oats are 100% whole grain and a natural source of carbs and fiber. true story.

Last week I spent four days in the hospital. I was not eating properly and I kept puking until I got dehydrated to the point where my legs simply collapsed while I was in the shower. Somehow I managed to crawl my way out of the bathroom to get dressed, grab some money and my car keys, and drive myself to the hospital. I imagine that was what Peachy Carnehan must have felt like when he journeyed back to Lahore. Alone, weak, and going insane. At that moment I started to feel like I couldn’t take what life had been throwing at me all these years. I genuinely wanted to give up on everything. And I couldn’t understand why it hurt when there was absolutely nothing there. Pain isn’t palpable. It isn’t something you can grasp and simply throw away to end your misery. It’s not something you can yell at for it to go away. And this fucker was different. I couldn’t “comfort” it with food like some girls tend to do when they’re sad. I couldn’t drown it with alcohol, couldn’t soothe it with shopping, couldn’t erase it with drugs, couldn’t forget it with sex. Everytime I read a book there’d be some word or statement in it that only served to remind me of what I was trying to supress. I didn’t want to cry, and I only ever do when I’m angry or extremely happy, and I never could when I was sad. But when I drove myself to the hospital, willing my legs to function and my whole being to calm down, I cried.

But I was wrong. I had picked myself up and decided that I needed medical attention. I didn’t want to give up after all. If I really did, I would have stayed inside the bathroom, cold, nauseated, and alone in their huge house while my family went on their jolly little way sightseeing in East Asia. Having fun. Being rich. Being obliviously happy without me.

On the fourth day, the day I got out of the hospital, they called me from the airport to pick them up. I was at home watching TV for once. And so naturally, my parents didn’t think anything had happened to me. They didn’t have to know. I didn’t ask about them, they didn’t ask about me. We’re a hassle-free bunch.

I still had a lot of questions though. Like why I hadn’t been included in the trip, why I had to do all those chores while they gave the maids two weeks off, why they don’t ever really talk to me, why it has been years since they held me close. But maybe that’s just asking too much.

I was at the balcony, scratching at my left hand where the IV had been inserted when my mum entered my room. Your room doesn’t smell of cigarattes, how odd, she said.

I wasn’t home for four days, I wanted to tell her. But I didn’t.

She left a bunch of shopping bags on my bed and left the room. I wanted to say thank you, but I couldn’t. She was gone.

I stared at my new shoes, my new bags, my new watch, my new dresses. They were all nice.

I guess, I thought, this is enough.

——————————————

[ day 1: ” favourite song (at the moment) ” Unison - Bjork ]