Love

I have a saying that I got through my psychotherapy in Florida; I don’t know whether he said it to me, well, as I understand things now I do know that therapists and others do talk to us in our heads. He said to me, “Love is not a game or a joke.”

I said it to my father in the car on my way to my new doctor here in PA yesterday and he fired back an answer but I explained that this saying was particular to me which I didn’t understand until I said it.

It’s about the clitoral/urethral damage issue from being kneed in the crotch as a young child, which I won’t belabor. It queers anything before it starts and either I run away or the other person does and it really does make everything feel like a joke. Or a game. I figured this out at the age of 60 after 5 decades and 5 years of teasing out the threads of psych diagnosis and pre-psych speculation. Something was TERRIBLY WRONG and people knew it and at times I got into terrible trouble but there wasn’t much anybody could say because they knew that I had “a problem.” There were things that I could do that were so brilliant; but there were things that I needed to be able to do that were vital and necessary that I couldn’t do at all. I just laid around the house reading books all day long. And rode my horse at (curiously) “Alibi Acres.” That I could do. I could ride a horse. But I had trouble jumping. I couldn’t do the one-two-three-JUMP thing, I always felt like sitting on THREE instead of flying over the fence in rhythm with the horse. And then, at 17, sex came along. Let’s just not even go there.

So at this point I’m dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s of 39 years of formal diagnosis.

Basically, it stops with the inanity of my treatment at Johns Hopkins University Medical School Affective Disorders Unit in 1994, the “best intpatient psychiatric facility IN THE WORLD!”

I just stopped and melted into tears. Now, I mean

Over the last two years the root of the cause has been established, I’ve been saying it up and down the town so I will make this brief. I had a small “wart-mole”–an ugly little thing–removed from the left of my nose about a year ago and have gone through a bizarre transformation since then. Evidently that was the cause of the general problem which would be termed organic personality disorder. It even led to being kneed in the crotch as it made me a mean little girl. Evidently the mole was pressing on a nerve (or several nerves) in the side of my face and caused and at the same time numbed significant pain. The main problem was that it caused my tongue to be seized and I couldn’t really talked freely, I always mumbled. I will say one more sentence and then leave this for now, at a facility I went to this time last year almost immediately after the surgery because the doctor wouldn’t give me my meds, I described myself as “entering the world licking, biting, kissing, and sucking”!!! I am finally at the point were the old me and the new me are meshing and I am not conscious of the loss of that nasty little piece of flesh. I am a completely different person. I wasn’t really a person at all any more before that, after the decades of misapplied psychiatric care,

My whole family as been affected.

It IS exactly the kind of thing that a facility like Hopkins is supposed to discern.

We are healing now through the love of God.

In the end our lives have just taken another course.

My brother is dead.

He jumped off a cliff in Maui.

I know that he did it because it was the ONLY thing that would make a difference,

Hopkins will be sued.