Rotting in Obscurity

It would seem as though the only people who would ever really know any of what X was on about would be the perpetrators and the victims – to one it’s just data, the other it’s torture. She felt, based on reliable results, that she could not reasonably hope to be seen beyond the profile she’d been made to fit. The way this organized system of abuse degraded the human mind followed a reliable trajectory that would fit the framing which society had been given to view it from. Why should they think any different?

Various very different realities coinciding in the same time and space. X had discovered a tangible reality of multiple planes of existence, they were managed by the stories told about them. The Matrix, Simulation theory, determinism, all made to seem larger than real life, while describing real psychological programs run in our stories. If only others would realize the power in these metaphors. Computers made to model the human mind to train the human mind to model the computers. All these techy representations need only be rendered into tissue to control its production. Our senses, interpretations, expressions as mere if/then functions.

X took herself as example of how insurmountable the problems of perception had become. She knew beyond doubt that for over a decade (probably her whole life prior, as well) that her online experience had been controlled by her abusers, who had given her and all whom she interacted with, curated counterfeit messages, search results, phone calls, and the like, like the prank of posting on someone else’s Facebook and crank calls, gone horror. She knew this, and she tried hard as she could to disentangle from its influence in this awareness. She could not, and trying was its own trauma, like trying to rebreak a bone which had set wrong long ago. She regularly swirled in the memories of messages and comments telling her to kill herself as though they were real. Having just been told to kill herself in person the other day, it was harder to say that all the others on screens weren’t real. Had she always been so hated, or was it that being treated with such excessive hatred had primed her for more? The problem was that she had no means to determine each input with certainty, and she could not forget what clusters had been branded into her memory. If only she actually could escape. Every attempt only reminded her just how trapped she truly was. Each time she failed, she would be accused of putting on a show, but it wasn’t her fault that others viewed real life as a dramatization, merely based on true events. She knew of the illusions but they still vexed and perplexed and consumed her. Others without such awareness could hardly stand a chance. What’s more, was that to attempt to show anyone would qualify as psychological abuse. A trauma, a breaking of the mind, was required to open it to what was required to ever see or hear her from within the cage of the character she had been made to play in others minds, and she never actually could get consent for that, as true consent required one to be informed as to what they were consenting, which nobody could do if they couldn’t understand what the fuck she was saying. So she had been damned to an alternate plane of existence, never to be understood as she was, but interpreted as she seemed to the viewers. This was psychological imprisonment, an extreme dystopian human rights violation, so absolute in its power that she could take to all the public outcry she liked, and it would only ever incite more “righteous” stones thrown.

“If they didn’t figure it out for any of the others, they won’t figure it out for me. I’m so tired of existing just to help this horrible story along.”

X thought of Marylin Monroe, who died of a “broken heart”… with a phone in her hand. She thought of Jason Segal laughing about the preposterous concept of a killer cell phone, clueless as most actors tended to be of the propaganda they were party to in the name of entertainment. “Weinstein Entertainment” flashes above Jennifer Garner falsely crying rape in malice, no idea she’d just been paid to publicly fuck herself and so many others in the process. Micheal Cera demonstrates a sweet boy going to psychopathic lengths of violence gets the girl. These shows, this standard programming, showed us what to parrot and what to pariah – what and how to think, to *act*, to be. To describe it in terms of film was too simple for where things had gone, (anti)social media and algorithm based information had advanced the matter far into a dystopian future, shrouded by fictional mechanisms relied upon to try to tell obscured truths. Monkey see, monkey do. What we are shown as believable dictates what we make true.

As K2 scorned X for speaking out against what her father had done to the nervous systems of infants, intentional titrations of trauma as a means of propagating the indoctrination which had taken him long before her, she tried to navigate a translation between this reality and the one her cousin held – that she was *just* crazy. X asked for evidence of delusion, as she consistently had done in the years since the hunt had begun.

“Oma thought the Nazis put a chip in her brain and it destroyed all her relationships.”

This kind of fallacious reaching was the best she ever got. Nobody understood just how logical her refutation of such erroneous reasoning was because of how she was isolated X had been made to be, consistently deprived of adequate witness. They didn’t understand just how much X wished herself to be wrong, how much better off she and the world would be if she could just confabulate their story as hers, but there simply hadn’t been any evidence of substance to support it or negate her own, despite all her motivations and efforts to do so. She just couldn’t unsee what she had been shown, and nothing was helping it to look any different. She searched her own cognitive fallacies as best she could, knowing she had many of magnitude, she could not reasonably reject her life experience just as firmly as others could not accept it. Her whole life she’d begged for the truth, for her suffering to make sense. She got it, and there was a no return policy. She couldn’t forget, she couldn’t unsee it, she would never be normal or acceptable in modern society ever again, now that their rules seemed irrevocably betrayed their own natural nature in service of their programming.

She was denied the right to make her cases in the courts of law and public opinion, alike. As such, the arguments she would not be allowed to make ran on in her head ad naseum. This kind of silencing and neglect seemed to be the catalyst which caused so many to begin talking to themselves and shitposting on the internet and misdirecting contentions against anyone who make reference to the triggers.

“First of all, I’m a different person, and I didn’t say I had a chip in my brain, but let’s discuss this. Did you actually hear her say she had a chip in her brain? Or did your dad just tell you that? Do you understand that Nazis were working on that kind of thing? As an undesignated, mixed origin, orphan runaway in WW2 Austria, can you truly say this would be an unreasonable concern for her to have? Did anyone investigate to disprove her experience based fear before condemning her? Given the viability of biotechnology, doesn’t that seem irresponsible and potentially dangerous and cruel? Can you conceive of other valid possibilities to explain her supposed fears? Think about how modern marketing agencies can essentially “read your mind” based on a steady flow of data, could her fear not be a matter of other violations which emulate similar results? Don’t you think it’s odd that 2 people who rarely spoke and never spoke of your father or brother, happened to fear that the same openly twisted men were trying to kill them? If such a thing could be a genetic phenomenon that skipped a generation to a shared hallucination without a word between them, wouldn’t that be miraculous and in fact less plausible than abuse? Are you sure that our family history of psychological suffering is not in fact a history of abuse which scapegoats its victims for what it does to them? I dare not mention the overnight onset of severe ringing in my ears that sounds like constantly variable audio testing that began while I lived in a trailer rented by your father, lest you extrapolate some weaponized tale of what I might be suggesting. If your father was the man I say he is, a eugenics loving, human trafficking, privacy violating, child abusing, criminally insane, Nazi, don’t you think that might have affected how you think, after spending most of your life on his property, reliant on him, trusting him, in his grasp?”

There was just no way to make it work with reason alone, and reason was all she had left. Unfortunately that reason seemed to be purely esoteric, to her experience, one that X alone could see, just as she imagined it was for her Oma.

“I get why people think it’s crazy to be empathetic towards one with such a concern, it’s because it’s just what people have done, probably for as long as it’s been happening.”

“Flat Earth is an interesting comparison. To qualify myself, I’ll say that I don’t actually believe that the earth is flat. I don’t actually believe anything about the shape of the planet. I am trusting of the photos and information I have been given on the matter, but I haven’t actually seen it, I don’t actually know. The beauty for me is that I don’t need to know, I have absolutely nothing riding on the shape of the planet, which is good because I don’t have the means to actually know, I cannot walk up to this horse and count its teeth. For what it’s worth, the evidence and arguments made for the base shape of our solar system works for me just as much as it needs to.

When I have spent time with those who believed the earth to be flat, I found that I could not actually provide them with a solid argument against their positions, which tended to be much more passionate and researched*. I understand how I understand the solar system to exist, but I can’t actually explain or prove it. Fortunately, in this case, I don’t need to. When I have witnessed other round earthers, mad at the concept of disagreement, I have only rarely seen anyone with the comprehension to explain their position- the rest behaved as though ideology driven bullies, who couldn’t back up their own beliefs but would beat others over the head with them, like the worst of any dogma. To witness such righteous hatred from both sides, I took none. The shape of a planet I am too close to to ever see clearly is not the battle I choose. I’m pretty sure it’s round. Like any God, I don’t actually know and I don’t need to. People may call me stupid or crazy for suspending belief or disbelief about what I do not and cannot know, but, spiritually, philosophically and intellectually I take it as a higher position than blind compliance to authority.

There are hidden demographics under each label. Flat Earth and Aliens and the like are all seductive theories to those who know we’ve been lied to, catchment systems to devalidate dissidents, ways to fanaticize anyone who questions the given paradigms, soldiers fallen to the information wars. It’s not even in which belief system they choose, it’s how they choose it. Either way, all will be segregated and assimilated into mere ideas if the current program runs unobstructed.”

X was very, very good at suspending belief. To live a life of electrolighting was to exist as a major epistemological crisis. She had believed so many things and been wrong so many times, been wrong about being wrong, her perceptions the playthings of her predecessor predators, she nearly lost the concepts of right and wrong altogether. “I dunno” had carried her through so much, she found preference and comfort there.

Alas, cozy as she was not knowing, it was a forced acceptance. She had craved knowing her whole life as much as she took not knowing as the highest form of knowing she could hope to reach. Ah, but when she did come to know certain things, they stuck. She knew for fact that how others saw and treated her was incorrect, that was something she could actually know, and she did. She knew for fact that her and her family were victims of coercive control, a hard one to know, but she knew. She knew but a small bit of what had been done to her, but of what she knew, she knew it. She knew what she had lived, what she could know of it, and it was here, as others bullied her out of her own experience to validate their experience of her experience, that others ruled out their own logical processes to her, while they seemed to think she was doing the same. Concurring blindspots collide. She knew well enough that the nation was in no position to go pointing fingers over delusion, in its current state. She could know these things all day, but could not prove any alone, a set prerequisite for knowing, a hacked logic which could be more easily used to disprove her own existence than prove it. Know whatever you like, as long as you’re outnumbered, you’ll be wrong anyways, however righteous. Even of her rare and precious known knowledge, she was always prepared to be disproven, and resisted certainty on the lack of negation alone, as this line of logic had betrayed her so many times before. She knew she was trying, the best she knew how to with what she had to work with at any given time, and though it was a complex, bitter taste, she trusted the same of everyone else as well, though this practice wavered, regularly breaking her heart and brain.

X had been told many times on the run that she would have to choose a side. She really tried. She couldn’t. She could neither reason nor fake the task. She had seen too many. Seen the same hazardous flaws in them all. She fit none and all as none and all fit her. She wanted to break them and put them back together again, like that poorly set bone or brain. “Team nobody for team everybody.” A sect of her own was set aside for her. She could live in her truth, and rot alone there. Solitary cells for those resistant to treatment.

*an important lesson in the fact that you can “research” something until you’re blue in the face but still come out of it way more wrong with your answers than you went in with your questions, when the research is poorly conducted, which all internet based research is, at this point.