Hospital on a Sunday

Somehow the Secretaries managed to fit me in to see a Consultant at nine am on a Sunday. It has been a few weeks since the clementine burst inside me and to everyone’s shock and my amazement a grape sized cyst burst a few days ago at the full moon. Two cysts in one month, two sizeable and visible cysts, the questioning of how and why returned. insomnia allowed me no more than three hours rest a night and depression waits quietly behind an invisible wall ready to collapse down upon me. 

The appointment is in an hour. All the familiar fears are inside me, i am already crying, I am already panicking, desperate for a solution, knowing nothing will happen as I get ready to tell my story to another stranger who does not care. 

This is the story of my life and what a pathetic story it is.

I can feel depression breathing on me, I can feel the pull. It’s hand outstretched. It knows I cannot cope with my medical problems, it knows I will never be happy, never be free. It knows it has me, forever.

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