Untitled @sleyby-blog - Tumblr Blog

Ask yourself...

Have I ever done anything to you?

Have I ever hurt you?

Tried to take things from you?

Tried to ruin your happiness or destroy your relationships?

Have I ever attacked or threatened you?

Have I ever tried to ruin the peace in your life, make you miserable, afraid, alone?

Have I tried to take your home away?

Have I tried to make you destitute and impoverished?

Have I told you your life will never, ever get better, knowing how hard you tried to get where you are, and how long you've been waiting for things to get better?

No. So why is this special and sadistic punishment reserved for me?

If you can't honestly say I've done even a small fraction of what has been done to me- without lying, without exaggerating, without twisting things to look how you want them to look- then what are you doing?

Since writing that post I've realized it's just more cruelty. It's taunting me with the idea that if I could just prove my worth by somehow turning out some groundbreaking work I might be allowed to live.

I have much more to say about other things, but first I would like to make a minor note.

Not believing in something doesn't stop it from being real.

Not believing there are natural consequences for, say, torturing and murdering someone both innocent and unable to fight back, will not stop those consequences.

Not believing that anything in this life matters won't stop things from mattering.

Simply flat out refusing to pay attention to anything must be an excellent self-defense mechanism.

But it prevents you from being able to prepare.

So you won't know what's going to happen to you for all the cruel things you do until it's too late to do anything about it.

Of course, the people who would most benefit from this message are the least likely to pay attention.

When you do find out, just know that I'm not gloating. I figure it's going to be bad enough without you having to imagine me saying "I told you so."

Something I don't understand

Among other forms of covert and self-contradictory communication I keep getting encouraged to work on my art alongside death threats and abuse.

But if working on my art could save me, why didn't it save Kay? She had lots of original stories. She had a book.

Why didn't it save Mel, who was working on a novel?

I have a feeling our contributions matter less than the fact we're disabled and hate dictates we must die for that, no matter our personal qualities or what we really have to offer.

I may never get to read Mel's novel. How much else do they have to take from the world before their hate is satisfied?

You know, some of them have families. By all appearances they are ordinary people co-habitating peacefully with their spouses and children. I assume they look after their own. I assume they are capable of loving and caring for others.

But when it comes to my love, my concern for my friends, my feelings as a human being with a heart? None of that counts for anything. They have totally disconnected from me.

One day I visited Home Depot to ask about a job I had applied for. The person I wanted to speak to was busy, so I took a seat on a garden chair to wait.

A woman- an employee- who somewhat resembled a friend of mine who just disappeared, approached me, stared me in the face, leaned over, and gripped my hand.

"Hi," I said.

"Oh, sorry. You looked just like my (cousin's daughter, something like that)."

She passed behind me and rubbed my shoulder as she went. Then she came back around and reached out to touch me again. This time, seeing it coming, I leaned away from her.

"Sorry," she said, clearly pleased with herself.

This is what I'm talking about. My friend's disappearance is terrifying. Her house still had all of its furniture, all of its clutter, her daughter's paintings on the wall... But she was gone.

I write about it, and a stranger thinks it's funny to try to fuck with my head about it. Like for a split second I might think she was my missing friend. She thought that was a fine thing to do.

Does she not have anyone in her own life that she cares about? Is there no one she would be extremely worried for and scared about if they suddenly went missing? Or is it just because I'm a nonperson that it's okay to fuck with me like that?

sleyby-blog

“

I have another story. When I was a junior in high school, one of my classmates was murdered. I didn’t know him very well. We’d gone to the same school since junior high, he was dating a friend of mine, and it was a very small school, so even though I didn’t know him, I was hit pretty hard with the sudden loss of him. We found out later that he was murdered in a random drive-by shooting. The real shitkicker was, my best friend had lost her virginity to the guy who drove the getaway car, and knew the shooters (she didn’t find that out till they got arrested). They wanted to start robbing folk, and figured it was best if they killed them after. They didn’t rob my classmate; he was just target practice.

My classmate was murdered while riding his bike down a peaceful road next to a river. Found by a jogger. He bled out pretty quick. The hospital didn’t know who he was – there was just a shoe with his name scrawled on it. When he went down, the shooters later testified, he said “ow.” And he lay there, saying, “Ow,” not really knowing what had happened, bleeding out on the pavement.

These were the things that ran through my head, day after day. Couldn’t get them out. And suddenly, I was completely and uncomfortably aware of how I couldn’t escape from murder. I had to stop watching television, stop cracking open books, stop checking the news, stop watching movies, because there I’d be, trying to relax, trying to forget THEY SHOT HIM HE SAID OW ALL THEY HAD WAS A SHOE, escaping into some movie about who-knows-what, when suddenly the movie fills with blood and gore and there’s a gun and somebody has to die because the plot has to move along. And I’d just get so sick. I was trying so hard to “get over it,” to “move on,” to get back to my normal life. But murder was everywhere. Violence was everywhere. I hadn’t seen, hadn’t realized before just how pervasive it was, and as a joke, as a plot device, as an afterthought, as a vicarious experience. But now that every drop of blood, every flesh wound, every attack immediately made me think of my classmate, immediately made me imagine him experiencing his death, his pain – I couldn’t watch any of that shit anymore.

And I thought of the boys who killed him. The paper reported that after killing him, “ow” became an inside joke. They’d drive around going, “Ow!” and laugh and laugh. That’s horrible, but I get that. They had just done a horrifying thing. They had crossed over into a new world, a world where you can kill people. They are alive one second, dead the next, at your hand, at your whim. That’s a different sort of world to inhabit than the one the rest of us live in, where that shit doesn’t happen, or if it does, it’s out there, somewhere. There’s a line in Lolita, after Humbert Humbert shoots Quilty. He is driving away, and thinks to himself: now that I have transgressed against the laws of man, why shouldn’t I transgress against the laws of traffic? And he begins to drive in the oncoming traffic lane. I view the joking of those boys the same way. They had transgressed against the laws of humankind; why not joke about murder? Why not laugh at his pitiful, dying “ow”? All the rules were unmoored, if they could do this thing.”

sleyby-blog

"They had transgressed against the laws of mankind; why not joke about murder? Why not laugh at his pitiful, dying "ow"? All the rules were unmoored, if they could do this thing."

This is a quote from a post Harriet J wrote on Fugitivus many years ago. It's a really powerful example of what it's like when people cross the line and go beyond the pale, how laughter helps them minimize what they did and enable them to move on to further violence.

I have remembered it all these years, without having gone back to reread it until today. It's relevant to what I'm going through.

No matter how much I plead for someone to take what's happening to me seriously, it always gets treated as a joke. It doesn't matter how serious it is, people nonchalantly reference it, they joke about it, they basically treat it no differently than if they were "doing it for the lulz".

People don't laugh at violence because it's not serious, they do it to enable themselves to commit violence. It's a way of smoothing over the path from planning to doing, and, once having done it, to keep doing it.

People have unapologetically been stalking me and spying on me and treating it like a joke. They are crimes with real consequences for my life; but if they treated me as a real person for whom the violation of my rights was serious, they wouldn't be able to do it in the first place.

And doing it no doubt has its benefits. It allows them to feel powerful, in control, omnipotent. Doing it as a group provides a sense of belonging.

And that's why people around me can do these things, can even laugh about the fact that someone who considers being compared to a serial killer a compliment was given access to my life and not only did no one stop him, they helped him do it. They helped turn it into a big joke so that right up until he gets what he wants no one will ever, ever try to protect me.

The severance of the conscience is complete- they joke about that, too. They've discovered the time honored secret of every violent perpetrator- that you never have to think about what you do. You never have to care. You can freely admit that you're doing about it and laugh it off, because no one can force you to feel anything you don't want to feel, no one can make you connect on any meaningful level to your actions.

And that is what makes my environment so dangerous. If people could know I can't call for help, that a slew of total strangers could have access to my life without consequences, that I have been subjected to graphic threat, and laugh about it- laugh at my tears, my desperation to be free, my fear for the lives of my missing friends- what might not be possible under these conditions? There is absolutely no evidence that they object to any of the things T and S want to do to me. They have treated it as a joke and a pleasurable pastime. They have discovered that they can say, "I am doing something evil, and I don't ever have to care."

Anything could happen to me now. Is anybody listening? Is there anyone left who actually cares?

"

I have another story. When I was a junior in high school, one of my classmates was murdered. I didn’t know him very well. We’d gone to the same school since junior high, he was dating a friend of mine, and it was a very small school, so even though I didn’t know him, I was hit pretty hard with the sudden loss of him. We found out later that he was murdered in a random drive-by shooting. The real shitkicker was, my best friend had lost her virginity to the guy who drove the getaway car, and knew the shooters (she didn’t find that out till they got arrested). They wanted to start robbing folk, and figured it was best if they killed them after. They didn’t rob my classmate; he was just target practice.

My classmate was murdered while riding his bike down a peaceful road next to a river. Found by a jogger. He bled out pretty quick. The hospital didn’t know who he was – there was just a shoe with his name scrawled on it. When he went down, the shooters later testified, he said “ow.” And he lay there, saying, “Ow,” not really knowing what had happened, bleeding out on the pavement.

These were the things that ran through my head, day after day. Couldn’t get them out. And suddenly, I was completely and uncomfortably aware of how I couldn’t escape from murder. I had to stop watching television, stop cracking open books, stop checking the news, stop watching movies, because there I’d be, trying to relax, trying to forget THEY SHOT HIM HE SAID OW ALL THEY HAD WAS A SHOE, escaping into some movie about who-knows-what, when suddenly the movie fills with blood and gore and there’s a gun and somebody has to die because the plot has to move along. And I’d just get so sick. I was trying so hard to “get over it,” to “move on,” to get back to my normal life. But murder was everywhere. Violence was everywhere. I hadn’t seen, hadn’t realized before just how pervasive it was, and as a joke, as a plot device, as an afterthought, as a vicarious experience. But now that every drop of blood, every flesh wound, every attack immediately made me think of my classmate, immediately made me imagine him experiencing his death, his pain – I couldn’t watch any of that shit anymore.

And I thought of the boys who killed him. The paper reported that after killing him, “ow” became an inside joke. They’d drive around going, “Ow!” and laugh and laugh. That’s horrible, but I get that. They had just done a horrifying thing. They had crossed over into a new world, a world where you can kill people. They are alive one second, dead the next, at your hand, at your whim. That’s a different sort of world to inhabit than the one the rest of us live in, where that shit doesn’t happen, or if it does, it’s out there, somewhere. There’s a line in Lolita, after Humbert Humbert shoots Quilty. He is driving away, and thinks to himself: now that I have transgressed against the laws of man, why shouldn’t I transgress against the laws of traffic? And he begins to drive in the oncoming traffic lane. I view the joking of those boys the same way. They had transgressed against the laws of humankind; why not joke about murder? Why not laugh at his pitiful, dying “ow”? All the rules were unmoored, if they could do this thing."

The threats and implications

T has never threatened me directly. If he did, I would have something to go to the cops with. The police didn't act when someone was switching the breakers to my apartment on and off, nor would they agree to get cybercrimes to look at my laptop, so I've more or less given up on getting any help from them.

What T does, generally, involved conditioning me to be constantly alert for signs that I'm being stalked, uses personal details about me to make sure I know it's for me, then shows me something. When I still had internet at home it might be a reddit post, pornography he had written under a sock puppet account, a Wikipedia entry he edited to say something in particular, or a movie.

His threats have included getting me infected with rabies, raping my unconscious body, having me put in a coma, having me subjected to experiments on my brain...

At first I just assumed he was trying to scare me by thinking up whatever was the nastiest thing he could imagine, but now that I realize how much power he has gotten over my life, I can no longer dismiss those threats or ignore them.

He has isolated me from all help.

He has put me under constant monitoring.

He has gotten other people to help him terrorize and control me.

I think he is dead serious about having me put in a coma and experimented on. The brain washing thing is already happening. People who don't respect the integrity of one's mind are not likely to respect their bodily integrity either.

I have been subjected to utter contempt. The dehumanization of me by the people in my life has been total. No one cares what's happening to me now, not about my privacy, nor my isolation. There's no reason to believe anyone will step in if I get swept up into a hospital and simply disappear. They may even see it as a good thing.

I think initially he was counting on being able to hurt me and scare me so badly I would attempt suicide. But that hasn't happened. I am no longer suicidal, and there is absolutely nothing anyone can do to me that will make me try to kill myself, no matter how horrible

So if I do disappear, if anyone tries to say that I had to be hospitalized for any reason, it's a lie and I need someone to come looking for me. I have no intention of ever killing myself, and now you know about the coma threats, so if anyone tries to say, "Something happened and she went into a coma," or "Unfortunately, we had to put her under," then you'll know it was done to me, it was not an accident, it was not necessary or inevitable.

Why do people who have been violating my privacy see no connection between that and working with someone who is gearing up for murder?

Do they just assume its different when they do it than when a guy standing outside a woman's bedroom window at night does it?

This is what the erosion of accountability does to people.

-If everyone else is doing it,

-If an authority figure gives me permission to do it,

-If the person I'm doing it to can be diminished to a joke,

-If the person I'm doing it to will never be believed...

This is how a sociopath gets allies. There is absolutely no difference between your behavior and that of any other stalker's just because you're doing it as a group.

For a while now I've been struggling to figure out how to put the pieces together and present them as a coherent narrative so that maybe someone out there will notice, realize what's happening is real, and recognize the danger I'm in.

Everything is working against me here. My own communication issues, my difficulty in gauging how things sound to other people, the fact that there are people around me actively weaving obfuscation around me, that everything I say and do is interpreted in terms of what people are told to believe about me and how to deal with me. The fact that what's happening is, itself, bizarre, incomprehensible, and incoherent.

People who might have believed me, because they know me, because they're aware that certain kinds of predators exist who pursue people just like me- those people have been removed from my life. Instead I'm surrounded by the ones who know and don't care, who relish how much they can get away with by scapegoating my mental illness, or people who are incapable of seeing me or what's happening to me because someone got to them first and told them what to think of me.

As it is, writing about it is the only defense I have. I have no money or resources to escape, what resources I have are being controlled by the people doing this to me. I imagine they haven't stopped me from using this as a means of asking for help only because they're confident it will make absolutely no difference, and perhaps also because they enjoy hearing about themselves and like seeing me beg for my life.

How do I connect the pieces so someone else can see? I can barely connect them, myself. I keep going over the past, over and over again, trying to understand how I got here. How things got this bad. How I went from blogging to finding myself in a trap devised by a group of psychopathic fanatics who once pretended to be my friends.

Everyone who meets me only sees me in a very small window of time and context. If you see me calmly getting groceries or going to the library, you may ask yourself how I could be going through any of the things I've talked about. The answer is that I have no choice but to more or less try to carry on as normally as possible while I try to figure out what to do.

I'm allowed to leave the apartment, but I get followed everywhere I go. The people who follow me tend to communicate their presence by loudly talking about things they know have personal relevance to me- not at me but around me, for the sake of plausible deniability. Maybe someday one of those people will admit it, so the onus of proving it won't lie solely on my shoulders, considering I'm my only witness, and am considered de facto unreliable as a reporter of my own experiences due to having been bound to the psychiatric system all my life. If no one ever does the best I can do is try to describe it as clearly as possible and hope someone recognizes what I'm talking about.

I can contact my local services but not family or friends. This keeps up the illusion that nothing is wrong while isolating me from anyone who might help me.

I haven't left yet because I have no money and no real idea of where to go or how to get there. I'm still on benefits, I don't get nearly enough to pay for all the things I'd need to move, such as uHaul and plane tickets. I can't afford to live anywhere else because my housing program is local. I've been trying to graduate to Section 8 housing for years.

There's also the cat to think of. He needs dental care, and wherever I go he's bound to need carrying around.

I'm not physically healthy enough to abandon my apartment and go "rough it" on the streets. For the past week alone I've been having heart flutters and extreme weakness, after months of being physically active with no problems.

If you were being stalked by someone who is not working alone, would you be willing to run out into the streets, abandon your apartment, and risk the chance of being murdered in an alley somewhere? I doubt it.

So for now I stay here, I try to plan, I keep hoping there's some option I haven't considered yet, or some combination of words that will make someone spring into action on my behalf.

I am dead serious about what's happening. I have no idea how or in what way the person threatening to murder me plans to act, I just know he's removed all witnesses and kept me from getting help. He also sets up places to lure me out, using things I want or need to manipulate me.

I will explain more about him later. I don't know if it will help but if nothing else I want to leave a record so that if I do die someone will know what happened.

You, whoever you may be, please don't abandon me.

This is a description of the kind of psychological abuse I suspect my stepmom is undergoing. And if it could happen to her, in spite of the fact she can (or rather, used to be able to work, before this was done to her) work, is basically already a compliant citizen, then it can happen to anyone. So please don't think it only happens to bad people who "deserve" it, because she was doing everything right. And if the goal is to put unemployed people to work, why did they break down a woman who was capable of work and incapacitate her?

I don't know when I first realized I was being subjected to brain washing, or when I realized I wasn't the only one. I think it was sometime in January...

I looked at my new replacement ID, the one I got beforeor my real ID, and noticed how droopy my eyes looked. I had noticed it before but written it off as aging or typical bad DMV photography. But then I realized I had seen other people with that same droopiness.

When I was visiting family over the holidays last year, I learned that my stepmom had been struggling with increasingly worse symptoms of bipolar disorder. She had only been recently diagnosed and last year she was reaching an all time low. Her job as an at-home call center employee was driving her to the brink. Luckily she had an outpatient program in the area to help her manage.

But when I was with her she seemed worse than ever before. If I hadn't been paying attention I would have taken my dad's word for it that she was failing tol cope with increasingly unmanageable mood swings. But something about it didn't seem right. My stepmom can be a little high strung, but the way she'd snap defensively at my dad for seemingly "no reason" seemed like someone who was being driven crazy deliberately.

My dad tried to sweep me up into an outpatient program the moment I tried to call my parents for help when I realized my laptop had been hacked, in a way that seemed pre-arranged. On the car ride to his house he kept talking about things I had only discussed online, including "philosophy", which was a subject I had tried to use as a test with a mod in a chat room I was in to see if I was being stalked. This was sometime around 2016.

So now my stepmom is in a program getting worse, not better

The one my dad kept trying to talk me into.

Sometimes when there were lapses in conversation she'd stare off into the distance and I'd see horror in her eyes.

I noticed the droopy eye corners, too.

I think she is undergoing a type of psychological abuse where she's deliberately being harassed and triggered, over and over again, then goes back to the program to expose all her vulnerabilities , which provides temporary relief, but she ends up with more triggers, more hypersensitivity...

That may be why I'm getting subjected to constant harassment and terrorism. I think the goal is to cause so much suffering that you would be grateful to stop feeling altogether.

I had a neighbor around my age who had the pinprick pupils, too. He'd hang around sometimes like he wanted to talk to me, but I didn't know what to think of his eyes. His irises were so big and his pupils so small that he looked like he didn't have any pupils at all. I thought something might be wrong with him. The last I saw of him, he was cleaning other people's houses, then he left, presumably to join the army.

I've also seen a female call center employee with the drooping eye corners, though I can't say where I saw her.

I kept wondering why my stepmom got targeted. She was able to work. Why did they apparently harass her to the brink of a nervous breakdown when she was working from home? She's the right kind of citizen. So why?

And I think it's because they want slaves, period. Poor people and people on benefits are just obvious targets because we're already considered unwanted and in need of fixing. But if they could do this to K, working, heterosexual, married, Christian , Trump-supporting... Then what does that mean?

Yesterday I received my Real ID. This is California's new identification requiring extensive documentation. I needed a valid copy of my birth certificate (the one I had was considered invalid for some reason, so I ordered another one), two pieces of proof of residence, plus my social security card and non-"real" ID. According to the DMV website, it will no longer be possible to take an airplane out of California without a real ID.

This means that any undocumented people will most likely be forced to stay here.

A troll in my Tumblr orbit pointed out that undocumented people will not be allowed to work, either. Unable to leave, unable to work, what do you suppose will happen to these people?

This will also affect anyone without a permanent residence, anyone who can't get the documentation for whatever reason (it costs $28.00 for a copy, so I can see money being a barrier), so not just migrants.

A lot of people have simply disappeared. Businesses have closed... Some of the people who still work here have a haunted look in their eyes. What happened while I was house bound? What will happen in the future?

Will we repeat the rounding up and incarcerations of people based on ethnicity that we inflicted on Japanese, German, and Italian people in the forties?

They are going to come for all of us- every single marginalized group. Working poor, disabled poor, people of color, women. Solidarity is more important than ever right now. We can't start throwing each other under the bus. Not one of us will be spared, whether or not we cooperate, whether or not we hate the right people or associate with the right groups. Please get someone to pay attention to what's happening in California.

Here's a paper from my pharmacy claiming that the pills I take for GR cause lupus. I am pretty sure lupus is congenital, but now I can't even look it up, because the internet is full of misinformation, too. I'm not sure how they accomplished that- perhaps by turning the local internet into a private network? It's the same for library books. It's an information lockdown. At least they haven't tried to stop me from learning Spanish or math... But anything else is bound to be full of contemptuous insults and misinformation.

I'm beginning to think there may be a reason some of my later years on Tumblr involved transhumanists cropping up in my orbit.

I'm not extremely familiar with transhumanism, but I remember two key ideas: One of them was a woman who refused to accept mortality, and felt that someday science should be able to stop death itself. The other was the idea of a human collective database where everyone's life experiences are pooled together and accessible to everyone.

The first one is particularly relevant because, if the news is to be believed, they're doing experiments on pig brains now. They claim that they were able to restore some functions in a dead pig brain.

While this is happening, the government is busy waging war on the poor and homeless. Nearly all the homeless people in OC have been swept up off the streets. Anti-homeless measures, such as public bathrooms that require tokens or codes, have been implemented. People have been saying that the homeless who were transferred from Santa Ana's riverbank to motels caused their own demise by leaving unattended cigarettes around.

I've seen other brainwashed people around. I can tell them apart by their eyes, constricted pupils and droopy eye corners.

If no one sees anything wrong with brainwashing, or mass murdering homeless people, who's to say the next step isn't killing people and trying to bring them back to life?

All this violence, all this death, because some people want to live forever...

That's why it's so important to try to get everyone to understand that the only way to live forever is to help people to live.

The highest accomplishments of civilization have come about because we planned for the future. Because we created things to make life easier, to ensure we spent less time on mere survival and had more time to think, dream, and take care of each other. If you destroy those things and force people to go back to just surviving you will have pointlessly destroyed centuries of progress.

I don't want to die just because some people with too much power can't resolve within themselves their own fear of death. There are other things they could be doing with their power that would make life richer and more meaningful for society, instead of killing people off, spending untold amounts of money on brainwashing experiments, and trying to bring pig brains back to life.

The only way to live forever is to give someone else life.

That's the only way.

You can't control death by aiming it at someone else. Doing that just kills you faster.

The things you do because you're afraid to die will only make it that much worse for you.

We had it right. All of our medical accomplishments and social support systems have developed from the best parts of humanity. If you can extend someone's life by even one month, by even three days... That's one more month for them to say goodbye, one more month to spend time with loved ones, one more month to feel the sunshine...

Instead, people are tearing those things apart and bringing back some of the most horrific nazi experiments, presumably in the name of life.

How many innocent people have to suffer and die because these people can't come to terms with death?

The only way to live forever is to help other people to live. That's it. It's that simple.

Mel Baggs gave me life by sharing her experiences. I stopped being suicidal and stopped living in fear.

How have you helped anyone live? How has your hate served you, or anyone else?

It's never too late to try. Even if there's a complete severance of the conscience... You could still choose to do the right thing. Even if you don't see any intrinsic value in it, even if it doesn't feel nearly as good as hurting people does... You could still try. It's never too late.

You don't get to pick and choose the parts of me you like. It doesn't work like that.

You don't get to fuck with my head and expect me to be sweet and good and loving.

What makes you think you deserve my love when you do such monstrous things?

If you kill the parts of me you hate, you kill everything good about me, too.

I hate the world that could do this to me. That could just hand me over to a violent sociopath and think nothing of it.

Nothing good could ever come of this. For those responsible and those complicit, I hope maybe someday you will feel remorse. Because what's waiting for you will be far, far worse than what you do to me.

I'm not talking about divine punishment. I'm talking about what happens to a person who has completely destroyed their own ability to feel towards other human beings.

I don't relish it as a revenge fantasy or anything... It's absolutely dismal. I would not wish it on anyone.

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