It's all useless, folks. So I'm going off the Wellbutrin, the topamax and the respiridal. They aren't making a bloody difference in how I feel anyway. On them or off them, I still feel like dirt. Anyway, they definitely won't stop the horrors that are coming for me in the pain clinic on Wednesday. Electric shocks thru the body to test for nerve damage.

This monster has destroyed me. I was looking at the signatures in high yearbooks. I didn't have that many, being a hermit, but they were there. I was a spunky gal with a sense of humour. I'm just quoting from what was written down in 1986, concidentally the worst year of my life.

It was a mistake to ever leave Brantord. Now it's too late. This disease will destroy me, even on medication. And it won't stop them from doing awful, nightmarish things to me. So I'm going to stay off my meds. (I've been off them for two days at least. I was on it in the hospital and still felt like killing myself. I didn't dare because then they would have kept me in there.

Wednesday I see my psychiatrist and the pain clinic. I'll put my prescriptions on his table, talk with him a little and leave. When everything's finished, I'll go home and deal with the situation the way I should have dealt with it in the beginning. Skip the morphine and get drunk.

This is never going to end for me. At least I can relieve my misery somewhat, if not totally. For a few days at least. It will replace the void in my life and comfort me better than the efforts that have been made so far, though they may have tried their best. It's too late now, I'm finished. I can't be saved. My wounds will never be healed. My fire will never be quenched.

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