Monday, January 05, 2009


I'll warn you this is a real life post and will be emotional painful and explicit. Just because you lie in a bed or sit in a wheelchair, the physical, mental and emotional pain doesn’t go away.

My last post on laying down my life, is what I want for my life: to give it in service. But the more you expose yourself, open yourself, take emotional risks, and give your heart, then the more severe the emotional pain when you are attacked. And I am attacked, drained, emotionally slaughtered often daily and yet I go on. How?

I don’t. I broke. People treated me as non-human for so long and so often that I believe it. So many people over my life, over this last year told me I was a monster, a thing, an object, that when all I received for hour and hour, day and day was abuse I believe it. I believe it, but I still give, I sent out 64 postcards this weekend. How? I mean, with ‘spoon’ theory, and with my disease I have about 40 spoons a day. I spend 75-80 spoons a day because I can’t stop. I can't stop caring. And now BECAUSE I am in so much pain, I simply can’t stop, because the pain has to mean something right!?

My GP refuses to respond to the need to see my pain specialist, the same GP who withheld the appointment so he could tell me I was ‘abrasive.’ I am in a LOT of pain. I am in pain every day, every minute of every day, and I am in a great deal of emotional pain, because the harder I try, the bigger the crash when people act.....well like people and treat me like a slot machine or an animal to be controlled instead of a human being. In a recent survey of responses to postcards the responses over a particular period were including email: 3% negative responses (“You didn’t send the right type of postcard!”), 1.5% positive responses and 95.5% silence. And yet I did another 64 this weekend. Because YES, I am insane. Because someone out there might be silent but needing it all the same, right? Or am I insane? It always rains here. Everything is hard, and yet I go on because I have to believe that it will help people. And sometimes it does. Because people write or email me to say they aren't going to talk to me anymore because they are better, they don't need me. But what if I need them? Haha, I'm EFM, I don't need what humans do, right?

I get emails, blog comments and post saying it just isn’t possible for me to do everything I do and be that ill. Except I haven’t watched a film through in something like a year, I don’t read books, I don’t have time to read blogs much, I work from the moment I get up and if my hands shake to much then I use my teeth or speak. When I can’t speak, I organize, when I am too weak to hold a drink, I slowly match postcards to people one postcards at a time. So no, no one can live with this disease and do as I do. And that is probably why I am resuscitated multiple times a weak. Probably why my heart is too tired to beat, and my lungs too tired to open.

Then AFTER I almost died, permanent, I worked even MORE. I bleed every day, my skin is so thin. And several days ago I had a complete and total breakdown. A breakdown in which I am still present, and in fact, working MORE than before, I am using the disassociation from being raped to keep going. I am eating myself, I am destroying myself and my Hope to keep going. Because there are no doctors, there is no one to help me. I am emotional pain and physical pain, both beyond endurance.

I get hate mail. I get comments that I don’t approved that put me into seizures. I recently spent all day communicating with a person who openly admits, without remorse, to deliberately hurting me every day for the last several years. I think they like me. But if I ask them a question, they will see it as an attack, and deliberately hurt me again. Recently I went into a seizure when a person told me they had had gone into a pet shop and bought some animals. Then they went home and tortured them to death so they could be erotically aroused by the sound of them dying. They told me because it was ME, entirely ME that inspired them, to take that step: they wanted to thank me. I started screaming and screaming. And then I had a seizure, because something I said or did got animals tortured to death. I get about five emails with that type of emotion level a week.

People treat me like an object. They try to control me, to order me around like an animal. Even Linda’s plan was to ‘force me to lie on the couch.’ – People don’t ask me, they tell me, carry me, restrain me because I am not human, I am a machine, a fiction, a lie, a monster. That is my family, my extended family, readers, people who send me post, dozens of people in actions and words. There is a world out there, where humans live, but I don’t live there. I am tied to a post, or ordered here where humans examine me and then pass me on. I am owned, by Linda, but she sometimes lends me out.

The good news is that I am not cutting anymore. The bad news is that I am actively suicidal, even though I want to live. See, I am never allowed to BE sick, not by the paid care givers, who demand I entertain them, or my family who decide they want a 'long term' relationship, or with Linda who still falls in patterns where I, super-able Beth will solve the problem. Except I have brain damage and am very sick. And ME? I'm the worse. I can’t ask for help, only respond to the unending calls FOR help. The problem is that after a while you burn out, and if you keep going after you burn out, you go insane, which is why I wrapped a metal chain around my neck and tried to induce a stroke to kill me yesterday. I did raise the pressure enough to get a blood burst in my eye, but I was ‘saved’, I think the third time that day?

I just woke up from a series of six nightmares. Even without the feeling of absolute terror and the inability to move, these are fairly graphic. I had been trained, much as I was trained from a young age, to be a dog (my father used to use a whistle, and tap his leg, or if he was angry because I was not responding, say sternly, “Heel!” to pull me back with his invisable whip to walk perfectly beside him. When he used the whistle I was to come with an attitude of eagerness of wanting to obey – this is when I was age two or three. If not the right speed or atitude I was punished and I mean corporal punishment. I was to obey his commands, and obey them completely without thought or question before returning. If you want the entire code I can still say it word for word as I did as soon as I could stand - or you could just look in an old dog training manual - about 1960's). In my nightmares, I was my age only these people I trusted, they used the code word by which they had trained me, “bitch” and I went into the all four doggie position. At which time every person raped me, individually. One after another. Some anally, some vaginally. Then they called for the dogs, dobermans, and all sorts of different breeds. I was in the bed of a pick-up truck on all fours and I couldn’t move. I couldn’t disobey. And then the dogs raped me too. I woke up and every time I went back to sleep it continued, for three straight hours. The last time, I begged Linda to let me get up, but she said the sleep would do me good. I told her I was having nightmares. She told me later that she thought, if I had survived so many nightmares, what difference would one more make. Bark Bark. I am a bitch; a dog, and she is my owner, so I obeyed and for another 90 minutes I was raped. With the whole heavy blanket of terror and the struggling to move, to be able to do SOMETHING that occurs in a nightmare.

Linda says that she finds it interesting that even my subconscious has accepted that I am less that human, I am less than a dog, I am something DOGS rape. I offered to cut ‘bitch’ into my forehead, but she declined. She went to get a drink.

See, I think if I screamed for help, I would only be raped by new people. I am a thing, and this is what you do to things: you use them. If I have a heart, I give it to everyone. Because I don't know who needs the help, and a majority of the time, actually a VAST majority of the time it comes back stomped on, HARD.

The problem with physical pain is that the pain gets into your mind, it gets into every part of your body, it makes it so hard to think, that even though you know you are losing perspective, you lose it anyway. You are reduced to tears for 45 minutes because someone you love gives you a shoulder bag that you can only use while walking. And they know you can only use a wheelchair....but they don’t want to accept that. I just need to TRY HARDER, and GET BETTER!! See, that is the pain, partially talking. Little things become big because you are put into a little box where it just hurts all the time, and it has hurt like that for about six weeks. I have offered to many people to just go ahead and break one of my fingers to see if I could feel it above the pain? Or just break it to see what happens. See, that’s not very rational. Except that when that is where you live, in that box of pain, then it is easy to see your body as just a thing and people who are ordering you around as masters. The entire medical establishment is based on controlling you and your body. So is care giving, often. Telling people what to do. Control. Tie your leash to a post.

It is good that there is no tomorrow for me because I don’t know how many more tomorrows of this I can take. My neck hurts where the chain bit into it. Sure there is still a part of me that wants to live, and live on, and do good. Just right now when I only hear what a CRAP job I did, I am not sure what good there is. And yeah, I’m so, so inspirational that I inspire people to do terrible, terrible things. I am an object and I will be what you want; command me and I will obey. I continue because.....I don’t know why. Because sometimes, when I stop breathing, it is like being in a cool room with no pain at all, no pain at all, until they resuscitate me. So I keep going because I don’t want to fail Linda, or the careworkers who need me to get paid, or the readers, or the people who want things or the medical staff which has careers, not based on helping me, but doing tests. I have done over 200 tests and I have no treatment. I have had my thyroid tested 5 or 6 times and yet, I don’t have synthetic thyroid. I have had my anemia tested 4 times, including one by the hospital ordering the doctor to treat and yet, I am not treated. I have a sheet for a blood test on anemia and thyroid. Know why I can’t have any ‘real’ painkillers? Because…“you could become addicted.” Really, because dying is pretty addictive. But being in agony every minute, isn’t. Not really. Want to break my finger doc?

Do no harm right? Or was it ‘Cover thy ass?’

I have been raped, in my dreams by a large percentage of male, and a lot of dogs; while in reality only a small percentage of males in North America. I remember my first theological sexual counselor, who was to answer to me, questions like, “Did God think I deserved this?” When he found out I was 10 as a, um, sexual partner, he muttered, “God” – and I was like, “No, see, this is the problem, was God in the bed too? Was God watching, waiting for me do something? Or does God just like watch? What did I need to do to be saved?” See, sexual abuse and torture is the gift that keeps on giving. Come and put your stamp on me! My previous male therapist was offended because I didn’t want to know his name, because I WANTED to objectify him. He demanded, “What do I do to make myself real to you! What do I need to do to make you know me!”

“Rape me,” I told him. “Rape me, and I will always remember YOU.”

The thing about a brain with temporal and frontal lobe damage is lots of fun strong emotion and as time goes by, the memories just get brighter and more negative. Because the negative ones are the ones triggered by the pain I am in all the time. So I remember things that people want to forget. Or want me to forget. Bark bark!

This is me screaming.


Anonymous said...

I hear the scream. I read every word.

You are human enough for me to do that, to listen to your screaming even though it hurts. It's not much, but it's what I can. You're human enough for me to want to salve that pain, if I knew any balm good enough.

You are not an object.

One other thing; you did not inspire the animal-torturer. (He) inspired (him)self, and projected - it's therapy-speak, but accurate - his sickness outward. He happened to project it on to you, but had it not been you, it'd have been someone else.

wendryn said...

I have had similar nightmares. I'm so sorry you can't get out of that headspace. It is terrifying and self perpetuating.

I see you as human. I know you as a person, not just a victim. You have done so much past simply surviving. You have helped so many people, even if they don't know how to say it, and you can't hold that feeling - it's hard to see.

The strongest emotions are the ones that stick, and unfortunately those are generally negative.

I wish so much more for you.


JaneB said...

Beth, I can't read all of this post today - I'm at work and can't cry or scream for you as I want to, and I have to go home and pack and travel to a meeting, I have to keep acting like I'm in control. You are too powerful a writer for me some day, the things you experience too dark for me to really come alongside you and be there, and listen, and support. I hope that the little I DO read is helpful, that my feeble caring, my thoughts and prayers, are more than nothing to you and to those who love you and don't know how to help you.

You DO matter, you ARE human, and your postcard work is much appreciated. But how can I make you believe that? Or that you DO have to rest or you won't make it to Seattle, where there might be a better pain doctor, a human being with some compassion?

YOU MATTER. YOU ARE HUMAN. Can you hear, faintly, in that dreadful dark abyss where you're thrown? I'm still here, trying to reach you without falling in myself...

Anonymous said...

Sorry, but your life sounds really screwed up.

You want people to tell you they want a postcard. Then you make them feel bad from "wanting" from you.

You say you get negative is a are on the INTERNET!

Lene Andersen said...

You don't make people do horrible things - they are solely responsible for their actions. That kind of "inspiration" comes from within them - nothing you have done or said could lead to that kind of evil. You show love to all, to people, to animals. They are twisted little fucks. That's theirs, not yours.

As for your caregivers... your taxes pay their salary. They are PAID to help you, that means you don't have to do anything. But I know how it is with attendants - it can get all messed up in power games and subtle forms of abuse and neglect. And it can get weird even with people who love you - a constant dance of finding the right balance, of help and independence.

I wish I could be there to give you many hugs, as many as it'd take to convince you that you are loved. That you are a force for good. You make a difference for the better.

Now, if only you'd use your spoons a bit more for you...

Neil said...

Beth, I understand that you cannot feel that you're human; you've had "human" trained out of you. Maybe we could train you to believe you are human? But no, that would only reinforce previous negative training.

So, would you take it on faith from me that you're human? Can you have faith in someone you've never met?

There's no harm in working to be a better person; if you see that as working to become human, I can accept that. But for now, I want nothing more than to offer you many hugs.

It's COLD here - the wind chill at 4 am yesterday was -51. And we've had a feral cat mooching at our back door recently. My Beloved has been inviting the cat inside to eat, and yesterday it decided to stay indoors with us all day and all night. I don't blame it; but this morning, it decided that life outdoors was calling it. The wind chill is only -36 today. It's welcome to come in any time in this weather!

Love and hugs,

kathz said...

I hope there is some way the good memories and good times come back and let you rest. I hope you find time without pain. You are human. You love and are loved. And you do good repeatedly for which I am grateful. I'm grateful not only for the postcards you have sent me but also for all the postcards you send that help people you don't even know. (My daughter was delighted with the postcard you sent her recently - a special one that needed an envelope. The care you took impressed her.)

As always, we send love - across oceans and continents.

yanub said...

Beth, I struggle to think of what to say when you are broken like this. It is so hard for me to comprehend why anyone would hurt you. And I can't understand how you tolerate it. Or why you tolerate it.

You are so generous to everyone but yourself. Please give yourself a gift of removing from your life those who seek to hurt you. Please, report that animal abuser to the authorities. And that chief abuser, your doctor, can't he be reported, too? How dare he have you visit him just so he can insult and degrade you, and destroy your hope.

I'm not surprised about people not responding to your postcards. That is an age old problem. People are more than happy to receive the blessings of someone else's efforts, but seldom do they say thanks or reciprocate. That is why, when we do a good thing, we have to do it without expectation.

I am probably saying all the wrong things. I am sorry for that. I wish I knew what to say or do. I wish I could fix things for you, even one thing, and I can't. You have a right to expect better treatment than you have received. You have a right to be respected. You are not a thing for people to drape with their worst impulses and desires, and those people who do that are vampires, monsters, millstones. Not you. You are never a monster, dear Beth. You are a blessing.

Anna said...


I suppose that everybody here will say something like that. If they don't, well. You can't be loved by everybody. About those who gets "Inspired" to do awful things. We all have a choice, always. Sometimes the options aren't easy. But to blame bad actions on your blog, or say that you inspired them is, to me not healthy. They had a choice, and I certainly don't think that you inspired many of us blog readers to do horrible things, rather the opposite. We are inspired by you to hang on, to fight hard fights and to love. Not something else. We don't ask you to do this or demands this of you. We are just grateful for your gift.

Hang in there. Know that you are completely and fully human. Know that life and people aren't easy, but we are all in this together and we all count. You are human.

Nancy said...

I just wanted to let you know that I'm back from my Christmas vacation and once again at a house with Internet. I got two lovely postcards delivered here while I was away, and they're really beautiful works of art, customized with a lot of care. Thanks so much! I wish I could say something else that might help you or be useful while you're sad, too. But I'm sending lots of good wishes, and now that I'm back I'll be able to send more letters, as well.

Veralidaine said...

Oh, Beth.... I wish so hard I could protect you from yourself and from the cruelty of others.

Back to say more later if the words come to me... or maybe I will just email you. Very disturbing, very sad, so unfair that you are treated this way.

Abi said...

Elizabeth, you are very human (if we take humanity to be a thing on can have in degrees; if it is a binary concept, you are simply human). People tell you what to do because you are important. They think that if you are left to your own devices you will damage yourself, and they want to protect you from harm.

I expect being told what to do would be annoying if it happened once or twice, but now it has gone so far beyond that as to be something else altogether (something in the tone of your writing hinted that this might be the case).

Of course, being told what to do and abuse are not the same. They can overlap, but abuse is a lovely little extra, thrown in to make life that little bit more exciting (sarcasm). You are human, but people who do not treat you as such are much less worthy of that title. It reflects on them, rather than on you. It affects you in a profoundly negative way, but it does not reflect on you. If you see what I mean.

I can’t imagine what you are going through at the moment. I am aware of some of the issues you are living through, and several of them terrify me; any one of those alone would make me anxious for an escape route. Ha! Go me with the cheery and uplifting! I’m sure you wanted that saying…

I hate it when I start to lose perspective with my thinking. Sometimes it helps a little knowing that I am losing perspective (at least, it seems to make it easier to regain it later), but it still pretty much feels the same, and the feeling is what hurts the most. I want to say something profound and helpful here, but I have nothing.

I want to be able to do something to help, but alas I cannot do much more than simply be here. I would not be here like this if you weren’t human, though (and you are to take that as an affirmation of your humanity, rather than a sign that I will be leaving; I believe that you are human and nothing you can do will make me disbelieve it. That is not a challenge, though, and I will take it badly if you take it as such). (Oh, and sorry for telling you what to do. :-s )

You know, you don’t have to do any sort of job. It is not important to listen to the majority of people who tell you that you are not doing a good job, or that you inspired them to do bad things (yeah, whatever – it was already within that person and they just needed an excuse. If it wasn’t you they’d have found someone else). That you try, and love, and give provides an excellent example to people who need a push to better themselves and to care, and you do touch a lot of lives in a positive way, but you don’t have to put yourself out into the world like that. I understand some of why you do it, and it is an especially wonderful thing. I don’t mean that you should stop (although that would be well within your rights), but that you should develop selective attention! I know that you probably can’t (you care far too much!), so I suppose that this is mostly just a gesture of support.

What an epic comment; I am not even sure I got to the point. I am sorry that you are broken, and I really hope that you are fixed soon; I hope that you get some of that peace you seem so short of!

Sending gentle hugs and the assurance that I accept you for who you are, right at this moment. And a sick bucket, as you might need it after that sentence (sorry everyone).

Alex M said...

Your postcards mean a great deal to me. I wish there was more I could do to help YOU! You ARE cared for, even if often all you get from us is silence. Stay strong, woman!

Dawn Allenbach said...

Those people who do things because they are allegedly "inspired" by you? They are fucked in the head. More than you say you are. They know you are vulnerable, and they abuse your vulnerability and your gentle heart to get themselves off even further. Please don't take responsibility for their sickness because you are NOT responsible for their sickness. They were doing horrible things before they discovered your blog, and they will keep on doing horrible things after you are gone unless someone stops them. Can you record their IP address and report them to the authorities? Listen not to the loud voices of the haters and abusers, ignore the silent who only want someone to do for them and can't even say thank you. Listen to the grateful, those who love and appreciate you. I would hold you until the nightmares faded if I could be there.

If you can no longer fight for yourself -- and I somewhat understand the erosive property of pain because I saw it for years in my brother -- then give those of us who love you names/addresses/phone numbers of those who don't listen, who don't care, who treat you like shit. I'm decent at pushing, at making a pain in the ass of myself. I for one will fight for you so you can CHOOSE to rest, this time without nightmares.

rachelcreative said...

I loathe that you are in so much pain - physical and emotional - and not even finding peace and escape with sleep.

The clash of feeling suicidal whilst dying yet wanting to live - well I can't begin to imagine how hard that must be.

I want peace and happiness for you. I don't have a magic wand to make things better. But I am reading and caring how you are and wanting to wish the bad stuff away - for what that's worth.

Elizabeth McClung said...

Wendryn: It isn't a good incentive for sleeping, that's for sure!

You are right, if I could rewrite myself I would, but I can't. And with my brain eliminating every memory of the last year or so except the extreme ones, maybe I have or would feel different, IF I could remember, but for me, as my brain remaps to compensate, it tends to go to the older areas, bringing old memories fresh again. I have no idea what postcard I spent an hour selecting for a person by the time they get it. That's just what my disease is. I wish it wasn't. I can give in, and not send postcards, or not give in, but feel conflicted at times.

Anon: Hey, you are probably right, I don't have a lot of other Terminal/brain damage/extreme pain to compare it with so I can't tell if I am doing a good job or a bad job. Maybe we can set up a board where people get to rate how well terminal people are doing based on public opinion?

Yes, this is what is called, "Being human" or "fighting to be a better person." I have baggage which overwhelms me, and since this blog is ABOUT what I go through, I write about that. But I also want to make a difference despite how I may feel, for someone who may feel....well, like me. Do I make them feel bad for 'wanting' from me. I sent the postcards out of choice, I always send the postcards. If they complain, isn't it because they view me, not a person giving a gift, but from a consumer culture point of view where everyone is somehow thier servant and 'customer service' - meaning what THEY want comes first? So who is really sick?

Yeah, I also get negative letters - hint - this is PLANET EARTH. While you, Mr. Anon, feel that the internet may give you the license to say and act like an ass and do it without regret; everything you do imprints upon you. And you if spend time somewhere, even the internet, acting like an arrogent asshole - well then you ARE in part an arrogant asshole. And if you send hate mail, well, then you are a hateful person. In the same way, if you go around town with a baseball bat and just hit people with it - you can't let yourself or whoever does that with "Hey I live here, and I hit people with a baseball bat!" and put it on the people you attack. Every hateful email or letter I get is from a human being. I see that. You don't. Why is that? And why am I the one who is revealing MYSELF and my humanity and YOU are the one who is hiding even the most basic aspects of yourself (Well except that we actually know a great deal about you from your speech - you are male, you are judgemental, you think people who are raped are kind of strange, you can't empathize easily with others, you want things to come to you but resent that you might have to be responsible for your actions, and I would guess you are between 19-31, white, north american and you probably spend a great deal of time on the computer). You are the one who has stripped away YOUR humanity to the point you don't even have a name....but I'm the one who is screwed up?

Gwen said...

I'm a regular reader of this blog but have never posted. I received a postcard from Elizabeth two days before my 40th birthday. This was the only card I received from anyone. Elizabeth didn't know it was my birthday but I took it as my birthday wish and it meant more to me than she, a complete stranger, or anyone else can imagine. I treasure that card. Elizabeth, please do not ever feel like what you are doing is not appreciated.

I feel sorry for anonymous. Like you said, he obviously spends waaay too much time on the internet which probably means he's lonely. I just don't understand why he would read your blog if he doesn't enjoy it or get something out of it. I think he does but is too bitter to realize it. It's. Just. Sad.

And so easy to hide behind "anonymous" and be invisible. He probably feels invisible. Sad. The ironic thing is Elizabeth's postcards make people know they matter, they are not invisible, there is one person out there in the world that takes the time and effort to show they care. It's too bad he can't see that.

Elizabeth, I was FINALLY able to get out today and go to the post office. You will receive a package in the next couple days. Let me know if it works for you and I will send some more.

SharonMV said...

Dear Beth,
I'm so sorry for what you suffered in the past - I can't imagine how you deal with such pain. And also the pain that those who should have loved you, cherished you did not. That they did not protect you angers me. That they hurt you & treated you as they did - I have no words to express how terrible that is.

You suffered so much, were so abused, yet you survived. And you had to deal with & try to overcome all the feelings & memories that scarred you. And then, after such a struggle, after you had gone on with life, had so many accomplishments, created a loving relationship with Linda despite the experiences that marked your body and mind, then you became ill & disabled. And again people failed you - the "healthcare" professionals who should be helping you are not. They treat you abominably. Again they try to reduce you to nothing - at least nothing that they have to do anything about. How do you hold on to your personhood, your humanity in such circumstances? How do you keep alive the spark that is Elizabeth? Yet that spark is still there. And I am amazed.

I don't have the terrible past of abuse that you faced. But I have dealt with being sick and in pain. And with loss and vast amounts of emotional pain. I have wondered why everyone else's pain counted, but mine did not. I have had my life destroyed, lived with terrible sickness & pain, while people in my family acted like it was just a "lifestyle" choice. Had doctors tell me there was nothing much wrong with me when there were several very serious diseases at work. Diseases that were destroying my body for years. People wanted me not only to deal with all the illness & disability myself, but also to protect them from having to face the reality of my life.

I was lucky that my primary doctor stuck with me, cared about me & helped me live with the symptoms & pain. And I was lucky that I was finally diagnosed & am now receiving treatment, albeit 20 years late. But my body is a wreck & I don't know how much I'll be able to get back. And sometimes I think what if I'd been diagnosed a few years ago? 20 years ago?

And Dennis stuck by me. It is hard for him - to finally realize how sick I really am. I protect him from some of the medical realities, but that is my choice. Because he does so much for me, has so many responsibilities, has been hurt enough.

Beth, you are my only friend who truly understands the shear volume of pain, the depth of physical & emotional suffering in my life. But you go through so much more & have to deal with what the past has written on your body and your soul. I wish I could help more, I wish I could take some of it away. I wish I could wring your doctor's neck & force him to give you adequate pain control! And synthroid & send you to someone to treat your anemia. If only my thoughts had power!

I have only my friendship to give you, my beautiful, wonderful, human Elizabeth.


Tammy said...

Oh Beth, I am so sorry. I wish I had magic words to make you feel better. You are not responsible for the acts of others, to you or those who claim to do things because of you. It's odd. For every good thing we do in our life, there is some one screaming the negative in our ears so loud it drowns out the good things we've done and all we can focus on is the negative. I can remember nearly every negative comment from my friends, family, co-workers, but it's hard to remember them saying anything good...if they ever did.
I'm incredibly heart broke for you. You deserve so much more. If you aren't human, than I don't want to be either. I'm sorry for the lot you have been dealt, for the entire medical profession who just treat you like something that needs swept under the rug so they don't have to deal with it, for the people on line who deliberately hide behind anononimity just so they can hurt you. I'm sorry that there are those who use you and don't realize that you are offering nothing more than a smile and a bit of friendship with your postcards. I'm sorry this world is so dark and cruel to you. I wish I could hold you and help you feel better, but the miles are too much. I'm sorry for my failings of not being able to offer the right words to express how I really feel. Most of all, I'm sorry that you have to suffer, even one second, from the cruelty of others.You are so much more than all of them.
****fingers crossed this post will go dial-up hates me and doesn't want me to post.

Anonymous said...

i really appreciated the postcards you sent. i don't really know what else to say.

i'm sorry that you're in so much pain.

Linda McClung said...

Just wanted to let the commenters who wrote comments which aren’t displayed know that your comments have not been lost. Beth is having a difficult day today and it is taking her a while to read and process the comments. Thanks for your patience.

For those of you who have responded so beautifully via comment or email, I so appreciate you’re reaching out. I am so glad you are in our lives.

Elizabeth McClung said...

Anon #1 - thank you for listening. This isn't really a typical blog I guess, but I know there are sadly hundreds of thousands of women and men in North America who go to the space I am in (or at least the abuse part).

I thought I left it behind but the more memory I lose, the closer I get, the more pain I feel, the more I respond in ways I was taught.

As the animal torturer - I think I know that but I felt the suffering of the animal, and that someone should take pleasure and want to credit me, it made me beyond violently sick, I was that animal, no animal should die like that, for that. And why WAS it me? I am sorry, I just worry that somewhere, I HAVE encouraged that in some way (though how feeding squirrels leads to torturing animals I am not sure).

Jane B: I am sorry, I know that this is a hard post, and to tell you the truth, I can't read it today either. I am worried that people will feel that I blame them and I don't, I just wanted people to understand where I am and what I see, and how I am surviving day to day, or not.

I knew this would trigger some people and tried to email them, I forgot you and I am sorry. I understand if you don't read it this week, this month even. I want to be there for you becuase I already know you want to be there for me. That is enough. Please, if reading hurts you, don't hurt yourself.

What you say about resting in order to find a doctor who cares makes sense. I like it, it is logical and I can understand it. Thank you. I will try to apply it, or remind myself about it.

Please don't come into the abyss, no one should be here, no one. I don't know what to believe about human or not since even my brain and dreams tell me who I am or not. I am sorry that I put you in such a place. I'm sorry.

Gwen: thank you for sharing your personal and intimate story. I knew someone was there who it was the right postcard for, but I don't know who - which is why I keep sending, because I want to make sure that the postcards reach the people when they need them. I am so, so glad that it did. Thank you for telling me. It is a great gift. I was sharing what I go through in my mind, there was no blame, just how I deal with my OWN mental junk.

As for Anon, you are right, he needs a postcard! Maybe a few to let him know that this is where humans are, and care, and there is more to the internet than that. And yeah, I'm screwed up, so was Lincoln.

I will tell you if it works. Thank you for telling me, I will be on the look out for this now - this mystery surprise!

SharonMV: Thank you for knowing and understanding that it is like waves, somtimes they just push you under. I will come up, I will continue, I just....need a little break between the waves. I will always send out postcards. I will always care as I can.

Yes, the whole 'lifestyle choice' thing - I have that from so many people, to suffer it for years as you did, the emotional pain it causes, to not only lose what you have yourself but to then have it thrown in your face again? To be treated as if, you are only worthy if you leap this giant gap and come to them.

I am so glad you have Dennis and your Doctor. But I am so angry that you had so much taken away, not just the years, and the pain but the uncertainly the questioning in the mind, the feelings that come with all of that. Now none of the medical people question if I am sick and they still won't touch me. So yes, I wish I understood why Synthyoid in a very small dose is SO difficult to give -- how many years until I get it?

I think there is a line up to wring some doctor's neck.

Thank you for your friendship, to have someone who understands, who can accept going a little crazy from pain and knows what that is like, is valuable beyond words. Thank you.

cheryl g said...

It has taken me all day to be able to try and write a comment and I still feel like my words are going to be woefully inadequate. I read this post (multiple times) and each time I felt such sorrow that you are in such a dark place. I feel such anger that your life has to be filled with such pain and suffering and that you can’t get even basic treatment to try and help you. I feel such helplessness because I want to fix it all and much is outside of my power to fix.

I understand the need to keep going, the need for the pain to have meaning. I need you to keep going but to do it slower. I need you to not destroy yourself. Take my hand, lean on me, let me watch over you and fight for you. I need you to hang on for the possibility that the doctors in Seattle will help. I know it is scary to open up to that but Linda and I will be beside you on this journey.

The person who sent you the email about torturing animals is very sick. It is nothing you did that inspired them. You are just a convenient rationalization. Nothing you said or did or wrote twisted this person. They were already damaged and looking for an excuse. If it wasn’t you it would be someone else.

I know you find it hard to ask for help but I will keep being there and offering it. I want you to be able to just be sick. I want you to put yourself first more often. Ask for help and/or let me help. I know I am as bad as you are about not asking for help but I will try if you will.

I wish I could protect you in your dreams. I am so sorry you have to experience such pain and terror. I will come for you. I will watch over you as you sleep. If you scream for help I will come and fight to protect you. I will also continue to fight to prove that you are human. You are worthwhile. You are not an object to be used but a person to be cherished and loved.

I hear your screams and I am reaching into the abyss for you. I WILL come in after you to help you out and no you can’t stop me from doing that. As you sacrifice yourself for others I am willing to sacrifice myself for you. I believe you are worth that and more.

Sharon – The line to wring the doctor’s neck starts behind me.

Raccoon said...

This is so far outside my realm of experience, so far outside of my comprehension...

Again, I'm agreeing with Anonymous: the animal-torturer would have done it anyway. Hir bragging to you would have been done to someone else, if (s)he hadn't found you.

And your doctors? I think we've already agreed that they are putzes.

You are human. The words you put to paper, they make me laugh, smile, wince, angry, cry. If you weren't human, that wouldn't happen.

Laura said...

The last pic that you posted just says Elizabeth to me. I really liked the rest too but the last one just caught my eye.

Thank you for posting this post. I know things are hard. My hand is out for youto grab if you need it.


One Sick Mother said...


I dreamed last night that I was in a wide-open space, without my cane, unable to walk: Trapped.

I dreamed that you wheeled over to me, allowed me to lean on you and led me back to safety.

I don't know what that means, exactly, But that is what I dreamed.


Denise said...

Reading your post my first reaction is that if I were not 2700ish? miles away I would visit and hold you while you railed and screamed. Or sit-n-knit if you can't bear to be touched. Just so you'd know you're not alone, you are loved, and where you are now, awake, is not the place in your nightmares.

My second thought is reflective. I find myself careening a little more unsteadily through life and closer to the abyss than I expected to find myself before I stopped meds 3 weeks ago (it's been like I'm plugged back into myself again, with good and bad more intense). I wonder more closely on the role of the abuse and neglect I suffered in creating my current state. I'm not yet 30, able-bodied, have friends near and far. Yet I am convinced I will age and die alone (and if my landlord gets his way, cat-less!). I had thought, "I'm out of that House of Crazy, I'm not having PTSD attacks anymore, I must be done." I'm thinking that may have been the meds talking. So glad I am finally going to start seeing a new therapist Monday. And so glad to be among other survivors (online and in meat-space), for so many reasons.

Here is my approach to life: People are fuckers, but I try to help make the world a smidge brighter anyway. And I am happy to modify my opinions of individuals based on my experiences with them. You, EFM, are no fucker. I came to that ages ago when I'd read Screw Bronze for a month or two. You're quite a decent person. And I just might have to commence sending bits of mail to you until you start to believe it. Speaking of which... you two eat chocolates? :)