second chapter
Being unconscious and in the state that I was in, I had the most magnificent dream. But was it a dream? It was if as I was walking along Highway One, along the absolutely astonishing coast of California. Once again I could see everything, I could see a man and a woman cuddling on the beach below. I could see the pebble that was holding three tons of rocks from a rockslide. Vision was everything. That was all I had, vision. Staring down the coastline was the most beautiful thing I have ever done, but did I do it? Was it all a dream, or had this experience actually occurred? I don’t know, but I don’t really care, because I experienced it none the less. Whether it had been a dream or if I were actually transported to a place in my dreams, I had an experience I will never forget. You know those dreams that you wake up and feel like you had the most amazing dream, but you cant remember it for the life of you? Well, it had the same effect on me as for being amazing, but I will always remember it as if it were real.
Waking up was the worst feeling I had ever had in my entire life. I wanted to stay in that state of grace forever. But that’s how life goes doesn’t it? Life sucks and then we die. The worst part about it was that when I did open my eyes, I had an I.V. stuck in my arm (with about 15 holes that showed where the nurses tried to stab me, but failed miserably because all nurses suck at that) I was hooked up to a respirator, and I could not speak a word. Both of my arms, broken, both of my legs, broken. When the nurse saw I had my eyes open, she exploded into a full sprint after the doc. When he graced me with his presence he informed me that while I was passed out on the cement, I was smoked by a car. He told me that the car sped off, and I was left there to die. I guess I was in pretty bad shape. When he tried to list off my injuries, it took him half an hour, as he had to read about 5 pages worth. I was in a terrible state. I had lost my ability to speak, at least for a while, and I was now breathing out of one lung. Talk about your shitty day.
I was in the state of comatosis for about 2 months. I spent another 8 in the hospital trying to recover from the book of injuries I had. It was the toughest year of my life. There were days in that hospital that I would just lie on my bed and scream. I would just lay on my back and scream with all the might my one lung had. If there were a way to describe the pain I was feeling, it would be parallel to sitting there and having your skin sliced, and peeled off your body. You would then proceed to tear every muscle and then rip that off as well, and if you were still living, all of your bones would shatter and that is about half of what I went through. The pain got so bad at times that I would contemplate killing myself, yet I didnt have the balls to kill myself. Or the ability to either.
That wasnt even the tough part. Most people when they go in the hospital, receive flowers and visitors to help them get through the pain they are receiving. With all the pain I had, I needed about 50 times the support of what all the other patients needed. I got none. Nothing. No cards, no flowers, and no god damn visitors. Although who would send me flowers or come visit me? I had no one in this planet. No one to hold, no one to comfort me even when I was healthy. Those eight months, all that kept me going was the longing for that feeling once again. I wanted to feel wanted again.
Waking up was the worst feeling I had ever had in my entire life. I wanted to stay in that state of grace forever. But that’s how life goes doesn’t it? Life sucks and then we die. The worst part about it was that when I did open my eyes, I had an I.V. stuck in my arm (with about 15 holes that showed where the nurses tried to stab me, but failed miserably because all nurses suck at that) I was hooked up to a respirator, and I could not speak a word. Both of my arms, broken, both of my legs, broken. When the nurse saw I had my eyes open, she exploded into a full sprint after the doc. When he graced me with his presence he informed me that while I was passed out on the cement, I was smoked by a car. He told me that the car sped off, and I was left there to die. I guess I was in pretty bad shape. When he tried to list off my injuries, it took him half an hour, as he had to read about 5 pages worth. I was in a terrible state. I had lost my ability to speak, at least for a while, and I was now breathing out of one lung. Talk about your shitty day.
I was in the state of comatosis for about 2 months. I spent another 8 in the hospital trying to recover from the book of injuries I had. It was the toughest year of my life. There were days in that hospital that I would just lie on my bed and scream. I would just lay on my back and scream with all the might my one lung had. If there were a way to describe the pain I was feeling, it would be parallel to sitting there and having your skin sliced, and peeled off your body. You would then proceed to tear every muscle and then rip that off as well, and if you were still living, all of your bones would shatter and that is about half of what I went through. The pain got so bad at times that I would contemplate killing myself, yet I didnt have the balls to kill myself. Or the ability to either.
That wasnt even the tough part. Most people when they go in the hospital, receive flowers and visitors to help them get through the pain they are receiving. With all the pain I had, I needed about 50 times the support of what all the other patients needed. I got none. Nothing. No cards, no flowers, and no god damn visitors. Although who would send me flowers or come visit me? I had no one in this planet. No one to hold, no one to comfort me even when I was healthy. Those eight months, all that kept me going was the longing for that feeling once again. I wanted to feel wanted again.