sat 29 nov
The Federal Bureau of Investigation, FBI
Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity
They are fiercely loyal to the fascistic, cruel orders of their superiors; such is their fidelity. They will not come near the pain of an innocent woman whom they have mercilessly abused; such is their bravery. They will offer no comfort, no companionship to the pain of an innocent woman whom they have mercilessly abused; such is their integrity.
I THOUGHT THAT AFTER ALL THEIR CRUELTY, THEY WOULD GIVE ME THANKSGIVING, GIVE ME A HOME. STUPID AND NAIVE, BUT I DID THINK IT. I COUNTED EVERY HOUR. I BOUGHT PRESENTS. I COUNTED EVERY FUCKING HOUR OF THE 24. I CRIED AND HOWLED AND YELLED FOR TWO HOURS OR MORE IN THE EVENING, AND NO ONE CAME NEAR.
BRING ME THE FANATICS, THE TERRORISTS. I WILL HELP BURN WASHINGTON. I WANT TO SEE THE FLAMES, TO HEAR THE SCREAMING, AND IGNORE IT, THE WAY I HAVE BEEN IGNORED FOR ABOUT TWO YEARS, THE TIME WHEN THIS CASE REALLY BEGAN, WHEN THEY REALLY TOOK OVER MY LIFE. I WANT TO HEAR PEOPLE'S PAIN, AND KNOW I HELPED TO CAUSE IT, AND FUCKING IGNORE IT. I WANT THAT PLEASURE. I WANT THAT REVENGE.
Agent Matthew has sent a few more of his cryptic missives. It's like trying to break a code, and I'm fucking tired of it. I don't ever really know if I'm getting the message he intends or not, but I'm not always sure which of his 20 or so pathological personalities has sent the message. But I shall address his madness, hopefully for the last time:
1. No, I will not talk to you.
2. I don't believe in either your love or your tears.
3. I don't believe you capable of a moral dilemma because for that one needs a conscience, and I don't believe you have much of one.
4. I am not the rest of your days, and I never was. I was me. The me that you and your colleagues decided was a worthless piece of shit that could be brutally used and then thrown away. But I was me, the real me that had nothing to do with the fantasy-me you invented. The real me had a fierce temper, but didn't strike and didn't kill. The real me loved animals and nature and art and music and intelligent discourse and rationality and truth and REAL fidelity, and REAL integrity, and REAL bravery. The real me was autistic, a thing you coudn't handle and didn't even want to try to understand. You wanted to browbeat me and torment me into being neurotypical.
You and your 800 or so fascist colleagues have made a NEW me. The fierce temper now wants action, now wants to hurt back, to help kill, to cause tremendous pain and suffering without mercy or pity or remorse. The new me wants to see blood, wants to live the criminal mind of my grandfather whom I never knew, but for whose existence the government of the US decided they could punish and abuse and destroy me. I liked the old me. I do not like the new one, but I understand her, and I understand that she has been created from a lifetime of abuse, through which she tried to maintain her good qualities while her anger and fear and mistrust grew ever stronger. But the abuse of her country, the government, two towns full of people and a man who says he loves her has been far too much, the worst abuse of my life. I allow myself the new me. She was created by OTHER people and her existence is justified.
