My blade runs through the length of a shark’s left side, the tip very slightly grazing at the sandpaper-like skin, blood runs down the white of the shark’s skin from a cut blood vessel. It’s dark outside and the bright fluorescent lights are hurting my eyes, the smell of blood and sea is in the air, the sound of metal against metal is heard as my scalpel touches the operating surface—I’m tired.
I chose my degree because I always wanted to be a doctor—how cool they looked in the white coats and with the ever-present stethoscope. Everything was planned out, all of it, in my head. So why do I sometimes catch myself questioning this degree?
I’ve told someone once of how sometimes your ears will hurt from silence—how your senses will reel from the sudden absence of stimuli. Like how you sometimes hear a ringing in your ears even when there’s no sound at all. It’s kind of like that, this feeling. It’s like there’s a really high-pitched ringing in the back of my head. I don’t know why. I’m looking for what’s missing but I can’t seem to find it.
How do you fix yourself when you don’t even know what’s wrong?