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PostPosted: Sat Jun 13, 2009 11:41 pm    Post subject: Entry Reply with quote

I entered a constest to win a scholarship from a pro-humane euthanasia group. Its quite ironi that many worthy animals die everyday in chemically induced deaths while many other humans suffer painful and undignified deaths. Both are avoidable.

Here is the story::

I was sitting in the doctor's office, waiting for the results. The outcome of what my life is to be. My parent was called out a long time ago. My mother was the first to come in, her eyes moist. She bursted into tears and colapsed on me, I felt the weight of her sobbing body. "I'm sorry, honey! I'm so sorry!" is all that she had to say. The bell of my death was tolled; I had cancer. The bad kind and there wasn't anything anyone could do about it. That's not whats supposed to happen to people like me. Death is what happens to your dog when it gets ran over. She told me everything was going to be alright. My mother was lying to me again. I know it was for the best, a few soothing words to nurse a wounded soul. My life was over. It was time for my journey into oblivion.

I would return to that same hosptial. The white hallways were to become my grave. That stiff bed was my coffin. The worst part was the stench of aneseptic, it was the smell of how clean and safe everything was. My friends and family would often come by to visit me. Nobody can understand what I'm going through. Not with their escapism in all their material possesions, pornography, or the fake way they talked to eachother. Greeting one another with a smiling mask and a honeyed voice, it was all so artificial. An act just to make you feel better about yourself. "How do you feel?" they would ask me. Even though it wasn't a question, they knew how I was doing. They did it anyway, and I was supposed to answer them kindly and play thier little game of banter. But I knew better, I heard them when they had their backs turned to me. A tradegy, a shame that's all I was. Poor me.

I was just so tired. Tired of dealing with people. Their wanting to comfort was stifling and awkward. I saw it in all their eyes, a look of grimace. Afterall, they are not the one's in the hospital. I just wanted to be left alone, to wallow in my own self pity. I pushed all my friends away, they had their own lives to live. A future to look forward to. It won't belong before they all leave to go back to their homes. They're going to feel very grateful for thier health. I'll be in their thoughts for awhile, the little dear stuck in the jaws demise. Soon to be forgotten after I'm gone. An absent whisper in the dark. I pushed them all away. I screamed and gave them the silent treatment until they all left me. And when they were gone, I would roll over on the cold side of the pillow to let the tears flow to my own melanchoy. Did I really think that I would feel better when I no longer felt the presence of antother beside me?

I felt so immature, ignoring people to get what I wanted. But I thought it was for the best. They were just trying to help. Now they didn't have to be around me anymore. I know the cancer wasn't contagious, I just didn't want anyone to catch what I had. I wondered in my solitude, what I would have become if I never had this disease. If I were never conviceted to nothingness, would I still be the same person that I am now? I don't think I would be this miserable and weak.

Why me? Why was I chosen out of the millions of humans in the world to be struck down? How is it that the rapist can live freely and the heroine addict destroys himself with needles and alchoholics can drink themselves into a stupor? They had a choice, and I did not. I don't want to die, I want to live. I cried for the nurse, but she never came. I got really angry, the cancer took away my hair, my family, all my friends, and my life. I couldn't even wear regular clothes, I had to wear the backless medical gown. I felt so naked, sitting out in the open for everyone to see. There was no one to place the blame on. No scape goat I could point the finger at. Nobody, not even myself. Reduced from a human to a sad statistic.

Somebody told me that when bad things happen, you just have to accept it, learn from it and move on. Words of wisdom to the masses. Worthless trash to me. They pumped me full of injections to take the pain away. I would get very drowsy and slip in and out of consciousness. Day or night, it didn't matter to me, I would dream. I was on the lip of a pit, I looked down to see nothing. This was a repeating dream that I had often.The doctor said that I was clinically depressed, so he gave more pills. That was the solution to my problems, perscripton drugs.

My life is sand slipping through fingers, an hourglass of my hands measuring the moment to come. The scariest part of it all was not the suffering I was to endure, the fact that I would never see my friends and family again was undaunting, the potential I had to join the masses in the rat race for the almighty dollar no longer held any appeal for me. The fact that frightened me the most was the emptiness of death. Was there an afterlife to look forward to, or was it going to be an everlasting void to be suspended in, a perpetual ending?

My agony grew worse with time. No amount of morphine or any pills or injections could take it all away now. My skin tightened, my bones brittle and my insides twisted. I couldn't eat anymore, anything past my throat would come back up as vomit in less than a minuet. An intra-venious was my only link to getting fluids. A roving maggot in a sheet was all I was reduced to. Blubbering for no reason and at the smallest things, too. A bird would sing, and the tears would fall becuause it felt like it was going to be the last time I would hear such a beautiful song.

A burden to everyone around me. My mother has to pay for all the medical bills, such an encumbersom person I am. It wasn't cheap to keep this piece of meat alive. I almost wanted them to just lock me up in a room to just rot away. Random and spasamatic convulsions would come at anytime. The tensing of my muscles, shaking my whole body. My eyes rolled back into my skull as the alarm went off. I hated it when I soiled myself. I coughed all the time, the privalege of a few straight hours of sleep now eluded me to the constant hack. I looked at my hand and found blood to my utter horror, I called for the nurse again. Closer, yet slower, it would come. But when? I was not to know.

Euthanasia, it was also known as assistance suicide. The doctor had suggested it, but my mother had initially refused. She asked me what I thought. Surely this was truly the answer to all my prayers for this torture to stop? Was it too good to be true? I grasped her hand in my gnarled and dire hands as hard as I could, "Yes... Please..." I managed to croak out of my wasted throat. This was it, I thought to myself as tears ran down the sides of my hollow face, I can finally say goodbye. Mercy was all I was ever asking for.


The Crying Wolf
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Location: Hickory Hills, IL (Near Chicago)

PostPosted: Fri Jun 19, 2009 11:28 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

It is a sad topic. Your story makes a good point, good luck with the scholarship.
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