being sick

How many times can we count for the very first time we did something?

In nearly close to a century, I have not stepped into a polyclinic. It was an eye-opener to be in one for such a long time. The familiar scent of the clinic, the sound that buzz when its your turn to see the doctor etc.

3 hours later...

I felt psychologically exhausted. Like a virus, it slowly crept into my bones and my flesh. Till it slowly ate me alive. Like a bottomless pit, I felt myself falling and falling and falling...
Suddenly, I woke up. "Stop this rubbish. Stop thinking. STOP!" I told myself. The next few minutes I was alive again, back to the usual me. And unconsciously my mind began to wonder "Are they doing something behind my back?..."

I got to admit, there is no better cure than laughter. A huge dose of it cures even the worst cancer imaginable. However, these days, it seems that it's just a weapon I use to hide the true facade. For those few hours, I really felt happy. But when night falls...

I don't think I can handle this. It is really hard. This battle, I admit defeat. =(