What a weekend. My blog template isn't working out. It looks fine on this blog and on Dreams of Color, but in Interpretation it eats the little border between the blog and the side bar. My stalkers have been very active.
You might notice that in this blog I spent a lot of time writing directly to my stalkers, the people in my offline life. That's because I can tell that they read it. It has never done any good. No matter what I write it only makes them angry and for some reason makes them think that if the refine their methods things will get better. Well, maybe I should rephrase that. They don't want things to get better. The fact is that they don't care how I feel or what happens to me. They just don't want me to be able to defend myself against them. I'll start writing about a drugs in the food and they change the drugs. The kitchen is immaculately cleaned with bleach. This weekend we had an "accident" and even the dishwasher was cleaned to the point of overflowing with bleach and detergents.
Since I started my 360° blog my stalkers have started a new ritual. They love to talk about how cold it is outside. They tell me that people in other countries have it much worse than any American ever could, and that they are grateful for the little comforts they have. The analogy is shoddy at best. The analogy is usually surrounded by other little stories and comments the gist of which is that a smart person would take a little discomfort rather than be homeless.
Without recounting every little detail I'd like to say that what happens in my offline life, as well as my online life, is far from a little discomfort. I haven't written about my Christmas ordeal, because I haven't been able to find words to describe it that aren't rife with the appropriate anger and indignation. Over Christmas the beer was drugged, and I was given more drugged food, which of course my offline friends had to joke about and pat each other on the back. They compliment each other at how clever they are when drugging my food. They actually believe this is true. Even though the only thing that's actually true is that I can't stop them or get away from them. We were given a bottle of Champaign for the New Year. The Champaign was drugged. It was a combination of drugs. The pain was incredible and when I came to I had soiled my bed. Over the next few days I was so drugged that I could barely think straight.
I've actually been given the drug that makes me lose control over my bowels much more often than I write about. My stalkers joke about it. The jokes aren't worth recounting here. Just imagine the average ten year old boys fascination with pooo" and sprinkle in a fewprofanitiess and you'll have a good idea of what its like. In a pathetic way it would even be funny if it weren't for the fact that they are essentially telling me that they are drugging me to humiliate me and there's nothing I can do about it.
My offline friends say I'm stupid for writing about this in my blog. For them its only natural that an adult would make fun of another adult being drugged into insensibility and losing control of his bowels in convulsive agony. My online stalkers tall me they love it, and my misery gives them joy.
Writing about it sucks almost as much as living it, and I'm about to run out of cigarettes, which they tell me is my "trigger" for an anger episode, as if I need a "trigger". Its all just bullshit. They are right about one thing. I am not smart enough to endure a few discomforts to save myself from being homeless. With gods grace I will never be that "smart". If they're right, and they seem to have the inside track on what's happening in my life, (who am I kidding, they are my life) I'll soon be homeless because I raise too much of a fuss over the lies and the drugs and the isolation and the manipulation and the theft of my things and the accusations of rape and murder. If they are right I will also be killed as punishment for my crimes.
Apparently there has been a great change in the world and it makes sense that I am isolated and tortured, and can write about it here without a single comment of outrage an only the most reserved sympathies. To the extent that people comment at all its to say they are sorry that I've been having trouble online. I've been writing about it for over a year. Recounting it again won't make it any better. To quote my stalkers "so be it". They love saying that.
No comments:
Post a Comment