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Ok. My shrink said this would be good for me:

My last year... well, it's more like a year and a half, but anyway...

It all started mid-season through the semester, not the best year for me I spent most of my time in bed, severely depressed. Severely. was even planning on the whole off-ing myself bit, but luckly for me, I am a coward when it comes to death, part of why I'm doing this I suppose.

Anywho, I lost a bunch of weight, fell into physical disrepair a bit, and I suppose that's why I got sick. I only vaguely remember the first few days... I thought it was a cold, but it didn't go away. I remember going to drink some OJ hoping, that would fight off whatever it was, but to no avail. I remember lying in bed and baking, and when I got up to check the heat on the room, nothing, it wasn't even on.

The fourth day, I walked to the campus health services department, while stoping to throw up, this mucus-y junk every block or so. They made me fill out some paperwork, at the front desk, I remember not being able to stand while signing my name. They sent me to some grumpy looking nurse, and she said I needed to go to the intensive care unit of the health services department.

The nurses, God bless them, didn't know what to do with me, they took my tempreture, (105 point something or other) my pulse, gave me some (saline, I think?) introvenusly to cool me off, and just let me sleep. I remember hearing them talk to the person in the next bed over, though. That patient had apparently cut his tumb very badly, but was on some kind of pain medication, because he joked with the nurses about it.

I remember getting an X-ray there, they brought me in on a wheel chair, and I got sick from just standing up. I remember thinking that, that was the first X-ray, I ever had, and it's definately no worry.

It was very late at night, when I was shuffled out, and eventually found myself in a local hospital. The first night there, I had to sleep on a bed on the ground floor, I remember it was lumpy and uncomfortable, and they'd keep waking me up to draw blood. That was kinda a constant, every few hours for those 5 days they'd come and take some blood.

Sometime during the shuffle of the next day, I wound up in a room that would be where I'd stay. Large white bed in the center, off pink walls. Two windows on the right side with white blinds. A chair in front of me, and a chair to the side of me, both wooden, with green padding on them, and a small TV in the upper right corner, from my point of view. But mostly I remember the tubes. I'd look down at myself, and all I'd see was hosptial gear. A pale-blue hospital gown, 4 IV's, 2 in each arm, and a criss cross of bandages on the back of my hands where they'd drawn blood. The tubes from my arms to the machines, and from the machine to me, and the walls to everything that needed to be pluged in.

I was certain I was going to die.

That's what it all comes down to I guess. During the day, I the day I had the reaction to one of the medications they where giving me, where they added another tube for me to breath from, I was positive, I was going to die. And I didnt'.. I don't... I don't know what to do. There are times, even now, a year later, when I can remember crystal clear, what it was like to be in that hospital, what it's like to feel those things, and... I don't know. I'm afraid.