Dear Pietro,

     It has been 23 years since we were together, yet I had a very vivid dream of you last night.  Then I realized that today, is your birthday. 

     In the dream, we ran into each other, in a restaurant in Boston.  We spent the day together, and you were so kind to me, so loving, so gentle to me.  I realize now, that I never fully grieved our relationship, because in reality, it was a horror show, a real nightmare for me.

     You were an illegal immigrant from Italy, but you were working hard as a talented musician, and waiter, in the North End of Boston.  You were also working hard on me.  You seemed attentive, and caring to me.  I felt alone, and vulnerable in this big, bad world, and you knew it. You put a baby in my belly, much to my shock, after just 4 months of being with you.  You knew that a marriage to me would get you a Green Card. 

    But you didn't love your fetal baby, or me, because you began beating me, and finally I miscarried.  Once I was pregnant, your kindness disappeared, you were a truly angry person.  I was so scared, being young, pregnant, and fighting for my life.

     One night, you beat me for the last time.  I called several family members that night, but found no sympathy, so I almost ended my life, in a suicide attempt.  I survived, by the Grace of God.

     After that, I had to leave you for good.  In fact, I had to hide from you, for months, because you were stalking me.  But you gave my no choice, because I knew that in time, I would try to kill myself again, or I would try to kill you.  I've wanted to hurt you badly, because you killed my baby, and I was never able to conceive again. 

     Sometimes, when I am in Boston, I think that I see you, but it just turns out to be some other blonde guy with gold-rimmed eyeglasses, I'm seeing from a distance.  When I think that I see you, my heart beat speeds up, fear kicks in, I feel like I can't breathe, etc.  It's called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  And you did this to me, Pietro.  

     I doubt that our past haunts you, because you are a true Sociopath, but one day, you will meet our Maker and He, will recall how you hurt me, and destroyed that little spark of life within me.  May you burn in Hell.

Christine

     For the past week, my mental health, has been failing me, again. I have been going to bed at 6 PM, every night, because, I cannot stand to be awake.  I am surviving on coffee, and 2 slices of wheat toast, with peanut butter, a day.  My husband will have to bathe me tomorrow, because, it seems like too much of a big project, for myself. It has been 5 days, since my last shower.  This is unheard of for me.  The most horrible experience, though, is the uncontrollable crying spells.
     I went back to work about 2 weeks ago, only to find out, that I no longer have the same position, in the Meat Department of the supermarket, where I work. I work in this supermarket's Meat Dept, for almost 6 years.  I have 10 years experience total, working in various Meat Depts, and 4 years education in agriculture. They gave me a position in the Deli Dept. I have no Deli experience. I had no choice but to accept it.
     This change, in job positions, is going wrong for a few reasons.
     One reason, is because, to me, it is a big change.  I have never been able to accept changes easily.   I thrive on a routine.  When I am having a relapse, in my mental or emotional health, I am vulnerable.  I simply cannot make changes, or I will crumble.
     I am having a difficult time because, I was not given any choice, in this changing of positions, also.  I feel angry & helpless now.
     I am making mistakes, in my job duties, partly because, it is new to me, but partly, because I am so upset inside.  I simply cannot remember things, or concentrate.
    My new boss is impatient with me, because I am making mistakes.  Every time she scolds me, my PTSD is triggered, I feel like a scared little kid, and I panic and cry.
     I feel like the manager of the supermarket, where I work, is trying to cause me to quit, slowly, pushing me out the door.  Several people have suggested this to me, in fact.
     I went to see my therapist today, because, I am falling apart, over this situation.  She told me to take 2 weeks off to work on getting better, and figure out my next move.  She gave me a note to give to the management.  I am going to bring it into work tomorrow morning.  I have a feeling that I may lose my job.

     Wow!!  It has been more than 3 weeks, since I have written.  That, is a long time for me.
My work situation has changed.  About a than a month ago, I received a telephone call, from the manager of the supermarket, where I work.  It was a Saturday morning, and the manager demanded that I have my Family Leave Act application in, by Monday morning, or I would be terminated..  I told her that it didn't give my Psychiatrist enough time to fill it out.  Honestly, I had no idea, that I even needed to fill out such paperwork.  The store manager was on a warpath with me.  I finally started crying, during this phone call, and said:  "Look, I'm really sick right now, I don't need this hassle".  She replied:  "Then you should have no problem getting the paperwork in".  I later found out that Human Resources, came down on her, hard, before she spoke to me, because, she hadn't informed me of the Family Leave Act paperwork, in time.
     I submitted the Family Leave Act paperwork, only to find out, that I didn't qualify for it, anyways, because, I don't work enough hours.  So, the manager demanded that I submit another form instead.  So, I had to go back to my Psychiatrist again, so she could fill it out.
     When my Psychiatrist decided, that I could finally return to work, I went back, to learn, that they had given my job, in the Meat Dept, to someone else, a week before.  I cried and cried, and learned that they were putting me in the Deli, to stock products.  I told them, that I could not use a slicer, because my medications impair me.  My Psychiatrist backs me up, on this fact.
    So far my job in the Deli, is OK, but after the threat of being terminated, just a few weeks ago, I expect to lose my job, at any moment.  I had about 10 years work experience, in a Meat Dept...now, I'm working with a lot of cheese.  And I don't really like cheese.

     I have been out of work since April 4, and it is now May 16.  Oh my Lord, why is this recovery so slow?  When will I be back in remission again?
     I have a few things to write about, but my mind is still not quite right.  In other words, it takes me a lot longer to collect and organize my thoughts.  It feels like a huge effort to do anything.  Even though, I love to write, my desire to do so is almost non-existent, at this time.
     At this time, I'm going to give you an update, about how I am feeling at this point.  Basically, I am still not doing so well.  I am taking my medications, attending psychotherapy appointments, going to support groups, and trying to do little things that would normally bring joy to me.  My personality, however, has changed a bit, it seems.
     Less then 2 months ago, I felt a good amount of joy, for a fairly long stretch of time.  Now, I am overly serious, I don't smile as much, I don't laugh much, and every little thing pisses me off.
     At this current time, I am prescribed Effexor, Trillifon, Neurontin, BusPar, & Seroquel for psychiatric medications.  I was taken off of Abilify, while I was in the hospital, and now I'm wondering if I need to start taking it again.
     

    This is the beginning of my second week, at home, since being discharged from the hospital.  I had spent 5 days on the psychiatric ward.  Like most patients, I have needed this time at home, to become well again.  There is a fair amount of aftercare needed by doctor's and therapists, also.
     This morning, my husband took me into Boston, to meet with my psychiatrist and therapist.  My psychiatrist and I discussed my paranoia, last week.  She made a dosage increase, on a new antipsychotic, that I started taking, about 2 weeks ago.  We may even double this dosage, in time.  I also asked my psychiatrist, if I could go back to work this week.  Her response was a firm, solid "NO, That would be just crazy".
     I am feeling less paranoid, at this point, but I still feel very ill, emotionally.  Until a few weeks ago, I had been smiling and laughing a lot.  I had felt thankful, that my life was better in a lot of ways.  Life was not perfect, but it had been a couple of years, since my last hospitalization.
     Now, I am feeling a deep sadness, within my inner core, I am feeling defeated, I am feeling like a failure.  I am having nightmares almost every night, now that I am starting to sleep again.  I am eating only 1 meal a day, and I am a diabetic, so, this is not good.  My new antipsychotic, is making me feel very intoxicated in the morning, and seems to be slowing down my thoughts, and actions.
      Writing this blog, is very difficult now, because my thoughts are slower, and because I am not well. I have proofread this entry, at east 5 times, in the last 10 minutes, and I keep finding errors in spelling and punctuation. I will continue to try to write it, though.

     I have been out of a hospital's Psychiatric Ward, for a week, now.  I am doing fair.
I am smiling, on the outside, and trying to enjoy the company of friends, but I've also been in denial, of what has been going on in my head.  I am suffering from paranoia.  On Thursday, after 4 days of not showering, I finally realized: "Christine you must get in the shower, stop feeling like you'll be vulnerable, naked, and slashed up by a stranger".   I have been afraid to go in the cellar, for the same reason.  I feel like people are talking about me, saying that I am crazy...I feel that I'm being watched.
     I can't begin to tell you how uncomfortable, and terrifying it is.  My mind, is playing tricks on me...
My own psychiatrist was not working today, as it is Good Friday, a holiday.  Another very kind, psychiatrist talked with me over the telephone and increased my Trillifon, an antipsychotic.
     If you are the praying type, please send prayers my way.  People say that I am strong and brave, but honestly, sometimes I feel like a scared little kid.  I just want to get better.

     I don't want to scare anyone, away from psychiatric hospitalizations, but I will say, that my most recent experience was disruptive, loud, scary, uncomfortable, etc.
     My other hospitalizations, in the past, have been peaceful and without incident.  I was able to heal and recover peacefully.  But this time, I fought to leave early, because of all of the commotion, by other, very ill, very psychotic patients, was triggering my Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
     To put it bluntly, I do not handle yelling and screaming, well.  This yelling and screaming, were never directed at me, but all the tranquilizers in the world, would not have taken my fear away.
      I told the nurse, "I understand that these people are very ill, but they do not have to be mean".
Finally, after much tearful protests, from me, the psychiatrist, allowed me to go home 3 days early.
      When it came time to leave, however, the psychiatrist did not want to give me a prescription for my new medication, Seroquel, which I had had success with, for several days.  He told me to "Follow up with your own doctor about Seroquel, she can give you a prescription".  I told him that:  "I wouldn't see her until Monday and I would be without this medication, which was helping me sleep and remain calm, for 3 days".  His response: "I don't believe the medication was helping you".  I told him that it was helping me, and he said very firmly: "It was being in the hospital, that helped you".  I asked him if he would give me 3 days worth of Seroquel, until, I saw my own psychiatrist.  "I suppose, that I can do that", he finally agreed.
    In all honesty, I was angry, by the time I left to go home.  They had wanted to keep me prisoner, for another 3 days, in this hospital, even though I was no longer a danger to myself, even though I was never a danger to anyone else, even though I was feeling much better.  And then the doctor wanted to refuse me the medication that he had put me on.  I felt as if I were being punished for speaking up, about all the shit going down on their floor, because I refused to tolerate it.  It will certainly affect my future decisions to seek help, in a hospital setting.  I am sorry, my friends, that I cannot say better things about my recent in-patient stay.