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Thread: I’m dating a conspiracy theorist. But it feels like I’m the one going crazy.

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    Default I’m dating a conspiracy theorist. But it feels like I’m the one going crazy.

    No, I'm not the writer of this article. But reading this woman's experiences with her boyfriend reminds me a lot of certain posters on JPP. I highlighted parts of it and put the link on the bottom since the whole article was too long to post.

    My boyfriend is a conspiracy theorist. He’s my age, 30s, graying but boyish. Shy but not socially impaired. He likes short girls with short hair and short tempers, and I’ve always liked emo engineers. He’s read the cult doorstopper “House of Leaves,” paints his nails black, makes great art. He also believes in conspiracy theories. I didn’t find that part out until just before our self-quarantine.

    It was the weekend after the Super Tuesday primaries in March, and we were arguing about Bernie. “You wouldn’t support him if you knew the truth,” he said gravely, both of us stumbling home late from the dance club where we first met four months earlier after chatting on a dating app. “There’s some really disturbing stuff you should read.” I laughed and leaned into him on the cobblestones, the New England streets quiet, wind-swept, goose bumps poking through my fishnets. He went on. He didn’t trust the media. The deep state was out to get us. Everyone was in on it, or in my case, complicit. I had to open my eyes. At first, I believed he was joking. Then I wanted to believe he was joking. Then we both got very quiet.

    I didn’t know what to think. He was smart. He had friends. We were happy. Now, realizing I’d fallen for someone who believed stupid things on the Internet, I felt like the stupidest person alive...

    My gut told me to run, but I felt guilty. I didn’t want to appear closed-minded, intolerant. For exactly one weekend, I wrestled with what to do...

    I forgot, for days at a time, about the conspiracies. We baked cupcakes, repotted his plants, noodled on his MIDI keyboard. I let him in on the Jewish jokes on “Seinfeld,” his favorite show. And then we’d put on a Disney movie and he’d point out the hidden sixes in the logo as proof the company was steeped in the occult. We’d play board games like Azul and Watergate and he’d say, “Want to know what really happened during Watergate?” and I’d sigh.

    One time, bent over a puzzle of the Golden Gate Bridge, he informed me, “The global elite traffic in human flesh and blood.” He explained how famous people kidnap children, then torture them to death to harvest chemical adrenaline from their veins. The punchline is: They drink it.

    “It’s real,” he insisted. “Hunter S. Thompson exposed it in ‘Fear and Loathing.’” “He was high out of his mind when he wrote that,” I said.

    It mattered to me, a lot, that my boyfriend couldn’t separate fact from fantasy. I couldn’t be in a serious relationship with someone I couldn’t take seriously, right?

    The first warm day during our self-quarantine, the two of us drove to a park and walked out by the water. The trail was crowded with families in scarves and homemade masks hugging the edge of the path. I hadn’t brought a jacket and I was wearing his. We looked like a cute couple, with our matching bracelets and rings he’d made out of plastic, the occasional hand in the other’s hair. But then he steered the conversation to red shoes in celebrity Instagram photos, the code word “cheese pizza,” the numerology of 33, dropping his voice whenever someone passed us.

    “I’m the one ignoring evidence?” he said. “You won’t even look at the links.”

    “Don’t you think it’s suspicious the mainstream media hasn’t reported on any of this? You know they’re all paid to lie.”

    I was a smart, rational person, and my boyfriend liked that about me. He was always going on about my “big, sexy brain.” But at the same time, he distrusted experts, scholars, professionals, people who knew things. People like, well, people like me...

    I looked ahead at the row of trees disappearing into the horizon. I was a critical thinker, sure, but when it got down to it, I was trusting. I relied on others to know more about the world than I did. My boyfriend assumed any so-called experts were out to mislead, never mind how implausible the ever-expanding scale of deceit...

    Now, at his place, on his futon, winding down with wine and cop shows, I evaluate him in the screen glow, his cheekbones, black hoodie, cute goatee. I think of how he rubbed my stomach and made me soup when I was sick. Memorized a few Yiddish words, my drink order, how that Smiths song goes. Taught me to skip stones and drive stick.

    Joe Biden comes on the television and my boyfriend says this one’s definitely a body double, you can tell because his ears look smaller. “Might even be a clone,” he muses. “The real Biden’s been dead for years.”

    The tone in his voice is impossible to decipher. I wonder, with a surge of hope, if he’s trolling me, if this is all an elaborate ruse, like when he pretended for weeks he didn’t know how to peel an orange and I didn’t know what to believe.

    There’s that feeling that everything is collapsing, that somehow I’m the one going crazy, that reality is whatever you want it to be, and nothing is as it seems...

    I look at our interlaced hands, the veins in them. I wonder if the stress in them can be extracted, ingested, a drug in the blood, like Hunter S. Thompson said. Would that really be so strange, so preposterous? In this world, these times, anything’s possible. I just don’t know.

    https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifes...-relationship/


    “What greater gift than the love of a cat.”
    ― Charles Dickens

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    Someone is in need of a serious upgrade........
    "There is no question former President Trump bears moral responsibility. His supporters stormed the Capitol because of the unhinged falsehoods he shouted into the world’s largest megaphone," McConnell wrote. "His behavior during and after the chaos was also unconscionable, from attacking Vice President Mike Pence during the riot to praising the criminals after it ended."



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    women are generally more amenable to totalitarianism. they have less to fear cuz vijayjay.


    and bills just a blue pill, white knight, simp, captain save a ho.

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    Quote Originally Posted by AssHatZombie View Post
    women are generally more amenable to totalitarianism. they have less to fear cuz vijayjay.


    and bills just a blue pill, white knight, simp, captain save a ho.
    Do you have a study to back up your claim?

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    Quote Originally Posted by WitoldPilecki View Post
    Do you have a study to back up your claim?
    women rate higher in agreeableness, and submission to authority.

    its a psychology fact.

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    Quote Originally Posted by christiefan915 View Post
    No, I'm not the writer of this article. But reading this woman's experiences with her boyfriend reminds me a lot of certain posters on JPP. I highlighted parts of it and put the link on the bottom since the whole article was too long to post.

    My boyfriend is a conspiracy theorist. He’s my age, 30s, graying but boyish. Shy but not socially impaired. He likes short girls with short hair and short tempers, and I’ve always liked emo engineers. He’s read the cult doorstopper “House of Leaves,” paints his nails black, makes great art. He also believes in conspiracy theories. I didn’t find that part out until just before our self-quarantine.

    It was the weekend after the Super Tuesday primaries in March, and we were arguing about Bernie. “You wouldn’t support him if you knew the truth,” he said gravely, both of us stumbling home late from the dance club where we first met four months earlier after chatting on a dating app. “There’s some really disturbing stuff you should read.” I laughed and leaned into him on the cobblestones, the New England streets quiet, wind-swept, goose bumps poking through my fishnets. He went on. He didn’t trust the media. The deep state was out to get us. Everyone was in on it, or in my case, complicit. I had to open my eyes. At first, I believed he was joking. Then I wanted to believe he was joking. Then we both got very quiet.

    I didn’t know what to think. He was smart. He had friends. We were happy. Now, realizing I’d fallen for someone who believed stupid things on the Internet, I felt like the stupidest person alive...

    My gut told me to run, but I felt guilty. I didn’t want to appear closed-minded, intolerant. For exactly one weekend, I wrestled with what to do...

    I forgot, for days at a time, about the conspiracies. We baked cupcakes, repotted his plants, noodled on his MIDI keyboard. I let him in on the Jewish jokes on “Seinfeld,” his favorite show. And then we’d put on a Disney movie and he’d point out the hidden sixes in the logo as proof the company was steeped in the occult. We’d play board games like Azul and Watergate and he’d say, “Want to know what really happened during Watergate?” and I’d sigh.

    One time, bent over a puzzle of the Golden Gate Bridge, he informed me, “The global elite traffic in human flesh and blood.” He explained how famous people kidnap children, then torture them to death to harvest chemical adrenaline from their veins. The punchline is: They drink it.

    “It’s real,” he insisted. “Hunter S. Thompson exposed it in ‘Fear and Loathing.’” “He was high out of his mind when he wrote that,” I said.

    It mattered to me, a lot, that my boyfriend couldn’t separate fact from fantasy. I couldn’t be in a serious relationship with someone I couldn’t take seriously, right?

    The first warm day during our self-quarantine, the two of us drove to a park and walked out by the water. The trail was crowded with families in scarves and homemade masks hugging the edge of the path. I hadn’t brought a jacket and I was wearing his. We looked like a cute couple, with our matching bracelets and rings he’d made out of plastic, the occasional hand in the other’s hair. But then he steered the conversation to red shoes in celebrity Instagram photos, the code word “cheese pizza,” the numerology of 33, dropping his voice whenever someone passed us.

    “I’m the one ignoring evidence?” he said. “You won’t even look at the links.”

    “Don’t you think it’s suspicious the mainstream media hasn’t reported on any of this? You know they’re all paid to lie.”

    I was a smart, rational person, and my boyfriend liked that about me. He was always going on about my “big, sexy brain.” But at the same time, he distrusted experts, scholars, professionals, people who knew things. People like, well, people like me...

    I looked ahead at the row of trees disappearing into the horizon. I was a critical thinker, sure, but when it got down to it, I was trusting. I relied on others to know more about the world than I did. My boyfriend assumed any so-called experts were out to mislead, never mind how implausible the ever-expanding scale of deceit...

    Now, at his place, on his futon, winding down with wine and cop shows, I evaluate him in the screen glow, his cheekbones, black hoodie, cute goatee. I think of how he rubbed my stomach and made me soup when I was sick. Memorized a few Yiddish words, my drink order, how that Smiths song goes. Taught me to skip stones and drive stick.

    Joe Biden comes on the television and my boyfriend says this one’s definitely a body double, you can tell because his ears look smaller. “Might even be a clone,” he muses. “The real Biden’s been dead for years.”

    The tone in his voice is impossible to decipher. I wonder, with a surge of hope, if he’s trolling me, if this is all an elaborate ruse, like when he pretended for weeks he didn’t know how to peel an orange and I didn’t know what to believe.

    There’s that feeling that everything is collapsing, that somehow I’m the one going crazy, that reality is whatever you want it to be, and nothing is as it seems...

    I look at our interlaced hands, the veins in them. I wonder if the stress in them can be extracted, ingested, a drug in the blood, like Hunter S. Thompson said. Would that really be so strange, so preposterous? In this world, these times, anything’s possible. I just don’t know.

    https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifes...-relationship/
    I have tried to have a conversation with my brother in law and brother about their conspiracies. I won’t ever do it, again.
    I just plan to have a superficial relationship with both of them from now on, pleasantries are enough.

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    Quote Originally Posted by AssHatZombie View Post
    women rate higher in agreeableness, and submission to authority.

    its a psychology fact.
    A larger percentage of men voted for Hitler, than German women.

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    Quote Originally Posted by Phantasmal View Post
    I have tried to have a conversation with my brother in law and brother about their conspiracies. I won’t ever do it, again.
    I just plan to have a superficial relationship with both of them from now on, pleasantries are enough.
    he probably broke your idiot mind with truth, and you couldn't take the heat.

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    who here supports population reduction?

    you've been brainwashed into evil.

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    Sounds exactly like Truth Detector and Arminius.

    I feel sorry for anyone associated with them.

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    Quote Originally Posted by AssHatZombie View Post
    who here supports population reduction?

    you've been brainwashed into evil.
    There's a difference between educating people to have less kids to reduce population, and just killing a bunch of people to reduce population.

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    Quote Originally Posted by Phantasmal View Post
    I have tried to have a conversation with my brother in law and brother about their conspiracies. I won’t ever do it, again.
    I just plan to have a superficial relationship with both of them from now on, pleasantries are enough.
    One of my brothers is a conspiracy theorist, too. And you're right, it's impossible to get them to see logic. This is an example of what I go through with my bro. AFAIK he doesn't believe Biden's dead and has a double... yet... but this is how he reasons about other issues. We don't talk politics anymore.

    Him: Biden isn't the real candidate because he died years ago. This guy running for president is a double.

    Me: How could Biden have died without anyone knowing, and be replaced with a double?

    Him: The deep state hides all the dirt in government. Even if something leaked out the fake media wouldn't report it.

    Me: Why do you think there's a fake media?

    Him: Because real reporters wouldn't cover up that Biden died in 2009 and the guy running for president is his double.

    Me:


    “What greater gift than the love of a cat.”
    ― Charles Dickens

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    Quote Originally Posted by WitoldPilecki View Post
    There's a difference between educating people to have less kids to reduce population, and just killing a bunch of people to reduce population.
    denial

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    Quote Originally Posted by christiefan915 View Post
    No, I'm not the writer of this article. But reading this woman's experiences with her boyfriend reminds me a lot of certain posters on JPP. I highlighted parts of it and put the link on the bottom since the whole article was too long to post.

    My boyfriend is a conspiracy theorist. He’s my age, 30s, graying but boyish. Shy but not socially impaired. He likes short girls with short hair and short tempers, and I’ve always liked emo engineers. He’s read the cult doorstopper “House of Leaves,” paints his nails black, makes great art. He also believes in conspiracy theories. I didn’t find that part out until just before our self-quarantine.

    It was the weekend after the Super Tuesday primaries in March, and we were arguing about Bernie. “You wouldn’t support him if you knew the truth,” he said gravely, both of us stumbling home late from the dance club where we first met four months earlier after chatting on a dating app. “There’s some really disturbing stuff you should read.” I laughed and leaned into him on the cobblestones, the New England streets quiet, wind-swept, goose bumps poking through my fishnets. He went on. He didn’t trust the media. The deep state was out to get us. Everyone was in on it, or in my case, complicit. I had to open my eyes. At first, I believed he was joking. Then I wanted to believe he was joking. Then we both got very quiet.

    I didn’t know what to think. He was smart. He had friends. We were happy. Now, realizing I’d fallen for someone who believed stupid things on the Internet, I felt like the stupidest person alive...

    My gut told me to run, but I felt guilty. I didn’t want to appear closed-minded, intolerant. For exactly one weekend, I wrestled with what to do...

    I forgot, for days at a time, about the conspiracies. We baked cupcakes, repotted his plants, noodled on his MIDI keyboard. I let him in on the Jewish jokes on “Seinfeld,” his favorite show. And then we’d put on a Disney movie and he’d point out the hidden sixes in the logo as proof the company was steeped in the occult. We’d play board games like Azul and Watergate and he’d say, “Want to know what really happened during Watergate?” and I’d sigh.

    One time, bent over a puzzle of the Golden Gate Bridge, he informed me, “The global elite traffic in human flesh and blood.” He explained how famous people kidnap children, then torture them to death to harvest chemical adrenaline from their veins. The punchline is: They drink it.

    “It’s real,” he insisted. “Hunter S. Thompson exposed it in ‘Fear and Loathing.’” “He was high out of his mind when he wrote that,” I said.

    It mattered to me, a lot, that my boyfriend couldn’t separate fact from fantasy. I couldn’t be in a serious relationship with someone I couldn’t take seriously, right?

    The first warm day during our self-quarantine, the two of us drove to a park and walked out by the water. The trail was crowded with families in scarves and homemade masks hugging the edge of the path. I hadn’t brought a jacket and I was wearing his. We looked like a cute couple, with our matching bracelets and rings he’d made out of plastic, the occasional hand in the other’s hair. But then he steered the conversation to red shoes in celebrity Instagram photos, the code word “cheese pizza,” the numerology of 33, dropping his voice whenever someone passed us.

    “I’m the one ignoring evidence?” he said. “You won’t even look at the links.”

    “Don’t you think it’s suspicious the mainstream media hasn’t reported on any of this? You know they’re all paid to lie.”

    I was a smart, rational person, and my boyfriend liked that about me. He was always going on about my “big, sexy brain.” But at the same time, he distrusted experts, scholars, professionals, people who knew things. People like, well, people like me...

    I looked ahead at the row of trees disappearing into the horizon. I was a critical thinker, sure, but when it got down to it, I was trusting. I relied on others to know more about the world than I did. My boyfriend assumed any so-called experts were out to mislead, never mind how implausible the ever-expanding scale of deceit...

    Now, at his place, on his futon, winding down with wine and cop shows, I evaluate him in the screen glow, his cheekbones, black hoodie, cute goatee. I think of how he rubbed my stomach and made me soup when I was sick. Memorized a few Yiddish words, my drink order, how that Smiths song goes. Taught me to skip stones and drive stick.

    Joe Biden comes on the television and my boyfriend says this one’s definitely a body double, you can tell because his ears look smaller. “Might even be a clone,” he muses. “The real Biden’s been dead for years.”

    The tone in his voice is impossible to decipher. I wonder, with a surge of hope, if he’s trolling me, if this is all an elaborate ruse, like when he pretended for weeks he didn’t know how to peel an orange and I didn’t know what to believe.

    There’s that feeling that everything is collapsing, that somehow I’m the one going crazy, that reality is whatever you want it to be, and nothing is as it seems...

    I look at our interlaced hands, the veins in them. I wonder if the stress in them can be extracted, ingested, a drug in the blood, like Hunter S. Thompson said. Would that really be so strange, so preposterous? In this world, these times, anything’s possible. I just don’t know.

    https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifes...-relationship/
    I could not respect anyone whose vocabulary includes Deep State, International Cabal, Pizza Gate.

    To me, they warrant more derision than Las Vegas Raiders fans.

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    lv raider fans.............lol
    "There is no question former President Trump bears moral responsibility. His supporters stormed the Capitol because of the unhinged falsehoods he shouted into the world’s largest megaphone," McConnell wrote. "His behavior during and after the chaos was also unconscionable, from attacking Vice President Mike Pence during the riot to praising the criminals after it ended."



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