Lady Dragus, you have been hit squarely in the face by one of my infamous letters that Doug usually gets on a bad day. The only thing you were spared was that nasty song.

When I share memories with Doug, he usually stays quiet unless I sound really distressed in my letters.

He sees them for what they are: self-blaming. If I blow up at him in response, again he has stayed quiet.

Maybe he has people skills I don't know. Normally, the anger will get deferred and I'll go home and Doug will get one of these infamous letters. I guess it's safe to blow up at him.

You got hit because I see you as "safe" as well. I should be aiming the anger at my parents. I can't do that.

I shared those memories with you because I trusted you. I feel very ashamed about what I shared with you. I don't care about pity, don't want it.

I feel a lot of guilt about being locked in rooms and such and still feel it needs to be done.

I feel brutally ashamed for putting a live worm in my pocket when I was 10. Horribly ashamed. How much worse do you think I feel about being put in an institution for almost two years? I can't sleep from knowing what these people may find out about me. I can't f*cking live with myself with some of what I have done as a child. Most vividly of what I remember of my folks is being punished and yelled at.

And then there's the surgeries...justifiable punishment for what I've done. And the psycholgical stresses tied to the surgeries. Now the pain.

And for me to be angry and afraid of my folks when I need someone in my life, when everything is so private with them. That's the worst stress of all. The worst imaginable. I've betrayed them by saying anything at all.

Still hurting myself...the shrinks are gonna know.

I'm sorry, Lady Dragus, I'm sorry.

There is a thing more crippling than cerebral palsy: the prison of your own mind.