Mrrn?
I'm really bored right now, hate when I'm bored, my mind wanders and starts to think of things. Stupid things, serious things, frightening things, you name it. Right now it's wandering over to everything with regards to my surgery. Blunty put, i'm scared as all hell. Just the thought of being cut open, muscles seperated, tendons cut and having bone taken out and replaced with metal makes me shudder. It's all for the better, it's all for the better. At least that's what I keep telling myself. In truth, no one knows. Procedure for me is being made up as we go along. They've never done it where they replace one hip and one knee on the same side at once. I get to be an experiment, again. Joy.
*sigh*
I wish I wasn't alone right now. But hell, how many times have I wished that over the past year living here? The answer; a lot. It never changes. The same basic routine, day in day out. I hate doing the same thing week after week, day after day. I can barely stand to eat the same thing two nights in a row, unless I really really like it. I've got nothing to do every day and still I feel like I'm wasting my day (or night rather) If I stay in bed too long. But what am I achieving anyway? Nothing. So why does it matter? Why do I feel this way?
For that matter, who am I? Really? Am I who I am because of what I can do? Or what I believe? It all seems a bit shallow to me, seeing as those are qualities that are judged by society to be either good or bad. I mean, if I believed that killing was right, since society has laid down that it isn't, that would mean, according to societies stipulations, that I'm not a good person. It's all tangible. It has nothing to do with who I really am, but at the same time it affects it in so many ways. Do the people around me determine who I am? I don't think so. I don't go about acting a certain way for a certain group of people, then completely differently when immersed in a group of different people than the previous gathering. Heh, my ex b/f wanted to be treated extra specially because we were trying to be friends still. I don't do that. I won't change the way I act just so you can feel better about yourself and more importantly, what you did. Right, getting a bit personal without enough detail. If you weren't there, you wouldn't understand without me having to rant for several hours. And trust me, by the end of it I'd be pretty pissed off. For the record, David, the ex spoken of above, is the one whose jaw I would take too much pleasure in shattering. His g/f's too, but she's another equally long and anger/hate filled rant. So, I still haven't determined what makes me, me. Everything so far is tangible and too easily swayed by the whims of society. Perhaps there is no way to find out. The key to finding yourself is acceptance. Acceptance of yourself, your experiences and everything that is a part of your life. Well, I'm not there yet, but at my age, I think I'm farther along than most. Of course that's just what I believe. Again, tangible. Perhaps we're not meant to know these things, perhaps it comes to you just before death, so that having lead a good life or bad, you can have at least one moment of pure happiness. Or maybe, just maybe, the discovery is meant for other people. To accept another is to accept yourself. That's what love is isn't it? The full acceptance of another person? To the point that they make you feel good about yourself and who you are? It's a great point in the favour of others being meant to discover who you really are. And so, on that note, I can't acceot that all love is, is a chemical reaction in the brain. If that were truly the case then what would be the point? Wouldn't we simply be mindlessly breeding to further our species? It's what happens in the wild after all. But who'se to say what those animals feel? We can't know what exactly they feel, anymore than I could know exactly what anyone but myself was feeling.
Moving along, i'm getting too philisophical/contemplative for my own good here.
I haven't really been sleeping well of late, diregarding the being forced out of bed by my mother, of course. This past week has been too much like the above. Too much thinking, too many thoughts rising to the fore. And now the tears begin to flow, as I remember the pledge I'd made to myself several years ago. I'd pledges that I would rather kill myself than continue living like I am now, that if things never got better I would rather die. Now things have a huge chance to get better, but they also have the huge potential to get worse. Well there's no backing down now, I've made my commitment. I'd rather risk it all than slowly kill myself from the inside out. Course, this is all assuming I survive the hospital stay. I can hardly stand to be alone here, in my own home, where I'm free to do what I want, when I want. Whereas the hospital, it's more like a prison. Everything will be so ridgid, I won't even be allowed to leave my room for the first few weeks. And visitors, somehow I doubt i'll be able to have any. The visiting hours are 11am-8pm, I'm pretty sure I'll be put to work during those times, doing whatever they deem to be needed. I can't really stand being controlled and in the hospital, I will be controlled. And surrounded by strangers, unknown people poking and prodding me. And I doubt they'll be any different than any other hospitals, I doubt they'll listen when I tell them not to touch me, that my joints can't take it, that they're causing me a lot of pain. They never listen, I may as well be an animal.
Eugh, too much of this, I'm going to bed
I love you Tony,
~Nat