Wring me dry

~And came the wise reply of a colleague, " If you could understand, you too would probably be suicidal." ~

I need to tell the story. Not because I want you to know, but because if I don't, there won't be space in me for more tomorrow.

No matter how vivid my description, how detailed it is, my dear readers are provided with a mere glimpse of what goes on, but to say that the reader understands or comprehends, would be too generous.

I'm like a tissue and the hospital is like water. I breathe it; the smells, the jokes, the secret codes, the insecurities, the stress and the darkness. Everything comes to a point in the hospital. It's when everything that matters collides and you see the big picture. And like a tissue, I absorb it, feel it and go home everyday contemplating about everything. I have said before that I think about everything all the time, most being inconsequential things.

And a place like the hospital is a haven for my thoughts. But hell for my peace of mind.

It's a reality overdose. It forces you to think and ask why? Everyday you get thrown into the deep end and you swim, no question. Each encounter touches you in a different way. It insidiously moulds you and changes you.

I have to admit, I don't really talk much about what goes on with anyone. Because the truth is, there is really no point. For no one truly understands. Just like I would never fully understand what another goes through. And that's just the way life is.

It was the weekend and a fellow doctor in the unit had taken his own life. And like all other news in the hospital, it travelled fast and soon enough, everyone was talking about it, wondering why. Usually when I hear a Metcall (a siren that the hospital plays when there is an emergency, usually a Code Blue) and hear of the death, it does not affect me. But today, I could put a face, a voice and a personality to the death, and for that, I will always remember and wonder why.

How is one pushed to the edge? I wish I could understand.

And came the wise reply of a colleague, " If you could understand, you too would probably be suicidal."

And that was when it hit me. I could go on everyday about the experiences that change me, that shape my worldview, that forces me to grow up and be a woman that I hope my parents will be proud of, but who would understand its nuances and subtleties? Who would know exactly what I'm talking about?

Is that why they remain exclusive? That even though when they were young and idealistic and said they would never act that way, the environment that they subject themselves to, forces them to only stay with those of their kind? Those who have to make life-changing decisions everyday and live with the consequences forever. That to even try to mix would be a waste of time and effort, for others who are not like them would just brush it off, not because they don't care, but because they don't understand what it means to you.

And even as I say this, I don't expect anything.

I've stopped expecting long ago. I think I'm finally growing up.

I met a friend the other day.

It was quite some time since we talked.

It's funny how you think a virtue is gone,

And then it hits you overdue.

It's not honesty nor loyalty,

Or humility beyond words.

It's that ability to take leave of oneself,

And tread the path of someone else's shoes.

No words were needed for this friend of mine,

Nor any request of need.

The friend just knew

And said the words,

And then I knew empathy did exist indeed.

~fallen estella~