[hamstergirl]

You guys pretty much know me by now. For those who don't, I have cerebral palsy and underwent several horrific operations as a youngster, hundreds of miles from home and family.

I've barely spoken a word of what happened since, not what it did to me.

I now suffer from constant, severe pain that require narcotics for relief. Last week, I went to the hospital emergency room for a bowel blockage. It was clearly with an enema. On that day, I didn't sleep for a FULL 36 hours and didn't eat for 24 hours. Over an enema.

After I got home from the hospital, I felt so violated that I systematically destroyed nearly all evidence of the paramedics' visit, going so far as to toss some perfectly good hospital sheets down a garbage chute. I then left my apartment, after being awake all night and which I didn't feel safe in, because the paramedics had been there and went to a church, where I stayed for approx. 8 hours. Concerned friends had to get me to eat and rest. I HALF-SLEPT IN MY CHAIR FOR 1 and a half hours, a position that currently causes me great pain. I could have been pain-free in bed. I felt safer in the church.

I am in pain. I am facing the worst medical decisions of my life, alone. I am severely depressed. I am thinking of suicide. I look calm on the outside.

Inside I am screaming bloody murder.

I cannot weep. I can not scream. I can only stare or at least rage in the written word. I have been a hermit since I was 12 years old, around the time of the worst of the surgery. I am scared to be with people. My hobbies have dwindled down to nothing, one by one. But I look calm. An outsider would find nothing amiss.

Close friends (and they are few) know differently. It's only been in the past month that I've finally begun to reach out and let people know how bad things really are. No one seems to be listening and I am slowly losing the battle.

I don't understand what's happening to me. Why I can't even cry or why I keep the fear and anger inside. Why I keep the silence.

I think I should just give up!

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

Thank you for sharing; while I have no great words of wisdom, and won't even tell you that things will get better; all I can do is say that you'll be in my thoughts...I understand how alone you must be feeling, as I am so desperately and incredibly alone at the moment; hang in there, and hope for a better tomorrow. Peace to you.
J

Michelle - You have to talk to Father Lindsay about how you are feeling. He has shown that he cares deeply for you. You know he would want you to tell him what is on your mind. Open your heart to him. He would be honored by that.

Can you call him tonight?

Emmy

"Language is a Trojan horse by which the universe gets into the mind. ." -- Hugh Kenner

[hamstergirl]

I phoned Father Lindsay last night and openly told him what I was feeling. Like someone had died and I couldn't scream and I couldn't cry. We talked for 20 minutes and then he told me to go to bed and get some sleep, because I was on morphine and was feeling physically and emotionally tired. He offered to drop by in the morning.

While waiting, the hospital phoned, it was about the emergency room visit at the end of April (for what?). They had forgotten to tell me I had be refered to the Clinic for an appointment. I could call them if I wanted to.

"What clinic?" She didn't say, but gave me the number. I'm waiting on a lot of clinics. I thought it was a pain clinic.

I phoned the number. "Outpatient Psychiatry." I was stunned. I told them who I was and they said they had to confirm that I had been refered.

I hung up and was promptly sickened from the morphine. I went to the church and spent the afternoon, praying to my angels: "Please let this be the one. Let this be the answer to my prayers: an end to my emotional pain." (If any psychiatrist reads this, I was NOT hallucinating!!!!!)

I'd been begging for help forever and been ignored, even by my psychiatrist. I told them in emerg that I was in trouble, that I didn't feel safe. Because they forgot to give me a phone number, I could have ended up dead on a riverbank or in my apartment. I had a third suicidal surge only yesterday that was quashed only because I found an e-mail from Doug. (My newest project was/is to crush my will to live and it was very elaborate.)

They have good people at the General. I hope they hear me or I'm screwed. Their plan is to keep me busy in psychotherapy during the day and send me home at night.

From what they said in the emergency room, I thought they were saying: Control the pain, take the narcotics and everything would be peachy.

The physical pain is under control. The depression remains. Thank G*d someone caught me before I fell through the cracks.

I'm playing it smart this time. I'm bringing every depressing thing I've written since November, since I'm locked in emotionally, look so calm and I can't cry. I'll read them whatever they want starting with that bloody song. (I've ended e-mails to Doug with it on really bad days.)

If that doesn't convince them, then they are ALL a bunch of idiots, and are drinking the same stuff my psychiatrist is drinking that is dulling his brain. In that case, only divine intervention can save me.

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