At 10/7/15 08:36 PM, Sense-Offender wrote:
Maybe I'm misreading what you said, but if you're saying you believe people are using surveilance data from your mic to steal plot or dialogue ideas for the shows that you're watching, that's paranoid delusion for sure.
This is why I'm killing myself. Because this is all anyone will ever believe, and there is nothing I can do about it.
You don't know what a "paranoid delusion" is or isn't.
None of you does. You read about it in a book and the TV reinforces the standard you learned.
"If anyone says that there are people of any importance plotting about them specifically to ruin their lives, that's never true. People of low social status are always CRAZY and WRONG when they say people of high social status have done something to them specifically."
All I'll ever be, because of what they've done, and you fucking dipshits laugh and just want to kick me around or spit out the ad for "mental help" you've been trained to say by everything they've paid to have you see and hear.
This whole thread. This is all I face when I try to tell anyone what's happened.
I don't know WHY they did it. I was an easy target. No friends. Recent personal tragedies. History of psychiatric treatment (for "depression", because I believed their marketing and thought I was SICK for being sad about my social status back in fucking HIGH SCHOOL).
I show you where to find the evidence that this level of surveillance is possible without any special equipment, and I'm still insane.
Yes, NETFLIX. To the guy who said it. You won't believe that, because you won't believe that anything you see anywhere that matters could have been made to mock someone who wasn't involved with it. That's an assumption.
If it happened to you, you'd get it.
There's nothing worth saying to anyone anymore. You'll laugh when I'm dead. I'll be a fucking joke, just as I am now, and everyone who did these things-- those same people making the things you watch for fun-- will get their big laugh and have their big celebratory victory orgy or whatever they do when they've taken someone out successfully. My dog will be sad, but everyone else will forget in a couple weeks. People will send my parents sympathy cards. You will make jokes. People will probably fucking donate money to the very people responsible-- the thoroughly corrupt and generally fraudulent field of psychiatry. "We'll collect money for the CURE for people like him!". Which means more people will be detained and forced to take newly randomly developed mystery drugs just to see what happens until they find the next batch to sell as if it will help people and make them "normal", when no one in their lives understands why they're upset or has the ability to do anything about it. The answer must be a fucking drug. Of course! The problem must be the person who's upset. Not anything happening in their lives. That's IMPOSSIBLE.
The burden's always on me to say it in a way others will believe. And there's no way to say it that doesn't involve people partially responsible for the content in mainstream media presentations using surveillance data to mock me and reference me in their work, in ways no one will ever believe are specific enough for me to be anything but "confused" and "mentally ill", so that nothing I say is taken seriously and I'm ostracized from society on every level.
Maybe it was funded by UGI. They destroyed my home and paid off my lawyer to pressure me into a shit settlement before the facts of the case came out and anyone knew they didn't scent their fucking gas. There was a sniffer truck there the night before it happened. It wasn't just an accident. It was avoidable. It was their fault. Now they want me silent. That lawyer is ostensibly dead now. I think he faked his death to avoid being sued for legal malpractice. I can't prove anything.
Maybe it was one of the doctors I've seen since. Maybe the one who didn't look at the fucking picture of the CT scan and dug down my urethra with a fucking camera and a knife, through a tube, to insert stents into my bladder, crookedly in a way that would make me piss syrupy cola-looking bloody urine and experience extreme pain, <blink>FOR NO REASON</blink>. Or the guy who pulled them out and cut the inside of the head of my dick.
When I cum, it only oozes now. There's little or no squirt. I never got to cum on a girl's face. I likely never will unless I hire a prostitute.
Is that too personal? I don't care. I'm leaving. I'm not spending indefinite years on this planet as a fucking crazy person with no rights, getting kicked around and mocked everywhere (specifically or just by virtue of the label) by all of you FUCKING eachother and traveling around making things of yourselves and feeling like you know shit and you're better than me by some natural fucking force of superiority. Like it wasn't people teaming up to fuck me over and ruin my life.
Because nobody on the Internet likes to just ruin peoples lives by teaming up on them for fun. That shit doesn't happen. Not to people with no friends. Not to people who can't handle it. And if it did, it would be on TV, and you'd know about it, and you'd know all of who was involved, because the authorities would find everyone and you'd know from the full list of people the news provided to you who had any connection to the shit you see on TV or the web.
Everything is fucking gone. This is what there is now. I just wish I could watch all of you lose everything too and have no one to turn to. I wish you were afraid like me. I wish you could understand, but there was no one around you who you could talk to without getting this same fucking reaction. No one believes you. Everyone believes what they learned by listening to the culture created by the people who are doing what you're saying they do.
At first they tried to make me believe it was something good. And I was stupid. I'm a stupid person. I believed it. I didn't know any better. I didn't know what they were like. You probably would too. It's humiliating. All of this is. But it's all there is. There's never going to be an answer. An excuse. A conclusion that doesn't end with everyone believing I'm just insane, and I'm still alone while all the people out there who did this are comfortably fucking away in bliss, enjoying what they've done.
There's nothing I can say to any of you. I'm wasting my time. It's just a laugh or an opportunity for you to spill out the garbage you've memorized about what types of sentences mean what types of "disorders" you were told exist.
You don't know anything. I hate all of this. There's nothing good out there. Everything good is just a fucking illusion or it's reserved for the kind of people I'm not. For me, there's nothing. I hate you. I wish I could personally destroy everything for everyone before I go. But I can't. There's nothing I can do. There's fucking nothing. Nothing.