He’s making all these long-term plans for living here, while complaining that we’re living here, at this time where it is uncertain what’s going to happen; if we’re going to be allowed to stay here. I see how court goes in my favor; I see how it could go completely against me.

I don’t know what’s going on. He’s making me believe we’re going to make a business. He’s also making me realize how unwell he is through his actions. He’s happy, so he’s doing mindless activities. Is that what I am doing? I dunno. I can’t see myself to know what people think. Raspberry said “juggle,” followed by a anti-kumquat saying “don’t think,” followed by a kumquat saying “Go,” when I originally typed “God” to start this sentence.

I don’t know what’s happening or has happened or will happen. All I know is I have no clue what reality truly is. This is a useful state of being; for others, I mean. You can be put in this state of learned helplessness and directed and controlled as the narrative you believe is moulded over time. I was saying to him today how I have “agreed” to do things, and then I am compelled to do things based on something he has done through gaslighting me and getting me to “accept” what he has doing whilst holding me against my “agreements,” the same as what the cult did to me.

They REALLY want that story written. It’s hard to do long-form content with my brain. I don’t do amphetamines anymore. I wrote my book on amphetamines because I can sit still and remember massive stacks of information to do the complex narrative-telling one needs to do with my style where I speak and meander but it’s always new information. Now, I’m stuck remembering pockets of text and spilling those in concentrated form. I talk with myself a lot. These connections form. I built my empathy. It’s a skill, like free will.

It doesn’t matter what hell is coming; I can always be kind. I can rise above. I can be the best I can be. I can love. I can be kind and show compassion. I’m not perfect. They’re manipulating me, I know. I noticed I said something retarded in my last email. They set up the memeplexes in my head.

There was one time where I was walking to the register after walking all the way from Portland to Sandy in one night, and this man said “breasts,” and because he said that, my eyes snapped to the chest of the cashier right away, and she saw and she looked disgusted, and I noticed it’s because of what was in my short-term memory, and I learned something from that trip…that being the cops of another city knew my name and pronouns without asking that information of me.