Experience at 10 yrs old

Hey yo~
I wasn't going to lecture about life and all that depressing stuff today. But then, I suddenly remembered how I watched this video on curing back acne (cause I have back acne too) and I saw a comment which made me feel so angry.

The commenter said that she was glad someone this pretty (the girl in the video is a popular youtuber. Pretty too) had back acne too. She thought she was the only one suffering from it.

I'm just like... Excuse me? That was an incredibly selfish thing to say. Right, I get it that she's happy and all-  there's someone out there who understands her feelings about dealing with those hideous and painful little bumps- but excuse me. That is still so wrong on so many levels.

It's like you have cancer and you're glad someone else has cancer too cause you won't be alone. Okay, not so serious but still WRONG. SO SO WRONG. I might be reading too much about it, but- Hey! That comment clealy wasn't filtered through the brains first.

Because of that, now I'm going to rant on how I suffered from this stupid deformity named Scoliosis. I really don't want anyone else to go through the same experience as I did, although I do know fully well that this cannot be prevented and many other kids are probably already experiencing it. (Including my cousin. But hers is cured. I shall talk about it later)

It started when I was 10 yrs old. Found out by the health checkups in school where they make you bend over to measure your spine. (I still find it disturbing that they peeped into your underwear to see the level of your growth. To see if you're growing pubic hair or not. Seriously, that wasn't necessary at all. It's none of anyone's business really.) I was a tall kid then and maybe I grew up faster than kids my age cause I tower over a lot of my friends last time. And my height didn't stop increasing each year until it gradually came to a stop in Sec 2. (I'm short now...)

My main story- The nurse told me that my spine was a few degress off from normal. But it was still fine. It's normal cause some people don't really have a 100% straight spine. Then the second year checkup came again and the degree worsened really quickly. I was sent to the hospital for more checkups and without my knowledge (okay, maybe I was told but I couldn't understand), an appointment was made for me to get a backbrace.

I didn't know what the hell a backbrace was but I hated it already. When I got to the clinic, it was like I stepped into a... small factory? The place stinks of chemicals and some plastic stuff and I HATE IT. What say do I have though? I'm 10/11. Kids my age don't have much say.

I hated it so much, I whined and complained but I still got the brace done. At least the nurse was nice and patient. I still didn't like her because she worked there. Don't judge me, I was only a kid remember?

It took around 2 weeks for the brace to be ready for collection. (I don't have a good memory. I can't even remember the names of people I met the day before. But this, I will never forget.)

My first try on the backbrace makes me want to cry. It was so tight. Even tighter than when I got it moulded on my body. The doctor said it was necessary. To make it tight so that my spine will be 'locked' in place and wouldn't go 'off track'. My parents were more worried about it affecting my growth rather than the discomfort. I was so angry I refused to speak to anyone. It was so tight that I couldn't barely exhale anyway. Never mind try to yell or scream.

I was told to wear it everyday. To sleep and stuff. It was a torture at first. It was so warm and I perspired like crazy so we had to install air-con. I was glad to get an air-con but for its main purpose... hmm. It was still tight and it limited my movements a lot so I rarely moved around. (Maybe that's why I was cubbier last time) I couldn't sit on the floor cause it's hard to stand up afterwards. It's a major burden. Needless to say, I was a sulky, grumpy and depressed kid.

I wore it for six months. Well, there was nothing to stop my growth anyway. I still grew fast and my condition worsened. I had to get a new brace. And the new one was so terrible. If the previous one was torture, this one was absolutely hell. There was a neck brace included. I feel like I've been in a freak accident and I don't have a backbone anymore so I need these braces to get myself upright. It's so dumb. It looked uglier than the previous one and it is impossible to hide the neck brace under my clothes. And it's all metal and screws and it made me look like a freaking robot. Or a freak. Whatever rows your boat.

It was horrible. I cried and bargained and begged. And I managed to wear the previous one without the neck brace to school. Previously, I didn't wear braces to school. But now, I had to. I was 12 that year. Older, but still very much a kid.

I was scared of people finding out and touching me. My thoughts were- what if someone poke me and found out that I was wearing something underneath? Wouldn't it be weird? How do I explain it? And what if they poke me and I couldn't feel it?

Well, it was more of a internal struggle that time. Because I kept skinship to a minimal and no one really touched me. And if someone poked me with a pencil, I usually felt it through the brace. A boy sitting behind me used to poke me frequently just for the heck of it. I don't know if he noticed that I was abnormally hard for a girl since he poked my waist. But he didn't comment on it or tell anyone. And I was glad. He had a crush on me too. Maybe he was just being really nice about it. Puppy love, seriously.

Maybe it was also because of my fears in the past, when I got to Secondary school, I was really particular about skinship. I don't like people touching me. Although hugs are fine and all. But only by best friends. I'll be really uncomfortable when someone I don't know touches me. Maybe it's also why guys in the next few classes called me snow white (cause I'm really pale), some called me ice princess and my girlfriends blatantly called me a rock. It was amusing. But the guys were protective over me, so all is good. I'm a princess. hahaha.

One time I even quarrelled with my close friend cause she couldn't stop touching me. She was running her hands on my thigh and I wasn't into skinship that much and it felt disgusting. So I scolded her. And she was obsessed with skinship. Didn't take it very well, I say. It was a funny incident. Didn't matter to me now cause we didn't keep in contact anyway.

Now, I kinda like skinship cause it feels nice and all. And I like hugs too. And sitting beside people I like. Now I sound weird. Never mind.

Back to the brace story- I cried every morning, begging mom to let me not wear the brace to school. Of course, she wouldn't let me. It was supposed to be for my good. But it led to an operation anyway. (/scoffs so hard I'll die. I'll get to that later on)

I used to like assembly because it was interesting and we can skip lessons. Then, I hated it when I got the brace. I had to sit there for an hour. I couldn't really shift much and I had to sit very straight. It was uncomfortable and after a while, I always couldn't feel my legs. I complained to mom and she asked she'll talk to the teachers to let me sit on the benches with them. Boy, that was the worse suggestion ever.

It didn't help that I was a newly transferred student into a better class because of my good grades. I think it was a punishment instead of a reward. I love my previous class. All my close friends were there and we were together for a year already. So much can happen in a year you know. We played so much together. I had no one in the new class. And almost everyone felt like backstabbers to me there. I was quite the loner. I don't go for recess with them and I don't talk to them. (My friends and I, we even begged our teacher to not switch me over. But she said it wasn't her decision. We even tried asking other students if they wanted to go over to that class)

I mentioned that because there was one time, assembly dragged on for so long. My legs literally gave up when I tried to stand. I just fell. No one even helped me up. They were just... distracted. I don't blame them cause everything was so messy when you have a few hundreds of people moving at the same time. But I couldn't help but think that things will be so different if I were with my friends instead. I could have made them carry me if I wanted to.

Well, school was less fun when I was 11 but whatever. I got through it. In a piece physically, and a few pieces mentally.

The braces didn't really help much. Even after all the torture and tears, I still had to get an operation. I rememberd being angry and demanded to know why we didn't just go straight to the operation when the end result will still be the same. At least I don't have to start my mornings crying for a year.
What was done, was done.
I was pissed at the doctors and my parents. No one let me choose, they just threw everything at me. And I have to pick up the pieces myself. I was 12, it was so unfair. I hate them all.

Blankly, I went for the operation. I don't remember being nervous or scared. I just wanted everything to be over as soon as possible. The doctors were kinda worried when I showed a nonchalant attitude while waiting outside the operating theatre. I just lay there on the bed, shivering in the cold but refusing to speak until this senior nurse came by and put a blanket over me. She told me I was probably the bravest she has ever seen cause I didn't cry or freak out. And I was lying there for quite some time, peeping into the theatre whenever the doors opened. Honestly, it looked quite cool like in the movies, but who cares. At the moment, nothing was worse than a backbrace and I just wanted out. the implications of a major operation didn't occur to me. (Although I did go for blood testing and withdrawal and stuff like that)

When I finally got into the theatre, I don't know why the doctors didn't like knock me unconscious first, so I saw everything that was going on. All the nurses, the x-rays and cool ass stuff. Then this male nurse came and said he'll need to draw my blood. So I just gave him my hand. He couldn't find my veins cause I was cold and he tried a few more times before actually succeeding. I remembered thinking what a lousy nurse he was. He apologised many times and said that I was the coolest and bravest girl ever. Whatever. I got compliments so what? Not that they meant a thing. He probably told everyone the same thing. But he's still lousy. And then he placed this muzzle thing over me and I breathed in so deeply, I  totally knew I was going to sleep. It was seriously like a movie. I knew I fell asleep almost immediately.

BAM! The next thing I knew, I was in the ICU and the nurse told me to drink water. My parents were probably somewhere outside the glass window and I probably didn't even look at them. I went back to sleep. I hate hospitals but ICU was cool too. It was so quiet and the nurses are nice. They feed me water with my precious nike bottle. And gave me doses of morphine...

And then I was in a normal ward. Because I'm a brave kid, I had no qualms about sitting up and eating and entertaining myself. The thoughts of the wound hurting didn't even cross my mind. I just wanted to move. And when I did move, it didn't even hurt. I'm a rock, seriously.

The adult in the bed opposite had the same operation a few days earlier than me and she was still crying and wailing whenever someone tries to get her to sit up, and I was already practicing walking in the corridors. I ate and I walked and lie around until I was deemed well enough to be discharged. All of this only lasted for a week and a half. Usually people needed to stay for longer than two weeks. I was proud of myself.

Although it was quite disturbing that I was leaking weird fluids from my kidneys and I needed to get my bedsheets changed so frequently, my main concern was when I can get to wash my hair. It was too oily and tangled. The first shower after two weeks was awesome, I tell you. Pure bliss.

My friends didn't know where I went to. Even my relatives didn't know about it until the operation was over. They rushed in to visit me at night. My eldest aunt, who was like a second mom, was scared half to death and quite pissed that mom didn't even consult anyone before making such a major decision. I learnt about it quite recently, like last year, and I was pissed too. Mom could have done more research and asked around for advices instead of just blindly listening to the doctors. I don't know how went through her mind. But some of her decisions weren't all that great.

I was done with the backbraces. They cost a bomb. About a thousand for each one and they did no shit to help me. I was so so done. (And I highly suspect that they're still somewhere in my closet. Hidden away for god knows what reason. I'm not touching them ever again.)

I was glad for the operation because I got rid of the braces. But then another problem came. The scars don't heal. Because mom thought the decision of letting it heal naturally without stitches was supposedly 'better'. It became that way. She didn't do any research or ask the doctors for any implications and dad obviously don't know anything else apart from providing the money. They thought natural was good. Which is not always the case.

It was done. I'm going to live with those scars, made by bad choices for the rest of my life. Till now, I thought it was unfair. Why didn't anyone ask me? I was confused as to why I was leaking fluids randomly after the operation. No one had the decency to fill me in. Adults really gave too little credits to kids. It's my body, I deserve to know.

But well... what's done will remain done. I'm just gonna live with it. And hopefully get some laser treatment in hopes to remove it. It did shit to my confidence level. I can't even wear a bareback or swimsuit without feeling self-conscious.

What didn't exactly help me got through the low esteem period was mom's unfiltered mouth. Whenever I wore something that showed a little of my back, she will tell me to go change in that tone of hers which sounded similar to disgust. I don't know what to feel. Was it that bad? I changed anyway and actually resented myself for a while, blaming myself for the scar not healing right. I thought my skin was no good. Because I wasn't exactly good looking at that time (I thought I was ugly during puberty), I felt like shit. Literally every single day. Well... It got better when I grew up. I was mature enough to deal with curious questions and people wanting to see the scar.

One of my friends even told me that my scar was cool and she lifted up my shirt to see it. I was lying on my stomach anyway, and I don't know why I didn't bother stopping her that time. I was sensitive about it and I certainly didn't think it was cool at all, in fact I wanted to punch her for saying that, but I didn't and let her touch it, pretending to be all engrossed in the tv show. Maybe I was mature enough to just suck it up and deal with it like an adult would. I was 15, I believe.

Although I was told to reframe from strengous activities, I didn't give a damn. That stupid metal rod in me wasn't going to stop me from having fun. I danced, I did sports, I played like I was going to kill myself. I'm just gonna live. The funny thing was that whenever I walk through the security gates in a shop, it'll ring. The metal rod is kinda cool too. In a weird way.

I'll say my younger days will be much better if mom wasn't being such an insensitive person. She had the sensitivity of a wall. Just some inanimate object. Like a stone or a chair or a pebble.

When I cried because the braces made me uncomfortable, she told me to bear with it and on the air-con. When I had blisters because the braces rubbed too much against my skin, she didn't even look and said that it'll go away. When I told her in the mornings that I couldn't move properly and it affected me in school, she told me to think of a way myself. Actually, whenever I complained and cried about it, all she said was to think of a way myself. I'm so young. If I have a way out, I would have already done it. And what was I to do? I can't think of a way to deal with it myself, which is exactly why I asked for help. But no. Someone with the sensitivity of a wall wouldn't understand. Because she hasn't gone through it to know how it feels like.

I don't receive help. So I helped myself. (Ah, now I feel like crying all over again) I totally sucked it up, well, as much as I could. All I did was to wiggle out of the brace myself, take a few moments to cool down and then have her help me wear it back. Of course, I got a scolding whenever I did that, but whatever. I still did it a lot.

It eventually led to me learning how to do the straps of the brace myself and I did wore it back myself a few times. I wasn't a chore to do it, it was rather easy. But the feeling of putting on something which you've been trying to escape from... Let's just say that I'm... insane. Since I didn't need help anymore, not that I received any anyway, I just cope myself in my room all day to read books or play games. I don't need anyone anymore. (That explains the connection I have with my room. I can stay in my room forever provided I didn't need the toilet or starve to death)

Years later, when I was 16 or 17, I was totally over everything. My cousin developed the same problem. The only difference was, she had a resourceful and supportive mom. Her mom asked around and got introduced to this massage specialist who gives you back massages and apparently helps you to pull your spine. My cousin have to do a series of stretching exercises to strengthen the spine and go for massages but it worked. Her spine is alright now. It freaking worked. And it only took less than a year!

Honestly, I was bitter. I think I turned into a bittergourd. I kept thinking of how different my circumstances will be if mom had actually told my aunt about it. Maybe I would be doing exercises and going for massages instead of wearing those torturous plastics. Maybe I could have avoided the operation too. I'm still quite bitter about that. Even right now. I don't think it's something I can just forgive. Because of ignorance.

Another thing that I was bitter about. I'm not scared of pain. Literally, I'm a masochist. Not the sexual way, of course. I don't like inflicting pain for pleasure too. It's just the way it is. I remembered the doctor asking mom (right, ask mom but not me although it's my body) if they want to shave off the protruding part of my right shoulder blade. It is still protruding out now, which makes me look like I'm slouching, but actually I'm not. Mom said no, quite obviously. Cause the doctor said it's gonna be quite painful. I'm just like, come on, what else can be more painful than mental tortue for years. A little pain is nothing. I can already walk with a gaping wound, I'm sure a little pain on my shoulder is a peanut case.

I totally regret not having it done. I could have bear the pain than to suffer this mental torture. Mom really doesn't know her limits. Like I've said, because my shoulder is protruding out, I look like I'm slouching. And mom thinks that too. So she scolds me for slouching and asks why I'm not afraid of my condition worsening again. I'm just very maligned. Everytime I'll have to explain and say that I wasn't slouching, it's my shoulder.

And one day, I asked if she remembered the doctor asking her about fixing my shoulder blade. Guess what. She doesn't remember. I wish I can forget too. But I can never.

Not when she's constantly reminding me of things that I don't want to think about almost every other day. Till now, she's still complaining about my bad posture. I don't think this resentment will ever go away. I'll need at least an apology first. Haven't gotten it yet. /shrugs

There are many other conflicted feelings and implications but they're a little too personal to be shared. There're limits on how open I can be, you know. Haha

I feel like I can write a book on this and teach kids how to deal with this. So they can have it better than I did. And also to educate parents to be more wary of your child's feelings. Cause there're more internal battles inside than what they actually lead you on. And also, do not simply listen to doctors. They don't necessarily make the wisest decisions on earth.

Be strong, kids!
I got through it, you will too.
/shrugs

Goodbye~





 

This is gonna be another rant! Be prepared!

I haven't posted in a long while, so I have lots of things on mind right now. Point is, I don't even have time to blog. After work, I go home so tired and done with life after speaking to tons of people in a single day. I don't even feel like talking anymore. It's bad for social life. I'm talking to irrelevant people and when there's a need to talk to people who I actually know, I'm just too tired. This job is bad. It makes you so done with life. I'm not even surprised at how uncommitted I am with this job. I've never been so eager waiting for work to end. Gosh. No wonder they pay high.

Back to main point.
I'm not a angsty person. Sure, I have my days too. I get irritated when someone even looks my way. I cry reading a stupid story. I get angry after one single comment. But woah. I have a limit man. I don't believe that I'm being angsty this time. I'm just exhausted. After all, I've been nothing short of nice and accommodating, tolerating and all I get in the end is just a slap in the face. Thank you, but no thank you.

I don't even know how to start.
What's the point of having your number in my phone when I don't even use it? Why give ourselves labels when we don't even prove it? It's all meaningless and words and thoughts will just remain as it is until something is done about it.

I'm not supposed to be upset cause it isn't even gonna affect me much. It isn't even my special day. I could jolly well not care and just let it rest. But I also want to do something in return. Arghh

I'm sick of people waiting for me to make the first move. I can't even take care of myself, I don't have time for you. I'm not desperate enough to send myself on my knees, trying so hard to please and hope I get something in return. If you're not trying, I'm not going to try too.

I rest my case.

Dream: Bad guy Kris.

The night before, I just told my friend that I didn't have dreams for a long time. And then, I had a rather creepy dream that night. Such jinx.

It started with me hiding underneath my window cause there was someone out to get me. I don't know why, but I do know that they're going to sell me off as a slave or prostitute. Scary. The scary men were waiting ouside and I was dumb to think that they were gone, so I peeped a little. And a shadow moved outside and I panicked cause I knew I was caught.

I rushed to my mom's room and hide behind her while the scary men came into my house cause my house door wasn't lock. Damn it. The scary men just wanted to get me and my mom was so freaking calm about it. I was so scared that I started whinning for Kris to come in, although he was the mastermind behind everything.

Kris did show up looking very sad for some reason, and he tried to convince me to go with him. Of course, I didn't want to. He even got his men to help me pack my clothes and all. Is that supposed to be nice or what? I mean, he's still gonna sell me off right?

I absolutely refused to go with him and he was being so nice about it, he decided to give me a day to calm down. And he stayed the night. So, I had to find extra blankets, pillows and whatnot for him. This stupid grown up man who is gonna sell me off. And he claimed the side of the bed which I always sleep on. Stupid Kris. My parents didn't even care that there's a grown ass man in the same bed as me. Weird.

I don't know what happened to me after that. Maybe I got sold off the next day or Kris just kidnapped me while I was asleep. /shrugs   Too creepy to find out.

Yesterday was a good day.
I tried Sukiyaki for the first time and it didn't disappoint. I'm sated on meat now. And then a kbox session of 5hours. Felt like I held two concerts in one go. My throat is sore and raw but I'm sated too.

I found out that we're actually very different in preferences and personalities. Things that I like, she doesn't like, vice versa. Maybe that's why we got along well, cause there's nth much to fight over. It'll be nice if she goes to watch a horror movie with me one day. /hints   But I'm not gonna be responsible for any trauma or mental counselling afterwards. Heh.

My throat hurts. And I'm cold. Am I sick or what?

Goodbye for now.
P.S. Secretly, I hate my part time job. I see ugly sides of people everyday. And how ungrateful humans can be. It's sickening. Well.