It's been a long time since I've felt this crappy. The trip to the hospital was long and psychically exhausting. The first time they drove me crazy was when I came in for the first appointment for the damned operation.Namely that appointment was canceled because of my cough. They sent me back to my hometown to get some damned antibiotics and a cough syrup. Nevermind the fact that I had done so many tests the month before that I could've freely performed a lobotomy myself. I wanted to get it over with, but that was just impossible...

So , there I was, back at the hospital 5 days later, for my second appointment. It's a routine procedure. Still, my family and friends were all in tears, so I was encouraging them! Great! Once it started, I got a cramp in my stomach, some subconscious fear emerged...the damned fear I didn't think existed, since I've been through worse things in my life...and so, while that guy was taking me there for the second time, my mood and the gloomy weather came together to create inexplicable, sick thoughts in my head. I loathe the very idea of hospitals (because of all the things I've seen and been subjected to in the past). When I arrived , I sensed that smell of death, saw the half-dead people and sterile colors, and felt the chill. Dark thoughts about the past and present were roaming around in my head. Confusion everywhere. Calm down, I said to myself, it's gonna be ok. They left me alone in the room. We're cutting you tomorrow, they said, leaving the room. So I lay there , reading, listening to the seconds (long as hours) tick away. Luckily, my bed was by the window, and I could see beautiful scenery through it...that was comforting. Finally, after a lot of tossing and turning, I fell asleep, unwillingly awaiting tomorrow.

7 a.m.- WAKE UP CALL!! They started poking me as if I were a dartboard. They took me to the operating room, poked me some more, put the mask on and then - blackout. The next thing I remember was horrible pain...followed by more poking. My thoughts were slow, my vision blurred, but it felt good, a great drug. Thanks, I thought. It must've been the narcosis. They took me back to my room. The only thing that managed to lift my spirits to an optimal level that day was a rainbow that appeared right in front of my window. It was huge and so close, I felt I could reach out and touch it...things like that always make me meditate. It doesn't matter what about, thousands of thoughts overlap in just a few seconds. Since I wasn't allowed to move (nor eat) at all, I read books. A shame really, it was an inappropriate literature, since I had been operated in the area of my abdomen. That was the first time I really understood the phrase «bursting out with laughter».

Late in the evening I was already so crazed by boredom and pain, that I managed to sponge a fix into my arse, in order to help me sleep and stop the pain (more poking). I was out cold in a second.

Day 3- less pain, I can move a bit, everything's gone well. Everybody's calling, they all find me amusing (I don't know what's so amusing about it), they wait their turn to feel me. Only they don't seem to realize how long the it's going to take to heal. I can't wait to get out of this institution in a few days, and be free, or, if you will , get back to the prison which is my hometown, to stretch... This really is strenuous and boring, not as bad for my physical as it is for my mental health. I'm also running out of books. I miss my friends, I'm so far away. I don't want anyone to have to go through this, though it may seem harmless. Someone always screws up, be it me or the guys in white coats.

Time to leave. It's raining. I love it when it rains, it calms me down, brings some peace of mind. People are moaning, calling for help, crying out, yelling, groaning...some are dying, some died last night, in the room next to mine...