Letter to my pdoc--how I'm feeling. You wanted to know how I was feeling and I said that it was not possible to describe how bad I felt with words. I will try to describe it now, even though these words still cannot do the anguish justice: I am in terrible, terrible pain and I am utterly alone with it. Pain that nobody can help you with is like that. It doesn't matter who is with you or who is listening because they cannot help you. It is completely isolating. My Interstitial Cystitis is becoming unbearable again--an 8/10 on the pain scale. I have been alone with it for decades--no understanding, no treatment, no cure. I just saw yet another urologist who could not help me. They say people with I.C. have a worse quality of life than people with bladder cancer. So I am basically, chronically dying of cancer but without the escape through death at the end and without anyone taking notice of my suffering. And this is just one of the many chronic pains I've endured. I'm so sick of all the physical pain. My body has betrayed me from the start. It shows no outward signs of its troubles yet it does not allow me to live a normal life. But most of all I am in indescribable mental anguish--a 10/10 on the pain scale. I have tried everything there is to try all the way to dangerous experimental clinical trials to no avail. I am untreatable, incurable, unsalvageable. I am stressed to the max everyday by the pointlessness of my interminable suffering. Mornings are the worst. I wake up crying that I must face another day--that I must watch and feel the skin of my psyche burn and peel off in putrid curls over and over again with each and every sunrise. My mind has betrayed me from the start, capable of understanding more than most, it is acutely aware of its own suffering. Is it like a killer that is stalking me or like an angel of mercy, promising sweet relief if I can only find the courage to end it all? But that is the problem. I haven't the courage. Or perhaps I think that suffering is something, while oblivion is nothing. Existence is something. Death is nothingness. Pain means that you are alive and have something. I have pain and that is all I have. So whether I choose to end it all or go on, both are equally tragic. I thought that you and MST might save me, or at least save me a little bit, but it was not to be. And now you are as lost on how to help me as I or anyone else. You cannot save me, not even a little bit, but tragically we go on.