Surviving wasn't Living.
My fever is gone now and I feel alright again. I still have to finish the rest of the pills else the trip we made to the PK (Health Center) and me getting my blood taken for a blood test would be for nothing. No headaches, no occasional ringing in the ear, and no runny nose. My temperature is back to normal so I could take the ol regular cold shower again.
Funny story, when the doctor was sticking a needle on the inside of my arm, a classmate (who had given me a ride to the PK in the first place) was accompanying me. I looked away when the doc was brandishing the needle (I'm not squeamish of needles nor blood but I didn't wanna watch how it's gonna look like piercing my skin in case it triggers something) and the classmate sort of held out her open palm to me and I grabbed it instinctually.
When I felt the needle up in my arm, I felt choked laughter bubbling inside my chest.
Weird, I know.
I tried to hold it in but the doc was taking a while with my blood and I just sort of let out this loud "PFFFFFTTTTTTTT URGHHKK HAHA PFFFTTT" while squeezing the shit out of my classmate's hand. I mean, don't ask, man, I don't know why but it's just hella funny af.
After the doc slapped a cotton on my arm and we left the lab, I just guffawed out the rest of it. My laughter pretty much bounded across the hallway considering it's such a rare sound to be heard in a medical institute.
On a different note, the same classmate once told me when I was having a major relapse almost a week ago that "as long as you can survive and know how to face when it repeats, there'd be less damage every time, and that's what matters".
I beg to differ.
I appreciate her concern and what she said was probably an attempt to soothe me. Yet it was no different than what Fabio did a long time ago. It's not their fault, that they couldn't understand.Yet I wish they'd stay out of it. I'm just that much of an asshole.
I spent 5 years surviving.
From 15 to 19 years old, all I did was survive.
To consider opening my eyes every morning a blessing and a dreamless night a miracle. To consider every short breath I take and every tear I shed a saving grace. To count the scars on my arms, old and new, and prays that my mind would leave me be for one goddamn second. To consider every day not dying a victory.
I breezed through school like water flowing from a waterfall. Just going through the motions. Even now I couldn't remember what it was I felt on those days other than the effort it took me to survive each and every day of my hellish mind.
To me, all I needed to do was survive.
Just survive.
The next day, and the next, and the next, and the next.
Just focus on not dying and I'll be fine.
"Survive" was my motto, back then. You can breeze through the older posts if you think I'm bullshit, around the year 2012 until 2015. It didn't matter what I was feeling or what was happening around me. If only I could survive through it, then another day wouldn't be a problem.
For the longest time, I wanted to weep at how sad it was.
And early this year, I finally rejoiced.
When I read my old posts and my old private notes on how I'd gotten through to this day, I found that I could read it and.....not be sad. At least, not for the wrong reason and not for long. I find that I could....move on. I was sad for what past me had gone through and I thanked God for how she got through it. But then I was...content.
I could smile.
With this, I could finally start living.
Not just surviving anymore, but living.
To be able to stop at a sidewalk and marvel at the beauty of a flowering tree.
To close my eyes and listen to the chatter around me and not call them noise.
To take a breath and feel how alive my beating heart against my ribcage.
To live.
I smiled and laughed and giggled, because finally, I've stopped wanting to die.
Finally, I want to live.
I've had my share of surviving. Past me has definitely done enough of surviving and I won't commit her to anything more of the like. She's done her part. I want to let her rest.
Surviving isn't living, my friend.
The same with just because you're breathing, doesn't mean you're alive.
;)
Funny story, when the doctor was sticking a needle on the inside of my arm, a classmate (who had given me a ride to the PK in the first place) was accompanying me. I looked away when the doc was brandishing the needle (I'm not squeamish of needles nor blood but I didn't wanna watch how it's gonna look like piercing my skin in case it triggers something) and the classmate sort of held out her open palm to me and I grabbed it instinctually.
When I felt the needle up in my arm, I felt choked laughter bubbling inside my chest.
Weird, I know.
I tried to hold it in but the doc was taking a while with my blood and I just sort of let out this loud "PFFFFFTTTTTTTT URGHHKK HAHA PFFFTTT" while squeezing the shit out of my classmate's hand. I mean, don't ask, man, I don't know why but it's just hella funny af.
After the doc slapped a cotton on my arm and we left the lab, I just guffawed out the rest of it. My laughter pretty much bounded across the hallway considering it's such a rare sound to be heard in a medical institute.
On a different note, the same classmate once told me when I was having a major relapse almost a week ago that "as long as you can survive and know how to face when it repeats, there'd be less damage every time, and that's what matters".
I beg to differ.
I appreciate her concern and what she said was probably an attempt to soothe me. Yet it was no different than what Fabio did a long time ago. It's not their fault, that they couldn't understand.
I spent 5 years surviving.
From 15 to 19 years old, all I did was survive.
To consider opening my eyes every morning a blessing and a dreamless night a miracle. To consider every short breath I take and every tear I shed a saving grace. To count the scars on my arms, old and new, and prays that my mind would leave me be for one goddamn second. To consider every day not dying a victory.
I breezed through school like water flowing from a waterfall. Just going through the motions. Even now I couldn't remember what it was I felt on those days other than the effort it took me to survive each and every day of my hellish mind.
To me, all I needed to do was survive.
Just survive.
The next day, and the next, and the next, and the next.
Just focus on not dying and I'll be fine.
"Survive" was my motto, back then. You can breeze through the older posts if you think I'm bullshit, around the year 2012 until 2015. It didn't matter what I was feeling or what was happening around me. If only I could survive through it, then another day wouldn't be a problem.
For the longest time, I wanted to weep at how sad it was.
And early this year, I finally rejoiced.
When I read my old posts and my old private notes on how I'd gotten through to this day, I found that I could read it and.....not be sad. At least, not for the wrong reason and not for long. I find that I could....move on. I was sad for what past me had gone through and I thanked God for how she got through it. But then I was...content.
I could smile.
With this, I could finally start living.
Not just surviving anymore, but living.
To be able to stop at a sidewalk and marvel at the beauty of a flowering tree.
To close my eyes and listen to the chatter around me and not call them noise.
To take a breath and feel how alive my beating heart against my ribcage.
To live.
I smiled and laughed and giggled, because finally, I've stopped wanting to die.
Finally, I want to live.
I've had my share of surviving. Past me has definitely done enough of surviving and I won't commit her to anything more of the like. She's done her part. I want to let her rest.
Surviving isn't living, my friend.
The same with just because you're breathing, doesn't mean you're alive.
;)
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