DIARY OF A PROGRAMMER - PART II by C.A. Rumbaut [Copyright 1992 by C.A. Rumbaut, uploaded with the author's permission. This story originally appeared in Unshaved Truths #2] [In Part I of this diary I wrote how I began to have panic attacks at my work, and the subsequent effects on my psyche. I contacted another employee, Bill, who I heard had similar experiences. We have exchanged information; we still don't have a clue as to the source, but we suspect the medium is our computer workstations. I call the problem my "computer possession", although "obsession" would be just as apt.] 07/05 - It's been 6 months since the symptoms started. I just can't go on doing nothing about it. I need to take stock of where I am and what to do. The problem stems from my job. I feel like I'm being watched as I work. I hear high-pitched voices off and on. I should call them noises, not voices, since they don't say anything. They give me a headachy daze. Then there's the involuntary "flight simulations" that still happen from time to time. They don't scare me so much anymore, but they're not just inconvenient interruptions. They affect my vision, my mood, even my sense of knowing who I am and what I want. And that does scare me. I feel like quitting but I don't have any tangible reason, not to mention other prospects. I want to find out what's going on in my mind but I don't know where to turn, and I'm a little scared of what I might find. I swing from irritable to withdrawn. Some days it feels like I'm just a witness to my acts while someone, or something, else is pushing the buttons. In fact I'm more paranoid at work than I've ever been. Since I can only tell a very few (whom I unconditionally trust) about it, I'm increasingly secretive and evasive. So why do I even stay working there? Especially after talking to Bill, I'm convinced that all these problems would stop if I just went elsewhere. I'm risking my mental health by staying. I don't want to lose control of my mind; that's the bottom line. Bill is in the same boat. His theory is that we are being used by some covert agency for brain research. He thinks the programs we write are scanned for certain types of logical constructs; that our brain-wave activity is monitored by some device in our workstations; that emissions, aural or otherwise, trigger dream-like experiences in his mind and mine; and that we are put through game recreations to test our responses. As scary as that all seems, I could stand it better if it was out in the open. In a sense it's flattering to be used for brain research. I'd like to see the results; I'd like to meet the experimenters. Wouldn't it make me feel part of something larger, something historical, something that transcends my routine daily existence? 07/12 - I had Rick, Jim and Bob over tonight. We rented Monty Python's "The Meaning of Life" and "Life of Brian". We had a great time. We started out drinking margaritas; after a while we went straight for the tequila. We laughed ourselves silly, actually rolling on the floor more than once. Such inspired zaniness! I enjoyed myself immensely, but as they were leaving I realized none of them knew that it wasn't just a good time I was after. I was trying to chase away the ghost that haunts me. 07/18 - I wrecked the car. The police report says it was my fault. The driver of the car behind me knows she caused it, but is not about to admit it. And I ... I can't even tell any more what I am and what I am not responsible for. It was at an intersection I cross every day. I started braking as I approached the stop sign. Looking back on it, I saw three things at the same time: 1. The stop sign was obscured by a branch heavy with pecans; I remember actually noticing the green nut clusters. 2. The car in my rear window was not slowing down and would plow into me if I did stop my car. 3. A third car was approaching from the right. My foot came off the brake and flattened the accelerator. I shot through the intersection, horn blaring. The sound was soon accompanied by the screeching tires of the other two cars. A fourth car, which I had not seen, was backing out of a driveway just on the other side of the intersection. I hit the brakes in earnest but too late. I crumpled his rear fender and my front end. The second and third cars ended up in the middle of the intersection only inches from each other. No collision there and no one got hurt. All the drivers got out of their cars and gave me hell. Even a bystander got into the act, calling me a menace on the road. I knew I had saved my own neck and maybe others'. The strange thing is, I am not sure the decision to run the stop sign was really mine. It's not like something made me do it, it's like something outside me did it. 07/27 - I ran into him at Barton Springs today. I was lying on my towel, getting cooked and loving it, remembering how simple it used to be to enjoy life. I caught a glimpse of him at the top of the hill. He was turning little by little, his arms and legs moving so slowly and smoothly that time itself seemed to slow down. He was going through the movements of Tai Chi Chuan. It was Tom s, and I was glad to see him. He had finished and was sitting quite still as I came up. Tom s has a beard, tanned skin, big hands. He seems too skinny for his hands. He said hello, and soon I was recounting what the last few months have been like: the uncontrollable attacks at work, the fear of going crazy, the paranoia that my brain was being probed and tested, the suspicion of something emanating from the computer. He seemed truly concerned but not surprised. I was surprised that he wasn't. "Have you kept up your meditation?" His tone reminded me of the dentist asking if I'd been flossing. "Tom s, your answer to everything is meditation," I said. "Perhaps," he went on, "but you can't afford not to be meditating at a time like this. To understand what is happening you must experience it clearly and without fear. You must pay attention to everything that happens. You need to go into this with a clear, still mind." I swallowed hard to clear my throat. I told him I didn't especially want to get in touch with this, I wanted it to stop. I wanted it to go away. He looked at me. "That's like a man in a lagoon who is scared by something in the water. He beats at the water in his excitement, but then can't get a good look at what it is until the surface calms down." I was thinking it must be easy for him to say that when it's not his sanity that's on the line. He looked away toward the pool. A crowd of young bodies was sunning on floating air mattresses. "You know what I learned from being a cook for five years at a steakhouse? That there are degrees of very hot. Does that sound too evident? You know, as a child you pulled your hand away when you touched something hot. Well, a cook doesn't pull away from heat. He's got to work with it, he's got to make friends with it. A cook tells how done a steak is by feeling it while it's cooking on the grille. I learned that I could touch very hot things and not get burned. I just had to be aware of what the burning point was. What I'm saying is be aware. Move into it, go with it. Learn." Actually, Tom s was starting to make sense. I was about to ask him something when he got up and with no hurry walked down to the water and dove in. Still ruminating on what he had said, I followed him into the pool. The cold shock got me moving fast to warm up. I swam longer than I expected, until my chest was aching. Tired out, I returned to my towel. Later, Tom s reappeared. We sat in silence for a while, then he said, "Do you keep a journal?" "I've been writing down what I've been going through in my diary, yes." "That's good," he said. "Writing can give you perspective. But don't write as if you're making notes to yourself. Write it as if someone else would read it. Develop some distance. Step outside of yourself; that will help." I wasn't sure that it would help, but I decided to take his advice. We talked together a while longer. The sun was moving down in the sky. I felt that sense of calm and peace that I've felt before at Barton's late in the afternoon. Everyone smooths out, all tension lifts, the light gets softer, the place emanates beauty and all seems right with the world. 08/16 - I've been meditating for the last three weeks. I breathe in while I say in my mind "I and the ..."; I hold the breath while I say "... dragon ..." and breathe out with "... are one." Tom s says it's a Chinese mantra he learned while studying Qigong. It's supposed to help mend splintering psyches and generally promote wholeness. I've meditated on and off for years, but getting back into it this time was not easy. I was determined to do it, though, lacking any alternative course of action. At first my mind seemed unusually noisy; not with random thoughts so much as with just static. As I kept on, the static dispersed but what surfaced was a tension, a force really, like when you try to touch the like poles of two magnets. Eventually it became more of a centrifugal pull. I felt like I was made up of hoops twirling around a common point but out of kilter with each other. The more I tried to synchronize them the more erratic the orbits became. The meditation has settled down some now, but there is still something that keeps me from getting centered. In fact, I keep sensing another presence that is just barely out of reach. It does not seem threatening, just unapproachable. I talked some with Bill about trying to reach out to whomever is behind all this. "And I thought I was nuts," he said, already distancing himself with his eyes. "You have a plan, I presume?" "I don't know," I confessed, "What if we tried opening our minds up to it instead of trying to block it out?" "You don't know what you're dealing with." He shook his head. "What makes you think it's not the CIA, or a cult group, or even another government?" "I don't trust our own government any more than anybody else's," I started to say. He interrupted, "How about extra-terrestials? Why not?" I could see we were not going to connect on this. I backed off and let the idea drop. I'd have to go through with this on my own. 08/22 - Last night I dreamt I was a chest of drawers. Some men came into the room and put me on a dolly. They took me to an underground warehouse with a lot of other furniture. A man in a smock took out a drawer from another chest, filled it with the contents of one of my drawers, and replaced my drawer with it. He kept on trying out different drawers from different chests until I had all new drawers, even though the contents had not changed. 08/29 - It's hard to believe, but I have made contact. Finally, after all these months, I have found the source of all this craziness I've been going through. I don't know where to start. I want to shout it out, yet it seems more important than ever to not let anyone know. It was the 3-key toggle that finally got me in. I'd been having this idea recur in my mind, as if from a dream remembered, of using the 3-key toggle as the gateway. There is a combination of 3 keys one can press on our keyboards that executes software to directly access the mainframe, and so it's called a "gateway". I had somehow come to the conclusion that the 3 keys could provide a breakthrough in my search. I tried every possible combination of 3 keys on the keyboard, all to no avail. This morning I was alone in elevator number nine. I was staring absent-mindedly at the buttons when I figured, why not? I pressed buttons 1, 3 and the alarm. The elevator stopped and I assumed I was stuck. There was a sudden motion; I had to catch myself. Then all this noise of gears and cables. I felt I was moving but couldn't tell in which direction. Shortly it stopped. Oh boy, I thought. This is it. I wish I'd come more prepared. I could be in danger. I reached for the close-door button but held back and let the doors open. I quickly clipped off my ID badge and put it away. I walked into the wide, empty hallway. It crossed another hallway at the far end. Several tropical plants were planted there. The other end of the hallway curved gradually to the left. On the wall across from me there were moving patterns, like the shadows of a tree branch moving in the breeze. I wondered where the light source to make the shadows could be coming from. I froze when I heard voices behind me. A man and a woman came up and passed me without interest. They wore white; she had saffron stripes on her cuffs, his shirt had a purple collar. He was dark-skinned and wore rope sandals. Along the middle of the floor I noticed 3 strips of metal tape. They seemed to have different textured surfaces. One strip turned into a side hallway. I followed it and soon found a young man approaching me. His pants were white; his shirt bright and flowery. He gave me a big smile, put out his hand and said, "Welcome to Enchiridion." I did not shake his hand. TO BE CONTINUED!