I have not used my arms or stood on my feet for a month now, have not spoken or eaten human food, have not breathed fresh air for just as long. They have thought of everything, even the removal of my nails, treating them to permanently stop their growth. My feed is laced with laxative, so that all my waste is a liquid which sloshes around the suit, stinking it up horribly. The catheters which allow me to pass waste have a release valve which keeps the pressure in my colon and bladder far above what I can bear, only opening for a few drops at a time, and the constant pressure and slow drip of waste gnaws at me constantly. Every day the suit is drained and cleaned with a scorching liquid disinfectant, and a small amount of itching powder is added, enough to drive me crazy for the next 24 hours, all this done without it coming off, not allowing a single second of relief.
Everyday I watch mutely as the legs come and go in front of me, as they laugh and talk and eat, come and go from the house at will, and I remain helpless, ignored. Every trickling drop of sweat tickles me, the itching powder torments me, my overfull and dripping bladder teases me, and I tug in frustration at the confining sleeves. I want so badly to scratch the burrowing itching, wipe off the slow drops of sweat, but each time I am reminded of my useless hands and arms, bound so tight I cannot even move my fingers. I want so badly to stand on my feet, walk and sit and run like everyone else, but the shackles keep my legs firmly folded.
The worst is their total indifference, the way they casually inflict torment without so much as sparing another glance at me, ignoring my pleading as they kick me down, knowing I cannot get up, press my neck to the floor as they hold a casual conversation, indifferent to my gagged screams for mercy.