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I sought death and I didn't know the meaning of life. What does it mean to live? Where can I find the value of my life and existence?
Truthfully, questions like that also had the opportunity to be born from my personal experiences when I was seven years old.
After I saw that gun and was able to feel death, I became able to see many things. That day, all boundaries were broken. After my eyes were opened, until now, I became able to see completely things that before I could not see. I couldn't distinguish between people who were living and people who were not.
When I talked to the people who were not living, it must have been bizarre watching me from the outside. My parents were of course surprised.
"Who are you talking to?"
"Uncle."
"Where is Uncle?"
As they said that, they would laugh.
Perhaps they laughed and ignored it. But didn't they ignore it because their hearts were afraid to face me?
This began happening with more and more frequency, and I became thought of as very mentally strange. People talked about me, and I became uncertain of the meaning of my existence. Because I could see both live people and dead people, I didn't understand what life itself meant.
This continued, and when I was ten years old, I suddenly collapsed. I had a violent pain in my stomach and intestines, and I couldn't move.
After I was taken to the hospital, I was told that the cause was unknown. They told me that while that was the case, I probably had some sort of infectious disease.
So I was suddenly isolated. Isolated, in confinement, thrown into a hospital ward that was more a prison. I think that they put me in the pediatric ward because I was so young. Children who were heavily ill, had infectious diseases, or had terminal illnesses were in that ward. Being ten years old, that's what I thought. All of them were in a cage, and were likely to go down the corridor at any time.
Down the corridor, in another sick ward, were children who were probably going to die. I often knew when that would happen.
Talking with those children, I would then feel, "That child is going to die tomorrow."
The next morning, I would hear the nurses' feet go pattering down the hallway. Then I knew that one of my friends had died.
Those were hard days. I couldn't stand it. Just when I made a friend, they would be dead the next day. And that was something only I knew. It was hell.
Being in a place like that, I grew very strange. But because I was not mentally strong, I did not receive a quick release.
Why didn't they release me? Because I wasn't normal? What is the difference between being normal and not normal?
I thought incredibly hard about that. I couldn't escape. I had to do something to get out of there. So I continued to think.
I began to watch my senior doctor. When I imitated him exactly, I was observed to be "normal." This went on for about ten days or so. Suddenly, they told me, "You can go home."
I didn't change at all. But though nothing inside of me changed…
To the adults who said "I told you so," I had only a feeling of deep distrust.
But I didn't want to ever go back to that hospital.
So, from then on, I continued to copy the people who my parents and other adults of that generation said were correct.
All the while, I held on to the thought of "What on earth am I?"
Note: Alright that was intresting ._.;; Hopefuly no one really reads this lol
MyKittieRawrs · Mon Mar 26, 2007 @ 06:58am · 0 Comments |
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