Dear Diary

I kinda wanted to share this with someone and so I thought I could just write it here. It’s pretty stupid and weird and damn selfish and silly, but I never really said I’m a nice person. So here it is.

When I was in Class 8, I had to get my appendix removed. I’m not entirely sure what was wrong with it. Mum had told me that it was only infected a tiny bit and that I was making a big deal out of it. But the surgeon told me that it was badly infected and swollen and if I’d waited any longer I would’ve given myself a cancer. I might sound weird but I’d almost laughed when he’d said that because he’d said it with this really cheerful grin and he’d looked like a sadist.

So the thing is that even though I had the surgery in Class 8, it had started to hurt when I was class 7. The first time it had hurt was when I’d just finished reading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. It’s funny but I remember everything about that night. It was the very same night I’d let myself to start to actually hate Dad, so, yeah, I remember it quite a bit. It was sometime around 8pm and dad was watching a cricket match in the living room next to my room. I was supposed to study then until dinner at 10. But my stomach had started to hurt. So I’d just lied down and after about an hour it just got really bad. But then Dad just walked in and started poking me – the man literally started poking me – because he was bored. Most of the time I’m invisible to him and he notices me only when he’s bored or pissed and needs someone to bully or mess with or when he needs something done (“get me a glass of water”, “close that window” “give me the tv remote control that’s practically 10 inches away from me”). My head had started to hurt then and I wanted to turn off the tubelight but it hurt too much. Now you can’t just ask you father to do that even if you’re dying from a swollen and infected organ. Firstly, he’s a man. Secondly, he’s my father. Thirdly, I’m a girl. Can’t do that. So I just asked him to stop poking me and that just pissed the man off. I mean, hell, he just went on about how awful and disrespectful a daughter I am and stuff and that he’d tell Mum I’m not studying. And to add a cherry on top, Mum walked in and when I asked her to turn the light off because my stomach hurt and I wanted to rest, Dad actually told her that I was fine until she’d walked in. Now I don’t know if he’d actually not noticed that I was dying or not, because that wouldn’t be unusual, but he has this habit of lying all the time even if he doesn’t have to. He kinda likes lying and can’t help himself and sometimes he can’t even tell the truth if he wanted to and occasionally he believes his own lies. But what’s worse is that even though mum knows that she believes every single lie he says. So she was really pissed and all and wouldn’t turn the damned tubelight off and told me to do it myself. Like, are you people blind? So anyway, by 10 when I refused to eat anything, Mum finally believed that I wasn’t ok. So she called my aunt downstairs and asked her for advices and the woman just came right upstairs to my room. You see, my dad has two younger brothers and the youngest one is married and has a couple of daughters. Back then my younger cousin wasn’t born yet. So she just barged right into my bedroom and brought her daughter, husband, the maid and the servant boy all along. And they just sat in my room and gossiped like it was some goddamned teaparty. So after a while her husband decided to call this guy who owns a medical store in the neighbourhood and he came over with this big-ass injection syringe. Damn, it’d hurt. And it wasn’t until he’d told mum that I needed sleep that she remembered that I was in pain. You’d think that after that they’d leave me the fuck alone or at least Mum would ask them to leave. But, hell, no. I had to ask mum a bit later if I could sleep. Even then no one was asked to move an inch and she told me to sleep in mum and dad’s bedroom which was pretty far from my room. I was close to tears so I did just that. Only the mosquito-net needed to be pulled down because, fuck, I didn’t have any strength to lift it. So I just gave it a hearty tug and it came off, tore off the rope and dropped on top of it. It was uncomfortable but at least I was lying down in a dark quiet room with no people fucking gossiping around me. Did it last? No. The game ended then and dad walked in and with him everyone else. I was tempted to kick him, believe me. So at around 1am my aunt said that they should all go to bed and they finally left. Now dad passed out like a drunkard beside me and let me tell you, his snores are louder than a lion’s roar. The pain wouldn’t lessen, and I was so pissed at mum and dad that I’d started to cry. I avoid crying around people. I haven’t cried in front of anyone after that night. The other time I’d cried in front of mum and dad was when I’d cut my thumb. I’d been really really small then. Even as a child I’d always tried to avoid crying around people. Especially mum and dad, back then, because they found it either funny or annoying. So, anyway, I’d started to cry and finally mum started to take me seriously and she woke up dad was told him that it must be something big because I don’t cry. So he slept in my room at my quiet request to mum and the pain subsided early in the morning.

We went to the doctor’s next day and the report said I was perfectly fine.

Well, when it hurt the next time I didn’t tell anyone. The third time, I told mum but she thought I was pretending. But a few days later I heard her telling her friend over the phone about it and her friend advised her that she should speak to a doctor again. The fourth time, initially she didn’t care but a few days later she wanted to consult a doctor. Surprisingly, dad got the report the very next day after the sonography test because they usually don’t get my medical test reports unless I nag them for a week. I was admitted to the hospital the next morning at 7, but then the surgeon got too busy so the surgery had to be done some time around 8pm. I hadn’t been afraid at all. To me, it had been nothing but a new experience. I was a bit curious about what they’d do to me but I was pretty cool with it. When the nurse was taking me to the OT, he joked that I should try to look a bit less cheerful, that I was worrying the families of the other patients.

After the surgery the surgeon had told us to get another sonography test done about 10 or 15 days later. Well, I didn’t get it done. I’d asked mum why and she’d told me that couldn’t spare the time or money. It’d hurt again a few years later, had hurt as bad as it had the first time. But mum didn’t bother to do anything about it. I wonder if I should’ve had that test done.

Wow. That’s a lot of rage and hate. I’m so twisted and evil. Damn. I made it really long too… :/

Well, whatever. I’ve stopped caring if people hate me or not. So, yeah… Till next time.

One thought on “Dear Diary”

  1. Darling, you are NOT twisted and evil. You have some anger in you for good reasons. You have a right to be angry. I’m glad you could vent here. I hope it helped a little. When parents are difficult, consistently, it creates an ache in the children, a loneliness and despair. You are just angry. If you hate them, ask God to help you forgive them. Not for their benefit but for YOURS. Hate will drag you down so low.
    The Bible says to forgive, because we have been forgiven. Remember you have a Heavenly Father who loves you tenderly and is kind and faithful and you can trust. That is the Good News. Develop your relationship to Him, because it doesn’t sound like there’s much hope for a good relationship with your earthly dad. You are loved and loveable. Let God show you.

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