To tell you more about myself, I am 48 years old, unmarried, and am not looking for a mate at the present. I have short, wavy silvery-brown hair (more silver than brown, I'm afraid), brown eyes, and wear spectacles. I am fairly cobby in appearance: short and rotund, with short arms and legs (make that leg).

I have me mum and pop back in Australia, also me brothers and sisters. I have two older brothers: Carl Wilson (50) and Steve Oscar ("Steve-O"), who is 55. My sisters are Gaynor Elyse (49) and Corbin Michelle (52). I'm the runt of the litter in my family, as they say.

Before the accident, I was working at a fashion store; I was a salesclerk. I worked at the store for over 20 years; I saved up me dough; this was how I came to America for holiday. Life seemed promising until I got injured; now me life is clouded with uncertainty, coloured with fear.

I argued with the physsie terrorist today; told her to beg off. All they do is cause me more pain, more misery; I am sick of it! Why can't they just leave me the fuck alone??

I am not having an easy time of it. Ever since I lost me gam, I have been pissed off at the whole lot of 'em. I am going to spend the rest of me life as a cripple, dependent on others for assistance. I will need to use a wheelchair, or for walking, crutches that clamp at the elbows, like I  have seen on the telly. Very depressing.

Louie meant well when she told me to write me feelings down; as I do, I feel anger, bitterness, revulsion, confusion, nervousness, nausea, amongst other things. Me mind is in a tumultuous turmoil nowadays. Aye, life for me is not good!

It dosen't help that I have to fight the godd--- Tilt Table twice a day or have me stump stretched or prodded until a.) I do a technicoloured yawn, or b.) pass out from the pain. I dread physsie therapy; why do the terrorists have to keep torturing me like this day in and day out?? Are they trying to drive me mad??

Getting a gun and blowin' me brains out would be much easier!!