Today I ventured to give blood for the first time. My school hosted a blood drive, and with my not being on Accutane any longer and with the thought of those who might dearly need O- blood, I knew I had to volunteer myself to give a pint of the red water to whoever might eventually come to need it. So I signed myself up, despite my terrific fear of needle entering my bloodstream and extracting blood and prayed and prayed that I be helped through.
Baby that I may very well be, I laughed and cried- though not out of pain- after the insertion of the needle. I drew stares of wonder from my fellow blood-donor peers. I composed myself and fought the primitive terror that welled within me. I took comfort in my flannel- which is beginning to show its age terribly, alas- laying upon my lap. I lay in discomfort until the required amount of blood was drained.. But when they removed the vampirous needle, I began to cry out of impulse. I felt ill and weak and a primal fear of losing consciousness.
Being about to faint- really, really about to faint- is strange. I didn't want to revive myself. I felt like fainting- dying, really, but fainting would have felt like the same thing at that moment. I hated that feeling with a burning flame..