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26MGMT is happy to share another book with you from a new author, Liam. We will be announcing the author of #Hourglass SOON! Enjoy A WAVE TO RIDE and comment and let us know what you think :)

Weak, fragile and undeveloped. This was the state in which I entered the world, fighting for my three pound life. My early start to life was expected to diminish before the sun were to fall, yet I found a way to beat the odds, overcoming the fifty percent chance of survival that the doctors had prescribed me with.

March the 9th 1997, in the isolated country of New Zealand. Quarter to 11 struck the hospital clock, in the early hours of the freshly seasoned Autumn morning. As the chaos of the early morning commute of the workers living within Auckland city had surpassed, the stress had teleported into the delivery room, where panic could be found transporting around the hospital walls. My minuscule embodiment was rushed into the world, 9 weeks premature.

The tiny body of my own, able to reside in the hand of my father. Providing me with the warmth in his hand, a protection from the cold world around me. My father not only had to deal with the near loss of his new-born son, but the potential of my mother also subsiding to the same conclusion.

My diminutive body became stripped from my fathers grasp and placed into the confined space of a tiny incubator which monitored my brittle bones and strained heartbeat. My health, closely monitored by the legion of doctors and nurses who worked relentlessly for my survival.

Losing blood and unexpected complications, my mother was abruptly carted out of the turbulent delivery room into another section of the hospital. Emergency actions urgently needed to take place to stop my mothers tender body from bleeding out, from an uncontrollable haemorrhage.

From the minute I was born I was separated from the very woman who provided me with life, I was kept alone in a sterile environment away from the contamination of the outside world. My body was at high risk of infection from all that lay behind the walls of the small incubator I was in. My isolation from the world was the key to my survival, in a claustrophobic box.

The day amounted to a high level of trauma for all participants involved, my life was almost over as soon as it had begun. My mother's medical condition could have led her to a similar demise, leaving my father with the potential of having to deal with the sudden abandonment of my mother and I, an outcome that would have destroyed him. Dealing with the unexpected suicide of his mother was already a death he had never truly mourned. The potential of having to cope with another two forms of unexpected death would have been an unlucky occurrence.

Luckily for my mother and I, life was granted to us both. And our young family of three stood tall, yet to be broken.

My entrance into this world was a struggle and a fight. A struggle that would find a way to follow me into my adolescent years, equipping me with instinct of survival. An instinct in which I had always heard about, but never truly grasped the concept of. It wasn't until recent events shook my perceptive of the world around me. Shaping my views towards a clouded outlook on life, trapped within the confined incubator of my own mind.

At the age of seventeen , I would find myself seeking shelter in the back seat of my very own car. Where my only source of protection was now administered by the streetlight above my car, shining its reminding rays of resentment towards the mother who had abandoned me in my time of need. A time where all I needed was the warm embrace of my mother, to comfort me from my mess of a mind.

It was not until my life was flipped upside down a various amount of times, that I would notice the importance of my survival instinct. In a dramatic contrast from the premature baby, fighting for his life. I found myself distressingly declining into an adolescent who's plague of dark thoughts would lead to a battle with mental illness and suicidal tendencies.

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⏰ Last updated: Mar 13, 2016 ⏰

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