I know that very few people are actually reading this and that's okay. The whole point of this and my previous blog was to give me a chance to write about how I feel and the things that matter to me. I know that a lot of this, especially these past few days, has been very depressing and a bit of a downer, but I really have no one else to say these things to. It helps me tremendously to vent, to put the proverbial pen to paper and get it out of my system. No one has to read it, it's a big internet out there, but this is my little section of it and that's why I write what I write. I really do wish I was in a better state of mind, believe me I do, but the truth of the matter is, I'm not and if this helps, well, that's a good thing.
I've been mindlessly watching TV tonight as my mind raced from one horror story to another. Apart from going to the store to pick up some dog food, I've had absolutely zero human contact today. When that happens, my mind seems to race and one of the things I've been thinking about today is my facial surgery. I've talked before about how disappointed I am in how things turned out. People keep telling me I need to be patient, that it takes a while for results to show up. I get that but as I approach the nine month anniversary of my surgery, it's pretty clear that it was a bust, and an expensive one at that. I suppose it happens from time to time, we just hope that it isn't us that it doesn't happen to us.
The night before my surgery, June 4th, my Mom and I went out to dinner at a nondescript chain restaurant. We were both tired and a bit anxious and it was one of the few places near our hotel that sounded half way decent. As we sat there that night, I tried to present a positive front to my Mom. Inside I was dying and scared out of my pants. I had never had major surgery before and anytime you go under anesthesia, you are taking a risk. I trusted my doctor but accidents do happen. That was a big part of my fear but I was also worried about so many other things.
Earlier in the day, I had posted an entry to my blog in which I thanked Greg for getting me that far in life. It was a very sad moment and my post accurately reflected how I felt that day. I really did think that when I awoke from surgery the next day, that my life would never be the same. I was optimistic that things would turn out well, but I also had this deep fear that maybe nothing really would change, that I would still look as much like a man as I did when I went in. That of course is what happened and now I can't seem to find a way out of this mess.
Anyways, Mom and I did our best that night to stay in high spirits. I was glad that she was there with me and had she not, I never could have gone through with it all. After dinner, we went back to the hotel and tried to talk about anything but the surgery. We watched TV, though I couldn't tell you what we watched, and eventually it was time for bed. The doctor had told me that I could take a Valium to help me sleep and somehow, I didn't have any trouble drifting off and actually got a pretty good nights sleep. One of the few things I remember about that morning is how hungry and thirsty I was. As we made our way to the clinic, I'm pretty sure I didn't say too many things. I was nervous, very nervous, but I tried to act like I wasn't.
The hour before surgery is kind of a blur. They gave me some medicine to sedate me and I remember having a hard time staying awake as the doctor drew lines all over my face. In between fits of sleepiness, I became increasingly angry and started throwing a mini temper tantrum. I was mad that I couldn't keep the gown on as it kept sliding down off my shoulders and wouldn't stay tied in the back. I was cold, confused and angry, not a good combination going into surgery. It got so bad that they told my Mom that she might as well go back to the hotel. I don't remember her leaving and the next thing I remember was being put in bed, my head all bandaged up and my Mom taking good care of me.
That week, two other girls had their surgery with the same doctor. One went the day before me and the other two days after me. I spent a lot of time with them that week and while I was there, I healed much quicker than any of them did. I ventured out into the world, went to a park, out to eat and took lots of walks. I felt pretty good and if truth be told, it was probably one of the most enjoyable weeks of my life. I had someone to take care of my every needs and it just felt comforting to be in that spacious hotel room. The weather was nice, I ate some good food and Mom and I watched movies and played board games.
When I got back home, Mom continued to take care of me as I stayed at her house for another couple of weeks. Things were good then and I was full of hope, hope that I hadn't experienced for a very long time. Things were looking good and both of us really did think that things were going to turn out great. At the end of those two weeks, I finally went home and started taking care of myself. Ever since that day, I've absolutely hated the house I live in. I don't know what changed, but before this surgery, I was proud of myself for having bought a house and loved everything about it.
Today I simply hate everything about it and would give anything in the world to be back in an apartment. I hate a lot of things now, things that I used to like quite well. The surgery changed me alright, just not in the way I thought and ever since that fateful day, I've been a very miserable and angry person. Life just isn't fun anymore and I blame so much of it on that surgery. It will always be the biggest regret of my life, something that I will go to my grave cursing. I want my old life back so much. I want this all to end, to wake up one day soon and realize that none of it happened. I miss my life from before.