June 29, 2006

I am Infinity

Talking to doctors makes me feel so much more fucked up than I am. First it's the woman who tells me I'll never be able to play sports, never be able to work in a job that requires standing, no backpacking trips across Europe, she might as well said, "Well, you should pretty much refrain from living." And then the sinus thing, which they keep putting drugs on top of drugs onto, like, "Well, these pills haven't helped you recover for six months, so, maybe we should keep trying them. Take them three times a day now." Ridiculous. And, for the first time, they want me to talk to someone about being crazy. Woo hoo! As if I didn't think... hell I don't even know. Its just, you go into an appointment, thinking its a pretty routine physical for a college file, and you leave feeling like that cold afternoon in sixth grade, after being told that you'll spend your summer in a wheelchair, that, yes, you are broken. I don't want to be broken anymore. Problem on top of problem... and then there is that thought, that stupid thought, that won't let me go, that won't give me a minute of peace, I need another shock to my system, but I don't want alcohol and I don't want drugs and I don't want sex... and I don't know what I want. Because the only... no. Goddamn. That thought needs to go away and leave me alone with my future. Because that's the past. And I'm moving forward. And that's gone. Forever.


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