(Missed the earlier parts? Start here)
2000 – 2001: University
I determine to go to college. I apply to and am admitted to Clarkson University, in Potsdam, NY. My parents were totally not supportive of me going there. The main reason was that it meant that I would move away from home. They preferred a local university, Rochester Institute of Technology (RIT). I did not agree and was adamant on Clarkson. I needed them to sign the financial application paperwork, but they were not willing. Eventually they did, after watching me grow more unstable over the conflict.
I bought a desktop computer with a heavy CRT monitor for around $500 dollars and mailed that to Potsdam. I did not have a driver license at the time. Apparently, it did not occur to me to get one through those years. I took a Greyhound bus to Potsdam. Late in the 2000 year, I walk out on a bright sunny day and walk to a table with a line. I am not sure what I am suppose to be doing or where to go. Ask a question to two young men. Didn’t think of it much and after some time made it to my dorm room. There was a sheet with my name and my roommate’s. Next to my name was a handwritten word “fag”. The sheet would remain on the door weeks or even months after. Eventually somebody removed it.
I enrolled in a Computer Science degree. My love of computer programming had naturally led me to this major. One class was a literature class, the teacher was nice and old. We went through some works of the Bible, like the Adam and Eve story, Job, and some other writings. I got a B in that class.
The other class was the programming class. I don’t remember much about that class. One poignant memory is me working late on an assignment and I deliver the night it was due, only to find the professor had left for the day. I don’t remember what grade I got there.
Math Teacher Harassment
The other class was math. This is where my troubles would be. The professor is middle age, calm and mannered who teaches in a large auditorium. There is a smaller sized class that we also attend, taught by a professor’s assistant. I was not doing well in the math class. I did not understand the material. It is likely I failed it.
The teacher’s assistant was young, female and Russian. The latter made me think she was special. We had a quick conversation at the end of the first class. I think it was about if I knew Russian.
I did not mention it, but I also enjoyed playing computer games. The most addicting game for me was Starcraft. I was not particularly good at the game, but it was fun. Coming from class, I would not study long enough and go online and play against other players.
Then there were the emails. I started emailing the math assistant, but it was not about math. The first email that I put together; it was long. Don’t remember the content and I debated whether to send it or not. I was fearful. But I sent it. Her response was “Sorry, I cannot help you.”
I continued to send her long emails. She did not respond to what must have been half a dozen others. I needed to express myself and I chose her as the destination. Thinking about it now, I realize at least I was communicative.
I sent a couple inappropriate emails to the math professor. He never replied, but after the second one, he referred me to the dean. The dean asked me some questions and told me to stop sending any more emails.
I started to write a journal, to express myself. This I had never done before. It would not last past the university.
However, I do remember one event. I believe that after I stopped writing to the assistant, I was walking the road that led from the university to some stores. There were not many people walking. I don’t believe I walked that road daily. As I am walking, I realize that coming ahead of me is this assistant. As she got closer, she formed her right hand into a fist and rubbed her right eye. I for some reason got angry at her in my heart and walked past her.
One other snapshot that I have of this time was a gymnasium where there was a final exam going on. I was there, the exam had long started, and everybody was working on the test, but I was staring into space; I was not concentrating on the test.
I started working at the university. Which I think was the wrong thing to do. I worked a couple of jobs.
Shortly after starting my second semester, I dropped out.
2001 – 2002: Back at home
I returned home that winter of 2001 to my parent’s place. Sometime after that time things started to dramatically get worse. My memory is very limited. I remember stopping eating.
My mother was trying to do what she could to feed me. But I was refusing to eat. I am not sure why I was doing this. The little rationality that I had in the university was gone. In fact, now I remember that I was already skipping meals at the university.
My parents took me to a hospital. There they sent me to a long-term psychiatric facility. I continued to not eat there, either. Was being fed through a tube going through my nose into my stomach. Did not resist that form of nourishment. I remember my concerned mother asking me why I was not eating. I replied to the effect that it was wrong to do so.
The medications that I was being given were not working. I was put on an antidepressant (Zoloft) and an antipsychotic (Zyprexa). Zyprexa would later turn out to be my sole miracle drug, but maybe because the dose was low it was not helping. Zoloft was increased to such a high dose that my liver was failing.
I was becoming “catatonic” and dying according to my psychiatrist. I would sit long periods in a chair without moving. To prevent blood clots, I was being given anti-clotting injections.
The doctor decided I needed electroconvulsive therapy (ECT). This is where they put the person to sleep and send an electronic shock to the brain. This causes a seizure. It has been observed that people with seizures are generally happier than the rest of the population.
They were able to get a court order to do this since I was not consenting.
I was sent back to the hospital to have the treatments. Went through what must have been a half-a-dozen sessions and I started eating after that. So, they discharged me home.
This was in the early 2000s. The years passed by. I seemed to be stable but still living with my parents. I was doing nothing more than passing the time at home.
2002: The fall
My younger brother was graduating from high school in 2002. He was the valedictorian of his class. My mother and I went to his graduation ceremony. The ceremony was lively and exciting. He gave a good speech. I saw some of my former teachers. Also saw a pretty young girl who happened to be on stage a few times. I had never seen her before. She very well may have been part of the graduating class.
As I returned home that night, I had a plan that I would have long-distance sex with her, from my bedroom, that night. I had never attempted this before. At night, as I laid on my bed, I was not touching myself but making rhythmic motions into the bed. As was planned, I made a quick mind move of thinking about her at a certain time. I did not expect what happened next. I felt a feeling of falling. The falling was continuing and continued over a period of a second. I quickly became scared. Suddenly, there seemed like there was a cut-off and the falling stopped. I stopped what I was doing. The rest of the night was uneventful.
Years later, I would believe that I had managed to contact her from long-distance, because of the fall that I experienced. However, as I have been working on this story, I realized that I cannot be sure. I have experienced a few spiritual falls in my life. At least one did not involve any female or male. Other one did involve a female.
However, recently, I had a dream where she was telling a friend, “Remember how I screamed out that night?”. Did I create that dream because of my belief or is it real? I don’t know her name and don’t really remember her face. She is lost to me.
Life would continue, I don’t remember much during this time, but there are a few memories.
The warning
One of them is a orgasm that was associated with thinking about aliens. That week or nearby, a guest preacher came to our church, which is common. He was a young thin white man.
He was preaching on Samson.
Quickly, Samson is mentioned in the Old Testament, living way before Jesus’ time. He was a judge of Israel. Was a Nazirite, meaning he was not supposed to eat anything unclean or touch any dead body. Had superhuman strengths. Killed a lion with his bare hands. He returned to the carcass to find bees and honey, which he ate.
Killed a thousand men in a battle that came against him. His secret was that his strength was in his uncut hair. If it was cut, he would lose his superhuman strength.
Eventually, he came into a relationship with a prostitute in a neighboring country. Since Samson was unstoppable and killing the men of the country of Philistine, the men approached the prostitute with a promise of a large amount of money if she could discover what was the secret of his strength. She asked repeatedly, and Samson lied a couple of times, but eventually he told her. That led to his capture and his eyes were gouged out and he became a slave.
However, his hair grew back. They forget all about that. One day when there was a big event in the local temple celebrating their victory over him, Samson was led out to be made fun of. He prayed to God that his strength would return to him, and it did. He was able to collapse the entire temple and many Philistines died, including Samson.
The preacher recounted the story. He was saying “Samson, you are not supposed to eat anything unclean (the honey in the dead lion). You are not supposed to be fornicating.” He was crying as he was saying this. Then he continued, “I am not crying about Samson. That happened a long time ago”. He had somebody in mind who was living a similar life. I am not sure where he came from. Maybe Pennsylvania. He continued “I believe he is here today”.
I felt he was talking about me. Just knew it. I still believe it today.
He had an altar call. I was too scared to come forward.
I don’t remember other Samson sermons until recently, about a year before mid-2022. Again, it was my cue that the message was likely for me in our church.
There is one more very important point that I want to make here. To me it seems like he was watching my life from a distance, and he just could not take it anymore. Like he knew what church I was in, what city, without ever meeting or seeing me. This information from a distance, would recur many times in my life. It’s like your life is a megaphone and people can sense you a state away.
Beginnings of tactile hallucinations
A few months would go by during this period that I was living with my parents. Life it seemed had become stable. However, I had no life. No car, no money, and no interest in improving my life.
Then eventually something new developed. I remember realizing that I was feeling someone in my body. It was not a male but a female! I say female and not a woman, because I think this entity may have been on another planet, an alien. I don’t remember many details during this time, so I don’t really know how long it went for. It seemed like she was touching herself.
I remember reading a book, the title which I no longer remember. It was about this FBI agent who would solve cold cases by studying the scene and the circumstances and building a profile of the criminal. In one case, it must have been about a rapist, because he was discussing if it was right to sterilize them. For some strange reason, it triggered something inside of me, and I decided that my testicles were the problem. I started a mission to remove them.
However, that proved to be too painful, and I eventually gave up, without harming myself.
The Workers
One more thing that was on my mind during this period, was this belief that things would continue to get worse and worse. The pain would continue to progress without some relief. Like the suffocation would not stop. This belief would lead up to this day that caused some self-harm, that would change my life.
On this day, I remember struggling with this female that was in my body. For some time, the union was going well, but now I hate it. I wanted it to stop. For some strange reason, this led me to planning this self-harm. Going back to my failed self-sterilization, I decided on an alternative, I would use a needle and poke through the testicles.
So, I got the needle, set myself in a chair in my bedroom and prepared to carry this out. I had some encouragement from what I considered God at that time. God was saying, to the effect, do this because otherwise, the evil would continue to increase and increase. Essentially echoing what I was thinking. But as I recall, I was the first to come up with this idea.
I tried it for the first time. The pain was too intense. Second, third and others, the pain was too intense, I was not able to succeed in penetrating the testicle. After quite a few attempts I was succeeding. I penetrated one testicle once and the other twice. I heard a conversation between my parents in the kitchen and that was my cue to stop.
That day after this self-harm, I felt like I lost something, something changed. I may have become more isolated.
As I laid to bed that night my mother told me to not go anywhere. I am not sure what she meant right now. But I will come back to its importance.
As I lay in bed that night, I did not realize how significantly things had changed. I was still feeling the female inside my body. She was no longer touching herself, however, now there were hands that were touching her. Hands that were doing mysterious massages or movements. She was clearly naked. Anything that touched her, I was able to feel. She was not laying on anything because I was not able to feel any pressure points that would indicate this. It was as if she was suspended in mid-air. Also, their massages were and continue to be in slow motion. They somehow were able to merge my body with one of their female’s.
I was also feeling some sexual activity. I could feel the female’s sexual organ like it was mine, inside of me (whenever it was touched), and the beginning of sex with a male’s sexual organ on the outside. They just were touching now, but much later it would progress to that.
This setup would continue for years, even until today. The mysterious massages, the orgasms, and eventually, I would discover how to have sex with them on my own.
What were they doing? Why were they doing it? Decided that these were non-human entities on another planet that were working on me. I now call them “The Workers”.
I mentioned this to my psychiatrist, years down the line, about the hands that were touching me and that these were aliens. His response was that some people believe that it is in their mind – something to that effect. However, how could my mind ever create the feeling of a female’s body parts?
I would like to briefly explain how I am able to have sex with them. It can go either way, but usually the female’s body and me are one. As I lay in bed, I am able to move her body by moving mines, the male body is in touch proximity, and I am able to make sexual contact with it. The rest is regular sex stuff. I am also able to feel her orgasm and it causes mines. Really unprecedented stuff for a human man.
Similarity to a movie
So, as I lay there that night, after the self-harm and the new situation that it created, almost childishly, my mother’s statement not to get up or go anywhere was having a profound effect on me.
I needed to get up and urinate. This I was capable of. However, there was that commandment. So, I decided to relieve myself on my bed and then went to sleep.
I mention this with embarrassment, however there is something significant here. I probably would not mention this were it not for this movie.
Years down the line, I watched a movie. It wasn’t until recently that I realized that a similar event was in that movie. Now, the movie was produced a year or two before my event so I could not have been the inspiration.
The movie is Secretary (2002 film). I will go over key details from beginning to end. So, if you have not seen it and want to see it for yourself before then, here is your chance. It is available on Amazon for rent or purchase.
Here is a starting excerpt from Wikipedia:
“Lee Holloway, the socially awkward and emotionally sensitive youngest daughter of a dysfunctional family, adjusts to normal life after having been hospitalized to a mental hospital following an incident of dangerous self-harm. She learns to type and applies for a job as a secretary for an eccentric yet demanding attorney, E. Edward Grey. Grey explains she is overqualified for the job (having scored higher than anyone he has ever interviewed) and that it is “very dull work” as they only use typewriters; Lee, however, agrees to work under these conditions. “
Here are some of the similarities (some are loosely similar):
- Lives with her parents
- “… hospitalized to a mental hospital following an incident of dangerous self-harm“
- Clearly that has been my case.
- “… Peter then proposes to Lee, who reluctantly agrees to marry him. However, while trying on her wedding gown, she leaves and runs to Grey’s office to declare her love for him. Grey, still uncertain about their relationship, tests Lee by commanding her to sit in his chair without moving her hands or feet until he returns. Lee willingly complies, despite being forced to wet her dress since she is not allowed to use the toilet.“
- Similar situation that night
- She stops eating during these few days
- Me stopping eating has been mentioned earlier and will reoccur again later
During this period, I was seeing a psychiatrist. However, I don’t think she was able to help.
Trouble with law enforcement
Next came the runaways from home and trouble with law-enforcement. There were three cases. They must have occurred within a year or two.
In both three cases, I walk away from the residence where I am living with my parents. My intention is to walk on foot to the west coast. I have zero planning on how I will do that. No money in my pockets, no food, just a coat. Eventually after traveling for a while, I get hungry and tired and that is when the trouble starts.
I don’t really remember how it started but I know how it ended. I have been walking for some time now. It is now night, probably early morning. I remember that in a fit of anger at one property I smashed a car’s window and left it.
Tired and probably hungry, I am pretty sure that I have walked into another county or more, I walk up to a house and knock. A man comes out. I ask him to call the police. A police car comes and takes me away. The policeman tries to take me to several hospitals. First declines, the other accepts. As he is about to drop me off, he comes to the back of the car and says, “So you got a free ride”. I respond, “I could have flagged down a motorist”. He leaves.
At the mental ward of that hospital, I remember being in a conference room with a lot of people. They are asking me questions. Suddenly I get angry and start shouting at the whole room to the effect that they are killing people here. I am asked to leave, and I do.
I am eventually sent home.
Second case is far more serious.
I decided to again walk to the west coast with no planning on how to make it. This time I am walking along train tracks. Gives me a little less interaction with people. I am walking and walking, and I come across a few abandoned places, including one where I find a tootsie roll. Also, as I am walking, I have a CD radio player that I occasionally listen to.
I come to a place where there is a gun range. The gun range is empty. I find a shack and check if I can get into it. It is locked. I take a rock and slam it against the doorknob. The doorknob breaks.
Inside, I find stuff. I take some of it including a pack of bullets. However, there were no guns there.
I keep on walking. By now I have walked into another city, approximately fifty miles or more. It is becoming night and I am taking shelter in a vehicles that are left open. One is a pickup truck that is for sale. It is left in front of the property. It is dark, so to see what is happening I am making small fires that eventually die out, inside the truck.
I decided to steal this vehicle. Have no idea how to start it. Suspect that if I connect two wires in a bundle of wires in a harness, underneath the console, that the truck will start. I proceed to cut all the wires; I believe and strip them and connect them all at once. The truck will not start.
Come morning time, I leave it and continue walking. Now things get even more serious.
I pick a neighborhood and start ringing doorbells. In my pocket I have a pack of bullets. My plan is to present them when the neighbor answers and threaten them to give me their car.
I ring one of the doorbells. “Mam, do you receive the Penny Saver subscription?” That was my starting line. However, I do not do anything here. Walk over to the next house. An old lady answers. I ask a question, she responds, and I give up on her. She closes the door and I start walking back. Angry, I took a brick from her property and smash the windshield of the car. I keep on walking.
At another property a woman answers and I ask to use the phone. She says that she must ask her husband first. She goes inside and I decide to leave and keep on walking through the neighborhood.
I have never shown the pack of bullets or threatened any of the people.
I press the doorbell of the property in another section of the neighborhood. Nobody answers. I walk around to the back. The back door is locked. There are neighbors on both sides, but nobody seems to be around. I take a rock and slam it into the doorknob. It does not break. I proceed to break the glass and gain entry that way.
I walk into the house. Nothing important here. The bedroom has a chain of keys. I wonder if these will work on the cars that are in the driveway. I take them. In another bedroom there is a piggy bank. I take the important coins.
Outside the house I check if the keys will start the car. It starts and I proceed to drive it away. At this point in my life, I don’t have a driver’s license.
I am in another city. This is before cell phones. I have never been in this neighborhood or area but I am planning on driving back home.
I drive through the neighborhood. There is a police officer at an intersection in front of me. He, however, passes me. I stop at a place and play the radio. The announcer mentions to be careful in a certain neighborhood. I wonder if this is because of me.
I pull up to a gas station to fill up. The only time in my life that there was a person filling up cars. I hand him the coins and he fills up the car.
I somehow find my way to a highway that I recognize and from that point I am able to drive to my city and parent’s residence.
Hospitalization
The next morning my parents call the police. They come and must learn of my mental history. I recall being in the back of the police cruiser, in my parent’s driveway. He is talking with another police officer. A tow truck is coming to take away the stolen car. They are debating whether to take me to jail or take me to the mental hospital. Thankfully, they choose the latter.
At the hospital I am given medication. I remember sitting in front of a panel of doctors. I start telling them that in Roman times they had streets that only turned right. “What if they turned left also?” I ask. One doctor responds “Why are you telling us this?”
The next thing that I remember is a room with commotion with personnel around me. I am being put on a table. I am having trouble breathing. They are talking about giving me an injection. I do not remember what happened before or immediately after.
The next memory is I am in the psych ward. I am in the TV room. I pick up the TV and walk with it outside the room. Then a staff member asks me what I am doing. I drop it and run away. The TV is a cathode ray tube one. It smashes on the floor.
This part I don’t remember, but I am put in a room in restraints and left there. During this period, a private investigator visits me at the hospital. He is told that I am currently being restrained and cannot be seen. He never makes another attempt to see me.
My parents during this time were in contact with the women at the place that I broke into. They pay her back for the damages and she understands that I am suffering from a mental illness and does not press charges.
The group home
During this hospitalization, I am offered to be discharged to a group home. I have never been to one. I visit one and then another. Somehow, I am able to be placed in one. This is off a street that I have driven many times on my bike. I know the area very well.
The house is a residential three story one. I believe it was used by a doctor and was sold or donated for this purpose. The first floor near the entrance is the nurse’s office. Next to it is the living room. Then there is the dining room and the kitchen.
The second floor has bedrooms for males and the third-floor bedrooms for females.
During the day, I go to a day program at a different place. I am started on Zyprexa and an antidepressant. The Zyprexa, this time, is highly effective. I become very sleepy during the day and usually try to find a place to nap.
During this time is where the third case occurs. I leave the day program and walk again on railroad tracks. I cause enough problems for the railroad company that a police officer is waiting for me at one intersection. He takes me and I hear on his radio that they want to press charges. He writes me a ticket for a misdemeanor and assigns me a court date.
At the court, my parents have hired an attorney to represent me. When I appear before the judge, he tells me that he will dismiss the case if I give him evidence that I am in a psych day program. Later, back at the day program, the nurse there takes the contact information of the court and provides the necessary material to the judge.
At some point at this day treatment program, which must have been a month or two months in, I am waiting at the medication panel to be given another round of a pill or two and I have a feeling that I have not felt in a long time. It is as if golden sunlight has dawned into my life. I feel well and happy and I realize that for Zyprexa to work and any other antipsychotic, is time, a month or two of consistent taking. Did not give myself that time in the past or was not given the adequate dose for it to work.
Meet a few occupants of this group home. One is a little overweight, hears voices, and can get irritable at times. He may meet the qualifications of being mentally ill. He mentions that he masturbates at one point. That alone is what may be creating mental illnesses, including mines.
The other is a little tall, thin, and I feel the only reason he is here is because he is homeless. I don’t see him as being mentally ill.
My roommate, I never got to know. I never talked with him, and he drove away in his car to some other place each morning.
I believe that I went from normal weight before starting to take Zyprexa, to obese with it. However, it was worth it. Recently I started to lose weight, unexpectedly, and am now just overweight.
Getting my driver’s license
During this period, I was given a stipend that I collected in a bank account. It saved up to almost a thousand dollars. One day I decide that I need to get a license. I call a student driver company and learn that I could afford their rates for a while on my savings.
I get picked up by an instructor and he has me drive around the neighborhood practicing turns, and parallel parking. Parallel parking was difficult for me, but with practice I was able to be successful.
After what may have been a half to a dozen appointments, I asked him if I could take the test. He agrees. I remember the last time I saw him before the test, I was skeptical that I would pass the test. He was surprised and told me he was sure that I would pass.
On the test day, a different company driver picked me up. We took one last course and then the test.
The test went well. As I pulled up to the end of the course, the test official said that I got some points off because I did not pull up into the intersection for a left turn, other than that he said that he felt safe driving with me and that I had passed the test.
As I was driven back to the group home, I was in awe and disbelief that I now had my driver’s license. Now I needed a car.
Finding a job
During this stay, as I am driving on a city bus, I notice an advertisement for a program that trains people to get jobs. I apply for it and am accepted. It is in the downtown of Rochester, NY. I go there every day for how long I don’t remember. They request that I must be in formal clothes to attend, that means a white shirt and dress pants and shoes. I also get myself a briefcase.
There are a lot of presentations there. It is a good program. It must not last more than a month or two. There are about a dozen or two people there. I go through a practice interview and am given feedback.
Eventually it ends.
At the day program I meet with a counselor and we are trying to find work for me. He is looking through the job listings in the paper. I go to one interview at a home improvement store for a janitorial position.
I still have my white shirt, dress pants and shoes. The man offers me a job there. I am very excited about this.
The counselor who helped me find this job, was driving me to work there. He was a nice young man. But now that I was employed, it meant that I could not stay in the group home. They offer me a subsidized apartment to live on my own. Somehow, I decline this and go back to live with my parents.
My stay at the group home was about nine months.
I remember taking the city bus to get to the workplace. I met Mario there, he trained me on how to work. He was my main source of contact there. He was a good friend.
In the morning I did the janitorial duties, mopping the floors and cleaning the bathrooms. In the afternoon, I helped in the lumberyard with whatever work they needed.
This continued for some time. I was able to save up and buy a red Dodge Neon car.