Here is a LONG OVERDUE update; I am so sorry it has taken so long.

I was overcome with this strange sensation last night where I thought that people who love me wanted to hear my voice whispering in their ears.  I caught about seven seconds of the People's Choice Awards while eating a pizza at Amante, and I turned in early.  I also caught myself talking to myself while I tried to fall asleep.  I think I spouted off the first few lines of a summary I once wrote of the first book of the Kalevala.  You know, "As with all good books, it starts with the birth of the world..." and all that.  I am not entirely sure I recited that old summary entirely accurately.

I spent the holidays in the Los Angeles area house-sitting for my older sister.  You know, I've never had a bad time 'round there, and I did get to make new friends and see an old one.  Thanks again, for carting me around on errands, Christian.  I would have loved to have stayed longer, but my sister and I do not get along as well as we used to. 

I am more than a little worried about her.  I wish I could help her health-wise more than I actually am able.  Oddly, there seems to be some sort of local lore about me up here in San Francisco... You know how closely-knit neighborhoods like to talk... about how I could be trusted to accurately and effectively prescribe medications.  I wish I actually could help my older sister out that way.  Her exboyfriend is helping her get health insurance.  I hope she uses it.

Huh, as I use this silly old computer of mine today, the stylus has two dead zones: a horizontal band and a vertical band.  It is probably an artifact of my old symptoms that I believe that these dead zones completely randomly occur though always in the same places on my screen when people are watching me use my computer.  As if to confirm these suspicions, the battery on this computer dies faster, and the computer sucks more energy when these dead zone for the stylus occur.

I could go around telling people all of my conspiracy theories, but included with the ways people wrong me physically, mentally, and emotionally is a belief that some sort of "Code of Silence," as the voices in my head like to call it, means that no one, including the medical doctors that my health insurance companies so faithfully pay for me, get to acknowledge that any of this is real.  Under the logic of said "Code of Silence," then, said doctors would have to commit me to an in-patient psych ward, again, if announced I had suspicions that the government were the one so clearly attacking me.  They would, of course, have to invent some way that I am a threat to others or myself to get me in there where they could do whatever horrific things they want to me.  Psych wards have that sort of history. 

When I chose the middle name for my pen-name before it became my second full legal name (I have all of the paperwork for this; I just have not filed it, yet.) well before my first psychiatric hospitalization, I chose the middle name "Bedlam."  Does anyone remember the etymology of "bedlam"?  It comes from "Bethlehem Asylum" where all sorts of supposedly medical and even more speculatively scientific horrors occurred to the mentally ill.

So, for fear of ending up someone's unwilling walking chemistry experiment to an even greater degree, I pretty much keep to myself on these things.  I bide my time researching human rights as defined in UN charters, treatises, and declarations.  I download indictments and judgments from United Nations International Criminal Court trials.  And, I lean on my support system here in San Francisco for emotional health.  I dance, sing, express, emote, and thank those that help me do all of those in order to meditate, self-medicate, and heal.  And I make damn sure I am living as emotionally, mentally, and (slightly less successfully) physically healthily as possible because living well is the ultimate revenge. 

The fact I am irrationally pleasant, though, after all those months of not being able to smile due to all of the times I am physically violated in my sleep and drugged to forget it.  I blame that new irrational pleasantness on a brain tumor.  Nobody should be this pleasant after all I have been forced to endure.  I wish they would have bothered to give me an MRI (Magnetic Resonance Image ?) of my brain in order to look for a tumor when I was admitted to the University of Minnesota-Fairview in May.  It would be nice to know if this brain tumor were real or just the most logical conclusion I have been able to reach for why I behave the way I do.  Is that not normal operating behavior when someone has such severe symptoms of paranoia and delusions?

Sorry for any typos... I'm posting this without much proofreading.  Oh, and be prepared for some posts detailing the things that happened around here in my neighborhood in December.  Yey!