Looking Through The Mirror

Through the shattered glass, I see a broken reflection. It was my broken reflection staring back at me. The tears in my eyes are rolling down my face, descending to the ground. My mascara smudged; it looks black and heavy upon my cheeks. The pieces of the mirror fit perfectly together making up a whole, but none of them attached to one another. There was no consistency, just cuts and tears everywhere. I look deep into it, looking back at me was not only a beat up girl but a lost one. The pieces are my life. Nothing makes sense. It was all a puzzle to put back together. My life is in pieces.

What did I do to get here? All these voices in my head, they tell me what to do. Why do I listen to them? They urge me. “ YOU should do it.” “No one will care. Just do it.” I can’t defy them. I really can’t. They made me take that blush. They made me take money from him. They made me violate my body, to make the horizontal slashes that now stain my wrists. I can’t help to but listen. The voices in my head over take my every will, every sense of good in my body and turn me into the devil.

Look at what you made me do. The mirror is smashed. There’s blood, my blood, over the floor, the sink. It’s everywhere. YOU made me do this. They made me do this. I remember when it all started. I was seven, and I was in my room playing with my barbies. All I could hear was them, the voices. They told me to cut her long, luscious blonde hair. I thought it was normal. That hearing their words, guiding me was normal. Now, I know, I’m the farthest thing from normal. Everything about me was not normal. These voices are killing me. They are making me do everything I don’t want to do. How do I control this?

Behind every scar, there’s a story; each a different story. Each one of them, the voices, talking to me, telling me I’m not worth it and all I do is listen. They say, “I’m not worth the space that I take up.” They verbally abuse me. Saying no one will care if I’m gone. Behind every cut, they tell me to just sit there in a pool of my own blood. They speak to me, yet no one is there. What can I do to get make them stop, stop making them hurt me, stop them from destroying the rest of my pitiful life. I can’t take this torture. It needs to stop now.

I have no free will, they direct me on what to do, but secretly I like it.

 

 

 

 

Career Investigation.

Identify the daily duties and responsibilities that are performed by a Nuclear Medicine Technologist.

When working as a Nuclear Medicine Technologist there is a list of obligations and responsibilities that has to be attended to. For example injecting the dye, patient care, and maintaining the cleanliness of your supplies. One of the most important duties the NMT performs is to inject the dye properly and efficiently into the patient. With that being said, the patient is probably scared and poking them with a needle is all that comforting. As a NMT, you need to have people skills and make them feel comfortable. You also need to explain what the procedure they are having done.

What are the potential drawbacks of working in this profession?

 Some potential drawbacks for this profession is that there is a lot of tedious work in regard of making sure the measurement of the dye or the iodide is to the patients requirements. Another negative aspect is that there is a lot of physical aspects involved, which isn’t ideal for anyone that has a lot of injuries.

What are the potential drawbacks of working in this profession?

I personally think that I would thrive in this profession for the following reasons: detailed-orientated, empathetic. I’m the type of person who will find what’s wrong and find it. I am also a people person and I will help the patient to relax if they are anxious about the procedure and I will explain the procedure to them. I am also very driven by the idea of being able to help everyone.

 

One Left Standing

“Hey! Hello! Can you hear me? Guys?” I kept screaming. The boat was rocking with the waves. What the hell are they doing? There were two men that were sitting on a bench with water up to their butts, looking over the city, during the floods. One of the men was wearing swim shorts. These guys are insane. I inhaled, squeezing out the last breath in attempt to get their attention. “GUYS!” Finally, after the making dozens of efforts to get their attentions, I succeeded. “We’re coming to get you.” As my voice carries over the rushing water of the tides, we inch forward. He snaps away towards the gentlemen to the right of him and muttered something.  As we approach the two men, the older looking gentlemen looks at us. His eyes looked like he had been tortured and was going to lose the fight. The younger man beside him put his hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

“What are you guys doing out here in this crazy weather?” I asked. The younger man answered, “My father wanted to see the city before he died. He doesn’t have long to live. In this very spot, where we are sitting, is the very first place he took me as a kid. To come here, with me, was his death wish. My father is dying. If I can’t take way his pain, the least I can do is make his last moments count.” When he was done talking, he looked at his father and gave him a hug.

The old man tried to say something, but his weak breath. He finally got the strength to say what wanted to. “Son, do you remember when your mother and I used to take you to the lake. Lake Windermere, I think. I can barely remember. Your mother was better at remembering the minor details. The trip was memorable. We did everything: skipping rocks, going swimming, having a barbeque, making sandcastles, making you laugh and smile. I loved that trip more than anything. I would adore to go there one more time before I die. Do you remember, son. Do you remember?”

The son looked at us. He said nothing but the pain behind his eyes said it all. A tear feel into his hands. That is the one memory that the both of them shared. The one memory that the Alzheimer’s hasn’t destroyed, in its path of destruction. The water is what the disease is doing, destroying everything in its path. It became clear to us that their time together was something that the two men valued more than the storm. We left them to be. I never saw him or his son ever again.

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The Hungry Goat

“Mommy! The goats, I want to see the goats!” I’ve been dragging my mom from animal to animal. I kept running forward. The five year old me has so much energy, and not a care in the world. All I wanted to do was to see the goats!

The animals were in cased with their own kind. The petting zoo had a unique smell; It smelt like animals. Maybe that’s why mom and dad aren’t letting us get a dog. At that age, any animal you encountered you begged to keep it. If it was a stray cat, mom and dad knew what question was coming up. “Can we keep it? PLEASE!!!!” They always looked at us with the same glare and said the same response. NO. I always thought that it gave them a sense of satisfaction to deny us an animals. It was just a gut feeling I had.

I kept running from animal to animal. My sister led the way, I followed. My parents trail behind us. “Anusha! Ronica! Slow down!” Yet, that made us run faster. We ran as fast as our little legs would carry us.

As I ran my straw hat moves with me, up and down. It was only a matter of time until flies off. It all started with the hat. It was a windy day. It kept flying off my head and it would go everywhere else but my mom insisted that I should wear it. Actually, insisted isn’t the right word, it was more like forced. She wanted to protect me from the sun like any other mother. The straw hat with pink flowers embedded into it, they encircled the rest of the hat. She got it especially for this trip.

When we arrived at the petting zoo, I was so excited. I remember badgering my parents to let me pet everything. Being the careful person my mom is, she only let me pet the animals that were clean. Nothing that rolled around in dirt or anything. Just the clean animals. Then I saw them. The goats. I must pet the goats. I wanted to keep a goat so badly. What are the chances of my parents saying yes to a goat and not to a dog. The chances were slim.

Finally, the animal was waiting for, the goat. I shoved anyone who stood in my way of my happiness. I got into the pen and started to pet him. He stared at my face, but later at we realized he wasn’t staring at me but the hat. The hat that my mom picked out. He lunged at me. I moved back. He charged at me. I ran away. Of course, the day that I was, having the hat flew off and landed in front of the goat. Yes, he started eating it. When he took the first bite, I knew I couldn’t go back. The hat was a goner. I never said a proper goodbye. I guess this is my farewell

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Success (Spoken Word Poem)

What is success?
What defines success?
Whose rules do you go by, your’s or society’s?
Society makes this ideal world,
get a degree,
you’re golden.
Little does everyone know,
that it gives you false hope.
With success,
comes struggle.

Society today makes the formula for success,
not everyone,
barely anyone,
has been given the formula.
Those who do,
are the lucky ones.
Those who don’t,
derive the formula,
that best suits you,
then execute.
Once you’re there,
look back,
and embrace your accomplishments.

Society today pressures teens,
us,
the people of tomorrow,
to do well ,
and looks down on those who screw up.
There has become this idealistic society of if you don’t succeed,
get packing.

Others,
individuals,
want to do what they want,
but pomposity,
berating,
marginalization,
come along with it,
is it worth it?

Then,
we get stuck with an filler job,
it pays bills,
keeps water warm.
On society’s terms,
In order to become successful,
that is what you do.

This leaves the question,
do you want to define your own success,
or be given society’s terms of success?
The choice is yours.

 Picture: https://connormurphy.files.wordpress.com/2014/10/formula.jpg

Mark Twain’s Writer Seminar

Mark Twain aka Samuel Clemens is a famous author that wrote two all- american, well-known novels, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. While investigating Twain and his advice to writers, I  learned 2 major ways that could improve my writing. The first piece of advice that he gives to writers is to take out the “fluff” and get straight to the point. Personally, as a writer I like to add a lot of detail to my writing, so writing straight to the point is weird for me. Secondly, he says the thy shall use good grammar. As you can probably see, I need to work on grammar. Grammar not only helps with the coherency of your piece, but it also helps with how the person reads it and gets your point across.

Emulation:
Original Piece:

Now when I had mastered the language of this water and had come to know every trifling feature that bordered the great river as familiarly as I knew the letters of the alphabet, I had made a valuable acquisition. But I had lost something, too. I had lost something which could never be restored to me while I lived. All the grace, the beauty, the poetry had gone out of the majestic river!  I still keep in mind a certain wonderful sunset which I witnessed when steam boating was new to me. A broad expanse of the river was turned to blood; in the middle distance the red hue brightened into gold, through which a solitary log came floating, black and conspicuous….

My Piece:
Now when I had mastered the language of the wind and had come to understand every blown kiss that come to me just as familiarly as I knew the letters of the alphabet, I had the wind on my side. But I had lost something, too. I had lost something which could never be restored as I feared, it carried my favorite hat off my head and it went up into the air!  I still keep in mind a certain breeze that I had experienced at the camp i worked at. A broad expanse of  the breeze tousled my hair around; in the middle distance the violently wind blew umbrellas inside out …

Picture: http://www.biography.com/people/mark-twain-9512564

 

In 10 Years Time

University. School. Career. Those things are all on my mind. What faculty do you apply to? First option, second option, what are they? It all become overwhelming and confusing. One day I went with my dad to his physiotherapist office with the intentions of intrigate him and the impression of potentially wanting to become a physio. What he answered my question with a question. He said, “Where do you see yourself in 10 years?” I couldn’t answer him. I was silent. “Figure that out then execute. Make it happen. ”  So here I am, writing my ten year plan. It can either go two ways.

The first way is becoming a nurse. I’ve graduating from school and I’ve specialized in pediatrics. Spending all my time wtih kids, that’s all I really want to do. I know know that my heart is in it, not for the greed, self satisfaction or anything self fish, but to help people. To help children. I would be career focused, but I would still be family orientated. By then, I would be, hopefully married or at least engaged. Of course, I could have my own house living independently. That is one way I see myself.

The second way I see myself in ten years time is having a family. Yes, I still have my degree in nursing, but I will be working half time. At this time, I will be married and will be starting a family. That is the second way I see myself.

As you can see, I still don’t know what the future holds for me, but I have an idea of what I want. From knowing this, I can mold and sculpt it to what I want. From the two alternative way I see myself, I know for sure 2 things. One is I will get a degree in nursing and two is that I will have started a family of my own. All in all, if you have a vision for yourself work and make it come true. As yourself, “where am I in ten years,” and make it happen. All in all, if you see it happen, then make it happen.

Greatness

“Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them.”
– William Shakespeare

BE yourself in
NOT letting anyone berate you.
AFRAID of nothing they may say, none
OF the criticism.
GREATNESS will come.
SOME idolize your strength, others
ARE wondering how to get it.
BORN, developed, practiced. A
GREAT person is
SOME one who knows what they can
ACHIEVE. Others know that
GREATNESS is around the corner for them
AND when you know your time has come
SOME people will try to take it away from you.
HAVE mercy on them, share the
GREATNESS you encounter,
THRUST your confidence
UPON their being, help
THEM become the best and share your greatness.

Why this Quote?
First and foremost, I fell in love with this quote as soon as I heard it in the play, Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare. I feel that the meaning behind the original quote makes a statement that everyone is unique in their own way, and their time will come to show the world who they are.  One of the main reasons why I love this particular saying is that it makes me feel important, in the sense, that it portrays that everyone can and will achieve their maximum potential; in the case that whoever uses their greatness to impact society in their own way.

What I did to this quote was made it an adagem poem. I took the idea of the of jealousy and how other people will react to your success. If people see first hand see your success they will immediately be intimidated and try to compare their best accomplishment to whatever you got praise for. The other thing that will happen is that they will automatically start to “hate” on you and talk behind your back, in the hopes of making you feel bad about yourself and doubt your accomplishments.  In the end, you should be the bigger person and know that you earned what you got. That was the idea that I wanted to capture. I wanted to show how even people “hate” on other people, you don’ need to sink to their level, but to rise above the adversity and become a better person. No matter what situation you are in, you should always take the higher route. This was inspired by many personal experiences.

greatness

Photo Creds: http://www.shakespeare-etc.org/be-not-afraid-of-greatness/

The Last Mistake

“Daniel! Tighten the ropes!” There he goes again, telling me what I should do.

The next minute, I’m under seven feet of water, my breath stolen from my lungs. The blue begins to fade, black rises. My eyes fall heavy.

Where am I? All this seems familiar. I’ve been here before, I’m sure of it. I think I remember this night. The stars that stretched to the heavens, twinkling like a candle flame. I walk the streets alone, gathering the memories that once were. The oppressed memories of this place, don’t come through. My home town? No. How did I get here? Why?

“Hello, can you tell me where I am?” No response from the girl. She keeps walking. She walks right at me, and before I realized what was happening, through me. SHE WALKED RIGHT THROUGH ME! How can that be? I try to get attention from a pedestrian. He ignored me.  I keep walking. I keep trying. Finally, on the streets I look into a window of mirrors. I stare directly at it. I see no one. I move my hand, nothing got reflected. I tried screaming, nothing came out. No sound. No one can hear me, let alone see me. Why am I here? I keep walking. Yes, a pub! Something that is familiar. I need a pint.

Ugh, why is there so much commotion. Looking around, everyone is crowding around one table. Curiosity got the best of me and I just had to know what was happening. I peered around the corner, and I couldn’t believe my eyes, it’s me! How can I be here and there?

All of a sudden, it hits me like bricks. This is the night I screwed everything up. This is the night I made the biggest mistake of my life. This is the night I wish I could take back. I never wanted to live through this night again. I promised myself after this night I would never be that person again. Luckily, there’s hours to go until it happens.

I stalk myself, watching my every move. Acknowledging and remember my old ways. When he gets up to leave, I’m right on his trail. This is when I make my move. The move that separates a life of despair from a life of joy. I try to craft something that would distract my past self, no. Not distract, but to avoid the situation all together. I try to lay hints all around the bar. I tip his beer over, making it look like it was done by accident by the people engulfing him. Every time he has a sip of beer, the more intoxicated he comes, the likelihood increases. Every time he gets a drink, I dispose of it. Unfortunately, it infuriates him, which got me nowhere. I am back to square one, again. I think of dropping hints to stop me from drinking as much as I did. Then again, my past self is already halfway there, being drunk doesn’t make him realize that the booze have stopped coming. Thanks to my shadow self, I smashed all the bottles that I used to drink back then leaving nothing left. Of course, I was too drunk to notice. I couldn’t establish my head from my toes.

The time grew closer. My anxiety climbs, slowly. There approximately 1.5 hours before it happens. So far I got my old self to sober up. I can tell that I’m becoming a little more aware on where I am. I will come less obnoxious as the beer wears off. Hopefully, I’m in the clear. The anticipation is eating away at me. The time goes by slowly. All I can do now is wait.

Finally, the moment came. The time I regretted my whole life. My eyes zoned in on me. I watch my every move. Everything seems to be different. Its better. I wasn’t making the mistakes that I once made.

When I blinked my eyes, I was under water again. Drowning. Unable to breath. My heart was heavy in my chest. Now at last, I can die in peace. I shut my eyes, once again, and let the water take me. 

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Phto creds: Anusha S.

The Patient

“Give me that. Andrew! Andrew! Put that down. Please. I beg of you.” He held it up to his wrist, and started moving it in a sawing actions. Back and forth, back and forth. Luckily, it hasn’t touched his skin yet. I promised him everything will be okay. It was an empty promise, but I would try my best to help him out of this circumstance. His eyes were glued to the object. He wouldn’t move them away from it at all. He was mesmerized. What is doing? Why was he doing this?

For the longest time, he has been here. He attended all the group therapy sessions that he was assigned to, but he wouldn’t say anything. He would just sit there listening, and watching.

When I heard that I was going to work with him this week, I was excited. Everyone I talked to was saying that he was making progress, good progress. He was acting like he was getting better, day by day.

I couldn’t help but to think that it was my fault. Was it something I said?  I followed the plan as I always do. It starts off as asking how he is, in general, then narrowing it down, to the point of discussing his downfalls. During my process, something triggered him. I wasn’t prepared to see what he was doing.

“ Andrew, did I say something that you didn’t like? Please talk to me. Please..” Cautiously, I walk out to table and reach for the phone. I wanted to call for help, but I decided against it.

I hate this rotation. Why would the hospital leave a med student in a psychiatric ward without a doctor or nurse with them. I couldn’t do it alone I had to call for help. I took a breath and pushed the emergency button. Then I walked back. My persuasion wasn’t getting me anywhere. It was time for me to be authoritative.

“Andrew, stop it right now. Look at me. I need you to look at me.” He lifted his eyes from the knife and stopped cutting. His eyes were full of anger, but there was a sense of hurt behind them, as well. He dropped the knife, blood fell straight below where he had done the self injuring. In a blink, he dropped to his knees and cried.

Photo Credits: fotolia