Official uF Dietitian
Joined: 02 Dec 2002
Location: My own alternate reality
[UPDATE] CMH Oct 23
|I'm not doing too well. I've been to the doctor's a lot lately for my heart and blood pressure, but it's my soul that seems to be ailing the most.
I've been under stress and heartsick over Todd, but it's more than that.
I've been feeling sick to my stomach over the things that I've started seeing in my mind's eye. Things I've known about the hospital for a very a long time. Longer than my memory reaches. Things I preferred to keep behind a curtain, separated from reason and accountability. Things that will no longer be denied a place in my consciousness.
How could I forget. Was it purposeful or did I somehow manage to accidently lose all these horrible memories? When did it happen?
I remember dreadful things seen as a young child, ungodly scenes witnessed as a young man. How old was I when I stopped remembering them? Stopped remembering the Forgotten?
There were experiments, horrid experiments. I watched. I watched unseen. I cleaned up afterwards, I saw the productions, the terminations, the aberrations.
Why didn't I speak up for them? Was it my father?
I was afraid of my father, very afraid. He wasn't the man I made him out to be. My father was one of the worst perpetrators on campus, worse than the doctors at times. My father took the unwilling. I saw. People knew. And they did nothing. My mother was an unwilling. Unwilling. Unwilling. Unwilling.
I heard it. I heard it whispered. I heard it whispered when they looked at me.
And they gave me to him.
Cambridge was all I knew. I tried to protect her, for the love of God I did.
Here is what Charles previously wrote about his father & himself:
|I grew up in a custodial cottage on the grounds of Cambridge, where my father had been employed since his early twenties. He became Head Caretaker late in 1929 and remained so until his death in 1963. I never knew my mother, she died delivering me into this world.
My father was obsessed with the machinations of Cambridge, and felt duty-bound to make the hospital as habitable as possible despite the funding shortages and conditions of the time. He was absolutely devoted to Cambridge, and instilled that same devotion in my soul. He called the patients of the hospital "the forgotten", always treating them with compassion and pity, despite the attitudes of the day. Ironically, it's now the great institution itself that has become "the forgotten".
I became my father's second-in-command when I was just shy of sixteen. He taught me everything there was to know about the inner workings of the hospital, my finger was taking her pulse before I turned eighteen years old. My father died of a heart attack while fixing a ventilation shaft in the main building, but he died doing what he loved, and I'm glad for that