Archive for July, 2010

I hate songs about abusive relationships

July 31, 2010

There was one song that I already knew I hated:  ‘You gotta be cruel to be kind.’  I *HATE* that song and I get angry every time I hear it.  Now I have another new one that I hate.  I started noticing Eminem because one day Curtis was listening to him a few weeks ago, and then Carrie commented about Eminem on her facebook page.  So I listened to one of his songs online and I’m noticing them on the radio when I never paid attention to him before.  ‘I love the way you lie’ made me angry.  There will be people who listen to that song and they will swear to me that it OPPOSES abusive relationships and it’s supposed to be saying abusive relationships are a bad thing, but they can say that all they want, and I will still get the impression, from hearing the song, that it GLORIFIES an abusive relationship.  ‘Just gonna stand there and watch me burn, but that’s all right because I like the way it hurts.’  I don’t want to hear anybody saying that they like the way it hurts.  I’ve been there.  I was forced against my will, for several years, to continue writing emails to a sick, messed-up person who I met in a chatroom, who just ‘sat there’ and ‘watched me burn’ without doing anything about it, for several YEARS, while somebody used electronic mind control to force me to send him hundreds of letters, humiliate myself, and suffer, while he could not even say a single word to me.

And now I have voices who have been saying that I’m ‘playing games’ with Curtis, when in fact, I am very badly hurt by things that he has said to me in text messages, and there is no such thing as ‘playing games.’  People are always real, no matter who they are and no matter what they’re doing.  You might not be able to understand them, but they are always real.  People have feelings and they DON’T like the way it hurts.  You can ‘get away with’ doing anything to anybody if you tell yourself that that person is a masochist who enjoys getting hurt.  Most people are not masochists.  They don’t like to be hurt.  And even masochists only want to get hurt in certain ways in certain situations, but not all the time and not in every possible way.  They have specific ways that they like to be hurt.  And, as I said, I’m not a masochist anyway.  I don’t like to be hurt.

So that song might be saying that the problems in their relationship are a bad thing, but it doesn’t sound that way when you hear some woman singing that she likes the way it hurts and she loves the way you lie.

I haven’t seen Curtis enough this week.  Our schedules are both messed up.  They’re cutting hours, and I think they might have made a mistake with mine next week and I have to talk to the manager about it.  We hardly saw each other at all.  I couldn’t look at him much, although I did a little bit, and we said a few things to each other, briefly.  He called me my nickname, though I told him to stop doing that, in a text message.  I didn’t want to tell him to stop doing it, and I was being controlled when I wrote that, but nevertheless, I did send that message to him.  He said it once, when he was with Stan, and I wondered what Stan was thinking, but he said it to me anyway.  When I hear it, it sounds like ‘I love you.’  That is what I hear.  He doesn’t need to hurt me in order to test whether or not I love him.  YES, I GET HURT!  Yes, it hurts when you say those things.  Stop testing.

the cry of my silent soul

July 28, 2010

9:38 PM 7/28/10

I bought a book last week at Barnes & Noble. It’s called ‘The Gentle Art of Verbal Self-Defense.’ It’s similar to ‘When I Say No I Feel Guilty,’ and other books about communication that I’ve read. It makes me aware of patterns of thought and speech, ways that we tell lies to each other.

This book made me aware that EVERY WORD that the voices try to force me to say to somebody is a verbal attack. The book makes you aware of verbal attacks, and you get in the habit of noticing them. I noticed that ALL of the forced speech, almost every word, almost without exception, is a verbal attack. They try to force me to say manipulative lies, to make people feel guilty, to ‘placate’ people by attacking myself first and apologizing first, and other tricks. Those forced speeches are not my own truth. My real self-esteem is higher than that.

Tonight I had the urge to send another text message to Curtis. He has rejected me and told me to leave him alone, at least, in text messages he has (is it really him? I don’t know, I can’t ask). I tried to resist the urge, because I have been hurt so many times, and I’m afraid that I will eventually push him too far so that he calls the police or something and uses them to make me leave him alone. I fought against the urge.

I was being bombarded with voices telling lies to me, trying to trick me into texting him, trying to make me believe he needs me, he misses me, he wants me to text him, he wants me to call him, he wants me to visit him, and so on.

I was getting ready to go shopping to buy new uniforms for myself, because my other new ones are slightly contaminated. They wanted me to get into a text conversation with him instead of going shopping.

I went out shopping instead. I thought about destroying the text phone so that I could never use it to text him again, but I can’t do that until I write down the saved text messages that are on it. I already archived some of them on paper, but not all of them. I had to do it because I filled up the phone’s memory and it couldn’t save any more. But I decided to wait until I got home to do the phone archiving project.

While driving, the voices still attacked. The voice attacks seem to work this way: Something, an unknown cause, gives me a persistent ‘feeling’ that won’t go away. It can be hormones, it can be drugs, it can be a food that I ate. Something causes me to have a mood. It has nothing to do with the attackers. But some kind of computer system alerts them to the fact that I’m in a ‘mood.’ The attacks begin. The attacks are designed to fit that mood. They become the ‘rationale’ for the unexplained, causeless mood. I’m angry, or I’m sad, and so the voices attack me in a way to ‘explain’ why I’m angry or sad. They force me to start rehearsing speech in my mind, in preparation for talking to somebody, in an angry or sad or clingy or demanding way. The forced speech fits the mood and starts to make me believe that ‘I’m angry at this person, that’s why I’m in a bad mood,’ or ‘That person hurt my feelings and rejected me, that’s why I’m in a bad mood,’ when actually, the bad mood is caused by drugs/food/etc. WHY the murderers do this, I don’t know.

They were doing it tonight. They were forcing me to rehearse things that I was supposed to be forced to say to Curtis. They were forcing me to placate him and apologize and ‘attack myself first,’ making myself small and inferior and pathetic, instead of standing up for myself with the true dignity and honesty and self-respect that I have in my true soul.

I should have cleared out all of that behavior decades ago. I’ve been reading self-esteem books and communication skills books and psychology books and meditation books for decades. I’ve known this stuff for years. I used to practice meditation, before the murderers started zapping me, and I used to question myself, observe myself, and so on, and I could re-teach myself if I wanted to get rid of a behavior that I disliked. Long ago, I used to change my own mind at will, whenever I wanted. The murderers destroyed all that, and they changed me into a pathetic, sniveling, weak, helpless, apologizing victim unable to speak the truth.

I used to do it in an intuitive, nonverbal way. But the murderers zap and destroy all nonverbal meditation, anything intuitive. They destroy all deep understanding, all sense of perspective. The only tools I can use now are verbal speech. In order to defend myself against the forced, fake, self-destructive speech that the murderers make me say, I have to verbally whisper, ‘out loud’ inside my head, a verbal response that explains why their words are wrong. I can’t just intuitively understand why it’s wrong the way I used to. I have to use a word that describes why it’s wrong.

So I am using that book to do that. It has labels for the bad kind of speech, the verbal attacks, the ones that I hate, the ones that I resist, the ones that I know are wrong and I fight against saying, the ones that I recognize as being ‘not me,’ not my true self.

I shouldn’t have to do that. I shouldn’t have to verbally whisper an explanation for why it’s wrong, when it would be so much more effective and better and deeper if I understood it intuitively the way I did long ago.

Tonight, while driving my car to the store, when I was being forced to apologize and snivel and attack myself first, in my forced rehearsal of what I would say to Curtis, I verbally whispered: ‘Placating. Self-directed, self-inflicted verbal attack, and therefore false.’ Suddenly I burst out sobbing uncontrollably. I cried and howled loudly in the car for a couple of minutes while driving. It was because I felt grateful that I could fight against the lies being told, and grateful that I remembered my true self has much more dignity than this. I remembered that everything I have been forced to say and do, for years, has been a lie, has been puppet speech, that every word out of my mouth has been fake and controlled. I remembered that I am still alive, though I am silent and suppressed underneath the puppet self.

I was being forced to whisper to Curtis about how pathetic I am for trying to text him, and apologize for trying to talk to him, apologize for trying to connect with him, when actually, in the real world, why COULDN’T we be just friends? Why couldn’t we have some kind of casual, relaxed friendship and just know each other as human beings? Why would that be wrong and shameful? *I* know there is nothing wrong with it.

It is absolute evil that I, and other people, have our true souls suppressed and silenced.

Bacteria don’t go to heaven? Oh no!

July 28, 2010

I can’t remember how I got to this web page, but it’s a page that argues against the Christian religion.  Some parts of it are hilarious.

“There are not many people in the United States who believe that bacteria go to heaven. The Bible does not talk about heaven being filled with all the disease, putrefaction and pestilence that bacteria cause. And what, exactly, would go to heaven? Do all of the bacterium’s molecules get transported to another dimension so that they can keep reacting? If that were happening, there would be thousands of tons of chemicals leaving earth every day. Clearly there is no afterlife for bacteria cells.”

Thousands of tons of chemicals leaving earth every day…


July 28, 2010

11:10 AM 7/28/10

Grrr. I went to POF and got rid of the ‘bi-curious’ description. That DEFINITELY was something that the voices made me decide to put there. The more I thought about it, the more sure I was that I could not sustain a long-term sexual relationship with a female, and in reality, I’m not even all that interested in a plain old FRIENDSHIP with females, although it could be possible. I wondered why I had friendships with females when I was younger. The main reason is probably because, when I was young, I didn’t have boyfriends! I might possibly get a female friend, but there won’t be very many of them, and like I said, she would have to be somebody special, and she’d have to be able to ‘take care of herself,’ as in, not need me all the time.

‘Bi-curious’ would describe me if I was seriously in the mood at this time in my life to try having sex with females. If I were, I would demonstrate that through my ACTIONS. I would be ACTIVELY SEARCHING for females and meeting them. It doesn’t mean that I scroll through some pictures of lesbian/bi plentyoffish users and look at their profiles and get a reaction to them, which is what I did. That seems to be the limit of my bi-curiosity for now. I’m annoyed that ‘they’ made me do something which seems dishonest to me, in an attempt to be ‘honest’ and ‘out’ about who I am. I don’t claim to do, and be, EVERYTHING to EVERYBODY. I break some of the mainstream rules, but I follow some of the mainstream rules as well, and I’m not bothering to go out and break all the rules for the sheer sake of breaking the rules when it doesn’t reflect who I really am.

My actions in reality are ‘ephebo-curious.’ I’ve never had sex with a teenage guy before, except for a couple of unfinished attempts between me and Terry, like maybe twice or three times, and we never really succeeded because it was too difficult and I didn’t know how to make it easier. (We should have had some kind of lubricant or something, probably.) All of my behavior nowadays is: this obsession towards a teenage guy. That’s not what I call ‘bi-curious.’

‘They’ woke me up with another idea this morning. It was the idea that Carrie is being disrespectful to Curtis and she also isn’t having sex with him often enough. I already know that she is disrespectful to him in some ways – I’ve seen them together and she talks down to him. But I don’t know anything at all about their sex life. It could be true or false. OF COURSE they would want me to believe that he isn’t getting enough sex from her.

They portrayed her as the bisexual girl who isn’t really interested in guys enough to have sex with them as often as she ought to, if he is going to be her husband. Not only that, but she might not even be bisexual, and she and Jayme might not really be ‘making out.’ That could still have been a joke or sarcasm to say ‘They spend WAYY too much time together,’ or something like that. That was true about me and Rachael – we spent wayyy too much time together – and lots of people thought that we were lesbians in a sexual relationship, but we weren’t. So for all I know, he could have been being sarcastic. Or serious – I have no way of knowing unless I ask him, and I … am scared to try starting up another text conversation or phone call right now. Carrie is saying on facebook that she doesn’t care what anybody thinks of her and Jayme. Again, that statement could mean ‘I don’t care if they think we’re lesbians/bi – we’re not.’ Or it could mean, ‘We ARE having a sexual relationship, but I don’t care how they judge us.’ It isn’t specific enough to know.

All of this could be, again, my wishful thinking. Wouldn’t it be nice if he wasn’t getting enough sex at home. That would mean he needed extra attention from me. As always, the voices encourage my wishful thinking.

The torture of trying to force myself to use the dating website… My anger is from feeling that all I want is to be believed. I would want to explain it, and show it, to someone, and have that person believe me, as though I’m a man, or as though I’m an Officially Recognized Expert on that subject. I’m tired of people only believing what the government tells them is true. I’m tired of people only believing what their elementary school education, and the television, and their neighbors, told them is true.

I haven’t even been able to call these people back yet. I told them I was going to try to call. But I’m waking up really late because of some unknown problem causing severe fatigue – it’s one of the drug residues or something, who knows which problem it is. Then, yesterday, I went out to go investigate a place where you can buy raw cow’s milk – I saw it a week or two ago while I was out driving – and I was going to ask them to let me try a tiny bit of it (Note, I’ve already had raw goat’s milk before, but it came frozen. I got it from Stone Soup. I survived drinking the raw goat’s milk.). I would want to ask them how it was handled – did it go through an automatic milking machine? If so, could I buy some that I just milked by myself into a pail, so it wouldn’t get bacterial/fungal slime from the walls of the pipes and tubes of the automatic milker and the containers it goes into? But instead of stopping there, I drove right by. I had just eaten something and my stomach was sick. I didn’t want to do anything or talk to anybody. So I went on a long drive and got away from all of the emails that I was supposed to be sending, or phone calls I was supposed to be making. ‘They’ were telling me yesterday that I was acting more like a Sx/Sp, at least temporarily. The instinctual emphasis probably changes with your moods and hormones, I imagine.

Clarifying what I want on the dating website, and then, I think it’s most important for me to GO OUT LOOKING instead of just passively answering the people who write to me. That’s risky, but it’s the same thing men have to do. I should make it hard for people to contact me, or something. Clarifying what I want, so that I can communicate it, seems to be most important, because I’ve discovered I don’t just want guys who are willing to do my housework in exchange for sex, without even believing that drug residues and bone marrow vapors exist. In fact I can hardly bear the thought of it.

I want to be believed, more than anything else.

July 27, 2010

10:07 PM 7/27/10

It’s hard to articulate what I want and why I feel so uncomfortable with the couple of results that I’ve gotten so far. I have to re-word the advertisement, and I have to know exactly what I am looking for, and that is not easy to do. All I can say is that I don’t like any of it.

I don’t want a guy who offers to clean my house just to get sex. He will just pretend and go along with me to humor me, but in reality, he won’t believe a word about the invisible drug residues.

I want a man who can tolerate believing something that a WOMAN says. Could a woman tell a man something he didn’t know? Could a woman know something that the rest of SOCIETY doesn’t know? Could a woman know something that thousands of MEN don’t know, scientists, public figures, government employees – that they ALL don’t know? Because that is what I claim. I claim that I know something that they are all ignorant of. You have to be able to tolerate the idea that a woman, an inferior, and a small, five-foot-two, un-intimidating woman too, that this INFERIOR person knows something you don’t know, and you don’t know anybody else who knows it either.

I’m really not INTERESTED in drug residues for their own sake. I’m only interested in them because they are there, whether I like it or not, and I have to deal with them. I am the unwilling expert on drug residues, but I’d much rather be learning about other things that I’m really interested in. So I won’t continue on to become the world’s leading specialist in drug residues, because once I’m rid of them, I don’t want to ever bother thinking about them again, until and unless they become a problem. However, I am interested in them in that they have an effect on moods, health, and personality. I’d use that information to troubleshoot somebody with a behavior problem, and they will be part of any troubleshooting procedures that I have for health and behavior. That is why they are included in the religion as part of a cleansing and purification process. You don’t need to be clean just for the sake of being clean. You need to be clean (of drug residues) because they affect your health and your relationships.

But right now, I am ‘the expert’ on drug residues whether I want to be or not. And they are what has to be cleaned. Before anything else, I want someone to BELIEVE ME. Imagine that a WOMAN knows what she’s talking about.

Some of the men who responded were talking to me as though housecleaning was done to ‘please’ me. I’m not a dominatrix and I’m not going to whip them for doing a bad job. I only care about reality. Are the drug residues still there? Is the guy going to lose patience with me because I insist they’re still there even though we’ve shampooed the floor a dozen times?

I’d like to do a simple demonstration. I’ve never tried this before, so I don’t know how it would go. This would be an experiment. Somebody would get a bunch of handkerchiefs and draw a number on each one with magic marker. Then they would randomly pick one of the handkerchiefs. There would have to be a bunch of handkerchiefs, not just two – it would be more like a dozen to choose from. Then, after numbering them, they would pick ONE handkerchief at random, and roll it with some tobacco, like a crushed cigarette. They would have to make sure that it doesn’t leave any visible stains, so maybe we would have multicolored, patterned handkerchiefs where you couldn’t see any small marks that might be left from the crushed tobacco leaves. They would write down on a piece of paper which handkerchief, by number, had been rolled with the tobacco. Then, I would touch all of the handkerchiefs, and tell them which one was contaminated with tobacco residues, by feeling it and touching it. We would have to make sure I couldn’t SMELL it, because it’s possible I could cheat by smelling the tobacco, so maybe I could do this with my nose plugged shut or something, or the handkerchief could be inside of a box and I’d have to reach my hands inside, or something where I couldn’t smell it. I would have to observe the tickly sensation of drug residues going through my skin, and then observe the pounding heartbeat, the sudden ‘rush’ of pleasure and excitement that comes from touching tobacco, and all the other symptoms that I observe from touching tobacco.

I could also do that with any other herb that I claim that I can feel, like St. John’s Wort. I’d do it very easily with ephedra, but it’s too dangerous to handle ephedra – I would have to order a new packet of seeds, and I don’t want to have another ‘explosion’ of new ephedra poison in my house or in my mailbox. If I had ephedra seeds, I could demonstrate it to THEM instead of just doing the test myself. I’d rub the ephedra seeds on their skin, and then tell them, ‘Now go home and try to take a nap. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!’ Then they would be awake for three weeks in a row. The only problem with doing the demonstration that way is, they will spread the ephedra residues from their skin, to all of their clothing, and the blankets of their bed, and the steering wheel of their car, and everything they touch or brush against. So they’d have to do this test in a chamber where it wouldn’t matter what you touched or what got contaminated, instead of ruining their belongings.

I want to be believed. Being believed and taken seriously is, probably, even more important than actually having someone do the work. I can’t even begin to boss someone around if he shows the slightest sign of humoring me or disbelieving me. If he’s thinking, ‘I’ll just do whatever she says to do, until finally she agrees to have sex with me,’ that will just make me angry. I can easily see through someone who’s only pretending to believe me. I want them to be able to understand it, and, even better, to agree completely, to feel the drug residues themselves, to touch a piece of fabric and say, ‘my gosh, this really does have something on it!’ For them to touch the contaminated test handkerchief and correctly identify which one it is. For them to experience a couple nights of insomnia because of ephedra contamination, where you lie there in bed, and you just lie there, and nothing happens at all, for hours and hours and hours, and then daylight comes and you get up and you’ve slept zero hours that night. I want to be believed. More than anything else.

But another thing I don’t want is a woman-worshipper. I don’t want to be worshipped. I’ve read Warren Farrell, so I know that there is feminism, and there is masculism, or masculinism, or whatever it’s called. There are two sides to this, and both of them have legitimate grievances. I want a man to take seriously the knowledge and observations and interpretations that I have, but I want him to believe it because it’s real, not because I’m a goddess who rules over him. I want him to believe it because it’s real. Not because I say so. Now, it’s true, sometimes you trust a person so much (from past experience) that you’ll believe their observations even without testing them, because you know that person really well and you’ve seen that they’re right most of the time. That’s different. I’ve had authors who I believed, almost no matter what they said, because I’d read previous books they had written, and those other books made sense to me. I’d have only small disagreements with them over specific things.

For instance, if I recall correctly, Harry Browne sometimes made fun of people who claimed to be ‘psychic’ or to have had foresight of an event that happened, like people who said that they predicted the 9/11 Twin Towers attacks. But I myself had something happen that night, before the attacks – the voices were doing something with me before it happened. They were saying that I chose to stay here and stand my ground, that I had chosen not to leave the country, and that no matter what happened, no matter who attacked, I would stay here and protect my home. I was fantasizing about people invading my home, and wondering what I would do about it if that happened. I didn’t know anything specific that they might be talking about. It was just something that I was thinking. To me, it seemed like it had to do with the computer hackers, instead of a physical attack. But the next day, the Twin Towers were attacked. Somebody knew about it ahead of time and the voices were warning me, but they could not be specific about what the nature of the attack would be, they only knew it was going to be an attack.

So I myself experienced a ‘psychic’ prediction that some kind of attack was about to happen, the night before 9/11. Back then, I didn’t know about electronic mind control, I only knew about computer hackers, so I didn’t know that I was talking to real people in my head. But Harry Browne disbelieved people who claimed to have predicted the attacks, and after I learned about electronic mind control, I could easily see how a person really would know about something in advance, if the mind control people were connected in some way with government, or criminals, or people in other countries who were responsible for the attacks. So I disagreed with Harry Browne about whether it was possible to ‘psychically’ predict that some things would happen.

Anyway the point was that I had a few disagreements with favorite authors that I trusted, but overall, I trusted what they said.

It only seems fair that I’ve read a lot of books written by men, I’ve studied belief systems written by men, I’ve learned so much from men, that it only seems fair that I would tell something to a man, and he would listen to me. It seems fair, because I’ve listened to the men so many times. I’ve learned so much from them. Why would it seem so hard to listen to a woman who had special knowledge that no one else has, and believe her?

Warren Farrell talks about the position of men and how they are not necessarily the ones who have all the power. A man might not want to listen to a woman’s knowledge, because he feels as though that woman already has all the other powers, like power over sex. He needs sex more intensely than she does. A woman can easily find lots and lots of men to have sex with, but it’s harder for a man to find a woman willing to have sex with him. That is based on what I’ve seen at the dating website. I’m not beautiful, I’m just, ehh, average, but even so, all I have to do is open up a profile on a dating website – even if I don’t have any photos! – and dozens upon dozens of men will contact me immediately, within a couple of days, while I sit there and do nothing at all. It isn’t because I’m special. It happens even if I don’t put up any photographs, and even if I don’t write anything specific in my descriptions. There are dozens of men desperately trying to find women, and failing. The woman just has to sit there. So maybe a man doesn’t want to listen to a woman’s knowledge, and believe her, and trust her reasoning, because he’s already angry and resentful about how badly he needs sex, and how easy it is to be in her position, just sitting there waiting to be bombarded with dozens of requests from total strangers. If you don’t believe me, men, you can try it yourself. Go to a dating website and fill out a profile pretending to be a woman. Better still if you can find a photograph of a woman and pretend it’s you. Then, just sit there. Dozens of guys will contact you in just a few days. Then, go fill out a profile as a man. You will hear nothing but dead silence for weeks or months. Nobody contacts the men.

But in spite of all this, I still need to find someone willing to believe me.


I wrote ‘bi-curious’ on my profile, but I’m not sure if that will last long.  I think it’s just a temporary fad that I did because the voices suggested that I should do it.  It’s mostly because of Curtis and his bisexual girlfriend and their threesome.  Bi-tolerant would be more accurate.  Non-homophobic would also be accurate.  But I still feel that if women were trying to fall in love with me, I would not be interested in putting much into that relationship.  I’m not fascinated with them in the same way – I don’t intensely desire to know everything about them and ‘merge.’

Let me give an example.  I saw some of Curtis’s ‘world’ when I looked at the images he saved in his facebook page.  He has some beautiful, surreal paintings of landscapes and other worlds.  I saw them and I felt that I wanted to *BE* him, I wanted to *become* him, to see those paintings and feel however he felt when he looked at them.  They were beautiful to me, not just because I agreed that they were beautiful, but because HE thought they were beautiful.  I wanted to see what he saw, feel what he felt, love what he loved, and when I looked at those paintings, I felt that I was merging with his world.  But I don’t usually feel that way about a woman.  In fact, I can’t think of any woman who I’ve ever felt that intensely fascinated with.  I can’t recall a time when I met a woman and desperately, passionately, intensely wanted to know what she knows, love what she loves, see what she sees, the way that I feel about Curtis or other guys that I have had intense crushes on.  So I hesitate to even say that I’m ‘bi-curious.’  Even THAT seems to be saying too much.  But I did write it on the profile.  I might remove it after a while.  Unfortunately, I might just be a plain, vanilla, boring old heterosexual like all the other mainstream people.

i need you

July 27, 2010

10:56 AM 7/27/10

Going to a dating website, while still being brokenhearted and obsessed with somebody else, is almost impossible to do.

the bisexual threesome thing – how does that make me feel
‘bi-tolerant’ – tell about how the murderers tortured me when the attacks began, so that I got scared to even admit that I was ‘bi-curious,’ and can’t even think about it without getting upset because of the attacks
bonobo apes
‘i don’t need anything you could give me’

He might not be a Type Six. But I’ve just suspected that he was, from the beginning when I met him. I make a lot of mistakes guessing people’s enneagram types. It was the tattoos and earrings, and what happened with his mother being sexually harassed when we worked together at McD, when she sort of… gave encouraging signals to the manager who harassed her. And no, I don’t mean to blame her for it, because it was the manager who decided to do what he did, while some other person might have resisted the urge to do that. But I had the same feeling from him: harass me, don’t harass me, leave me alone, I need you, I don’t need you, I trust you, I distrust you. It all felt like a Six. Tattoos, counterphobic pain endurance, ear piercings, these things all feel like a Six. (Uh-oh, I’m saying the same phrase more than once. That means it’s going through my head, which probably means it’s coming from ‘them.’)

And I have that feeling: I love Sixes, but at the same time, I can’t stand dealing with them. You’re hot then you’re cold, you’re yes then you’re no, and so on. I love that song. Is that ‘Pink’ again? I’ll have to look it up, I forget who it is. (No, it says Katy Perry.) That’s a song about a Six. My first long-lasting boyfriend in high school was DEFINITELY a Six, with an abusive family environment and some drug use, both of which made him much more inconsistent and unpredictable. And I remember the love I felt for him. I felt a strongly protective feeling towards him, a desire to make it all better, to fix everything, to see the vulnerable child inside him. My feelings for him were the strongest love that I have ever felt for anyone. (Now that I’ve discovered I’m an ‘ephebophile’ I understand that my feelings for adult men are much weaker, and if I were with a 16-year-old boy again, I would probably feel that intense love.)

The voices also told me that he might be a Five. There are some signs of that. He might be a Six with a Five wing, or a Five with a Six wing. The voices are always saying that he and I are ‘identical.’ That he’s just like me. He’s clearly a Sexual instinctual type. The voices called him an ‘approval junkie.’ They tell me that his frequent cuts are not accidental. (Although I’m not saying that he has control over that, either.) They tell me that he drives too fast and recklessly, and I believe it, and I thought I heard his car recently in the rain, or rather, the voices told me it was him. He shows some ‘testing’ behavior like a Six. The ‘are you telling the truth? I’ll test you to find out,’ behavior.

“Sixes and Fives can quite readily mistype, especially if the wing is strong and the Six is intellectual. It is typically Sixes who mistype, or are mistyped by others as Five, rather than the reverse. Both types can be drawn to systems of thought, and counterphobia in Sixes can mimic the iconoclasm common in type Five. Sixes, however, tend to relate far better than Fives do to whomever is a part of their social scene, and Sixes, in general, tend to find it easier to find a niche than do the more idiosyncratic Fives. Also, as a general rule, Sixes are more likely to look for and find practical applications to theory than do Fives who are often uninterested in such considerations. Finally, Sixes, unlike Fives, do not habitually detach under pressure.”

The ‘fuck it – don’t even try’ attitude is more like a Five. And he sometimes says that.

I can’t stop obsessing about him even as I use the dating website. I hate it, I really do. And I can see that no matter what happens I will probably still be connected with him. Every day when I see him at work, even though I can’t look at him when he’s near me and potentially able to talk, I still look at him when he’s far away across the room, and I’m happy to know he’s there. I said that he was my ray of sunshine and I didn’t mean it sarcastically, I meant it seriously. He brightens everything up just by being there and it’s dark when he’s gone. Even if we are ‘fighting,’ quote unquote, because something hurtful was said to me in a text message, I am still always glad that he is there.

Oh, I still didn’t write about the bisexual threesome thing.

I interpreted Carrie and Jayme as being best friends instead of bisexual lovers. I blogged about it a few weeks ago, and commented about how women sometimes say things that aren’t literally true, like they might call each other ‘lover,’ that kind of thing, and Carrie calls Jayme her ‘wifey.’ I know a woman who called me ‘lover’ just recently, even though we are barely more than strangers, and I took it to be meant affectionately. I had a best friend for eleven years, the longest non-family relationship that I have ever had, but we did not do anything sexual, though we were together constantly and talked on the phone for hours. So I assumed Carrie and Jayme were like that.

In the long text conversation we had, when I asked him what he could see right now (because I had the feeling I was talking to a computer instead of a person), he said ‘I see Carrie making out with her friend Jayme.’ I wasn’t sure if this was a joke or literally true. I wasn’t sure if he was saying it just to get a reaction from me. It might not have been happening at that very moment, but it probably does happen.

Later on, I wrote (on paper) my reactions to that. I had a lot of feelings about it. I got this feeling, this image, of him being secure and comfortable and happy, in a relationship where he had everything he wanted. A lot of people fantasize about having a threesome relationship, or they want to watch two women making out, so his situation seems like ‘I have something that other guys only dream of.’ The other part of the implied message was ‘I don’t need you. There’s nothing you can give me that I don’t already have.’ So, this was one of the hurtful things that he said to me, in text, that have been adding up to this list of hurtful things making me afraid to text him anymore or reach out to him anymore. I’m afraid to try talking to him because he could always say something like that, something unexpected and hurtful. And yes, I know all about being a puppet and being forced to say hurtful things, but that knowledge doesn’t help. I still get traumatized when these things are said to me. And maybe, in a free world where we were not being attacked by mind control, he would be more trusting and he might not impulsively say those kinds of things to me. I don’t know. I don’t know how people behave in a free world.

My reaction isn’t so much like, ‘Oh my god! I’m a religious prude, and the idea of two women making out is blasphemous and disgusting!’ That’s not how I feel. I can tolerate the idea of it and I have always been open-minded about bisexuality, although I still feel threatened or jealous about it, but that’s not the same as judging it to be wrong or evil, it’s just another kind of jealousy. I’d feel jealous if he was with other guys and having a special relationship that I could never have with him, and ignoring me and leaving me out. If I weren’t being ignored, it would be different, and I wouldn’t worry about it as much. So I’d feel threatened by that, and also, I feel threatened/jealous about his having the ‘threesome’ relationship, which is something that I’m not doing.

About my own ‘bi-curiosity,’ that was suppressed a few years ago when the murderers started attacking me. They forced me to have traumatic, disgusting nightmares with disgusting images of being forced to suckle female breasts and that kind of thing, and they associated a feeling of rage and disgust and being violated and raped. In reality, I’m a little shy with women, and other women might talk casually about their bodies, for instance, saying something crude like ‘I’ve gotta go take a piss’ or something, and that makes me feel nervous and prudish and uptight. I can’t talk that way. I was raised to use words like ‘urinate.’ I can’t use vulgar words for bodily functions (piss, fart, poop, and so on), and I can’t be casual or open about exposing my body to other women. Some heterosexual women don’t seem to care at all about, for instance, walking around naked or half naked in the presence of other women, but I would be uptight about doing that.

Some of it is from repressed sexual feelings, because I do respond sexually to women, in the right circumstances, especially during my strong hormone phases, or when I’m on drugs. It happened the other day, and it was caused by, you guessed it, drinking cream again. I ate some soups from the deli, because I wanted to get seafood in my diet, and I mixed together the clam chowder and the lobster bisque – the lobster bisque by itself is nothing but broth, so I didn’t want to have just that – and both of those are made with cream. I ate a lot of it, and afterwards I was having the ‘hormone flood’ feelings again. I was walking around feeling sexually aroused and looking at everybody, including women, and often when I feel that way, it’s fat women that I like to look at. (Who knows why, but fat women have something erotic about them when I am in that mood. That would also be the time when I like fat men and I’m looking at their ‘moobs,’ which I commented about the other day. The sensation that I feel, in that mood, is that I myself feel fat, and the feeling is pleasant and erotic.)

This is why I tend to feel comfortable with lesbians or bisexual women. I feel that they care more about me than heterosexual women (who are competing against me). The lesbian/bi women are focused on ME because they like ME. They are less hostile towards me. With heterosexual female friends, I feel as though they’re my friends for a ‘reason,’ like they have to gain something from me somehow, instead of liking me for myself. If I’m with lesbian/bi women, I also feel less afraid of the sexual feelings. If I am in a mood of being sexually aroused by women, I don’t have to be worried or ashamed about it when I’m with them. But with heterosexual women or homophobic women, I would have to hide it. If I get that feeling around les/bi women, I can relax and accept it, while still feeling anxious, repressed, and prudish, and they would have sympathy for me instead of being disgusted.

However, the ‘fear of being overwhelmed,’ an enneagram Five thing, is something that happens to me with les/bi women. It stops me from acting on any sexual feelings I have for them. I’m afraid that the women will be attracted too strongly to me, and sooner or later, I won’t be in the mood for it, or it will disgust me on a different day, or I won’t care about them strongly enough, and they’ll need me too much, and be too clingy or too desperate. If a woman fell in love with me, it might be hard to deal with, if I didn’t feel as strongly towards her. I always had crushes on boys, ever since I was in nursery school, so I identify as heterosexual, and I’ve never made out with a woman in real life, only in the chatroom. So I don’t know what it would be like if I were required to ‘be there’ for a woman who was in love with me and needed my attention all the time.

In some ways, it might be easier than a relationship with a man. I know from experience, and also from scientific studies, and from ‘common knowledge’, that women really are different from men, their brains are different, their skills are different. When I talk to women, they are able to talk about feelings more easily, and able to talk about relationships more easily, and able to look inside themselves in a ‘psychological’ way and say ‘I feel this, I want this, this is who I am.’

Men have a harder time doing that, not just because of our culture, but because their brains really are different. However, GAY men are able to talk about feelings and relationships, because their gay brains are different from hetero male brains. The stereotype of the gay best friend is true, the gay guy who gets along well with women and thinks and acts like a woman, is true. I’ve often fallen in love with men who later turned out to be gay, or I knew they were gay all along but I couldn’t help loving them anyway, or they were bisexual. One guy I was with for a little while in high school later came out as gay. I loved his weirdness. He was really unusual. I can’t remember any details of HOW he was unusual, except I know that he was obsessed with Japanese animation at a time when the internet barely existed and nobody knew about Japanese animation. That’s only one of the many weird things about him.

I don’t like to go around with man-hating women. I don’t want to walk around in a group of women who are complaining about how much they hate men and how inferior men are and how evil men are. This might be something about me, but it might also be because I read Warren Farrell’s books and decided not to ever be a man-hater because of his books. A lot of heterosexual women become friends and go around in a group for the purpose of hating men and complaining about men, and that’s not the kind of female friends that I want to have.

I read about bonobo apes and I envy them for being relaxed about bisexual sex. With them, it’s a casual thing and no big deal. That is the way it should be. They are the closest relatives of human beings, and we are THEIR closest relatives as well. Gorillas are farther away from bonobos than WE are. We think that bonobos and gorillas are a lot alike, because they both have fur all over their bodies, and humans don’t have much fur. But the fur is the only thing that makes them similar. In reality, the bonobos are much more similar to the furless humans. I read that in a library book about bonobos.

Bonobos have made me feel much more comfortable about any bisexual feelings that I’ve had. They also make me comfortable about any pedophile urges that I’ve felt, because bonobos allow the children to watch them during sex, to approach them and touch them, and they also have been seen doing their ‘genital rubbing’ with the children. With bonobos, sex is an everyday part of life, and it’s just another way of bonding, as common as hugs and handshakes, instead of being something to be afraid of. ‘Sex’ isn’t in a separate category from all other kinds of touch. With humans, ‘sex’ and ‘touch’ are two different categories, and ‘sex’ is a big, secret category that has to be kept private and it’s a big huge deal, while ‘everyday touch’ is supposed to be normal and safe and calm and appropriate. With bonobos, all types of touch are in the ‘everyday’ category. They’re fascinating to read about.

Trying to do anything new that I haven’t tried before – the voices have been urging me to try out a relationship with a woman, and at the same time, they weren’t sure if I’m ready to do that just now. I feel like I’d be doing it just to prove something to Curtis, to prove that I’m just as good as his bisexual girlfriend, to compete against her. I don’t want to do it for THAT reason, because then, whatever woman I was with would eventually be abandoned, since I didn’t love her for herself, I was only USING her to prove something to Curtis. I would have to be with a woman because I was focused on her for herself. I would have to find a very special woman. It couldn’t be just ANY woman, and it couldn’t be a casual playful affair.  Not only that, but I would be frustrated with the butch-lesbian haircuts that they tend to have.  I like hip-length hair (or natural afros or dreads, if applicable) and unplucked eyebrows on women just as much as I like long hair on men, and so we would be fighting about getting her to stop plucking her eyebrows, stop using makeup, and when you try to change somebody’s grooming behavior, it doesn’t matter whether it’s a man or a woman, it will always be a battle.

My memories of my relationship with Rachael are the ‘template’ for what I imagine a female-female friendship could be like. Rachael and I always had deep conversations. Same with Valencia later on, my best friend in college, although she didn’t have the same type of deep conversations that Rachael and I did. Rachael was DEFINITELY an ENFP, because everything was abstract and symbolic to her, she was interested in ‘meanings’ and ‘synchronicity’ and other abstract ideas, and she wasn’t good with the ‘real world,’ doing everyday things and practical reality. She wrote poetry where she played with the pieces of the words, the Latin roots, words broken into fragments, with punctuation in strange places to convey a meaning. Every detail of the poem had to be explained, and it was full of layers of meaning. That’s the ‘template’ for the special kind of woman that I would want to be friends with.

At the same time, I felt inferior to her. I’m not abstract-minded. I didn’t understand a lot of what she said. It was always interesting, but yet, I couldn’t participate in it that much, I couldn’t add to the ideas she had. When she left me for her husband, when she joined his ‘cult’ and decided that ‘everybody is evil, including Nicole,’ that made me feel like any Myers-Briggs intuitive, or Idealist, would eventually leave me because I couldn’t give them what they needed. I’m distrusting of ENFPs now because of her. I’m thinking, ‘they can’t REALLY like me.’ Eventually I will disappoint them by being too dull and down-to-earth.

So basically, I am an impossible-to-satisfy pervert in the most inconvenient ways possible. I’m a bi-curious (or ‘bi-tolerant’), long-hair-loving pedophile who doesn’t feel strongly attracted to fully grown short-haired clean-shaven men; loves teenage boys in the whole range from ‘very illegal’ to ‘slightly illegal’ to ‘barely legal’; loves short skinny guys instead of big tall muscular guys, the skinnier the better; feels attracted to women SOMETIMES when I’m in the right mood, but might not be able to sustain a female relationship if I had to ALWAYS be in the sexual mood for them; and not only that, but I can’t even explain about the personality/intellectual things that make somebody ‘interesting’ or ‘boring’ to me – I can’t even articulate those things. I’m most attracted to people who are ‘weird’ in some way, but I can’t define ‘weird.’ And I don’t like ALL weird people – in fact, some weird people really annoy me, and I can’t relate to them at all. But yet, ‘normal is boring,’ and I can’t be myself and be understood by someone who’s too normal. Oh, and I forgot to mention that I also love intact uncircumcised penises, but that is too much to expect when you live in the USA, and somebody has to meet all the other criteria of attractiveness in addition to that.

Impossible to satisfy. This is why I hate using a dating website to meet people. But I guess it’s better than it was in the old days when we didn’t have the internet…

The feeling that I can’t offer anything Curtis needs or wants – that I can’t even offer him MONEY – I can’t even get him to agree to let me visit him for a five-minute conversation, or say ‘yes’ to a hug, or promise any kind of continuing relationship beyond the workplace – ‘I don’t need you’ is the theme going on right now. And when I see him, when I look into his eyes, his beautiful brown eyes, all I can feel is ‘*I NEED YOU!*’

I guess I’ll post this now.

“I have everything I want, I don’t need you, and I don’t care whether you live or die”

July 27, 2010

That’s not an exact quote.  That’s my INTERPRETATION, my overall feeling.  Those words were never said to me directly.


9:40 AM 7/27/10

I’m using again. Inner_silence is my name there, but I’ll soon be making it invisible to the search results again to stop people from emailing me. I am asking people to cook, clean, and shop for me. I have to process the people who have already emailed and I don’t want to get bombarded with dozens more over the next few days. I wish those other women would help me out. I get the impression, from reading things in the forums (which don’t seem to exist anymore – I can’t find them) that women hardly ever answer the people who are writing to them. This is painful for me to see happening. I’d like to write about ‘The Perceived Scarcity of Women,’ but I’ve already written about it in a few other blog entries.

I hate doing this. I hate meeting strangers and asking them for help. Every one who tries to work with me will have to be ‘trained’ – I will have to teach them about the horrible misery of my life and explain why these things are happening. I will have to get through the barrier of their disbelief and skepticism. NO ONE knows about drug residues, or, even less, about trying to cook bone marrow and having its vapors fill up your refrigerator so that all the food you put in there gets bone marrow molecules in it that make you have to stifle the urge to vomit every time you eat or drink anything from the fridge. No one believes it. No one has ever heard of it. I have to explain everything for the first time, every time.

Telling people that I hear voices and I talk to them is actually LESS of a problem than trying to explain the drug residues, or any chemical residues at all, including the bone marrow. Those chemicals have more of a damaging impact on my life than the voices do. They affect everything I do at home. I don’t even like to talk about the details of how I survive. For instance, right now, I’m sleeping on a piece of cardboard. Why am I doing that? Because for a while there, I was buying pieces of foam for a mattress, soft foam, and covering it with a vinyl bed cover. But in reality, if ephedra gets on the vinyl bed cover, for all practical purposes I have to just throw it away – I can try to wipe it off, but it really won’t wipe off. There’s no point in wasting money on the bed cover. I have had to throw away so much money on things, and so I switched back to using cardboard because I was having such a bad contamination incident the past month or so, ephedra over and over again. It was life or death. I had to have something that could be quickly and easily replaced for free, because it would get contaminated again and again.

I already know what will happen the first time someone walks into my house trying to ‘help’ me. They will see that I don’t have a bed, and they’ll be like, ‘Oh, I’ll go buy you a new bed.’ So they’ll buy me one (if I let them, which I won’t) and it will be ruined in two days. The mattress will have ephedra on it, which prevents sleeping, which is why I’ve had to have temporary beds that I throw away. The legs of the bed, the metal parts, the frame, will gradually get little bits of drug residues on them, which will get on any new mattresses or mattress covers I buy.

They’ll see that I don’t have any furniture, and since you’re ‘supposed’ to have furniture, they’ll want to buy it for me. I left all my stuff in storage and I’m gradually throwing it away. I don’t want to buy more stuff until all the residues are totally gone.

The kind of help I need: I don’t want someone to come in and tell me what I should do to fix my problem. I want someone who will listen to me as I tell *them* what needs to be done, and then support me as I gradually do those projects.

I woke up several times during the night because of the murderers. Once when I woke up, they had me feeling hate for everybody. I had to think of which people I hated the least. I’m not in a good mood today. I have extremely severe exhaustion, and I think it’s some of the drugs from Peter’s house. One of his drugs causes me to sleep, and sleep, and sleep, and I wore a shirt yesterday that I had worn when I was with him. The mood I feel is ‘I hate everything.’ I hate society for not knowing about drug residues, for not knowing they exist, for not knowing they go through the skin. I hate modern medicine for not knowing anything about proper nutrition, and just giving everybody drugs for the slightest problem. I hate everybody for not growing their hair the way I like it, both men and women, for making themselves ugly to me in every possible way, so that I can’t bear to look at them.

I guess I’ll just post this now… I don’t think I’m up to writing about ‘the shortage of women’ again, although I might try to later.

I still can’t look at Curtis. This last week we had a long text conversation and I can’t remember whether I’ve already written about it or not, but basically I left with a terrible feeling of rejection, as usual, and the ‘I have everything I want, I don’t need you, and I don’t even care whether you live or die’ message. After another bad incident during another text interaction, I am so afraid of texting him that I can’t even do it anymore, although I was able to do it once, only to tell him that I had sent him emails, because I didn’t know if he used his email or not, and he might not know that I was sending him anything.

I switched to email because I don’t get hurt as quickly and easily as I do with texting. Texting is a quick, efficient way to hurt someone very badly very quickly with very few words. I hate texting too, along with everything else I hate today. (He actually TOLD me, out loud, on the telephone, during one of our rare, brief telephone conversations, that I could feel free to text him at any time of the day or night, as much as I want, because he has unlimited text messaging now, and doesn’t get charged per message. But that wasn’t a promise not to say anything that would hurt me if I did try texting him.) With email, at least I shut off the computer and walk away and I don’t get an immediate reply. However, chances are that we will probably have another ‘Look ur 35 okay’ incident if I rely on email too much. The murderers won’t let me directly ask him whether he said these things: they silence me and prevent me from asking, because they don’t want me to find out the truth, whatever the truth may be. So I can’t just ask him, ‘Did you actually say X to me in a text message / email?’ to find out whether it was really him or whether it was hacked by someone who sent something malicious.

I can’t look at him, but he was looking at me across the room several times. I saw him from far away. I looked directly at him once during a conversation when somebody else was standing there beside him, because I had to ask him a work-related question and there was nobody else I could ask. They messed up my schedule: I had offered to help do the inventory in the salad bar, and I requested that day more than a week ago, but they ignored it because we’ve had OTHER managers coming in and meddling with our schedules and ignoring our availabilities and our requests off. So I got scheduled to work in food service, so I decided to do both, just stay longer and do the inventory after I got done in food service. That day, when I came in, I asked him if the manager was there, and I told him what happened with the schedule. I could look at him, because it wasn’t a ‘potentially intimate’ moment. It was a social, co-worker moment, when I wouldn’t express any feelings or talk about anything sensitive or tell him how I feel. So I could do it. But later on, I saw him walking by when he was getting ready to leave, and I had to look down and not look at him, because it was a ‘potentially intimate’ moment: I could talk to him, I could say goodbye to him, I could ask him what was going on in his life, I could take a few seconds and have a personal conversation with him. So I had to prevent that (to avoid being rejected), so I didn’t look at him.

Doing the salad bar inventory was kind of fun. I kept thinking of him while I was there. I closed down the salad bar and I had to pull out those big racks with the zipper covers on them, where we put all the salad bar stuff, and I remembered all the times I’d seen him do that on the nights when he used to close in produce. That was always my signal that he was going to be leaving soon, when I saw him pulling out the zipper bag racks to put away the salad bar stuff. He usually doesn’t work evenings anymore. Those evenings were the times that he and I were together alone, and we had long conversations, which is something that always made me anxious because we were on the clock and not getting work done. But I remember that and I loved that time. It makes me sad now because I don’t get to spend any time with him, and he won’t bond with me – he won’t make any kind of promise to continue seeing me even if he or I leave this job, and he won’t even spend five minutes to see me someplace away from work. So I am just a temporary co-worker, barely even a friend, and if he or I leaves, there’s nothing at all.

I think I have PMS today too. It’s getting to be about that time. I’ve been usually on the end of the month and the beginning of the next month, somewhere right in between months. I am in the most horrible mood today. I should just post this and do whatever I was going to do. Continue feeling miserable? I think that’s what I was going to do.

Sometimes I believe things that I don’t usually believe.  I should have texted him a couple nights ago.  It was rainy, and his brakes don’t work when it rains.  I should have texted him to see if he was okay.  This is just like an enneagram Six:  I need you, I don’t need you, I really do need you, I don’t need you.  I just don’t know how much of it is really being said by him.  It’s an open invitation for him to see me at home, but with the ‘puppet’ phenomenon, chances are that I will always be either out, or forced asleep and unable to hear the doorbell, or I’d think it was the census takers, if he ever did come over.  But that’s why he’d have to leave a message.  That’s why I’ve asked him to play phone tag with me.  I’ve asked him to, but he won’t.  We have to plan a time in advance when we both will be expecting it.

(The census lady found me, though, and I haven’t had any more doorbells since then.  She caught me when I was going outside to my car.  I was checking on my little herb garden at the time, and she walked over and spoke to me.  I smelled her adrenaline, and it made my own heart beat faster, but I recognized that it was not my own.  She was excited and afraid because she had finally caught her prey after ringing my doorbell for months.  I was crouching on the ground next to my herb garden, holding a pencil and a piece of paper, because I was about to write a shopping list, and, out of courtesy, because I smelled her fear, I quietly laid the sharp pencil on the ground and left it there when I stood up, so that I wouldn’t seem scary or threatening with sharp objects in my hand.  Yes, I really did that.  She was afraid, and she didn’t know what to expect – was I a hostile government-employee-hater?  (Yes, I hate government, but I practice nonviolent civil disobedience instead of attacking the human beings who are employed in the government.)  I explained that yes, I was indeed refusing to take the census, that it wasn’t just an accident that she had never gotten a reply.  Since then, they haven’t knocked again.  I don’t know if or when they will.)

I offer to help, and you neglect me? (sic)

July 21, 2010

1:13 PM 7/21/10

The voices said, ‘Dear world: I apologize for obsessing still more about this topic.’

Every once in a while, Curtis would ask for my help with some of his work. He would usually ask for something simple, like for me to finish washing the salad bar tongs, or to help him with some kind of accident, like a flooded drain in the back room.

One day I was running behind a bit, and I think I had also helped him with something earlier, at my own expense when I was already a bit late in closing the food service department.

He came over to me, and he seemed nervous like he was getting up his courage for something. He said, ‘Can I help you with anything?’ He seemed reluctant, stiff, uncomfortable. It seemed exactly like the times when the voices are forcing me to do something I don’t want to do.

I got scared by this. I said, ‘Oh, no, no, that’s okay, you don’t have to help me with anything!’ I was thinking, but I didn’t say out loud, ‘You don’t have to DO anything to be my friend.’ I didn’t want him to think that he had to ‘do things for me’ or ‘pay’ me in some way, to receive love and friendship. I didn’t want to make him ‘work’ in order to be loved. It seemed like expecting too much if I asked him to help me finish my work.

He reacted instantly when I said no. ‘I offer to help you, and you neglect me?’ He said ‘neglect,’ not ‘reject,’ but I knew what he meant. He backed away and he seemed afraid and anxious. I can’t describe exactly what his hands did, but he sort of blocked himself with his hands, putting them up in front of himself protectively. He’s done that gesture before. Palms up and outwards facing me, if I recall – I’m trying to imitate the gesture he made, but it was so long ago, I don’t remember.

I am more and more sure that someone is interfering with our electronic communication.

The Bitch War. Lies and obsessions and rambling. Reflected feelings.

July 21, 2010

9:38 AM 7/21/10

(*This one’s a bit rambling and disorganized. I’m not writing at my best. I woke up, had a cup of coffee, and haven’t eaten any breakfast. When I do that, I’m writing while hungry and caffeinated. Hunger causes obsession about guys. This is obviously the ‘obsession’ kind of blog post today. Going on and on about the same thing in detail, and not writing very well, and not having any kind of conclusions or decisions.*)

I’ve started to feel REALLLLY paranoid about the person answering Curtis’s text messages. Now I’m curious to see him in person and see what he says and what he remembers from ‘our’ conversations. I’ve been fantasizing about using disinformation (lying) to see if anybody slips and believes the lie.

Actually, this might be ‘their’ idea – it was what I’ve been thinking about this morning since I woke up, and I’ve been laughing hysterically at some of the ideas. They said I should mention about how Curtis’s nickname for me is ‘Whiskers’ and he loves my mustache. Carrie said she herself grows facial hair, so I was going to make it sound like Curtis loves my facial hair the most about me, and Carrie should try growing hers if she wants to compete with me. I should talk about the time he called me ‘buttercup’ (which, in reality, he called HER that name once on facebook, so it would be like he was calling me the same pet name he called her), or talk about all the times he’s grabbed my ass or brushed his hand against it – I can make it sound really believable, because there actually WAS an ass-brusher, but it wasn’t Curtis, so I can describe in a realistic way about how he would ‘accidentally’ tap his hand against my butt when he walked by in small spaces where two people can’t fit easily past each other, that kind of thing, and I’ll have lots of realistic details, and I can sound really paranoid, about how I wasn’t sure at first that he was doing it on purpose, but then I decided he HAD to be doing it on purpose, because it happened again and again.

Lies are destructive, and if I started a disinformation war, chances are it would have some harmful consequences, and I’m not trying to destroy or destabilize their relationship, especially when she’s taking care of him by letting him live with her, and I CAN’T let him live with me, because I have drug residues here, and I can’t explain it to anyone else, and my fridge still has bone marrow vapors in it. The things I’d have to explain are too weird and unimaginable.

But I could have a bitch war with Carrie. I’ve worried about that a little bit. A bitch war is a scary thing. I thought about bitch wars a few months ago when I had an incident with a girl who worked at McD. Her name was Whitney, and I don’t even know if she still works there. She happens to know Curtis and his ex-‘wife’ Kayla (the one receiving child support), and she said she was living with Kayla. She once asked me if I knew Curt. She asked me that shortly after I sent him a text message for the first time, and I got paranoid that Whitney might be getting Curtis’s text messages. (This is why I always mention people being puppets, where they might be forced to say something or do something at the exact moment that would lead you to believe they were hacking or spying, when they weren’t.)

Whitney was an aggressive, reactive type of person, always arguing and fighting with people. She was loud and extroverted. That was my impression of her. I didn’t know her very well. I was a little bit afraid of her. One time I came in at 10:00 and got ready to use the headset and take orders in drive-thru, and I took some money from a customer and put it in the cash register. People aren’t supposed to share the same drawer in the cash register – if one person is using it, then ONLY that person must use it, because somebody could steal money, or make mistakes, and you would get blamed for it. But on overnights, we all use the cash drawer whenever we have to, because sometimes I might be all the way across the restaurant and I’m not close enough to get there quickly, and someone else might be standing right there when the customers drive up, and it’s usually a manager anyway, so I let them get in the drawer and think nothing of it. So I thought nothing of it when I got in Whitney’s drawer when I took the money from the customer.

Whitney freaked out. She started talking over the headset to someone else about ‘Guess who I found getting her hands in my drawer? She was getting all in my drawer and messing up my money…’ She made it sound like I had the drawer open and was rummaging around in it just for the hell of it and messing up the money and doing this gleefully and deliberately and maliciously and laughing while I did it – that’s the mental image I had from the descriptions she was giving, from the way she said it. I was this evil malicioius thing like a gremlin or something deliberately messing things up and causing chaos and stealing her money and getting her blamed for it. She totally exaggerated what had happened, like there wasn’t even a customer at the window when I had the cash drawer open, like I somehow just opened it up with the key or something and was moving the money around and taking stuff out.

I had to settle this with her and I apologized and told her I didn’t realize that it was a big deal, because on overnights, it isn’t. She said, ‘You NEVER get in someone else’s drawer!’ I knew most people didn’t react as badly as she did, but even so, I learned to be more careful and make sure they changed the drawer first.

Whitney was like that, always getting in a fight over something small, so I started to wonder what would happen if she and I got in a bitch war. I’ve sometimes had the theory that it’s actually WOMEN who are responsible for my becoming an electronic harassment victim. Usually I imagine them as men, or the military, or random criminals who are usually men. But sometimes the ‘Competing Females’ theory makes sense too. Females can destroy other females just as viciously as males can destroy other males. And it’s true, I was being attacked for a very long time, but not as badly as I have in the past few years, so SOMEONE was attacking me, but the worst of it began right after my Judith Swack therapy, so I thought she was doing it. Again, though, I can remember things going on long before that. But once in a while I get the ‘hostile females’ idea anyway.

I could imagine a bitch war, sort of like that Judy Blume book, ‘Blubber,’ where a gang of females are tormenting another girl. It scared me – I wondered how far they would go, how malicious they would be, would they destroy property, that kind of thing. Would they cut my tires? Tell lies about me to destroy my reputation? Send destructive computer viruses? It seems scarier to me to imagine fighting against females, because they would be more competitive and less sympathetic to me. I’ve always felt that men would hesitate to attack me, that they tend to feel protective.

Anyway I was thinking of all that with regard to Carrie.

But I don’t WANT to get in a war with her, and I’m not planning to. Still, ‘they’ amused me this morning with the lies that they imagined telling.

I’ll see him soon, so we’ll find out how much he remembers from our text conversations. It would seem pretty obvious that I could just ask him about our text messages, but the last time I did that, he rationalized that he must have written it while drunk. I had asked him about the mean letter I got from MySpace when I was, briefly, his MySpace friend for like three days before he de-friended me. He was confused and he said, ‘MySpace? I haven’t been on MySpace in, like, months. I always use Facebook.’ When I asked him again about it later, he told me he had been drunk every night that week – it was the week that he found out he was losing his license for nine months. So he explained it like that, that maybe he was drunk when he sent the mean letter to me. He would probably do the same thing if I said that I’d had a long text message conversation that he couldn’t remember having.

I don’t think it would help if I started telling lies and then seeing who repeated them. But it was a hilarious fantasy for a few minutes anyway. Telling them he’s been calling me ‘buttercup!’ That’s not the name he calls me. He really did call Carrie buttercup on facebook though. I’ll probably fantasize a few more hilarious things that I could say, but in reality, I won’t do them. Or, I hope I don’t. Again, I’m not trying to harm their relationship, not when he’s in this vulnerable and helpless position of needing a place to live, and needing someone to drive him around, and Carrie’s the only one who can do it.

If I told lies, I should tell lies that make him look like a really nice guy. The person I’m talking to keeps saying ‘no’ in the text messages, while Curtis himself seems to say ‘yes’ in real life. So I could make up a story about how I tried, and failed, to seduce him, or something like that. Remember the time when… when I tried to do, whatever, and you said no, you had a girlfriend. That kind of thing. Or you said Carrie was the only one for you. And actually, he did say something like that when I tried to ask him to let me talk to him on the phone once, and he said that there wasn’t much time to do that because he was working a lot of hours and then spending the rest of his time with his girlfriend. That annoyed me, because I wasn’t calling just to chat, I was calling to settle my mind about what kind of relationship he and I have, so I can move on to another guy. Because I can’t move on: the memory of Curtis inhibits me, and also, the voices attack and they tell me lies, and they tell me Curtis needs me, when actually, he probably doesn’t need me and he probably doesn’t even remember that I exist when he leaves Weis and goes back to his own world.

How can I believe one thing is true, but also believe what the voices tell me? The voices lie to me using my weaknesses, my false hopes, my wishful thinking. They tell me things that seem believable. For instance, it really is believable that Curtis MIGHT be attracted to me as a woman and not just a friend, because, in reality, I HAVE had boyfriends in the past, for many years, so obviously SOMEONE finds me attractive once in a while. And the ‘somebody is hacking the text messages’ theory makes a loophole that no theory can escape from. No matter what he says in text, I’ll always wonder whether maybe someone hacked the message.

Why do I avoid calling him? Well, I HAVE actually called a couple times. I have left a few voice mails. He never calls back, or if he does, he doesn’t leave messages. He has answered the phone twice and talked with me for real, but we haven’t been able to get relaxed and trusting and used to each other, so that we can talk openly about ‘our relationship.’ I can only talk about such vulnerable subjects in writing, not out loud. It takes a lot more trust and relaxation, and we have to spend more time together, and not be rushed. It takes longer, and I have to test each statement, each risky little thing I say, carefully, and say one small vulnerable thing, and get his reaction, and then say another small vulnerable thing, and get his reaction, one by one, statement by statement. Talking openly about sexual attraction, and about physical touch, is vulnerable. Questions I can’t ask: Do you like it when I touch you? Do you want me to touch you more often than I do? Do you want me to touch you in a loving way, like giving you a hug? Do you want me to touch you in a sexual way? I hardly ever touch him, but when I do, I swear, I SWEAR that I get the feeling he likes it and he wants me to do it. And if I DON’T touch him, I get hurt feeling vibes from him – not just ‘hurt,’ but ‘I’m disgusting, that’s why she won’t touch me’ or ‘I’m needy, and I can’t ask her to touch me.’

It happened not too long ago. We were working together in the morning. I had seen him in the back room when I was on my way to do something, probably to go to the cooler to get chickens. We said hello and we were chatting a little bit. I was relaxed and enjoying myself, but I also felt rushed, because in the morning, I have to hurry to get certain things done by a certain time. I forget what we were talking about. I was probably just asking him about his DUI thing and what was going on in his life right at the moment.

I felt that I really wanted to touch him. I had touched him recently, I think. That might have been after the day when I went up and scratched his shoulder and then petted him, so he was aware that I could touch him, and remembered it. But I restrained myself, I didn’t do it, and I just separated from him, and went away and went back to work.

I remember I mentioned, as I was walking away, that I had had an incident where I spontaneously started coughing and choking really badly, and I was coughing for like twenty minutes afterwards. My throat had been irritated during the time when I was drinking cream in my coffee (I’ve finally stopped doing that, regretfully – the cream is actually addictive and I miss it), and I was having a problem with my voice box seeming to have a tumor or a swelling or something which was giving me a scratchy throat and making me lose my voice. And I think it was the murderers attacking me, when I would spontaneously start choking out of nowhere for no reason – I think they did something to burn my throat – but they were attacking an irritated area that already existed. I already know that they’ve made me have a tickle in my throat before, and they sent me a link to a web page that described radio frequency weapons that irritated the cells – the cells that have to do with allergic reactions – I forget. It’s usually done to make you gag or vomit, but this particular attack only caused lots and lots of coughing. So it was a combination of already having an irritated throat from the cream, and the murderers attacking it and triggering twenty minutes of coughing and choking. That had happened to me, and I mentioned it to Curtis as I was walking away. (I didn’t mention that I thought ‘they’ had caused it to happen.)

I said something like, ‘So, everyone thinks there’s something wrong with me, but there really isn’t.’ Everyone noticed I was coughing and choking and they asked if I was okay. It was embarrassing. So at that moment, I felt like a weirdo, like a loser, like somebody disgusting and strange. But that feeling was happening at the same moment that I was walking away from him, without touching, when I felt as though I needed to touch him.

I use the ‘I’m rubber, you’re glue’ theory a lot. I’m rubber, you’re glue, whatever feelings I feel originally came from you. I often notice that I have a feeling during an interaction, and that feeling seems to belong to the other person. I don’t know if this happens in the real world, or if it’s a fake feeling caused by the murderers. However, it’s well known that people ‘pass along’ feelings by making someone else feel that way: for example, if parents are beating and abusing a little child, that child will go to school and he will bully and abuse the other children, passing along the feeling of being a victim and being attacked and helpless. That’s well known. But I think it happens with more subtle feelings, with more complicated feelings, about social inferiority usually, not just with something about being beaten up. Or sexual rejection. It can come from subtle things we say and do, or subtle things in our body language or tone of voice. (That’s why I love books about communication skills. They actually talk about these things. This book I’m reading now mentions the ‘melody’ of the voice, the intonation, the songs we sing when we speak a sentence.)

So the feeling I felt, when I looked at him, when I looked at his shoulders from behind – his shoulders were hunched down in a way, and he looked ashamed, and pathetic, and disgusting, and needy. He looked rejected. I had walked away without touching him. I can’t tell which feelings are my own, and which feelings are his. I can’t tell if I project feelings onto him, or if I read his own feelings accurately. But I avoided touching him because *I* felt needy, disgusting, and pathetic. I passed that feeling along to him, and it seemed like his shoulders were expressing that. I don’t know how I see it, but I can read the position of his shoulders. I’ve seen it many different times in different situations, where some tiny angle of his neck and shoulders expresses ‘a thousand words’ of feelings.

He reflects and resonates feelings from me and has done this in many of our conversations. So it might not even be his own.

I should go ahead and post this – I should eat breakfast instead of obsessing and I should stop this bad-writing-quality disorganized rambling.

“Glitter In The Air” – found out what this song was

July 20, 2010

I only have heard this song about twice, but I got enough of the lyrics to google it.  It’s by Pink.  I never knew I liked Pink before, but I love this song.  I’ll have to hear the whole thing.

Glitter In The Air lyrics
Songwriters: Mann, Billy; Moore, Alecia;

Have you ever fed a lover with just your hands?
Close your eyes and trust it, just trust it
Have you ever thrown a fist full of glitter in the air?
Have you ever looked fear in the face
And said I just don’t care?

It’s only half past the point of no return
The tip of the iceberg, the sun before the burn
The thunder before lightning, the breath before the phrase
Have you ever felt this way?

Have you ever hated yourself for staring at the phone?
Your whole life waiting on the ring to prove you’re not alone
Have you ever been touched so gently you had to cry?
Have you ever invited a stranger to come inside?

It’s only half past the point of oblivion
The hourglass on the table, the walk before the run
The breath before the kiss and the fear before the flames
Have you ever felt this way?

La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

There you are, sitting in the garden
Clutching my coffee, calling me sugar
You called me sugar

Have you ever wished for an endless night?
Lassoed the moon and the stars and pulled that rope tight
Have you ever held your breath and asked yourself
Will it ever get better than tonight? Tonight

Putting on a ‘display’ to scare off competitors

July 20, 2010

10:53 AM 7/20/10

Yesterday I went out and got a bunch of cardboard out of the dumpsters at McD. I don’t mind messing around in McD’s dumpsters because I’m an employee and I’m so familiar with those dumpsters already, even though I wasn’t at my own store. I need cardboard for my drug residues at home. I put it in certain places, like to cover the floor of an area with the residues, or to use as a box to put things in to keep them off the floor and away from other contaminated objects. I go through a lot of cardboard, but it’s free, except the cost of the effort of getting it and bringing it home.

I slept badly. I put down a plastic drop cloth over my bed. It was meant to cover the residues that seemed to be on my bed. However, I still couldn’t sleep. My skin stuck to the plastic and it moved with me every time I moved. The murderers were bothering me too, attacking and forcing me to stay awake. I still felt like there was ephedra on me somehow. I know from experience that ephedra can go through plastic, and I have to use paper or cardboard instead. Paper has worked very well all this time, but plastic is somehow too thin and it seems to be permeable to the ephedra molecule. I think ephedra might be a nonpolar molecule, but I’m not sure. I just wasn’t ready to get all the cardboard and paper out of my car and set up the bed. That will be today’s project.

The drugs need to be patched up very soon. They are making me more aggressive than I should be. I am ashamed to tell about what happened with Carrie, but I ought to tell about it, I think. Sometimes I do things that I feel ashamed of because of the drugs pushing me to go against my better judgment, or I say something to someone in a way that is too rude or ungrateful or something.

Here is the Carrie situation.

Several months ago, I first saw Carrie when Curtis brought her into Weis and walked around with her, and then brought her over to introduce her to me. We talked a little bit and she was nice to me.

A while later, maybe a few weeks or months, I forget, I decided to try to find Curtis on facebook. I found him and asked him to be a friend. But before he even responded, Carrie responded first by requesting me to be a friend. And she saw me in person and asked me if I had gotten her friend request, because she said that sometimes she sent a request and people didn’t get it. (I can relate to that.) So I said yes to her, and Curtis said yes to me. I was temporarily his friend on facebook, but that didn’t last long. I did it because I wanted to see updates about what was going on in his life, because there was a chance that he was going to go to jail for drunk driving. I didn’t want him to just disappear without me knowing what was going on. So I wanted to see facebook.

I have written a couple of emails to Carrie. Once I wrote to her because she broke up with Curtis. I told her a couple of things: 1. that I was interested in him, and 2. that I wanted him to be happy, which meant that he needed a stable relationship with somebody who wouldn’t break up with him as a way to ‘punish’ him, control him, or because of something trivial and petty.

She responded to me and said that I would never be able to understand what had happened between her and him. She said that he needed to figure some things out before they could get back together. Also, she advised me that I should shave my mustache and cut my hair and put on a little makeup if I wanted to get a guy. (If I wanted to get just ‘any guy,’ I don’t need to do anything at all. I can go to a dating website and find, literally, THOUSANDS of men, and that is not an exaggeration, who would go out with me this very instant, the way I am – but they’re guys who I find unattractive, because I am very picky, and because I’m a skinny-guy-o-phile, whatever that is.)

I had some help from ‘the voices,’ who put words into my mouth. I don’t know what I would have said in the real world. Probably nothing at all. They made me say, ‘I’m not here to talk about how I style my hair,’ or something like that, ‘I’m here to tell you that I want him to be happy and that means he needs someone who won’t break up with him.’ I don’t recall my exact words.

That conversation ended, after a few letters, and we let it go.

But I have written to her again just recently. I was panicking, and I was on drugs, like I have been over the past couple weeks with my drug residues. It’s intensifying my emotions and making me more aggressive and making me more emotional. I WANT to get rid of the drug residues. I don’t want to live this way. I am not doing this on purpose. But it’s impossible to explain to any mainstream-world people who have no idea that you can handle a few seeds and a few tiny plant sprouts and then contaminate everything you own, forever and ever, with drug residues that go through your skin and cause intense reactions from a tiny microdose.

I was panicking because he told me he got thrown out, and he was moving in with Carrie, and he’s about to lose his license, so she’ll be driving him. Because of panicking, I wrote to her too, before I talked to him on the phone and had my questions answered. There are situations where I can do something socially inappropriate because I am so scared of losing someone that nothing matters anymore. ‘They,’ the voices, are comparing it to the time when I was courageous enough to ask Martin to give me a hug, because I knew I was losing him when he went away for the summer at the end of the semester. I can do things like that when I am scared of losing someone, when it’s the last time I’ll see them, when something important or terrible is going on that makes it so nothing else matters. So I didn’t care much about what Carrie thought, or how she might feel, or whether I was being cruel to her by talking to her about her boyfriend, I just did it, I sent her an email.

I asked her some questions like whether he had to pay rent. She responded mostly by telling me that I should get over Curtis, that I was too mature for him and that I needed to find myself a mature guy. (This is laughable for someone who is learning that I can call myself a hebephile or an ephebophile because I am so strongly attracted to teenagers, and grown men are mostly unattractive to me.) She put on a big loud ‘display’ on facebook, on her status updates, talking about how wonderful he was, how great it was to be with him, how much they loved each other, and he responded the same way and wrote much the same thing under her comments. I’m calling it a ‘display’ because I’ve been thinking of this as animal behavior, where an animal puts on a display, making loud noises or fluffing up its feathers to scare off the threatening competitor, that kind of thing. A display.  On FB she said things like, ‘Sorry to all the girls who wanted him and can’t have him, I’ve got him and I’m not letting him go,’ that kind of thing.

‘Displays’ are something that I actually like about Curtis. He instinctively does them. Once we were in the back room and I was pushing a cart and going somewhere when he stopped and talked with me. Some other guys were there. I was talking to another guy at first, and then Curtis came over to the cart I was pushing, touched it and leaned on it, became the center of attention, and talked to me and blocked out the other guy who was talking to me. He did it in a subtle, quiet way, a minimal way, just a few small things to take my attention away from the other guy, to stop that conversation and make me talk to him instead. And the other guy sensed it, and he looked down at the floor. I don’t know if he was angry, he probably was. The other guy stopped talking to me. I called it a ‘display,’ a social display saying that he was my first priority, and again, this was subtle. He does little things like that frequently.

He also ‘brownnoses’ me, and that’s not my word, that’s somebody else’s word, because some of the other guys said he was a brownnoser. There is no reason on earth to brownnose me. I am nobody. I’m not a manager, I’m not anybody important, I’m just another employee. He flatters me and calls me his pet names, and he often does it in front of other people, sometimes in front of customers, sometimes in front of an ‘inferior,’ or a new guy. The other day he called me his name in front of the new guy, to show that he has something special going on with me and the new guy shouldn’t try to compete.

No, I don’t think that I’m actually all that special to him, because he does this kind of thing with lots of different women, and he is popular with women, and they all seem to be fond of him, although they haven’t all tried texting and calling him and giving him notes and doing all the other things I have done. Most of them probably haven’t tried to take it outside the workplace. Many of the women are older than he is. I don’t usually get a chance to see him talking to young women his own age. From talking to him, I know that he is almost always dating somebody, although he might go a month without having a girlfriend if he breaks up with someone. He has mentioned several girlfriends over the year that I’ve known him.

(‘Why didn’t anything get done?’ ‘I was writing.’ I was thinking of asking someone to help me by calling me and checking to see what tasks and projects I had gotten done this week, and asking me (compassionately) why things didn’t get done. Writing is all I ever want to do. I haven’t played video games in a while, thank goodness, but when I have them, video games are all I want to do, until I win.)

It’s strange to me, my blog is getting read by a steady number of people. There is always someone reading it even on the days when I haven’t posted anything. People are finding me in the google results, and the ones that are getting the most hits are the same subjects that I’m fascinated with. For instance, one of my most popular posts is ‘Yulia Tyroschenko,’ and I might not be spelling that correctly, where I wrote about how I googled her and tried to find out whether that braid around her head is fake. Everyone else wants to know the same thing! That tells me that I’m not the only one, that LOTS of people are interested in long hair and unusual hair styles, especially if they see it on celebrities, politicians, and other people in the media. All I have to do is talk about celebrity hairstyles and lots of people will start reading my blog, I guess. But anyway I get the impression that a lot of people are finding certain blog posts, particular ones, in google results, for subjects that a lot of people are googling. It doesn’t necessarily mean that they permanently subscribe to my blog and they keep reading all my romance-novel, love-story, diary-entry blogging. They might only read about Yulia Tyroschenko (or whatever) and then never see me again. Still it’s interesting to see the steady stream of people looking at my blog.

Getting me a social life… Somebody other than Curtis. It’s always been very difficult to make me be sociable. This is a brief history of my social life:

Elementary school: I didn’t have a ‘friend group.’ I usually had just one best friend, and barely saw anyone else, though I might visit someone else once in a while. I played with toys, and read books, alone, or with my brother John – and I loved my brother dearly and we both felt that we were the only people on earth who understood each other. (Yes, we fought sometimes when we were kids, and it wasn’t always perfect, but in general we had a good relationship.)

Middle school: Best friend Rachael. A couple other friends, but they didn’t really understand me, and I couldn’t be alone with them. They usually worked best if it was me, Rachael, and the other girls together in a group. Being alone with the others was awkward, nothing to talk about, nothing to do, no chemistry.

High school: I started dating Terry and spent most of my time with him, and the rest of my time with Rachael. Sometimes I sat at a table in the morning and talked with the group sitting there, but I didn’t really care about them or open up to them. Still, it resembled a group.

College: This was my strongest ‘group’ time. I had several friends and we went everywhere together. We were all in the AP group, Advanced Placement, for people who got good grades in high school and had taken AP classes and AP tests. We had a few college credits already because of that, so we took different classes than everyone else did, and we took them together, and we lived in the same hallway in the same dormitory. Our little group went to the cafeteria together most of the time, and the center of the group was Valencia, who talked the most, and told the most stories, and made everyone laugh. Any one of us could be alone with Valencia, but we (the rest of us) could not easily be alone with each other. Valencia was able to be everyone’s best friend. (This might mean that her instinctual stacking is So/Sx, the ‘best friend.’ She always had multiple friendships. And she was a comedian, making jokes, making fun of people in a gentle way, and ‘comedian’ is another thing associated with the So/Sx type.) Still, the rest of us could eat lunch together if we couldn’t find Valencia to ‘glue’ the group together, and I got along well with Jessie, the girl who had some disease that made her unable to walk straight and keep her balance. So Jessie and I often ate together.

Eating meals together was the most important social activity we did. I will always miss that. In fact, the books about intentional communities say that eating meals together is, almost, the number one most important thing that a community needs to do to guarantee that it ‘feels like a community’ and stays together. Eating meals together is crucial. You can’t build a community and actually FEEL together unless you eat together. And you will probably remember the same thing, eating meals in the cafeteria in school with your group of friends, and how that was ‘the’ social time period where everything happened. (Although I guess things happened during recess, too.)

After college: Total isolation. I became a hermit. I had a couple housemates, but after moving into my boyfriend’s house, I didn’t keep in touch with the old housemates. Then I moved into my own place, alone, and sometimes visited my boyfriend, and that was all. Now, I’m not with him anymore, and the only boyfriend I have is the guy who’s married, who I can’t visit freely, and he’s sick, and we don’t do much together except go to the store. Plus, I’m in Pennsylvania, far away from my school friends. So the online world is where I read about things other people are doing, and that’s about all I have.

I would be more sociable IF:…

if the people believed some of the same things I believe. I need to be around people who can tolerate the idea that maybe, just maybe, they don’t know all that there is to know in the world. They have to be just a little bit open minded about the unknown, the strange, the weird, the secrets and conspiracy theories, the UFOs, psychic powers, ghosts, the mind control systems, whatever. (No, I don’t worry about UFOs, and in fact I never think about them, but that’s just an example.) They don’t necessarily need to dwell on those things, they just need to be SLIGHTLY open to the possibility of them, and SLIGHTLY interested in things that are strange and unusual. Slightly aware that the world isn’t just a simple place where everything is what it seems. My entire life is lived in a world of strange things that nobody else knows about, and I can’t even begin to get close to somebody if they can’t tolerate the slightest hint of strangeness.

If you’ve read Harry Potter, then think of it as, you’re making friends with Luna Lovegood. You will have to get used to hearing unexpected comments about things you’ve never heard of before. There’s always some weird long story about why she does what she does. She wears shoes to bed because she sleepwalks, but somebody’s stealing all of her shoes, and she suspects nargles are behind it, so she wears a charm to repel the nargles. As for me, I take off my shoes before getting into your car or your house – although I might not take them off before getting into the car, but I will really, really feel guilty if I don’t – because there are drug residues on the bottom of my shoes that will cause you to have extremely severe insomnia, and you won’t know what’s causing it, and you’ll go to the doctor and get addicted to sleeping pills because of my ephedra footprints. Trying to explain that to a closed-minded ‘mainstream’ person who believes that the only truth is what the government and the television tells us is true…

I think I’ll go ahead and post this… I need to do some projects today, and I’m focused on patching up the drug residue outbreaks… I also need to make a ‘smaller infinity,’ get rid of some contaminated belongings in the storage unit, so that the contamination isn’t infinite, so it won’t last forever, so I don’t feel hopeless about it.

Ephedra residues; Curtis moves into gf’s house

July 19, 2010

10:20 PM 7/19/10

I’ve had recurring problems over the past few weeks with ephedra drug residues, even though I got new ‘fake’ work uniforms that ought to be clean. I think now it’s on the vinyl car seat cover, so I am going to replace that or cover it with something. Hopefully that will help. It’s making me unable to sleep, and I’ve had the pounding heart too.

I wore shorts while driving my car, and after that, I tried to lie down and sleep, but I felt the ephedra sensation of being totally awake and unable to relax while my heart was pounding. So I took a shower, and it still was there, and I took another shower. I think it’s on my ‘bed’ too (the little styrofoam cushion I sleep on), so I’m going to cover that up. It’s horrible being unable to relax or sleep at all.


I got another real phone call with Curtis. I called him because he told me that he either got thrown out, or chose to leave – I’m not sure which it is – because he and his stepfather had a fight, and his stepfather told him he had to start paying rent. I didn’t get to talk with him about ‘our relationship’ during that call – I only asked him some questions about what he’s doing now. He’s moving in with his girlfriend Carrie, who is not charging him rent – her grandmother is allowing him to stay there.

I also had a long text message conversation with somebody on Saturday night. I say ‘somebody’ because it might not have even been Curtis I was talking to. I don’t want to rely on text messages because I get very paranoid about 1. hackers, or 2. somebody else picking up his phone and talking to me while pretending to be him. He told me once that somebody else had borrowed his phone, and this happened during a time when ‘they’ forced me to start trying to text message him, so I was sending him messages while somebody else had his phone.

A few things made me believe it wasn’t him.

1. The texter ‘forgot’ that I hear voices. I mentioned it, and the person was like, ‘what, you hear voices?’ And the real-world conversation with Curtis, where I told him that I hear voices, was a very important and memorable conversation, and I’ve mentioned it to him several times since then, in person and in handwritten notes I’ve given to him.

2. Near the end of the conversation they casually said, ‘Well, there are like 6 other girls who want to be with me, so, no,’ (‘no,’ as in, I’m not desperate enough to go out with you. I had said ‘the voices were saying things like, ‘I’m not that desperate,’ which I interpreted as, Curtis isn’t desperate enough to go out with me.) In the real world, Curtis sometimes acts like he is excited by me or attracted to me. He wouldn’t see it as ‘desperate,’ and he wouldn’t brush me off so easily and casually, with so little kindness or tactfulness.

3. I started the text messaging by describing things Curtis had physically done with me in the real world over the past few days. He had gently stroked my fingers under a paper plate that I was handing him with a piece of pizza on it, and it felt… sooo… good. You could not even imagine how wonderful it feels to have someone stroke your fingers that way. I was reliving it for several minutes afterwards. That happened after a conversation in which I had offered to ‘help him with money,’ and he had said, ‘I can’t take your money, that’s YOUR money,’ and I threw my head back and laughed loudly. (Rule of thumb: The louder they laugh, the more it must have hurt. In certain situations, I laugh when I’m emotionally hurt or when I want to cry. He had rejected my ‘last resort,’ offering money.) A couple days later he stood very, very close behind me and another lady who I was with, and he was so close I could feel his electric field, that tickly feeling on my skin, like every hair was standing up with the static electricity. I described these incidents (briefly, with little detail) and the texter responded with ‘OIC,’ and that was all. So I asked, ‘what do you see?’ and that was how we started. It got a response from SOMEONE, that was all I knew. Nothing like ‘I remember that,’ or anything.

4. When I asked ‘what do you see?’ they wouldn’t answer the question at first. I was checking to see if I was talking to a robot, an artificial intelligence, some program giving me random answers. So I demonstrated what I meant. I said, ‘I see a brightly lit cell phone surrounded by darkness.’ To this, they responded, ‘I see Carrie making out with her friend Jayme.’ I said, ‘Hi Carrie, am I talking to you?’ Carrie described herself on Facebook as ‘most likely to get kinky’ in one of those little ‘tag your friends’ images going around a few weeks ago. It didn’t feel like something Curtis would say. It seemed insincere. But I continued assuming I was talking to Curtis himself, without knowing for sure.

I think there were a few other things that seemed strange and not like him – things he ‘forgot’ about me, which he knew in the real world, that kind of thing. I had another incident where he and I were texting, and something went wrong, and we got cut off, and he approached me in the real world afterwards, seeming anxious and worried, asking me if I had a letter to give him like I had said in the text – even though ‘he’ said in the text messages that I should stop giving him letters. We had a technical glitch: a text message from him got sent to me three times in a row, and I heard voices later on quoting from The Matrix: ‘Deja vu – it happens when they change something.’ (Scene where the black cat walks past Neo twice in a row.) Then after that I got the ‘stop doing it’ message, and then, no more replies. So, we’ve had weird problems with text messaging before.

He says ‘no’ online, and ‘yes’ in the real world. He says yes by calling me sweet, loving, and sometimes sexual pet names, very often. Not just once in a while, but all the time. Sometimes I laugh when he says these things, I can’t help it – it seems too good to be true. ‘Oh, you say that to ALL the girls’ would be the response that I feel. He says yes in his body language and in all his behavior and his expressions of feeling in the real world. But I have trouble reaching him on the phone, in text, on facebook and myspace, and in email.

So, I haven’t yet spoken with him to find out if he even remembers having this long text message conversation on Saturday night. I’m feeling paranoid about it and I will have my theories about who I was really talking to, until he talks to me in person about it.

The texter also said, ‘can I ask you a question?’ and then asked, ‘are you a virgin?’ I said, ‘you don’t read my blog,’ and they said, ‘I don’t go on the internet very much.’ I told them no, I’m not a virgin, and I explained my boyfriend situation (Peter, health problems, we’re not having sex, he’s married, etc). The texter said, ‘so he’s like a boyfriend?’ This was another thing that ‘Curtis’ ‘forgot,’ because I have already given him a handwritten note explaining my boyfriend situation with Peter. He knows I have a boyfriend. I think we’ve talked about it out loud too, but I can’t remember for sure.

They might have gotten the ‘I’m a virgin’ idea because I recently wrote a facebook status that said, ‘my trusting, innocent eyes can’t see the racist hidden message in the world cup logo.’ That’s one theory as to where this idea came from. I’m trusting and innocent, but not THAT innocent, not 35 years of virginity innocent. The voices were FURIOUS later on at this insult. They took it to mean that the person was saying, I’m so ugly and unnatractive, so rejected, so pathetic, that in 35 years, I’ve NEVER had a boyfriend, and NOBODY has ever been attracted to me. They took it as a huge, unthinkable, unimaginable insult. They took it to mean that, because I have a mustache and I don’t shave it, no man has ever wanted me in my entire life. I was grateful for this particular voice talking to me, because it was defending me and defending my dignity. It said that the female mustache is a respected part of my religious tradition, even though this religion is unknown to the mainstream world, and that we see it as reviving a long-lost culture that disappeared a long time ago, a respected culture, not something to make fun of the way the mainstream world makes fun of it. For whatever reason, the world decided that female mustaches are something funny and ridiculous and ugly, instead of something respected and beautiful and sexually attractive, and I don’t know the reasons why they decided that. So this voice was defending me against the clueless person and their deadly insult.

Curtis is losing his driver’s license very soon, in the next couple days. He will be stuck out in Carrie’s world, and Carrie is driving him to work. He will be depending totally on her. If I can’t reach him by phone, and if he loses his job, I won’t be able to reach him at all unless I do something inappropriate, some kind of stalking activity that goes beyond what Curtis has given me permission to do. He’s never given me permission to find Carrie’s address and go out there for a visit, and that’s what I’d have to do to reach him. So I am very afraid of what is going to happen. I don’t want to lose him, and work is the only place where I can see him. And I love looking at him. He makes me so much happier during my work hours, just looking across the room and seeing him standing there, or looking into his eyes when he walks by, even if we don’t get to talk.

‘They,’ the voices, and I agree on something: I might be officially calling myself a hebephile. Curtis has fetal alcohol syndrome, and because of that, he is very, very, very small for his age. He is so skinny that I can see the fabric of his shirt draped over the bones of his shoulder blades. And my attraction to him is very intense, much more intense than my attraction to any fully grown man. He is also short in height, only a few inches taller than I am. He is also totally flat-chested, with no developed muscles and no breast tissue. (Yes, I sometimes like ‘moobs,’ man-boobs, depending on the guy – they can be very sexy. But I also like flat-chested guys. And oddly enough, a muscular chest is what I like LEAST. ‘Moobs’ are more desirable to me, sometimes, than a muscular chest.) Those things make him seem like an early teenager, not someone in his late teens.

I compared him to another guy who just recently started working there. There is a guy who is similar height, and he’s young too, and he seems to weigh only just a little bit more. But he is a tiny bit stockier, a tiny bit more muscular, with a ‘meaty’ look to his shoulders, a thickness in his back, instead of the bony shoulder blades sticking out. And that ‘meaty’ look gives me a slightly repulsed feeling – I find this guy less attractive because he is slightly more muscular and meaty, even though he is still short and small. Again, more evidence for going all the way down to the ‘hebephile’ age group of 11-14 years old, instead of the ‘ephebophile’ age group of 15-19. I’m attracted to the group of boys who are so young that they haven’t even developed big muscles yet.

But Curtis’s face has matured somewhat and he doesn’t have the same type of little kid ‘cuteness’ that a 12 year old has, and I don’t mind – I love his face. He has a little bit of the ‘chubby cheeks’ look that all teenagers still have, since their faces and skulls are still not fully adult, not yet fully grown, but it isn’t as ‘chubby cheeks’ as, for instance, Justin Bieber (who I commented about a few blogs ago), and I actually don’t feel sexually attracted to Justin Bieber. C’s face is beautiful and cute and sexually attractive to me, and it looks like an older teen’s face, not a little kid’s face. It’s hard to explain what I mean by ‘chubby cheeks’ and how that would describe Curtis, because if you look at him, he is mostly adult and has kind of narrow cheeks, depending on which angle you look at. It’s a subtle, in-between stage, something temporary, something hard to describe. Whatever cuteness is, it’s something about their cheeks, that’s all I can explain. I like reading about ‘cuteness’ in Wikipedia, and I like the idea that scientists have tried to define what makes someone cute.

Not only that, but also, I am strongly attracted to armpit hair and facial hair.  When Curtis doesn’t shave for a day or two, I am fascinated with the hair on his face.  (And he skipped shaving recently because of moving out of his house and the daily grooming routine being upset, so I got to see this again.)  I love to look at the little millimeters of stubble on his chin and his cheeks and mouth.  So that argues for me liking an older age group instead of the 11-14 age group.  It’s only the older teens who have started to grow facial hair.

Have I obsessed long enough about this topic??? It’s time to post this. This is long because I’ve had lots of coffee to make me feel better after the ephedra problem I had earlier today. Coffee makes it easier to tolerate that exhausted feeling I get from the transdermal drug residue poisoning. I should go eat instead of blogging.

The main theme of the past few days: Being terrified that I will lose Curtis because he got thrown out of his parents’ house and is now living with Carrie, and he’s losing his driver’s license and she will be driving him to work. If I don’t see him at work, and if our telephone and text messages are getting hacked and intercepted or just picked up by Carrie in a mundane, non-hacking way (just by picking up the phone and answering my messages, or deleting my voice mails), then I won’t be able to reach him at all. This is what I’ve been afraid of all this time.

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

July 13, 2010

9:34 PM 7/13/10

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

It’s making me think about several things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


July 13, 2010

6:03 AM 7/13/10

I’ve had a few moments with Curtis this past week. We worked together a couple of times; I touched him a few times; we had a few conversations; and I called him on the phone and he answered, and we talked for a couple of minutes, but I said I wasn’t ready to talk with him yet, so I got off the phone. I said I’d call him back in a bit. After I hung up, I cried and cried for a few minutes. I was having a ‘mood swing’ from drug residues, but also, it is all of the feelings that have been built up over all this time, grief and pain. I decided I should go get something to eat because that would help the mood swing, so I texted him and told him I’d call him back after I ate. Then I went around for a couple of hours, out to Burger King so I could just have something in my stomach instead of trying to talk to him while I was starving. I didn’t really do much of anything, just wandered around for a while, and then got up the courage to call him back. He didn’t answer that time, and so I left a message.

When we did talk on the phone, it felt like some other people I’ve talked to. Sometimes, a person you’re talking to has this barrier of dignity that you can’t cross. I felt like we had to be formal with each other and I could not be vulnerable or tell the truth. I DID tell the truth, but I could not relax and tell ALL of the truth in a comfortable way. I could only tell one tiny tip of the iceberg of truth.

I don’t like talking on the phone just for the sake of talking on the phone, usually, unless we have something to talk about. But he and I need to ‘get used to each other’ as I always say, so that means we have to talk about nothing at all, a few times.

He was anxious, and I couldn’t ask him why, so I had to think of my own theories of why he would feel anxious. He knows I have mood swings and he knows that I am sensitive to getting hurt, so he probably felt like I was going to get upset no matter what he said or did. Then he would get blamed for it and it would be like he did something wrong when he didn’t actually do anything wrong. Every time that he has hurt me, he acts like he regrets it very badly and he does a lot of things to be nice to me afterwards.

I woke up this morning fighting with the voices, or rather, hearing an angry voice speaking through me, telling Curtis to stop leading me on and making me believe that he’s attracted to me when he really isn’t. I would have to tell him to stop calling me pet names, because he has no reason to do that, and because I actually BELIEVE him when he calls me those names and acts like he likes me.

Somehow, the voice argument figured out whatever it wanted to know. They usually go on something like that for a while and then change to the opposite. They role-played a crying, upset voice that insisted that he actually IS attracted to me. And they also role-played someone saying he ISN’T. They seemed to be trying out various scenarios. Sometimes they pretended he just didn’t want to hurt me, but he was encouraging me and leading me on because he thought that was the nice thing to do.

I remember something about when I was younger: I didn’t know how to stop leading someone on if that person had a crush on me. There weren’t huge numbers of people with crushes on me, but every once in a while I sensed that someone was attracted to me, and I would be friendly to that person and I felt like I was somebody special and important, and I felt comfortable with that person because I could do no wrong. I knew they wouldn’t judge me. Now, I’m in the reverse position: I’m the one with a crush on Curtis, and he’s the one who can ‘do no wrong’ and he won’t be judged. That is how I see it. I’m referring to the times when a guy liked me, but I didn’t feel attracted to HIM, but I would still be friendly to that guy and I felt safe. There’s a possibility that Curtis is doing that exact thing to me: encouraging me, over and over, every day, feeling safe because he knows how I feel about him and he knows that I’m not going to judge him or be superior to him. That’s only one of the theories, the scenarios, that the voices were role-playing this morning to find out what I believe.

He didn’t call me back after the message I left, but at least he picked up the phone and talked for a couple of minutes, very briefly, when I first called. I had texted him first, gotten a reply, and then he stopped answering, so I said, ‘I’m going to call you and leave a message, because I don’t know if this is a good time for you to talk,’ so I called, expecting the voice mail, but he picked up.

This is like clockwork. *EVERY TIME* that I start trying to contact him, he and Carrie get together and make it an official declaration on their facebook pages. This is very annoying. I am either 1. being forced by the murderers to start chasing after him as soon as he’s with Carrie, or 2. they are doing something for a show, because of me, perhaps to chase me away, or ‘test’ me, or some other bullshit, instead of communicating honestly and directly with me. It is like clockwork. Right at the exact same moment that he and Carrie start getting together, I start trying to contact him by text messages and by phone. And I am not doing this on purpose, and I am not doing it BECAUSE of them. I am doing it because the murderers are forcing me to choose that very moment to do it. Not only that, but the very moment that I started giving up on him and trying to go back to the dating website and use that so I could meet *REAL* people who actually *WOULD* communicate with me, guess what, all of a sudden they had this big breakup and it was a big deal and everything was terrible, so supposedly, I ‘have a chance’ with him again because he’s broken up with his girlfriend. Again, obviously somebody is being forced to do something at the exact moment, or else some of this is just a show and a lie, or both. This ‘doing stuff at the exact same moment’ phenomenon is bullshit.

However, I thanked him several times yesterday, once in text, and once out loud on the phone, for talking to me. I am grateful if he communicates in reality, even if I can’t understand what he’s doing or why he’s doing it or why he feels anxious. He clearly was anxious on the phone, but that was all that I could understand. He was also reflecting my anxiety, because I was anxious.

What did we SAY on the phone? I told him that I wanted to talk to him some more, but I wasn’t ready to talk right now. I also said, ‘I know you’re with CARRIE,’ and I didn’t mean he was with her at that moment, I just meant in general, they’re together. I said that, because last time I tried to call him on the phone, he used Carrie as an excuse to not even be able to have a five minute phone conversation with me. He made it sound like he spent every waking second of every day with her and therefore could not even spend five minutes to tell me truthfully and directly that he wasn’t attracted to me and wanted me to leave him alone; instead he did the avoidance thing.

I want schools to teach kids communication skills. It makes me angry that so many people use lies and avoidance as a way to deal with people. I saw it happening once at McD a few weeks ago too. There was a girl getting a text message from a ‘band geek’ who was just a friend; she wasn’t sexually attracted to him, but he was attracted to her. So she invented an imaginary boyfriend, and she felt guilty about it, but another girl helped her and encouraged her to do this, and played along with it, and she kept saying she felt guilty and she wanted to tell the truth but she didn’t want to hurt him. But she did finally send him the text message saying she had this imaginary boyfriend. And I don’t know how it all turned out, but she said he was still trying to contact her a few weeks later. My response to that is, of course. You have to tell someone the truth in a strong, direct, assertive way, and tell them the limits of what you will and won’t do with them, and be clear and specific, and ALWAYS be honest about it. You have to know what you want, you have to know how you feel, and schools and parents don’t teach anyone how to do those things. And TV certainly doesn’t teach it to them.

For whatever reason, the murderers have been forcing me to be in that vulnerable position of someone stalking a reluctant person who avoids me and tells lies instead of being direct and telling the truth. For whatever reason they insist that I have to keep chasing after him while being avoided. This angers me and it scares me. Sooner or later I am going to do something that upsets him or scares him or ‘creeps him out’ too much, and he’s going to go tell the police to make me leave him alone, or something like that. And I’m going to have another stalking and harassment conviction, lose my job, or whatever else would happen.

And I keep saying that, in person, in the real world, when we are together, he is friendly and sometimes acts like he is attracted to me, and he keeps calling me these pet names and there’s no reason at all for him to do that. I would have to tell him to stop calling me any names other than Nicole, because I am stupid enough to believe that he actually MEANS it, and that’s why I start laughing and crying and having this overreaction every time he says these things to me.

‘Stupid enough to believe he/she actually means it’ is their phrase, not mine. Probably or possibly Curtis himself is saying the same thing. That’s one of the scenarios they keep role-playing in my head.

If I were able to think without being murdered, I could see and understand everything by myself, and I could do whatever needed to be done, but instead I am a mind-controlled zombie being zapped and burned and forced to hear voices and see images anytime I try to think for myself. So I can’t get a real perspective on this situation, and I have to passively watch while the murdering morons play out their little puppet fantasies inside my brain instead of letting me do something that actually brings understanding, truth, and clarity to the situation. Letting me use my own brain to see things my own way: that would cut directly to the truth quickly and efficiently. I would understand everything, from both points of view, his viewpoint and my viewpoint. I would understand all of his feelings and emotions and desires and fears and motives. I would understand what he is trying to do, and what he is trying to avoid. I would know the exact words to say to him to get the exact response that I wanted to get. And if that didn’t work, I would know exactly what to do to get some different response instead, and all the time, I would be telling the truth without lying and manipulating and ‘testing’ and playing little games. I am telling you: I can do these things, WITHOUT LYING. I can do these things, WHILE STILL BEING HONEST. But the murdering morons apparently don’t appreciate or understand the way my brain works, and they insist that they have to override MY way of doing things and play out their pathetic little bullshit inside my head for their own pathetic little reasons, instead of just letting me think and act for myself.

Pepper Personalities

July 12, 2010

11:27 AM 7/12/10

Mean peppers, mellow peppers, dead peppers, hot peppers, chilly peppers…

(an inside joke.)

“What am I supposed to do with THIS?”

July 12, 2010

2:15 AM 7/12/10

Saturday didn’t go very well. I was feeling sick that day. I think I had the Arts Festival Virus, something I got because lots of people were visiting town, the same way I always get sick during football games. I wasn’t able to eat much, and I was hungry and irritable when I started working at Weis that afternoon. Not only that, but I – yes, I’m tired of saying this over and over again, but – I had something on my clothing that I was reacting to, in addition to being sick. It’s a long story, don’t worry about it, I’ll fix it, blah blah. It won’t be there when I come back to work this week.

Curtis came up to the register and bought some tea (I’m not even going to say what the typo was that I fixed in that sentence). He handed me a dollar. We had been talking a little bit while he was standing there, and I just stared down at the dollar bill, in a daze, because I was sick and tired and not feeling well, and also, I didn’t want him to leave, and if I took the dollar, he would have the tea and he would walk away. So I could sit there staring at the dollar bill forever and he wouldn’t be able to leave. That was kind of what I was thinking.

But then some social anxiety was going on at the same time, and I blurted out something obnoxious which was probably fake. It was NOT sincere, I know that much. I said, ‘What am I supposed to do with THIS?’ in a voice, a bad voice, I can’t describe it, but it was fake. Like I couldn’t take the dollar. He was shocked and he had the ‘stricken’ look – that was the word the voices used to describe it, and that seems like an accurate word. He said he wanted me to ring him up for the tea. I took the dollar. I asked him what time he was leaving and he said 3:30. Then he left, and thanked me (if I recall) and called me his pet name, in front of the new guy from produce.

The rest of the afternoon he wouldn’t look at me. I was sick and miserable and I kept trying to look at him, but he wouldn’t look back. I started to get very, very anxious and terrified, and I felt like I had to say something to him and fix it, because I had done something wrong again like the time I laughed when he called me his pet names while I was getting soup for my lunch.

I don’t want him to stop looking at me. I want him to look at me. Looking at him is the reason why I like working with him. There’s nothing else worth looking at.

I tried to go over to him, but then I saw that the new guy was with him and I hadn’t seen him because he was behind something from where I was looking. So then I went to the bathroom and used it as an excuse to go through the back room, and I saw him. I tried to apologize then, and I said I didn’t mean to be rude and obnoxious, but he was looking at his hand because he cut it and it was bleeding. When he gets a cut it is a big deal because he has some kind of bleeding disorder or something and his cuts tend to keep bleeding and reopen again later, even if they’re small, and I don’t know what bleeding disorder he has. This is another reason to worry about him getting in a car accident. He already survived one accident which hurt his neck and his back.

‘Rude and obnoxious?’ he said while still looking at his cut. At least he heard me. So then I tried to ask him how he cut himself, and he said he didn’t know, but I was standing by the door and I saw the manager walking towards us, so I left, and couldn’t talk anymore. But that was all that I was able to do to apologize.

I hate being fake, and I hate acting superior and snobby and talking down to people. I like Curtis because he and I always trusted each other, although lately I haven’t been as comfortable or trusting as I would like to be because I haven’t been able to communicate with him and get an answer. I like to say what I mean instead of making jokes or being sarcastic. And if he shows his feelings, if he shows a negative feeling or hurt feeling, I don’t want to do whatever I did.

I bought more minutes for my ‘textphone,’ the other tracfone I have that can send text messages – I have an old phone which I like a lot more because of the style of it, but it can’t text because it has a virus or something, some technical problem. So I texted him today, because I wasn’t able to see him at work – he left before I got in – and I did, at least, get an answer to my texts. (One of the texts did NOT have his signature on it. That was odd. He has a new signature on his text messages which says *FUCK IT* and I got a message that said ‘Oic’ which didn’t have the signature, but all the other messages did. The only thing I can think of is that maybe there is a ‘frequently used generic message’ or something – I have those on my phone, where you fill in the blank, like ‘Meet me at ____’, etc.)

Supposedly the ‘buying things at the register’ is supposed to have a hidden meaning, like paying for a prostitute, or something like that. But that is not how I see it – I see it as an excuse or opportunity to talk to him, and that’s all.

I’m worried that he won’t be able to get to work when he loses his license. That’s happening on the 23rd, I think he said. He said he’ll walk to work, but I don’t think he sleeps at home, so he might not be close enough to walk. Not only that, but even if he was walking from home, that’s still a long way. If someone drives him, they’ll have to be able to get there at that time of day, or he’ll have to change his schedule. He could ride a bus, but he’d have to get his schedule to work with the bus schedule. I don’t want him to lose his job because of lateness or not showing up. People who walk to work sometimes do no-call no-shows if something happens, if there’s bad weather or if they’re sick or something else that makes it difficult to walk to work. I’m hoping someone will drive him.

Anyway that explains what happened. I will say this again, I hate acting fake and insincere, and I hate pretending in a ‘joking’ way to be superior or whatever I did. It’s not me. And that’s not the kind of relationship I have with him.

today sucks

July 8, 2010

8:09 AM 7/8/10

Today sucks and I hate everything. The end.

I am in an obnoxious, irritated mood. Last night, I got my new refrigerator working, and I went to the grocery store and got a couple of small things to put in there, not much, and nothing bizarre like bone marrow. I had some salsa, and some cheese, and some watermelon chunks already cut up, not a whole watermelon.

The melon chunks were slightly – I can’t remember the word now. They were rotten just a little bit, and turning into alcohol, so they got fizzy. Fizzy like champagne. I’ve had grapes that did that before too. I never drink at all, and I’m chemical sensitive, so I notice the slightest bit of alcohol. My blood alcohol level was probably 0.00000000001, but I felt it. I am probably also having a Feingold Diet salicylate reaction, since I had a lot of fruits and vegetables.

I went to the chatroom for the first time in ages, out of loneliness and boredom. And I don’t have time to write about it because I have to go to work this morning, in hot foods. I hate working in hot foods – not only do I not have a clue how to do it, but also, I have to spend a lot of time doing nothing, and there’s gas fumes from the burners, and mold from the ceiling or someplace, so the air is toxic.  

Curtis and Carrie are ‘back together,’ which means I’ll see her coming into the store and hugging him while he’s at work again, probably. Meanwhile, I can’t even get him to agree to return a phone call, but I’m being attacked by voices who don’t care about free will, and they want me to force him to get with me even though he doesn’t want to.  

I tried to get them to reframe the ‘assignment’ so that it allows for Curtis’s free will. The assignment must be described in such a way that it only asks for me to do those things that I have control over, for instance, ‘Ask him sixty times, twice each day, to give you a phone call.’ That would be extremely pushy and irritating, but at least it’s a clear assignment that focuses only on something I have control over. (That’s how the murderers do THEIR attacks: bombard someone with a nagging verbal message, hundreds of times a day, by beaming it or broadcasting it to their brain, while they continue to refuse, and the murderers ignore their refusal, for weeks, months, or years.) And by the way, NO, I’m not going to do that particular assignment that way. I’m not going to nag him repeatedly while he continues to refuse. Nagging someone hundreds of times doesn’t make them want to do it any more than they did the first time. There’s a limit on that. Familiarity makes people more likely to buy a product, after they’ve seen the ad a few times, but after that, you get sick of seeing the same thing a million times, and it doesn’t make you more likely to buy it.

Curtis and Carrie both have this annoying thing on their facebook pages. It’s a page that says there’s a hidden racist message in the world cup logo. I looked, and looked, and I see nothing, so I’m guessing it’s a practical joke intended to make you feel like a fool and to believe you’re the only person who can’t see the hidden racist message. I don’t particularly find it amusing. 

I have to go get ready to work now.

A Smaller Infinity

July 7, 2010

8:09 PM 7/7/10

This has to do with the drug residues.

I went back to the storage unit today and got rid of some more old stuff that I didn’t need anymore. A lot of my belongings were contaminated with ephedra and other residues, and if I tried to clean them all, I would have to sort through thousands of objects, and clean, wipe, and test them several times each, and re-clean, and re-test them, many times. Some of the objects are contaminated, and some are not. I don’t know which ones. So when I get rid of the things I don’t really need, the things that aren’t sentimental, that’s a few less objects that I would have to sort through and clean.

Having done this, having thrown out a few more items, so that there’s less work to do in the future, makes me feel better about the residues even here at my apartment, on the floor and on the objects I have here, like the computer gadgets. Why?

Because if I clean these objects here at home, they might get recontaminated in the future, because I still have many objects contaminated in storage. It’s pointless to clean them if they will get contaminated again. It seems like I will have to clean them an infinite number of times. I’ve already done this. I did it at the other apartment, cleaning things multiple times only to find that I still had a reaction to them, or only to find that they got contaminated again when something else touched them.

‘A smaller infinity’: Now that I’ve thrown away a few more unneeded things, the burden has been reduced. The number of times that I have to clean all of my belongings is a smaller infinity. It seemed like I had to clean them infinity times, it seemed hopeless, it seemed impossible. But now that is a smaller number of things I have to clean.

Eventually, it will get smaller and smaller, less and less, until it becomes a finite number of times. Maybe I’ll wash this blanket fifteen times, and yeah, that’s a lot, but it might be enough to get rid of the drug residues once and for all, because they won’t be coming back. There will be an end to it. It won’t be infinity anymore.

If I can make a difference in this disaster, then, when I go back to work this weekend, I won’t feel like it was all for nothing. I won’t feel like it’s just another wasted week. I will feel like I actually got out of the disaster a little tiny bit.

reading manga; showing off for the audience; ending on a sour note

July 7, 2010

12:55 AM 7/7/10

I’m getting the impression that Curtis and Carrie might be seeing each other again. When I say ‘seeing each other,’ I mean, having sex or making out or whatever they do. When they ‘broke up,’ she told me they were still seeing each other, as friends, so they still are together. I don’t know what it means that they ‘broke up,’ unless it means not having sex. Now he’s changed his picture back and it’s no longer the crying Caden picture, and Carrie says she is in an ‘it’s complicated’ relationship. She mentioned seeing ‘her babi’ which is what she calls him. If it’s like last time, this means he won’t even allow me to get a phone call. I had asked him to call me back when he was officially dating her, and he said he hardly even had time to do that, a phone call.


Continuing on the Sx/So testing: Peter has asked me a couple times recently to take him out shopping. He likes Weis’s produce department more than Wal-Mart’s, and he likes a few other things about Weis, so he has asked me to take him to Weis, but since my store is the nearest one that’s open 24 hours, we’ve gone to my store several times recently late at night. This is probably a puppeteering scenario that they wanted to set up, I’m guessing, but not necessarily. Peter really does prefer to shop there.

Anyway, when we’re walking around together at a place where people know me, I am doing something that I’ve always done for a long time: I am a public spectacle. I am showing off for an imaginary audience. Everyone around me is looking at me. I’m walking around with my boyfriend, and this is the most exciting thing that’s happened all day. Showing off for the audience, for all the people who know me, instead of just privately focusing on him or focusing on what we’re doing. When a cute guy is nearby, I laugh more loudly, and I use big words and say intelligent-sounding things loudly, which happened when a dreadlocked guy with shoulder-length hair was at the next register, and I had to explain to Peter how to pay by check, and I said I knew what to do but I ‘couldn’t explain it verbally.’ The volume was raised enough for the guy to hear me. I always want everyone to think how great I am because I am walking around with my boyfriend. It’s an arrogant feeling, a desire for attention, a desire for everyone to notice me. I make eye contact and smile at everyone as we walk by, and I feel like I’m somebody important, and more important than usual. This has always happened – I did it back when I was walking around with Eric, too, years ago.

Sometimes I asked myself, Who is the audience I’m showing off for? What if I was actually *WITH* the person I hoped would see me? Who would I show off for then? What if I was with the best possible person that I could be with, and there was nobody else who I cared about more than that, and nobody else who I wanted to see me, more than that person – would I still want to show off for an audience? Would I still look at all the other guys around me while I’m walking around with my boyfriend, and imagine that those guys wish they could be with me? I always want other people to be jealous as they see me, to wish they were with me. I have a feeling that this is a tendency that I will always have, no matter who I’m with. It’s one of the reasons why I believed in polyamory as soon as I read about it.

There is the phenomenon of ’embracing’ some idea, and being ‘out’ about it. Like gay people who embrace their gayness and become highly visible, ‘out’, flaming gays, instead of quietly hidden gays. I like to do things like that. If I find that I’m shy about something, I like to make a rule that says you shouldn’t be shy about that, and you should openly flaunt it instead of hiding it. That’s the rule about not shaving. (Note, the only reason I’m still wearing long pants is because they are what I’m finding in the $0.29 Goodwill section. I have to cut them off to make shorts, which is a hassle. Also, I had some drug residues on my car seat, which I should try to wipe off the vinyl, so I was a little anxious about wearing shorts again. But I am not hiding my hairy legs on purpose.) I like to find that there’s something I’m being shy about and decide that it shouldn’t be forbidden, shouldn’t be kept hidden, so I should express it and accept it. That includes everything, such as my tendency to be showing off for an audience when I’m with my boyfriend. That is part of my self-acceptance. I say, I shouldn’t think I’m evil for doing that, or evil for feeling that way, or evil because I want everyone to see me.

I’ve been that way for as long as I can remember, wanting an audience to see me when I’m with my friends, raising my voice so a guy nearby can hear me, laughing louder, talking differently because other people are watching, showing off.

That’s all part of the sx/so testing. It’s what I imagine a sx/so would be like, and it’s the way I’ve always been for a long time.


Today I picked up a manga book at Barnes & Noble. I saw something about manga – it might have been on television, but I can’t think where I would have seen it on TV – I can’t imagine that a TV show at Peter’s house would have been about manga. But that has to be where I saw it.

Manga is a type of ‘comic’ book, from Japan. They would be called ‘graphic novels.’ They are taken seriously and read by people of all ages, not just children and not just weirdos. They can be about anything, not just superheroes or that kind of thing. They can be about mundane topics just as well.

The one I picked up was called ‘Chobits.’ I picked it up because it had a picture of a girl with floor-length hair on the cover.

Oh, by the way. ‘What Men Want.’ I picked up another book called ‘The Pillars of the Earth,’ I think. I opened it up to a random page somewhere in the middle of the book. A guy named Will was talking about how he would spy on this other girl, and he (the book narrator) described how he watched her go outside and bathe in the water, one time, and he watched her while she washed the ‘surprisingly large amount of thick, curly hair’ between her legs, and he ejaculated in his pants while he watched. Did the book say he watched her washing off her ‘smooth, bare, neatly shaved pussy?’ No, it said ‘surprisingly large amount of thick, curly hair’ between her legs. Yet another piece of evidence that not all men want their women to be completely shaved everywhere, and in fact, they can be very excited about body hair.

So, floor-length hair, another ‘What Men Want’ image, is ALL OVER the manga books. Extremely long hair is very common in those books. Why aren’t women listening? Hundreds and hundreds of sexual fantasies, written by men, show these images of women with extremely long hair, floor length and beyond, and they’re being ignored. Who cares what they want? (I do.)

Yesterday was Frida Kahlo’s birthday. As we all know, Frida Kahlo was forgotten by history, and loathed by all of society, because of her horrible ugliness, those connected eyebrows and that unshaved mustache and everything. Obviously false: Frida Kahlo is famous and loved by many. Millions of people think she’s amazingly beautiful in addition to being a great artist. (I don’t like her art very much, by the way. I just like her for her physical appearance and the eyebrows and mustache.  Yes, I’m serious.  I really don’t like her art that much.  I just like what she stands for, with hair and grooming.)

I got into reading ‘Chobits’ – and I couldn’t put it down. I was sitting in an uncomfortable position on a bench, trying to avoid the cushiony seats, which seem to give me a drug residue reaction. I sat there for like an hour and a half reading that book, and got so stiff I had to stand up and stretch, and that was about when Peter called me on the phone and asked if I could take him out shopping. I didn’t get very far in the book. But it made me see everything in cartoons for a while afterwards. Everywhere I looked, I imagined that it was drawn into a line drawing and it became part of the book.

I’ve looked at those graphic novels and manga books before. There was another one, and I don’t remember the name of it. It must have been written in a country that practices female circumcision. There was a scene where the main character was in an art class, and a woman was posing nude. There is a feeling of shame, humiliation, and ridiculousness here. In the book, the woman fell asleep during the drawing, and when she fell asleep, her legs spread open and he could clearly see her vulva for the first time, and was very excited about it. The shame/ridiculous feeling is from the artificialness, the fakeness, the ‘sexual fantasy’ feeling, the ‘contrived’ feeling, of how she ‘fell asleep,’ and that’s how he was able to finally see her vulva. I remember being a teenager, when someone ‘falling asleep’ was a big deal – Rachael and I used to talk about a time whenever our crush, Jeremy, fell asleep someplace where we could see him, and how cute and wonderful it was, and how we wished we had a picture. In this book, it was the same. Something that was a big, huge deal, something to get extremely excited over, but at the same time, unreachable and impossible. After I had sex, after having sex became ‘normal,’ I didn’t make a big deal about it anymore, but back when I was a teenager, sex was something impossible, something that happened in another universe. The books have that feeling.

Anyway, the ‘female circumcision’ part of it was that the book showed the woman with her legs spread. And all that they showed was a hole, and nothing else. There were no lips, no labia, nothing at all there, except the hole of the vagina. The artist who drew the book didn’t even look online to see images of women with intact labia, and draw it from those. He drew a woman with nothing there at all. It seemed like it was normal, or desirable, to expect that the nude model had no labia. That seemed strange to me. It made me wonder what country the book came from. A lot of them do come from Japan, but not all of them, and Japan doesn’t do female circumcision as far as I know. The drawings are realistic enough that I would have expected more detail – they’re not just crude cartoons without any detail.

Through the books that I’ve seen, there is intense sexual excitement, along with the ‘it’s impossible’ feeling that I used to have as a teenager before I ever had sex for real and got used to it. Every little thing is a big huge deal, every tiny gesture, every look in their eye. I can see that in my old diaries from eighth grade.

Nearly everything in the books is a fetish. The extremely long hair is a fetish. Females who are actually computers or robots with artificial intelligence – that’s a fetish. Very young people, in their early teens, as sex objects. Themes like that are everywhere in those books.

I then wondered, how would a nudist like me write a book like that, and remove all the clothing – but still somehow create suspense and seduction? The people are all naked. You can’t fetishize their clothing anymore. You can’t draw an image of the girl’s shirt slipping down just a little bit so that her breasts stick out the top of it. You can’t draw an image of her skirt lifting up just a little bit too far so that you can see the top of her thighs or her butt. All of that is gone. They are now totally naked and there’s nothing to hide anymore. There’s nothing that can be just barely revealed, enough to excite you, but still unreachable and inaccessible. Where’s the suspense now? Where’s the plot, the story, the romance, the seduction, in a nudist manga? This is my green hat thinking. (Edward de Bono: Six Thinking Hats. When you ‘wear the green hat,’ it means that you go with an idea to see where it takes you, even if it seems illogical or impossible.) I’m going to assume that it CAN be done, somehow. In spite of total nudity, suspense and seduction still exist. I just have to find a way.

When we remove all the barriers, the things that are ‘forbidden,’ and no, I don’t mean ALL of them – I myself still forbid a lot of things – when you remove many of those barriers, what then becomes important when we’re not worried about those things anymore? When one value need is met, another value rises in importance. You’re not worried about X anymore, so you can spend more time worrying about Y than you used to. You never really had enough time to worry about Y in the past because you were so busy worrying about X, but now X isn’t an issue anymore. What’s the next thing we’re worried about?

Some people have complained that humans are insatiable, that there’s something WRONG with us, because when we get what we want, we always want something else after that, and we’re never happy with what we’ve got. There’s some truth to that – you might refer to the ‘disconnected’ enneagram types, the One, Four, and Seven, because they will always tend to be dissatisfied with reality, and want something else. But in a way, that’s normal. It’s normal that if some of your needs are met, you can afford to worry about all the other stuff that you never had time for in the past.

I am part of the ‘disenchanted wealthy’ class. I grew up in a wealthy family, and in my adulthood, I feel that being wealthy, or appearing to be wealthy, isn’t that important. It’s important to have enough money saved, and it’s important to have enough income, and yes, I’m worried about money and I want to have more income – but what I mean is, there are people who come from poor families, and all they want is to avoid looking poor, and they want to look wealthy, and they want to buy big mansions and fancy cars because they never had those things, and they are ashamed of having been poor. But I grew up having the big mansion and the fancy car and so I can go around wearing a t-shirt and jeans, that kind of thing, and not worry that I look poor, at least not quite as much. That’s not entirely true, but it is partly true. This conflicts with a desire to show off, with what I was describing about walking with Peter up above. But there is something that I’m talking about, the group of people who make intentional communities, and it has been said that they tend to come from the disenchanted wealthy class, the people who grew up with money and felt that money and big mansions didn’t give them what they need, what they always wanted. But again, this is in conflict with wanting to show off. I’m not wearing disposable Goodwill clothes because that’s how I WANT to dress. I’m wearing them because I have to throw my clothes in the garbage when they get contaminated and the drug residues don’t wash out after ten washings and I still have a reaction to them. So nobody really knows what kind of public image I would put on if I could have the clothing I want, and keep it, and not have to throw it in the garbage because of contamination. In fact, nobody knows the real me at all: I’ve been a puppet for a very long time now. I don’t even know what I would do.

There is something I was trying to describe. It’s people who choose to live in intentional communities and give up the wealthy lifestyle because they are seeking some ideal that doesn’t come from money. But actually, there is some conflict there too – many of the intentional communities are extremely expensive to live in, because you have to pay for the land you live on. Poor people can’t afford to live in a mud hut, because living in a mud hut is the most expensive lifestyle on earth. Only the extremely rich can afford to live in mud huts in an intentional community. I was reading the intentional communities book and I was disgusted when I read that in one community in Ithaca, New York (I remembered where it was because my brother went to college in Ithaca), many of the community members had government jobs and jobs with the school, jobs that wouldn’t exist without government money and government intervention. They’re not the free market jobs. Only government employees can afford to live in intentional communities. Universities are created by government and paid for with government money and borrowed money.


I feel better than I’ve felt in quite some time, because I washed my dreadlocks more thoroughly than usual. I was starting to notice that whenever my hair touched the skin on my back, and on the back of my neck, I felt the tickly sensation of drug residues going through my skin. They would have gotten onto my hair from the clothing that they touched. Some of the drug residues on my McD uniforms came from wearing the shared coats during the wintertime: apparently some other employee is a prescription drug user, maybe, or maybe they smoked pot while wearing the coat, or something – whatever it was, I used to get extremely sleepy whenever I’d put on the shared coat, and I could feel drugs going through my skin. So that was how the uniform got ruined, and I think it got a lot of that stuff on my hair. I’ve been noticing it a lot for the past few weeks, noticing that when I washed it, it wasn’t coming out. I wash my hair with only water. But the shower water doesn’t penetrate the locks very deeply. The locks are thick and greasy and water runs off them. Yet the water that does penetrate tends to stay there for a long time and not get dry, so it smells like mildew.

I fixed this by taking a bath instead of a shower. I cleaned myself off in the shower, and then cleaned out the bathtub, because I’ve had a lot of incidents where I took a bath and there were drug residues in the bath and all I did was soak myself in drug residues all over my whole body. To avoid that, like I said, I cleaned that bathtub first. Then I filled the bath and soaked my hair underwater. I squeezed the dreadlocks and bent them and crushed them and made sure that they were completely soaked with as much water as possible. That worked very well. After that first bath, I noticed a difference in the tickly-drugs feeling when they touched my skin. I did that same thing again today, and noticed even more of a difference. I now feel more energetic and alert – I’m not being drugged constantly by something that won’t wash out. This is why I’ve been cautious about dreadlocks in a contamination scenario. Dreadlocks can easily become contaminated and cause someone to be constanly on drugs.

For some reason, I was having conflicts with the voices while trying to write about the ‘disenchanted wealthy class.’ They were telling lies, or something. Apparently, whatever I wrote there wasn’t quite true. I don’t know which part of it was causing the conflict.

I read about the sx/so, and my reaction was immediately that ‘Sx/So is the coolest! That’s the one I wish I was.’ This happens any time I read about personality types. Something in the way that it’s written by a particular author will make it look like one type is ‘better’ than the other types, so that’s the type you want to be. You have to read a different author to get a more equal impression, to see that the other types are just as good, but different, to appreciate their strengths, and to accept yourself if you’re an ‘undesirable’ type (like the battle between the sensors and the intuitives, in the Myers-Briggs forums and books, where sensors are the ‘bad’ ones that you don’t want to be – and I eventually was shown (by ‘the voices’) that I’m actually a sensor, an ISFP, so I’ve had to accept that).

What descriptions make it seem like Sx/So is ‘the coolest and the best?’ They’re the type that famous musicians and other celebrities have. ‘Alpha Males’ are the Sx/So Type Eight, and alpha males are supposedly ‘the best,’ someone you’re supposed to go chasing after. (The voices described me as a ‘beta female.’ That’s an inferior ranking female, not the highest rank.) They’re described as having ‘raw charisma.’

Well, sooner or later, if I can talk to Curtis, I can find out whether he’s gotten back with Carrie, or what. And does that mean I won’t even get a phone call at all? Every time I even think about trying to let go of him and be realistic, I get severely attacked by the murderers, who pretend that he ‘needs’ me, and they tell me not to let go.

They force me to rehearse things that I’m supposed to say to him. But a ‘new operator’ has been talking to me, someone who has a clue, or at least, that’s the scripted scenario that I’m supposed to believe. Someone who pretends to be a new operator has been talking to me. They’re pretending to have a clue, when actually, they knew all along how to ‘operate’ me properly, and for whatever reason, I’m being ‘rewarded’ recently – and I know why. It’s because I wasted money on something they wanted me to buy, when I was on drugs and I was obedient. So they’re rewarding me for destroying money on something I don’t need. That’s why they’re letting me talk to voices that pretend to understand me better than the usual murderers – the usual murderers control me by saying something to the effect of ‘Do what I tell you, right now, or I’ll beat the shit out of you.’ That’s their way of doing things. The recent ‘new’ operator has been more understanding – but again, it’s probably all a fake script, done as a ‘reward’ because I destroyed a bunch of money.

Anyway, the ‘new operator’ got me to say things a different way. He got me to tell the truth, and it worked, and I was able to say it. He got me to talk to Curtis and tell him that I was afraid of being hurt very badly. This was close enough to the truth that I was able to say it. 99.9% of the time, the murderers are forcing me to rehearse words and phrases that are lies, inaccurate, irrelevant, unnatural, and not goal-oriented, and opposed to my beliefs and my purposes. This ‘new operator,’ quote unquote, had me tell the truth. They usually force me to rehearse things that I would never actually say or do, because they are NOT ME, they are fake, they are unnatural. But they force me to rehearse these fake statements and lies and fake imaginary scenarios and fantasies in my head, over and over all day, and they won’t let me think about REAL things that are actually useful. I try to think about something productive, like make a plan to do something that will greatly improve my life, for instance, buy a trailer instead of living in a moldy apartment with drug-residue-contaminated carpets all over the floor – buy a trailer so that I can live more cheaply. They won’t let me even think about that at all without being zapped and hypnotized and forcibly distracted. When I try to think about it, the murderers force me to fall asleep, hear voices, see visions, and think about everything else but that, and one of the things they force me to think about instead is Curtis, and fake things that I’m supposed to rehearse myself saying to him. ‘Hate’ is the only word for how I feel about this. This is a crime. I call them murderers because of this.

I sometimes call them ‘murdering morons’ because not only are they murderers, they are also stupid, persistently stupid, all of the time, totally incompetent. The only people who are interested in using electronic mind control are the people who are so stupid that they don’t know how to relate to human beings WITHOUT using electronic mind control – in other words, people who don’t understand people at all! If you WANT to use electronic mind control to force people to do what you want, that’s a SURE SIGN that you have little or no understanding of human beings at all. If you did, you wouldn’t need electronic mind control to make them do things. That is the reason why the murderers are all totally stupid and incompetent and unable to understand human beings. They REALLY ARE stupid and incompetent about human psychology. You’d think that people who read minds and spy on people all day long, 24 hours a day, would UNDERSTAND PEOPLE. But the opposite is true. All they know how to do is destroy people.

I’d end this blog on a happy note, but it doesn’t seem to be going that direction.

Quick summary, then. The dreadlocks are cleaner than they were, and I’m having less of a drug reaction. I enjoyed the manga that I read today, and fantasized about how I’d write my own manga book if all of the things that they’re fetishizing were fulfilled, so there was nothing hidden anymore. New operator seems to understand me, but that’s probably a temporary ‘reward’ for destroying a large amount of money to buy something I don’t need. I like seeing myself as a Sx/So, and I hope that it helps the murdering morons understand me well enough that they become able to tell the truth when they force me to speak. And that’s still not ending it on a nice note. Maybe this just isn’t going to end on a nice note today.

I saw ‘He’s Just Not That Into You.’ It seemed appropriate.

July 6, 2010

3:08 PM 7/6/10

I rented ‘He’s Just Not That Into You.’ I was curious about that movie ever since I first heard of it, because I saw that it had something about people not returning phone calls and that kind of thing. I’d like to do a remake of this movie with a different concept, a conspiracy theory, where the people who are passionately in love with each other are prevented from communicating because an evil agency is out to destroy all love relationships and prevent people from meeting each other. The evil agency sabotages their electronic communications, while the in-person communications seem to say the opposite of whatever was said online.

Why would the evil agency want to sabotage love relationships? Maybe because people become stronger when they fall in love, and they can accomplish things they couldn’t accomplish alone. They make their beliefs and ideas stronger. It might upset the status quo or change society or threaten the government if intellectuals and radicals and other ‘dangerous’ people fall in love.

Then again, the opposite might happen. A radical might calm down and focus on their family, instead of following the ‘script’ that someone has planned for them. It’s your DUTY to change society, and if you get married and have kids, you’ll worry about mundane things instead of doing your duty and following the script. You’re SUPPOSED to be a radical, and your personal happiness doesn’t matter.

‘He’s Just Not That Into You’ – I liked it. I won’t buy it and watch it a hundred times and memorize it, but I liked it enough for a rented movie that I watched once. I was confused through most of the movie because two of the main character guys looked alike enough that I thought it was the same guy. They both had black hair. The guy who didn’t want to get married, who had a boat, and who was dating whats-her-name from ‘Friends’ for seven years, I got him confused with the ‘alpha male’ bartender guy who also had black hair. I don’t remember any of their names and I can’t remember the actors’ names either, so I’m not much help on that. Near the end of the movie, like 3/4 of the way through, I finally figured out that they were two separate guys.

I liked the moment when the … darn, I wish I could remember their names now. There’s a ‘cute’ girl, the short-haired one, who’s always confused and asking for advice about whether someone’s going to call her back or not, and she’s calling the bartender guy on the phone all the time – that one. I liked the moment when the happy-hour guy said ‘The only thing “happy” about this hour is YOU,’ and he took her phone number and then said ‘I look forward to hearing from you,’ and she actually stood up, and asked him to clarify whether he wanted her to call him, or whether he was going to call her. And she persisted until it became more and more clear that he didn’t want to call and didn’t want her to call him either.

I know how that feels, when you persistently ask someone to tell you the truth and be clear about it and get it over with. I want to hear the whole truth and I want to face it, even if it’s painful. That doesn’t mean that I ‘want to be hurt’ or that I’m a masochist. It means I want the truth, both good and bad, so that I can make realistic decisions and move on if I have to. It means I want to stop investing my energy in someone if they’re not interested, so I need to *KNOW* if they’re not interested, even if they’re afraid of hurting my feelings. This obviously was relevant because of all the Curtis ‘drama’ going on right now.

(I never, ever would have even TRIED to contact him, or written him notes, or gotten his number and texted him. ‘They’ urged me to do those things that I would not have done on my own. I would have just enjoyed his company at work, and let him go, and grieved at his absence whenever he inevitably got fired or quit his job, because I already knew he would be impossible to contact and unable to communicate.)

I liked ‘You’re my exception’ at the end. That was a good moment.

I already returned the movie, and I didn’t watch it again. Usually I get a lot more depth out of movies, because I watch them several times and notice things I didn’t see the first time. But I didn’t do that, so it’s only a shallow impression. The movie was good enough to not be a waste of money. I’ve seen movies that were awful, and this wasn’t awful. It was okay.

I have to complain, of course, that all of the people were ‘mainstream’ and there weren’t any ‘weird’ people anywhere in the movie. Hardly any weirdness anywhere to be found. The closest thing to a ‘weird’ person was the Wiccan who sat next to the ‘Friends’ lady at the wedding, or wherever that was, and started talking about the Wiccan religion. But that makes ‘weird’ people look bad. I don’t like movies that make weird people look bad. It was the ‘someone talking endlessly about a subject you’re not at all interested in’ phenomenon. This was a movie about normal people, and you have to be able to identify with normal people. I see them, I can see that they’re sad or they’re hurt or they’re worried, these women in the movie, and I can feel sorry for them a little bit, but I also have this feeling that they wouldn’t ever understand me or understand any of my problems – they could never relate to me. They would give me an ‘ick’ look if I ever tried to talk to them or tell them about the world that I live in. So I couldn’t really feel emotionally involved in their problems as much as I would want to, watching a movie. If I watch movies about weird people who don’t fit in, I feel more like I can relate to those people and they would like me in return. But these were all normal people who wouldn’t like me.

Harry Potter’s world is full of weird people who don’t fit in, and they have to go to another secret community to find people like themselves. But even in the HP world there are weirder-than-usual people who don’t fit in. So I always liked Luna Lovegood.

I don’t remember if I blogged about this or not, but I also noticed that Kreacher the house-elf has some things in common with me. He mutters and mumbles mean, hateful, abusive ‘bile’ because he thinks no one can hear him. I’ve done that before. I used to do exactly that whenever I was writing to ‘the hackers’ by typing things and hoping that the keylogger would record what I typed. (A keylogger is a computer program that records every key you type, even if the letters don’t appear on the screen and aren’t saved in a word processing file. So it can collect passwords and other things you type.) I used to type things directed at whoever was reading the keystrokes. I typed hateful things to the hackers and they would respond by messing with the computer. I only do that if it seems like a real person can’t hear me. But if I can see a real person responding to me, and showing hurt feelings, and giving me a real response, then I never, ever say hateful things to them. Not unless it happens by accident, like when I accidentally said ‘Oh my God’ when I saw Curtis with a cigar, because I had never seen him smoking one before, and it probably humiliated him, and I didn’t mean to do that. Anyway that is how I could relate to Kreacher the house-elf.

I’m not sure what signals I use to decide that certain people are ‘normal’ and they wouldn’t understand me. This is a social class thing, I think. In West Virginia, a lot of people have facial deformities, exactly as Weston Price described. People with facial deformities, the weak jaw and all that, are more likely to be in ‘my class,’ even if their beliefs are normal and mainstream. They’re more likely to be nice to me and tolerant of me. They’re more likely to be poorer and rural.

In Bellefonte, the people here are permanent residents, and I see a lot of semi-poor, semi-rural people, and everyone is a lot friendlier to strangers. You can be friendly to strangers if everyone around you is a permanent resident. In State College, however, you can’t be friendly to strangers or make eye contact with strangers, because you’ll never see them again. Most of State College’s population is temporary. There are a huge number of college students, hotel guests, parents of students, people attending football games and other events, and other temporary visitors. If you make eye contact with strangers, you invest your feelings in someone who will disappear and hurt you. So as we walk around the grocery store and other public places, we don’t make much eye contact with anyone. But in Bellefonte, total strangers will walk up to you and smile and start up a conversation, because they know we’re all permanent residents and we’re likely to bump into each other at this same store or restaurant next week.

These permanent residents of Bellefonte are more likely to be uglier, fatter, or have the facial deformities, and also ‘bad’ hairstyles. There are more long-haired men here, and a few women with very long hair like my own, hip-length hair, which I am always happy to see. These people are all friendlier to me. They don’t necessarily UNDERSTAND me very well, and they might not be able to have an interesting conversation with me, or a ‘deep’ conversation. But they won’t say ‘ick.’

The college students in State College are less likely to have facial deformities, or they are less severe. They come from wealthier families, which means their parents probably had better nutrition while pregnant. They are more likely to give the ‘ick’ response to anyone who looks weird, non-mainstream, or has unusual grooming practices, dreadlocks, not wearing makeup, etc. They all have hair that ends at the upper mid-back or shorter, and almost never even reaches waist length. (‘Waist’ and ‘hip’: The waist is at the belly button level. Hip is ‘butt’ level, at the top of the legs. I say that, because in the past, I used the word ‘waist’ to describe the entire region of the body between the belly button and the thighs, so ‘waist’ and ‘hip’ were mostly the same thing. It just meant ‘the lower middle region of the body.’) For some unknown reason, they believe that hair can be ‘too long.’ It would seem that there would be an occasional person who, by random chance, would just decide to grow very long hip-length hair for the heck of it, but it never happens; therefore, there is some kind of ‘rule’ against it.

I could spend a lot of time writing about what I think those rules are, but I might not do that in this blog. I could write a separate blog some other time.

Anyway, the college students at PSU are more like the characters in ‘Not That Into You.’ They all look alike. And it’s hard for me to have a conversation with them. (I wouldn’t mind people all looking alike – in fact, the religious order requires everyone to follow the grooming rules – but they’re looking alike in a way that I myself prefer, a look that I find attractive and beautiful for both sexes.)

About ‘convincing people to believe.’ Convincing the mainstream people that mind control is real, for instance. Or convincing them that in general, government intervention is harmful. Or convincing them that mainstream medicine is very dangerous and you shouldn’t take all the drugs that the doctors will offer you. (‘Healthy Normal’ people don’t need as many drugs as the unhealthy people do. They don’t suffer from chronic fatigue as often and they don’t catch every cold virus that goes around every week. So they’re a lot older whenever they finally discover that mainstream medicine wants to give you lots and lots of dangerous drugs and can’t really solve a lot of your problems.)

It’s hard to convince ‘healthy normal’ people that something bad is going on in the world. The world that they see is a comfortable world that gives them everything they need, in general. They have problems, but they don’t usually see those problems as being caused by a huge system in society, such as ‘the government itself’ and things like that. Problems are just individual, random events, something surprising and unusual.

Why would we want to convince them? Because there are a lot of projects that require money and knowledge from lots of people, for instance, building shields that work and that are affordable, so that electronic harassment victims can sleep at night and think their thoughts. And other projects like tracking down the attackers and stopping them. Or cleaning up drug residue contamination: I’m not the only one who has this, I’m just one of the few people who’s aware of it, and if anybody else ever tried to clean up THEIR houses, they would see that it is an enormous, expensive, emotionally devastating disaster. It’s so expensive, you can’t even imagine how expensive it is, if you’ve got drug contamination on lots of nice, special, unique, heirloom furniture and antiques and things like that, things you can’t just throw in the trash. Anyway I was saying we’d want to convince the ‘healthy normal’ people about things because we need help from them. This is the ‘ultimate resource’ concept: people are able to help you by sharing their knowledge and their resources and their labor. (‘The Ultimate Resource’ is a book by Julian Simon.) Expensive, difficult projects that require money and knowledge can be done if groups of people work together, but are almost impossible for one person to do alone.

(Today’s focus is ‘The Social Instinct,’ as you can see. How do people benefit from being part of a group? How do people fit into a group?)

I’m looking at dating websites again. It is physically painful to imagine meeting a new person and starting all over again. Not only that, but now I am more aware than I ever was, long ago, that I really do like guys ‘the skinnier the better.’ Most of the men that I ever see are large, fully grown men. And they have short hair. I can look at fully grown men if they have long hair and beards – there’s some texture, something soft that I can touch. You have to have something to pet with your hands, the same way you pet animals. Why would you want a bare-skinned dog or cat, so that you could stroke its bare skin? I like dogs and cats to have soft fur to touch. The same is true of humans. I run my fingers through and over a man’s hair the same way I pet an animal. So even if a man has a body type that I don’t like as much, he at least has a chance if he has long hair and a beard, because I can pet his hair. And I can look at it. It’s more interesting than bare nothingness. It’s SOMETHING instead of nothing. Hair has a texture and a sparkle and movement. It has multi-colors that shine in the sunlight. The people on the dating websites don’t even have that.

There are some long-haired guys, but I am being prevented from going to them. There is this inhibition stopping me. It is partly because ‘they’ connected me with Curtis, bonded me with him, so that I am reluctant to go after any other guys until I know for sure that Curtis says ‘no’ and doesn’t want to be with me at all, except as a ‘temporary workplace friend,’ a co-worker who doesn’t matter very much, who will disappear whenever he quits or gets fired, and who will never speak to him again and it won’t even matter. I’m assuming that that is what he thinks I am. That’s how he sees me. For whatever reason, he wants to call me flattering names and occasionally show sexual interest, especially when I’m on the right drugs and I’m in ‘aphrodisiac friendly’ mode. But I can’t get replies from any method of communication that I’ve used.

I’m not as pretty as his ex-girlfriend, his wife, for all practical purposes, since he’s paying her child support. I feel like he’s stepping down or something by being with me – I’m not as good as the one he was with before. She is very young, younger than he is. And she looks like Kira the Gelfling from ‘The Dark Crystal.’ That’s the first thing I thought when I saw her for the first time.

I actually liked her. She worked at Weis very briefly. Then she had a random accident, and it was a terrible accident. Her son Caden knocked her tooth out by hitting her in the face with a toy – I assume by accident. (In other words I hope he wasn’t hitting her because he was angry or something.) She had fragile, cavity-filled teeth, because she got pregnant as a very young teenager, around 14, I think, maybe 13, right at the time when your body is going through a growth spurt. So your own body is growing a lot at that time, and then it has to give minerals to the baby’s body, too, so it takes all the minerals out of your bones and teeth, unless you are eating… you guessed it, the Weston Price diet. That is what happened to her. She then went to the dentist, and the dentist recommended… that she have all of her teeth removed and replaced with dentures or fake teeth. So she did. Curtis told me this story and I actually cried out loud, for real, because all of that is preventable if only people have enough money to buy healthy food. I don’t know if she removed ALL her teeth. But she removed several. It’s enough that she has a look, this puckered look to her mouth, when her mouth is closed. They weren’t able to get her new teeth. So she took time off work because of this, and then they said they didn’t want her to come back, unless she could get new teeth, because she was dealing with the public, as a cashier, and she would have to talk and smile to them. That made me angry. This is what Curtis told me.

The same thing is talked about in the Weston Price book. The natives all had healthy teeth, until and unless they started eating the white man’s sugar and flour and white bread and jelly and canned foods. Then they got cavities immediately and had children with mild to severe facial deformities, narrow hips, and other deformities.  They talked about how it was considered ‘normal’ for most people to have all of their teeth removed and replaced with dentures.

If you believe that ‘white teeth are better than yellow teeth,’ think about what white teeth really are.  If your teeth are perfectly white, that means they’re fake, probably porcelain or dentures.  I knew a lady who had porcelain teeth, and they were all perfectly blue-white, ‘perfect’ by the ‘white teeth are better’ standard.  Ivory yellow teeth are REAL teeth.  It means you haven’t lost all your teeth and had them replaced with fake ones.  I’ve learned to appreciate the natural color of teeth the same way I’ve learned to appreciate other type of  ‘natural grooming,’ like gray hair.  I LIKE real, imperfect, ivory-yellow teeth.  Now that I know about it, I’ve learned to actively dislike fake white teeth.  I’m not joking – sometimes I get ‘voices’ telling me they think I’m being sarcastic, but I’m not.

(Note, every time I mention Weston Price, ‘they’ want me to remind people about eating bone marrow. Weston Price, and the WP website, and Sally Fallon, and other authors in this movement, along with many people on the internet, and even people I’ve spoken to, have all claimed that you can eat bone marrow, and it’s good for you. I tried eating it, and it triggered the vomit reflex within a few minutes after eating it, and I also almost passed out and had horrible feelings that lasted for hours – actually for a whole day. For whatever reason, it wasn’t edible. It can cause severe food poisoning and possibly even death. I don’t know why some people claim they can eat it. There might be a different way of cooking it, perhaps cooking it at a very high temperature for a very long time, or something. I don’t know. But I have to always give this warning that those books and websites talk about eating parts of the animals and organs that we don’t usually eat, and if you try anything unfamiliar, it could be very dangerous, especially organs and glands that produce hormones. This is something that I want to test and troubleshoot, but I won’t be doing it alone! I need to clarify WHAT EXACTLY HAPPENS when you eat the various organs and parts of the body of different animals and seafood. I know some of them are deadly, like certain parts of the puffer fish. So I must give a warning whenever I recommend the WP diet.)

That all came from talking about C’s ex-girlfriend and her teeth. That was why she left Weis and isn’t working there anymore. I only saw her a couple times, and I looked into her eyes, and I liked her right away. I can see why he loved her and why he’ll never be ‘neutral’ towards her. She’s always going to be part of his life.

I should post this – it’s rambling a lot. I can write all afternoon because that’s the easiest thing for me to do, but it doesn’t mean that my writing quality is the best. This is my mediocre writing quality.

Oh – quick note. It was Vince who got his hair cut. He had slightly long very curly hair and he cut a couple inches off of it. I was watching to see how long he would grow it. He reached a difficult stage where it was starting to hang down over his eyes, and of course, it was long enough that I loved his hair, which is always when they cut it. That was the ‘haircut complaint’ that I was supposed to write about several days ago. He didn’t shave it off completely though. I wish I could show people how to get through the ‘transition stage’, and I wish it was acceptable for guys to wear hair barrettes and other things that would make it easier for them to clip their hair back out of the way without cutting it, so it doesn’t hang in their face during the difficult stage. Hair barrettes are about the only thing I can think of that would work with the medium-length hair that’s still too short to put in a braid or ponytail. But oh well.