You talked about suicide; about jumping, falling, and bashing your head in on the pavement. You tell it as if it’s a page from a fairytale— bright, happy, and with birds circling over your corpse.
You talked about walking into the ocean; pockets full of rocks, and lungs full of saltwater. You told me about it, in a tone that makes it like you’re visiting mermaids at the bottom of the ocean, indefinitely.
When I found you on your bed, still as Aurora, cold as the Ice Queen, with poisoned apples on your bedside table, I thought about kissing you. That is how things are supposed to work right? True love solving everything, bringing light into the darkness, and making birds sing with abandon.
So I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was so blinded by our fairytale that I failed to see your darkness.
I’m supposed to do the pathophysiology for our case presentation (due on the 28th, still far)but here I am, writing an aimless blog post. I don’t really have anything profound to write, just want to share with you folks that I am procrastinating.
I am actually panicking, internally, of course. I usually suck at deliberately starting things (I’m good with impulsive decisions though), I know the first step to do is research, then organize the data, then do the flow chart, and voila! End product. The thing is, I am so focused on producing a good output that the fear of ending up with a mediocre one paralyzes me. I don’t know how to start.
Anyway, I will sleep now. Somnolent detachment is next to procrastination in my list of dysfunctional coping mechanisms. Also, the neighbors are being fucking noisy I can’t concentrate.
Things have been going smoothly so far. Except that day when the train stopped working and I was late for 30 minutes. So far the only thing I hate about this job is the daily commute. It is way farther compared to my previous work, but my old university is nearby so it’s the same commute I took in college, which entails passing through a circle of hell (a rotunda), or being crushed and suffocated in an overcrowded train.
We’ve been in the pediatric ICU this week, and I don’t like it one bit. Mostly because I don’t like seeing children suffering because it looks so unnatural, more unnatural than adults, they look so fragile and so helpless, and to make things worse they can’t speak for themselves yet, they rely heavily on their primary caregiver. The thing is, sometimes their primary caregivers are neglectful, annoying, *insert cuss word here*. I mean, for Christ’s sake, the kid would have fared better if they took better care of him/her, or better yet the kid wouldn’t have gotten worse in the first place if they consulted a doctor and adhered to the treatment. And they don’t have the right to say that they can’t afford it because the treatment for that disease is free at health centers.
Sorry for the rant, but you see, the kid died this morning.
Anyway, second reason why I don’t like pediatrics is that kids hate me. Seriously. One kid from the supermarket slapped my leg because i was looking at her. And the kid I’m handling today was crying when I was taking his blood pressure. My niece also cries when she sees me.
I started working last week. We’re still being oriented on the hospital regulations and procedures, boring stuff. I’m bored, so far. I don’t have friends yet.
I also realized that, that hospital’s specialty is my waterloo. So I have to read on it, like really study it because we have this certification program (which is sort of mandatory) where we need to know at least 18 or so diseases. So, wish me luck.
I visited my old workplace, it was fun. My separation anxiety is acting up again.