Most Wanted

 

I’ve been buying and snapping and rebuying the same porn DVD over the last week or so. I broke communion with a spirit when I last destroyed it. We eat Reece’s Pieces together and make an oath. Unfortunately, I can’t stick to it. After a few days, once the hellishness of the mad-tempered psychosis has worn off, I am always drawn back, with a new vigour for the perversion. I seem to forget all the trauma I am going through with an aliveness for sex and self-induced passion. It’s called euphoric recall, which means that you only remember the good times. I’m currently on Day 3 Clean time, which means that the voices and hallucinations are only just wearing off. I rang the Samaritans this morning and spoke to a lovely helpful woman named Sarah. I prefer speaking to women on the phone, it sounds nice and cheeky when they let out a subtle giggle. That noise warms my heart; the sound of a lady simply chuckling.

I have a conspiracy of positive voices going on in my hive-mind realm. Without them, as my enemies like to remind me, I really would be in a heap of trouble. No matter how many voices are against you, it only takes one to watch your back. I hope that in the next life I can come back and stand up for somebody who is hearing voices, to give them something to lean on, to support them, to bring them back to life. That would be a beautiful thing and I think I’d be really good at it. Any TI in mortal jeopardy would do. They need a back-up plan in place, some care and protection. Having been there myself for so long, I’d know exactly what to say, I’d have all the right words. They’ve been in a disastrous program since birth, thinking they’re just having bad luck, when all the time some truly wicked folk are plotting against their very life. It is a matter of life or death. I’d survived several attempts on my own life, so I should know.

I refer to myself as TECHNICALLY MOST WANTED. I see myself on a WANTED poster, my face on it, like one of those bad-guy cowboy types. My addiction and my hate mobbers all want a piece of me, but all they do is talk about it 24/7. I receive death threats and torture threats every minute of the day, their job is to stop me thinking. It’s horrible when disembodied voices keep cutting your voice pattern off repetitively, over and over, all day and all night long. It’s like you can’t draw a breath to think a single thought. One new trick of my harassers is to put itches on my face and body, and instruct me that I itch them. It’s hard not to, as they are very itchy. It sounds like science-fiction, I know. How can you put an itch on somebody’s skin with technology? Easy if you are implanted since childhood.