Funny thing: the psychotherapist at the rehab said that I do not seem to need any help. We are handling the situation quite well. I guess that there is a benefit to my father’s sarcasm. It creates black humor, which in turn becomes a valuable tool when it comes to surviving dark times. I was not too happy about it though because my therapist had already become more of a good friend and I would miss our talks.
His remarks did make a difference though. It gave me a thick skin and a bit of self-confidence, which was something that I needed; considering that most of the time, I wished that I could just end it all.
Family and friends wanted to visit. I considered each one carefully; is it a person that I could handle not breaking down and crying in front of them or not? Because that was the one constant thing in my life at that moment, shedding tears.
I never felt jealousy before but how I did so with each visit. Friends would try to lift my spirit up by sharing their lives with me. I was happy for them. Nevertheless, I felt so jealous; I envied them for whatever they had for as little as it was. It all were things that I would never have.
Life, career, hobby, love, partner, children, family all blessings that I would never receive. The only blessings that were reserved for me were a wheelchair and pity, or at least that is how it felt at the time.
All I could do by myself is to breath; I needed not just help, I needed someone to do everything for me. I could not find a reason for living. No, wonder that the rate shows that ninety percent of the time a person with locked-in syndrome dies within the first year.