Pills that drain and stain.

A hydrant I have been for the past few weeks and it's not the best of feelings. It takes your body to rot away till you can get some attention around my household, because everyone has so much of tolerance, and so expects everyone to have as much tolerance as possible.

After throwing up over 5 times within 1 hour or so, my dad was convinced it's time to head for pills. So off we go to a dispensary, where people who can't afford would usually walk in. I always had a way with not so able people in life. I looked up to them for all that horror they went through just to feed themselves daily, while we find our horrors trying make the right choice of lipstick for the cocktail tonight. Whore.

I flash a smile to everyone amidst my whimpering pain, and then groan because I know I have to wait. This wait, is usually hours. My realisation falls down to the bottom of my shit list when a kid walks up, looks up at me to greet me and then pukes right in front of me reminding me of an exorcism. I felt my biological pipeline triggered off immediately, but I still say my prayers and it works regardless to the fact I sit comfortably on the top ten in Satan's list. I started helping 'Emiles' mother clean up, while everyone else rushed out in disgust. Morons.

Settling my dad on a seat, I finally sit on a worn off chair myself. I dozed off completely with no food or drink for whole 24 hours or more. Then I remembered....

Back in time, when I'm sick I was happy. My mother stays back home without being off to work. I get everything I want. I get a cozy blanket and bed sheet to go with. Warm warm bathes. Hot hot food. The home made soups and the famous Elephant House Cream sodas and Cream Crackers. Not to mention the ice cold, Cologne soaked gauze that is put on my forehead to ease the pain. The big big hugs and kisses. So, being sick is all you ever wanted. Bliss.

Ching! It's finally us. I drag myself in just to see the doctor on the phone. She makes me sit in front of her, while she bitches about her colleague to another. I couldn't stop eavesdropping and realised she is bitching about the very doctor who cured my dad many years back. Humans.

A good 30 minutes and then she gives me a thorough examination to know where I live, what my father does, where I study and if I'm off to another country after my studies. It all adds up to the bill you see. Three hours and I finally drag myself and dad out of there. I couldn't focus anymore and I remember my dad say my eyes were blood shot. I go home, no one to really warm up water so it was the cold splint of water down my back. I had to take a wash after that dispensary. I hit the bed and I think. Blackout.

I was not well after the dosage. So off I finally went a real hospital with all the blood tests and AC. Another new dosage which had almost triple the number of medicine given by the dispensary. So did the cost. Luxury.

The reports made matters worst with conclusions drawn I'm mighty messed up. So precautions started to pour in, and now I'm in a glass box. These are tough times and I can't afford to be in a glass box. Not now, never. I am an investment with a virus. Aiyo.

The pills made me feel like a toad, so I crave for the sun. I love the sun. Always will. I walk down streets just to smile with the sun. Then now, I know the cure. Warmth.

My stone cold face hangs as the childish loveliness has drained. I try to bring it back not by eating hot hot soup, not by a blanket so warm, not by smokey baths, not by hot water bottles and certainly not by running back to my mothers' arms, but by powdery expensive pills. Pathetic.

When Life drains, you end up a stain. So stop the pills and hit the beach. Live.

Passing by the picture perfect

We all have difficult weeks. One with unending failures are the worst ones.

Next comes the usual outbursts that is nothing but alot of crying, whining, hair loosing depression and loads and loads of sleep. You just lie on your bed, while every minute adds a new reason for you to lie low and, sink even. Starting with realising how fat you are, how sun burnt you are, how lonely you are, how everyone jeers at who you are, how stupid you are and how dead you are really, the sensuous hums of denial flows in triumphant; it's murder in the wind.

One thing lingers in you mind best at this moment; even if your just blowing it out of proportion; You've lost it all. We conclude there, but what if we step beyond that line?

You've lost it all, so.......What have you got to lose? Start over sounds like the simplest plan.

Emotions are not easy to get over. As simple and common that ideology is, the hardest it has been to conquer the real remedy for it. It is as unique as you are. It is mysterious as you are. It's your mental finger print, that no one but you know and go through. No one can save you or share you beating yourself up. Don't expect anyone to either.

We rewind life so much, we forget the present and that future waiting with his arms wide open. Fall down; feel helpless, sit down and let it pass by. Just don't sit there frame the picture into perfection and watch. Your admiration of your grief will inhibit you from seeing the walls of time falling apart along with a life; a life that you could have built up to a fortress of glory resembling your greatest strides of recovery.

Remember that merry-go-round and the world that becomes a mere blur you simply pass by while you enjoy spontaneous doses of the rush? You never did let go of that horse; you never let go of this life.