HER AGAIN

August 26, 2011 1:42 pm EST

Not much going on.

Think it's time to quit a job again. Not only are they harrassing me at work and in stores by rounding up suckers and telling them to say a word, or ask a question, etc. of me, now they drag customers on my delivery route into their campaign of "get him to say he's gay." It started a few weeks ago at my first stop on the route. It's a little old lady, ME, of 76, yes they'll use anybody. I usually stop and talk to her and it's nice to spend a few minutes there.

A few weeks ago, one of those guys from McC (see the McC posts about the events of June to August 1985). It was the one I call Fatso, or maybe FF. It really doesn't matter which one, but they asked me what the worst thing would be that could happen to me. I was probably on the route at the time, because I thought (and once they ask, they have an answer because it's almost, if not impossible, not to think about something they bring up) that the worst thing would be if they started harrassing customers. They harrass people I work with, etc.

So, I didn't say anything about any customer in particular, but they must have chosen ME, since she's the only one with who I speak with on a regular basis. I thought that my sister J, Fatso, and myself were standing at the end of her drive and they were putting me through the usual embarassing motions of associating with what they set up at McC's in 1985. And I didn't hear what they were saying, if anything, but just put up with it.

About two days ago, I stopped at ME's, chatted for a bit and turned to go. But, as I turned, just a few seconds after I looked at her, I thought, "Did she just say the word 'gay'? Oh, well, what a weird thing to say. She was probably prompted by the harrassers."

So, I figure that J, Fatso, must have done their crap again and started her up with some kind of sob story about how they "know what i neeed" or whatever, encouraging her to bring up that topic and soon enough, most likely some of their other key words they chose for humiliation. What a question or topic to dupe somebody into bringing up since they know that I know it's been the center of their harrassment campaign since the days of being interrogated by KS at AN's house. I use the word interrogation because having no answer or more than one answer or a second thought was not good enough for her.

**Anyway, I hear CC, X's daughter, reading along as if they made me think or write about this already. I'm sure they're trying to throw in their own words here and there (I hear them) to distract, or later say that they already know of the event and, of course, they have the real events. So far, I don't see any activity here. I would know who's reading this blog by the stats.**

So, how are they going to do it? Do they call ME? I don't know her number, but they can get it. Do they stop off at her house and give her the 'topic of the day'? I wouldn't trust anyone that just shows up, starts harrassing a mentally impaired person (and they know it), and then tells me that they can 'help'. I would run in the other direction very fast. Why would she trust someone she doesn't know? Why should she believe that anything they ask her to say to me is actual help, and not brainwashing? She should not participate. She can identify them, though.

She should know that their overriding theme, their grand design and their ultimate [?] goal is for me to say I'm gay and accept their definition of gay. Which is, in their opinion, that I wouldn't be happy and all that until I become a woman. Yes. A transtesticle. Never thought of being one. But, they're building on an answer to KS that I gave when she asked, "Have you ever thought of (or, wanted to be) a woman?" I grew up with three of them. I said no. "Really?" No. "Not even to see what it's like?" No. "Not even for a minute?" No. "Not even for a second (or, a few seconds)" I nodded yes, just to get her to stop badgering. Also, when they were doing their horror show at McC's, I was standing behind the cash register, and I heard some woman saying to someone, "He doesn't know." I said, "Oh, yes he does. It's literal." Yes, I referred to myself in the third person and I knew it. "What is?" Someone asked. "Hypnotism," I said. They must have thought they ran across some "multiple" and some woman across from me shined a flashlight at me and said, "Who are YOU?" I straightened up and said that I was MH, pseudonym I thought of, or just changing my name all together. But, as soon as I said (or thought) that, I said (or thought),"You!" Surprise. I thought it was sisterT. The fright.

"Who are YOU?" (to me/MH)
"You."(to sisterT)

Literally, a. . .  what the hell?

It must have stuck. I haven't thought or talked to her since she moved in 1976, and then in August 1985, she's there in the middle of a freak out. I have felt since then, sometimes, like sisterT. Her mannerisms, and for quite a number of years a similar stroke on my left side. I figure that someone could flash a light or call her name and there I am, thinking like myself, mannerisms and stuff. This happens when they call out other female names, and lately male names. Even cartoon characters. Jude from 6teen. Classic character. Dood. At least I don't feel like I have the sexual organs of a female when they do that.

This is why I decided to start this is writing. It was when that guy in cammo (two m's?) doing his schtick for the audience while I sit there, forced to listen. And he says, "He hated his sister so much, she became a part of him."

And I had to sit there and unable to say anything. They just cut me off, or make me say the opposite. But that is just ridiculous. Or sometimes they will put the thought of sisterJ into my head. Why? Don't know. Maybe trying to put me on a guilt trip? They would try that. I woke up once -- from a real sleep -- and my arm was numb from falling asleep with it over my head. When I woke up, I heard this lady say really nastily, because my arm was limp, "Just wanted you to know how your sister feels (or, felt)." Wow. What a b***h.

What would a real psychiatrist say? If they didn't know about McC, they would just plug in some all purpose generic solution as guilt, etc. I don't think they would try that phony multiple personality thing, but that's what these harrassers hang their hat on since it just makes anyone incompetent if they look like they're answering to other names.

Speaking of names, or typing of names, I know I could be called JO and probably answer, although I haven't heard them. But, the thing in the car (see below) is me filling in a blank (i.e. finishing a sentence. The blanks to be filled in come at the end of sentences). This Jonathan thing comes from McC and one other prior time, which I will mention in the near future. At McC, when they were trying to wake me up/make imprints, Fatso was in front of me and said, "Look at you." And flashed a photo, a head shot, of a newborn, or nearly newborn, baby. I thought, "JO." And he made me verify it, i.e. say it out loud. The same way when he made me look at F, and said, "What is she?" I thought schoolteacher, but when I tried to say it and couldn't, he kept encouraging me to say it. I said schoolteacher. He probably wanted me to say b***h, so he could have some imprint to wake up in public whenever he wanted. She didn't look too happy. Right before that schoolteacher thing, he said, "Why are you doing this?" I took it to mean making those imprints before they woke me up. the 'that's the ticket,' etc. So, he said, "Why are you doing this?" She said, head down, low voice, "Because he saw my face." An exchange I've heard before, two months before.

X and KS must have known each other. Ironically, and maybe not ironically, they worked for the same photo company. Maybe together in the early '80s. Don't know, but they both have a photo fetish. KS showed me pictures of her family at AN's house. "This is my mother. See." I nodded yes. "Don't see her," really dismissively. The same see it, then don't see it.

**So,  I image now as I type this that X and her kids CC and FF are at the warehouse, the only place that they could really see me, since I don't go anywhere, and screaming about demanding that I delete all references to them in this blog. She should get a lawyer and ask. I don't need more of her harrassment. And, how in the world would she know? I haven't said anything out loud about having a blog. How will she explain that she knows about this blog, let alone what's in it? I THINK about what I put in here, but never spoken about it. (Remember, you can be cancelled anytime, X just said to me. A threat)

They've tried that last year, when I was delivering, sitting in the car, turned to my right, and saw sisterG. She said, "Never mention ( or never say anything) about . . ." Then she pointed towards the driver's window, I looked over and thought ( filled in the blank, as they trained me in Cleveland -- more on this later) Jonathan. The dead baby of sisterJ. Immediately, everything went red. I had a splitting headache for what I thought was several seconds. When I came to, it took me a couple seconds to orient myself -- where I was on the route, what just happened. I looked at the clock and it said about two minutes till 5 am, and I realized that 10 minutes had gone by. I remember, just before looking at sisterG, I looked at the clock and it said about 10 till 5am. I stepped out of the car, and the first thing I saw was a sheriff's car on the main street passing by the entrance to the street where I was at. It was in motion, but not going very fast. I figured nothing weird happened for being out for ten minutes, because they would have said something. Maybe they tasered me and left. It's weird, I've seen cop cars and such many times when weird things like that happen.

SisterG wasn't there, it was just a timed hallucination. I've heard them for a long time reading my route to me. Things like you need guidance, and we have to go through your map with you so you don't miss papers or anything. The typical tactic of making their victim dependent on the victim's harrassers. And like I've mentioned before, I've had papers left over and of course there's someone in my imagination right then saying, "I know where they go. Just ask me for help." No thanks. Another typical tactic -- cause a problem for the future, then be there to claim to help. Don't buy it if it happens to you. They are the criminals, not you.

The last time before that when everything went red was at the pool hall that I used to go to after delivering. The last time I was there was about 2011. I was sitting at the computerized thingie playing a card game or something by myself and I got a splitting headache and all red again. Don't know how long it lasted, but when I came to, I was playing the game as I was before. I looked around to see if anyone was freaking out or something. When I came in, there wasn't anyone else in there but the cashier and me. When I came to, I looked over and there was some guy in front of the counter talking to the cashier. The guy was holding up something in front of the cashier. I didn't see what it was, but the cashier was talking to the guy (didn't hear what he was saying) and pointed at me (I hadn't said anything). Then they both looked at me and I turned back to playing the game. And that was that. As usual, I don't ask, and they don't tell me anything. I thought maybe I was hit in the head because there was a really sharp pain at the top of my head just before the red. On the route, at the word Jonathan, there was no specific area of the head that hurt. It just came all at once.

It's 3:08 pm -- another sleep deprivation day, I guess.

Thinking of X and her two goblins lately. Yesterday, it was me and them at her house. They were making phone calls, especially CC. And CC was pushing a sheet of paper at me and kept saying sign this. I don't know what it was so I refused. She kept at it, so I signed Mickey Mouse. She didn't like that. Again, pushing the paper and telling me to sign it. I scribbled. Wasn't good enough. She tried again. I said OK. I acted all over joyed, happy to sign it, yes, yes, and all the while tearing it up.  Oops, I got so excited about signing that I just tore it to pieces by accident. Oh well.

Again with the sign this paper. Then I asked, "There's you, there's your mother, there's two older guys there. And they're all your people. Where is somebody on my side? Where's my lawyer?" She said, with no hesitation, "You don't need one."

Really. I can't even have a lawyer. I laughed at her. It was really so ridiculous that I'm supposed to sign something to be able to leave without being cursed. So, I told her, "Put everything in an envelope, notarize it, mail it to me, and make it certified mail so that I know I got it and signed for it." She made some motions, a little thumping on the table or something, some noises, then said, "There. All done. You got and it's notarized and everything." "Wow," I said, "so fast." "I'm a notary," she said. And with a straight face. I didn't sign.

If all that wasn't dumb enough, again she started in with sign the paper. I didn't even answer. "It's a suicide note. It's a suicide note," she said. What the hell? A last ditch effort to get me to sign? And that's supposed to change my mind and sign it? She's a lunatic.


This reminds me of a very important day in April 1986. It was the day or two before I was to report for duty at the Navy of the USofA. Yes. In the middle of the "what the hell is going on and why doesn't someone explain something to me" years (this was a good two years after they started talking to me while I was sleeping at home -- the "what's your problem, what do you want" nosiness, i.e. violation of my civil rights) it was suggested to me by Fatso from McC to join the military. So I did. Not very interesting when I got there, but the lead up was really telling. This will be for next time.

**So, now X is trying to give me a fright, or a promise, that she's going to cut my left eye out. With a knife and throw it on the floor, and she tried to push the cigarette I was smoking into my eye. Fatso said, "You're family." No, I'm not related to them and none of this Mafia stuff. It feels like they took off some of those imprints. Can't really get rid of them, just cover them with another or look at the original and not have much of a reaction to it because you're looking at it differently or they just get old and boring (least likely the latter). Well, anyway, it's just making them work harder. It's weird. I know that they were trying to make new associations for me about different things, but I always said, "I'll keep the old ones." As the first thought, not letting them become the tenth or hundreth one. Like when that girl, CC, pulled out some panties, large white ones, and said, "Now panties." Duh. She wants girly panties to be my new "underwear" association. I thought, no, I'll keep the old dirty underwear association. Panties? Not even.