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Show 353 I am remembering my first meeting with Faith, and her turning from the door to tell me ofthe rumors and discussions on the other side of it. I am recalling Dr. Emerson's more recent words. "Maybe I really am 'manipulative.' Maybe I really am mean and want to hurt people. Maybe Versed just brings out the truth about me." My shoulders are shaking with sobbing and I am tasting the bitterness of this thought in the tears that are coming down my cheeks and finding their way into the comers of my mouth. Faith is quiet in her waiting for the awful torrent to subside. I am ashamed to meet her eyes with mine. There is fear that she will verify my thoughts. It is a small world in which I am forced, by disease, to live. My family, my home. A few good friends. The hospital and the small and lonely room where I am confined. There is Faith. There are nurses and other medical people who are assigned to me or who sometimes request to care for me and there a few doctors who consent to sacrifice time and energy in my behalf. I rarely leave my room when at the hospital. I rarely leave my home when I am here. I am yearning for a larger life with busy streets and noisy vendors, each holding up a different mirror to my face as we interact our commerce. I am wanting a sandy beach with teeming people and sharply shrieking gulls and crashing surf where my own pathetic shouting is never noticed. I am craving a fresher view from a higher mountain peak. I have lost my compass. Where am I? Who am I? |