i think giving up is a really hard thing to do. many people argue against this and say that it’s the easiest option. however, i disagree.
when i was lying in a hospital bed six years ago, i could feel my body giving up. i could feel my heart battling with my lungs, unable to pull through and i had to make a conscious decision as to whether i was going to ask my body to fight or whether i gave in to the pain and let it kill me. i really didn’t want to die. i knew that much, but feeling like a grievance to your family-watching them in pain, as you are carted off into intensive care, wires coming out of you, a machine breathing for you, was an experience that i did not want to prolong. i am unaware of whether i romanticise the experience of lying in a hospital bed, dying, as all i really remember, clearly, was the pain. not just the physical pain of your lungs drowning, unable to breathe, not just the pain of being unable to articulate what is happening to you, to the countless ‘professionals’ and not just the pain of hurting your family as they watch, helpless by the sidelines, but the most incredible pain of recognising that this might be it; this might be the moment i die and i have to be okay with that.
Although i don’t remember actually waking up, the relief of waking up was something that i will never forget. seeing my family. knowing that i was probably going to be okay.
the flashbacks started as soon as i woke up. i can safely say that my trust will forever be tarnished by the nights events, when a doctor stabbed needles into my feet, into my legs and into my arms, without a word, without an explanation. when the nurses were holding me down and telling me to stop screaming. i couldn’t see my dad. i couldn’t see my mum and in that moment, i felt so alone. i felt violated and indescribably vulnerable. this feeling of loneliness has now haunted me. i constantly need reassurance that my family and friends do love me. that they willbe there. that they mean what they say. this is such a desperate and selfish standard to set for the people i love, but it is this one painful experience that has tainted my life, for good.
I am yet so see the positive [aside from being alive] that this experience has given me. six years later and i still have flashbacks. six years later i still see the doctors, the shining lights, everywhere i go. six years later i am still paranoid that people will leave me without warning. six years later, my anxiety is so high that i will always assume the worst of myself and everyone around me.
and you tell me that i give up to easily? you tell me that i am too awkward? you tell me that i am too negative?
you have no idea.