It's funny how you don't realise how bad things were until life becomes a little more normal, and you feel more normal, and you're looking back on darkness. I resent taking tablets to feel this way, but have learned to let pride go and get screwed. Operation tomorrow. I'm sick of operations. I'm sick of fasting. I'm sick of that feeling of impending doom as they inject the general anaesthetic. I'm sick of that awful nausea and pain that sifts through the haze when I wake up from it. I know, all too well, that there are people who are so much worse off than I am. I have seen families who have endured so much, and so I KNOW I have no right to complain, but I just want to say it. It's not fair. And "why me?" I could ask the question of what I did to deserve all of this, but perhaps there is an answer to that, and perhaps I don't want to hear it. Enough whingeing. Why do I only come to this diary when I need to share negative thoughts? Why can't I come here and tell you wonderful things about how blue the sky was today? And how when I sat in front of the air conditioner in the student lounge, I felt like wrapping my body around that coolness, as if the air was tangible enough to physically touch? Or maybe just that, there is pride in myself, knowing that before I did this art course, I had never used a saw or a drill, or anything else that made lots of noise and made holes or cuts in wood or metal. And now I do it all without hesitation. Of all things, I think I'm most proud of that :-) There we go. Some evening-out of emotions. Normality restored?
