The Spearhead

I have been the spearhead.

There have been so many others like me.

For instance, Sally. My second friend at Harvard. Colleen was the first. Anita was the third.

But I have to admit that Sally was the most important. Then, we had a terrible falling out over the Advocate.

I became “President of the Advocate.” Through ADAM BEGLEY. A TERRIBLE MONSTER. To me, although not to others. Through Barbara Epler we were split. She was head of the Prose Board and lifted me up as “President” in the way that I needed. But she took to Sally more (Sally was my roommate). Barbara took one look at my much younger sister who had come to visit fall semester Senior Year at the end of the Advocate debacle for me; and fell in love. Or so I thought. Recently I realized that it was actually Sally. Now I understand why Sally took it off of me when Barbara paid me that finally compliment after the final “Executive Committee” meeting. “I came to respect you.”

So, years later (12), in Germantown, MD, after my son was born, I had written a story about meeting Adam (“In front of the IRS man, he bent down to kiss my neck, I was so impressed…”…”many, many more stars…”…or something like that). In Germantown, I had contacted all my old friends and acquaintances after a shocking stay at a hospital in Rockville after blowing up after listening to the song “Gotta Be” by Des’Ree… And I contacted Barbara, who at that time was a literary editor in Manhattan. After a bit, I sent her the story about Adam. I never heard from her again. They were friends on the Advocate. Similar types.

Sally was the daughter of another hi-tech luminati like my father. Her family adopted me. But we had a terrible falling out Freshman Year over a horrible short story I wrote about “roommate tensions” for an Expository Writing Class. But we stayed roommates for the rest of our stays, we joined with Anita for the rest of our stays. Sally took time off and so did I. I failed out half-way through Senior Year and wound up in psych care. Things went from bad to worse, my family moved from North, suburban New Jersey near Manhattan to here in semi-rural Pennsylvania and I really wasn’t welcome or rather, they just knew I needed a berth at Wernersville State Hospital here where they had a very personal connection through an old friend and then something really horrible happened. My mother induced a minor suicide attempt through the power of suggestion–in order to demonstrate that I was suicidal in order to get my placed at the state hospital–but something truly, truly horrible happened. I know understand that the doctor KNEW THAT I HAD A URINARY TRACT INFECTION when they put that clamp on the catheter in the ICU. OBVIOUSLY, if I was trying to pull the catheter out there was a reason for it and they needed to take that bleeding thing OUT. What they didn’t bleeding know was that there was also a bad nerve in my clitoris from being kneed in the crotch by my brother as a little girl as oft stated and as can be verified by Mark who oft put his tongue on it and he knew it hurt, also, Dr. Lorenzo, a gynecologist in Seminole, who put his finger on the exact spot in the late 2000’s–so many years later. That damn painful nerve kept me alive. The pain from the catheter in my urethra was killing me and that was exactly what they intended. I was a Jew. They were Germans. They did not want me on their psych ward. This was the Pennsylvania Dutch community. Dutch means “Deutsch”–German. I have been able to verify that my mother’s mother’s mother was Jewish. Per God. They did not want me on their psych ward and my mother persisted. They may or may not have wanted me at Wernersville but Drs. Rodenberger and Rotenberg at the Reading Hospital and Reading Center in West Reading did not want to do it for my family. They were were trying to kill me in order to get rid of me and my family. I went through convulsions for 24 hours and 23 minutes not able to move. Passing in and out of consciousness completely blacked out. In unbearable, torturous agony. I flat-lined for five minutes. My mother told them to take the catheter out. I passed out and went into a plain unconsciousness.

The pain and convulsions were so bad that they kept me alive.

I saw all this in a dream state the night before last. It can be validated in various ways that I am not going to be going into right now.

It took years to die down this pain. Like, until, yesterday. It came back so many times. Like, in Germantown, when I was released from the hospital in Rockville, I had returned to an “alternative state,” as described by my husband at that time. As he had said about me when we first met. I looked at a picture from that time and my eyes were literally red. Like when I returned to the psych ward (“R-1”) at the Reading Hospital from the recovering room after the ICU. I was in JUST A HORRIBLE STATE. That was almost as bad as the ACTUAL 24 HOURS SEXUAL TORTURE. It was almost as bad, what I felt like as the little woman in me was turned into a horrible ghoul.

Then I went to Wernersville State Hospital.

The rest of this story remains to be told.