KRIS JASPER

Eight weeks ago I have posted in here about the appointments I made with my doctor as I have few concerns on my skin.

I have been referred to be seen at the City Hospital, and it's today.
So I went there, I played TORN by Natalie Imbruglia on repeat mode.
That song, I was told, reflects my current psychological state.



I have 2 scars on my chest. The consultant recommended 3 options:
1. I can just ignore those scars (perhaps time will come they will feel under valued and will leave me in peace)
2. Have some medications applied (great, more chemicals for my cocktail)
3. Have the scars injected with steroids (OUCH!)

I also have her checked the rashes on my arms but it wasnt something major to blog about. Except I was asked to take my shirt off and sat on the bed.
I felt like a prostitute waiting to be paid.

She left me in the room for about 10 minutes and I texted A this:

"The doctor said I might have injections in my scars. Maybe they think I havent suffered enough. That my emotional and mental traumas are not sufficient, that they will challenge me with physical pain as well.
I knew it! Today's foggy weather and zero visibility has cautioned me, they were telling me 'DOOMED' but I ignored them. They were put up to to hide whatever end my pathetic life takes. Whatever happens, whatever reasoned judgment they may choose... please, please take care of the babies. Please tell them I love them."

To which A replied; something with 3 question marks:

"What babies? Are you delusional? or have definitely sailed through borderline psychosis?"

I did not bother to reply A.
A's text made me think... Maybe I dont really have a baby,
either that or I already sold them in Ebay.

She recommended that I will have the steroids injection (OUCH!) As the medication treatment will take nearly a year, Steroids will have a much, much obvious effects. I thought it's ok, coz if I'll have it done in Skinz Clinic, it'll cost me £990.00 (I already checked), but in NHS it's free.

So I was asked to take my shirt again (I knew it, the doctor just wanted to see me naked... for free!) and I lie on that bed waiting for my scheduled doom. I saw her broke an ampule. I saw her holding an insulin syringe. If she tells me it wont hurt and it's just like an ant's bite Im gonna punch her... I am a nurse and I only say those things to those who have no clue. But she didnt, so she knew who she's dealing with.

And it happened,

I had SIX FUCKING INJECTIONS TO MY SCARS ON MY CHEST.


I literally pleaded for her to stop after the 4th injection, but maybe I spoke in Filipino that time coz we reached six. And the pain is (up to now) radiating. I have been calling A, told A I feel like Im being peeled alive by a vegetable peeler. I cant describe the pain but it is FUCKING AWFUL.

I will be seen again in 2 months time. I might have another dose of injections. The abuse was not enough. Theyreally want me to die. I realize that I live and breathe in a cruel world.

She gave me a letter to give to my own doctor, which I did. Maybe it is a conspiracy?

I have two options, wait for another appointment to feel death, inch by inch again....

or I might as well face it now.

Au Revoir.

Je m'appelle Kris Jasper.