The Past Few Months
I face my last day of University today and I can’t wait to see the back of it. The past few months have been defined by stress, anger and a range of emotions I’ve never experienced before. I would grant a valid rebuttal, if it stated such is overly dramatic, in regards to University. But, university, comparatively has been a bundle of joy.
Every day off of University, or work, I’ve been prodded and poked, scanned and examined by doctors, and consultants alike. They’ve discovered several lumps in my throat, which coupled with a high white blood count, has lead to the arrangement of an operation, which is at the end of this month. They state there is a high chance of the lumps being malignant and aggressive. The big “C” is a dirty word and therefore dismissed and made redundant.
At work, I’m being horribly victimized, by a vile bitch who is trying as hard as possible to exert her authority over me. She pursues and criticizes everything thing I do, reporting me to management. Nothing I can do, whether that be using my iPad with the services users, for fun or for education, can appease or please them. Their cynical eyes of hatred and contempt are burning a big hole in me, which is making me weak.
When I step through my front door (which is rarely due to being so busy) I find a new letter, which with bold red letters, states an obscene amount of money I owe, and that soon big formidable men in black suits will be taking the very few materialistic possessions I owe.
I’m scared, and intimidated by the prospect of not only having to face surgery, but the fight that could come after it. The one thing I could depend on, the one form of stability, against this torrent of ill fate, I betrayed and spat at in face, uncaring and unwilling to acknowledge the consequences of such actions. Now, my boyfriend is keeping me at a distance. My inabilities have garishly boiled into the consequential product of me having to now face all this alone.
Very often I see my mother, and in the assumed familiarity and security of my previous home, little comfort comes. For when I’m there news of my Nan’s deteriorating Amnesia reports of stories come, of the materializing empty shell that was once my youthful energetic and eccentric Nan. I look, with desperation at my Mom, but now when she looks at me, ‘Her Handsome son’ is a blur. Her eyesight is deteriorating and she is going blind.
I think I can only challenge and fight this off for so long. I can only battle with the stress and trauma each day, but I’m getting tried. I’m frankly exhausted. My bitterly selfish Aspergers, is encapsulating the very few social and interaction skills I have, informing me to quit, to run, to hibernate and isolate myself. But, ‘Allons Travailler’ the strength within me, proclaims, giving me a little bit of capability, that I must get on with it, that I must soldier on.
And get on with it I will.