First, thank you for your support. At least someone cares if I live or die.

The shrinks at the General don't. They left me to rot for close to a week on a medical ward in a nice isolated room. The nurses were nice, but busy and the ward was full of sick people. I wasn't going to bother them.

They seemed more interested in poking and prodding me than how I felt about myself. I wasn't a psych patient, I was a disabled person needing care. I was a burden.
No stimulation, no one to talk to except a shrink who came down for 20 minutes every day to make sure I wasn't dead and to merely talk to me, you wouldn't know I was depressed. With me being a hermit, you need time to get to know me and that they don't have. Tried to show them my writing on here, they're only interested in face to face interaction and I hide my pain.

If I needed to talk to someone, I wrote a letter to Doug. I wrote some scary stuff in there. Never showed it to my shrink or I'd still be in there, besides, they only want face to face encounters, not the written word.

I hated every moment I spent in there. They diagnosed me as Borderline Personality Disorder and 24 hours later, threw me out on the street.

There was a program that offered intensive psychotherapy at the hospital during the day. They turned me down because of nursing/toileting issues. In other words,I'm too disabled for them to handle, even though I have a cathetar and caused no trouble and was virtually independant on the ward.

Apart from my escape, but you'd run too if you had the life I had. Everyone on that ward but another disabled person is too stupid to realize the hospital's impact on me. They never asked me why I ran, never consulted my journals. They can't add two plus two, so they diagnose me as borderline and toss me on my ear.

With Doug's help, I've turned to prayer, but I am not hopeful. The shrinks are saying I have an anger and despair that antidepressants can't fix and that I should just drop those feelings...how? Do they know how deep the agony goes? Do they?

The hospital sent me to the same counselling centre that %^&(*ed with me before. My shrink doesn't understand, few people do.

I've set up a new website (See my profile) with a poem I wrote yesterday...see how much help the "professionals" were. I spent most of the past week in bed, there was no point in inflicting pain on myself for nothing.

From now on, my pain's between me and one other person and it ain't Doug, Father Lindsay or 911. I made a real mistake in going to the hospital and I won't forgive myself for it.

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