Okay, so i wasn't exactly dying on the operation table, but i would be lying if i said i wanted to make it out of surgery alive, because i don't, i really don't. Long story short about the surgery i underwent, there was a lot of wrong that was going on with my face so my family decided to take action and brought me to a skin specialist to figure things out and one thing led to another. Before i know it, i was sitting on a bed in the hospital ward wearing nothing but those big, blue, hospital gowns you see from movies, waiting for my turn to enter the operating theater to be, well, operated. At first i thought that this was going to be a small operation, just to get rid of the virus thingie growing on my face but apparently, things were more critical than i pegged them to be. So yeah, i spent the Friday before school started, reading a novel on the hospital bed, in the company of my mother, who wasn't very happy with me because of the cost of the operation. I don't blame her, i'm the one with all the wrong things in life, and she's just trying to fix it up a little for my sake. What are mothers for huh?
Anyways, my mom said something to me as i was lying on the roller bed, about to be pushed into the room where the operations took place. "So this is as far as i go", she had said and i smiled at that, because this scene was interestingly familiar, i mean all of us had at least watched a soap opera or movie where someone has to be sent into operation right? So yeah, that exact scene was playing in front of me, and i was one of the main characters. Actually, i was the main character, the one being pushed into the operating room as he or she lied helplessly and alone on the roller bed, bidding farewell to family or friends at the door of the operating room. Before the doors closed completely and i lose complete view of my mother, i heard her say, "Say a little prayer to God", though it was kind of a whisper, i heard it and wow, you had no idea how much irony radiated from that. Why? Because when people say that, they usually mean oh, pray to God that everything goes well and that you'll be safe and sound when the operation's over. And if it had been the old me from two or three years back lying on the roller bed, i would indeed pray to God for my well-being. I would, i really would.
Um, but i'm not the old me. I'm not that happy-go-lucky preteen from two years ago. I'm not her anymore, though i really wished i was. So, instead of actually praying to God that i'd make it out alive, i kind of scoffed(?) at what my mother had said, because honestly, i could feel it, somewhere deep within me, that i knew i didn't want to make it out alive, although this was a very minor operation and there wasn't much at risk, but still, there's always a possibility for things to go wrong, and it was highly unfortunate for me as i was holding on to that one in a million chance for the surgery to go downhill. I remembered thinking to myself as i laid wide awake on the bed in the operating room, waiting to be put onto the operating table that i was secretly hoping, wishing that i would somehow overdose and die, or get an allergic reaction from the meds and just pass on. I'm aware of how horrible this sounds but it's not like anyone but me reads these anyways, so i'm pretty comfortable with sharing my deepest thoughts on here.
So yes, i wanted to be dying on the operation table, but obviously, i didn't. I got knocked out by the whatever gas they made me inhale when they put me on the operation table and i don't remember anything else from the operation other than the pain in my left arm when the injected something into the tube that was already connected to my vein and then i counted "1,2,3...", but before i could reach "4", i was already under. Totally, and utterly, under. It was weird though it didn't feel any different from sleeping, but there's just something in you being forced to go under and you knowing you're forced to go under that just gives you that strange feeling. That's my theory, at least.
So, here i am, alive and well, with these wounds all over my face. It's still bandaged up, my face, with all the dressing materials but i can see some of the wounds and they resemble chicken pox, which i never got but i assumed it would look like this. The doctor said he had removed well over a hundred of those weird, unnatural cells and viral growth on my face, so basically my whole face is covered up with red dots now. And they're itchy as hell. God, what i'd give to rip my face off right now. Scratch that, what i'd give to rip my heart out of my chest right now. Yes, the surgery hasn't changed me. I still want to stop my lungs from functioning. I still want my red blood cells to stop forming oxyhaemoglobin. I still, want to die.
Things with school, things with family, things with friend(s), things with my face. They're too much. And i can't help but feel so small whenever i think about it. I can't wait to go back to school and face all the embarrassment i deserve, yeah, definitely cannot wait for that. I can't wait to get out of my house and let everyone see how wrong my face is. I can't wait to face the world that i have lost my rightful place in. I can't wait to break down again. I can't do it now because i can't wet the bandages and my wounds, so yeah, strictly no crying allowed. Haha, i'm trying. Not to cry. I'm trying. To die. Without hurting. The people i love. In my life.
There are so many things in life that has gone wrong for me and i'm not sure if i have what it takes to try and pull it together to fix them. I don't think, i'm strong enough. I don't think i deserve enough to live my life. I don't think i can, go on.
They always say, "When there's a will, there's a way." For me, i have lost my will, and i have lost my way. I have lost everything that mattered to me. Everything.
I wish i had died on the operation table. Why didn't i die on the operation table.
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