Over the past five years i have really struggled with my past, my search for spiritual and social answers as well as what it means to be happy. Now though, I have come to a new place in my timeline that i knew was coming for a long time. My health has taken a sharp decline and I spend nearly every day in excruciating pain. I've broken bones before, been impaled by sharp metal and felt the unwelcome scorching of my flesh from fire. This however, is different. I am lucky to sleep a full four hours without waking to the agony that resides in my body. When i do wake i feel nauseous and weak, sometimes doubling over from the sheer turmoil of it all. My insides feel as if they are being crushed and cooked at the same time. I belch constantly and listen daily to the mad gurgling sounds my innards make, as if they are pleading with me to have mercy on them. Sometimes, especially in the mornings, i find it nearly impossible to stand. I cant gain weight to save my life, and i am certain that if i were a different person, I would spend every day bound inescapably to my bed. Yet there is no relief, no answers. I am young, in my 20's, but already i feel as if everything inside me has begun to rot like the decrepit remains of a long deceased corpse.
No doctors will help me. My near worthless government funded insurance is an insult to them. They simply sit there and pretend to listen while playing angry birds on the other side of their propped up laptops. Then they order some tests, give me a prescription for another useless antiacid and send me on my way. When the blood tests, stool tests, endoscopys and ultrasounds come back with nothing definite, they just throw another bottle of glorified tums at me and tell me to come back in three months. Ive come to realize now that they don't care. Actually it's worse than that, they want me to die. One less scumbag peasant to take up their time and feed off their taxes. As if I am supposed to come up with the money to pay them for real attention by putting my pain, dizziness, nausea and fatigue aside for the months, if not years, it would take to gather such funds.
It doesnt really matter though. The hourglass is running low for me now, I can feel it. All the mistakes, both my own and others, have culminated in this moment of my own excruciating demise. Who knows what is really wrong with me? Maybe the coroner will know. I cant even smoke weed to dull the pain anymore, all it does is slow down my brain so that i feel the pangs of distress in slow motion. Oh so many mistakes... My parents never taught me proper nutrition or exercise. I never found a doctor willing to address my psychological instability. I moved to a city whose pollution doubtlessly accelerated my decline. My ignorant spending habits had me wasting what little money i had after food and bills on time consuming recreation. I wasted so much time attending a community college to learn... what? That the system doesn't want to teach us to be anything more than slaves? I chose friends with no life goals of vision. I chose a partner with the same debilitating habits as me. I searched for spiritual enlightenment before i searched for a way to establish myself as a stable member of the community. I broke my hand in a foolish accident that set any attempts at honing my art skills back by a year. I failed to find something to write about that could have molded me into a true writer. Then there is the job offer i received not a week ago,m where i will work from 4am to 3pm, struggling to learn a craft that i have neither the physical or memory capacity for. It is the proverbial carrot dangled in front of a rabbit in its last wheezing moments of life; always enticing, yet always just out of reach.
There is nothing i can do. See the doctors, dont see the doctors, take the job, dont take the job, struggle to live, accept the cruel nature of reality.... it is all an elaborate illusion of choice. Thinking back on it all, it didnt really matter what i chose. All the choices i was presented with my entire life were simply aesthetic. I still would have wound up here, alone and in constant pain. Would that i could rip this flesh made mask off my body and show the world the torment i dwell within. Really this physical pain is merely a manifestation of the despair that i have cradled in my soul all my life. Then again, why even bother wondering about it. I doubt this id unique. I doubt that any can escape it in the end. The terrible truth is that though my state of being may be unusual at my age, it is inevitable for all living things at some point in each and every one of their respective time lines. Really even if i received the greatest medical care in the world tomorrow, and achieved all of my life dreams the next day, and left the world with a repository of my experiences for it to draw upon and learn from.... it wouldn't make the slightest bit of difference. I would still one day face the same fate as I do now, the world would browse my words and then discard them like so many others, and life would have no more meaning tomorrow than it did the day i was born. What an unpleasant and cruel experience it was to have been born into such a world. What mercy exists in a place where things struggle to grow only to wither and die?
No doctors will help me. My near worthless government funded insurance is an insult to them. They simply sit there and pretend to listen while playing angry birds on the other side of their propped up laptops. Then they order some tests, give me a prescription for another useless antiacid and send me on my way. When the blood tests, stool tests, endoscopys and ultrasounds come back with nothing definite, they just throw another bottle of glorified tums at me and tell me to come back in three months. Ive come to realize now that they don't care. Actually it's worse than that, they want me to die. One less scumbag peasant to take up their time and feed off their taxes. As if I am supposed to come up with the money to pay them for real attention by putting my pain, dizziness, nausea and fatigue aside for the months, if not years, it would take to gather such funds.
It doesnt really matter though. The hourglass is running low for me now, I can feel it. All the mistakes, both my own and others, have culminated in this moment of my own excruciating demise. Who knows what is really wrong with me? Maybe the coroner will know. I cant even smoke weed to dull the pain anymore, all it does is slow down my brain so that i feel the pangs of distress in slow motion. Oh so many mistakes... My parents never taught me proper nutrition or exercise. I never found a doctor willing to address my psychological instability. I moved to a city whose pollution doubtlessly accelerated my decline. My ignorant spending habits had me wasting what little money i had after food and bills on time consuming recreation. I wasted so much time attending a community college to learn... what? That the system doesn't want to teach us to be anything more than slaves? I chose friends with no life goals of vision. I chose a partner with the same debilitating habits as me. I searched for spiritual enlightenment before i searched for a way to establish myself as a stable member of the community. I broke my hand in a foolish accident that set any attempts at honing my art skills back by a year. I failed to find something to write about that could have molded me into a true writer. Then there is the job offer i received not a week ago,m where i will work from 4am to 3pm, struggling to learn a craft that i have neither the physical or memory capacity for. It is the proverbial carrot dangled in front of a rabbit in its last wheezing moments of life; always enticing, yet always just out of reach.
There is nothing i can do. See the doctors, dont see the doctors, take the job, dont take the job, struggle to live, accept the cruel nature of reality.... it is all an elaborate illusion of choice. Thinking back on it all, it didnt really matter what i chose. All the choices i was presented with my entire life were simply aesthetic. I still would have wound up here, alone and in constant pain. Would that i could rip this flesh made mask off my body and show the world the torment i dwell within. Really this physical pain is merely a manifestation of the despair that i have cradled in my soul all my life. Then again, why even bother wondering about it. I doubt this id unique. I doubt that any can escape it in the end. The terrible truth is that though my state of being may be unusual at my age, it is inevitable for all living things at some point in each and every one of their respective time lines. Really even if i received the greatest medical care in the world tomorrow, and achieved all of my life dreams the next day, and left the world with a repository of my experiences for it to draw upon and learn from.... it wouldn't make the slightest bit of difference. I would still one day face the same fate as I do now, the world would browse my words and then discard them like so many others, and life would have no more meaning tomorrow than it did the day i was born. What an unpleasant and cruel experience it was to have been born into such a world. What mercy exists in a place where things struggle to grow only to wither and die?
