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Below is the truth – it happened. Writing also happened and continues to happen, so please take the time to check out my archive and follow if you’d like.
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It’s disorientating waking up in a carpark- even more so when you look down and there’s so many wires and tubes protruding that you resemble a human octopus.

Everywhere had the greyness of concrete, the walls, the floor; the dullness broken by dim artificial lights that barely illuminated the surrounding area – the strip lights of a carpark.

To the left there was a man sitting on a toilet behind a screen. I could only see his feet, but it’s like when you see feet in a toilet cubicle – if they’re facing out, you know they’re not standing. He had my trainers.

The harsh strip lights gave everything a strange glow and shadow; it was difficult to make anything out clearly and my eyes were blurry. From somewhere I could hear a vehicle, out of sight, but getting closer – louder.

There was a beeping sound, insistent and shrill, an alarm going off somewhere close. A red light flashing and those tubes, they were in my side, in my neck, on my finger.

‘Help’ I whimpered. Praying that the man behind the screen would answer me. What had happened? why was I here? My memory was blank, and my surroundings made no sense.

I could feel myself start to panic as the beeping sound clawed at my heart, squeezing it as I tried to catch my breath.

Ding ding, ding ding, ding ding – over and over. With each ding, a flash of red, the source of the light, just out of sight.

‘Help’ I pleaded, louder, but the man didn’t move, his feet didn’t flinch.

To my right I could see a barrier – the type that drops down to stop cars. A car approached, headlights on full, illuminating everything.

I could see the tubes clearer now, thick tubes, like snakes protruding from my chest, translucent and tainted with red – blood. My blood.

I needed to get out.

I needed to leave.

I reached down to start pulling everything out, then I saw the photo.

On the wall opposite, it was my girlfriend and me.

I’d had a lung transplant and was hallucinating.

Those trainers – mine.

The car – outside.

The wires and tubes – keeping me alive.

The beeping –IV alarm.

It was the first time I’d slept at night in weeks and the drugs were still wearing off.

As the reality of the situation sunk in, I instinctively reached down and pressed the ‘Call’ button. I needed to speak to someone, anyone, to make sure I hadn’t gone insane.