sexual harassment. Every time I touched him, I wanted to touch him more and more. I wanted to hold him in my arms and stroke and pet every part of his body, and kiss him, and not let go. So I kept away.

I didn’t go near him. But then he looked at me, with a hurt, shocked look on his face, and he stepped back away from me, as though I had reached out to hit him or hurt him. I didn’t move, I didn’t get near him, but he acted like I physically attacked him. It was an emotional hurt, but he acted like it was a physical attack. He actually took a step back from me, so I couldn’t reach him.

My brother once told me, long ago, that in a relationship, if somebody hurt him or disappointed him, he would ‘take a step back’ from that person, put some distance between himself and that person, and lower his expectations so that he wouldn’t be hurt again.

I felt guilty for not touching him. It seemed like I should just give him a casual pat. Anybody else could have done it. People pat each other on the back all the time, because it’s easy and meaningless. But for me, it was intensely exciting, and I could not do it in a casual, relaxed way. So now, it felt like he distrusted me, because I had hurt him. I didn’t do something I should have done.

I couldn’t do it. Every touch wanted to lead to more and more touch.

But I thought of that incident because maybe he wasn’t able to read the instructions very well. Maybe he could read them but had trouble understanding them.

Today, when I saw him, I remembered the last conversation we had. The last time I talked to him, he was with Dave, and getting ready to leave. I interrupted their conversation, asked him if he was leaving – I was rude and intrusive and disrespectful. I was harsh, commanding, demanding. I already felt rejected, so I had to boss him around and force him to answer me. He reluctantly told me he was leaving, but he didn’t look at me much. I said, ‘I want to tell you what happened…’ (that is, what happened when I got a strange email from him on MySpace.)  He still wasn’t looking at me. I got even more humiliated and rejected. ‘It will take like, two minutes…’ (I promise, I won’t waste your time.) And then, he walked back into the office with Dave, while I stood there for a few seconds watching. I didn’t know how long he’d be there. I felt like he didn’t want to talk to me. So I left. I took the chickens back to the cooler. When I came back out, I saw him and Dave walking, far away, leaving. And then there was that cold, sad feeling, the way it feels when he is gone but I have to stay.

I didn’t talk to him today. I saw him a couple times. I still had the hurt feeling. It got worse when I saw him texting somebody. (Why can’t he text ME? I tried so many times! I sent him so many messages. I can’t be sure if it’s the hackers, or if he just isn’t answering.)

Then he came walking out, next to a co-worker, talking. They were walking in front of me. I couldn’t look at him. I looked away, I lifted my chin and turned away from him. I never looked at him. A few minutes later, he went walking back with the co-worker (some guy whose name I don’t know) and he looked anxious. I can’t describe how I read his body, but when I look at him, I see ‘anxious.’ It’s everything in the way he moves. I still didn’t look in his eyes.

I started to feel bad. What if he left? I didn’t know what time he would go home. What if he left, and I missed a day, without looking in his eyes at all? That would be a wasted day. It would feel even worse if he went home and I never looked at him that day, and then he was gone.

I was working on something, making some sandwiches. Usually, I looked at him if his back was turned. I could look at him if he wasn’t looking at me. I saw him out of the corner of my eye and I looked at him. He looked straight back at me, into my eyes.

It set off a cascade of feelings that lasted for several minutes. It sent a zing of pleasure into my lower belly, and I started breathing heavily, and I felt my breasts pressing against my apron with every breath. I couldn’t finish working on the sandwiches. I wanted to pace around restlessly, but I stayed in one place.

I felt totally hopeless, foolish, and ridiculous – there was no way I could ever, ever, ever give him the gift I was carrying in my pocket. I needed him. He looked at me, and I needed it, like I need food and water. I felt that I couldn’t live without him. And the idea of giving him a gift seemed crazy, stupid, and foolish. I couldn’t do it. It was an insult, it was an unworthy gift, it was pathetic.

(And a while later, the voices said, ‘I’ll get a new best friend.’ And they also said, ‘She doesn’t DESIRE me, she just LOVES me.’)

But I was glad I looked in his eyes. It released a feeling. I had to do it.

When it was time for me to leave, I went home and I didn’t say goodbye to him. I didn’t go looking for him. I left. I know how it feels, when they leave and everything is dull afterwards, and the light goes out of everything – still, I left.

And the voices tell me that he can’t see my blogs, that he can’t read it, that he can’t find it on the net, that when he goes looking for it, the page has disappeared. He doesn’t know how I feel. And then I wonder how much of this is my imagination. How much of this is a fantasy that I’ve created, in my own mind, when actually, he looks into other people’s eyes, and calls them nicknames, and shows his feelings to them, and does all of these things that seem so wonderful and special, with everybody.

I hope to see him again tomorrow. I hope to see him again frequently, and routinely, so that I trust that he will always be there, day after day, all the time.

I was supposed to do something today, and I didn’t do it. Feelings, and actions, are two different things. I felt a lot of strong feelings, and I had fantasies, but I didn’t DO anything. I was supposed to give him the note with the gift, the insulting and unworthy gift, to show that I’m serious and I mean what I say. I want to show a bond, a real-world bond, that will last a long time, if we talk about it and decide to do it. I couldn’t do it – I failed. Maybe I will try again.

tomorrow

June 17, 2010

I hope to see you tomorrow.  Either you weren’t there at all, or our schedules didn’t work out.

Phone calls don’t get through

June 16, 2010

Sometimes I worry that people are trying to call me, hearing the answering machine, thinking they left a message, but I don’t actually hear them.  I have reasons why I believe this.  I know it seems like a strange thing to believe.  But I have had ‘phreaks’ harassing me and doing things to the telephone for years now, while all this computer harassment and hacking was going on, and they are able to prevent people from getting through, and they can do all kinds of things.

How to say ‘no’ to a stalker

June 16, 2010

8:44 PM 6/16/10

Several times in my life, I have had to say ‘no’ to a guy who kept asking me out on dates, calling me on the phone, trying to meet me someplace, and that kind of thing.

There is a right way and a wrong way to say ‘no’ to the stalker.

The wrong way, a list of things NOT to do: Don’t just avoid them. Don’t ignore them if they are sending you lots of letters, phone calls, etc. Don’t keep being ‘nice’ to them because you don’t want to hurt their feelings. Don’t send a rejection through an email.

The right way: Confront the person. Talk to them. Practice what you’ll say before you see them, maybe with a friend who will role-play the stalker and pretend to argue with you. Tell them all of the things you want them to stop doing. Remember, they will survive. They’ve probably been rejected many times before.

Be specific: tell them each and every thing you want them to stop doing. For instance: Don’t email me at all anymore, don’t email my friends, don’t call me on the phone, don’t leave messages, don’t call my friends and family on the phone, don’t call me at work, don’t drive by my house, stop asking me out on dates, stop asking me to call you, stop asking me about email. You want to repeat yourself so that they don’t go finding ‘loopholes’ – ‘You never told me I couldn’t call your MOM and talk to her!’

Assertiveness training helps, but since I learned that from a book, I probably can’t summarize it all here. You can do without it.

I had to do it before. The time I remember most clearly was when I was at Shepherd College. I was taking a walk in the ‘bad part of town.’ Shepherdstown was a small town, but it had a little area where the houses were shabbier and the people were poorer. A guy was sitting on a porch, and he said hello to me. I was friendly and so I stopped and talked to him. He invited me into his house, and I went in and walked around with him (That was really stupid, and I wish I hadn’t done that, but I was lucky – nothing happened.). He asked for my phone number, and I gave it to him. I was just being nice, and I didn’t know how to say ‘no.’ It’s hard to say ‘no’ when you’re in the middle of a stressful situation, and you don’t know what’s going on, and you haven’t realized yet that this is bad. You have to prepare ahead of time to say ‘no,’ because it isn’t easy.

So he started calling me on the phone over and over again. And I really didn’t like him, and there was nothing to talk about. I tolerated a couple of conversations, but felt myself getting bored and irritated and wishing he would leave me alone. He started telling me he loved me, too, yet he barely knew me at all and had only just met me.

So I mentioned this to somebody, like one of the Resident Assistants, and she said to talk to security. (If I recall correctly.) Somebody in the security department knew this guy and told me that he had been convicted of rape, and that he was forbidden to walk on the college campus, because he had done this before.

So I practiced how I would tell him to leave me alone. Then the next time he called me, I told him several times in several different ways that I wasn’t interested in him, and that I wanted him to stop calling me on the phone. Every so often, I would stop and say, ‘Do you understand?’ I felt afraid, annoyed, and angry. If I recall, I had someone with me when I had this conversation with him. This was on the phone.

And he DID stop calling me, after that. It worked.

Why is this important? A couple of reasons. Most people don’t like to call the police and have to get someone to go to court or go to jail. They really don’t want to have to do that. I don’t, and most other people don’t want to either, especially if you SORT OF like someone, or feel sorry for them, or you used to like them for real, a long time ago, and they used to be your friend, until something went wrong.

Second, I am an anarchist (formerly a libertarian). That means that I reject the existing government, and I believe that however we govern ourselves it should be drastically different from the government we have now. This is another reason why I would rather not get the police and the courts involved in personal situations. Calling on the government for help should be a last resort, which means that you have to deal with a problem yourself if possible. There are so many things that go wrong when you call on the government for help.

The most likely situation with my co-worker is: Nicole used to be a friend, and I felt sorry for her, but she started saying and doing things that were creepy/strange/freaked me out/etc, and going too far, so I had to tell her to stop, and leave me alone. That probably describes the real world situation.

Chances are that he’s afraid of me because I am ‘mentally ill.’ He thinks that I am dangerous or mentally unstable, because I hear voices and because the voices tell me to do things. I’ve told him this, because I wanted him to know about it right away as soon as we started becoming friends and getting to know each other. So he thinks that if he rejects me, I might attack him or get revenge or do something crazy and dangerous.

And actually, what I will do in reality is this: I will cry, I will scream (alone, in my car), I will be heartbroken and devastated and humiliated, and I will avoid him for a while. I won’t be able to look at him. I won’t make eye contact. I will feel physical pain in my chest as though my heart has been hurt for real, and I know, because this already happened whenever we had the text message incident, the one time when the text messages told me to leave him alone, but then I saw him in person afterwards and he was anxious and he asked me if I had a note for him. That is what happened that time. I was devastated and crushed. But I didn’t get angry and I didn’t get vengeful, and I didn’t sit there thinking of ways to get back at him or attack him or anything like that. I just grieved, horribly, in terrible pain for hours. And I couldn’t look at him when I saw him again. (And on that day, he was anxious, and he kept doing little things to talk to me, comfort me, and get my attention, and make me laugh – it became clear that whatever the text message said, it wasn’t from him – I remember. There was a drastic, obvious difference between the way he was acting in the real world, versus what the text message said.)

So, he can say ‘no’ to me if he needs to, and I need to know what not to do. I tried sending him an email on MySpace after I got the ‘rejection’ email, and I said, ‘please talk to me in person and tell me what you want me to do,’ and that’s when he de-friended me and didn’t reply to the email and I couldn’t get any more replies at all from him, and didn’t get an answer to my friend request when I tried to do that again.

I remind myself of what he said the other day. I said, ‘Did you actually send me that email on MySpace? It said something that was… not very nice.’ (That’s an understatement, but I really didn’t have time to get into detail of what exactly was said, and I don’t know if I could have made myself speak the words out loud without choking up.) He said, ‘MySpace? I’ve been using Facebook. I haven’t been on MySpace in like, months.’ (That seems strange, because his profile page keeps getting logged into, every couple days. There is a place where it says ‘last login,’ and he keeps logging in. There was an activity stream where he kept marrying Carrie in various different cities – in San Francisco, Las Vegas, etc. – you know how you can do these little games and apps and stuff.) That’s when I felt like he was lying to me, and I said, ‘Don’t worry about it… don’t worry about it,’ and I walked away.

I was friends with his MySpace profile for a couple of days, and I saw the things on his page. It’s a private profile, so I couldn’t see those things unless I really was his friend (or if I was hacking into his account, which I’m not). He had photos of him and some people climbing up to the cave in the woods. We talked about that cave one time. I told him I was interested in going into caves because I wanted to… (unable to speak, how do I explain this to him?…), well, because I have some strange problems (gesturing to my head, if I recall correctly) and I actually hear voices, and I went to a mental hospital a few years ago… and I wanted to know if the stuff would still happen if I went inside a cave…

I had tried to explain to him the truth, that day, and it was impossible to talk, and I was scared and excited. We were standing by the soup bar. So I said I was looking for caves because I wanted to test and see if the stuff would still happen to me if I was inside a cave. He told me where the cave was, but he said it would be easier if he showed it to me, because it was hard to explain. I felt immediately that I couldn’t say yes to this, and I couldn’t go any further, I couldn’t make it real – I couldn’t say, ‘Okay, meet me next Tuesday and I’ll follow your car,’ – I couldn’t do that – that would be too much, too exciting and overwhelming. I could not take a walk alone in the woods with him. I would want to be close to him and I would want to touch him. I wouldn’t be interested in going to the cave just to try my cave experiment. I would be going there just to spend time alone with him. And how big was this cave? Could two people go into it at the same time? Is this something that would force us to be physically close together in a small place? That was unthinkable, I couldn’t do that. So it would be like telling a lie, deceiving him, pretending I wanted to see the cave when I actually wanted to be with him. So, I said nothing – he said he could show me where it was, but I didn’t take him up on it. He said it was called the Eagle’s Nest.

And after that, he started calling me his flattering nickname. We had intimacy, closeness, and trust, and I was vulnerable, and I told him about my weakness, my strange problem, and when I opened up to him, he trusted me more and he began calling me the nice nickname. It was because of that day, that conversation, about the caves. That’s when the nickname started.

So I saw the photos of him going up to the cave with some people, friends or family, I don’t know. He fell down a hill and was sliding, sitting down, and the caption said, ‘Just watching Curt fall… damn if he hadn’t caught that tree,’ and the next picture showed him catching onto a tree on the hill (Actually, I’m confused, that might have been on his friend’s myspace page, now that I think about it – I went and looked at another guy’s page too, and I’m getting them confused). He had some other pictures of his skateboard and of his new tattoos. His comment at the top said that he wanted to spend more time with Caden and not always have to have Kayla around and he wished that maybe someday Caden could live with him. I really was on that page. SOMEBODY accepted my friend request, so somebody was logging into his account on MySpace just recently, and I was there for a couple days. He also had a video that I didn’t get to see, and I forget what it was called, something he and a friend made together.

***
I hope I can fall asleep tonight. I feel like I’m going to have insomnia. I need to get up early in the morning.

what I did today

June 16, 2010

7:47 PM 6/16/10

I did a couple of things today.

1. I caught a cold. No big deal.
2. I worked on putting my shielded box together, only to find that the ceiling tiles are so toxic, I can’t handle them.
3. I set up my camera and moved the pictures to my laptop, and I attached the zip drive, so I will soon be able to upload pictures to the net again.

I put together the shielded box and tested my cell phone inside it. It wasn’t closed off enough to block out the cell phone, which was disappointing. Last time I worked with the shielded box, I inhaled dust from the ceiling tiles, and the dust made me become very exhausted, and I got so tired I couldn’t work on it anymore. So I wore a face mask this time, and gloves. However, the gloves kept getting ripped, because I was also using duct tape, so I spent some of the time with gloves off. Anytime my hands touched the ceiling tiles, I would get very tired only a few minutes after touching them. There is an unknown poison in them. This was very disappointing. I had to wash my hands several times, and I got tired and frustrated enough that I gave up. The poison made me feel hopeless and miserable. I wasn’t able to persist in working on it long enough to get it to block out the cell phone. Every time I called my cell phone, it still rang. (I succeeded once, long ago, by putting my cell phone inside a small shoebox and covering the whole thing with foil – it wouldn’t ring when I called it, that time, so I know it’s ABLE to work if I seal it off well enough.)

After I gave up on the box, I decided I would work on the camera project. I found everything easily. I hooked up the camera and uploaded the pictures and videos, and there were over a hundred of them, because it had been so long since I could upload them. I have some videos of myself talking in glossolalia – I looked anxious and self-conscious. I have a video of the pouring rain on the day when I moved out of the duckpond house. I have a video of myself scraping at my dental fillings only to find that I could barely scratch them at all, and giving up on it. That’s a long boring one in the middle, and I don’t have video editing software, and the camera didn’t come with any video editing software, so I can’t shorten it. I took photos of my dreadlocks and my armpit hair. Armpit hair is one of the things that I tend to take pictures of, because I can take an erotic photo while still being fully dressed, and technically, it doesn’t violate any ‘no pornography’ rules, but it is still definitely erotic. In some of them I was ghostly white because of the weather outside today – I stood next to a window, and it’s all white and cloudy in the sky, and that was the only light I was using, so I look like a cold white glowing ghost with warm yellow lights in the background.

I am sick after touching the ceiling tiles and also touching the boxes of computer gear and stuff while searching for my camera accessories. My lungs got irritated and now I’m coughing and almost gagging, because of my cold, and because of any dust that I’ve stirred up. I hardly ever get colds, so this is very unusual. So I’m not feeling very well.

It was reassuring to look at myself on video. I can see the Weston Price jaw deformity, but it’s not too awful, and I like my eyes. After all this ‘rejection’ crap going on, I want to be reassured.

The voices keep telling me repeatedly NOT to believe the email that I got from MySpace. Some of them swear that it was meant as a joke. Some of them say he wrote it but he was forced to write it as a puppet, thinking it was a joke, while ‘they’ knew that I would take it badly. Some of them claim he didn’t send it at all, and it was sent by someone else entirely. And then, I can’t help wondering if he actually sent it himself, and meant it. I will just do whatever is necessary. I will try to talk to him again whenever I can.

****
The voices were making a joke today, saying that he had something called ‘PERD’, Positive Emotional Response Disorder. The joke was that, with this disorder, you show positive emotional responses to people when actually you hate them and they disgust you. That was because I said that I often saw him responding positively to me, but actually, I didn’t want to misinterpret that, because he might respond that way to everybody, since he’s just a friendly person. The joke only made me feel a LITTLE bit better, because I know from my own experience that, when I’m on drugs, I can be friendly to ANYONE, and there would be guys who really did disgust me, but they would get the idea that they could try getting me to go out with them and have sex with them, and I really didn’t want to, and it was because the drugs made me extra-friendly to everybody in general. So it REALLY IS possible that he thinks I’m creepy and ugly and crazy, or scary or dangerous or whatever, but he’s still being nice to me, if he uses any kind of drugs at all (or is exposed to drug residues).

Also, they have told me several times they think he’s an enneagram type Five, not a Six. I think I might agree with that. There are a lot of reasons why I agree. He seems to be sensitive to rejection, and the Five is a ‘rejected’ or ‘ambivalent’ type. He’s interested in ‘goth’ type things, and I’m not going into detail right now because I think I’m being attacked, and I’m uncomfortable, so I’m going to just post this the way it is… I can talk about it some other time.

Save money, save the world

June 16, 2010

10:00 AM 6/16/10

Why Bookkeeping?

The murderers attacked me because I ‘bragged’ about bookkeeping. They’ve attacked me many times in the past when I’ve written about how I learned something or created something or achieved something.

So I am going to explain, Why bookkeeping? Why do I love it? Why was it important enough that I decided to learn it? How do I feel about it?

My father was a radiologist. He moved us to West Virginia because there were big changes at the hospital where he used to work, in Greensburg, PA, and he found a new job in West Virginia.

After we bought our new house, we were deeply in debt. Nowadays, this isn’t very expensive, but back then, a $250,000 house seemed really expensive, in the mid-eighties.

Dad didn’t like the stress of his job, and he didn’t want to work forever to pay off his debt. So he started saving more money and spending less. Mom and Dad had fights about money. I remember that we used to buy cheap brands of food, in bulk, lots and lots of something I didn’t like, because it was cheap. We’d buy the cheap generic brands of cereal, the copycat cereals that LOOKED like Fruit Loops but tasted funny, that kind of thing. And no, I didn’t enjoy that. I didn’t like always hearing about how we had to buy cheap stuff so that we could save money.

But after I got my first job, I understood how bad it is to get stuck working in a job you hate, forever and ever, to pay off a debt. I was able to imagine how that would feel. So I understood why someone would want to save as much money as they could.

Dad saved money for a long time, paid off the debt, and retired early. He was able to do this because he made a lot of money at his job. But he could have wasted all that money buying lots of new cars and other big expensive things the way some doctors do, and he didn’t do that, he saved the money instead.

He gave me a book called ‘Your Money Or Your Life.’ I read that book, and some other books about money and investing – one of them was written by Harry Browne – and I decided that I wanted to try saving enough money to quit my job, or at least, quit the job for a couple of years, and then maybe go back to it. If I could save just a few thousand dollars, I could take time off work. Since I’m working at minimum-wage jobs, that’s a realistic goal. I can’t save enough money to retire for the rest of my life, but I can save enough to take time off for a couple of years and do things I want to do.

I’ve been trying to do this for the past few years, but I used to always get laid off from my jobs, or the jobs would end and I would have to find a new job – that was back when I worked for the temp agency and I was doing data entry on computers in offices. I got a job in fast food and discovered that you can ALWAYS find another job in fast food, unless you do something so horrible that no one will ever hire you again. And it’s hard to do something that bad. So I was able to keep a job for a long time without getting laid off, and that’s why I’ve stayed in these jobs for now – stability.

Then I started having disasters of all kinds, and I have written about some of them. Those things have prevented me from saving money.

I wanted to start my own business so that I could have more control over the money I make. I wanted to do something I enjoy, instead of just working in fast food and grocery stores.

One day I decided to read about double-entry bookkeeping. I saw it mentioned someplace. I had been reading about money and investing for several years anyway because I became a libertarian, and libertarians believe that the government shouldn’t control the money system – they should let people choose what kind of money they want, on their own. Some libertarian article or book must have mentioned double-entry bookkeeping and I decided to learn about it.

It took a couple of years. I actually started reading about it a few years ago online, and I looked at some websites that taught how to do it. I learned a little bit from them, while I also lived through my drug contamination disaster. I wanted to run my own business, and I wanted to know bookkeeping so that I could do that. I saw many businesses failing and going bankrupt. I knew that you have to understand profit and loss to make sure you don’t go bankrupt.

I’m not sure why I decided to do this, but sometime along the way, I found a Schaum’s Outline book. I must have been browsing through the bookstore. I loved it right away. I never liked the ‘Idiot’s Guide’ books. I’ve been taught that you shouldn’t call yourself an idiot. It might have been something I read in the objectivist books, that’s probably where it was. Objectivists take themselves seriously. So I wanted a ‘serious’ book that didn’t worry about whether or not I was an idiot. The Schaum’s books are serious.

I started doing the exercises. I love to do book work. I enjoyed school, up to a point. There was a time in the past when I was able to do the assignments and get straight A’s in all my classes. I couldn’t do that in high school and college, but in the earlier years I could. And this Schaum’s Outline of Bookkeeping and Accounting was an easy book, with lots of examples, and it gives you the answers, so you can always check to see if you understood. So even though I was living through several disasters, I gradually worked through that book.

I finally finished it around the end of last year, 2009, in the winter. I learned the basics of bookkeeping. I started doing my own expenses in the books as though I was running a business.

I used to type my money into the computer, into Microsoft Money, which was included with my Windows 98 system. But that isn’t quite the same as double-entry bookkeeping.

In double-entry bookkeeping, you actually do write everything twice. You write it first in one place, and then you write it on another page. Everything has to balance. It is a soothing, satisfying activity. (Until you try to do something that doesn’t work, and you go hunting for a mistake, and you dig through thousands of numbers for hours and hours, and change something, only to find that that didn’t work either – that happened when I tried to do a trial balance for my own books for the first time.)

When I do the bookkeeping, it makes me feel like I have control over my life. I can predict the future. I can know how much money I will have at a certain time in the future if I keep earning what I am earning now. I can test different scenarios – what if I earn this much, and spend that much? How long will it take to achieve some goal?

The murderers made it impossible for me to use my mind. When the attacks first began, when it was the worst, I remember I talked to my mom on the phone, and I was very upset, and I said to her, ‘The people who are reading my mind are destroying my future!’ I might not remember the exact words but it was something like that. The first thing they did to me was they started zapping me anytime I looked into the future, no matter how short of a time in the future, even if I only looked into the next couple minutes to see what it would look like if I did a certain task, like clean the house, or make a phone call. I used to be able to prepare to do something by looking into the future, imagining that I was doing it, doing it all the way to the end, and seeing the consequences and benefits of doing it. The murderers destroyed that. That is the type of thinking process that they zap. Now, if I try to do that, I feel electric shock sensations in my head, and hear voices, and my hands and muscles twitch, and there are loud clicking and banging noises in the room around me, and every other disturbance that could possibly happen, happens to me. They are murderers.

When I do the bookkeeping, it can’t substitute for being able to look into the future to do a small task or practice for a difficult conversation. But it feels like it’s some kind of substitute, being able to control the future, even though I can’t do what I used to be able to do. I can do something similar, but I’m doing it in an artificial way that involves a lot of writing and numbers.

It’s funny, I remember that the Weasley family said that they had a Muggle cousin somewhere, but they never talked about him, and he was an accountant. It’s funny that they chose for him to be an accountant, because accounting feels like doing magic, to me. It’s an indirect and artificial way of doing magic, but that’s how it feels.

I used to read The Onion, after my brother showed it to me. I haven’t read it in a long time. But there used to be a guy named Herbert Kornfeld, and he wrote about working in the accounting department, except it was a gang war. Eventually he stopped writing, and they said that he was killed in the line of duty – I wonder what happened to the real guy. But I liked him because you’d think that accounting was boring and cold and lifeless, but to him, it was a big, exciting, terrible gang war and it was something important, not just boring. (I should go look at those articles again.)

Then what made this even more interesting to me was, just recently, when I was reading about the Myers-Briggs ISFP, my type. There are some authors who are hard to read, very technical, like David Keirsey. I started out reading him, and as a result, I didn’t really understand my type, and I got a negative impression of SP artisans, especially because the test incorrectly labeled me an INTJ, INTP, and INFP when I took it several times and tried to answer a little differently. And if you go talk on the internet forums, you get an even worse negative impression of sensing types. The war between the sensors and the intuitives. It took me a long time to understand my Myers-Briggs type and get over the negative beliefs.

But there’s a different website that gives a much better impression of sensing types, and I read about the ISFP and the ISTP types on there, and I feel that the ISFP does describe me quite well. They said that the ISFP wants to live by their values, live by what they believe is right and wrong. And they also said that, strangely enough, ISFPs often went into accounting jobs.

I was surprised by that. I always thought that I was unusual for being interested in bookkeeping. I thought only an ISTJ would like bookkeeping. But no, they say the ISFP often goes into that kind of job.

And it DOES feel like a big, huge, important gang war. It IS a war. There is a world war going on right now, everywhere, as the money system collapses, and as the world finds out how many trillions, or quadrillions, or quintillions of dollars bankrupt our government is. I’ve been reading about it for years, about the government destroying the money system by taking away gold and silver, and by doing a lot of other things. I want to understand it. I want to know what’s wrong with the world and why these things happen and what to do about it. That’s what bookkeeping means to me. It feels like saving the world.

So I am going to set up my bookkeeping station again, and get some new books and papers. This is one of my projects that I need to do soon. Even though I know I will be attacked, I need to do it anyway.

To the kinky pack leader

June 15, 2010

8:52 PM 6/15/10

To the kinky pack leader:

Do you ever wonder if you’re the rotten apple, or the apple at the top of the tree? I wondered it.

You wanted to advise me about my hair. I am a hair expert. I can advise you.

If you want to see a guy’s mouth drop open, and his head turn to watch you walk by, then you need to grow ass-length hair. No more of this cutting, trimming, and styling nonsense. I have seen them do it. They turn to look and their mouths drop open. Total strangers on the street. You could have that effect too. Don’t let anyone fool you into believing the ‘too long’ myth. The longer it is, the better. Some people will tell you your hair is too long, because they’ve tried to grow long hair, but theirs won’t grow long. And yours is thicker than my hair, so yours would grow much longer than mine. Yours might even grow to knee length or ankle length. Mine only grows to hip length, which is why I’m experimenting with dreadlocks, to see if the locks make it grow longer than that. Unfortunately, I don’t feel as pretty with my dreadlocks, but I’m getting used to them. I can comb them out if I ever decide I don’t want them anymore, so I still have all the options.

Don’t worry about trimming split ends. Just use a wide-toothed comb, and stop using a brush – brushes cause the ends to split much more than a wide-toothed comb does. If you don’t brush it, you won’t need to ever trim the split ends at all. Yours would grow very fast and very thick. Guys will turn to look at you as your hair waves and ripples when you move. Short hair can’t wave and ripple.

Doing it on the kitchen table is only barely scratching the surface of kinkiness. If you want to be really kinky, stop shaving your pits. Guys will beg you to let them lick your hairy armpits. Trust me, I’ve seen it. They do. That’s what hairy armpits were designed for, before humans decided to destroy their own sexual attractiveness, for whatever reason, by cutting and shaving every hair off their bodies.

And make sure never to pluck your eyebrows. Have you seen his ex-girlfriend? Of course you have. The most beautiful girl on earth. (If only they hadn’t pulled out her teeth. I cried when he told me about that. Nobody knew about the Weston Price diet when she was pregnant.) She has thick, dark eyebrows. Don’t be fooled by the pluck-your-eyebrows bullshit. Anyone who tells you to pluck yours is probably jealous of you because they’ve destroyed their own eyebrows so badly that they’ll never grow back. I don’t know if you’ve ever plucked yours, but if you have, now is a good time to stop.

I could tell you more, but that’s probably enough for now.

Misinterpreting Feelings

June 15, 2010

I have to write this because I’m describing incidents that happened with my friend, or ex-friend, or co-worker.  I don’t know what he is yet.

This blog is a little bit garbled.  I feel like somebody else is writing it, and they don’t speak English very well.

When I see his facial expressions, and take a picture in my mind, and write it down later, it often gives me this false hope, that he showed a happy expression or seemed glad to see me, so I can imagine that he is attracted to me.  That is not necessarily true.

I myself have shown happy expressions with people, even if I’m not attracted to them.  It happens most when I’m on drugs.  I act like I’m glad to see someone, I act like I’m delighted, I act friendly, but in reality, my feelings towards them are neutral.  I’m not attracted, I’m not interested in them in a sexual way, but if you looked at my facial expressions, you might think that I’m reacting positively and therefore I must be attracted to them.

So that is why it’s hard for me to talk about what I saw, when I describe my friend, my co-worker who de-friended me – when I say that he looked excited, or delighted, or any other positive feelings – it’s hard for me to talk about that, because actually, I could be getting my hopes up when in reality he responds that way to everyone, because he’s friendly and he likes people in general, or because it was innocent playfulness, and that kind of thing.

He shows positive reactions to me, many times, and I remember those times, but that might just be friendliness, and he acts that way with everyone.  That’s why I am very hesitant when I try to describe what he did or how he reacted to me.

Not only that, but I am wondering if he’s afraid to be friends with me, because he got attacked.  They forced a deer to jump in front of his car, while they gave him a ‘feeling that he was about to hit a deer.’  He might believe that he is in danger if he becomes friends with me.  I don’t think that’s it, but it’s possible.  Chances are, it really is an ordinary, mundane ‘creepiness’ thing, because I hear voices, and have chemical sensitivity, and non-mainstream grooming practices, along with being unhappy and having lots of problems in general.

Anyway, this is why I’m cautious about how I interpret his feelings.  Yes, I see lots of positive reactions, but he could react that way to everybody.