Scribblings from a diary

April 25th 2006
7:43 pm
The nurse just handed me this little cup of bitter medicine. She said that it would help to stop the pain that I had been complaining about. But I hate that stupid little cup. The black water inside swirls around like the dark snake in my nightmares. I haven't been able to sleep well lately because of the pain. It feels like someone is constantly jabbing from the inside with a blunt knife; a dull, throbbing pain that never seems to stop.

I had a visitor today. An old man with horn-rimmed glasses came by the ward earlier in the afternoon. He didn't enter, but I could see him through the glass window. I wonder why he stood there looking at me for such a long time, I don't even recognise him. Of course, I don't recognise anyone at all, besides Anne and the other people who come in here everyday.

I hate not knowing. In fact, it gripes me with such a shuddering vice-like grip that I feel extremely annoyed every time I feel that way. Every person who comes in here, every person who looks at me, everyone who seems to recognise me, everything they say to try to jog my memory again; I don't get all of it. And I hate it. Terribly.

Why won't someone come and stop my pain?
ti odio