I decided that the crying episodes were caused by the subconscious frustration I felt because of my loss of physical aptitudes. Gina’s speech indicated her maternal feelings toward me were developing rapidly. She cooed sweetly and spoke to me in a childish baby talk that only increased my depression.
I found myself wishing fervently that the field had killed me rather than reduce me to an infantile state. If I could have committed suicide, I would have. But the soft, safe trappings of infancy that surrounded me afforded no possibility of self injury. The resilient mesh walls of my playpen were as incapable of damaging me as the foam filled walls of a padded cell would have been. There were no ropes or strings within my reach to strangle myself and the toys were too large to induce choking by swallowing. Even the toy blocks that Gina had given me had no sharp edges to injure me; instead of being made of wood, they were constructed of foam covered by soft fabric. The weakness in my legs prevented me from escaping the playpen to find another means of ending my life. I would have to see this through to the bitter end.