22 Monday Feb 2021
Posted in Uncategorized
Tags
articles, bipolar, caregivers, class, essays, free, get published, magazine, mental health, paycheck, psychosis, schizophrenia, writing
I am offering a free writing seminar this Saturday, February 27th at 9:00 AM PST. The class will teach you how to get published in magazines. If you are a mental health writer, or caregiver, please sign up! I hope to see you there.
Link to register:
https://wegohealth.zoom.us/webinar/register/WN_cf3ZFkvSTJ-RVDogUvDpOA
19 Tuesday Dec 2017
Posted in caregivers, mental illness, schizophrenia, Uncategorized
Tags
living with schizophrenia, mental health, mental illness, mentally ill, psychosis, schizophrenia], symptoms, wellness
The thing about schizophrenia is you have to carry it all the time; you can’t just put it on the shelf and walk away.
I have good days, and I have bad days, but I never have a day where I forget I have schizophrenia. Schizophrenia, the reality of it, or even the symptoms are with me almost all of the time. On a regular day, I make choices all day long because of my illness. I make choices about when and what to eat. I have my main meals approximately twelve hours apart. I think about where I am going and what I will do. I say no to many things. I don’t go anywhere early in the morning, not because I am sleeping, but because doing so causes me to have anxiety problems the rest of the day.
There is the planning that goes into managing my illness, but there are also daily symptoms. I usually feel paranoid at least once per day. I have something happen to my vision that frightens me at least several times a day. (This is an odd symptom. I will see flashes out of the corner of my eye and then I will become frightened that I am becoming psychotic, or I will see shadows, or dots, or anything I can’t identify.) I am frequently anxious, and when that gets bad, I have to take more medication. It goes on and on.
I never get to relax like when we are walking on the beach and daydream about owning a big piece of property or owning a boat. Schizophrenia is my constant companion – thoughts of it, the reality that I have it and am dealing with it almost never goes away.
I have moments or minutes of relief. There are times when my husband makes me laugh really hard, and for that brief time, the laughter squeezes everything else out. There are times when I am reading or watching a movie, and I will be unaware, at least for a short time, of the shadow of schizophrenia that lives within me.
I don’t know if there is any other illness that is as hard to shut off or shut down or block out. If all chronic illness comes with a weight that the person always carries that weight must be fought off, or thrown off, in any way possible to let in the sunshine, the lightness, the joy of being alive.
As I move into the New Year, I am going to try to discover things that give me a break, even if only a short one from the heaviness of having schizophrenia. Even though I don’t carry the burden alone; I get so tired of centering my life and thoughts around schizophrenia.
In 2018 I would like a little more freedom to dream and to roam unencumbered by an illness that gets in and never lets go.
13 Wednesday Dec 2017
Posted in bipolar, caregivers, mental illness, schizophrenia, Uncategorized
Tags
bipolar, books, creativity, culture, history, involuntary treatment, mental health, mental illness, mentally ill, politics, psychosis, reviews, schizophrenia]
God, or if you prefer, the Universe, has a way of teaching us things we need to learn if we listen. Recently I wrote about how I get tired of hearing stories about schizophrenia from a parent, sibling, or other relative’s point of view. Well, I am reading a book, “no one cares about crazy people,” by Ron Powers that has me rethinking that blog post. The book is a part memoir (Ron’s only two children both developed schizophrenia), and the other part is fantastic research into culture, politics, history, treatment, and stories of schizophrenia.
Not only am I rethinking relatives writing about schizophrenia, but I have also changed my mind about involuntary commitment. I used to sit on the fence about the fact that someone has to be a danger to themselves or others to be forced into treatment, but I am no longer a fence sitter. If a person is psychotic, and a medical doctor concludes they are psychotic, I think that should be enough to force someone into treatment. There are so many reasons to support this view: prolonged psychosis does more damage to the brain the longer it is allowed to persist, a person who is psychotic has no insight into their behavior and can’t tell someone if indeed they are a danger to themselves or others. And, during psychosis being a danger can change within minutes.
Ron Powers doesn’t take the voice of his sons and tell “their story.” He incorporates words from both of his sons into the book, so we get to hear not only the parent’s voice but the voice of two young men who develop schizophrenia. The book is so good. So, so good. I would send my copy to one of you to read it, but I am going to use it as a reference for years to come.
I thought I knew a lot about the history of mental health treatment in this country, and in other parts of the world (like Nazi Germany). It turns out, I knew quite a bit, but many of the specifics and how those things fit together and move from one age, or condition to another was beyond me.
The memoir part of the book is stunning. The writing is great and to read how one family entered the world of mental illness (and suffered the most tragic of consequences), is enough to split a piece of your heart.
The research is fascinating. The ties that the author makes from psychiatry to Scientology and how these two things linked most bizarrely to negatively impact people’s view of the medical treatment of mental illness was something I knew nothing about. Also, I have always blamed Ronald Reagan for “deinstitutionalization,” but the real beginning of it started with JFK. Reagan just kept cutting and cutting and gutting and gutting – from his time as governor of California to his time as president.
I am three-fourths of the way done with this book, and it has already proven to be one of the best books I have read on schizophrenia and the issues involving mental illness. If you want to know more about the link between creativity and mental illness, eugenics, the laws, the current state of our mental health treatment, the history of psychiatry and more, this book is a good place to begin or possibly because of its wide breadth a good place to begin and end.
The researched chapters are not easy reading, but the fact that the author breaks them up with his personal stories make the book more enjoyable and accessible.
10 Friday Nov 2017
Posted in caregivers, mental illness, schizophrenia, Uncategorized
Tags
delusions, hallucinations, mental health, mental illness, mentally ill, paranoia, psychosis, psychotic, truth, wellness
I just ate a piece of bread with hummus on it from a woman giving out samples in Costco. For some reason, the bread or the hummus tastes differently to me. Fear overcomes me. I begin to think the food may contain poison. I start looking for my husband who I left in the computer aisle. When I find my husband, I ask him to go to the woman and taste the food. He recognizes the fear and urgency in my voice so although he is not hungry and doesn’t like to sample foods, he goes to where she is standing and waits in line for a sample. He tastes it. “It is fine,” he tells me. “It tastes good.” This moment is critical, I will either be comforted by my husband’s words, or I will move into a full-blown panic. This time, it works, and I immediately begin to calm down.
The scenario I just typed is one example and one incident among hundreds that happen in one variation or another in our lives. I fear something. My husband tries to show me or tell me why the fear is irrational. He never tries to help me condescendingly. He does it factually, and straightforwardly.
This example of trust is why I titled this blog post, “Think Twice Before You Lie to Someone with Schizophrenia.” I know that it might seem easier sometimes to lie to someone who is paranoid or psychotic, but in the long run, and in my experience, it will damage how much you can help that person in the future.
I have built twenty years of trust with my husband. He is one of the few, if not the only, people who I believe all of the time. That isn’t to say that his honesty with me comforts me one hundred percent of the time, but it does about seventy-five percent of the time, and that is a lot. If we can prevent seventy-five out of one hundred panic attacks or episodes of extreme paranoia, I think that is pretty good. (The number may be higher, I don’t know. I just know it works more than it doesn’t).
I know that telling a lie to someone to get them to go into treatment if they are actively psychotic may be necessary, (and if it helps someone to get the help they need, I am all for it). But I would weigh those situations before deciding to be untruthful. The consequences of lying can last far into a person’s recovery and treatment. Without someone who I trust, who knows how many times I would have struggled severely with hallucinations, delusions, paranoia and other symptoms. Having someone to trust can be as good as a potent medication at times when symptoms don’t have a strong grip on someone with schizophrenia.
07 Saturday Oct 2017
Posted in hope, mental illness, schizophrenia, Uncategorized
Tags
anxiety, anxious, exercise, fear, mental health, mental illness, psychosis, psychotic, rock climbing, schizophrenia], wellness
Last night my husband and I were talking about the progression of my schizophrenia. When we lived in a suburb of Los Angeles, I went eight years without an episode. During that time, I worked full time at a university library and as a marketing coordinator for an architectural firm. I networked all the time and sat on boards for the city council. We traveled frequently, I met friends almost daily for exercise dates, and we had a very active social life. After we moved, I had a psychotic episode that lasted over six months. I have not fully recovered my level of functioning since that episode of psychosis.
Today, I have a hard time traveling (we used to go to Paris, traveled to Dubai, etc.) on an almost yearly basis. Now, I can barely go two hours from home without major preparation (I do travel to writing conferences in other states, but it is difficult and draining, but I feel it is necessary). Besides the difficulties of travel, I am more fearful and less social. I used to have a wide network of friends that I did all kinds of activities with, and that is no longer the case. I have a small group of friends now, and we get together a couple of times a month for brunch, a birthday, a baby shower, a happy hour (even though I don’t drink), or something like that. I can go days without seeing anyone but my husband and without leaving the house.
I have a lack of motivation for social interaction. Don’t get me wrong, I love people, but I just don’t have the drive and energy it takes to make “dates” happen. (I will say, I am starting to have more and more Skype appointments with writers who need support throughout the week, and I enjoy meeting on the computer and talking with people).
It’s the level of anxiousness and fear that I have now that has most impacted my life since that last big episode of psychosis. I am afraid of everything. I almost always think the worst. If my husband is late and hasn’t texted, I think he was hit by a car, or something equally as bad has happened. If I have a stomach ache (which I frequently do), I am afraid that my diverticulitis is infected again and that I will have to go to the emergency room. This fear is my life and invades my days, and I want to do something about it.
I try positive thinking and gratitude lists, and all the obvious things and they work, they do, but my fear is still crowding out positive life experiences. So, I am going to try and experiment. I am going to do something that I am extremely afraid of (heights), and see if I can put some confidence and sense of accomplishment back in my life. In short, I am going to see if I can overcome some of my anxiousness and fear.
What am I going to do? I am going to try rock climbing. No, I’m not going to attempt the face of some jutting rock formation in Yosemite, I am going to go and have two lessons at a rock climbing wall. I know, it sounds simple, and it sounds easy, but for me, being even two feet above the ground will be terrifying. I think the climbing wall will work every muscle in my body and will make me tired physically, and that will be great for sleeping and relaxing. If I am successful, I am sure that it will build my self-confidence, and if I like it, and decide to continue, it will build my body strength which will also help with the side effects of my medication (weight gain, high cholesterol, high sugar, etc.). There is so much to gain, and nothing to lose but fear and anxiety.
Climb on my friends, climb on!
11 Wednesday Jan 2017
Posted in articles I wrote, bipolar, mental illness, schizophrenia, Uncategorized
Tags
advocacy, bipolar, Dr. Phil, psychosis, schizoaffective disorder, schizophrenia], sensationalism, Shelley Duvall, stigma
*I wrote this back in November for The Mighty and even though they accepted it, it must have been cut because it never showed up there. I am posting it here to give it a home.
People with severe mental illnesses frequently are portrayed as dangerous killers, or they are portrayed as the harmless “fools” or “idiots” like in the Fisher King. There is one nice thing to say about Dr. Phil’s show that aired November 18th, 2016. The nicest thing I can say is that he didn’t go for either of those stereotypes that most movies, television shows and stories portray; Shelley Duvall did not come across as dangerous or a killer or the happy, go lucky “innocent.” She was, however, portrayed in a way that made light of psychotic thoughts and features during a time in her life when she is in deep need of understanding and care.
The show took the path of sensationalism and did a disservice to all those who have a mental illness. Duvall, best known for her role alongside Jack Nicholson in the Shining was obviously suffering from symptoms of a severe mental illness. I’m not a doctor, but her symptoms mirror many people (myself included) who have schizophrenia, schizoaffective disorder, or bipolar psychosis. If I had to guess, I would say that Duvall was actively psychotic based on my experiences with the condition (I have been psychotic numerous times and her thought pattern, paranoia, etc. closely resemble what I went through).
I am disappointed and angry that McGraw didn’t take the high road and interview someone with a severe mental illness who is an advocate and could have gotten through an interview without falling into some of the most serious symptoms displayed by people with schizophrenia or other disorders. For instance, I suffer from symptoms every day but could have talked my way through an interview without disclosing any delusions, hallucinations or conspiracy theories. The same was not true of Duvall. Duvall mentioned a device implanted in her leg that causes her to worry. She also said that Robin Williams, who she acted within the movie, Popeye, was not dead (Williams committed suicide in 2014) but was “shape shifting.” And she claimed that the Sheriff of Nottingham was out to get her, and frequently mentioned people trying to hurt her in bizarre ways.
I know the things I wrote in the last few sentences seem kind of eccentric, harmless, and maybe even fun or goofy, but they are symptoms of a serious illness, and there is nothing harmless or humorous about them. If Duvall is psychotic, she may also be hearing voices (during the interview she mentioned a man that is hurting her that may very well be a voice that she hears). Hearing voices is a phenomenon that can be upbeat one moment and terrify the next; it can be extremely uncomfortable to those who experience it. At a minimum, Duvall deserves our respect, compassion and empathy and McGraw made her more of an object of sensationalized quirkiness than a woman who needs intervention, care, and long-term treatment.
Not only did the Dr. Phil show harm advocacy efforts towards giving a balanced and fair view of mental illnesses, but it may also have harmed Duvall as well. If Duvall can get medications that clear up her symptoms or at least make them manageable (knowing the difference between reality and delusions) then she may very well be embarrassed or shamed by that interview. In her vulnerable state (which should never have been made public) she may have opened herself up in ways that she normally wouldn’t have, and that could cause her further suffering.
Like all marginalized groups who suffer from popular stereotypes, mentally ill people long to be seen as we are and not as caricatures of our symptoms, sensationalistic representations of our illnesses, or in a case of extremes. For many of us, we look a lot like everyone else when we have proper treatment, but darn, that just isn’t as interesting and doesn’t sell advertising.
10 Thursday Mar 2016
Posted in mental illness, schizophrenia, Uncategorized, writing
Tags
Advocate, caregivers, caregiving, caring, mental health, mental illness, mentally ill, psychiatry, psychology, psychosis, psychotic, schizophrenia], writing
When I was in school, I wrote an essay about a time when I was psychotic for six months. You can read the essay here.
When the teacher commented on the essay, she asked why my husband would allow my psychosis to go on for six months.
I found her line of questioning judgmental. Did she think that she would be able to make a better decision that would make the time that I was psychotic shorter? At the time, I told her that my husband and I had just moved to a new city and that he had just started a new job. She pushed her questions further and asked if I was alone all day and if my husband’s focus was on his new job.
I dropped out of the class shortly after that. I didn’t drop out because I felt the teacher was judging my husband’s response to my illness, but I have to admit I did find her critiques and input less valuable after those questions. Why did her questions bother me?
My husband has lived with my illness and me for eighteen years. No one on the planet deals with my illness as well as he does. No other person can talk me out of a paranoid episode (not always but sometimes). No one loves me more than he does. The very insinuation that my husband didn’t make the right choices for me or made me suffer much longer than necessary makes me angry.
If doctors don’t always know what to do with me, how is my husband supposed to know? If I had to put my care in the hands of anyone it would be my husband. Not only does he know me best, but he also wants the best for me.
I am sure that caregivers get second guessed by people all the time, and it is so unjust and unfair of people to think they would know a better course of action than the person closest to the person with the illness.
My husband feels guilty and blames himself for not doing more during those six months. I am sure all caregivers have experienced times of guilt or times when they blamed themselves for not responding this way or that way.
I’m asking everyone to think before you question a caregiver’s choice of action. You may think you would do something better or differently, but how do you know? How do you know what you would do if you lived for a day in our skin with all the same circumstances?
It doesn’t matter if my husband left me alone every day or if preoccupation existed over his new job. It isn’t his fault that I have schizophrenia, and that it is often difficult to treat. It wouldn’t matter if my husband went on a trip and left me to fend for myself – schizophrenia and its symptoms still aren’t his fault.
I’d like to tell that teacher that hinted that my husband should have done something differently that most people wouldn’t have stuck around as long as he has and retained his compassion, empathy and sense of humor. My husband is a rare person, and no one gets to doubt how he chooses to care for the person he loves the most – which I know is me.
09 Wednesday Mar 2016
Posted in mental illness, schizophrenia, Uncategorized
Tags
aliens, conspiracy therories, delusions, hallucinations, laws, mental health, mental illness, mentally ill, paranoid schizophrenia, psychosis, psychotic, schizophrenia], shooting, tragedy, Treatment
Wow. Clearly this man (in the article linked below) was psychotic. The way the reporter covers his hallucinations and delusions are spot on for someone suffering from paranoid schizophrenia. The reporter never mentions schizophrenia, though – amazing! This article is the first one I have read where the reporter/writer shied away from giving a diagnosis as soon as a crime happens.
Trigger Warning on this article – it is a very accurate description of psychosis and made me feel a little muddy in the head reading it because of the memories it triggered.
I have some questions about this man’s situation. How did he get a gun? (The article doesn’t say if he owned one, bought one, or has always been around them – this seems important). Also, he was having severe symptoms for two years (did I read that correctly?). No one noticed anything bizarre? Why do people keep slipping through the cracks? What is happening? What can we do to help people before a tragedy occurs?
This latest tragedy is terrible on so many levels. Once the young man has proper medication, it is likely that his psychosis will clear up, and he will suffer from tremendous guilt and self-hatred for hurting someone. He will have to live with the actions he committed while psychotic. The other part of this tragedy is for all people with a mental illness; we all look dangerous which is rarely the case. Of course, someone was hurt, and that is always the worst part of any incident like this.
This story saddens me so deeply for everyone involved. We need better treatment and laws. I simply don’t have all the answers for what the best treatment and better laws would be.
22 Monday Feb 2016
Posted in caregivers, hope, mental illness, relationships, schizophrenia, Uncategorized, writing
Tags
acitivist, Advocate, hope, inspiration, mental health, mental illness, mentally ill, psychiatry, psychology, psychosis, schizophrenia], writing
I don’t know how many times I have read or heard that schizophrenia is the worst diagnosis you can receive. It isn’t true, though, schizophrenia is not worse than a terminal diagnosis (or many other things). But illnesses are not a mine is worse than yours, or mine is better than yours type of go around. Illnesses all come with their challenges, and it isn’t for any of us to say which one is worse than the other. None of them are desirable, but all of them are a part of life.
What seems to be the most important in any circumstance that results in a diagnosis is having hope. I want all the people who are caregivers, or who love someone with schizophrenia, to know that there is always hope. It is never hopeless.
I came out of a period of six months where I was actively psychotic. After that period, I managed to start rebuilding my life.
My cousin, who has schizoaffective disorder, has been in a state hospital for a year or more. Under the direction of a new doctor, her treatment was altered. She is coming out of her psychosis. She is making her way back to reality and back home.
Here is what I want to say to those of you who love someone with schizophrenia: don’t give up. The treatment that can change everything may be the next one the doctors try. Don’t forget us, or leave us. Even if we can’t recognize what you once meant to us, our memories are in us somewhere. At times, our love for you is buried, but not gone. We are still the people you love; we are only temporarily out of reach. We want you to reach us. We need you to reach us. We need you to hold on to the hope that we can get better and come back to you. It’s possible. It is always possible.
Hold tightly to your hope. One day unexpectedly your loved one may grab ahold of your hope and it may help bring them back to you one piece at a time.
From someone who knows what it is like to be lost, I can say that hope is a tremendous comfort and has significant value.
Hope. Hope. Hope. Let it fill all your empty spaces.
10 Wednesday Feb 2016
Posted in mental illness, schizophrenia, Uncategorized, writing
Tags
creative writing, essay, mental health, mental illness, psychosis, psychotic, schizophrenia], school, writer, writer's program, writing
I am working on a collection of essays for a school project. This is last week’s homework. The teacher suggested a few things to make it better. What do you think?
Death is Like Psychosis
I am lying on the couch staring out the window at the branches of a tree. The branches turn into Clifford the dog, a character from a book I loved as a child. I wonder to myself what message is God sending me through Clifford? I decide God is trying to entertain me.
Days before, my husband and I are at a coffee shop near the beach in San Diego. I am agitated. My head hurts but not in the traditional sense. The thoughts in my head hurt. The thoughts are circular. I become more and more uncomfortable. I feel trapped inside of my mind. My thoughts are looping, repeating, making me feel as if there is no way out. I decide that this is hell, and I have been sent here to live for eternity.
I can’t imagine an escape. I feel as if another hour of this and I will run in front of traffic or jump off a bridge (both things I have tried before). But then I realize it is hell, and there is no escape because I am already dead. Tears don’t come. Hell? I made it to hell. These thoughts that lead nowhere and loop back around onto each other like pathways to visions that end in confusion. I’m not going to make it long here. I must deserve this punishment. No chance to live my life over again. I fucked up too badly. I can’t even remember my worst sins, although I know they are grave because of these thoughts – nonlinear, backward, forward, and then all over again.
In a flash of clarity, I realize my only hope is a doctor. I ask my husband to call a doctor. I can’t sit still. I am pacing. I am going back and forth on an escalator. There is no comfort. My husband tries to get me to the car. I am both reluctant and eager. My husband calls the doctor who prescribes medication. If I can stay safe until the medication works, if I can stand these torturous thoughts, life may return to normal.
Within a couple of days, the medication kills the terror, but the doctors don’t know that the dosage is not high enough, and I am unable to tell them, trapped as I am inside my head. I am still psychotic although there is no terror. I believe I am Jesus. I believe I was sent to save the world. I spend days talking to God; we play video games. He is better than me at the games. He tells me jokes like this, “When the first person saw the golden calf that the Israelites crafted in the desert, the person screamed, “Holy Cow!” I find this joke hilarious. I laugh. God knows I will laugh. God knows everything.
I learn the voice of Jesus. I learn the voice of God, and I learn the voice of the Holy Spirit. The voice of Jesus is kind, clear, and very distinct. The voice of the Holy Spirit is the most innocent voice I have ever heard like a grown up child.
During this time, the voices in my head are all consuming. I can’t hear or respond to other people. I do not talk to my husband. I am in a world of madness. The woman he married is dead, and he doesn’t know if she will ever come back to life.
After six months on a tightrope between one life and another, I am convinced I need to kill myself. The voices tell me, “Do it! Do it!” One whole day the voices hound me. Just when I am about to go to Rite-Aid and buy some over the counter pills to overdose on, the voice of Jesus breaks into my populated head, “I am never scary,” he says. Something inside of me snaps, and I believe it was Jesus breaking through my madness. I call my husband, “Please come home. I need to go to the hospital. I need to see a doctor.”
The doctor at the emergency room increases my medication. Within two days I am like Lazarus. I walk out of the tomb of death, and I begin to piece together what my life looks like and what happened to me.
Recovery is slow. I have been in the grave – both heaven and hell for a very long time. There is still an echo of voices in my head like a wave. But there are moments of silence. It feels strange to experience silence again. The moments of nothingness get longer and longer, and I adjust to a less crowded mind.
I have memories of my psychosis. I am ashamed that I thought I was Jesus. I am confused that I spent months talking to God. I watch Christian television and try to bring my faith back into a normal realm. After having God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit as my companions for months, it is hard to organize my thoughts about what Christianity is, what I was raised to believe. What is fact, and what is fiction? Of course, there are those who think all religion is fiction, but I am not one of those people. I can’t live without my faith.
I spent six months in another world. Possibly it is the world where spirits get trapped, a middle world between heaven and earth or hell and earth. The doctors play the role of the key holder. It is as if they go into the world with medication, give it to you, and then grab your hand and pull you back. The entry into reality is abrupt. Now rescued, I am left feeling confused, frightened, ashamed, and disoriented.
Well-meaning people tell me that if I pray harder, healing will come. They tell me that demons possess me. In my vulnerable state with the memory of psychosis being so fresh in my mind, it is not a stretch to think that I am demon possessed. The thought terrifies me. Will the spirits come back to get me?
There is fear, a fear of going back, or being lost forever, of being stuck between this world and another, or possibly experiencing a death of self. I am afraid psychosis will arrive on my doorstep again.
I have not gotten used to my husband’s loving voice, and outstretched arms. He knows that I am home now. He welcomes me. I do not want to be lost to him forever. He knows what it is like to see me die in front of his eyes. He knows what it is like to sleep next to a woman who doesn’t know about all the years you have been married, or that you knew one another in high school. He knows what it is like to have the love of your life turn against you like a stranger in the street.
My husband has experienced a six-month death of his wife. I was there physically, and he could recognize the shape of my nose and the color of my eyes, but there was no emotional connection. The body existed but the heart, the spirit, the mind did not.
Today after making love, I kiss my husband’s bearded cheek. We are listening to love songs. A song by Snow Patrol comes on Pandora, “If I lay here. If I just lay here. Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”
I look at my husband and ask, “Can you imagine if I slipped into madness but didn’t come back?”
“No,” he says. “I can’t imagine that.”
“It would be sad for you to see me, but not be able to reach me. To know that somewhere trapped inside was my laughter, my love, our memories. It would be awful. I would be trapped and terrified. I would be in the land of the unreachable. It is a death. To be certain, it is a death of sorts. Please help me not to get buried there again.”
