Laughing? Doubtlessly, easily.

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For the first fifteen years of my illness I was much closer to catatonia than anything else.  When I would, for brief moments, pop out, I would live life as fully as possible.  Especially as I learned that this was going to be an ongoing problem.  Most of my life was lived in quiet nothingness, at least as far as the rest of the world thought.  They honestly didn't know if everything stopped, body, mind, whatever else there is.  The medical people always wanted to know what I was thinking, like a woman.

On one occasion, for all reasonable understanding through observation, I slept for nearly a year.  Actual a bit more, a year and three months or thereabouts.  Waking several times a week, and then living as everything was normal for a few hours.  Then back to sleep.  Against ward rules, they allowed me to have a mini television and game system, as it was the only thing that could hold my focus, and keep me awake if only a few more hours each week.  Even in my worst throws, I had... a way with folk, and rules.  *grins*

Some thought I was, or had become, a mental simpleton.  They did check for brain damage and much else, all save the heart it seems.  Tumor?  Brain malfunction?  Retardation?  Nothing was ever found.  They were even puzzled that, deep inside my brain, all the correct forms were seen.  Autistic?  I just didn't present anything that they could diagnose.

All you see here is no more, or less, than what was going on inside.  I was fully alive, and well, if frustrated by my inability to act.  Shut off, as if in an attic, but of my own flesh.  I did learn to enjoy myself, mostly.  The terror of not having the ability to choose, or even make choices outside of my mind, was horrible beyond your understanding.  It would be like being buried alive, or paraplegic, even blind at times.  I had no strength to speak, to tell, to write.  I couldn't get through that physical barrier to the real world.  With some of the people, a few who were very patient with time and mild mannered, I was able to get out, in small ways, just enough, I think, that I was alive in there, that they didn't just put me up somewhere, warehouse me, pimp me out for the government largess.  Just barely enough, as I recall... suspect.

Now?  Now, while still nearly physically catatonic at times, I can, and do, communicate.  I have had plenty of time to think of things, think over things, come to realizations, and solidly.  And I have some things to say.  But more, I just write in order to communicate, all by itself.  To have some, if limited, contact with the world.

 And now?  The very people that wanted me to speak, write, communicate, for so long?  They want me to shut up, already.  It might even be more than a mere request, somewhere in their minds?  Why shouldn't women vote?  Hell, why should they be allowed in the medical field if they can't control themselves?

Oh, laughing?  Oh yes, yes indeed, without any way to constrain it!  Be careful with your wishes.  And the possible threats?  Adds solid bass to my laughter, and a little deeper... something.  Oh, heavens, I do enjoy life.  Teh funny!