over and over.
He did some not-so-good things in bed and they brought harm on me, like my bent neck but sexuality in those days was so complicated. I had a debt I owed or that this woman who had a bent neck thought I owed to her at the state hospital the last time I was there. Because she wrote a paper that and wanted me to read it and I set it on the shelf when I was done reading and forgot about it. It had something disgusting in it, to me. And I didn’t want to go any further. But then the whole hospital turned against me because she wanted it back and I didn’t know where it went. That was the end for me at Wernersville. I didn’t have a single person on my side. I meant no harm to her. This was the second time such a thing happened to me at Wernersville and this was almost fatal.
As far as Alex, the boyfriend of the girl at Wernersville who wrote the paper, through the picture of me I had given to him and tore it into pieces and threw it on the floor and ground it into the floor with his shoe. They were both there, heavy in my heart, when they put me in four point restraints on the psych ward in California that I went to when I was 4 months pregnant. I was refusing medication because of the baby. I could barely breathe. After that I let go of those two. I am realizing RIGHT NOW that the whole show there was a big use. At Wernersville. I was a victim there from the beginning and that included the nurses and other staff. I’m lucky I got out alive. I BELONGED THERE. INEEDED TREATMENT THERE. I was an INFANT TORTURE CASE. OF COURSE I was “navel-gazing” because it had just happened to me all over again in the ICU with the clamped catheter. SOMEONE was giving orders for me to be treated like a spoiled brat and my mother was either was the one or was cooperating, bringing me candy and cigarettes to hand out to the other patients. I was in a dream world after what happened to me in the ICU. I had almost died. I needed careful and loving protection and attention after what had happened to me. Instead they placed a dangerous Satanic philanderer on the Unit after warning me to stay away from him before he was put on my ward.
Cutting to the chase, the argument centers around the diaphragm that my mother bought me when I asserted my sexuality in my bedroom in Summit, NJ after graduation when I brought home one of the boys from Kent and slept with him and had sex with him in my bed for several nights. That would be the summer of ’79. My brother did it all the time, it didn’t even occur to me not to.
So, they knew at the state hospital that the patient David did successfully seduce me and they wanted to know if I had sexual protection and I said yes, I had a diaphragm. Which I did. But obviously I didn’t have it with me. Where could I possibly be keeping it? You have to use cream with a diaphragm. Did she think I was wearing it 24/7? I would have gotten an infection. And, without cream, it is not effective.
The diaphragm was in my drawer at my mother’s house. It wasn’t exactly a lie, it was a fib. She was supposed to know. So David, FAMOUS for seducing every pretty girl who came to the hospital, came out the winner, I was the evildoer. This, after 24 hours torture by a catheter in the ICU, probably with a urinary tract infection present. I AM in TEARS.
Un.Bon.Mot 