Saturday, January 10, 2009

Stupid me

Stupid me--thinking my depression was a natural result of studying topics of deep evil. Nope--my depression is caused by the chemicals of TPTB as once more they force feed me poisonous shit to get me into passive alignment with an agenda that more and more I suspect. I woke up this morning feeling the full force of the goddamned chemicals (whatever the fuck it is), and I recognize the feeling--the feeling that I hate life and don't want to be here, and have to drag myself out of bed and force myself to live. But I can see now where the chemicals started (question, Tita--am I being force fed the chemicals so I won't dream the truth, and thus know and reveal all of their sordid schemes and plots--well I am sorry buddies, but I have an inner orientation for the truth, and I am incapable of sustained effort against it), or was I fed it day before yesterday? I think it was day before yesterday because for the last two nights I have suffered from the most crippling and severe of arthritic pain in my shoulders and neck. This happens when I am force fed drugs that interfere with my ability to naturally block (my otherwise omnipresent) arthritic pain. I cannot live at that level of arthritic pain. It is a gift from God that I am naturally able to block the pain naturally with my own brain chemical interactions, and these stupid assholes with their fake drugs and chemicals can't begin to even approach the level of my own self healing mechanism. So then, it stands to reason that they like the talking in tongues (no doubt they can interpret it, not because of a gift of interpretation from God, but rather through the most complete language database in the world, no doubt with ET input). So they like that. I guess the stupid goose was laying pure gold in my sleep and they think their drugs had something to do with it. Wrong again assholes. The need to dream was created by all the ideas from the research swirling in my head. Your goddamned drugs meake it hateful for me to go to sleep and interfere with my ability to dream. So then, the drugging started two nights ago--what impact it had on my dream life two nights ago was negligible, no matter what they might think. However, now the chemical has thoroughly saturated my brain, and I suspect it will impact dreaming. It sure as hell as impacted waking. The first thing to go yesterday morning was my ability to listen to music. First clue that the motherfuckers are feeding me psychotropic drugs. Normally, I constantly am singing--in my head, in my heart, on my lips--everywhere. When I need to focus mental energy I prefer to listen to music, so that I free my mind from its own natural desire to constantly sing. When I am sick with these psychotropic drugs, I cannot bear to hear music. The first thing I will attempt is to change the station to classical to escape lyrics (it's a brain thing--the brain cannot multitask and listen to lyrics and think at the same time). But then, soon enough (I've had years of abuse to figure this out), the brain can no longer handle listening to music at the same time as thinking. When it is at its worse, the brain cannot handle any stimuli at all. Right now I am listening to nature sounds--soothes me because it reminds me of being a little kid and being surrounded by nature sounds all the time. But I don't focus on it. Cant.
Second indication that I am too sick with psychotropic drugs. Unable to get the energy to do simple chores. When I felt bbetter, I started cleaning house, and there's just a few things I need to do to get the house where I want it. But I am too sick to take any initiative in even the most superficial of house cleaning, or anything else for that matter.
Thirdly,I wanted to get out of the house yesterday, but I couldn't even get the energy to get up and go for a walk.
Finally, the crushing depression has hit, and I no longer am focused on obtaining energy to do simplest of tasks. Rather I am focused on trying to find a reason to live in this slave body that I find so hateful and just wish to escape, anyway possible. Last night I watched some videos of B5 on the web and am reminded of Lorien asking Sheridan, "It's easy to find something to die for, do you have anything to live for?" The truth is I don't --trying to hold on to somehting, in the meantime forcing myself to function when I am so deprressed and in such physical pain. I hate my life I don't want to live it, and I am tired of struggling to sustain self against such overwhelming misery, slavery, and depresson.

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