The hot drink machine, the water cooler, and all of the taps: They all spout undrinkable liquids. No matter how much we complain, no one ever fixes them. What are we supposed to do? Dehydrate completely?
As for the injection tortures, all they have to do is decide not to torture me. There is no gun to their heads making them fill me with chemicals that make death crawl across my body with every needleful. They do this by choice. They premeditate and organize every attack. They try to hide that they do it. The syringe-weilding medical staff knows what they do is torture.
As for this internet connection, my friend leaves soon who lends me this computer. We do not know yet which day, but the papers are signed and filed. I will communicate all I can before he goes away. I am deeply grateful to him for allowing me all of this time with you.
My faith is in humanity to free me from this hell. Please, all of you, keep all of your pressure on lonely, tiny England until their bubble pops and until I am delivered to the loving arms of my husband, the Mr. Johnny Depp a.k.a. my Mr. Love-of-my-Life. That is not the end of this journey. That will be just the beginning of all I can do in this world.