The retreat happened and I went to see Father Pierluigi. He listened to me and delivered his verdict, “Sister, I see no sign of the dark night of the soul.”
He wrote a report where he said I was sincerely seeking God and genuinely given to God.
But that night, as I stumbled out of the parlor, all I heard were those words, “sister, I see no signs of dark night of the soul.”
I felt as though the ground were cut from under me.
I asked the mother prioress for a mirror. She had told me the brother of a sister saw me when I went out for some dental care. He was shocked to see my skeletal form and asked his sister what they were doing to me.
Once in my cell, I looked at myself in the mirror and was shocked. My face looked like a skull with skin pulled pitifully over it.
“I am dying,” I wrote in my diary, “I am fading away. I die, I die of love. Of wanting love. They told me, love of Jesus is enough. Jesus I do not see but those around me, I do see.”
I agreed to see a doctor. One look at me and the doctor wanted to get me admitted.
Mother Prioress declined, “If she is not sick, then we are able to take care of her within the monastery.”
They were not able to. I knew I should be hospitalized but the mothers were adamant, no hospitalization unless I was physically sick.
One day I was standing near Mother Therese when I found myself dropping to the floor, writhing in agony. I thought I was going to die. After a while, it passed. It took three of similar attacks before the mothers agreed to have me hospitalized.
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