THE BLACK BOOT DIARIES – Nightmarish (Updated)

NIGHTMARISH

(UPDATE: Added info regarding my ex’s near catatonic state in January of 2010 and added the link to the page about the CIA memo describing that very effect).

This is going to be personal. It’s not my intention to shame or embarrass anyone. In fact, I know that the s***heads in my government will try to use whatever I write here to further drive me to whatever end they think is desirable. I’m going to do it anyway. It needs to be said.

First, you might want to take a look at this post and the link I cite there from the Church Hearings report:

(c) The tactics used against Americans often risked and sometimes caused serious emotional, economic, or physical damage. Actions were taken which were designed to break up marriages, terminate funding or employment, and encourage gang warfare between violent rival groups. Due process of law forbids the use of such covert tactics, whether the victims are innocent law-abiding citizens or members of groups suspected of involvement in violence.

(There is a section in the same volume hilariously entitled “History Repeating Itself”).

As you can see, I am far from being the first American citizen screwed over in this way by a government so corrupt that it’s biggest defense is that it it unbelievable just how bad it’s gotten. I mention also that I did the things one might expect one to do before all of this happened. Didn’t make a bit of difference, in fact it probably only made matters worse. Volunteering to help a political party after it happened was just another slap in the face and proof of just how full of s*** the DNC actually is.

In 1987 I met the guy who would later become my longterm partner. We met through a pair of mutual acquaintances who were dating. There was an attraction there almost immediately, but coming from my politically conservative background and his religious conservative background, it wasn’t something that either of us could immediately overcome.

There was a lot of drama going on around us. When his female best friend broke up with my acquaintance, it was problematic. We could no longer socialize the same way. I still recall my last day in the dorms before leaving for New Jersey. We both sat there quietly, me on the bed, him in a chair, I think waiting for the other to make a move that never came.

It wasn’t until 1993 or so that I started trying to reconnect. When I was visiting my parents for the holidays, I tried to find out where he was. Probably about as close to stalking someone as I’ve ever come.

It turned out that he was also visiting his parents. He was out of state in grad school and teaching to support his MA efforts. We reconnected and it took some time for the scars of the past over the old breakup to be put behind us. My old acquaintance was quite the scary individual and my old flame’s friend was understandably concerned about any reminders of him being brought back into her life.

We wound up exchanging email addresses (and lots of email), snail mail addresses (with mix tapes) and visiting each other during long weekends. There was still a psychological wall to being open about our feelings but I did break through a little when I came out to him in, I think, a letter.

Eventually it was openly reciprocal. Plans were made, he moved to Manhattan, lived in a sublet across the hall from my apartment, and went through several jobs before landing the longterm one with Google.

There was still a lot of baggage from our pasts. It was rocky at first. It seemed that any time one of us became comfortable with being gay, the other would start having issues. I would put most of that on me. It wasn’t until the sublet ended and he moved into an Upper East Side apartment that we moved in together. I had been present for several interviews of potential roommates and had found each one more frightening than the last (the clearly quasi-violent Jarhead was outdone by the Florida stripper whose dangerously jealous husband did not know she was stripping for money in NYC).

So I moved in. I had long enjoyed being able to walk to work in about eight minutes and the convenience of living in Midtown in a so gentrified Hell’s Kitchen that it was often called Chelsea by real estate agents who kept expanding the one neighborhood while shrinking the other.

It was in that apartment that things started looking bad back home for my ex. His mother, they were incredibly close and spoke on the phone nearly every day, became ill. She got cancer and got it quickly and badly.

This was up to that time among the most difficult times of my life. I felt very ill-equipped to deal with the depression that accompanied his mother’s illness and eventual death. But we got through it.

As I may have already noted, in 1999 I fell in love with someone else but never intended nor tried to break up with him. Besides being loyal, the subject of my affection was straight (or mostly so…hard to tell sometimes with the French due to their lack of hangups regarding male-to-male affection even among straight men) and I knew it would, even if he had been gay, be an intense relationship that would have burned itself out much like the friendship did. My ex and I were committed to each other. You just don’t do that to people you have those kinds of ties with under normal circumstances. When he said he wanted to, for other stated reasons sever or limit the socializing with my friend, I accepted that.

Following his mother’s illness and death, we of course had those close calls with Cleo, his favorite dog. Then his grandmother got sick and had some close calls. She eventually also passed on. Then his sister got sick. She visited New York for some of her chemotherapy and stayed with us in the Village and later in Brooklyn. The two of us took his sister and his son to see The Fellowship of the Ring scored with live music at Radio City in October of 2009, just as the craziness was starting to intensify. I had suggested we do the same with The Two Towers in 2010, but besides his sister dying, i of course had to move out of New York well before then.

And that’s where this is going. Besides Cleo having to be put to sleep due to that mysterious anemia, Squidgate, the intense psychological harassment, loss of my job, weirdness on a scale you wouldn’t think possible, the return of so many ghosts from the past it would make your head spin, multiple implied death threats, and…

That day he came home nearly catatonic and I figured he had been slipped something at work by whoever (subsequent to Washington Post’s expose, NSA would seem to lead the pack on that extremely illegal act). The complete—despite my extreme optimism as a result of artificially induced euphoria—drowning of the relationship in misunderstandings and unfounded fears. The seeming suicidal episode, as I said I believe induced by drugs from the intel community, was the main reason I felt I had to break up with my ex. It didn’t seem safe for him and he seemed way too eager to, had he had the option, to get me committed (like CIA did to Lynnae Williams). See item 17 of the 1955 MK/ULTRA draft memo.

The day I started packing to leave Brooklyn using the boxes he brought home weeks earlier than we had agreed, he said, “You have no idea how relieved I am that you are leaving.” Phone calls between Minnesota and New York indicating in only slightly uncertain terms: he would just as soon I were dead. Begging and crying on the phone was met with disturbingly friendly sounding euphemisms for “f*** you.” When I thought we might have a chance when he visited in 2010, they were squashed with him over drinking and begging me to kill S**** (because he ruined his life, no concern over what happened to mine, “just move back in with your parents”), due in part to me being fooled into thinking he was somehow responsible for it all, the CIA and NSA doing what they do: creating havoc where none is called for so that a few individuals can continue stealing as many tax dollars as they can, justified by lies they themselves created.

Despite all of this, despite the delusion that my mysterious visitor might reappear and at least we might get a few things understood if not something more pleasant, despite the darkness surrounding me at every turn, the implied hopelessness daily dished out via voice-to-skull and other means, the torture that involved, I still thought that, one day, it would all iron itself out. It would all die down and I would wind up back in Brooklyn, maybe even get my old job back after the economy improved and time had healed whatever wounds had been inflicted during the turbulent beginning of 2010. My ex and I would make up. It would be okay.

And I even (you might think this is ESP) figured that my ex and his boyfriend at the time were discussing marriage. I tried to, if nothing else, keep the friendship, emphasized honesty, suggested things would be better long term if we at least kept in touch. He agreed.

But he lied. Repeatedly. He even told me when I asked that, yes, I was right, they had been discussing marriage (and the Republican run New York State legisltsture was good enough to stop briefly with the “we hate fags” mantra and approve it…that it came long after Iowa tells you something about upstate New York). They were going to get married in November but decided to wait until Spring, he said. Sure, we’ll stay in touch.

They got married on 11/11/11. I found out on Facebook. By accident. Twenty-five years of friendship, fourteen and a half as partners, just wasn’t worth the trouble to let me know even afterwards. I had to call. I had to ask.

So it is damn bizzare. The mysterious visitor who seemed to give a s*** about the Squidgate situation was at least partially responsible for saving my life. Obviously, the euphoria and delusions (or simlly belief in something tha turned out not to be true) played a role as well. But at the same time he also contributed to destroying it, didn’t he? Whether an operative (no reason he had to be with the current state of manipulation, voice-to-skull, brainhacking, etc.) or some dupe, it makes no diffierence. That your savior is also your destroyer strikes me as more Hindu than anything else.

But that is all crap. The hostility and fear that has wrecked all of those New York friendships is also partly the result of con artistry, manipulation, etc. as is the rest. Forty-five seconds in a deli. Love at first sight? Ridiculous. It’s all just a game between pricks who are equally disdainful of freedom, equally bent on gaining power and wealth, equally running the country and by extension the rest of the planet down the toilet.

Pretty talk is cheap. Getting your tax dollars to f*** you repeatedly is expensive. Watching the f***ers responsible pretend to be angels, well that’s just priceless.

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