A forced visit to hospital

As I was living in the vicinity of the hospital centre I always took some time to visit the patients I knew well. Some great friendships came out of these visits.

But once my drunkard relative who I actually didn’t want to visit was hospitalised. They called me that I should, or better must pay a visit and that I should report on her condition immediately. 

Well, I went. I would go anyway with some hesitation probably, but now when I was forced to do it, I hardly made myself go.

So, I came to her. She was sitting on her bed. Again, grumpy and sick of life. The life didn’t offer me much opportunities to get to know her. Officially, we were not talking, but now when she was in hospital, we should fake that we get along just fine. 

And there she was. My blood who got so drunk that she hurt her head so much she ended up in hospital. Slowly she melted a bit and asked me for a favour. To get her some cigarettes. I asked for the brand and went to get them.

I came back, put the packet into the case beside the bed, asked a bit about how she was feeling and similar chitchat. Her answers were short, abrupt and impertinent. I was used to her being like that. I didn’t stay long. Why would I?

She unmade my beautiful day. Blah.

I didn’t call home about how she was. They called me. Namely, a furious nurse called that someone has given her cigarettes and that she lit one after dinner. In her hospital bed. 

Of course, I was guilty. I should have known that she is going to smoke. I didn’t expect she would smoke inside the hospital. 

A huge smile crawled across my face.

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It’s been ten years 

Since you left this world. The news shattered my heart. 

The life didn’t give us many chances to spend some of it together. The parents hating each other, we only enjoyed some secret moments together as children. 

But you were a geek. A master and a monster in what you knew the best. You were always making me go wow, wow, wow. 

Then that Sunday you tried not to hurt anyone. And instead of anyone else you hit and fell and your soul left your body. 

It’s been ten years since you left, only 32 years old. 

My dear, I miss you, I always will.

Losing my hair

I was always proud of my hair. They’re mom’s. Abundant, curly, not too much, strong and long. The disease I have brings many surprises, as well as the pills I have to take. 

Today when I combed my mane a lock of hair appeared in my hand. I’ve read that losing hair is part of the burnout syndrome, but didn’t think it would thin out mine. 

I guess that I should accept the fact that my body is changing due to the burden it was carrying for so much time.

The hope that this period will not last much more helps me to persist. 

When leaving is the only option

I had to run. We all had to run. My body succumbing to the fear I was living in for my entire life. 

The relationships I tried to exist in were too demanding, actually they existed only if I bent in. And I had been doing it for decades. They got used to me like this, not wanting anything, not opposing, not complaining. I thought they would appreciate this, but I was wrong. 

They only care about the money. This is always the main concern for them, as money makes the world go round. 

My eyes have seen so much suffering in dying people’s eyes. A million dollars couldn’t take it away. Not then, not now. 

I learned the lesson, they apparently didn’t. 

First days of freedom

It is unbelievable. Truly unbelievable. I have found myself in a distant town, watching my girl play in the playground. The absence of fear is so new to me that I fear I won’t cope.

I haven’t coped before, actually I coped beyond my capabilities and then I broke and my body could not withhold it anymore. 

Now, I am here away from home, realising that I never had one, coping with the syndrome of those who cannot cope – the burn-out syndrome.

Will I survive? Still not sure. Will I persist? Probably. Will I learn from it? No doubt.