Quiet Room - Lori Schiller [94]
I began to pray. I begged God to tell me what to do.
In my childhood I hadn't given God much more thought than I had hell or the devil. Sometimes I prayed to Him for things I wanted—like good SAT scores or a date to the prom. But other than making such utilitarian demands, I didn't see much use for Him.
That changed the sicker I got. My dad always said that each of us determined our own destiny. I wasn't sure. I had been tormented for so long, I needed something outside me to believe in, to guide me and to help me. I began to whisper little prayers in the hospital, prayers that God would help me fight off the Voices. God was different from the Voices. The Voices were demons I heard tormenting me, who spoke to me, who ordered and directed me. God was something I thought about and felt in my heart.
Sitting in that church, I prayed as I had never prayed before.
Please dear God — help me to make it through
this wretchedness in my life. I need relief and I'm feeling weak.
I must persevere, but I'm running scared.
I'm so sorry for all the bad I've done in my life.
I've tried to be helpful to others before myself.
I'll try harder — I promise
I'll never be evil again.
If you want me to listen to the Voices, I wil.
If you want me to die, I will.
Just don't send me to hell.
I've been there already.
I'm sorry for all my ugliness, for all my badness.
But please —/ want to be saved
Please dear God, answer my prayers.
I sat in the church for two and a half hours. Somehow the prayers made me feel better. When I left the church, I turned down the road that I thought led toward home.
When I finally arrived after a seven-mile walk, I was trembling big-time. I walked in and surveyed the house where I had once been so happy, and tried to figure out if it was here that I needed to die. I stood in the kitchen looking at the block of knives on the counter, paralyzed with fascination.
Then I saw a car pulling in the driveway. My mother jumped out and came running to me. I ran to her and we embraced. I begged and pleaded with her to let me come home but I knew she couldn't do it.
I knew I had to go back.
22
Lori New York Hospital, White Plains, New York, June 3, 1988-June 9, 1988
June 3, 1988, 8:25 P.M.—I ran away today. I'm back now. And, I feel like a real loser … No one will believe me anymore. I made the mistake of not stabbing myself in the stomach 4 times like I thought. I guess I was too chicken — or maybe too tired … I'm confused. I'm scared. Scared of myself and what I might do if enraged. The voices bothered me a lot today. They in fact inspired me to run. Next time I run, I'm doing myself in.
June 4, 3:05 P.M.—I know now at this moment that when I'm discharged I'll kill myself. So what will they do? Put me in a state hospital. So what will I do? Convince the state hospital that I won't. And upon good-bye to the SH I'll be dead. DEAD DEAD DEAD. No one cares about me anyway except Mom and Dad, and they didn't even rescue me right away … I want to cry, like I did in church yesterday. I want relief. Oh, Dr. Fischer, Dr. Doller: Why did you have to be away now?
June 8, Noon—I feel that therapy with Dr. Fischer is too slow. At times I feel like murdering her. The voices tell me to strangle her to death. At other times, I wish I could say I love you to her.
June 9, 3:45 P.M.—I know deep in my heart despite my cries to leave the hospital that I really do want to get better.
23
Lori New York Hospital, White Plains, New York, June 1988-December 1988
Over and over I ricocheted from one extreme to another.
Sometimes I felt like a helpless pawn in the real battle that was going on around me and about me. On the one side were Dr. Doller and Dr. Fischer and the rest of the hospital staff. On the other side were the Voices and my own crazy out-of-control emotions. I was in the middle. I was the one they were fighting over. Which way would I go?
Sometimes, though, I felt like a fighter. I would seize control. I would fight the Voices and win. Enough of this