So, I now have a better and clearer picture of what happened, and has more recently happened. From what I gather I had some family from overseas who had some hopes for me, but that there was also a security factor involved. It appears that I was watched over from a distance, and, to this end, someone wanted to make sure that I grew up "normally", or what they defined as normal.
A lot of strangeness is explained, and a lot of harassment I now understand may be beyond the pay grade of the local PD. In fact, there is a chance that they were misled by an individual, or group of individuals, to suit their own agenda.
This thing has gotten so far out of hand that I can't even imagine anyone thinking that the way I was raised was a sound idea. But, some dumb piece of shit psychologist (probably Navy) suggested the plan, and "my real parents" went for it. Or, it could be this newly discovered family thought of the idea, and the whole thing was somehow botched .... eh, reflecting on my life, somewhere in the mid 70s.
Why the mid-70s? Because it's here that I had an incredibly strange incident with a bunch of Syrian kids throwing stones and woodchips at me. This was in Modesto in a planned community next to San Juan Capistrano grade school. That appears to have been the tipping point as they point blank asked me "what are you" meaning ethnicity. I replied Hispanic, and they in turn said "We hate Mexicans". Interesting. At which point they threw more rocks.
The girl I was playing with made some female statement like "They're just trying to get your attention" or something to that effect. Untrue. They were being obnoxious like a lot of middle eastern people from troubled lands.
It also appears that whatever security measures were taken, they were breached around .... 1976? Possibly earlier based on this incident, which occurred in 1977. The ethnic question was posed again in or around 1983 or 1984, when I was a freshman at Hillsdale High School in San Mateo. Only this time it was a variety of girls who were asking, although this may have been more motivated by hormonal drive some espionage effort.
I'm sorry if this sounds out there or "delusional", but it is in point in fact exactly what I've been through. And a lot of events and other occurrences now make sense. But, to answer the question on your mind, I don't appreciate it on any level.
So, to recap, there was, in contrast to Dr. Ross's attempt to convince me otherwise, some experimentation done with my upbringing. There were security measures in place, much of which can be accented by a parent teacher conference I had with my mother and all of my teachers one morning at Bowditch. I was failing academically (well, not failing, but not achieving, largely because of my forgetfulness, some of which is natural dyslexia, much of which I now attribute to interested parties slipping steroids into my food which created depressive symptoms). Said conference, at the time, was unprecedented as these teachers had classes to teach, and they all sat around a table as my mother surveyed them like a general surveying troops, wondering why I was not performing better. However, at that time, I was actually improving in my academic performance. But the incident, in retrospect, is very telling of who I am verse who I was supposed to be.
I am now at a cross roads. After cursing the hell out of B___ C___y, who has since fallen from grace (although I think most people see through it for the ruse that it is) for alleged sexual misconduct, as to whether I give African Americans their hero back, or whether I let the sonofabitch dig himself out of his own hole. I state this because his whole effort was investigative, and premised on the notion that something may have actually happened in terms of misconduct.
For the umpteenth time, I had waves of rage which were unexplainable. They could not be psychologically motivated, as there was nothing in my past to create them. It therefore had to be either a genetic malfunction of my own neuro-circuitry, or, more likely, some foreign agent was being introduced into my metabolism; i.e. some drug or chemical of some kind. Ergo my steroid theory, which seems to fit the bill, minus the fact that I have no evidence for it.
Getting back to mister C___y, circa 1982 or 1983 I was beaten by a black kid and two other kids (one a fat Chinese kid, another of Turkish origin) who sat on me in front of my house. That black kid flat out stated that he was forming a gang. He should have gone to juvenile hall, but for some reason was prevented from doing so. I can only assume that DFNC intervened on his behalf as he tried to address the incident. Again, as per a previous blog entry, said kid, some days or weeks later (I can'r remember how long) passed me by and and said "Hey George! You know B___ C___y, don't you!" with a big smile on his face. I had no idea what he was talking about. I do now. And I can only seethe at this.
I don't know what anybody was expecting of me. I can only assume there was some security factor or agenda involved, but, given the slop-artist psychology that I was put through by way of B___ C___y and his wife Camille, and given the steroids introduced into my diet, not to mention the absolute idiotic concern that I might be some kind of satanic occultist (I'm still baffled by that ... how moronic do you have to be to think that...seriously), and a number of other psychiatric methods to try and keep me on the straight and narrow (being drugged up), there is no way in hell that I'll ever cooperate with anyone on any level about anything, at any time, anywhere.
Especially since the scum bag responsible for much of the recent turmoil is over seas, or so I'm guessing.
As per my previous journal entry, if I had been raised normally, by a typical set of parents, the none of this would have been an issue. But some dumb ass, and given the frame work of international relations at the time, thought it would be a good idea to hide me away, and "raise me in secret".
What a crock of shit.
I now cannot even write for my favorite game, that's how bad things have gotten. And if this is an attempt to get me to do what these fucking bastards want ... after being deliberately harassed on the road, after being pumped up full of drugs growing up, after having drugs slipped into my food, even as recently as last march when I moved into my current home, and after being exposed to young second generation Middle Eastern American young males who are into gaming (probably as a method to get me off of gaming), anyone in the United States Navy, anyone in the US Army, anyone in the NSA, Pentagon, or elsewhere, you can all fuck off.
I don't care who my "real father" was. I really don't give a shit. I wanted to achieve goals my way, and I was deliberately prevented from doing so by both YOU PEOPLE and the asshole who was giving out orders from nation-X.
This whole thing pushed me to the brink of suicide three times.
It cost me my beautiful waterfront home.
It cost me the girl I fell in love with.
It cost me my beloved car.
It's cost me a career I wanted writing for Traveller as a side.
And more recently, it's cost me working on video and film locally.
I have to admit, at first I thought it was just Doctor Ross and Doctor White. Then I thought it was the CHP by way of Dale McKee and Sean Sturgeon, Marc Baluda and Jeff Lorenzen. I thought someone had gotten hurt or maybe even died on 280 when I did my brake check on Mothers' Day of 2001 on southbound 280 near the Page Mill exit. Then things only got out of hand from there. The staff at Barnes and Noble in San Bruno, some of my classmates at SF State ... and every job I've had from 2005 up until the year before last.
I don't care if people think I'm important. I'm not. I like who I am, and I think I'm important for the sake of me being me, but I have no special status, and even if a lot of people internationally recognize that I do, I really don't give a fuck.
It does not make up for the torture of this life.
It does not make up for having my privacy violated by way of psychiatry.
It does not make up for all the past incidents I described.
It does not make up for denying me my aims and goals that I wanted to achieve my way.
I said it once, I said it twice, I said it three times, but no amount of "I'm sorry" and no amount of money will ever make up for my personal violations.
I am George. I write. I occasionally shoot video for fun (though goodness knows I wanted to do it professionally). I like discussing an old scifi RPG I played when I was younger. This is who I am.
If you think I need to be someone else, then you can all just fuck off. If you want to shovel a mountain of cash my way, well ... fuck you. If you want to drape a title over me along with a new name, you can equally fuck off.
And no, I will not be having children, much less getting involved with any female whatsoever.
Maybe if you fucking bastards had just left me alone things would have worked out. As it turns out, they didn't. And they never will, all thanks to you fucking assholes fucking with me life.
Thanks a lot, you piece of shit. I'll NEVER forget it.