What I went through

It is hard getting used to a life in bed. Because I cannot sit, I do most of whatever I do (read, write, work on the computer, make jewelry, talk on the phone....) in bed, lying on my side. It is hard getting used to a lot of what this condition demands that I get used to. Very hard. Still, compared to where I was before I got on the medications that are helping me, I am doing better. There were months where I lay in the corner of my little room, rolled in a ball, being stabbed by sharp knives. The stabbings were relentless and excruciating and went on for hours, days and months. There was no blood, and how I wished there was, so that I could bleed to death and die. What kind-of mad-creator had created this form of endless torture? When I pleaded to 'God' it was for mercy. Tears streaming down my bloated (from crying) face I begged "Please take me away." I repeated this over and over, my spirit and soul caged in my body that had become the cruelest of torture cells. I was jealous of those that had terminal illnesses, those that knew there was an end-date in sight. Those that could say their goodbyes and leave with morphine pumping through their veins. I was jealous of the living too, but health seemed to belong to a world that was so far away from the one that I inhabited. The outside world was something that was "out there". Something that belonged to the living. I was neither alive nor dead. I was a victim of the unbelievable, the unfathomable. There was no way that my mind could process the intensity of the "pain" that I was experiencing.  Electric shocks, stabbings, wrenches, balls of fire turning and twisting my flesh from the inside. What kind of a devil was putting me through this? What did I ever do wrong to deserve this? I had always been a caring and compassionate soul. The knives worked for hours on end, ripping me apart and then ripping me apart again. If it were real knives or electric shocks that were creating this mind-blowing, excruciating 'pain', I would have been dead after the first round. But instead evening after evening, night after night I was butchered again and again and again.

Needless to say I suffered from severe anxiety and depression. The terror of what was happening to me left me in a constant state of anxiety. I had no control over the pain. I could not put an end to it. It was merciless and all-powerful. I was terrified of the dark places that my mind was taking me to;  death by drowning, slit-wrists, the bath-tub filling up with bloodied water, my parents finding me, i could never do that to them, freezing to death,... my thoughts scared me to death. I had never contemplated suicide before this condition. While my pelvis/inner vagina was being wrenched and shredded apart, my tormented mind was desperately trying to find a way out of this torture. The only way out it knew of was suicide. And this scared me to death. I was terrified that I would act upon my thoughts, terrified that one day I would have no choice but to take mercy upon myself and to end my suffering by suicide.

I was alone in a world that 'normal' people did not even now existed. Alone in a world that the average doctor did not know existed. Alone in a world that 'God' had abandoned for certain.