I was, obviously, rushed to the hospital. Even after I told my girlfriend that I will be dying anyway. I had slowly slipped into depression and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

My pain-filled couple of days led me to believe that I truly was dying. My parents’ hope-filled calls were all just a way for them to deal with the situation. They just wanted to reassure themselves that what I said was not true. They did not want me dead.

Well, I was sorry that I would be dying sooner than everyone had expected.

It probably hurt more for me, because I wanted to do one last thing before the day came.

What a pity that I only realised that in the ambulance on the way to hospital. I needed one because I could not even get out of bed due to the severe pain.

I scared my girlfriend. She was most likely traumatised.

She also started crying a lot and eating more ever since I told her the news. Luckily, she wasn’t getting fat.

She was not ruining her chances of finding love again after I left.

I don’t remember much about the trip. I was too busy being drugged to remember. I only remember waking up to my mother’s tear-stained face.