the8bitter
August 30th, 2010, 03:56 PM
When I was (unfortunately, might I add) brought into this world- I had a few deformities that doomed me to a life of constant doctor visits for the first ten or so years of my life. I lived in constant terror for those years, my only compensation being the Sony Playstation (which I held dearly) that was sitting next to our television set like an angel. The fear, the terror of going under the knife yet again (which ended up becoming an ordeal at least twenty times from age 5 to age 10) always haunted me even under the veils of electronic entertainment. The antiseptic smell of the Cardinal Glennon Children's Hospital has forever remained in the scent lobe of my mind.
The most horrifying memory of a surgery has got to be when I was about 7 or 8 years old. I was happily playing on my Nintendo Gamecube (which was the hottest video game system at the time) the night before, completely unaware that the procedure would create more pain, more....hell than I had normally experienced. It did proceed as a normal routine would- I sit in the calming waiting room, be wheeled off in a bed and be given anesthetics. However, when I awoke among my crying comrades hours later, I was barely about to move or think too deeply. The hours resting at home were worse. I had lain in my mother's bed (did not have one of my own yet). As I could hardly move at all, I was reduced to pissing in cups. I could not even consume food or drinks normally, so I had to be fed from a damned tube. I had felt dehumanized in those times, my only source of sanity being the television shows that radiated from a small TV positioned right in front of me. I couldn't even indulge in video games (the only thing that I had to cling on to for happiness at the age) as my mind was too clogged to focus much on anything. I even remember awaking deep into the night, and touched my right eye- in my train of thought I believed it had popped out. That was the most enigmatic moment of this certain period of hell, and I spent the later half of the night crying. It wasn't until morning that I had realized that the eye had been deeply swollen from being squished under the pillows I had slept on. I remained in this sadistic routine until a month or so, in which I had been allowed to return to school.
Oh, this was not the end of my hell. By the time I was in Fourth Grade (just a few years after this dehumanizing surgery), I had sunk to a new low. I was both chronically depressed AND had high levels of anxiety nearly every single day. What had spurred the problems is a mystery to me, even in present time.
Either way, I was quick to become an outcast. I would weep whenever I became confused during a lesson, and have a barrage of panic attacks about 75 percent of my days. I was hated, unloved, unwanted...just as I feel I am today. My only parent (mother) would put me through hell whenever I became suicidal or depressed, and I had even went through a few medical tests and consuling before I was truly given up on.
These days, I am not nearly as high strung. In fact, life has become to be so much of a stream that I just ride on and see the outcome. I hardly care about education anymore, although I do manage to earn good grade and usually complimented on the extensive language I use in comparison to my demographics. My problems today are primarily focused on the natural things a teenager should be worried about. Most of all, I only want to be loved. Years in social isolation have put a strain on me, and I am only just creeping out of the protective shell I have used for ages. So far, I have become socially acceptable (to a point, I suppose) and actually have more than a few friends. The only thing missing in this life is love. I do admit, that is a corny sentence, but I cannot hold back my desires and feelings any longer. My heart is void, and I wish for it to be satisfied and for that special someone to fill the void to be satisfied by my love for them. Most teenagers have no problems with this, but due to my...ways I can never find one to love me for who I am. Do the "gods" (I am atheist, so I cannot truly say such a religious term without resorting to quotation marks) truly hate me as much to put me through this hell, and not offer anything in return? I cannot say for sure.
The most horrifying memory of a surgery has got to be when I was about 7 or 8 years old. I was happily playing on my Nintendo Gamecube (which was the hottest video game system at the time) the night before, completely unaware that the procedure would create more pain, more....hell than I had normally experienced. It did proceed as a normal routine would- I sit in the calming waiting room, be wheeled off in a bed and be given anesthetics. However, when I awoke among my crying comrades hours later, I was barely about to move or think too deeply. The hours resting at home were worse. I had lain in my mother's bed (did not have one of my own yet). As I could hardly move at all, I was reduced to pissing in cups. I could not even consume food or drinks normally, so I had to be fed from a damned tube. I had felt dehumanized in those times, my only source of sanity being the television shows that radiated from a small TV positioned right in front of me. I couldn't even indulge in video games (the only thing that I had to cling on to for happiness at the age) as my mind was too clogged to focus much on anything. I even remember awaking deep into the night, and touched my right eye- in my train of thought I believed it had popped out. That was the most enigmatic moment of this certain period of hell, and I spent the later half of the night crying. It wasn't until morning that I had realized that the eye had been deeply swollen from being squished under the pillows I had slept on. I remained in this sadistic routine until a month or so, in which I had been allowed to return to school.
Oh, this was not the end of my hell. By the time I was in Fourth Grade (just a few years after this dehumanizing surgery), I had sunk to a new low. I was both chronically depressed AND had high levels of anxiety nearly every single day. What had spurred the problems is a mystery to me, even in present time.
Either way, I was quick to become an outcast. I would weep whenever I became confused during a lesson, and have a barrage of panic attacks about 75 percent of my days. I was hated, unloved, unwanted...just as I feel I am today. My only parent (mother) would put me through hell whenever I became suicidal or depressed, and I had even went through a few medical tests and consuling before I was truly given up on.
These days, I am not nearly as high strung. In fact, life has become to be so much of a stream that I just ride on and see the outcome. I hardly care about education anymore, although I do manage to earn good grade and usually complimented on the extensive language I use in comparison to my demographics. My problems today are primarily focused on the natural things a teenager should be worried about. Most of all, I only want to be loved. Years in social isolation have put a strain on me, and I am only just creeping out of the protective shell I have used for ages. So far, I have become socially acceptable (to a point, I suppose) and actually have more than a few friends. The only thing missing in this life is love. I do admit, that is a corny sentence, but I cannot hold back my desires and feelings any longer. My heart is void, and I wish for it to be satisfied and for that special someone to fill the void to be satisfied by my love for them. Most teenagers have no problems with this, but due to my...ways I can never find one to love me for who I am. Do the "gods" (I am atheist, so I cannot truly say such a religious term without resorting to quotation marks) truly hate me as much to put me through this hell, and not offer anything in return? I cannot say for sure.