Disillusioned

I am alive.

I talk with the most hilarious lisp, but I’m still alive!

I have to say, Wednesday was likely the worst, most horrible, most miserable day of my life. My entire life.

I could rant forever about how despicable it was… with the bleeding, the swelling, the gauze, the salivating, the medicine, the stitches, the anasthesia… oh, and that horrible numbness! But since that day is behind me, my memory can’t quite recall the physical horror of it all, I only know that it was terrible, but I am alive.

Going into it, I thought I was being mature. I was good for the doctor, acted like a big girl. Like I said in my last post, I hid all signs of my inner terror and put my brave face on. So much for that. The last thought I had before I went under was something like, “AAAAAAHHHH!!!! I’m STILL AWAKE?! DO THEY KNOW I’M STILL AWAKE?!!! I’M GONNA DIE!!!!”

And that’s as far as my big girl face goes.

The next thing I know, I was crying. Pushed out to my car in a wheelchair, doing multiplication problems in my head to keep myself occupied. (Now, it should be noted that this particular part wasn’t my fault, purely an effect of the anasthesia. That’s more than I can say for the rest of the day, however.) I was miserable the entire day. Most of it was that I was numb, and I hate being numb. But also, when I am uncomfortable, I tend to shut the entire world out. One of my fatal flaws. I don’t let anyone in to help me, and I end up hurting those who try! I can’t put to words how terrible I feel about being a jerk to everyone, and I wish I could take it all back.

There are no excuses. I built my walls high, though there were moments of self-awareness, where I consciously thought, Act like a big girl. They’re trying to help you, just help. Let them. But then I go and put myself to shame. So much for my dignity.

So that’s where I’m at. I pride myself on being mature for my age, but after Wednesday I’m not so sure. My mom even commented on it, saying to herself over and over again, “Why did I let you do this? You can’t handle it.” And you know what? Looking back, I couldn’t. I still can’t. It makes me sad to think that all this time I thought I was bigger than this, but I guess I was fooled–even by myself.

I just hope that next time something like this comes around, I will have learned patience. Patience to be helped in times of pain and discomfort. That I won’t have to block out the world, but instead embrace it, and let them help. I pray, I hope, I plead. That next time, I will keep my dignity.

Because that’s what elect ladies do.