Terrorism and Surveillance ((Part 3))

From a life being destroyed, please allow me to continue. I am told that life is pain and that I should get over the damages, since there’s nothing I can do about it. Well, my life wasn’t pain before. I worked my way through my pains, the pain of being an abused child. The pain of having bad luck and mental health issues resulting from said child abuse.

Now, I am stalked, damaged, and destroyed. I am told, from the perspective of people not dealing with anything similar, to “just get over it.” Put yourself in my shoes, if empathy is not entirely dead, and try to understand what you’re saying to me. Let the point of this post be a detailing of what you’re doing to me. And by you, I mean those who have chosen or have been forced to take part in my targeting.

For starters, the biggest drawback is fear. I live in a constant state of fear. I cannot use the bathroom or go to sleep without having to fear about my things being damaged. I am not sure if you, the Community Based Agent, know this. When you reach for your smartphone, to let the system know what I am doing, you are essentially adding misery points to my life, a life that was calm and relaxed before this.

I used to be able to go hiking, to ride my bike, to hang out with friends. Now:

Every. Single. Time. I do anything, I become damaged. It’s not like they’re cutting me into pieces or punching me in the face. It’s my mind they’re seeking to destroy. The intangibles, like my personality, my reputation, and everything I knew as my self before this. You. You are helping them to do this to me, and all for nothing I have actually done.

There has been no arrest, no charges, no court case. But. In spite of this, I am being terrorized. If you know me, then you know that I value my things and my privacy, quite a lot. These are the things, in my valuing them, that have been destroyed the most and first. I now have to watch my car at all times. I cannot relax, at all. And this is the point.

The point is to make me as uncomfortable as is humanly possible. Let me take that back. This is not even humanly possible. It takes a machine so corrupt, so dark, so evil, to make this all possible. Think about what would have to go into your own destruction. In essence, please think for a moment about what you’re helping them to do to me. Every single time you let them know my location, my movements, you are helping them to damage the only vehicle I have every loved. You are helping them to decimate me.

And for what? What have they given you?

What is worth you being so evil? How have they corrupted your sense of justice so harshly?

I’ll stop asking questions and get back to the point of this post again.

I am tired. I am anxious. I seem very paranoid. I am not paranoid. I will repeat this to my final breath, which may be sooner than expected due to your participation in what amounts to a military campaign against a person you probably haven’t even taken the time to get to know. If you read anything about “gang stalking,” you’ll see that manipulation and falsehoods lay at the center of these campaigns. You may even get a sense of how you’re being corrupted.

I used to ride my Dirt Jumper every day. I used to enjoy burning the calories and meeting the kinds of people who do the same. I’ve even enjoyed meeting some of the skaters I have met. I forgive you for your excess of wheels. However, if you’re taking part in any of this, then I will never forgive you. What you are doing amounts to war. It amounts to helping the state destroy people in a manner similar to what the Nazis did to the Jews. If you watch Shoah, the nine and a half hour documentary on the effects of the Nazis on the Jewish population, as I have done, you will see what your actions will someday be perceived as. That is, if the world HAPPENS to get better than it is now.

And speaking of the world:

Imagine it such that we all live the kind of reality you’re forcing upon me.

This isn’t living.

You are killing me. You, the person they have employed to commit atrocities as an active bystander.

Remember, as with anything in this world:

YOU CAN SAY NO.

You can reject their offers. You can think for a moment about how not everything in this world is true. And when someone approaches you to watch others, not unlike what Orwell describes in 1984, you can take the moral high road. All at once, you could stop helping them. You could, collectively, consider what kind of world you’re helping to create. It’s all so dystopian.

Have you seen Black Mirror?

Well, that’s what you’re doing to me. Joan is Awful. That.

Are you scared of the realities you see in Black Mirror? Good, that’s a start. Add some empathy, regardless of what you’ve been told about me (or any other “targeted individual”), and you will see that this world is headed into darkness. Someday, you will wake up and find yourself in my shoes.

Regardless of my size 14’s, let’s get back to what you’re doing.

I can barely play or write music anymore. I am too distracted. I am too fearful. I haven’t touched a math problem in months. I used to do math every day. I used to spend my time writing up ideas, the kind of ideas that lead the world into a better direction. I used to go backpacking, for days at a time. I used to live my life.

Now I am dead. I am a dead man walking.

And, seeing as I cannot go walking without damages to my things, I’m not even sure I can call myself a dead man walking.

I need out. I need someone, anyone, to get me out of here. I will learn any language I need to, do anything noble enough. I no longer wish to live in the United States. I am not being un-American. I am merely trying to save my own life. This will eventually kill me. At first, it almost led me to suicide. Then, once I figured out what was/is going on, I became disgusted. I realized that the existence of ANY “targeted individual” was too much for me. Had I known of these kinds of programs, I would have left a long time ago. I would not have paid my taxes, supported my own cage.

Lest this entire post be too much a bummer, let me talk of how I’ve taken to letting others know that I know. When I get up to go to the bathroom, I twirl in place. I have taken to dancing my way across crowded rooms. I can tell from the mass of averted glances that others are in fact involved in my torture. I watch people pick up their phones at my every move. Normal, everyday, people are involved. I assume actual agents are involved too. It’s all so coordinated, so smooth. By the way, I have overhead certain others saying

HE KNOWS.

Yes, I know. I can see it. I am too autistic not to see it. I am too smart to let the strangeness of my life slip by unnoticed. I have spent years cultivating my critical thinking. Perhaps THAT is what they’re trying to destroy. A world without critical thinking is a prison. Thank you for your service, dear prisoner. If at the end of all of this, I find out that I have just been placed on a cruel version of The Truman Show, and am awarded a million bucks to replace my life, I’d still hate you all forever.

I had never really hated anyone before this began. Now, I can quickly and easily say that I hate anyone involved. If you’re one of the many Community Based Agents involved in my coordinated harassment and stalking:

I HATE YOU.

You are swine. You are destroying all that was beautiful about this world. To wit, I have been told that I am the most unique person alive, most interesting, by tons of people. Of course, no one’s going to say stuff like that anymore. But, if you think about it, you’re being tasked with watching my every move. I MUST be interesting enough, I guess. Either way, back to the effects.

Like I said, I am no longer allowed to live a normal life. My life is shit.

By design.

I cannot go a single day without highly-deniable damages to my things. My car takes on damage every time I go into a store, any store. The last time I rode my bike, smiling ear to ear as I ascended every hill in Boone, my vehicle was entered and things inside of it were damaged. I only brought with me those belongings in decent shape, following Community Based Allan’s mass damage campaign on my stuff, so I know that this stuff is happening. I am not merely hypervigilant. I have had a lifetime’s worth of gaslighting in less than a year, so please don’t even try to sell me that crap. I can see that now too.

I can tell when the cops are doing it too.

And, yes, the cops are involved. Perhaps my therapist is too.

There’s no telling how deep the Deep State is. And in living this all, I can say:

THIS IS THE DEEP END OF ALL POOLS.

So far, in spite of the rambling nature of this post, we have tired, anxious, fearful, jobless, afraid, and borderline friendless.

Virtually all of my friendships and associations follow the same arc these days. They meet me, the actual me, and are excited that someone like this exists. Then, soured opinions, through no actions of my own. People used to stay the first way, saving the second way for when I actually did something wrong. Those days are in the past now.

I should have seen this at the pizza place in Lyons, before I lost my job at CU Boulder, when one girl told her friend, “Yeah, that’s him. You can tell by the hat.” How cool, to have your privacy so violated that random strangers seem to know you. If I had to venture to guess, the Community Based Agents placed upon me as a target are provided with images and videos of me that I never agreed to have taken. This is the nature of spying, and you are allowing it to take place. You’re contributing to the decay of America, in real time.

What is time anymore?

My time is no longer my own. I used to choose what I do. Now, what I do is chosen by others. I am no longer in charge of my privacy and the condition of my things. These things are external now, when they should be internal. Imagine your own favorite possessions ripped apart by a silent force that doesn’t care about anything you own. This is about like how, when I returned from running away at 17, my abuser had thrown away all of my stuff. When I told Agent Allan (An Actual Idiot) about this story, he thanked me, as if all of my stories are now weapons against myself, portals to a more tormented life, if only due to their capacity to be used as weaknesses.

Imagine all of your weaknesses being used to torment you, to treat you like you bombed something important. Well, I have bombed nothing. In general, I am a pacifist. At least I had been before all of this began. Now, like I said, I have learned to hate. Once again, in case you missed it before:

I HATE YOU.

I hate you for participating. You represent decay. You are a tainted flea on the carcass of the American Dream. I should know. I lived the American Dream in going from abused “trailer trash” to a doctor of mathematics. I guess my success is too much for the ruling class. Perhaps I pose too much a threat in being so talented. And I am not being vain. I learned the guitar in a month, started writing songs in the same month. I learned to sing how I sing in less than 5 years. While being lightly tortured, I learned to play the piano in about a week, while living in Allan’s Basement Torture Palace. What a dingy shit-hole.

I mean Allan, not the basement.

I also mean you. You have brought me to the brink of madness, before bringing me to a point of shame. What you are doing is shameful, regardless of what you’ve been told. You are bringing shame to the concept of America.

America used to represent so much more than this. It used celebrate differences. I was in New York City when they legalized Gay Marriage. I was here when characters like Ace Ventura were allowed to exist. Patrick Swayze was allowed to don a dress, without being tortured in the way that I’m being tortured. You are torturing me.

If after all that I’ve said here, you still contribute to the destruction of persons and things, you are broken. You have been destroyed yourself. One day, there will be no differences, no eccentrics, and certainly no films about people like me. “People like me.” Yeah, right. Not anymore. Someday, it will be you.

And, you, being maybe even slightly weaker than me, will succumb.

Your brain will explode with terror.

Even as I type this, I think to myself: maybe there’s something to the microwave stuff. I feel jittery and weak.

9/11 had nothing on this.

I HATE YOU.