Year two begin with the torture group severing the line of communication which they had created between us. They had presented themselves as trying to interact with me in a way they had never done before. You know that term breaking the fourth wall? It was like I was the audience and they had pulled me up on stage. They decided to readjust things and go back to a talking at for me to hear and be aware of thing instead of for me to respond to however falsely. They kept David around for this year. But the other voices were nobodies.
This was when they sent me off to find out how far I could go in trying to end my torture. I called the FBI, CIA, my city police, a policeman friend and got the same polite coddling from all of them. They were experienced in dealing with people like me. That’s because my torture is designed to mimic schizophrenia. This taught me that I was doing the right thing. Not because I was being confused for a schizophrenic but because others knew to try the same people. Though I got bupkus from all of them.
I’ll describe my encounter with my city’s police to help you understand the way non-victims are interacting with torture victims and how the situation will go if you are trying to make your own report:
I went with my father to the downtown police station. He waited outside. I went up to the check-in window and said the hardest thing I’d had to say in public so far. “I am being attacked by technology that only I can see and hear and I need to file a report.” It was a vague and correct about my situation as I was brave enough to be. I was immediately marked as schizophrenic not a real crime victim. I knew. I was still going to make the report.
The police came out after some time. They were two men. I believe they were lower in the ranks. They asked me to step outside to talk privately. I believe they were taking precaution because so often people like me become volatile. They were engaging and cordial. Right off the bat one asked me who I came with. We talked and I explained the situation to them. They listened and asked questions. I was scared and felt that they weren’t doing me justice because they hadn’t taken me to a private room and anyone could hear my private information as we were outside on a busy street.
I had printed out the diary I had written or rather an edited version of it and told the policemen about it. One of them took it and went inside to photocopy it. He came back rather quickly. The other went to go talk to my father who was parked across the street. I was a little upset but swallowed my pride. I waited there alone unsure of what was going on. They came back thanked me, gave me an incident report paper which I’m not really sure is valid or officially entered into the system and bid me adieu. I left knowing how useless and embarrassing that had been. But they were kind. They were polite. It was so disappointing.
I got no where with my efforts to stop my torture. After months of trying the torture group made me set aside my search to end the torture. I continued to document my torture in a diary. By the end of 2012 the negative torture took a different turn but maintained its intensity.