Weak, battered, and exhausted

Weak, battered, and exhausted as I try to recover from the most recent resurgence of the psychotropic torture.  Every muscle in my body aches, and it hurts my back to even stand, but I am loathe to take any strong muscle relaxants that would put any more chemicals into my traumatized, reeling brain.  I still feel so high and zoned out that I can endure the pain.  I just take everything really slow, but I am trying to proceed as best as I can with life, doing a little housecleaning, laundry, and grocery shopping, because experience has taught me there will be another onslaught.  No matter how much damage, pain, and suffering my tormentors inflict on me, they never regret or cease their actions.  I am a thing to them, an object for their amusement and use.  So, no matter how weak or poorly I feel, I will also make sure to go to the Episcopal class tonight--giving them a chance to see if they treat me like a human being or an objectified, appropriated thing.  I keep reading the minds of the "good Catholic people" who shadow me--they feel "betrayed" by me.  That they should feel betrayal when I am the one who has been hounded, harassed, web-cammed, imprisoned, fired from jobs, prevented from personal relations, and traumatized and destroyed by pyschotropic drugs for over ten years is just amazing to me.  I suppose I will write on such a mind set in the future, but now I still am engaged in just surviving, and trying to prevent further permanent damage to my once esteemed body, brain, and sense of personhood.

 

P.S.  FYI to the doctors determined to "diagnose" me:  once again the psychotropic drugs made me severely autistic.  I can always tell when I am autistic when I am driving.  In addition, I couldn't bear any noise, another symptom I recognize as belonging to an autistic state (it doesn't help that I have hyperacute hearing even when I am not autistic).  There are some wind chimes on my front porch that I delight in listening to, even in my kitchen or bedroom.  I just love the notes they play and thrill and reasonate to their sound.  There was hardly any wind yesterday, but on the occasion when I would hear a note, it would be a screechingly painful sound that tore at, and shredded my entire nervous system.  If there had been a strong wind, I know I would have taken a broom and destroyed the chimes--I just couldn't bear the sound.  Even when I watched TV, I had to turn on the mute button, and read captions, but my nerves couldn't bear even watching TV.