Post by malcolm everett johnson on Mar 11, 2013 16:44:03 GMT -5
Malcolm hated hospitals. Even as a little kid he hated hospital visits, he hated the smell of them the minute you walked in, he hated the people in the waiting staring at him all the time, and oh did he hate needles. Malcolm despised needles, a simple shot was like a nightmare to him, and god forbid if he ever had to have blood taken. That was pure torture, so the very fact that he was here, about weekly would soon be the death of him. It came with the condition, he concluded. He had decided that in till he died, or if by some chance things changed this would always be just how his life had to be and he knew that since the day he was born and the doctors told his parents there was something wrong with him. Sure complications were expected; Malcolm was born over a month early and was fairly small a little over four pounds. It was a miracle he even survived the night, but he did and he was paying the consequences of you might describe it as being for his survival.
No one would visit the hospital all the time for something that wasn’t serious, and he supposed that what he had was serious; in fact what he had was probably very serious. It was the fact that every so often he would be out of breath, and his chest would hurt. High school was practically hell for him, people would ask questions, why he never had to participate in gym, why he would just sit and read instead. He always seemed to just despise the questions, he couldn’t stand people asking him questions all the time and he hated all the times he had to leave class early, or when he had to stay weeks in the hospital because of complications. It was just a total pain in the ass, and he really couldn’t seem to stand it. It didn’t help that he was bullied; every single day. He remembered being so afraid of going to school and having to face everyone with a smile on his face, acting like nothing was wrong.
He hated having to fake smiles, it was exhausting but he could never let them win. He couldn’t let them see that their words bothered him the way that they did, that they actually affected him because that was the cowardly thing to do and Malcolm was not a coward. He could fight through the names and the threats and act like they didn’t bother him. He would skip class a few times, fake sick just so he could stay home, but he survived. Sure he had to graduate a year late because he missed so much class but he was proud to say he wasn’t one of those people who ended their lives, or hurt themselves, no matter how much he wanted to some days. Some days he just wanted to end it all, make the pain go away somehow. At his graduation he just flipped everyone off and skipped off stage, it was actually the best thing he had ever done because he was just so glad to finally be free from everyone.
Now every day was still a struggle, he was actually back in the hospital due to complications and sitting in this white room he just really wanted to do home.
(It sucks D:)
