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Pristine walls surround me, as the beeping hurts my ears.

My vision blurs once more, and within moments I'm wheeled somewhere I can only describe as deafening.

A young girl around my age screams as her mother tries to soothe both the girl and herself - it all makes my head hurt.

"You will only feel a prick," the doctor smiles, but I don't believe him. 

I can't believe him.

If he was being sincere, why would the girl scream? Why would her mother weep? Would mine do that too?

I struggle against my father's grasp, but he tries his best to keep me in place while my mother averts her gaze elsewhere. 

I take a breath.

I feel a cold liquid course through my veins, trying to suppress my heart rate, but it hurts.

I choke on the medication, gasping for air,
 but the more air I inhale, the more it hurts.

I pray to whoever cares to listen that this doesn't kill me, I pray that my newly found condition only hurts me and not those around me.

Years later, I can now say that they didn't listen to my pleas, and instead scoffed.

I now stare at the empty beds surrounding me, as the anaesthetist explains the process, but I don't listen.

How could I listen to her when I know the end is near? It could all be over in a few hours - it was just a matter of whether or not it would be a success.

Hours later I awake once more, meeting the recovery nurses gaze, as I ask the question that had been caught in my throat.

"Was it a success?"

She nods, and tears flood my vision as I picture the faces of my smiling family and friends. 

How could years worth of struggle be fixed in a mere few hours? I will never know, but I am grateful that it has came to an end.

I felt as if a war I hadn't began had ended, alongside the torment it caused.

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