Archive for August, 2010

a handwritten note; dreams; random topics; electronic harassment – ultrasonic attacks

August 23, 2010

8:42 PM 8/23/10

curtis – no phone, nickname, note, dream
new tables?
watching movies – a substitute for socializing
feeling optimistic, which means sjw exposure
not trying to do online dating now
flat tire
new refrigerator
dreadlocks progress

I’m not sure if I have enough mental focus to write a blog today. I have a few different things to say. I could tell the dreams first. The dreams are always fun to write about. There were a couple of sexual dreams. This happened because I gave Curtis a handwritten note. I told him that I had texted him a bunch of times the other day. He was shocked and surprised. He didn’t get any of them, and he didn’t get the voice mail message I left either. ‘Maybe they shut my phone off already,’ he said, as though he had been using it up till now and thought it was okay. His phone is being shut off temporarily because he didn’t pay the bill this month. He hasn’t worked enough hours to make enough money. So that was why I decided to give him a handwritten note. He told me he also doesn’t have internet right now, so he’s not getting his emails.

I gave him a note which didn’t ask him to *do* anything specific. I told him, ‘Humor me,’ and handed him the note. ‘Don’t worry about it – it’s just a reminder,’ I said. In the note, I summed up all of the things which I’ve said to him again and again, many times, in various notes and text messages and emails that he hasn’t gotten. The note’s theme was, ‘I always say the same things.’ I always tell him that someone’s blocking my emails and phone calls, so I worry about how I will reach him if he, or I, leave our jobs for any reason. I always tell him that I want to be friends with him away from work, and that I’d like to be friends with him a long time, not just temporarily. Sometimes I tell him that I love him and that I want to touch him but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.

Later that day – after he probably read the note – I walked past him, while he was standing with a bunch of people, and he was watching me with big, big, wide eyes.  I don’t know whether that emotion was fear, excitement, shock, or whatever, he was just wide-eyed.  That is something I love about him, how his face, and his whole body, express his feelings in a dramatic, visible, obvious way.

He has always responded positively to my notes and to my touch. He keeps coming back and calling me pet names. He doesn’t avoid me or act grossed out. In fact, several times when I’ve given him notes in the past, the name-calling started happening even more than ever before. I looked at his girlfriend, and I decided, yes, I’m ugly, but she’s ugly too, and he’s marrying her. So he’s able to tolerate ugly girls.

Well, since I gave him that note, I had dreams that night. In the first dream, I was kissing a very little boy, a prepubescent child. I didn’t expect to kiss him. I was just leaning over close to him and he started kissing me, if I remember correctly. Then he started rubbing against me and he had an orgasm. It was sort of unrealistic. He ejaculated a clear liquid and it sprayed up between us. Then a voice said, ‘You didn’t expect him to get hard.’

Then there was another dream the next day, in the morning sometime. This was a ‘symbolic’ dream that the voices explained to me after they woke me up. It’s complicated, so I’ll just tell what happened and then explain the symbolic interpretation. My ex-boyfriend Eric and I went over to ‘John’s’ house (my brother). We were playing video games on his computer because I had a problem with my own computer at home. It was a role-playing game, something like dungeons and dragons. The character in the game was controlling an animal using magic. I couldn’t tell what the animal was, from the image, but the voices told me it was a goat. It was standing up on legs and walking, so it didn’t look like a normal goat – it must have been an anthropomorphic goat. That’s when they woke me up, and then they proudly explained to me the interpretation of their dream.

John (my brother) = I moved into John’s apartment because I was kicked out of my parents’ house, so John = Carrie, Curtis’s girlfriend, because Curtis moved into her house after getting kicked out of his parents’ house. John represents Carrie.

Eric represents me. Eric was my ‘older’ boyfriend. Now I’m the older one.

I was Curtis in the dream.

(Yes, every person was somebody other than themselves, in a different role.)

We were playing a ‘role playing game.’ Every person was in a new role this time. The game was a sexual game, and the animal was a goat – the goat represents a penis. I had to use this computer at my brother’s house, without asking his permission, because I had a computer problem at home – they told me that I would be on Curtis and Carrie’s bed (the ‘computer’), without Carrie’s permission, instead of my own bed, because I don’t really have a bed here at my apartment. And we were afraid that ‘John’ (Carrie) would find out that we were using this ‘computer’ (the bed) to play ‘role-playing games’ on. And the voices got even more complicated with their explanation, saying that I was controlling the goat without touching it, by magic. I’m not sure what that meant. I couldn’t see what the video game character was doing to magically control the goat, because that’s when they woke me up.

It’s complicated when I look at what I’ve written. My brother John was Carrie; I was Curtis; my older-than-me ex-boyfriend Eric was me.

Those dreams weren’t quite as cute as the furry black bull dream, but they were okay.


I can’t stand to do online dating right now. There is this inhibition stopping me.


My life seems to go nowhere, because the attackers constantly prevent me from thinking. I could meditate and get a perspective on my situation and quickly decide what is the best thing to do, and then do it. But I can’t do that. I get zapped every time I think. They were doing it the other day, and if it were possible to kill them, I would have done it that day. I was trying to think about finding a REAL husband, not a young guy who’s extremely attractive but can’t be reached and already has another girlfriend that he’ll be marrying. They kept forcing me to fall asleep *EVERY TIME* I tried to think about the real husband. Curtis isn’t going to be my husband. He is someone else’s husband. The most I could be is an extramarital affair, if that.

The nickname: He must have received the BAD text message (but not the good ones), because he acted like he’d gotten the message that I had sent him, telling him not to call me that name anymore. Then again, it might have also been because he called me the name in front of Stan, and I responded by acting hurt and then saying, in a slightly angry voice, ‘Yeah, THAT’S ME,’ and then walking away. Anyway, he either got the text message or he didn’t. Regardless, he changed what he was doing. He started calling EVERYONE the nickname, at least the adjective part of it. (I wrote a blog a week or two ago saying, pretend the nickname was ‘my fair-skinned beauty,’ and he started calling everyone ‘fair-skinned’. It’s like that. It’s an unusual adjective that you wouldn’t use in an everyday sentence.)

He saw me walk into the back room, where I went to write a department transfer, and he was drunk on Dayquil that day, since he had a bad cold. (It was so bad, he went to the hospital the next day. I don’t know how exactly he was sick, or why he needed to go to the hospital, but he did, and he said they gave him two shots, in his butt. He was limping the next day. What kind of shots do they give someone who has a cold? I hate mainstream medicine and its placebos.) So he was acting even more talkative and friendly than usual, being drunk on Dayquil, and when I went back to do the transfer, he said, ‘Is that my fair-skinned…. Orry? I thought you were fair-skinned Orry.’ (Yes, I’m substituting the adjective.) I said, ‘Yeah, he’s about the same size as me.’ (Orry is short and small, but I don’t find him attractive merely because of that. He’s not a competitor. I’m not helplessly attracted to *ALL* small guys.)

So whatever I did, I got him to start calling everybody the adjective. He might possibly not need to do that anymore. We sat together and talked a bit one day – I already wrote about that. Then he sat next to me again when I was on my lunch break and getting ready to go back in, and I stayed out there five minutes later than I was supposed to, because I decided that spending five extra minutes with him was more important than getting back to work on time. He is still being friendly to me, after all of this. He still acts trusting instead of afraid or ‘weirded out.’

I’m not being extremely aggressive or pushy. I’m not putting deadlines on it. I’m not directly asking him to go out with me at a specific time. (‘Go out’ is the wrong phrase to use. I don’t want to ‘go out’ with him. I want to spend time together with him, doing anything at all.) I’m just reminding him that I exist and that I care about him and that I want to continue being his friend even though I can’t reliably get emails or text messages or phone calls to him.


I had an extremely flat tire today. I had noticed it was getting flatter over the past few weeks. Today I checked it. It’s supposed to be 32 psi. It was 10! It was 1/3 of the pressure it was supposed to be. It was so flat, the sides were bulging out at the bottom. I’m lucky to be alive. It could have failed while I was driving down the highway and I would have gone straight into the oncoming lane. I refilled it, and I will keep an eye on it. If it keeps getting flat, I will have to get a new tire or something.

New refrigerator? I was talking to the maintenance guy today. He mentioned that an energy efficiency inspector would be coming over, and that we were all going to get new refrigerators for all the apartments, no matter what. That’s nice for me, because I still don’t feel safe using the fridge after the bone marrow vapors. There’s just a tiny bit left, and I don’t want to ruin any food or drinks I put in there.

Dreadlocks: I started the no-shampoo experiment in January, 2009. I wrote about it in this blog. My hair gradually formed natural dreadlocks. In the beginning, I had a couple of badly formed monster locks that were too big and in a bad position. They were pulling the hair in a bad way, and it hurt, and it was hard to lie down on that part of my head when I slept. Now, they have gradually moved and mellowed out a little bit, and they’re not really pulling anymore. Some of the roots connected to the monster locks have fallen out, so that the lock isn’t connected to as many roots as it was in the beginning. The locks are moving to different positions on the scalp, instead of staying in just one place. But I still have a bald spot on the right top side, where there is hardly any hair, and a big empty space in between the locks. It’s not ‘bald,’ it’s just thin.

Tables: I got rid of my tables that I had at the other apartment, because they were contaminated along with everything else. I am thinking of getting new ones and putting cardboard on them (so that it’s easy to clean up if they get contaminated again), and under them, so that I can set up my computer table and use it more easily to do computer projects and anything else.

Curtis said he’s been watching a lot of movies, since he’s disconnected from cable TV right now. I’ve been watching movies too. I rented Twilight – New Moon, and watched it again, and it didn’t suck as much, now that I understand what’s going on, and now that I’ve seen the first movie and read some of the first book. Movies are my substitute for socializing. I am not spending time with real people. I am watching imaginary people without having to interact with them, and they’re pretty to look at, and people have a real need to look at beautiful people. I think it’s natural to need to see beautiful people. That’s why I’m interested in Weston Price’s studies of the primitive diets and the facial deformities that make us ugly. We don’t have to be ugly. An ugly person can have beautiful children if they use the diet. That is what I am hoping to do.

I think I’ll post this now.

The murderers are enraging me while I wait for this blog page to load. I have been hit with St. John’s Wort recently and so they are able to trigger rage. My elbow is leaning on the cardboard box where my computer keyboard is, and the murderers are shooting sonic bullets, or whatever it is that they use, to slowly make the computer keyboard slip downwards under my elbow, a fraction of a millimeter at a time, over and over, while triggering the feeling of rage. I don’t know why they do the slips. It makes me want to kill them. AJH at knows about this. He has the same thing happen. Clicking, snapping noises on objects near me, and my body parts ‘slipping’ down against a surface, without moving at all, or slowly moving, when there is, in reality, enough friction to hold them still, and they shouldn’t be moving, and when it slips, it emits an extremely high-pitched, painful noise above the level of human hearing, but it’s audible enough to cause me physical pain, and rage. I usually hear voices at the same moment that it slips, or just afterwards. It’s like the sonic bullets are being used to ‘deliver’ the voices. Sometimes I think the sonic bullets are taking snapshots of an image, the image of me sitting here. Sometimes when they do this, I punch something and hurt my hand. I try not to do that, and it mostly happens if I’m having a St. John’s Wort reaction.

Raw milk, and a touch obsession

August 17, 2010

8:53 AM 8/17/10

I’ve been drinking lots of the Amish milk today and yesterday. It’s addictive and I am drinking one glass after another, as I haven’t had any breakfast yet. I have only a half gallon, and I am maybe 3/4 of the way through it, which is a good thing, because I don’t want it to spoil. I am cautious about it since it’s raw. It might possibly start to spoil faster than pasteurized milk. The only other raw milk I had was frozen goat’s milk, several years ago, from a little store called Stone Soup, and I don’t think I ever finished drinking the whole container of that milk.

It didn’t make me sick at my stomach. It didn’t give me that feeling of swelling in my upper right quadrant of my abdomen, where my liver is. That swollen liver-gallbladder feeling used to happen when I drank milk or ate any fatty foods, in 1999 when I was extremely sick for several months. However, it did give me a little bit of gas, but it’s a trivial amount and hardly noticeable, barely anything. I’m not lactose intolerant, but I thought I might be allergic to milk. I’m not having severe allergic reactions either, as I drink this raw cow’s milk.

I have had an occasional skin rash for a couple months now. It seems to happen at random times. It coincided with planting my little herb garden and eating the fresh herb leaves out of there. It also gets triggered by sitting on the metal table in the drive-thru at McDonald’s, which causes all of my legs and butt to start itching horribly – probably nickel. Peter’s been using some new drugs too, so I could be getting secondhand drug residues from him.

I have been having some rashes, at the same time as I’m drinking this milk, but it’s been inconsistent. I think that milk shouldn’t be put into a stainless steel container. Steel contains nickel, if I understand correctly. Or at least, some kinds of steel do. I think that some of the metal goes into the milk, and you can have allergic reactions to the metal, not the milk itself.

I am noticing more dyslexia as I’m typing. So I am having a Feingold-diet hyperactivity reaction to the milk, but it’s still mild. I’m making, and correcting, lots of typos and letter reversals as I type, more than usual. The attackers want me to think that they’re causing the typing problems, and yes, I know they’re *able* to cause those incidents to happen, but that doesn’t mean they’re causing all of them. The hyperactive foods might make people more vulnerable to that type of attack, and less able to automatically correct it as it happens. Foods and chemicals and drugs change how you’re affected by attacks.

I made a bunch of ‘about’ pages today for this blog. Those pages are probably going to be the most useful thing in the blog, because they are ‘static’, they stay there all the time, without changing, and people can find them easily. It’s harder to find a particular blog entry that you don’t remember the search terms for, if you happened to find that blog post through a google search or something. There are hundreds of posts going back two years to 2008, and I didn’t categorize them or anything. I wasn’t thinking ahead, wasn’t trying to get readers, and wasn’t planning on making a blog that was structured and easy to read and easy to search through. There is no index or table of contents for this blog. There is no particular order for the posts – they are about random things that I was thinking about, or things that happened that day, or things the voices wanted me to write about that day. I could put up a tag cloud, but that wouldn’t be very useful, because almost every single post is tagged ‘mind control,’ for instance. And I’m not very conscious of HOW I choose what tags to use, and sometimes I don’t use them at all.

A social observer. In order to be that, I would have to socialize. They still want me to be a prostitute, so that I can ‘socialize’ the way I did in the dream a few days ago.

There are some ways that it would be nice to be a prostitute. I would get paid more dollars per hour than I do at my ‘real’ job. If I had several regular clients who I would see again and again, we could establish trust, so that I wouldn’t be afraid that they were a serial killer, rapist, or thief. I would have some control over the hours I worked and when I worked and how I worked.

I already know a lot of ways that it *wouldn’t* be nice to be a prostitute. I’m disgusted by a lot of men. I’m chemical sensitive, so I don’t like deodorants or perfumes. I react to other people’s drugs, so anybody using drugs would give me secondhand drug residues. I might even become addicted to a dangerous drug just by skin absorption, from being around a drug user.

Also, I still feel bonded to Curtis, and ‘they’ make me believe that he’s jealous if I see other men. I don’t know whether that’s true or not, but it’s what they make me believe.

My bond with Peter: Peter really doesn’t know much about my day-to-day life or what I’m experiencing, or what I care about, or think about, or know about. We can’t talk very well. He always interrupts me after a couple words, because his blood sugar is always either too high, or too low, or he’s on drugs, so he’s always uncomfortable and impatient and unable to relax and empathize. When you’re sick and in pain all the time, it’s impossible to listen to other people and understand their problems and their lives and the things they care about. And I always want to give him advice about how he should take care of his medical problems, but my advice is always impossibly expensive, so I don’t even try anymore to say any of it to him. (‘You need to totally change your entire diet; don’t EVER use any artificial sweeteners, stop drinking soda, stop eating junk food, eat more fat (but it has to be fresh, non-rancid, animal fat), eat whole foods…’ ‘To cure your insomnia, you need to get rid of all of your furniture and clothing that has drug residues on it’ (especially now that he’s gotten some of the drug residues from my car, which contain ephedra). All of my advice is impossibly expensive to follow. That’s why I want a religious group that will make a place where it’s easy to follow my rules, because the whole environment, a whole building to live in, is designed to make it easy to live that way. Like a monastery or a retreat. I like thinking of Bill Gates saying ‘A PC on every desktop,’ and I say, ‘A retmeishka monastery in every town.’ This is when the voices are talking to me about making a religious order.)

So Peter really doesn’t listen to me all that much. He always gets defensive and argues after I’ve only spoken a couple words of my opinion or advice. And he can’t really listen if I talk about my dreams and hopes and desires. He can only feel his own pain.

My bond with Curtis got stronger again, and I started to feel hopeful about it again, just because I sat with him and had a conversation the other day. Now, I feel like there’s no need to go back to the dating website, or go looking for new friends, or try to start a community.

And yesterday, the attackers were stopping me from thinking about it – they attacked me over and over again, making me fall asleep every time I tried to think about getting a husband. I need some way to support myself while I raise my children, and I can’t carry my children with me to the workplace, because our society doesn’t allow that, although I think they should.

So I am thinking about how to get a husband for a loveless practical marriage. I imagine it to be a loveless practical marriage because I’m not strongly attracted to adult men. My most intense sexual attraction is for teenage boys. I would have a lukewarm sexual desire for my adult husband.

This was true when I was with Eric, who was, I think, 35 when I met him? I didn’t have an intense, passionate sexual love for him. I always felt like something was missing. (This is literal, too: something is missing – he was circumcised. I hate circumcision. I believe that sex, and bonding, and relationships, would all be very different if people weren’t circumcised in the USA.) We had sex, and we enjoyed the sex, but I felt like I needed to have a crush on some other guy, to feel more passion and more intensity. And Eric and I fought about things, and couldn’t talk about certain subjects, which was one of the reasons why we eventually stopped seeing each other. He couldn’t stand to hear about the hackers or the mind control, and he would go into a screaming freak-out tantrum if I mentioned any of it.

And he was jealous because he believed that I loved John DiMoia more than him (Nerdman, from the chatroom, the guy who stopped answering my emails, and right at the same time, I started having computer hacking problems and online harassment, so I thought it was him, but actually it could have been anyone). I was being forced, by mind control, to keep writing emails to John DiMoia. I had never met him, I’ve never seen a photograph of him, I don’t know what he looks like except that he’s Italian and going bald, which is all the he told me in the chatroom. So it was ridiculous to think that I had any ‘real’ feeling for a real person. I was being forced to obsess about him. I would try to explain that to Eric, but he wouldn’t listen to any of it.

That’s different from my crushes on Martin and Curtis. They are real people who I’ve met and talked to in the real world. I could see that they were physically attractive, I could touch them, talk to them, be close to them. My attraction to both of them is real. But the things that I *do* to them, such as sending a particular email about a particular subject on a particular day, are forced by mind control. I am forced to say the particular words I say to Curtis and I said to Martin back when I was emailing him. I usually disagree about whether it’s a good idea to say these words, or to use this approach. The attackers almost always use ‘verbal attacks’ which I’ve been reading about in my book, ‘The Gentle Art of Verbal Self-Defense.’ Almost everything they say and do is meant to make someone feel guilty, ashamed, inferior, or some other negative feeling, so I disagree that I should say those things. I think it’s harmful to talk that way.

So I hate the things I’m forced to say to them. And I hate it that I can’t tell the truth, make my own observations, speak my own words, tell them something that I just noticed that minute, ask them questions, listen to what they’re saying and respond to it – I can’t do those things, because my words are puppet words, written by an attacker. Many of my words are pre-recorded phrases coming from an artificial intelligence, which senses what’s going on and gives me a fake scripted response to that situation.

But the intense sexual attraction is real.

I rented ‘Twilight’ last night. I’ve started reading the book, but I haven’t finished it yet. I actually first saw the second movie, then the third, and now the first. I thought the second movie sucked, but I gave it a chance. The third movie kind of sucked, too, but I gave it a chance again. Then I watched the first movie… and the FIRST movie was REALLY GOOD! The second and third movies had that sloppy, careless, hasty, get-it-done-in-a-hurry, ‘sequel’ feeling to them. I knew that the books were probably better.

I can’t explain how the second and third movies sucked. I can explain it a little bit with the Harry Potter movies: The best Harry Potter movie of all time was The Prisoner of Azkaban, because it was done by a different director, or producer, or whatever, and it has a totally different style than the other movies. Things like background music and lighting. I’m not getting into that right now because it’s a long subject. But it’s those kind of things that made the second and third Twilight movies suck more than the first one. The first movie was good on its own, as a stand-alone movie.

Edward is ‘cold’ and ‘untouchable.’ If he becomes sexually aroused, if he gets too close to Bella, something terrible will happen. This mirrors her relationship with her father. It’s taboo to admit that you feel sexually aroused when you hug your daughter and have your arms around her. (This is why I like to read about bonobo apes. They make everything okay.) So some fathers solve the problem by not touching their daughters at all. My father couldn’t touch me when I was a little baby, but they say it was because I was hyperactive and almost autistic, and I would scream, cry, and pull away when people touched me. But I grew up not being touched by my father very much, even when I was older. So I can relate to how Bella feels, when she loves her father but they’re afraid to touch each other. And I can see it with Edward, too, how they can’t touch each other much, but they desperately want to.

I’m going through that right now with Curtis. I want more than anything to touch him, but the slightest touch is extremely intense, full of anxiety and terror. I don’t know if I’ll be rejected or pushed away. I don’t know if he’ll say that I’m sexually harassing him, even if I touch him in a small way, like a tap on the arm. But even just a tiny tap on the arm is a big, huge deal to me. The slightest touch is extremely intense. If I’ve had a reaction to some of my drug residues, my emotions are amplified so much that I feel almost orgasmic if I merely catch his eye across the room. I’ll start breathing heavily and I make a sort of gagging motion in my throat, the way you almost gag if you’re masturbating and you delay orgasm as long as you can. (Again, this tends to happen if I’m having a drug reaction. In my drug-free state it doesn’t happen like that.)

I know this because it happened the other day. I had recently told him, in a text message, not to call me his nicknames anymore, because it makes me feel like he loves me, it makes me feel like I’m special to him, but at other times he seems to reject me, and he has a girlfriend whom he’ll be marrying, and I’m trying not to ‘sexually harass’ him, or violate his lack of consent. And we haven’t been looking at each other, except from far across the room.

But I glanced at him, when we hadn’t looked at each other all day. I looked up at him as he came in the door. It was wonderful to look in his eyes for a second. A minute later, he came over to me and the couple of other women working in the deli, and he was moving a shelf into the room next to us, and he said, ‘hello, my [adjective] deli workers – I’m putting this banana rack over there,’ and we said okay. He addressed it to all three of us, as though all of us were [adjective]. The adjective is the first part of the nickname, which I’m keeping censored because it’s kind of like a security question, like ‘What is your mother’s maiden name?’ and that kind of thing.

The nickname is a secret. The adjective is an unusual word that nobody would ever use in an ordinary sentence, so I knew he said it because I was there and I’d told him not to call me the nickname. I’m trying to think of an example so you can imagine this. It isn’t a commonly used word that you would say to a group of people. ‘The voices’ suggested a phrase, but I don’t like to take their suggestions, because it almost always means something that I don’t want to say. They suggested that I give the example like this: what if the nickname was ‘my fair-skinned beauty,’ or something, and yes, I know that sounds silly, but it’s just an example. It would be like he walked up to us in a group of three women and said, ‘my fair-skinned deli workers.’ It was unusual to say.

As he walked away, I saw his face, and he had a slightly nauseated, disgusted look, which was also a sexually excited look. I’ve seen him do a sideways smile, kind of a leer, if I’ve looked at him too intensely in a sexual way, and also, he sometimes looks sick. You’re going to laugh at this, but it reminds me of the horses. I’ve seen horses in photographs, or a video, where the stallion smelled the urine of a mare in heat, and he responded by sneering his lips up into a snarl that showed all his teeth. It was a funny expression. The horse lifted his lips up like that again and again when he smelled the urine. I’ve seen Curtis do horse-like gestures sometimes. And that was the look on his face – it wasn’t a sneer or a leer or a snarl, he didn’t really expose his teeth very much, but it was just the faintest suggestion of being sickened and aroused at the same time. That sick-aroused feeling is different depending on who triggers it. If a sexually disgusting person triggers it, it feels like you’ve been violated, molested, raped, or had some other sexually unpleasant experience. If a sexually attractive person triggers it, that same feeling is pleasant and arousing and extremely exciting, and you want to complete it by having an orgasm.

There was another incident when he strongly reminded me of a horse. It was when I went back into his department to do a department transfer. I had to get some items from produce to use in food service. I went back to write it on the paper. I got the paper off the wall and started writing. He came over to me and stood very close to me, watching silently while I wrote, with his chest open and exposed and radiating heat. He was that close. I could feel the heat of his body. I looked at him, and I reached up with my hand, up to his chest, just under his chin. I was going to gently touch his chest with the back of my hand.

But I startled him. He couldn’t see my hand, he shook his head and then lifted his head back to look at my hand just under his chin. He took a step back. I hadn’t touched him, I had been very close but not touching. He probably thought that I was going to hurt him, that I had a knife in my hand or something – he’s said things like that to me before, that he was afraid I was going to stab him. (I read his facebook page and he had done a fortune-telling app, many months ago, where the fortune predicted that he would die being stabbed by a soulmate.)

In that previous incident, the reason he was afraid I was going to stab him was because I was about to tell him he did something wrong, but I couldn’t bear to tell it to him, because I didn’t want to talk down to him. Somebody had taken the soups out of the soup cookers, and put them out for the customers, without turning off the soup cookers. If you leave the cookers on, empty, they will overheat and break. I’ve seen it happen. So I had to tell him he did something wrong, and I had to explain it, but I could barely speak to him, and I said, ‘come over here for a second,’ while I was standing in a narrow, enclosed place inside the salad bar area, where he couldn’t really see me. He was afraid to come over to me, and he just stood there. I was giving ‘anxious’ body language, anxious, reluctant, terrified, and unable to speak, so he reflected my anxiety without knowing what was wrong. I asked him if he had taken out the soups, and I explained that they had to be turned off. He was relieved that it was something so silly and unimportant, after all that anxiety. ‘I thought you were going to stab me,’ he said.

So when I reached for his chest he might have thought the same thing. It surprised him. And a horse will react exactly that same way, if it’s a distrusting horse, if it’s ever been attacked or abused, or if it’s just a high-strung horse that gets startled easily. If you reach up under a horse’s head, it can’t see your hand very well, and it will lift its head up and back to look at your hand. He looked exactly like that.

I tried to think of a horse-related nickname, something that would be a compliment, something beautiful, like ‘wild stallion,’ but that wasn’t easy to say and didn’t feel natural. His nicknames are beautiful compliments, so I tried to follow the same rules he was using. I thought of synonyms for horse and some variations on the name, but didn’t think of one that would be natural for me to say.

I can’t say any nicknames to him other than ‘hey you.’ That’s the closest I can come to a nickname. ‘We were thous’ – a line from Shakespeare – we were ‘thou’ to each other, but you betrayed me – I think it might be Julius Caesar who says it to Brutus, but I’m not sure, it could be anyone. That’s where I first learned that the word ‘you’ (thou) in English is something intimate, that you don’t carelessly use the word ‘you’ to someone in a formal situation, and that using the word ‘you’ too much can be a form of unwanted sexual harassment, which I’ve experienced before. I’ve had guys attracted to me who kept saying ‘you this, you that,’ and being focused entirely on me, too much, and I didn’t like it. I said ‘hey you’ to him when I first saw him the other day, when he first told me that the store manager was bothering him, when I asked him if he had sent the text message saying to leave him alone. ‘Hey you’ meant, ‘you disrespected me, so I’ll disrespect you.’ I had to attack him verbally because I was terrified to approach him. ‘Hey you’ was the best way I could think of to call out to him when I was terrified to speak to him, and feeling hurt and rejected.

I got started on all of that subject because I said that his sexually aroused facial expressions reminded me of the ‘disgusted’ look that a stallion makes when it smells the urine of a mare in heat.

That evening, or maybe a day or two later, I sent him an email saying it was okay for him to call me the nickname if he wanted to. But I don’t know if he has an internet connection right now, and if he can get his email.

I hesitate to call him at home. His wife-to-be is there. She will hear that he’s on the phone talking to someone, and they might get into a fight. I’m not trying to cause a fight between them, but I want to talk to him. I’ve had two phone conversations with him. And I’ve had a brief conversation in which I told him I would leave him a message because he was at work and I didn’t want him to talk on the phone while he was at work.

I’ve emailed her before, a couple times, and I mentioned that he seemed to be ‘leading me on.’ She said that he has a way of making women feel special and that I should ‘take it as a joke.’ But I can’t take it as a joke. Everything I feel with him is serious.

This is why I can relate to it when I see Bella and Edward together, unable to touch each other, but desperately wanting to, and afraid that something bad will happen, some rule will be broken, someone will get hurt, some consent will be violated, I will be an evil monster – all of those things will happen if we touch each other and let go and do whatever we want. That is how I feel with him.

I know it sounds strange, but I can read his body language from far across the room. I can’t read other people’s body language that easily, or I don’t care to. It’s the opposite of Edward not being able to read Bella. Edward can read everyone else but her. I am able to read every nuance of Curtis’s feelings by a quick glance at him from a long distance across the room. I can read his back. His back tells me how he’s feeling. The change in the angle, the position, the neck, the shoulders – I can see his tiredness, his loneliness, his ‘I’m turning my back on you,’ (which I myself did to him the other day, so I know how it feels to do that), – and he hasn’t actually turned his back on me very often, but sometimes, every now and then, he has. When we’re not looking at each other. I can see it in his back when he feels small and vulnerable and needy. When he looks even smaller than usual. I saw him blushing after I gave him the note – and told him *NOT* to read it right now – where I told him I was attracted to him. The position of his neck, and his blushing face and his ears, told me how he felt, all the way across the room. The way he moves when he walks.

One time, his back said ‘touch me.’ I had touched his back several times during a period of weeks or months when we were together a lot in the evenings, alone. One time I stroked his back gently because he offered to carry something for me, instead of letting me carry it, because I was sick that day, and I walked behind him through the doors to go back to take out the trash.

It was sometime after that. He stood close in front of me, not far from me, and the shape of his back said he wanted me to stroke his back again. … And I didn’t. I didn’t do it. I was terrified, and I wasn’t on the right drugs, probably, and I didn’t want to sexually harass him or violate his consent. Because if I stroked him, I wouldn’t want to stop. That’s the same thing Edward is afraid of – if I start, I won’t be able to stop, and something bad will happen and I’ll hurt you. I wanted to walk up close behind him and put both hands on his back and press against him from behind. I wanted to cup his shoulders in my hands and press my face against his back. I wanted to reach around him and stroke his chest and his belly. He stood right in front of me and his back seemed to invite me to touch him. And I don’t want to violate him, or I’ll get rejected and hurt very badly.

I’m obsessing about guys, love, sex, and touch, because I haven’t eaten breakfast. So I should go eat something. This obsession will go on and on forever, until I eat something. I will always think of one more incident to tell about. So… I’ll go do that.

LOL, I tagged this post ‘curtis.’  As if that will be a useful tag.  Anybody randomly searching for the name ‘curtis’ will find this blog.

Amish milk, and a fistful of glitter, and my butt’s fat again

August 16, 2010

7:19 PM 8/16/10

(*This is a very disorganized post, with several different subjects.  I’m probably already suffering from ADD from drinking milk, and from quitting coffee.  I started on a couple subjects, wandered to something else, and never really finished all the things I had meant to talk about… and by the time I was done, I didn’t care whether I wrote about all those things or not.  So if you feel like I went on a tangent and never came back, you’re right.*)

Why did my butt get fat this month?

changes in drug residues
one tiny sip of milk wasn’t enough? maybe it is. maybe one tiny sip causes ovulation later on
but i’m drinking amish milk today and it goes to my butt and breasts instantly; i’ll look like i looked in college; i lost my college weight by quitting whole milk
milk is addictive; as soon as i’ve had one glass, i start craving more later on
i ovulated much more than usual this month for unknown reasons
peter’s wellbutrin – maybe wellbutrin triggers ovulation
peter’s other new drugs
put vinyl on my car seat, which means i withdrew from sjw; the withdrawal can cause weight gain

I had been wondering where I could buy raw milk.

The milk I get at the grocery stores usually is sour when I buy it. I think it’s held at warm temperatures during shipping and handling. It usually makes me sick at my stomach. Even the Meyer Dairy milk made me sick, although it tasted fresh. So I wanted to try fresh raw milk.

I saw a sign near the town of Howard when I was out driving my car. It was next to a little farm, and at the time, I didn’t know it was an Amish farm. It said they had fresh raw milk for sale.

A couple weeks ago I finally went there. I drove up the gravel road and saw an Amish man working on fixing something next to the driveway, some wooden thing. I stopped my car and asked him where I could buy the milk, and whether this was a bad time. He told me it was up the hill at the barn, right where they were milking, and he said it was a good time.

After I drove up, a little boy opened the door of the barn. He might have been about seven years old – I’m not sure if I can guess someone’s age very well. He asked me if he could help me with anything. We’d never seen each other before, so it was awkward and anxious for both of us. I was on drugs at the time, I think, so I might have had more intense feelings than usual.

I bought a half gallon of milk for $1.50, and got a free little pint of mint tea, which was very good. A half gallon is too much for me, but that was the smallest size.

When he said goodbye to me, he gave me a polite smile that wasn’t really a smile.

I only tried a small sip of it. I wasn’t sure if it would agree with my stomach. I haven’t had milk to drink in years, although I eat cheese and I drink milkshakes. I had some problems with milk a few years ago and stopped drinking it. But if it’s very fresh, I might be able to – that was the idea. I tried only a sip, and never finished the half gallon, and I left it in the fridge for days and days and it spoiled.

This time when I drove up and he asked if he could help me, and I wondered if I could buy some milk, he smiled and he was more relaxed and genuine. He recognized me from the last time I was there. He opened the door and he was barefoot. ‘We have cheese now,’ he said. They had made all different kinds of cheese. I kneeled down and got in the fridge, which was right in the doorway of the barn, while he held the door open. I got a block of Swiss cheese along with my milk and my jug of tea. I thanked him and said I had enjoyed the mint tea last time. He told me they have a concentrate of it, and he opened the freezer door – all you have to do is mix it with water. I didn’t buy that, because I don’t have a container to put it in, but I might next time I’m there.

I thanked him again.

The feeling I had for this little boy was, ‘I love you. I would do anything for you. I’ll stay with you and I won’t ever leave you.’

I don’t have any children. I’m not used to the feelings that children can give you. Children are supposed to make you feel that way.

I’ve seen hyperactive children, tortured by the poisons of modern society. I was one of them before I got on the Feingold Diet. I see them at McDonald’s. A mother was fighting with her son who was having a tantrum as they were leaving. He was screaming and crying. I felt a terrible feeling: ‘I hate you. I loathe you. You disgust me.’ I know it’s not really me that feels that way. I felt sorry for the kid. It was the way he was crying, screaming, and begging his mom to let him keep playing, to not punish him, he promised he wouldn’t do it again, PLEASE, I PROMISE, crying and screaming – he HATED himself, I could feel it by listening to him. He hated himself, he loathed himself.

I feel like I would almost marry an Amish man. I am close to being Amish myself in many ways. There are some differences. But I would like to learn how they work. I want to learn how to make a profit on a farm when you aren’t using motor-driven tractors or electricity. (They use gas-powered appliances, though – the refrigerator had to be. I’d like to avoid using fossil fuel appliances because I get sick from their fumes.)

I’m different from the Amish because I’m not Christian and I don’t think I ever could be. That is the reason for the order of retmeishka.

But I feel that Amish society is closer to being a healthy society than ‘English’ society. It gives me a model of how things can be, of how a religion can be. I have more respect for the Amish than I do for most English people.

I might find out that I’m too allergic to milk to keep on drinking it; this is only an experiment. I might find that it makes me too fat too quickly, and I’m not exercising enough to burn off the fat. I might find that I’m getting rashes or having other problems. I might find that it’s making me hyperactive or ADD. I’m not sure yet how I’ll react to drinking a lot of it. I don’t have a scale in my bathroom right now, so I can’t watch the changes in my weight.

I got a fat butt this month, out of nowhere, for no reason. I wasn’t aware of changing my diet. I just suddenly got a very fat butt. I ate McDonald’s food a few more times than usual. I was exposed to Peter’s Wellbutrin and have been contaminated with it several times. I patched up something that was toxic and was exposing me to St. John’s Wort residues, my car seat. All of those things have caused me to have weight changes in the past, and it’s always my big butt that I notice first.

It might go away next month, or it might not. If I’m successful at drinking milk, I will probably gain ten or fifteen more pounds, and I’m not used to that. I weighed 145 in college, when I was eating in the cafeteria and drinking several glasses of whole milk every day. I stopped drinking the whole milk, switched to skim, and immediately lost the weight very quickly. I also started taking walks, but I was always taking walks, so that probably didn’t explain it – I can’t remember when I was walking more and when I was walking less.

So whole milk makes you get fat very quickly. That’s all I know. I’m drinking it because of the Weston Price diet, wondering if it will affect my teeth. I’ve had painful teeth for the past few weeks. Bruxism from St. John’s Wort exposure and Wellbutrin exposure – those drugs both make me clench my teeth. I think that’s why they’re hurting more than usual.

I can’t believe this – I just drank a small glass of milk, then another one, and now I’m craving another one. I can’t believe how much of it I want to drink. It’s really addictive. Now, these are small glasses – less than eight ounces, I think – I’m not sure. Little plastic cups. I’ll just drink as much as I crave, and this will be an experiment. I will probably get very fat very quickly. I’ll have to buy a scale at Wal-Mart.

There is a sarcastic voice in my head, and I know it’s not me, but it says, maybe if I get fat, Curtis will love me. Ha ha. He’s dating a girl who looks so much like his mother, from a distance, that the first time I saw her, I thought that’s who she was. She is about the same height and weight. ‘Pleasantly plump,’ and insecure about her weight, as some people have made fun of her and called her ‘hippo,’ even though she’s not really that fat. She will probably lose weight as I think she’s moved out of her parents’ house – that usually makes people lose weight. Her diet will change and so will her environmental illnesses, whatever drug residues, mold, and anything else might be making people sick in her family’s house, if anything is there. She will probably be thin after a while. She’s going to be a nurse, a CNA, she said on facebook. She’s not using facebook at all anymore, and neither is Curtis – I’m thinking maybe they moved into their own place and they don’t have an internet connection at all right now. They don’t need to socialize – they have each other. They’re getting married.

I talked to him Sunday afternoon when we were both leaving, but we didn’t get deep enough into our conversation. I haven’t been able to look at him for several weeks, or just barely. I haven’t been able to talk to him either, and have had few opportunities. He called out to me as I was walking to my car to leave, and I couldn’t really hear him, so I said, ‘what?’ and looked past the bushes that were blocking my view, and I could see him sitting on the sidewalk waiting for Carrie to pick him up. I walked over to him because I couldn’t hear if he was calling for me to come over, or what. I got there, and sat down next to him, and he said, ‘I was just saying goodbye.’ But I sat there while he smoked. I didn’t leave. I felt that I probably should leave.

I had asked him earlier that day, ‘Do you remember telling me to leave you alone?’ (In a text message, after I had sent him a very long text message.) He said, ‘Yes – as friends?’ I didn’t really understand that, and I started to cry, so I quickly walked away and I said, ‘I had to find out whether it was really from you. You know why.’ (Because of the hackers and the possibility that someone would be writing things to hurt me that weren’t really from him.) I walked away, made it into the deli without crying, and then tried to go back to doing my job, but I couldn’t, not for a minute, so I went into the back room of the deli, and I suppressed the sobbing in my throat, and then the tears started coming out. I cried for a minute, but not long, and then I was able to get back to work. I felt depressed and sick for several hours. I was affected by drug residues, but for right now, I will probably keep on being affected by various drugs, because I can’t get away from them at the moment, so my feelings will be more intense and they will vary from day to day, with my mood swings.

When I sat next to him on the sidewalk I still remembered that I was leaving him alone. I wouldn’t look directly at him, because looking at him is too intense. He is beautiful to me. I love to look into his eyes. I would love to touch him. So I looked at anything but him, and I sat there, cold and serious, talking to him like a ‘friend.’ We mostly talked about my work schedule, about how many hours I was getting at my two jobs right now. And he said that his life sucked, and every time it seemed like things were going okay, something else bad would happen and mess things up even more. I wanted to know what was going on, but there wasn’t enough time to talk deeply. Carrie was on the way. And he asked me how I was doing, and I said, ‘It’s a long story.’ ‘I’ve got time,’ he said, and I made a bitter smile, but said nothing. You don’t have THIS MUCH time. I would love to tell you. But it’s boring and depressing, and nobody understands it but me. For a chronic-fatigued person, most of my life is what happens in the world of my reading and writing on the computer, and the thoughts that I’m thinking while I lie in bed talking to the voices. That is my life. Nothing is really ‘happening.’ But I would tell you if I had a moment or two to relax. I would tell you a little bit of it. If I could find one tiny bit of hopefulness or something positive in it, I would tell you. I don’t want to tell it to you while it’s still hopeless and going nowhere. There’s nothing you can do.

He told me that the store manager was bullying him – and I use the word ‘bullying’ because I read an online article about bullying today. Curtis himself didn’t use that word. He just said that the store manager was talking to him and doing things to him that made him angry and he was sick of it. I’ve heard the way he talks to him. Curtis said that the store manager asked Brandon, ‘Is Curtis texting?’ right after Brandon himself had been texting. Curtis got in trouble for doing something that the department manager had been doing. He was walking around with him telling him what to do and talking to him like a child – I heard him. He said, ‘CURTIIIIS…..’ in a threatening tone the way you threaten a dog or a child with your voice. He isn’t a child. He’s a nineteen year old who looks like a young teenager because he has fetal alcohol syndrome, which causes him to be very small. (And that is why a hebephile like myself is so attracted to him.) So you have to talk to him with respect.

It wasn’t long, only a couple minutes, that we sat coldly next to each other with a space in between us, not looking directly at each other, talking about things that weren’t really deep.

I asked him, ‘How did you and Carrie meet each other?’ This was something I had wondered for a long time. ‘At a party,’ he said, and he said nothing else about that.

There are things I want to know. The voices in my head were wondering these things when I was bored at work that day, when I had nothing to do because I was working in the front part of the deli department and we had no customers, so we just stood there, and I stared at things, while standing next to Mary. I had asked Mary how she met her husband. And I wanted to ask, ‘What do you think about when you have nothing to do?’ Do you stare at the images? Do you contemplate them? Are they beautiful when you contemplate them?  I can’t meditate or contemplate because of the zapping – every few seconds, my brain and body get a jolt that wakes me up. I can’t focus my mind in the special way that makes you feel flow, the feeling of enjoyment you get from focusing deeply on something. But I didn’t ask her that.

And the voices wanted me to ask her if she had ever had a broken heart. I didn’t ask that either.

And I wondered if I was the only person who had ever felt this way, because it felt like I was alone in pain. Having a broken heart – it seems like I’m the only one who’s ever experienced this. My broken heart is mine and only mine, and no one else knows what it’s like. There are universal feelings that other people feel, even people you dislike, people who have nothing in common with you. They get broken hearts too and it hurts them the same way. So I wondered if anyone else on earth had ever had a broken heart.

I heard ‘glitter in the air’ on the way home. That might have been a puppet incident, I don’t know, but it was an appropriate song. Have you ever…? Have you ever done this, or felt this way? Have you ever experienced this?

I didn’t get to ask Curtis those questions. We talked about my work schedule. He said he would have a couple days off. Then Carrie showed up and he left.

He said, ‘It was nice talking to you.’

Then I went to my car and got ready to go to work at McDonald’s.

I’m working in the mornings. I’ll see him more often. Just having him there near me makes me feel good, even if we don’t get to talk. It’s not like it used to be, when he worked evenings, alone, and he often came over and chatted for many minutes (when he wasn’t supposed to). Or he’d ask for my help. It didn’t matter what we did, we were spending time together, and sometimes I was able to open up and tell him things. He doesn’t work evenings anymore. That’s probably best. It’s hard for him to get all the work done when he’s alone in the evenings, but in the day, he has other people there, and they can make sure he gets his work done. It’s easier when other people are around. I don’t want him to lose his job. And the way the store manager has been bugging him lately, he is at risk, especially if something happens, like an unexcused call-off. If he leaves, it will break my heart – I will grieve, I will get over it – but I will feel like there’s no reason for me to work there anymore. I don’t love anyone there the way I love him. I don’t look forward to anything but him.

How am I different?

August 16, 2010

How am I different from other bloggers talking about mind control and electronic harassment? How am I different from other websites about this subject? How am I different from sites talking about electromagnetic hypersensitivity?

How are we alike?


1. less disorganized and rambling than, for instance, Eleanor White
2. less angry
3. not suffering as badly as some, for instance, aussietargetted
4. not advocating government force
5. libertarian, objectivist, ‘simonist’, having strong belief systems that are non-mainstream but still respected
6. having an idea of what to do about it
7. less technical than Eleanor White or or some sites listed by AJH (tiworld)
8. not ‘spiritual’ voices that I hear, not paranormal
9. knowledge of skin poisoning and drug residues, and how they affect your response to being attacked, and how they affect moods and behavior and health
10. not all symptoms are directly caused by attacks, although the attackers may be capable of causing those symptoms
11. not as upset, not as afraid or scared, as some sites


1. nothing useful has actually been done
2. still mostly focused on suffering
3. common experiences similar to, for instance,
4. the belief that something is wrong with the world, and the mainstream doesn’t know about it or is forbidden to talk about it


1. Use the lingo of the target audience. Use the ‘Voldemort is real’ or ‘He’s back’ concept, for instance, when talking to Harry Potter fans. Use ‘John Galt’, ‘Galt’s Gulch,’ etc when talking to Objectivists. Learn the lingo, don’t reject it, don’t make fun of it. Accept it and use it to mean something similar to your own beliefs. Show them that you have this belief in common, although it goes by a different name. Each belief cluster has its own lingo. ‘SHTF’ is ‘shit hits the fan,’ one of the acronyms of the survivalists. Learn these words, acronyms, story characters, and so on. Respect the groups, do not have contempt for them, do not talk down to them. Each belief, each character, each word and phrase, is meaningful to them and important to them. They all feel like this special phrase or idea is theirs alone. The beliefs all have in common: ‘Something is wrong with the world, and the mainstream isn’t aware of it.’ This is common through all the belief clusters I want to target. It isn’t on TV, it isn’t being taught in our public schools, it’s taboo to talk about it in a social situation, and so on.

2. Some of my belief clusters include, but are not limited to: breastfeeding, anti-circumcision, natural childbirth, attachment parenting, Weston Price diet, Feingold Diet, adoption, survivalist, self-reliance, home business, homeschooling, anti-fiat money (or ‘real money’ or ‘free market banking’), objectivist, libertarian, anarchist, julian simon (find others similar to those = many others may not be your enemies), intentional communities, touch deprivation, nudism, drug-free, long hair and natural hair

3. What are ‘belief clusters?’ Belief clusters are groups of beliefs and practices that tend to be found together on the internet. If you go to a web page of someone who has one of the beliefs, they tend to link to other pages that have some of the other beliefs. Each belief group leads to other belief groups. One example: Libertarians usually list Ayn Rand as one of their favorite authors. But you’re not likely to find certain belief clusters side by side on the same web page. You wouldn’t find a person advocating circumcision and also opposing circumcision on the same page, although you might find some links to pages advocating circumcision if somebody is arguing or explaining both points of view. I’m talking about someone who actually HOLDS that belief, not just linking to a page to argue or explain something.

I thought it was interesting that one of the Objectivist websites was advocating war in Iraq and Afghanistan. It was based on the concept of ‘War on evil ideas.’ The idea is, we can kill Muslims because they have evil ideas. Everyone in that religion has this evil idea, so we have to go kill them to stop the evil idea virus from taking over the world. So I was surprised to find pro-war and Objectivism linking together. I think it was TOC, The Objectivist Center, but I’m not sure, and I’d have to look again.

4. Which belief clusters might go together? Some examples.

People who believe in attachment parenting might be more likely to believe that something is wrong with society, and they might explain it by referring to their own beliefs about how children are raised. Something is wrong with society because children aren’t raised right; that’s why there are so many social problems today.

People who like long hair on men might be more aware of gender roles in society, how men are expected to look and behave, and they might tend to be more aware that there is ‘something wrong with society’ because of this. These people won’t be strongly in favor of men going into traditional roles, because in our culture, the traditional man is a short-haired man. If they come from some other cultural background where long-haired men are traditional, then of course they might have traditional beliefs.

(I want retmeishka to *BE* the new tradition (within our group). In retmeishka, the long-haired bearded man is a normal, traditional man. Short hair is a rebellion against retmeishka, or a sign that you are an outsider or from another tribe. And I’m not joking about ‘The Rainbow Mohawk Tribe.’ The rainbow mohawk tribe is the group of people who are bored with traditional hairstyles and jewelry and clothing, so they too have a feeling that ‘something is wrong with society’ or ‘the normal society isn’t good enough somehow.’ Some of them will be our friends even though their style is the opposite of ours. These are the piercings/tattoos/exotic hairstyles people, the opposite of my ‘all natural’ style.)

Intentional communities and touch deprivation might go together. People who want a totally different community sometimes feel that our touch-deprived society is harmful, and they want touch to be a social norm. Supposedly, the United States is a less touchy society than others. I know from personal experience how desperately I want to touch people and how afraid I am that something bad will happen, like rejection, or a sexual harassment claim, or getting fired from my job.

So you use these belief clusters to link to other people who have something in common with you, people who might understand you better than the mainstream, people who might respond to your advertising.

Those are only a few examples. There are hundreds of other links between belief clusters.

5. Which belief clusters should we avoid?

I was thinking about hackers. Some hackers are anarchists in the sense that they hate ALL authority and rebel against it. There are different ways of hating authority and rules. There are some types of rebellion that are more destructive than others.

Some ‘script kiddies’ on the internet might actually be young children in the real world, and they will do things that are immature and childish *because* they are children.

I’m thinking of Chuck Palahniuk and Project Mayhem. I’ve been to his website and seen the people posting there. Some of those people might be desperately seeking *something* to hold onto, and they might be good people who just need to see some healthier alternative. Some of them are on drugs. Some of them might be people who really do want to destroy things for entertainment. I want to look at sites like that and get a feel for the people there and the culture and what we might have in common with something that I personally find … unpleasant. I didn’t enjoy looking at that website and I didn’t really enjoy reading the books, but all the same, ‘Fight Club’ made me feel something, and it’s the ‘something is wrong with society’ feeling.

I don’t want to encourage the ‘angry Christians’ cluster. I don’t want to be talking about killing large numbers of people or getting vengeance. We’re not focused on vengeance, we’re focused on problem solving. I don’t care about suffering and punishment, I just want the attacks to stop.

Discourage anything having to do with suicide. So I’d be talking about Inception and the ‘commit suicide while dreaming’ concept, and emphasize that we oppose suicide, and that it will be good enough to die when we’re 100 years old, and you can wait till then. Suicide might only be okay for people who are in intolerable, constant pain with some incurable disease, and that kind of thing. But there are too many careless, impulsive, drug-induced suicides committed by people whose problems could be solved with knowledge.

The theme for the last few days has been ‘Nicole is a So/Sp instinctual type.’ So they are looking at my political ideas and my sense of the group and my ‘dignity’. They are showing more sympathy for the ‘social climber’ persona because Harry Browne would have been this type, but he was loved by millions of people. He wasn’t a ‘soulless robot’ at all.

So that’s why I’m using some of the commonly used WordPress tags today from their list of tags.  I don’t normally use them because I usually feel a rebellion against anything described as ‘most common’ or ‘popular,’ and instead I tag my blogs with things like ‘mind control’ so that they can be found by people who are searching for those terms.  I don’t normally use the general terms… but today I will.

my work schedule

August 13, 2010

Yes, I did recently change my work schedule, and I am working longer days and more hours.  It’s going to be like this for a while.

Why not do something useful?

August 13, 2010

If you want to mess with somebody’s sleep cycle, then why not do something useful instead of attacking me.  Why not do an ‘Inception’-style dream hypnosis on all the government employees in the IRS and tell them to get the idea to shut down the IRS and end the income tax.  Or give someone the idea, whoever is in power, to free the banking system instead of forcing us to use fiat money – let us choose our own currency in the free market without government controls.  No taxes, and no fiat money, would make a huge difference in everyone’s quality of life, and it might prevent me from dying in a car accident on my way to work at my two jobs.  Do something useful.  Waking me up after short naps is not useful, it is harmful.  I don’t care what I’m dreaming about, I want to sleep the whole night uninterrupted.  If I do fall asleep while driving and have an accident, it will indeed be murder instead of my own negligence, and somebody should be charged with murder.

Dear Murderers

August 13, 2010

Waking me up after a short nap, instead of letting me sleep the entire night until my alarm wakes me up, on a night when I am working a thirteen or fourteen hour day (because the IRS takes all our money and the banking system causes land prices and rent to go up and up, so I barely have enough to get by), is a sure way to make me fall asleep while driving, have an accident, and die.

I don’t care if I have to pee while I’m asleep.  I don’t care if I’m thirsty while I’m asleep.  I want to sleep the whole night uninterrupted instead of taking short naps and then being forced awake.  If I do not sleep in my bed, then I will sleep while I drive my car, and that is murder, because I’m not waking up by myself, I’m being forced awake, which leads to the obvious consequences of falling asleep while driving.


August 11, 2010

8:21 PM 8/11/10

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

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

the dream
edward cullen
curtis (that’s always in the list of topics)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Dull and Boring Soul?

August 10, 2010

5:57 PM 8/10/10

I am in coffee withdrawal again. I have a splitting headache. This headache is much worse than it was the last time I quit coffee. I’m quitting coffee because I’ve been drinking tons and tons of it every day to help with my chronic fatigue. And I’ve been drinking coffee instead of eating food. And I’ve got some cavities developing in my teeth. Last time I quit coffee, my teeth gradually remineralized and stopped hurting, so I’m doing that again. But I can’t get anything done.

There is a torture going on about my Ichazo’s instinctual type. It wouldn’t matter if I weren’t fighting with the voices. If I were free to be myself, then I would be able to express my soul to the world – it’s something I would have learned to do over the years. They’re wondering if I’m a sp/so instead of sp/sx, because of how difficult it is for me to relate to other people, to bond deeply with them, to attract them, to express myself to them. They’re always wanting to change my instinctual type – this is nothing new. They’re saying that I have the ‘coldness’ in my personality instead of the warmth and charisma that the sx instinct gives you. I don’t know how I’d behave if I were free, like I said, but yes, I do have a cold, formal dignity that gets in the way of sexual expression and openness.

I remember something someone wrote on a forum about the instincts. It was a sp/so type who complained about the stereotypes about that instinctual stacking. She said, ‘I’m not just a coupon-clipping worker bee!’ I agree with her. I have a soul. I have feelings. I have a desire to bond with someone and to love them deeply. I watch movies, and I listen to music, and I respond strongly to them if they’re done right, and if they’re done badly, I can’t stand them, or if they express ideas that I hate, then I can’t stand them.

I can give an example of something I’d never do. There’s a lady at McDonald’s who acts like someone who has a strong sx instinct in her personality. She isn’t really beautiful – I don’t like to insult people if I don’t have any reason to insult them, and I don’t dislike her, so I don’t really want to describe all the ways that she’s ugly instead of beautiful. Just take my word for it that she isn’t beautiful, she is somewhat ugly, by most people’s standards. But she has a husband, if I understand correctly, and children. And a few days ago, one of the other guys who works there had come in to work, and when she saw him, she moaned, ‘Ooooh, it’s Jeremy,’ and she looked up at him in a seductive way. Then she said, ‘Have you lost weight? Every time I see you you seem to be getting thinner.’ He said that yes, he had been losing weight.

I can’t imagine myself openly flirting with anyone like that, ever. Lack of confidence, partly. Partly because it just seems unnatural for me. Even if I am sure that someone is attracted to me, I can’t say things like ‘oooh, it’s Jeremy’, just because I can’t talk that way. It’s almost physically impossible for me to talk that way.

There is a sort of dignity that gets in the way, and a feeling that it is too special, too sacred, too vulnerable, to express myself that way out loud. There is something too direct about it, too exposed, – and maybe if I weren’t being listened to and spied on by murderers who make a big, huge deal out of anything sexual, then it wouldn’t be so difficult for me. It’s something that you absolutely must *not* make a big deal out of. If you do, it gets destroyed instantly. When the murderers attack me they always attack me about things that are sexual. They zap me the most when I’m trying to be close to somebody and enjoy the moment with them. It’s like their goal is to prove that I am soulless and therefore it’s okay for them to destroy my life.

I’ve been reading Twilight. I never read those books before. I saw the movie Eclipse and so I decided to start reading the books. Everyone likes to read about people who have ‘dark secrets,’ like Edward being a vampire. But I was comparing that with myself. I have dark secrets too; why doesn’t anybody like my dark secrets? Because my dark secrets are dark, BAD secrets. Mind control is real. We are all potentially its victims, although some people are attacked more than others, while many people are mostly ignored. Usually, this is something you don’t need to know. If they’re not attacking you, then you don’t need to even be bothered with somebody’s else’s problem of electronic harassment. That person is just unusual and unlucky and they must have done something to make somebody mad at them. There is no good side to that secret.

But the ‘dark secrets’ in these books, like Edward being a vampire, or reality being a Matrix, or Harry Potter being a wizard, always have a good side to the dark secret. You’re a vampire, but it’s really cool because you can live forever and have special powers. The world is a matrix, but if you learn how to manipulate it, you can do amazing things that nobody else can do. You’re a wizard, and you’re different from everybody around you, but, once again, you have special powers, and you have a whole community of people supporting you.

My dark secrets don’t really have a good side. So I was trying to figure out what ‘special powers’ I have that would make somebody want to know my dark secrets. There is one thing that I can do. I know about saving money and I know about a frugal lifestyle. If you question the way you spend money, if you question everything about money, then you can save enough money that you can work fewer hours at your job. And if you work fewer hours at your job, then you can actually spend time doing things that matter to you. You can spend time with your family, or working on hobbies and projects, or just doing nothing and relaxing and having fun. I have spent years learning all about money and how it works. So if you are trapped, working too many hours at a job you hate, I am the person you want to get to know, because I sympathize with your problem and I know there are ways we can solve that problem.

So that is the result of fighting with the voices about my ‘boring’ self-preservation instinct, and what could possibly be good and exciting about it. It really is exciting if you can control your finances and quit working so many hours after you change your lifestyle. You can have the things you want in life instead of just wishing for them. My ‘special power’ is power over money.

They have been giving me this feeling a lot: that I’m boring, that nobody wants to know me, and that my soul, if it exists, is worthless to everyone. Somebody out there is pushing a button on a machine to give me that specific feeling, and they’ve been pushing that button a lot lately.

I wish I could help you with removing your dental fillings.

August 7, 2010

People seem to love my post about “At-Home Dental Filling Removal.”  I even received a random hostile comment about it, and I don’t get very many comments, so a random hostile comment is a big event.  I described how I used a drill bit which I held in my hand as I tried to remove the plastic fillings from my two filled cavities – and how it barely made a scratch.  It’s one of my most popular posts, along with my comment about Yulia Tymoshenko’s hair braid, which looks fake.  Everyone else wants to know the same thing – is it fake?  We may never know.

I should use MySpace for real

August 7, 2010

(I accidentally never published this post.  It was in my ‘drafts’ section.)

I’ve considered doing that for a long time now.  I could make a separate profile that my friends and family don’t see.  Then I’d take some REAL pictures and let people see them.  I was looking there and I can see lots of barely legal and not yet legal ‘little boys’ that I could be friends with.  This is because I don’t have a reliable way to communicate with the one person who I *do* want to see.

It’s hard to do anything when I have chronic fatigue.  And I’m trying not to use St. John’s Wort anymore, but back when I was using it, computer projects like that were easy to do.

Sometimes I ask, ‘What will you do differently next time?’  I’ve been unable to communicate with Curtis, so I have to ask what I’ll do next time to make sure that I’m able to reach him (the next person I try to bond with) without worrying about hackers, intercepted text messages, un-returned phone calls, and everything else.

‘They’, the voices, have been doing something this week – they’ve been telling me that Curtis quit his job.  I don’t know if they’re telling the truth, or if they’re only saying that to scare me and upset me, because I told him (in an email) that I was going to look for someone else on the dating website so that I could leave him alone.  I don’t know if he really did quit, but I know he’s talked about it before, at times like these, when they cut people’s hours.  He needs a second job.  He has to pay his child support.

Brother John

August 6, 2010

8:23 AM 8/6/10

My brother visited yesterday and we ate lunch at Aunt Jeannie’s. He wondered why I had dropped off the face of the earth, so I told him that actually, I’ve been writing Retmeishka. So he is here now. Welcome John.

Talking to John brought me back to life again. When somebody comes in from outside, and they’re different from all the people around you – I thought of the girl, and I can’t remember what her name was, who tried to tell Truman Burbank the truth – Sylvia. She told Truman that yes, the world around you is crazy and there’s something wrong with everybody. And he never forgot her because of that. That’s how I felt when my brother talked to me yesterday. I remembered that yes, there IS something wrong with this world, and there is more to life than just this, and there are people out there who understand.

I asked John a few questions.

1. How can you stand to move from place to place and leave behind all the people you know?
2. Other questions about dating and love

It was hard to articulate what I wanted to ask him, but he told me enough that I could get a sense of it.

I ‘ended up’ in State College. I decided to stay here because I was sick of moving around all the time, going back and forth to college every year, and because I had moved several times in my childhood too, so I didn’t have ‘roots’ – I don’t use that word, but it means, I didn’t know all the people around me really well since birth. I thought it would be better to stay in one place even if I didn’t like it here, so that I could focus on other goals, like financial independence.

John has moved from city to city in his adulthood. He has lived in Ithaca, NY, Boston, MA, Tucson, AZ, New York, NY, State College, PA, and maybe a few other places I’ve forgotten.

He says that in the big city, New York, you can find every kind of deviant. Every strange, weird person can be found there. I’ve been frustrated lately with the people living in this area – not enough people able to understand me. I told him that I wouldn’t feel comfortable living in the city because I don’t like to live with too much concrete and asphalt and exhaust fumes – I like to have trees and grass around me. So I don’t know if I would be happy in the city even if I could find people who understood me.

(The murderers are still doing ‘delusion support’ for Curtis, telling me things like, he’s only with Carrie as a way to make me jealous, but he doesn’t really love her, and *I* am everything to him.)

(My mind has some iron law of consent. I’ve asked him for consent many times in many ways, and haven’t gotten an official answer. He is an adult and he is capable of speech and writing. If he were a baby, he could not give consent to be touched, and we would assume that he needs to be touched and picked up the way babies do. But as he is an adult, it’s almost impossible for me to break my ‘explicit consent’ rule and just start touching him and assume it’s okay. The voices like that idea, but I can’t force myself to break the ‘explicit consent’ rule unless I’m on drugs.)

(They’ve been making it almost impossible for me to even *think* about leaving him, and when I do, I get attacked with ‘delusion support,’ false ideas and false beliefs about Curtis that are used to make me hang on to him and not give up.  They tell me that he reads my blog, for instance, when actually, I think he hates reading – he hates ALL reading – and he told me in a text message that he doesn’t spend much time on the internet.  But they still make me feel like he reads my blog, and I know he doesn’t.  No matter how much I try to tell them that he hates reading, and that he doesn’t care enough about me to be curious about my blog, they still insist that he’s watching everything I do online.  That’s one of those delusions made to make me think that I have to keep trying to get him to talk to me.  In reality, he and Carrie are sitting at home in front of the television.  Television is their universe.  He doesn’t know my world.  And he doesn’t care enough to find out about it.)

I asked John about how he could leave behind his girlfriends when he moved from place to place. He has moved around mostly because of needing to find new jobs in his field, and also, he is paying child support. So he has to have high-paying jobs.

He says that every girlfriend he has ever had is still in his mind. And I know exactly how that is. I can list every boy I had a crush on all the way back in elementary school. I can list all the guys I’ve kissed, although there might be one or two incidents where somebody kissed me and I don’t remember it – I think I remember sitting with some guy on a bus a few years ago when I was going to Washington DC or someplace, as part of a temp job assignment, and I think he might have kissed me once. So I might forget things like that. But everyone I’ve actually dated is still in my mind. And I still remember some people who I had only one ‘incident’ with, like the guy who put hickeys all over my neck when I kissed him at a party where everyone else was drunk except me, because I went along to a party with my co-workers from Gino’s Pizza in West Virginia, when I didn’t drink. I never saw that guy again either and I didn’t really care.

John said it hurts the most when they break up with you and refuse to speak to you ever again. I know how that is. Martin ignored my messages and blocked me on Facebook and did everything possible to stop speaking to me, although I’ve sometimes thought he might still read my blog. I’ve talked many times about the incidents of being forced to try to contact somebody who refuses to speak to me or acknowledge that I exist.

He said that online dating made it possible for him to find much higher quality relationships. There were people who it would have been impossible to find in the real world if all you could do was meet friends-of-friends or go sit in bars.

He isn’t having any more children, so for him, having a relationship is something you do for the sake of enjoying the relationship. I am planning to have children, but right now I would like to date some people that I’m not having kids with first. And ‘they’ redirected my attention towards the younger men, so that is the kind of relationship that I’m looking for right now. But when I am looking for someone to have children with, I have to think of things differently than I would if I were enjoying a relationship for its own sake. I see people who I could have a medium-length relationship with, but if I am thinking about having children and giving them a stable family life, then I must think about someone who I can stand to be with for several decades. I like it that my mother and father are still together. There is a feeling of safety and stability there, even though I don’t see them having a *passionate* love relationship. And I know what passionate love would feel like, if only in my imagination, because I’ve had enough experiences with female friends who I ‘merged’ with, not sexually, but in conversations and in understanding each other, that I can imagine what it would be like to merge with a male friend who was also a lover.

John said something I was familiar with. He said when you meet new people it keeps your mind alive. You always learn something from them, from who they are, from what they know. That is what I want to enjoy doing. I don’t want to just talk *to* somebody, I want them to talk to me. I want to learn from them. I want to see how they see the world.

There was a question that I couldn’t really articulate to him. I have weak bonds with everyone around me, everyone I work with. I think it would be painful to break those weak bonds too, even though they are people who I don’t really know and don’t really like. It hurts me to leave behind ‘familiar faces,’ and I have done that many times before, because I have lost jobs and I have had temp jobs that were never meant to be permanent. It always hurts to leave, even though those people didn’t understand me and never would have.

But Peter is the main reason why I don’t leave. If he were physically healthy and taking care of himself, I wouldn’t feel so bad about leaving. If he were online, like if he had his own MySpace page, as pathetic as that might be, I wouldn’t feel so bad. Maybe I should show him some of the internet forums and social networking pages. It was Eric’s daughter Tiana who made me make a MySpace page to begin with. I didn’t really want to be on MySpace. But I’m glad I know about it now.

John made me feel like I could survive the grief of losing a relationship. He has left many people in his life. He has lost many relationships.

There is something that you can learn. It could be a good thing, or a bad thing to learn this. When someone goes to war, and they see people die, they learn to survive the non-uniqueness of all people. It’s hard to explain. Relationships can be that way too. You can understand that people are not unique, and that this one person you love isn’t the only person you will ever love for the rest of your life. But it’s traumatic to learn that. That’s why there is the religious belief about never having sex before marriage, and then, marrying only one person who you will be with for the rest of your life, and never being unfaithful to them. It’s not just because of preventing sexually transmitted diseases, although that is one of the most important reasons to do that. It’s because you protect yourself against the traumatic knowledge that people are non-unique, that love can happen again, that you can survive losing someone.

That knowledge can be harmful in some situations. For instance, I’ve read about adopted children. Sometimes they get the realization that they can ‘choose who their parents are.’ They then develop a sort of dating relationship attitude about finding themselves the perfect parents. They realize that the adoptive parents they have aren’t the ONLY adoptive parents on earth, and they could choose better ones. It makes them bond less deeply with the adoptive parents they have. It makes it hard to bond with anyone at all. You have to be able to form some kind of stable bond with somebody. If you realize that people are non-unique, and if that realization is the strongest center of everything that you feel about people, then it will always seem like you can quickly leave one person and go to the next and nothing ever matters and nobody will ever be with you for very long at all. There are different time periods that this feeling can be set for. It can be a day, a week, a month, a year, or five years. My relationships have all lasted quite a few years, but none of them have been permanent marriages. Moving from place to place in my childhood probably affected how I view the idea of permanent, lifelong bonds with people, although lots of other people have moved around in their lives and they are still able to marry someone and form a lifelong bond with them.

I compared this to the feeling about death, which comes from being a soldier and going to war. Every body that you see around you is able to die. When you see people dying in war, and when you yourself have killed them, you have a violated feeling, a knowledge, which says ‘You’re able to do that.’ You’ve crossed that line, and you survived, and you’re able to. You’ve killed a person. You could kill any of the people around you, and you’d survive. Although actually what happens is the soldiers get on psychiatric drugs and they kill a bunch of people and then kill themselves. But I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about a traumatized feeling that you have after killing someone in a war, where, even if you’re not on drugs, you still feel a sense that everyone around you is able to be killed, and you feel differently about all relationships forever because of that.

If it becomes ‘too easy’ to kill people, or to break up with people you love, or to move from town to town, then you have an unstable life and you cannot get past the ‘deepness limit.’ There is deepness, and there is also stagnation. In a long-term marriage, you can get past challenges and problems, and have a deeper relationship because of it. Or you can endure the problems and challenges and unhappiness, but not really have a deeper relationship because of it, and you just deny the unhappiness and stagnation and lack of life. So you aren’t always getting a deeper relationship merely because you stay with someone forever.

But there really is a ‘deepness limit’ where you can gain something valuable if you go past that boundary. I am thinking of an example that happened with me and Rachael, my best friend, a long time ago. Whenever we were together, I would gradually become exhausted, and after a while, I would need to be alone. One day Rachael insisted that she would stay with me even though I told her I was tired and I needed to be alone. So I broke the rules of rudeness and kindness and I showed her my irritability and my bad mood and my meanness, because that is what you get if you stay with me whenever I want to be alone. (That is the reason why I rage at the voices, and talk about killing them, and that kind of thing. The murderers are continuing to interact with me whenever I need to be alone.) There was a limit to how long I could stand to be with her without breaking a rule. If I stayed with her longer, eventually I would break the rule of ‘be nice.’ I would become irritable and I would express my irritability out loud by being mean and unkind and saying whatever I wanted to say.

Except it wasn’t that simple. In reality I become sort of quiet and withdrawn. The murderers, zapping and torturing me, have often pretended that they are masochists who want to be yelled at and who want me to kill them, or, in reality, they want to fantasize that I’m going to kill them without it really happening. You have to use certain kinds of drugs and certain kinds of torture to make somebody yell at you if that’s a person who has a ‘rule’ that says, don’t yell at people. I have been a mind control victim for several years now and when I think of this subject, I feel sadness, and I feel traumatized. But it’s the same thing people are doing whenever they have domination/submission relationships, or sadomasochistic relationships. You break the rules, and you bring out other parts of yourself, and you say things you’re usually forbidden to say, and feel things you’re usually forbidden to feel. Because of my being tortured against my will, without consent, I still can’t feel comfortable right now about exploring certain kinds of sexual relationships. But if I were not being traumatized, I would. It’s different when it’s being done to you against your will, and it’s every moment of every day, every second of your life. I did not consent to this. If I could stop them from doing it, I would.

There are longer-lasting behavior changes besides merely saying something mean to somebody because you’re allowed to break the ‘be nice’ rule. You can have more valuable personality changes than that. Sometimes people try to break bad habits forever – stop drinking alcohol and never drink it again. Religious people probably try to do that more than other people do – they try to make their mates more perfect, to make them stop all bad habits in general, like procrastination, or try to make their mates get a better job. You can do ‘self-improvement’ type changes like that in a long-term relationship, especially if your bad habit was the result of not having enough support in your life. Alcoholism can happen more easily if you’re malnourished, if you never cook for yourself, if you never eat any healthy food, so if you get a mate who cooks for you and you eat three healthy meals a day, it might be easier to stop using alcohol forever.

I would mention self-acceptance here too. Sometimes there are things about ourselves that we don’t necessarily like, but they are a stable part of who we are, and very difficult to change, and all we can do is accept that those things exist. That has to happen in a long-term relationship too.

John said that he knows how it feels to love someone so much that you can tolerate their cheating on you. You love them so much that you would just want to know why they cheated on you, and did they enjoy it, and what did they gain from it, and you can still stay with them afterwards.

I like talking to John because he tells me things I already know, but it’s coming from a different person, someone other than myself. I agreed with everything he told me because I had sort of thought of it myself. The difference was the feeling that you can survive leaving people behind and not seeing them anymore. For me, right now, Peter is the issue: I don’t want to leave Peter here unless I have done something to make his life easier.

It’s terrible how much I have lost because of chronic fatigue. I was thinking that I don’t have any music because I’m on dialup (it’s cheaper), and it’s hard to search for music when you’re on dialup. But even worse than that, I have chronic fatigue. Chronic illness makes it so hard to do even the simplest things, anything that requires the slightest ambition or motivation, that my life is much more depressing and lifeless because of that. I feel a sense of my *potential*, because in the past, when I was young, I was much healthier, and I could read, and learn, and study, and make things, and do arts and crafts, and meet people, and have conversations, and have adventures – I had more life. I know that is my potential. If I were not sick, I would still be living that way. So, huge amounts of my life’s time are being wasted because of chronic illness. Years go by, but nothing gets better. This is so depressing, that it makes it hard to meet new people and share my life with them: there’s no good news to share, nothing to give, except years and years of stagnation and misery. And I’m not merely sick, I’m also being attacked by the murderers, so I am sleep-deprived, every day, and my dreams are *always* hypnotized fake dreams, instead of letting my brain process whatever it needs to process on its own. I wonder what my mind would think of if it processed its own dreams without being hypnotized by murderers while I sleep. So all I have is unmet potential, instead of expressed potential or actualized potential. How do you convince people, ‘I really am good, I really am worth something, but it’s locked inside me and it can’t get out?’

I think I will post this now. I’ll probably think of more stuff to say afterwards.

Bad feelings. Making jewelry. Forcing myself to ‘date’ people. Modem hacking.

August 5, 2010

9:48 AM 8/5/10

This blog will offend some people, because I talked about sexual attractiveness. I get voices telling me ‘you alienated your readers’ anytime I say anything judgmental about people’s appearance in my blog.

I have Peter’s Wellbutrin on me. This past week, several times, I have had… ‘bad feelings.’ That is all the description that I will give to them. I recognized them. Also, the vinyl cover on my car seat came apart and moved into the wrong place, and I’ve been getting St. John’s Wort on me from the car seat underneath the vinyl.

The antidepressants have enabled me to do some things that I don’t usually do. If I suddenly am able to do some simple thing that I’ve wanted to do for months, that means I’ve had an exposure to antidepressants. I suddenly went shopping at Michael’s Arts and Crafts and bought beads because I had been fantasizing about making a necklace for Curtis. In reality, it was ‘their’ idea to actually do it. They pushed the ‘go’ button on that idea. I am not, in reality, giving him any gifts, because I still feel that the ‘Curtis is in love with me’ idea is delusional. It’s a fake idea and a fake obsession that they have put into my head. I am always fighting against that.

I made a little necklace, but it’s only experimental. I wanted to make it a certain way, but I couldn’t. I wanted the string to be a piece of leather string. Actually, I have a bunch of concepts for my jewelry and I wanted to meet all those criteria. I want jewelry without metallic objects touching the skin, because I am metal sensitive and I can feel the metal giving me a painful tickly sensation, and if it’s the wrong metal, I will get a rash. So that’s why I wanted a leather string for the necklace. And Curtis wears a necklace that actually resembles one that I used to have (I still have it – it’s in a box in storage) with a leather string and a shamrock pendant – it happens to be exactly like that, except his looks different – on his, the shamrock is made of metal, but on mine, the shamrock was an image pressed and burned onto a little round piece of leather. I wore it for good luck. So anyway I wanted a leather string, but I couldn’t get the beads to go directly onto the leather string, because it’s too thick. So I got a thin string made of waxed cotton, but it’s flimsy and weak, and I don’t trust it for durability. The beads fit onto that though.

I have been wearing it a few times and testing it. I’m having a reaction to the hematite. I love the way hematite looks. I have little cubical hematite blocks. They reflect the light in a dull metallic flash. But apparently they are metallic enough to still give me a metal reaction. I know hematite contains some iron, but I don’t know much more about it. The reaction that I have is a strange tickly feeling in my skin where it touches, and also, sometimes, a dopey, stupid feeling inside my brain, where I start to feel like I can’t think, and like I’m going to have a seizure (but I don’t).

So I designed a necklace that I imagined a guy could wear. And I followed the ‘goth’/’vampire’/’blood’ type themes that I’ve seen in his web pages, so I chose colors based on that. It’s a small, simple necklace, with only a few little beads on it. The main problem is that it’s wayyy too flimsy and weak. I wouldn’t ever sell this to anybody and I would hesitate to even give it away as a gift, because it would easily break and fall apart. And if it broke the beads could slide off and get lost. I don’t have them knotted down. It was made in haste, just as a test.

I don’t usually do projects like that, not easily, which indicates that I am indeed on drugs. The vinyl car seat has been out of place for several days and I’ve definitely had some St. John’s Wort reactions.

Also, the feeling that ‘I hate my job and I *can’t stand* to go in today’ is how I feel whenever I’ve been exposed to St. John’s Wort. That seems strange because it’s an antidepressant and it’s supposed to make you feel better, but I observed many times back when I was using the drug (on purpose) and when I was having accidental reactions to it that it also gave me the ‘this is unbearable’ feeling, especially about going to work. On a normal day, I don’t necessarily *like* going in to work, but I don’t have the ‘this is unbearable, time is passing too slowly, I hate every minute’ feeling. That feeling is caused by drugs.

I have been fighting with the voices, who keep wanting to insist that I am a Sexual Instinct person instead of a Self-Preservation instinct person. I had been working on self-improvement for *years* before the murderers got into my brain and started destroying all of my self-observation, self-control processes and preventing me from doing the things that were important to me.

Another ‘rule’ in my jewelry is that I’m opposed to using *dyed* stones. This happened to me a long time ago. My parents used to get a little catalog in the mail called ‘Nature’s Jewelry.’ They had nature-themed jewelry and I bought a lot of stuff from them over the years. But there was this one necklace that I was looking at for a long time before I finally bought it. It was made of blue stones. I always love semiprecious stones – I don’t usually wear things with precious stones like diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and sapphires – but I like multicolored stones and other semiprecious stones. This necklace was made of several things – turquoise, lapis lazuli (I think, but I’m not sure) and other blue stones. Maybe not lapis lazuli – I think that’s more rare and more expensive.

Well, I bought it, after seeing the picture in the catalog for months, only to find that some (maybe not all) of the stones were artificially dyed blue. They might have originally been bluish-colored stones, but not the bright blue that they were dyed. I forget how I found out. I might have looked at them closely and noticed it, but also, I think it happened when I got the necklace wet, and it left a blue dye stain on something it touched. I don’t like things that are fake. If the stones are only a little bit pale blue originally, that is fine with me. They are unique.

I could go out in my backyard and find a bunch of stones, carve them into beads, and then dye them blue if I wanted to.

So I check the labels to make sure the stones aren’t dyed.

I haven’t done any arts and crafts projects for years, so I was suspicious about doing one all of a sudden this week. I am sure it’s a reaction to the antidepressants.

When I got up today I had a voice that was making sarcastic comments, which sort of supported me, and went against me at the same time, whenever they ‘pushed the button’ to make me get up and do something I’ve thought about doing for a while: bleaching out the refrigerator. I don’t believe that bleach will do anything for the bone marrow vapors. I don’t know what the chemical is and I don’t know whether it can be broken down with bleach. I don’t know whether it’s a small, simple molecule, or a large, complex molecule. I know nothing about it at all. So I thought bleach would probably have no effect.

I opened the fridge door and didn’t have a bad reaction right away. I didn’t smell anything. The last time I worked on it, I nearly passed out when I opened the fridge door. That didn’t happen this time. I started spraying bleach bathroom cleaner all over the inside of the fridge. It says that you’re not supposed to use that stuff on plastic or other fragile surfaces that could be damaged by bleach. So the voices were saying, ‘Today’s project: destroy something expensive that doesn’t belong to you.’ (Sort of like Fight Club.) And I agreed. I was actually concerned about destroying the fridge with a bleach spray on the plastic. Then I shut the door and turned the fridge back on to get the bleach-filled air circulating in it. The bone marrow vapors circulated back through the fan, so it’s all inside of places I can’t reach. The air has to circulate. For a while, I had it turned on with the doors open, and a big fan blowing directly into the fridge to blow out the vapors, but even that wasn’t enough. There are tiny traces in there still.

After I did this, I still felt fine for a few minutes. But it doesn’t hit right away. It’s five or ten minutes afterwards. And that happened. As I was walking around outside going to my car, I suddenly felt the vomit urge, a movement in my stomach, and my salivary glands started flooding saliva. It wasn’t that bad though. It only lasted a couple minutes and went away. That happens, I think, because you inhale the vapors, they settle in your nose and throat, and then they get swallowed into the stomach.

I am going to cover up the car seat with vinyl again – I bought more vinyl. But I will still have some exposure’s to Peter’s Wellbutrin when I go visit him. And Wellbutrin is the last thing on earth that I want to have on me. Peter told me that, when he and I first met, he was on it, and I didn’t know. But back then, I was growing, and using, St. John’s Wort, and I was contaminated with it all the time, so I wouldn’t have known it or noticed anything. I didn’t notice contamination and drug residues back then.

My brother John is visiting Aunt Jeannie today, and I’m going over there to meet them. I guess we’re just going to her house. I should check my email.

They were bombarding me with ‘delusion support’ material last night about Curtis. Anytime I start to change my mind about him, anytime I start to let go, or I start to get over him and move on, if I start to believe that he will be okay without me, that he doesn’t need me, that he isn’t secretly in love with me, anytime I start to believe those things, the voices start bombing me with fake beliefs again to re-train me to believe what I’m supposed to believe about him. One of their favorite beliefs to bombard me with is the idea that he’s suicidal, and that he needs my support so that he will continue to choose life. But then sometimes the voices tell me that they’re telling *him* the same thing about *me*.

Last night they ‘pulled out all the stops,’ and that’s a phrase I don’t use, because I don’t like to carelessly use phrases that I don’t know the meaning of. But they did. They did everything possible to re-connect me to him, to convince me that I was all-important to him and I must not let go of him no matter what. They told me, just like they did with Martin, that he was hacking my computer, that he had been reading everything I wrote, that he had been watching me for years and years, that he had known who I was ever since he was a little kid because he had already been hacking and spying on computers long ago, and that I was some kind of a ‘hero’ to the computer hacker underground, like a role model. They used that whole same speech back when they were trying to get me to be with Martin too – they made it seem like all these guys had been hacking and messing with computers for years and they all knew me, and Curtis knew me before he ever met me, and so did Martin, and it’s all a big secret.

Back when it was ‘only hackers’ and not ‘electronic mind control’, I used to talk to the keyloggers and entertain them. I didn’t know who was reading my keystrokes and messing with my computers, but I imagined that it was a cute little teenage boy who was hacking and exploring and going around claiming territory. I had this mental image of who he was. That’s why they are telling me all about that now.

One of the ways I fought back: There was a time when I decided I would stop writing to the keyloggers, I would break the habit. But I didn’t know that I was being given fake, forced urges. I tried to stop… and then I would feel this sensation, and I decided that I was ‘psychic’ – I felt this sensation of pain and grief and loneliness, whenever I stopped talking to the keyloggers, and it was an intense physical urge to start writing to them again because I felt sorry for them. They convinced me, back then, that I had a psychic, telepathic connection to some faraway person who was desperate to read every word I wrote because he was in love with me.

So I fought back by turning my mental image of him into something I didn’t like. First I said that he probably WASN’T a cute little teenage boy, he was probably a (please forgive me for saying this) an old, fat, ugly old man who I would find very unattractive. And again, I’m sorry for saying that. But that is how I protected myself, by imagining that he was somebody I didn’t want to be talking to.

Then I made it even worse, as I felt hatred and rage and anger – when I stopped writing to them, they ‘did things’, like turning off the electricity, giving us dozens of hangup calls and prank calls, and so on – so I was very angry. So I decided that I wasn’t even talking to a man – I must be talking to a female, a lesbian. And not only that, but it was a stupid, mentally retarded lesbian. So for a while there, when I was hate-filled and fighting back against them (and I was on drugs at the time, I’m sure – I had started using St. John’s Wort several years ago and I’m pretty sure that’s when this was happening), I was referring to the hacker as the ‘retarded lesbian.’

St. John’s Wort helped me do certain kinds of things, but it also made me rage at the hackers and, later on, at the voices. Rage was a side effect. My ex-boyfriend Eric and I both tried a bunch of alternative medicine pills that we bought at Wal-Mart, and we tried them at the same time. We tried St. John’s Wort, Ginkgo Biloba, and Ginseng, all at the same time. (Back then, I didn’t know to be cautious!) And as soon as we did this, we had the *biggest most pointless argument ever* over nothing at all. I have a photograph of myself giving Eric the middle finger. I think I’m sitting on a tree branch in that photo. Eric and I were out back behind my apartment taking pictures of ourselves trying to climb the big tree before they cut off the lowest branch (because it might hit the roof of the house). We had a huge argument over nothing, and I really mean it was over nothing – I can’t remember what we said, I can’t remember what we did or why. Eric seemed to be acting like an asshole for no reason, and I think I was too, because I overreacted to him and fought back. This was all because of our drugs, and I didn’t know it at the time.

I used to say the most horrible things to the keyloggers during that time period. That was the time when I was ‘Kreacher’ from Harry Potter. Kreacher said horrible things because he thought nobody could hear him. He did that because the painting of his mistress was the only thing left after she died, and the painting was crazy and it wouldn’t really talk back to him the way a real person would, because those magical paintings in Harry Potter aren’t really conscious or alive in quite the same way a human is. When you’re talking to somebody who doesn’t talk back to you, you start to attack them and say horrible, hurtful things, just desperately trying to get a response. You do this when a loved one dies. You might rage and scream at the dead person, saying things you never said before, telling them how you hate them, trying to wake them back up again, and they don’t wake up. I felt that way about the hackers on the keylogger. I used to talk to Nerdman in the chatroom, and he was at least a real person who responded back to me. He wrote sentences and expressed himself. After he started ignoring my emails, the computer harassment began. And the hackers didn’t talk to me. They never spoke. They just did things to the computers. I wanted a real person who would respond, someone who would give me a reality check. I didn’t want just cold, faraway, online interactions with computers. I wanted warm, close, real people to touch. So it hurt me when they tried to force me to keep giving attention to the hacker, whoever it was, some imaginary person who probably, in reality, was unattractive and somebody I would never want to be with. It probably really wasn’t just some cute little teenage boy like I imagined.

So that’s the story behind why, last night, they decided to start up the ‘Curtis is the hacker’ story again. And I have to give a disclaimer when I talk about this. *ANYBODY* who wants to spy on someone else’s computer or break into their email is able to read online about how to do this, go to forums where people will walk them through it and show them how, and download software designed to do this. All of it is on the internet. So for all I know, he really could be hacking my computer, and there would be nothing unusual about that. But I am not claiming that he *is*. I am just saying that he *can*, like everyone else. I myself haven’t taught myself that particular skill, and, since I was a victim of it in the beginning, when I was being hurt and harassed and manipulated – I feel opposed to even learning how to do it. I might still do it someday, so that I can stop feeling like a victim. But I don’t even have time to learn *anything* lately or do any projects, especially with chronic fatigue and me not using antidepressants anymore.

They gave me that story because I was getting ready to give up on him and move on to real people who actually wanted to be with me. They were telling me that he lied about his feelings for me, that I didn’t actually give him the creeps, that he actually was attracted to me but he couldn’t tell me. Again, those things are *possible*, but I don’t want to assume them. I usually assume they’re not true. So the voices were going over this with me, asking why not, and they said it must mean it’s ‘too good to be true.’

Usually, the only guys who like me are unattractive guys – that’s been my experience. They wanted me to go to the dating website so I could be convinced that ordinary, attractive guys were able to be attracted to me. But I’m not convinced, because I won’t be convinced until the young teenage guys with long hair, that category that I like the most, is going after me. Those are the ones who I believe don’t like me. I already *know* that middle-aged men are attracted to me, and short-haired men, and fat men, and average-looking men, and men who have nothing in common with me and don’t understand me at all, and men who don’t share any of my beliefs or values. I already know *those* people are attracted to me, dozens and dozens and dozens of them. Men who I find unattractive are always attracted to me. I already know this. Men who I can’t stand to be with are attracted to me all the time. There are some exceptions, some people who are moderately attractive, and if I kept on looking for them and reaching out to them, I would get some results. But the voices are trying to stop me from actually *using* the dating websites or using MySpace for real to actually meet new people and to go after the category that I find attractive – the puma/cub relationship or the MILF/SILF relationship 🙂 – that is what I am trying to do. (I don’t know if ‘SILF’ is a word but you can figure it out from MILF.)  (Hey – I didn’t know WordPress inserts a smiley image!)

That was the reason why I cried after I talked on the phone to the guy from the dating site. I wasn’t crying because, woe is me, one of the people on the website offered me money and I was a whore. I was crying because, to me, the definition of ‘dating’ is: ‘Spending lots of time with people you can’t stand to be with, hoping that, after a while, it will get better.’ That is my experience of dating. And I was also crying because if I’m really doing that, it means I’m letting go of Curtis, while still feeling very attached to him.

It reminds me of something Curtis did. I had my own explanation for why he was doing this. Whenever he first met Carrie he was talking about how he was going to start drinking alcohol the moment he left work and got in his car before going over to her house. (Actually, I have reason to believe they knew each other for a while, maybe through friends-of-a-friend, that kind of thing, before they dated – she made a comment on MySpace about how ‘I was there for you even back when you didn’t want me.’)  I started imagining that he had to get himself really, really drunk so that he could force himself to get used to her, because he really didn’t want to be with her. He could only stand to be with her if he was really drunk. I don’t drink alcohol, but that’s the way I feel about dating. I can’t stand to spend time with most people. I don’t like anybody. Nobody understands me, nobody is sexually attractive, nobody does their hair the way I want, nobody is interested in anything I have to say, nobody says anything that I find interested enough to listen to… That is my mental image of dating. In reality it might turn out to be better than that.

But I have to say ‘no’ to people *instantly* without even giving them a chance. How could I know merely from listening to them on the phone that I would be disgusted with them? How could I know instantly that there will never be any sexual attraction towards this person? I can know it from one single glance at their photo. I can know it from five seconds of listening to their voice on the phone. *I KNOW IT*. I know it instantly. How do I know it? I’m not exaggerating. Five seconds on the phone, and I already know that this relationship has no future. (You should have seen my face while I was listening to Martin talking to me on the phone, in our one conversation that we were actually able to have, before the interrogations and manipulations and mind control and interventions and intercepted emails and everything else. I listened to his voice with an expression of ecstatic joy on my face. I was hypnotized as he spoke, carried away with the images he described, seeing what he saw. I loved Martin’s voice. I can tell instantly if there is any chance at all that I will feel sexually attracted to somebody.)

But the rest of my mind says, ‘That’s unfair. You have to give them a chance. You have to FORCE yourself to spend time with them and see whether you can get used to them.’ So I would go on a date, and sit there, with every inch of my skin and every bone in my body wanting to run away and never come back. Maybe some of that is because I’m being burned by the murderers zapping me with something so that I can’t relax. I don’t know. Burning attacks *do* make you feel like you have to get up and leave. They do prevent you from relaxing and focusing. So I don’t know if my attempts to date people in the past were ruined by the murderers making sure that I could never get to know anybody or get close to anybody. But at least *some* of the feeling is real, from within.

I don’t like the unfairness of dating. How unfair is it that I only want to look for cute teenage boys? The voices were telling me that Curtis is a hebephile, that he only wants to have sex with twelve-year-old virgins, and there is some truth to this, because his ex-girlfriend Kayla, the mother of his child, he got her pregnant when she was very young, and I don’t know how old she is now, but when they were having sex, she had to be younger than 15, I think. And he asked me if I was a virgin. I would be the ‘petite, small-breasted virgins’ category, if you are talking about an adult who is of legal age, that the other guy described in his hebephilia blog. But I’m not a virgin, and I can’t help it that I’m not a virgin, and I can’t do anything to go back to being one. It’s like rejecting a guy because he’s circumcised. Yes, I want to have sex with guys who have intact penises. But how unfair is it to reject someone for something he had no control over and no choice about, that happened a long time ago? How unfair is it that I’m a 35-year-old who wants to date teenagers, but what about the 50-year-old men who want to date *me*? Because there are dozens of those. If all I wanted was a sugar daddy who would pay me money to go out with him, an older man giving me gifts, I can find dozens of those. But I want to be physically attracted to his body, and for that, I am looking for teenage boys.

Every rule that I use to judge who I will and won’t go out with, that rule can be turned against *me* so that *I* am the one being rejected. And I don’t know what to do about that. I could be on the opposite end of that rule, on the other end of the phone line hearing the word ‘no,’ no matter what rule I use to decide who I won’t go out with and who I will consider.

But I have played the opposite side. I dated older men for years. I’ve been seeing ‘sugar daddies’ since I was in my early twenties. I was with a 41-year old married man for a while when I was 23. Eric was several years older than me, though I can’t remember how old now – I thought it was seven years? And Peter is also older than me. He’s 43 now, I think. I keep forgetting how old he is.

Fair and unfair – those are concepts in my brain. But my body, my ears listening to the voice on the phone – it knows instantly within a couple seconds whether there is any chance at all, and I can’t get around that snap judgment. It knows.

I need people who will talk with me about subjects that other people won’t talk about. Those will be real friends. I want to be believed. That would mean that I should look for 1. computer hackers who believe me when I say that somebody is stalking me and harassing me over the computer, 2. people who believe in mind control, or, at least, people who believe in psychic power, telepathy, mind reading, paranormal experiences, and so on, 3. chemical sensitive people – although I have some trouble with them, they’re hard to deal with. I don’t really WANT to focus on chemical sensitivity forever and ever just because. I’m only focused on it now out of necessity. I want it to be over and done with.

I talked with a lady at work who once dated an Objectivist (if I recall correctly), and her daughter is named Dagny, which is how I found out she knew about Objectivism. She knew about the Weston Price diet and she worked for one of the stores that sells raw milk. She knew some of the things that I’m interested in. When I talked with her, when she worked there (she’s in the pharmacy now, not the deli anymore), I felt as though she was on drugs or drug residues, and I felt somehow that she was too constantly cheerful. She was always positive and always cheerful. It’s like a fake person on drugs. I don’t like myself when I’m that way. I got that impression from her. Now that I’ve mentioned her, I’m afraid that the murderers are going to arrange a ‘puppet’ incident that would force me to talk to her, and I don’t want to. I didn’t like that constant drugged cheerfulness feeling. I want to be drug-free, and I want to be friends with other people who are drug-free. (The voices were saying that Curtis is on drugs, but I don’t know whether they are telling the truth, or being metaphorical, or talking about secondhand drug residues. They say he’s on something for ADHD, and an anti-anxiety drug, if I recall. This is one of those things that would be relatively easy to do a reality check about. They might be referring to tobacco and alcohol, though, because both of those drugs have useful purposes as ‘self-medication.’ Tobacco does help ADHD, and alcohol is obviously an anti-anxiety drug.) Anyway I don’t want them to force me to have a puppet incident with that lady. I’m not looking for female friends.

I want to *choose* who *I* reach out to, for once, instead of passively letting people respond to my dating profile. I want to be the one who *asks* someone to go with me instead of being asked by him. I want to be the first one to write the first letter saying hello. Hello, I read your profile and I’d like to meet you.

And I don’t want ‘puppet’ incidents where the murderers are ‘trying to be helpful’ by bringing me somebody that they think I would like, somebody they approve of.

I need to check my email, and time is passing… I should get online and post this now.

This is one of those stupid, petty things that the hackers/murderers do, something so petty and so stupid and so trivial, nobody would ever believe it, except for my fellow sufferers who are also being harassed. I know AJH at would believe it – he knows about their petty stupidity. My modem – they did something to my dialup modem a long time ago, and it’s been this way for ages now. They made it so that it has a ‘whisper’ in the sound it makes while it’s dialing up. There’s an ultrasonic, what’s the word I’m looking for? It’s like a subliminal message, in the noises made by the modem dialing up. It says ‘What in the world is wrong with my computer?’ and they think that’s funny. Then another voice, later on, was written over that one, and it says, ‘Leave her the hell alone.’ Well, just recently, somebody ‘cut out’ that part of the dialup sequence on my modem, so it makes no sound at all during that moment, and then a second later continues to play the little dialup song. And somehow it still manages to connect to the internet even with that little piece of the dialup song missing from the modem.

Dating Rules

August 3, 2010

4:18 PM 8/3/10

Dating Rules

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am officially a $5 whore.

August 3, 2010

I tried writing back to a couple people who contacted me on the dating website. I also had my first offer of money from someone who loves natural female body hair and he would like to pet me. They were online and I ended up responding to two or three different people at the same time, people who were emailing back and forth to me while I was trying to write to them. I didn’t know who I was talking to. Then two people, at least two different people, asked if I could talk with them or see them today.

I got offline eventually and immediately got a phone call from someone, and hell if I even knew what his name was. I didn’t know which letter-writer I was talking to on the phone. I talked with him a few minutes without using his name and without asking his name. That went okay.

Then I hung up because I had to go eat something. I told him I was getting painfully hungry and it made me become grouchy and irritable. So I hung up the phone. I wanted to go out to eat, but all of a sudden, I started crying and bawling uncontrollably, and clutching my chest, and digging at the bed with my fingernails. I cried like someone had just died.

While I was suppressing my screams and scratching the so-called ‘bed’ (which is actually a piece of cardboard right now) with my fingernails, the phone rang again, and a guy began to talk to my answering machine. I was still in the middle of crying. It turns out this was the guy who wanted to give me money to let him pet me. So I picked up the phone and cautiously talked to him, but I tried to tell him I needed to go eat, and he was slightly panicky because of his fear of loss and his lack of control. He wanted me to stay on the phone, and I did, and so I talked a little bit to him even though I was hungry and irritable and I had just been crying uncontrollably.

It was the death of love. It was the death of something. It was the idea of taking money from people. It was the loss of someone who I have tried to communicate with, and haven’t been able to reach.

I went out to eat and got Burger King food. I need so much help, I can’t even begin to ask for help. I need someone to cook for me. I need someone to support me while I try, over and over again, to somehow get the bone marrow poisoning out of the refrigerator, while at the same time, knowing that nobody believes that any invisible vapors could POSSIBLY be in there FOR REAL, yet I have to do it anyway. I need real food, and I need the drug residues cleaned up, and I need money, and I need more time to do my projects, and I need a mind control shield that nobody knows how to build. I need a supportive community too, and I need my children, and I need my plastic dental fillings to be removed because they cause breast pain and they most likely cause birth defects. And nobody can imagine how extreme this is, but I was looking online to buy my own dental drill because I will remove the plastic fillings myself, since I couldn’t get the dentist to do it – he said it would be unethical to leave me with unfilled, open cavities after removing the fillings, even though I REQUESTED that he do that. I tried removing them with a drill bit by hand, but it wouldn’t dig in. That is the sacrifice I will make to protect my children against the plastic. Not only that, but it will be impossible to breastfeed them because of the pain that the plastic causes in my breasts, so this *absolutely must* be done. I will sacrifice those two teeth because of the great importance of breastfeeding and protecting my children against birth defects. This is unthinkable to most people, but to me, it is necessary.

I’ve stopped crying right now, and then, I guess it was the voices, they wanted me to write an email to Curtis bragging that I had been offered money, and I was supposed to make a joke that I was being paid only $5.00 an hour, that I was a $5.00 whore, and I didn’t think he would be able to afford me because they cut his hours this week, so, ha ha to him, he can’t afford me. But then I was also going to say that I can’t pay him HIS money until my clients have paid me MY money. So it was all looking like a big joke. But I didn’t say those things and I didn’t email him that. And no, I don’t know how much money this guy was offering. I was just negotiating, mentally, in my head, what would be a fair amount, since I’m a minimum wage slave at my real jobs, and after taxes, I get like $6.00 an hour or something. If I made $5.00 an hour doing something I enjoy and making the world a happier place, without expending much effort to do it, then actually, $5.00 an hour wouldn’t be that bad.

The soul is a delicate and fragile thing.

August 3, 2010

9:30 AM 8/3/10

I wrote in my last post about how they try to hide the fact that I have a soul, especially when I respond strongly to music.

I cannot be close to people even when I am close to them. I remember noticing this one day, and I know it happens all the time, not just once. But I was particularly aware of it one day. I was sitting on the couch with Peter, snuggling with him, just sitting there, and I wanted to *feel* like I was close to him. I wanted to *feel* like I was there, with him, close, in the room, in the moment.

But I was constantly being zapped. Every few seconds, there was a zap. It distracts me and destroys my concentration. So I cannot feel ‘in’ the moment, no matter what I’m doing. This is called ‘flow’ – I read a book about it by some Russian guy – I could look it up on Amazon. Mihaly Cziksentmilhalyi, or something like that, a book called ‘Flow.’ I didn’t spell it right.

There is no way to enjoy the presence of a loved one if you are constantly being zapped by an electronic attack. In order to experience love, you have to be ‘in’ the moment, so you can look into their eyes and feel yourself merging with them, to feel that you can see into their soul. I have experienced that feeling a couple of times in my life, briefly. And you don’t have to do that CONSTANTLY in order for it to be love. But you do have to be able to feel ‘in the moment.’

I don’t know if all of the attacks are being consciously controlled by someone, or whether some of it is ‘ambient radiation,’ the ordinary radio waves around us from cell phones and radios. Electromagnetic Hypersensitivity – this is another group of people that I read sometimes, people who write about that. They interpret the phenomena as being caused by hypersensitivity to electromagnetic radiation, instead of interpreting it as being caused by conscious humans stalking, spying on, and attacking you. I believe that *both* phenomena are happening.

Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle: This is the metaphor that I use to explain this. Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle says that you can’t know where a particle is, and where it is going, at the same time. Or how fast it’s going, or something like that. You can know one or the other, but not both. If you shoot something at it, so that something bounces back to you and tells you ‘That particle was over there,’ you’ve just bumped into the particle and made it go a different direction. You have to bump into it in order to find out where it is. But if you do, you change what it was doing. It’s no longer going the same direction it was going originally. So if you try to ‘watch’ a moving particle, you are always changing what it’s doing, and it won’t be able to ‘act natural’ or ‘pretend we’re not here.’ That is how I feel every moment of my life.

That is the metaphor I use for electromagnetic hypersensitivity. Even if all they did was watch, they would still be disturbing the person they were watching. I assume they are using an ‘active surveillance’ attack, instead of a passive surveillance attack. If you are merely listening to someone passively, just receiving the signals that they send out, then no, you don’t hurt them directly by doing that. But if you shoot something at them, if you shoot any kind of radiation at them at all, it disturbs them, even if it isn’t ‘meant’ to disturb them, even if the military and all your superiors and your bosses and your leaders tell you that the radiation doesn’t disturb them, *IT DOES*. If your bosses say, yes, okay, it disturbs them a *little* bit, but it’s *nothing important*, what that means is that it disturbs the most fragile, delicate, most subtle expressions of their soul, and your bosses are too blunt, crude, blind, ignorant, and soulless to believe that those fragile things are anything important, that they actually *matter*.

I have meditated. I have studied self-improvement books. I have changed my beliefs and my habits. I have observed myself. I *know* that whenever you have an urge, or an impulse, or a feeling, or a belief, it’s a very subtle, quiet thing, something very hard to feel, hard to hear, hard to sense. They aren’t big and obvious things. The slightest noise will disrupt it. The slightest interruption, the slightest distraction in your concentration, totally destroys this fragile little whisper that expresses your soul.

Some people find it easier than others to express who they are. That is why I study personality types and instinctual types. For some, it’s easy. They could express the deepest passions of their soul in the middle of a tornado. Nothing can disturb or disrupt them, because that is their strongest ability. Other people, however, will be inside the tornado screaming, ‘AAAAAA! A TORNADO!!!’ And I shouldn’t make jokes because it’s almost always some kind of unintended sexual reference, and I’m guessing this one probably is too.

Imagine Scrooge falling in love. We’ve watched the movie. (I’ve seen the Disney version.) We know it’s possible. We know he loved someone once, long ago, and lost her. When we watch Scrooge trying to fall in love, we feel sorry for him, and we’re cheering him on, hoping that he succeeds, hoping that he can win the love he deserves and become more of a person because of it. But imagine that something was happening to make it difficult for Scrooge to fall in love. He already has a hard enough time. If something made it even more difficult for him, he would never be able to do it. He would become totally preoccupied with his money and other things that usually worry him, because that is what’s most important to him and most natural to him.

I keep telling the voices that I wouldn’t worry about drug residues, except for the fact that *THEY’RE THERE.* If they weren’t THERE, I wouldn’t worry about them. It’s like living in Iraq, in a war zone. You worry about the bombs going off, you worry that somebody might get killed, you worry about loud noises and other scary things, BECAUSE THEY’RE THERE. You really are living in a war zone. It’s normal to be scared when you live in a war zone. That is what I am trying to say is happening to me. I *really am* surrounded by a dangerous situation that has to be fixed, and until it is fixed, I won’t be able to live a normal life. But when it is fixed, I will stop worrying about it, and I won’t just invent some other worry out of thin air, unless the murderers force me to do self-destructive things to keep ruining my life over and over again.

But when someone is in a stressful situation, in a dangerous situation, in an abusive or unhealthy relationship, or an unhealthy society, they aren’t able to function at their best; they aren’t able to express the most fragile, delicate parts of who they are. And especially when they are being zapped with radiation 24 hours a day. The weakest parts of you will always be weak if you are constantly under some kind of attack.

But I do have a soul, though it’s hardly ever seen or felt by anyone. It is here silent, waiting, and alive.

Twilight Eclipse; instinctual type; Muzak

August 3, 2010

7:12 AM 8/3/10

I woke up being attacked by the voices again. They were trying to change my instinctual type to several different things. They were telling me ‘they can’t STAND her,’ ‘her’ as in ‘me.’ But I won’t let them change the type away from self-pres being first. I’ve always been interested in self-improvement, self-development, nutrition and health, and those kinds of things. It wouldn’t bother me as much if they insisted on changing me to self-pres/social. That’s the type that I guessed I probably was the first time I looked at it. That was my first guess. Some evidence for the social instinct is that I have been interested in groups like the libertarians and objectivists. ‘The responsible businessperson’ is something that describes me.

So I will go look again at self-pres/social and see if that description fits me. Telling the truth about who I am is the only way for me to ever fall in love with anyone. If I am being someone else, no one can know me. That wouldn’t be a problem except for the fact that I am being controlled and made into a puppet constantly.

I went to see Twilight: Eclipse last night after shopping. I never saw the first movie. I did see New Moon, though. I never read any of the books. I loved the soundtrack at the end of the movie for Eclipse. I stayed until the end of the credits. There is always something that tries to force me to get up and leave. I don’t know if it’s a sonic attack, I don’t know if it’s done by the movie theatre itself deliberately, or if the murderers are doing it, but it makes it hard to sit there while the movie credits play, and you have to FIGHT the urge to get up and walk out. The murderers usually do that kind of thing. I had to force myself to keep sitting there while everybody else got up and left, and the music was really good and worth listening to.

I like to watch them talking to each other, Bella and Edward and Jacob. They seem like the description of Sx types. Loving each other is the most important thing on earth to them. Loving Edward is more important than having children, to Bella. If I understand correctly, the vampires can’t have children? I never read the books, so I don’t know things like that. She wants to become a vampire and give up the chance to have children. And I read Julian Simon’s books and decided that having children was very important to me – it was something that I insisted I must do.

Last night they were trying to make me jealous of Curtis and Carrie again. It was because of having watched Eclipse. Curtis had said that he was reading those books, back at the time when New Moon came out. So when I watch those movies I think about how they might represent him. I’m thinking of his artistic taste, his aesthetic taste, how he decorates himself and how he decorated his car and also his MySpace page (during the brief time when I was there I saw a lot of ‘goth’ or ‘vampire’ themed pictures). His aesthetic taste is beautiful to me, just another thing that I love about him.

But what the voices were doing was playing something in my head that, supposedly, Curtis and Carrie whispered to each other. Carrie said, ‘Did I win?’ and Curtis said, ‘yeah.’ This was supposed to make me jealous of them. And it does make me jealous, but there is nothing I can do about it. The only thing I can do is find my own person to love. And of course they will keep forcing me to obsess about him, and they will force me to do something else like write a note or call him. It will always be something.

(When I say that they are forcing me to do these things, what I mean is that yes, I WANT to express my love to him, but, on my own, I never would have even TRIED. I assumed from the beginning that it was impossible. There were guys who I was strongly attracted to, all the way back in high school, and they never liked me. I’ve always seen myself as someone that the really attractive guys didn’t like. I was lucky enough to find boyfriends over the years, and I always felt that they were ‘attractive enough,’ meaning that I didn’t really feel like I was ‘settling’ for someone ‘unattractive’ to me. But there were the other people who I found *VERY* attractive, and I don’t see those people being attracted to me in return.)

I agreed to write a note yesterday. I wrote about how something happened in the text conversations that had hurt me, and told him I loved him. I also sent him an email saying that. I never know if the hackers/murderers are intercepting the emails or not. (‘Hackers’ and ‘murderers’: there are individual people who hack computers, but when I’m referring to them as ‘the murderers,’ I mean the people who are destroying my entire life by using electronic attacks and everything else they’re doing. That’s not the same as somebody just hacking into computers and doing nothing but that. I’m talking about somebody interfering with EVERY online communication that I do, putting words into the sentences, preventing emails and texts from reaching their destination, and so on – anything to keep people from loving each other and communicating honestly with each other.)

I still don’t really understand why Bella hesitated to marry Edward. I’d have to read the books to get a better idea of what she was thinking. She said that where she came from, for people her age, marriage was something people did if they had gotten pregnant. She said it’s just a piece of paper, or something like that.

(*I just remembered something. Yesterday the voices told me that I had alienated my readers because of complaining about men’s hairstyles and saying that men were repulsive to me. That’s something that I would never say if I felt as though I was in front of an audience. But this blog doesn’t FEEL like anybody is really reading it. If I knew that there were lots of short-haired clean-shaven men in my audience, then no, I wouldn’t go insulting their hairstyles and telling them they’re repulsive to me. Usually things like that are something that the voices are forcing me to say anyway, and I think I recall that was one of the things they forced me to write.*)

(*I have a different approach to changing men’s hairstyles. I decided that there was only one way to do it, only one way that would work, and that was, to make a group of people where they were REQUIRED to do what I wanted them to do with their hair. That way, you wouldn’t have to fight an individual battle with people, there would be no arguing, you wouldn’t have to hurt people or insult people, you wouldn’t have to change people one at a time. They would have some kind of incentive or reason to be in the group, something to gain by being in the group, and so, growing their hair the way I want them to is part of the price to pay for being in the group. It would guarantee that large numbers of people looked the way I want them to look, and it would have nothing to do with their personality types. Right now, it’s usually a certain personality type that tends to grow their hair the way I want, or it seems like it is. I thought it was always Myers-Briggs SP artisans, but ‘they’ convinced me that Peter is an SJ Guardian, and he has slightly long hair, although it’s actually a mullet because he shaved the top of it when it started getting thin. He says that he keeps his hair long because his son, Deter, recognizes him that way. So I guess there are SJ males who grow long hair.*)

‘Curtis,’ or whoever I was texting with, asked me if I was a virgin. That was a couple weeks ago now during the conversation where ‘he’ said that about six other girls wanted to be with him. (I’ll never know for sure who I was talking to until and unless I can verify every word of it by showing it to him.) I didn’t know why he would think I was a virgin. Was it because I seemed like a religious type, and he didn’t know what my religion was? I’m not a Christian. I have had sex before marriage. I thought it was an insult – that I was so unattractive that he couldn’t imagine anyone would ever want to have sex with me. That is obviously not true, based on my experience. And I know he doesn’t think I’m unattractive – he acts like he’s attracted to me. So I didn’t know why he asked that. But after watching that movie, and seeing how Edward wanted Bella to remain a virgin until she was married, made me wonder if that’s what it was about. He wanted to protect her soul, he said.

I am nowhere near being a virgin to sex. When I lived with my ex-boyfriend, we had sex hundreds of times. I have lost count of how many times we had sex. But there are a few things that I am a virgin to. I am a virgin to having a baby. I thought I might have had a miscarriage, quite a few years ago when I was living with my ex-boyfriend. We used condoms but we might have had an accident, because there were a couple months when I stopped having my period, and I kept doing pregnancy tests and they kept saying negative, and I didn’t know what was wrong. And then I had a gross, yucky material that came out, and I described it to my mother, who said she had the same thing happen and she thought it might be a miscarriage. So I might have been temporarily pregnant but it did not develop. Other than that, I’ve never been pregnant. That is the one big thing that I AM a virgin to.

Also, I’m a virgin to being with a guy who I am very, very intensely attracted to. The guys that I’ve been with are just *moderately* attractive. I’ve never been close to someone who I felt was *extremely* attractive.

I’ve never been passionately, intensely in love, except with Terry when I was a teenager, and that was an unhealthy, abusive relationship, and we were both still living at home, and we couldn’t really go anywhere to have sex, and I didn’t know HOW to have sex, and I didn’t want to get pregnant. I’ve never been with someone who I loved deeply in every possible way and was also extremely sexually attracted to. So yes, I am a virgin to some things.


There is something that the murderers do to the music, the Spamzak, the Muzak on the intercom at work. They are hacking the satellite feed – if I understand correctly, that Spamzak comes from a satellite. They force commercials to play at the worst possible moment of a song, and they usually put subliminal whispers that I can hear into the commercials. They play a song that I really like, a song that I respond emotionally to, and then they start the commercial interruption at the exact moment of the song that I like the most. This is not a joke, it’s something that the murderers are really doing to me, and they have been doing it for a long time. They really are doing that.

The subliminal whispers used to say things like ‘not right now – dirty girl’s trying to get dishes done,’ back when Martin was here – they would try to force me to go talk to Martin, they wanted me to go shout at him, ‘Why aren’t you answering my emails?’ and things like that – and they would sit there forcing me to rehearse those things, over and over, for hours, while I was working, while I fought against them and refused to say those things to him – and so they’d say ‘not right now,’ meaning, now is a bad time to talk, because I’m busy – and they called me ‘dirty girl.’ Dirty girl meant that I was physically dirty, and it also meant that I was a ‘game player,’ someone who ‘plays dirty,’ was deliberately manipulative, a liar, who meant everything sarcastically, and they told me that Martin believed that every word I wrote was meant sarcastically and he had to do the opposite of everything I said, for instance, if I said I liked long hair, he had to cut his hair short, and that kind of thing.

There was something that happened when Martin and I first started emailing each other. In the very beginning, just a couple of emails really got through. I really enjoyed talking to him. Actually, I enjoyed READING him. I’ve talked enough, and I love to listen to someone else who has something to say. But then, the emails stopped, and the murderers attacked me very severely and tried to force me to do things, and they interrogated me for several weeks about things like why I didn’t shave. Almost everything I wrote, during that time period, was fake. I was even being drugged – sometimes, they were making drug users walk in, and do the seduction hand touch, stroking my fingers whenever I handed them something over the counter, and I would get a transdermal drug reaction, usually to things that felt like antidepressants, but I can’t know for sure what the drug was. I had strange, mind-altering experiences, like, I remember once walking through the grocery store and looking up at the ceiling and noticing that there are these mirror-like things up on the walls near the ceiling, and I wondered what they were. I wondered if they had something to do with security cameras. And a voice was talking to me at the time, and they were pretending that the mind control system came from zeppelins, or something that floated in the air above us, and that the zeppelins were invisible, but if I were on the right drugs, I’d see them, because they used mind control to make themselves invisible, to make us unable to see them even if we looked directly at them. Usually, in the dream images, they are shooting lightning bolts from above, in the sky. All of that happened because Martin and I tried to make friends with each other.

The voices told me that he asked me to marry him. I didn’t believe it – I figured they were lying. I wrote him an email saying that the voices were asking me to marry him and I didn’t believe it.

Well, I started this by writing about the music on the intercom. I was listening to the music at the end of Eclipse. Anytime I react strongly to music, the murderers put a fake commercial into it, when I’m at Weis. It seems like they are also taking away all of the music that I respond strongly to. If I like a song, they take it away. But during the time when I had met Martin, they played a song on the intercom at Wal-Mart, and they told me that I was the ‘only one who heard that song.’ It was called ‘Slow Me Down’ by Emmy Rossum. I never hear anything from her on the Spamzak, so it was very unusual to hear this song. The spamzak is designed to cause the LEAST amount of emotional response, whether it be positive or negative. The songs that are so familiar, they’re meaningless. The songs that you’ve heard a hundred thousand times and you ignore them. It’s like Christmas music, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Or like playing ‘Happy Birthday To You’ or ‘The Alphabet Song’ ABCDEFG… HIJKLMNOP… over and over all day long, that is how I feel about the Spamzak.

They played ‘Slow Me Down’ because I had written a note on my computer about how I was in college having a conversation with my friends, and we were talking about ‘getting to first base’ and I was saying that I couldn’t remember what each of the bases MEANT. I said something like, oral sex was at second base, or something that was too extreme or too early, and they thought that was hilarious and Valencia said, ‘Whoa! Slow down!’ So after I wrote that comment in my notes, they were playing ‘Slow Me Down’ because of that. And it was a beautiful song.

They take away the songs and they tell me that they want to keep it a secret, the fact that I have a soul. If I respond strongly to music, it’s like I have a soul. If I sing a song and really feel it, if I merge with the music, if I dance to it, if the music is beautiful, it expresses my soul, and they take that away. And this is no joke, they are really doing this. I hear fewer and fewer songs on the radio that I like, especially on the Spamzak at work, the one that’s controlled by satellite. I can hear ‘I Wish That I Had Jessie’s Girl’ a hundred million times, at every store I shop at, and I get to think about how jealous I am of Curtis and Carrie being together, and other unpleasant emotions that I feel when I hear that song, or I can hear ‘You Gotta Be Cruel To Be Kind’ and get angry about abusive relationships. But I can’t hear obscure songs that I didn’t know I would like, I can’t hear songs that express my soul, I just hear the blandest, stupidest music that has been played a million times and means nothing to me.

So… I liked the Eclipse Soundtrack.

I hope I can get something done today.

Long bald hair must be allowed.

August 2, 2010

People keep their hair short forever and ever because they’re scared of going bald.  There’s only one solution:  Long bald hair must be allowed.  I like long bald hair better than shaved-off full heads of hair.  And if you have a full, long beard, that’s even better.  This is NOT a joke.  I am not making fun of bald people.  I have sympathy for them and I want them to know that you still have to grow all the rest of your hair long whenever you go bald, and that’s much better than shaving it all off.  And the beard is absolutely necessary.  They don’t get the idea that the hair is there to be petted and stroked, the same way you pet the fur of an animal.  We are animals.  We pet each other.

I hate men’s hair!!!!!!!

August 2, 2010

I’m sorry, but I need to rant about this. Men are utterly repulsive to me. And one of the reasons why is because sometime in their early twenties, if they haven’t done it already, they shave their heads so their hair is about 1/2 inch long. And they keep it at that exact length for the rest of their lives, decades and decades, along with shaving off their beards and mustaches. I moved the age search up a couple years and looked for guys age 22-24. The younger teens still have hair a couple inches long. The mid-twenties guys have all chopped it off, forever and ever.

Why is there such a huge difference between hair that’s 1/2 inch long, versus hair that’s only like two inches long? You can’t imagine the difference it makes! The hair is long enough to SEE. It’s long enough that it MOVES. You can run your fingers through it. You can pet it and stroke it. It can hang across the face just a little bit. It shines in the sunlight. Everything about the hair is totally different when it’s only a couple inches long – just a couple inches, hardly anything at all! But they all shave it off so that it’s nothing at all.

Then, does this make any sense? They worry about going bald! What’s the difference between going bald, versus shaving all your hair off already!!!!!! For all practical purposes, they make themselves ALREADY BALD!! There is no difference. ALL MEN ARE BALD. Why worry about losing the ‘colored patch’ on top of their head? Big deal. You have a ‘colored patch’ or ‘colored area’ on top of your head, and then if you go bald, you have a ‘peach color’ or ‘skin color’ or ‘brown colored area’ if you’re brown-skinned. What’s so terrible about that, in comparison to having a hair-colored patch on top of your head – if all your hair is, is just a symbol, a representation, of the fact that you ‘have’ hair, but you won’t let it grow even an inch long enough to actually DO anything with it! Why?

I hate their hair, I hate all the beliefs they have about it, I hate everything they do with it. And this is yet another reason for me to look at teenage boys and like them more than I like adults! They haven’t reached that age where they shave their heads down to 1/2 inch and keep it exactly there for the rest of their lives! It really is an official age, and I don’t know who TELLS them to do it, or what signal commands them to do it, but it’s real, it really happens, sometime in the early twenties it becomes forbidden to have hair longer than 1/2 inch – in other words, all sexual attractiveness becomes forbidden.

Can you see what I mean when I say that men’s hair is ‘just a symbol of hair?’ Imagine that you had a bald head, but you PAINTED a hair-colored spot all over your scalp. That’s exactly like the ‘hair’ that men have in the real world! Imagine how you men would feel if WOMEN did that! If ALL women did that! Why wouldn’t men just shave their heads bald and then paint a hair-colored area all over their scalp? It wouldn’t be any different from what they have now. Or get a hair-colored tattoo over the entire scalp representing the hair that you’ve shaved off. Why not!

And why do they believe that our natural instincts would LIKE people with short hair? Our bodies EVOLVED to grow long hair on BOTH MEN AND WOMEN. If we evolved that way, why would we think it’s gross or ugly or unattractive? Just the opposite is true. Men with long hair usually have screaming crowds of women obsessing over them and trampling each other just to try to get one small touch against their skin. Why are all the screaming crowds at rock concerts screaming about the ‘gross, ugly, un-manly, unattractive’ long-haired rock stars?

The rock stars figured out that long HEAD hair is a good thing, but they still haven’t figured out the long beards thing. They still want to have ‘partial’ beards, with some pieces shaved off while other pieces grow out, and they want to keep the beard only a … you guessed it, a half inch long, a ‘painted-on symbol’ representing a ‘beard.’ Instead of the soft, fluffy, long beard that you can lay your head against, run your fingers through.

That’s it for now.

The voices think that the ‘real me’ is too boring. No, really???

August 2, 2010

10:56 AM 8/2/10

Carrie isn’t as sociable on facebook now that Curtis is living with her. She must have been lonely at home and that’s why she spent so much time on facebook. Now she has someone to be with at home.

The voices were tormenting me at work yesterday. It was because Curtis wasn’t there, and I haven’t seen him very much, and they were worried that he quit his job (which is what they always worry about) and they wanted me to swear that I would try to find out what happened if he left. So I promised them that I would try to find out where he went, and one voice told the other voices to ‘have faith.’

Then for the rest of the day I was sick because I had started my period. I haven’t been using Ibuprofen anymore, for a long time, but I can only do that if I’m lucky enough to start my period on one of my days off. I started it at the worst possible time, early in the morning just before going to McDonald’s, so I was going to have an entire day of torture and cramps if I didn’t take ibuprofen right then.

That explains why I was in the ‘mood’ that is the combination of sad/lonely/wanting to have sex with little boys mood. I’m calling them ‘little boys’, but in reality, that’s disrespectful. When I was a teenager, I didn’t want to be called a ‘little girl.’

There are dozens of teenage guys on MySpace who do, indeed, have the Justin Bieber hairstyle. And I’m serious when I say I don’t like that hairstyle, but at the same time, I’m grateful that their hair is a couple inches long, because that’s the most I can expect out of them. So I was searching through MySpace and looking at all the profiles of teenage boys with couple-inches-long hair. When I look at them, I feel sure that they would never be attracted to me. I always felt that way even when I was younger.

‘They’ had me changing my Ichazo’s instinctual type on my MySpace page a couple times recently. Why? Here is what happened. I started wearing shorts again, and letting the whole world see my hairy legs, so they decided to call me a Sx/So. Why? Because the Sx/So challenges conventions and questions assumptions. But so does the enneagram Five in general. So that doesn’t mean I’m a Sx/So. Then I tried to change it to a Sx/Sp because that seemed more like me. But then they got angry yesterday and made me change it back to Sp/Sx, as it was originally, because somebody was messing with it and telling lies, and the only way that I can ever, ever fall in love with someone is if I tell the truth about myself and know who I really am. If I am pretending to be someone else, I can’t be loved.

They don’t like the self-pres types. Supposedly, they’re boring. But I really didn’t care what anyone thought of me, and I really didn’t care whether I was ‘too boring,’ until some murderer decided to start reading my mind, spying on me, and controlling every word that I wrote and every word that I spoke and putting fake words in my mouth and judging my life to be too boring and in need of more excitement. THEY are the ones who care whether or not I’m ‘too boring.’

I wasn’t this boring before the drug residues. The murderers have little sympathy for me with the drug residues: they LIKE having all of my belongings covered with a drug that makes me an easily controlled puppet. Some of them KNOW that the drug residues are real, and they WANT them to be there. So they do everything possible to get in the way of my cleaning it up and getting rid of it. THEN they tell me about how boring I am because all I ever do is worry about the drug residues. I only worry about them because they’re there!!! If they weren’t there, I’d be thinking about all the other wonderful things I could be doing in my life.

Peter, my only local friend, is having problems with his foot. There is a circulatory problem which I think might have been triggered by his riding in my passenger seat when there’s ephedra on the seat, and putting his grocery bags into the back of my car when I have been moving stuff and putting it in the trunk and contaminating it, again with some ephedra and other drugs. Those poisons cause *ME* to lose circulation in my feet, and I’m the one with supposedly normal blood circulation. I tried, all this time, to prevent him from getting contaminated when he rode in my car and went grocery shopping. He doesn’t believe in the existence of drug residues. Gradually I gave up fighting against his disbelief and I let him put his grocery bags wherever he wanted. He uses those ‘green’ bags, the ones made of fabric, so he’s using the same bags again and again, which means they are constantly contaminated.

Do I *WANT* to worry about drug residues all the time? No. I would have had this all fixed long ago except that the murderers decided to force me to do other things and be distracted and not complete any projects. I want to worry about all the other things in life, like enjoying music, and having children, and exploring my mind and knowing myself, and knowing other people, and all of the other infinite things there are to do and to know in the world.

Peter’s foot is in constant pain. When I say ‘constant pain,’ I mean, every second of every day, even when I’m busy and I’ve forgotten about him, even when my mind is on other things, even when I’m at work, even when I’m asleep, Peter’s foot is having these recurring waves of pain. His foot lost circulation and there are big black spots on it, big scabs where the skin cracked open. They looked at his leg with an MRI and found that his artery is mostly blocked. This is something that can happen with diabetes and kidney dialysis, but I think my drug residues triggered it or made it worse. He is in terrible pain and he had to get a prescription painkiller, and I can’t remember what drug it is. It’s something like ‘Proxypene HCL.’

He is going to get surgery to do something about the blocked artery. I imagine this is dangerous surgery. He could die. Peter is the only person I know in this local area. Everyone else, all the people on MySpace and Facebook, are my old high school friends who looked me up online. I have a few co-workers on those web pages too, but I don’t visit them or do anything with them, and they don’t know me or understand me.

I have an aunt who lives in Bellefonte, but I don’t do much with her, and I have a couple cousins and second cousins, in Pleasant Gap and Altoona, but again, I don’t do much with them either. They were always the faraway family when I was growing up: I grew up in West Virginia, and also in Greensburg PA, so even when I was younger, the aunts and cousins were in a faraway city and we didn’t see them much. So I’m not close to any of them, and I separated from everyone even more, a few years ago, when the problems in my life became so bad that I couldn’t bear to even go eat holiday dinners with them. I couldn’t just talk to them and pretend everything was normal, while *THEIR* lives were all going well and everything was normal for them. They all live in a bright, happy normal world where scary, terrible, horrible things never happen to anybody, mind control isn’t real, there are no ‘drug residues,’ chronic fatigue is something that happens only to crazy hypochondriacs, and so on. They simply can’t imagine, and have no NEED to imagine, that there is darkness in the world, the evil is real, and terrible things are going on, terrible secrets and evil, terrible dangers: their world is bright and happy and safe. In their world, people are trustworthy, the government is a good thing that makes the world a better place, and so on. In their world, it’s possible to ignore the craziness and go on living a mundane life. They can’t understand me.

So if Peter dies, I won’t have anybody. Peter doesn’t understand me either, but at least he understands how it feels to have a chronic illness, and he understands the idea that ‘there’s something wrong with the system,’ in particular the healthcare system. And he understands that people have ‘spiritual’ experiences, although to him, those spiritual experiences are the result of psychic, supernatural phenomena, but still, he at least can tolerate the idea that I hear voices and I talk to them and they follow me everywhere I go. I won’t have anybody else if he dies.

I think that’s one reason why the voices have been pushing me to go after Curtis, even though he’s hard to reach, and even though I often think somebody is interfering with our online conversations, the few conversations we’ve had. He is the most beautiful person I know. I mean that he is sexually attractive to me, and I love the way he acts, I love the way he expresses his feelings with his whole body, I love the things that he says to me and his sincerity, his realness.

And I have to fight with the voices thinking I’m too boring, when I’m being myself. I wouldn’t *BE* too boring if they allowed me to sleep an entire night uninterrupted, and so my mind could refresh itself and I could think new thoughts and feel new feelings and I could deeply pay attention to everything I do. And I’d have more time to read more books and learn new things, and when you learn new things, you’re less boring. And I’d be able to have conversations with people, and when you meet new people and learn from them, you’re less boring. And if they let me do my projects at home, cleaning up the poisons and doing everything I need to do to get rid of them, instead of keeping them there to guarantee that I’m an easily controlled puppet for them to manipulate, then I’d be able to worry about other things in life besides that, and I wouldn’t BE so boring! I’m bored too! I hate worrying about the same thing all the time! The voices think that I don’t *KNOW* that!

I think that’s it for now…