The day I broke up with Sam, I quickly realised he was using me and was just after my money. He was manipulating me to change while trying to get me cut off from all my friends and family so I’d be totally reliant on him. We had a huge argument. He was gas lighting me and using me for food, beer, accommodation, and taking over my life, just like all narcissists and sociopaths do.

The day we broke up, I had a psychic attack and went mad. Lou later told me it was a psyche-demon attack. It started with me hearing Sam’s voice. He was tormenting me and telling me he was evil. I heard other voices, too. I became completely delusional and was sucked in for seven weeks. I experienced heaven and hell, and God and the Devil delusions. Sam wrote up everything I ever said to him in his journal, no doubt to use against me to his next victims and said I was mad. Sam’s voice tormented me the first night, then the voices of Palmer, Stewart and Sam tormented me, saying they were evil Warlocks that were out to get me. It was a personal hell for seven weeks, the average length to my knowledge of a psychic attack. I have had a few over the years. Stewart, Palmer, and Sam entered my head and caused delusions that appeared to manifest themselves in the real world. They appeared to manipulate sounds in the house, and my flatmates became part of the delusion. They seemed to respond to me in the real world. It was a real torture that only others who have experienced a psychic attack can understand. I contacted my friends on HeadHub, but as I was having a breakdown and being delusional, I lost a lot of them through my own doing, and Sam did a good job at losing most of the others for me.

My final lifeline was a witch friend. I told her about Warlocks and she thought I had been on drugs again, so no help. We had an argument and I got deleted. Google was no help either. The YouTube videos of psychic attacks and protection were all fakes. They just made the voices laugh, and it was hard to fight them off. Other spiritual workers were no help either—they just told me that they would say a prayer, which does nothing, and that I should go outside into the real world. When you’re thought-broadcasting and the world is against you, this is bad advice, but this will be covered later. You’re gonna hear me moan a lot and complain like a manic depressive, but stick with the diary as it goes on. It gets good, and the appendices at the end propose some solutions. The diary covers social media addiction, Truckerverb’s plans for the future, the damage that Bendor did and how we were better off before—gay life in your thirties, lots of spiritual issues including my beliefs about the afterlife, the Yaganism theories of heaven and hell and the story of the most powerful Warlock since the dawn of time.

Please read it all before you conclude that I am simply a fruit-loop who is several sandwiches short of a picnic.

“I fear the day when the technology overlaps with our humanity. The world will only have a generation of idiots” - Albert Einstein

Intro

So, I dated a gay sociopath. Was I desperate? Yes! Lots of guys who are gay, thirty-five, and single are. When a good looking, six-foot-tall, slim, intelligent, twenty-four-year-old student expresses an interest, you tend to be flattered and eager to pursue it. Through Stewart and Palmer, I first met Sam at a gay bar called the Viaduct, in Leeds. It’s the favourite haunt of desperate old gay men and young users. Actually, the Viaduct is a favourite for most of the Leeds gay scene, as the beer is so cheap, two pounds for members. It brings in the unemployed crowd, the people on sickness benefits, like me, the students and young people after cheap beer, and the old men who are not that well-to-do, looking for some young cock for the evening.

Palmer seems to be very good at setting me up with young guys who are keen to abuse my empathic nature. As a lonely unpopular thirty-five-year-old who recently returned to Leeds from London only to find out that ninety percent of my old friends had settled down, had kids, moved on, or moved away, I was left with only a handful of old acquaintances. I still had Palmer and Stewart, who I thought were loyal old friends. They had remained friends with me for over thirteen years in the hopes of seducing me and getting me into bed, trying on many occasions. When I returned to Leeds, I hit rock bottom. I was in a mountain of debt, living on a JSA income of seventy-two-pounds-thirty a week. At age thirty-four, I had to move back in with my parents, which was a fate worse than death. I spent a year looking for I.T. work but failed most of the technical tests. Finally, I used my mental illness to go on Employment Support Allowance. My only escape was the occasional beers during the day at the Viaduct. At two pounds a pint, they were all I could afford whilst maintaining my minimum debt repayments. Like I said, I am not that popular. My humour, although good, tends to rub people up the wrong way, and I go too far, which pushes people away. Stewart and Palmer, since they were also unemployed and on benefits, were the best local people to meet up with during the day when life at home became too much, although it was hard work with them constantly being broke, ill, or busy, and I usually had to ask about seven times before I could get them to meet up.