My mom just called. She and Dad are coming down on this Friday.

Although I get massively homesick for them when desperately ill, I'm not the naive kid I once was. It's panic time. (Insert long string of expletives here)

Massive stress. Massive fear. I have to see them of course, for both their sakes. In addition, apart from the Internet, I am receiving no real support from family and friends in my time of need. Even on the Internet, Psych Central is my only reliable support. Talking to Doug most days is like talking to a wall: You say something to him and there's no reply.

I guess it's hard dealing with me. What do you say to someone in my position; to someone isolated, in pain, bereft of friends and family and longing for suicide? I take that back. It's not hard dealing with me.

IT'S IMPOSSIBLE!

Take it from me. If you're in a wheelchair, mentally ill and become wracked with physical agony, you can count on walking alone in this life. That's as certain as death and taxes.

You want any friends, you smile a lot, even when you're dying inside. When people ask how you are, ask stupid questions or say insensitive things, you smile graciously and you tell people "I'm ****** fine." God forgive me, but you have to lie through your teeth for anyone to be your friend apparently.

Take today. Some parishioner tracked me down and started asking me a lot of personal questions about my disability. Started gushing about "Oh isn't it nice that you're not in an institution somewhere." and "Wouldn't it be wonderful if this were the parish that someone got up out of their wheelchair and walked?"

At first, I found this annoying. The parishioner wanted to know if I knew why God had put me in my wheelchair. I graciously told her "Not yet. If God healed me, I wouldn't be able to complete the mission he has for me." Trying to shut her up.

"Oh, but after your mission's finished, then maybe..."

Life isn't always that kind! It might not occur to this brainless beauty that her line of conversation might be hurting the person she's talking to enormously. It did hurt me and it continues to hurt me. She has no idea what I've suffered just because I wasn't born just like her, how much I suffer now or will continue to suffer in the future. I should have put aside my graciousness and laid it all out in the House of God just how much I was suffering, in every graphic and gory detail that has occured since I can remember. Then again, she might have accused me of not having enough faith, because I was still in the chair.

Said conversation would be enough to drive several disabled people from the arms of the Church, permanently.

GOD AIN'T PULLING ME FROM THIS WHEELCHAIR, FOLKS!!!! He can do it, but my guess is he won't (and that's his right.). Call it intuition. He's just going to let me slide down a slippery slope until I die or go insane, perhaps from mere pain and loneliness alone.

I don't know what I've done to earn the fate that life has handed me. It has to be something spectacularly bad to earn all this: my abusive parents, abandonment in a psychiatric institute for a year and a half, surgical mayhem, poverty, isolation, loneliness, hopelessness, despair, three psychiatric illnesses, constant leg pain, constant urinary tract infections...I'm enduring all this alone, and I'm the kind of person who needs a cuddle, even if I'm scared to ask for it.

It's so bad that I'm actually isolating myself in the church. I'm sitting in the very back of the church in dead silence when I should be crying out for help. Not that crying out will do any good. I'll still be as alone at the end of it "Not one sparrow falls apart from God without him noticing." Well, that's all I think he does...sit there and watch until I bleat out to him like a half-dead sheep and then he pulls me to my feet, watches me stagger along, then fall, until I bleat out to him again. This is all so pointless. I'm doing something horribly wrong, because this continues to drag on. I'm supposedly a Christian. Isn't this supposed to end at some point? When? When is something wonderful going to happen? When are my tears going to be wiped away? Am I going to be crying for the rest of my life? Why do I have to fight so hard just to survive? Where is my hope? Why even bother?

I'm going to ask people to stop praying for me. Miracles only happen to other people, not to me and a miracle is what it's going to take to put a smile on my face for longer than five minutes.

I'll pray for other people but not for me. God will listen when I pray for other people. But he stopping loving me a long time ago. Wonderful and beautiful people don't suffer endlessly, and if they do, at least they have something or someone to comfort them besides a little white teddy bear.

God stopped loving me the minute I was born. He only gave me 12 good years so I would know what I would be missing. Hell wasn't good enough punishment for me, God had to punish me in life too.

I'm going to ask people to stop praying for me. I don't want any responses to this either. I want dead ringing silence. At the rate my life is going, I'm better off dead or insane. Since Catholics are against suicide, I guess I'll have to settle for insanity. I WELCOME INSANITY! My whole life is insanity. Why not conform to it?

Not that it makes any great difference whether I commit suicide or not as to the state of my soul. I'm headed to Hell in either case. My own life is all the proof I need.

I suppose suiciding would make a few people very unhappy. But so would my going insane. Doesn't matter. Those are the two choices you're stuck with.

I won't be watching this thread, so don't bother replying. Don't bother calling in the Knights either. I won't be responding to either one of them.

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