Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Thermodynamics and the Science of Making Water Freeze.....

For ice to melt, it has to get heat from something. In our project, it gets the heat from cooling flesh. When the ice is melting, it is at 0 degrees Celsius (32 degrees Fahrenheit).

When ice is melting, the surface of the ice is wet. At the surface, there is solid ice on one side, and liquid water on the other. The surface is exactly at the freezing point. This means that some water molecules are leaving the ice and moving into the water, but it also means that some liquid water is refreezing onto the ice. We say that the system is in equilibrium when the rate of melting is equal to the rate of freezing, and this happens at 0 degrees Celsius.

At equilibrium, the heat lost by the water as it freezes is equal to the heat gained by the ice as it melts.

Because plain ice can only barely cool something to the freezing point of water, we will need to do something to make it much colder than that, since our flesh freezes at a lower temperature than water.

The epidermis freezes because the salt and the ice mix to make a substance with a lower freezing point than ice alone. This means that the ice and salt mixture must get even more heat from somewhere in order to melt.

Salty water freezes at a lower temperature than plain water. But the ice is made of plain water, so it melts at 0 degrees Celsius. Since the ice keeps melting, but the water no longer freezes (because there is only salt water, which doesn't freeze at 0 degrees), the temperature goes down.

The heat gained by the ice as it melts is no longer offset by the heat given up by freezing water (since the water is no longer freezing back onto the ice). The heat gain has to come from somewhere else. It comes from the deep tissue.

The sodium and chlorine in the salt split apart into charged ions, and these ions attract water molecules to form weak chemical bonds.

The resulting compound has a freezing point of -21.1 degrees Celsius (-5.98 degrees Fahrenheit). This is 21.1 degrees colder than ice (37.98 degrees Fahrenheit colder than ice).

When people put salt on the ice on a sidewalk or a road, the ice mixes with the salt, and the mixture of the two solids (ice and salt) produces a liquid, but the sidewalk actually gets colder than it was before.

If we add a different chemical to the ice, such as calcium chloride, we can get an even lower temperature (-29 degrees Celsius, or -20 degrees Fahrenheit).

Saturday, May 17, 2008

So, I've turned 40

I'm sending this to all interested parties in hopes of getting my needs met once and for all, or I quit, for good.

As y'all know, I have worked very hard for the last nine years to get my debt down, to find surgeons who would help me, work on a relocation strategy, and I've exhausted every resource to find alternatives to amputation--there are none. I still need to raise 40, 000.00 US immediately in order to become, and feel like, a real human being as I was intended to be. Now, I'm at the halfway point of my life, and there's no more squabbling about it--either I find a benefactor or group of benefactor swho think my life is worth enough to invest in helping me become who I am truly meant to be or I'm finished. I will not grow old like this, and I am done being tormented by this obsession.

If you or someone you know has the financial means to help me accomplish what I need to do in order to have any meaningful quality of life, then please contact me.

And, by the by--I am DONE talking. Please, don't even think of writing back and trying to negotiate with me. It doesn't help, and only increases my disress and depression. If you will help me, fine--if you won't, or you've got some brilliant "strings attached" scenario, then please just leave me be; I'm having a hard enough time as it is.

Thanks for your time.

Dixie

Monday, March 24, 2008

...When My MySpace Friends Are Wiser Than the So-called "Professionals"....


The Easter Message that made me cry:

Sunday, March 23, 2008

BIID or the making of pathology

A man puts his leg into a bucket and fills it up with dry ice, waits a certain time and enters a hospital to have the dead leg amputated. Now he is happy, he is rid of that leg! Since early childhood he knew, he was supposed to be an amputee.

Such cases occur often enough for the medical community to notice. And so arose the discussion of BIID. That is Body Integrity Identity Disorder. A pathology for the wish to be other than able bodied.

But BIID is nothing other than a constructed entity of the medical establishment.

Amputees exist, some people do use wheelchairs, bodies come in many different sizes and shapes, and some may not have the senses, limbs that the majority has.

When a child sees an amputee, a wheelchair user etc., it sees them just as they are, something different, interesting. For the child all the judgemental values of the adults do not matter yet, it sees not that its "bad" to use a wheelchair. And why not a prosthesis, a wheelchair, is fascinating and so possibly the child incorporates the seen reality into its own body identity. After all, who does not want to be someone interesting?

But realizing this identity becomes a problem, due to the values and ideals enforced by the medical system. Its values are health, youth and life, all constantly shifting and changing, yet to help a person to be what is considered "less" then the majority, is taboo. It would require re-evaluating those ideals, seeing them and bodies new, not a clear cut healthy or sick anymore.

BIID will disappear the moment, the value of health is changed, once life in a different shape or manner is not seen as lacking anymore. When values and judgement are no longer attached to bodies. When variety and creativity are embraced.

And the right of free expression includes the body.

Until then it will be another sickness, but in realty is a symptom of changing views and values, the view that only the "norm" body is good, and all should strive for that, that view is challenged.

There is no BIID, there are people with different dreams, aspirations and views.
There are amputees, blind people. And uncountable diversity....

inVivo easter 2008

Monday, February 18, 2008

Ockham’s Razor

Ockham’s Razor

Is it really me? A question of bodily integration and identity

Professor John Bradshaw, a neuropsychologist from Monash University in Melbourne, has a neurological explanation for a not uncommon phenomenon, that of experiencing the powerful and disturbing sensation of someone watching us or standing behind us, whether or not there is really someone there.

Robyn Williams: Are you being watched? From behind? By someone, or something you never see? Can't say it's an experience I've had, but perhaps I'm not very interesting. Of course Rupert Shelldrake has a paranormal explanation, and a book to go with it, but this program, in the spirit of our mentor, William of Ockham, prefers to be sceptical.

Which is where John Bradshaw comes in. He's Australia's answer to Oliver Sacks and a record-breaking contributor to these talks. And he has neurological explanation or two to offer.

John Bradshaw: Nearly 50 years ago, when just beginning student life, I had two curious experiences, which bear in an interesting way upon what I have to say today about certain phenomena relating to one's personal or corporeal identity and individuation.

In the first, I was looking out of the window of a 16th century building wherein I shared a sitting-room with a fellow undergraduate. We gazed idly down into the Fellows' Garden and saw the eminent philosopher and head of our college, Warden Mure, strolling pensively, presumably deep in metaphysical thought, and with hands clasped behind his back, amongst the famous lines where Tolkien had composed 'The Lord of the Rings'. Sadly these same trees are now felled because of fears of litigation and liability. We wondered whether, by force of united but silent will-power, we could get him to stop, turn and look behind him. The very moment we commenced willing, he indeed stopped, turned abruptly but looked back up to our very window. Such was our embarrassment at the apparently successful transfer of thought process that we immediately dropped down out of sight, and only later wondered whether it was coincidence, rather than a successful demonstration of the occult. And yet, as sceptical scientists or credulous commoners alike, I'm sure we have all experienced the powerful and disturbing sensation of someone watching us, or standing behind us, whether or not there is really someone there.

Later that year, on a winter vacation walking with a friend on the fells of England's Lake District, we found ourselves early one frosty morning high upon the exposed ridge of Striding Edge. The sun, at head level, had only recently risen over an adjacent valley to our left, while to our right was a bank of fog rising high above the next valley. On the edge of this fog bank I saw an image of myself, surrounded by a beautiful halo, purple radiating out into concentric bands through all the spectral colours. I could not see my companion, who also could not see me. When I raised my camera to capture this doubly-spectral image, the image did the same. This was the rare phenomenon of the so-called 'Brocken Spekter', named eponymously after the highest peak in the German Harz mountains, a range renowned in Teutonic folklore. We had each met our Doppelganger, our double; however this uncommon meteorological circumstance of precise alignment of illuminating sun, viewer and a projection screen of wine water droplets (which provided the prismatic effects) did not of course lead to instant mutual annihilation, as the fable held, like the meeting in modern physics of matter and antimatter. After all, the phenomenon had a sound basis in meteorology and optics. Can we similarly explain our apparent sensation of being watched from behind?

In a very recent article in the august and usually sceptical science journal, Nature, the authors note that the anomalous sensation that someone is nearby, when there is nobody, has often been reported by psychiatric and neurological patients, as well as by healthy individuals, but the exact mechanisms of this illusion, or is it really a hallucination? - are not well understood. The authors describe the repeated induction of this sensation in a 22-year-old woman, of normal psychiatric history, who was undergoing focal electrical stimulation on the left temporoparietal junction of the brain, as evaluation for possible surgical treatment of epilepsy. The illusory person apparently just behind her closely shadowed or mimicked changes in her own posture or body position. Temporoparietal regions are known to be involved in the integration of multisensory body-related information, the self-versus-other distinction, and other illusory own-body perceptions. Interestingly, the patient did not recognise that the apparent being was an illusion of her own body, projected into extra-personal space. Similarly, many patients with schizophrenia, with hyperactivity in these same temporoparietal regions, may misattribute their own actions to some other individual or agency, and suffer from delusory feelings of alien control.

One of my early graduate students, who later progressed to a cabinet position in the Federal Government, once described to me an Out-of-the-Body experience she had during a prolonged and painful dental procedure. As so often in such accounts, when the individual has been exposed to a period of great stress, threat or pain, she seemed to be looking down upon herself lying in the dental chair. Rather than there being an illusory shadow person lurking behind her, she seemed, from a different vantage point, actually to be looking at herself. A prominent Swiss group of neurologists recently proposed that such autoscopic hallucinations (literally, in Greek, 'seeing yourself') are two variants of an apparent reduplication of one's own body and self. In the former, an exact mirror image of oneself, occasionally only of one's face or bust, is perceived visually. In heautoscopy proper, one is confronted by one's own double, or Doppelganger, which may or may not exactly mirror one's immediate appearance, but is nevertheless felt to be one's double. Frequently, heautoscopic echopraxia, or the imitation by the double of one's own bodily movements, gives the impression that one's real identity actually resides in the double. Focal brain lesions of the temporo-parieto-occipital junction may precipitate the phenomenon, as may extreme pain, discomfort, or stress in the otherwise healthy.

Maybe we should in fact distinguish between classical Out-of-the-body experiences (where the individual has the impression of seeing a second, own, body, out in extrapersonal space) from autoscopic hallucinations (where one sees a double of oneself, not necessarily looking or behaving completely identically, out in extrapersonal space without leaving one's own body) and from heautoscopy. In the last, one again sees oneself out in extrapersonal space, but cannot easily decide whether or not one is disembodied. In fact such individuals may claim that they experience seeing the world from two simultaneous or alternating perspectives. In all such instances, there are varying levels of failure at integrating visual, tactual, vestibular and kinaesthetic information. Thus the various senses no longer agree as to bodily position and posture.

While there is no reason to suspect psychiatric disturbance in instances of heautoscopic hallucinations, or Out-of-the-Body experiences, this is not usually true of the group of syndromes collectively known as subjective doubles where someone else is believed to have been transformed into oneself, or another person is believed to have taken on the physical characteristics and identity of oneself.

If, under certain circumstances, it is as if our personal or corporeal identity can somehow be copied, can the opposite occur? Clearly, the complete phenomenal disappearance of one's entire corporeal self would be extremely counter-intuitive, though with cut-out syndrome, patients may claim that they are in fact already dead. However patients with asomatognosia typically describe parts of their body as temporarily or permanently missing from corporeal awareness, generally with preservation of full insight; they are surprised and disturbed by the experience. This year a middle-aged woman, without neurological or psychiatric antecedents, described how when sitting in front of her computer she unexpectedly felt dizzy and found that the lower extent of her left arm was no longer to be seen. Indeed, much to her surprise she seemed to see the table through the arm; she could see her arm only above the elbow, with a clear-cut demarcation or border at the apparent termination. Gradually, after some minutes, there was progressive restoration of the whole limb. Such asomatognosia, or failure to perceive parts of one's own body, is to be contrasted with the phenomenon of unilateral neglect, where it may be more a matter of failure to recognise one's body parts, typically on the left, though both syndromes seem to involve the same parietal lesions. Both conditions, however, have as their phenomenological obverse the common experience of many amputees, the so-called 'phantom limb phenomenon', which I and my group are currently investigating. Here, there may be a powerful illusion of the continuing existence, complete with pain or itching, of an amputated and no longer present member.

Asomatognosia may therefore be considered a loss of embodiment of a real limb, and the phantom limb phenomenon as the persisting embodiment of a missing limb. Motor mechanics using such tools as a screwdriver often describe sensations of roughness or vibration as being localised at the very end of the tool, as a sort of extended embodiment of the actual hand or arm. Functional brain imaging confirms that in such expert tool users, there is indeed an apparent extension in the brain map of the limb, so as to encompass the tool as an actual part of that limb. Illusory embodiment may also be experienced by anyone with the 'rubber hand' illusion. If one's right arm, say, is concealed from view and replaced by an apparently identical rubber replica in full view, and which adopts a position (perhaps via a system of mirrors) and posture as similar as possible to that of the real, concealed arm, and if the rubber arm is seen by the subject to be gently stroked by the experimenter, then there is often a powerful illusion of touch or tickle.

In light of such considerations, what are we to make of the recently-described phenomenon of apotemnophilia? The Greek literally translates as 'a desire for amputation', and is best illustrated by a typical case report, published last year, of a male, married with a child, who successfully sought to have his leg surgically amputated above the knee, as he had always felt somehow incomplete or 'wrong' with two normal arms and legs, and believed that the amputation would paradoxically make him more 'whole'. According to a recent survey of 34 individuals recruited from the internet, most who now have their own website, are male, and may often report a sexual component. They are frequently well-educated, involved intimate relationship and have long harboured hidden desires, often back to childhood, for an amputation, 'so as to restore my true identity'. In a substantial minority of instances, they may have attempted self-amputation via a variety of dangerous procedures such as use of shot guns, chain-saws, wood-chippers, dry ice (as with one of our own correspondents) or lying on rail-road tracks. Those desiring a leg amputation far outnumber those wanting an arm removal; amputation was typically sought on the left side, though some wanted it done bilaterally. Given the close proximity in the brain of those cortical areas mapping and controlling functions of the lower leg to those representing the genitals, while the upper-limb mapping is adjacent to that of the face, one wonders about the underlying role of possible emotional and sexual drives. However it is noteworthy that the majority of the individuals displayed no significant psychiatric symptoms apart from a preoccupation with amputation. The study's author suggests that the condition may best be conceptualised as an extremely unusual dysfunction in the development of one's fundamental sense of corporeal identity or integrity, and proposes the label 'Body Integrity Identity Disorder'. Certainly those who have somehow succeeded an amputation under proper surgical conditions typically report themselves as delighted with the result.

Bodily integrity and identity clearly may be disturbed at various levels, wholly or in part, with or without psychiatric or neurological involvement. The French philosopher, Descartes, over 300 years ago, declared 'Cogito, ergo sum', 'I think, therefore I am', in his search for a proof of personal existence. However our corporeality is clearly fragile and potentially easily disturbed; so too, of course, is the apparent unity of our mental and cognitive processes, whatever the views of Descartes. How often do we say 'One part of me wants to do this, while another wants to do that'? But that of course, is another story, for another time.

Robyn Williams: John Bradshaw, who's still being watched. He's Professor of Neuropsychology at Monash University.

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

A Stranger to Myself

This past month I hit the ripe old age of 39. Young you say? Maybe for you. But there's something about living with the stress of BIID that makes one age very fast. I may be 39, but I feel like I'm 90. Which is exactly why I have one year left to get this right or else.
I've been very, very depressed since the betrayal fiasco with Lying Thomas this past January. February, March--I spent most of it in bed wishing I could just cease to exist. Then Spring came. I have to plant the vegetable garden; I don't have a choice. I don't plant, we don't eat. So, I've spent my days composting three-and-a-half tons (quite literally) of live matter, building up my soil tilth and babying my seedlings along, all the while obsessing about how I will make it through another year with no resolution.
I hate thinking about myself so much--absolutely hate the fact that I am so tired and drained and distracted to the point of uselessness that I can no longer be of any real benefit to others. I'm obsessed, overwhelmed, frustrated and alone with a shame even I cannot fully comprehend and it's killing me. I've gotten to the point that I know BIID better than my own person and that terrifies me. Have I become a disease? I certainly don't feel like much of a human being anymore. Alien. Stranger....A Stranger to my own self.

Friday, February 02, 2007

When Hell On Earth Is Compounded....

I have spent the better part of this evening scanning through old emails from one particular person, trying to discern the reasons why (and how) men choose to exploit women in the name of "friendship."

Case in point: Surgery is expensive; post-op therapy is expensive. Insurance does not cover BIID expenses of any kind. Enter my friend Madeleine, a forty-seven year old transgendered woman of a decade, now. About three years ago, Madeleine told me that if I wanted to get my surgeries done safely and not end up in a state-run nursing home, I needed to raise some funds beforehand--a truth I could not deny. And, let's just be clear on this--freelance writers don't make squat to begin with, ergo, having patrons and benefactors is an absolute necessity. So I started a list-group to gain support which, with three-hundred-some-odd members, went absolutely nowhere yet, oddly, to this day I get hundreds of emails and dozens of instant messages each and every day as a result of that now-dead list-group--most of which I now ignore....and you shall soon see why.

So, I naively put out the plea: Girl in body that is wrong desperately needs altruists willing to part with any substantial sum of cash toward goal of transmorphic surgery and better life (as opposed to existence) hereafter.

The result, as you can only imagine, was a whole lot of convoluted hooey.

Hundreds of pervs, voyeurs and abusive, misogynist jackasses the world over were on my cyber-doorstep (and a few even at my front door, for crying-out-loud!), prying, poking and proffering every manner of lewd and offensive solicitation; but few and far between were those who possessed any real interest or intent in manning-up and actually helping my cause in any useful fashion. In fact, most of those who have ponied up real assistance are, blessedly, gay! In fact, it's been the homosexuals and the transgendered who have, for the most part, turned out to be the most kind, genuine and empathetic supporters in this mess. Still, all kinds of men write and make every imaginative offer you can think of, but they rarely bother to back up their words with any positive action.

Enter "Thomas." A self-professed "venture capitalist" and apotemnophiliac in the truest sense of the word in that he achieved his own limblessness "...because [he] liked the idea of being an amputee and wanted a stump to play with..." Lovely....

At any rate, Thomas started writing to me back in 2001-2002. Then, when I put out my public plea he offered, without hesitation and sight unseen, to marry me and give me any necessary financial support if I'd live with him. No thank you, said I.

Then, says Thomas, after alot of back-and-forth and trying to convince me how wonderful (NOT!!!) it would be for me "...not to have to worry about anything...[I'd] be pampered and have everything [I] will ever need or want," this marriage he was offering (and this is another actual quote from one of his emails) "...wouldn't have to be sexual or anything. Just a financial arrangement between friends....that way you'd have insurance and someone to take care of you...." First of all, being "taken care of" is not even in my vocabulary, let alone a goal of mine for the future. Secondly, the very idea of marrying for any such reason (keep in mind that I am Catholic and view marriage as a Sacrament entered into before GOD)--especially a man more than twenty years my senior and someone for whom I have no knowledge or affection--turned my stomach a dozen ways to next Sunday.

Nevertheless, the advances continued....

(Another direct quote) "I'd sure like to help you out with some of the funding you're needing, but I'm not comfortable giving that kind of money to someone I haven't met and don't really know, yet....I'd feel better about helping you out with what you need if I could just meet you in person....if I could just meet you, I would be happy to help...."

So, this tack continued for over a year--multiple, identical promises for assistance towards my goal every couple of months if only I'd just agree to meet him in person and answer his questions. Which, now that I look back, should have been my first clue that something is seriously wrong with this man--he'd marry someone sight unseen, but he wants to meet her before cutting a check as a donation??? I should have known, but I was stupid enough to take him at his word. And, oh, by the way, did I mention this isn't the first time that men have doled out this kind of line only to recant once their own curiosity has been satiated? But I thought Thomas might actually be different, considering some of the other content included in his correspondance, although now I'm wondering why--a snow job is a snow job is a snow job, regardless of the earnest profession of innnocent intent.

At any rate, me being the gullible idiot I am, I finally agreed drop all of my own responsibilities to fly to this man's locale for a meet-and-greet and spent the next week being stressed to the gills by his incessant gabbing from the time he woke until he fell asleep (thank GOD!!!) after spending his evenings drinking cheap blended Scotch like a fish (the putrid stink of which made me sick enough to dread each interminable evening and actually gave me nightmares), and dragging me around to see the "sights" (which, while I had no desire for anything but sleep, I went along with, trying to be a good guest) and the sickening, repeated Q&A sessions (which were interminably frustrating in their own right, given that I was rarely given the opportunity to respond without interruption or argument that my feelings/thoughts/commitments were somehow wrong) in which he'd pry into my personal life and ask the same freakin' questions again and again and again about my goals and my "practise" amputations, telling me how "cute" and "neat" and "cool" my stumps are (again, causing my stomach to do nauseating backflips)....I couldn't wait for the damned week to be over with. And, as most men are, he was grossly oblivious to everything but the fact that I "seemed" depressed--it never once occured to him that he himself was making it worse because whilst he would say he'd didn't mean to make me cry, he'd just do it again the next night via the very same behaviour. Go figure.

Again and again and again he asked me how much it was going to cost me to finally get free and seek out the treatment I need to be a real person with a real life; again and again and again I answered him. And, then, when the week was finally over, he handed me a twenty dollar bill for breakfast (which I saved in case I needed cab-fare) and shuttled me off to the airport without so much as a by-your-leave.

Mid-flight, the realisation that I had just been used for some jackass' entertainment yet again hit me with all the force of an avalanche and I went into severe anaphylaxis. I don't remember much after that--the nurse on the plane shoving diphenhydramine capsules into my mouth, the ambulance, lights flashing, waiting on the tarmac as we hit the runway, the epi shots and sedatives in the ED and the inability to keep my breath steady....hours of blurring hustle and faces until I finally came to rest in my own bed the next night. All the while, my only thought being, "You are such a stupid, gullible twit!"

...Two days after the fact I get an email from Thomas wondering where I am. I answer back and tell him what happened, regarding which he responds to the effect, "This really worries me. It must be something you ate." I would have rathered that, but no, not even close--I don't even have food allergies. Even so, I'd had nothing to eat that day at all except, maybe, my own frustration. Nope--in fact, every doctor who came into the room looked at the strips from my EKG's and the history on the monitors and said, "what's got you so stressed out?" Pulse in the 130's-140's for hours on end, blood pressure sky high after a week's "vacation"....Gee, I wonder.

Every man--they're all the same. They all make assurances without expecting to be held to them and chase and pursue until you finally relent and, then, once you've capitulated just a little and made your life available for their bloody perverse entertainment, they've forgotten all about the good that they themselves have promised and then drop you off like Wednesday's trash without a second glance. Once they've gotten what they wanted, it's all over. Well, screw the lot of you!...And people wonder why I'm not married....Why would I ever even think about marrying anyone, let alone an overgrown ape who can't even manage to keep his word and do what he says he will do???

I am actually human, you know. I do have feelings just like you, Moron. I made myself vunerable, put myself at risk, traipsed half-way across the country to GOD-knows-where and trusted you, even though I knew you must be more likely than not lying to me--and always have been, just as every other man before you. And I hate being led along by the nose, but I still gave you the benefit of the doubt, even though my gut screamed at me not to. You're all the same--none of you possess any thoughts beyond getting your rocks off at someone else's expense. But then....

"I hope we can remain friends," you say.

Are you freakin' kidding me??? You can't possibly know what you're saying. Friends keep their word. Friends are sensitive to the needs of others; friends do not exploit the weaknesses and pain of others for their own god-damned base amusement. And friends most certainly do not make commitments to others and then not keep them.

What you really meant to say (I'm absolutely, positively certain of this, now) is:

"You're a really interesting freak--I like that in an object of entertainment. I hope that I can call on you again sometime when I'm bored and have some time to kill and need to be amused because I'm too freaking selfish and egocentric to actually, truly care about others. I enjoy picking your brain and making you cry. I enjoy touching you inappropriately even after you tell me repeatedly you hate being touched. I enjoy making insensitive, crude remarks about your stumps because, after all, that's all of you I'm really interested in anyway."

Go to hell.

All of you. Just go to hell. Your enjoyment is all you care about, isn't it? As if this monstrous thing within me isn't hellish enough without you resorting to false pretenses and fraudulent promises to convince me to be at your beck and call, to jump through your hoops and then be made to feel like I should be grateful for the long, drawn-out torment of it.

I been through this crap now at least two dozen times over four surreal years, but never again. This time I've written it down for all posterity--first in my journal and now here, lest I ever forget. I will never trust any man at their word ever again--and there's not one of you who can give me a reason why I should. The next time somebody comes along saying crap like, "I understand....I'm so sorry you're hurting/going through this/put in this position....I'll help you towards your goal if you'll just _______," I'll be pointing them right here to this evidentuary of my newest nonsensical trauma and telling them to get lost--forever.

Next time one of you sick, perverted assholes gets the idea that you can nag me to come and meet you, and that dangling a much-needed carrot will make me jump, go take a long look in the mirror and repeat after me: "FUCK YOU."

I'd rather slit my throat than ever meet another one of you lying, selfish bastards again. Hell must be more fun and meaningful than the humiliation and frustration you've been so blithe about putting me through.

You want to know the truly sickest part of all of this? These are some of Thomas' last words to me:

"...I have never, and will never devulge our association. I hope that is mutual...."

Of course you hope that, you arrogant prick. Of course you do! Because, as we've already established beyond any equivocation, all you really give a flying rat's arse about is yourself and your own selfish desires. To hell with me and what I may need or want--or rightfully expect based on your own dishonest assertions. Nope, in the end it's all about you and your getting off, isn't it??? And the only reason why I'll be keeping your confidence??? Because unlike you, I actually possess the integrity to keep my word, you worthless son of a bitch. But, man oh man--what the hell would you do if I gave my own promises the same flimsy weight as you have yours, hhmmm??? I'd truly love to see you try and twist your lying, conceited, malfeasant way out of that relevatory mess, but I have far more class than to resort to revenge. Or do I? I guess you only have my word to bank on.

Bastards--the whole lot of you....

Sincerely, dixie