© Copyright 2005 Kurt Snyder

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The Agency

Sometime in April 2000, I decided to connect to the Internet again. I had not made an internet connection since last August. I was worried THEY would do something to my computer to destroy any evidence that they had been tracking my online activities. I still had the opinion that I could one day uncover their Trojan horse programs if I only learned enough about computer security. I decided that if something happened to my computer, I could use the copied hard drives I had saved in my basement. I connected to the Internet for several hours. Then, I logged off. The next day, I started to use my computer for some other task. It booted up to a blue screen, not the windows desktop. I tried to reboot several times. Each time the boot process became shorter and shorter. Finally, It would not even load the BIOS. It would complete the POST test but then all I got was a black screen. I thought "Great! Just what I expected. I connected to the Internet and THEY trashed my computer!" I then thought, I'll just use my backup hard drives. I installed one of the drives and found that it was blank. I installed the other drive and found that it too was blank. There was nothing on either of my backup disks. "Damn!"

By June 2000, I decided I needed to go to work. I had given up my handyman business. I had not done any real work for six months or more. I thought I could go to work for a temporary employment agency. I decided to call temporary agencies in Washington D.C. I thought they would be able to provide me with work everyday. I called several agencies in Washington and I generally had to leave voice messages for all of them. Soon after, I received a call from a temporary agency, but it was not one of the agencies that I had called. The name of the agency did not match with the ones I had called. This agency wanted me to come for an interview the next day. I was very suspicious, but I was also intrigued. I wondered whether the agency was run by the CIA. I went for the interview. At the conclusion of the interview, they offered me work that same day.

My first job for the temp agency was at a communications company. There was two of us from the agency working at stuffing envelopes for two days. The other worker, Jeff, lived in DC. We talked a lot while we were stuffing envelopes. Jeff said to me, "How long have you been working for the Company?"

"This is my first day. How long have you been working for them?"

"A few years. Do you speak any foreign languages?"

"I speak some French and Italian."

"You'll move up quick. They have work to do all over the world"

"Really? Hmmm. How many employees do they have?"

"I don't know really, but here in Washington, they have agents all over the city. Hundreds."

Hmm. Agents. Who was he talking about? A temp agency, or the CIA?

At about this time, I started to become very sensitive to noises in my environment. I started to become conscious and acutely aware of many everyday sounds that I would normally have ignored. Sounds like car horns, people sneezing, coughing, machinery rattling, fan motors, and other noises that are normally considered to be background noises became very disturbing to me. I could not ignore them. The same thing occurred with gestures. I became very aware of people touching their noses, rubbing their chin, running their fingers through their hair, wiping their nose, and scratching themselves. I couldn't ignore them. They caught my attention more than any other stimuli. They began to seem unnatural to me. It seemed as if people were intentionally making these sounds and gestures for some purpose. They seemed to have some special meaning, but I could never quite figure out what that meaning was.

A few days later, the temp agency had assigned me to work at a prestigious private school. I arrived at the school at about 9am. I met with my contact person, a woman, to discuss the day's work. The first task she gave me to do involved a box filled with hundreds of envelopes that were pre-packaged to be mailed out to the student body's parents. This woman also had a list of several dozen names whose envelopes were to be removed from the mailing. The problem was, none of the envelopes were in sorted order. They were unsorted. She wanted me to find and remove the envelopes for people whose names were on the list. Apparently, the school used a mailing service like Mail Boxes Etc., instead of taking them directly to the post office. A representative from the mailing service was scheduled to come by at 9:30 to pick up the mailing. This woman said that the mailing had to go out that day. The courier would only stop by once to pick up the mailing. It was absolutely necessary that the mailing go out that day. It was also absolutely necessary that all the envelopes corresponding to the names on the list be removed from the mailing. There was not enough time to complete the task before the courier picked up the mailing. I told her this. She was insistent that it be completed. She also insisted that the mailing go out that day. Then she left the office. The courier came on time at 9:30, but not all the envelopes had been removed from the mailing. I made a decision. I quickly read what was in the envelopes and decided that sending out the mailing would do no harm. I sent it out with the listed names included. The woman came back to the office and was furious with me that I had sent out the mailing. I thought, "I warned her that there was not enough time. It's not my problem." At the same time, I wondered if this was another test arranged by the CIA to see how I would operate when given conflicting or unreasonable instructions.

The following day, I was sent to another location. This time, it was an information technologies consulting firm. I arrived early and was shown to a cubicle. I was told my job was to answer the phone for one of the vice-presidents of the company. I sat there for two hours without a single phone call. I asked my contact person what I should do. He said, "Answer the phone when it rings." In the next two hours, I received two phone calls. I felt like I was useless. Surely this guy could answer his own phone. All I did was forward the calls to his extension. What was the point of me being there? Was this all part of some kind of mind game? The rest of the day, I did virtually nothing productive. Maybe THEY were testing my patience.

For the next two weeks, I was sent to an all-girls-school called the National Cathedral School, located on the grounds of the National Cathedral. I was assigned to do data entry. This job went very well. Then, I was reassigned to work for the National Academy of Sciences on something called the 'Federal Demonstration Project'. The first task on this assignment was to assemble some 3-ring binders containing documentation for a conference that was to be held the following week. I looked at the documentation that we were putting into the binders, and the various sections did not seem to be related to one another. I became very suspicious about this task. Was there really a conference going on? Why did the documentation seem to be so diverse? What was this conference about? Of course, I could have simply asked what the conference was about, but I did not think to do this.

Also working with me that day was another temporary employee--Juan. He was originally from Brazil. He had an engineering degree from CalTech. He said he had come to DC to take this job. I thought, "You have an engineering degree from a prestigious university and you came all the way to the east coast to take this job as a temporary worker? That just didn't make any sense to me." I thought, "Maybe there is something more to this job than I thought. Why would someone give up much better opportunities for a temporary job? There must be something more to this work than I can see. Perhaps he is one of the people investigating me. Who would he be working for? The CIA, the FBI, Congress?"

The following week, the conference was held. I was assigned to sit at the sign-in desk where we would give each attendee a binder and direct them to various meeting rooms.

Something very strange began to happen to my mind. I started to think that the "Federal Demonstration Project" was actually a carefully planned event designed to demonstrate something about me to all the agencies who had been surveilling me. I thought all the attendees were representatives from the FBI, CIA, Congress, and Iridium. They were trying to demonstrate once and for all that I was either crazy, or normal. I was experiencing the effects of personalization again. I thought the people passing by the sign-in desk were all the people who had been following me over the years. The strangest thing is that I began to believe that I recognized all these people, even though I did not recognize them at all. There was a strange duality to my thoughts. In one respect, I thought these were people I had seen following me, but I did not recognize their faces. I thought some of the people who were following me were passing by the desk in disguise, some of them were not, and some of them were strangers I had never seen before. I thought this "Federal Demonstration Project" was designed to demonstrate my reaction to each of the people passing the desk.

During the time that I was sitting at the desk, Juan was sitting next to me. He said several times, "What do you think about this conference?" I said, "It doesn't seem like there is any real point to it. I'm not sure what they are trying to achieve." He said, "I'm just as confused as you. I don't know what I'm doing here." While we sat at the desk, I started to overhear a conversation going on behind me between some other workers. This is part of what I heard:

"What do you think he's thinking about?"

"Who cares."

"If he doesn't straighten up, I'm going to go over and smack him around."

"You think he's getting scared?"

"Yeah, probably...he's a real wussy boy."

"He's wondering what the hell is going on. He doesn't know"

"Do you think he knows anybody?'

"I don't know. I don't care. He's going to be eliminated anyway."

I thought they were talking about me. I decided to ignore them. I didn't listen to them anymore. A while later, I went to the bathroom. Juan came in. He said, "What do you think about what those guys are saying?" I said, "I just ignore them." "Good. That's good. I don't think I want to work here anymore. I think I'm beginning to hate this job."

I started to think, "It doesn't really matter what I do here today. There is no point to the job I was given to do." I became very irate about being tested once again. I started to become rude to the people coming up to the desk.

That evening, as I was driving home, I heard some new songs on the radio. I wondered if the CIA was transmitting the songs. I wondered if the songs were written specifically for me. I thought they were trying to use psychological manipulation on me again. I think these thoughts were the effects of personalization again. I have found that many schizophrenics often interpret random stimuli to have some personal significance for themselves.

I started to wonder why THEY would go through so much trouble, staging a "conference" just for the purpose of evaluating me. I came up with a theory why they would do that. I decided that the surveillance must have been going on since I was a teenager. Probably it was conducted by the CIA. Maybe it was a top secret project to see how they could manipulate someone over time. When I sent my message to the Congressmen, they started to investigate. Maybe they were able to find out that the CIA and/or the FBI had been following me for years, but they couldn't find out the details of the project. So they decided to launch their own investigation. The CIA told the Congressmen that I was just paranoid. The Congressmen were skeptical. The Congressmen must have arranged the "Federal Demonstration Project" to test me themselves.

As I was driving home, I became more disorganized. I started to make wrong turns on my way home. I started to think, "Why did I make that turn? Why did I turn that way?" I wondered if somehow the CIA was manipulating me. I came up with a theory on how they could be manipulating me. I believe I was experiencing another trait of schizophrenics that I call post-belief-rationalization. This happens when you believe an idea first, then develop a rationale afterwards for validating the belief. I had done this many times during my illness. I started to believe the CIA was manipulating me. Then, I came up with a rationale for how it could be true. I thought that if they had been following me for years, they could have conditioned me to respond to certain stimuli in certain ways. I imagined that they had been transmitting subliminal messages through my car radio for years. Perhaps every time I turned right, they would transmit a sound that was nearly inaudible. This would be a sound that you might ignore while listening to the radio, but your sub-conscious mind would respond to it. They would transmit this subliminal sound every time I turned right. They would transmit a different sound every time I turned left. After hearing these subliminal sounds several thousand times, I would be conditioned to turn right or left upon hearing the sound. I would probably turn right or left without even thinking about it. "This must be what is happening to me. I'm making these wrong turns because they are manipulating me through the radio." I started to believe this. I turned off the radio. But then I had the thought that there might be a speaker hidden somewhere in my car that could produce the sounds even when the radio was off. I decided that I would not be manipulated. How could I escape their control? I would drive a partially random route home. I didn't want to drive a route THEY decided for me. I would drive straight ahead on every street, except that every time the minutes of my dashboard clock changed to 1,3,5,or 7, I would make a turn in the direction of home, or I would continue going straight ahead. It took me a LONG time to get home this way. In some cases, I ended up at a dead end street, and I had to turn around. But I thought "At least I wasn't under THEIR control anymore."

© Copyright 2005 Kurt Snyder

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