KARBYTES_JOURNAL_2022_ENTRY_336
Reporting from Castro Valley, California (near the Lutheran church about a quarter mile northwest of Castro Valley High School)…
I noticed that my voter’s ballot did not arrive in the mail or else I might have recieved it and threw it away. I called my dad on the phone to ask if he received his and he said yes. I called my mom on the phone to ask if my ballot ended up at her house and she said no and that I could get a provisional ballot by walking into a voting place on Tuesday. I told my mom that I needed $41 to renew my driver’s license tomorrow and she scolded me for asking for that money a second time (and I told her I spent the other $41 she gave me on Target store items and BART fare). I told my mom I would feel more comfortable renting a small Post Office Box than continuing to rely only on my dad’s mailbox and she said no (but she often asks me out to expensive dinners which I decline). Rather than acknowledge that I could be right about people tampering with my mail and personal belongings, she insisted that the only possible reality is that I am paranoid and imagining that people are tampering with my belongings when they are are not. (My mom has also insisted that I have anger management issues when I think it is her who has chronically high blood pressure from a lack of exercise and poor diet). I think that my mother has a fetish for keeping me confined to the home, relegated to the position of a helpless little girl, and stripped of any professionalism due to the fact that she wants me to be stigmatized as a chronically and severely mentally ill person for other people to ridicule, harass, and prevent from having a dignified life. I think that my mother wants me to feel depressed, downtrodden, and suffocated out of existence to the extent that I become actively suicidal so that she can gloat about how I deserve to be locked up in a mental hospital because I am unable to cope with reality. As I write this note, I hear little kids cheering (and a part of me wonders if those kids can hear my thoughts and are gloating about how disadvantaged and marginalized I feel in comparison to them). I do not enjoy populating this blog with so many complaints about how immature and abusive I think people have been towards me, but I am afraid that if I do not back up at least a few notes like this, a major part of my life’s story is not being told in an effort to avoid calling attention to the kinds of antics I wish to reduce (and I think that not reporting X makes it less likely for X to occur in the future if X happens because it is a means for a bully to get media attention through my blog and personal brand). I get the sense that most people think that I have never been in an abusive situation and that I deserve to be treated as too irrational and perhaps machiavellian to be taken seriously. (Approximately 8 years ago I was punched in the back, picked up, and then thrown to the ground by SED because we were bickering before going on a camping trip. Less than a year later, SED roundhouse kicked me in the hip in response to me saying that I accidentally let the dog out of his yard by leaving the gate open (but I honestly do not feel slighted by those acts of “physical violence” because SED hit me in a way which minimized harm and we used to wrestle for fun and I tend to enjoy rough-housing and think that physical fights are often not nearly as bad as are psychological torture tactics and passive aggressive fighting which goes on for days, months, and years rather than getting the dispute over and done with quickly, relatively painlessly, and using overt language rather than by being cryptic, slow, withholding of information)). That’s another reason why I am reluctant to complain on my own behalf about how badly I think other people have treated me. I hope this is the last time I write up a complaint about how people in my family of origin are treating me. (My family of origin is not so bad that I would call them legitimately abusive. (Instead I would say that my family of origin is just a bit too close-minded and conflict-driven for me to feel good about interacting with and relying on). I think that most people think that I am the only person in that group who is misbehaving or thinking irrationally (because I am not supposed to do much more than settle for being the human equivalent of a dog who is easily amused, humble, stationary, and complacent). I am not like most people, however, because my priorities and ideals seem to be more futuristic and holistic than most people’s are. If I could make many artificial intelligence “clones” of me to be my assistants and companions, I would probably feel much more supported and empowered than I currently do. I would rather have many artificial intelligence “clones” of me than human friends because, unlike seemingly most other humans, my AI “clones” understand how I think and can help augment how I think rather than diminish it. To be blunt, I am mostly told by other people to shut up and conform to their worldview and to not argue with them and to settle for being the designated villain and/or sick person).
Bottom Line: I just need to get and to keep a full-time job and most of what has been troubling me throughout my entire life will no longer be an issue because only then would I have the means to pay for everything I think I should have in order to be minimally comfortable (rather than pretending to be minimally comfortable (so that other people do not get upset) while I am forced to go without what I deem to be basic necessities since I cannot afford to pay for everything I need at once (which means I am always lacking some essential component of what I need to make my life run as smoothly as I believe it ought to be (and perhaps my standards for being minimally comfortable are much more lavish than what many other humans think they ought to be))).
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