I hate final year.
I knew I would not like it.
I knew I might hate it.
But now – it is different.
I know I hate final year.
It has been about ten days since final year has begun – feels like forever though. Final year has provided the following to me in ten days:
1) Free electroconvulsive therapy for my hair to make sure it permanently stays at a strict perpendicular angle to my scalp.
2) Dark circle enhancer to make sure my eyes look like they are disappearing into monstrous black holes.
3) A hunch (thanks to my college bag which contains the ‘essentials of Clinical Medicine’) that would have made Quasimodo look like Prince Charming next to me.
4) A mask like face that would put any patient suffering from Parkinsonism to shame.
5) A mind that is so disoriented that I take more than 30 seconds to respond to a question asking me my name (because I am too busy trying to figure out the ‘medical significance’)
6) All this in addition to the 7:30 am to 8:30 pm schedule after which we are supposed to read every possible book of Medicine and become enlightened overnight.
The day I landed here I was welcomed with the marvellous news of my being posted in Medicine under a Professor who is pretty famous for his ways.
I did not think much of it at the time.
For a person with an imagination as wild as mine I express very little in public. I have always kept my emotions in check – maybe that energy is what is transformed in the form of my wild imaginative skills. As of now, my imagination is on vacation.
Each unit have six people posted. Three out of six have already broken their dams – me being one among them. I hate admitting that I shed tears because I know for a fact that this will only result in satisfaction, if not sheer delight, from the people I am posted under. I do not understand if it is their sadistic nature, frustrated lives or blown up egos that infuriates me the most – all I know, as of now, is that rage is very closely associated with the colour red. Red is the only colour I see when I look at their faces.
It might do me good down the lane. The torture might result in me trying harder – but there is only so much a human can tolerate. I am fast approaching the limit. One of my unit mates has already gone into severe depression and almost had a breakdown a few days back. I wonder when my turn will arrive.
But one thing is for sure – I sure as hell will not let it show to them. I will not knowingly satisfy their sadistic whims. It is going to take them more effort to make my dam break again.
I miss blogging.
If anyone out there had a doubt if I were crazy, I assure them – I definitely am crazy now.