The Almanac – Who are you?




Indeed it is no time to die. But still I feel death in my veins.


You really don’t want to know what is going on in my head.

You don’t want to know because you wouldn’t believe me.

And I appreciate all the people, you included.

All who are fighting and all who are giving their all.

I like you, I love you, I want to be with you and see everything in a new and much brighter light. The way I saw it when I was little, the way it was always in my head.

I really want to. I gave you everything I can and give you more each day.

And some of you do the same.

My head feels like a watermelon, like a ballon, like a hurricane, like a … atomic bomb.

I can’t, but I have to go on. And I am sorry that I can’t do much more.

But all I am feeling is pain. Most of my life if not all the time.

I got so used to it, that I even survived two days, while my pancreas was devouring itself two years ago. And I learned in school, that usually help comes to late, when there is something wrong with it.

And I could still walk, while I had to vomit water and food out soon after I got it. It wasn’t my mother’s fault. I begged her to not call the doctor or the paramedics. I just wanted her to stay with me. And after two or three days, she couldn’t see me like that anymore and made me go to the doctor.

She then told us to go to the hospital. And after they made some tests and whatever they did, which was taking some hours. I was sent alone to my hospital room. Why? Because I was able to walk. Because I didn’t scream or say a word. Because I still smiled. Because I was still able to drag this wheel thing with the bottle with me.

I even didn’t know where I should go when the nurse told me the first time. They just gave me a folder with some papers and left me standing there in the hallway. Then after I stood there maybe some minutes or just one, some came again and told me again. Then I got to an elevator, tried to find the right station and walked there. I talked to them about what they needed to know and where my room was. And then I got into one.

When the nurse asked me about how on a scale between 1 and 10 my pain was. I told her 7. And then she said, that she would probably scream or mourn and such things. But you know what 7 means.

Actually before I got tested I still had a gall stone stuck or at least something. Because I first had to wait before I got tested and so I had to go to the toilet after some time. Surprisingly because nothing stood long enough in my body in two days at that point. After that I felt a lot better. So before that I would have said 9.

And you don’t want to know what 10 is. Because 10 is what I feel now. or maybe 99? 999? 9999?

And it comes and goes sometimes. Luckily I can fight back sometimes.

But I don’t know how long I can.

And in that hospital, my whole belly was infalmed according to the doctors.

And I could have died.

You don’t say… I survived three days on my own, while I wanted to die.

The pain was so much, that I couldn’t breath, couldn’t say a word at times. I even saw a tunnel at some point. But I just thought: “Finally, finally I am free.” And then I survived…

I know why, I know how, I know whatfor. But it still hurts.

And I don’t know whether the “whatfor” will actually be for me.

But since I stopped caring when I was in 7th grade of middle school. Because I had to cry so many times because people at school bullied me, fooled me or simply ignored me.

In fifth grade I even was class representative because some people put me on the list. And then I got voted together with a girl. And back then I first didn’t want it, but they said that I should do it. And so I accepted.

Bad mistake. I also made the mistake to take the job too seriously. I know…

But then I also didn’t take it serious anymore at some point.

And people even complained about me… I don’t know what they wanted from me. I cried and the teachers either didn’t see it or didn’t know what to do.

And then the mother of the boy I hit in the eye by accident who later bullied me up until the end of secondary school, so around 7-8 years. Starting in 3th grade. She asked me in 5th grade, when I was representative, whether I could say something or do something against another boy. Who broke his pencil or something. While he had sometimes taken mine and fooled me. Sometimes I didn’t even know anymore whether it was mine or his.

I just gave up at some point and just let it all happen. What could I have done… nothing good came from my actions, at least not for me or the people around me. It seemed. Well, at least most of the time. Some people I didn’t know, in 8th grade, when I finally got internet, they very glad to have me.

At least some of them. And I was happy to have some people who understand me better or at least who I felt safer with. But then I lost them. Because I just knew that I would die anyway. Or so I wished.

And I one time bled half a bucket of blood. Even the younger paramedic guy was a little shocked, when he checked my pulse, but the doc said, it is okay.

Yeah, no shit doc. No shit.

Everything is just fine.

I sometimes had nose bleeding. When I was little, when I got older. And I bet I would still have it, but I often have such a dry nose, that it even hurts to clean it. And sometimes I got some dry blood on the paper.

But it is nothing. It is fine.

This is what I wanted… right? I wanted to be dead because I thought that this is what everyone wants. Instead I am here, doomed to live…

Live while everyone else is having a good time.

But I kind of said it myself, that I would suffer, in case everyone else could live. So it is my fault. How could I be so selfish…

And now I don’t even know anymore whether you all are my pure imagination. But then I could just let you all disappear. Sadly, this is not what I want. I just want myself to disappear.

Why?

Do you really dare to ask this question?

WHY!?

Ask that all the dead people.

But please don’t ask me.

I once cut myself by accident on my upper arm when I played around. I fell right onto the heating and maybe a 5 cm long cut was on my arm, maybe bigger. I don’t know exactly, but something like that. And it healed well. But I got a scarf. But after some time it just was gone. Because new cells replaced it. REPLACED IT!

And now I am still here.

When I was in the hospital after my pancreas, gall stone incident, I did shit green shit, after I was able to again. Green like lemon. And that for probably a week or two. But then I got released.

Most of the time I was just in my bed. Even the other people tried to get me to move my body. But I just didn’t feel like it. I felt like dying.

When the people in my room (two old men), were watching TV, I almost couldn’t hear what they were talking. Then I realized, that they had ear pads in. That explains a lot I thought, but still understood most of what the people were telling. Sometimes even without sound.

The old men were nice and I enjoyed their presence. And beofre them, I was in another room and there also were old men. One of them got a visit by his family and they had some self-baked biscuits. When they left, they gave me the rest. And I really enjoyed their presence. I often played sleeping and sometimes I also fell asleep like this. I just didn’t want to get asked questions or anything. I just wanted to lie in the bed and that was it.

I enjoyed the hospital food, while some other people were complaining about it. The old men didn’t, they just ate it. Thankfully, like me.

I even did save some of it, when I couldn’t eat it all. At least things which were safeable, like bread and such things.

It felt like home because it represented my life. This hospital was like home. Because I could finally be how I felt inside. Almost dead and no shit, I was almost dead.

The same nurse who asked me about my pain, at some point heard some other nurses talk about “Johannisbrotkernmehl” (carob gum, whatever that is) and since my name is Johannes (John in english), she probably must have heard something like. “Johannes droht Kern….” (John is at risk of core…) or something like that. Maybe she thought that I have cancer or something and would die. Little did she know, little did I want.

She really was worried about me and I liked her presence a lot. She was maybe a little younger than my mother but since my mother is old, she also wasn’t too young. But I didn’t care all that. I just felt good that someone cared about me.

And while I was in prison, eh I mean hospital. At home some trees tried to fall onto the house, it was stormy and my mother got sick as well.

Just normal things which happen, like everything in my life.

*Inhales deep*


But how do you know that I am real?

Those who know I am real, usually don’t listen to me.

I know some of them might do sometimes. And I am happy about each time.

But I think my problem was, that I always just wanted people to act the way I wanted them to act. Sadly they didn’t know it and so I acted in their way.

Hurting myself, like they did, so they didn’t have to do the job anymore.

See, I helped them all. But I was too weak, because I just couldn’t die.

I tried to… I tried to die. But all I got was this:

If it just would have been like in my dreams. Our dreams?

I know you would want it, if you would know what I am talking about.

But I am alone. Alone. And this is the only message I have to tell.

I don’t want to be God, so why do you all keep pushing me towards the edge?

People: But you are doing it yourself. Just live your life.

Me:


And the sad part is, it might not even be lying. After all I have experienced.

But I have to keep it all back. All inside. Because I love you.

Or because I am scared. Or because I didn’t trust myself.

Or because I just always will be alone.

I don’t want this. I just wanted to be a child, but no one asked me, about what I want.


I just know that I am not suffering alone.

And I take everything personal, especially when it is against someelse.

Because this is what I got taughr.

And be it in planes, in houses, in trenches, in whatever battlefield. The women were the better fighters. Because they knew what they were fighting for. And how and with what. With their heart.

Even through dreams they fought.

And who am I … ?

I just want them to live and also all the men who also fought for and with them. With what they got. But some people thought they were so smart.


And with the help of God. Because if I feel all this pain, then I don’t want to know what it must be like to be in his shoes.


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