Misplaced (Completed)

Chapter Four

Oh.

Wow.

Now I could understand why he was a tad grumpy with me. He clearly knew someone who'd died, and now I had their heart keeping me alive. My chest felt heavy knowing that he really had lost someone who was close to him. To make it worse, parts of that person's body would be scattered all around, giving people a chance at life. A chance that the person no longer had.

I knew why he was so hostile now, but still couldn't help but wonder who the person was, and why he thought it would be a good idea to blame me for the death of the person. It wasn't my fault. I didn't kill them, or demand that I have their heart. I was just given it. Thankfully, for God knows I had waited long enough. Without the heart transplant, I would have died. I didn't have long left, maybe I would have gotten another year out of my ticker. Maybe.

With me and my condition, it was always maybe. It was like they didn't want to say anything too negative, or too positive, just in case they were wrong.

Maybe you'll live for another year.

Maybe your heart will be accepted.

Maybe you'll be one of the few that survive ten years after your transplant.

But never definitely.

It seems that things are only set in stone when you're dead. Only then do they know for sure what will and won't happen. On the bright side, I'm not dead. Yet. So I have a life full of maybes waiting out there for me to discover.

Over the years, I have become a master of positive thinking. There's a future career in motivational speaking, that's for sure.

When you find yourself the subject of misfortune, you'd usually mope around and moan and whine and wallow in pity. In all honesty, it hurts. Some things life throws at you hurt like hell. After a few of its curved balls, you learn to just accept it and look to the bright side of the challenges. Afterward, you end up coming out as a better person.

If your glass looks half empty, you just have to remember that - actually - it's half full. It's a simple as changing your mind set. I learnt to change my mind set at a young age. At eight, when I was first diagnosed, I didn't understand, so it didn't seem that bad. But at aged ten, that's when I realised how bad it could get. Instead of letting it get me down, and allowing it to have the power to take over my life, I kept me head held high and my spirits elevated. I got over it. I learnt to live with it. And I turned out just fine. Or at least, I like to think so...

That's the startling difference between me and my mum. She always stressed over it, always let it get to her and ties herself down because of it. A baby bird can't fly if its mother keeps breaking its wings. That's my mum. She's worried for me, which makes me feel great that she cares, but she's a bit smothering. Scratch that - she's very smothering. It's hard to live my life as I would like when she's trying to control me. She does it all for the right reasons: she thinks that she's protecting me, helping me. Sometimes, that's the case, other days it's just her being neurotic about everyday things. She's too cautious.

I sighed and rolled over. I was so tired but my brain didn't want to let me sleep. My mind was busy whirring away in that hyperactive state it had. Of course, my family visited every now and then, when they weren't working or in Daniel's instance: 'when he was so bored he had nothing better to do' or 'when he could be bothered'. Let's just say that it wasn't as often as I would have liked. But hey - you couldn't have everything.

I flicked through my sketch book. It was almost full now. Some pages held detailed and intricate pieces, a house, a pair of wings, the sea waves crashing against rocks, and other contained scribbles of when I got so bored and frustrated that nothing worked out the way it was in my mind's eye.