It is the third day, and my pillowcases still greet my in the morning with blood all over them. Somehow, someone deemed it necessary that an agent from the devil himself carve me open and yank all four of my wisdom teeth from my mouth, leaving me a swollen, bloody, pissed off individual. Not only have I been denied all the incredible food that I can only indulge in when in Mexico, but as well as any sort of fraternizing with friends I have not seen in a year’s time. Furthermore, my diet now consists of smoothies, ice cream, and pounds and pounds of sugar, all accompanied by a lack of movement I have not seen since I got depressed from watching season three of Bojack Horseman on Netflix. Viewer beware, if you are watching that show, you will feel like a useless piece of shit and will not want to move from your bed because life will seem pointless at that point. Anyways, I was worried for starting off the year in an unfit way, but I was not prepared to just chug sugar and ice, and not move from my house for the rest of my stay here at home.

Not only was that a hindering of my social life, but I was planning on using the last week and a half of my stay at home to really get started on thesis, but God has given me a situation where if I am standing or sitting down for longer than thirty minutes, my mouth starts spewing out blood at an incredible rate, making me feel like I belong in the hexagon fighting some ripped dude with my jiu-jitsu against whatever his fighting style may be. Now you may be saying, “Diego stop being a little bitch and just work on thesis on your bed”, but the lack of reliable internet in my household is literally so bad that if I were to start working on thesis, I would not be able to access any data or documentation to help me develop any progress, as it will be surprising if I can even get this article uploaded in time. However, I am not here to complain about the internet at my house, since it has been over six days since I tried getting a rep from the company to come down and fix this shit and so far the only progress I’ve made is to only have to reset my modem about six times in a day to get connection to my phone as opposed to the usual twelve or fifteen it used to take last week.

I am here to complain about one thing and one thing only, and that is the devil himself, The Doctor. I am not incredibly religious as some may come, as I identify myself more of an agnostic rather than classify myself under a certain dogmatic religion from the pool that is the world’s various beliefs. But, if you were to ask me if I believe in any evil, I would tell you that it comes in many shapes and sizes, and that the kingdom that it dwells in is also quite polymorphic. Yes, you are reading about a twenty two year old that had anxiety from having to go get blood work done, let alone a dentist open him up to get my wisdom teeth out. The irony in it is also that the only reason I needed blood work done was so that the anesthesiologist knew if what he would use to put me under would kill me or not, because there is no way in hell I would choose to have local anesthesia so I could sit through two hours of drills, scalpels, and any other utensil of evil used to pry body parts out of me for two hours. I can’t help it, but if anything is going in me, I will freak out, and I will be incredibly stressed even if it is as small as a vaccine or blood work. Christ, my mother and a dentist’s assistant had to hold me down to have crowns put on my teeth for my braces when I was younger, and that has nothing cutting or puncturing me. My problem is my fear of pain. I honestly have no control over it, and the worst is when I obsess over it before it even goes down.

I have tried to figure out the root of me being such a pussy when it comes to Doctors, and the only real explanation is that which my mother has come up with. In my first year of being born, I must’ve been a patient at the hospital about five times. Dehydration, Pancreatic, Measles, you name it. I was in the hospital far too many times before I was three, that my mom tells me I would hide from workers at the gas station because I thought they were doctors due to them wearing green aprons for work, and I would mistake it for a Doctor’s uniform, or coat, or whatever the hell you call it. Bottom line is, I fucking hate hospitals.

As a small child, and I am talking younger than five here, my mother explains how whenever I needed to take medication and they would try hiding it in pudding or jello, I would refuse to take said food and ask for a new one to be opened in front of me. How psychotic does that sound?! A five year old demanding that an unopened food be opened because of mistrust that there is medication or something of the sorts in it. No wonder I hate anything that is going into me. I guess you could call it a phobia, but it makes me feel like an idiot when I cant be unafraid of getting a shot. My fear of pain hinders me so much as to not be as easily daring to do sports that might put me in danger, which has led to me not having broken anything before in my life.

Maybe it is a phobia that I have just never tried getting professional help with, but now I would probably have to go get hypnotized or something because as one grows older, more and more tests have to be done to make sure you are healthy, and buddy, some of them do not seem pleasant at all, and I cannot see me putting myself through them willingly. At least now all I’m bitching about is a sore mouth and not being able to open it to even get a decent amount of food in, without me going full hypochondriac about getting infected or something. I wish I could just have a drink to chill out, but with antibiotics in me, it will be a while before I can enjoy a glass of Merlot. Banana yogurt peanut butter smoothie, here I come! ~ad astra ultraque