There's ash all over my keyboard again, and now beneath the keys--no easy way to get that out of the computer. The only reason I'm awake is how violently pissed off I am by the doctor.
He theoretically accused me of being wired up by my doctors--well, more that me taking 0.25mg of xanax (the lowest dose made) for anxiety that I thought might almost mean I needed to go back to the psych ward was a problem. I couldn't get my RX because he is a moron about pharmacy law, which I didn't feel like arguing about--although if I had the chance right now I would.
Pain management doctors are so high and mighty, prosecution, judge, jury, and finally warden of the patient's medication. If he knew the laws in this state, he would know you can't fill an RX less than 2 days before the last day supply runs out (regardless of the date on the script, so if you have a 30 day supply, you can fill a new one in 28 days). He didn't know you can write in your own earliest fill day on the bottom of the RX, but it all has to be hand written. He was talking down to me about all of this, telling me that my pharmacist isn't do it properly and all this bullshit, when really I wanted to spit in his fat face.
Now I'm up at 3:30am smoking and ruminating.
Anxiety is a fucking side effect of Enbrel, my main medication for my undifferentiated spondylarthropathy (or USpA). It has been a miracle worker, but it doesn't do enough and I can't change that it is the last line of defense. I wonder if I shouldn't just lay down and go through withdrawal and wait to die in pain.
Fuck. I shouldn't let people crawl up under my skin, but I'd gladly trade bodies with a healthy person any day.
Earlier I wanted to bang my head against the wall, boiling over with rage and no way of expressing it, but I took a xanax and didn't hurt myself. Maybe it's just a bandage, but it's smaller than the one I'd need to cover the gash on my head.
Until tomorrow, with love,
Lucy
Friday, November 4, 2016
Monday, October 31, 2016
Waking Nightmare
Momentarily, I'm stranded on the sand, gulping for air.
The basket of drugs fell out of my hands, muffled as it crashed by the carpet in the pharmacy. My head jutted upwards, eyes opening widely--I had nodded out again. I bent down to pick up the bottles of medication, placing them back into the black basket.
The basket of drugs fell out of my hands, muffled as it crashed by the carpet in the pharmacy. My head jutted upwards, eyes opening widely--I had nodded out again. I bent down to pick up the bottles of medication, placing them back into the black basket.
Embarrassment could have flushed my cheeks, but I was too overcome by the stream of morphine from last night and this morning, plus the xanax as well, flooding my body. My emotions were absent, my mind far from the current situation--I can't remember any thoughts, fear.
My pharmacist was far too busy trying to control the mess in front of her; she's constantly overwhelmed by her own incompetency. L was at the register, in an area separated from the back of the pharmacy by a wall. I was on my own.
I finished putting every bottle carefully back up on the shelf and returned to the computer to type up prescriptions.
Again, I felt my neck snap forward and rattle me awake.
I was running out of control--and no one knew it. The customers weren't flooding in front of me, so I quickly ran to the back. Telling my coworkers I had to take my meds, as I quickly departed. I popped the top off my adderall bottle, and tossed it in the back of my throat with some water. If I had been more present, I would've thanked whoever created those tiny little gel caps for saving my ass.
Now the fear had started to set in, hard and fast, running down my spine and across my face. Back in the pharmacy, I made sure to keep awake and upright. I imagined I could only fall asleep twice standing up before someone noticed--not that anyone I worked with would've put the two together. At least, I don't think so--although my prescribed medications are known to my coworkers, so easy enough to chock it up to them and lack of sleep.
Hours later, I am ready to bang my head into the wall, so frustrated and out of control with no where to send these emotions. The kratom and morphine and 1 oxy, plus some xanax, is not helping me cope with myself and the knot in my stomach is growing unruly.
I just keep spinning out further each day and I don't know what I'll hit before I stop.
My pharmacist was far too busy trying to control the mess in front of her; she's constantly overwhelmed by her own incompetency. L was at the register, in an area separated from the back of the pharmacy by a wall. I was on my own.
I finished putting every bottle carefully back up on the shelf and returned to the computer to type up prescriptions.
Again, I felt my neck snap forward and rattle me awake.
I was running out of control--and no one knew it. The customers weren't flooding in front of me, so I quickly ran to the back. Telling my coworkers I had to take my meds, as I quickly departed. I popped the top off my adderall bottle, and tossed it in the back of my throat with some water. If I had been more present, I would've thanked whoever created those tiny little gel caps for saving my ass.
Now the fear had started to set in, hard and fast, running down my spine and across my face. Back in the pharmacy, I made sure to keep awake and upright. I imagined I could only fall asleep twice standing up before someone noticed--not that anyone I worked with would've put the two together. At least, I don't think so--although my prescribed medications are known to my coworkers, so easy enough to chock it up to them and lack of sleep.
Hours later, I am ready to bang my head into the wall, so frustrated and out of control with no where to send these emotions. The kratom and morphine and 1 oxy, plus some xanax, is not helping me cope with myself and the knot in my stomach is growing unruly.
I just keep spinning out further each day and I don't know what I'll hit before I stop.
Barbaric Thoughts
The front of my head screams for more, and yet there is nothing to feed it. Morphine might as well be a fucking aspirin--it has no high. It contains nothing.
I'm splayed on the bed, watching the fan spin above me spin in a blur, listening to the newest album by The Libertines (Anthems for Doomed Youth). Time ticks by waiting for the krater to set in--a crap replacement for oxycodone, when 20mg of oxy won't even get me high. At least I'm trying, that's what they always said was the important part.
Like the fan, I'm spiraling out of control with anxiety and pills. I'm far too close to being out with at least 2 weeks before I can even fill a new prescription. Living in the pharmacy, I factor in the number of days in a month, the rules of how soon I can fill, and how the doc will write my script this time--my script, my ticket out of this hell hole of a mind.
I'm far too close to cracking in 2, or 5, or dissolving into a puddle of pure excrement. Back to the old punk ways of showering barely twice a week (not a good look in public). Maybe I can just blame it on my old ways starting to break back in.
I lay my arms out across the bed and close my eyes, as if to summon the days of my youth when I would save those precious few oxys I'd thieved for the end of the week. On Friday nights, as Trainspotting or the Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson played in the distance of my darkened bedroom. My arms across my chest, ready for the grave, nodding in and out of those strange dreams. Sometimes, I'm amazed at my self control to save those pills for the end of the week, when now I can't keep myself from my fingers reaching back into the bottle for double the pills I'm prescribed.
40mg of oxycocdone/apap and 30mg of morphine er a day should suffice for one human being, but there's no way to stop myself from crawling back into that amber vial. I hand them off to R to hold for me, but he's far too nice to stop me when I request another, and another. He can't help it, he loves me, wants me happy. And sometimes, I equate happiness with being high. Depression has swept back over me like the waves on Long Beach Island, where the Atlantic would come crashing down on my head once more--suddenly gulping sea water and tumbling in the surf.
Drugs surround my every waking moment, from work to home to sleep, dreaming of aisles, shelves full of medicine for those broken minds, bodies, and bones.
I'm splayed on the bed, watching the fan spin above me spin in a blur, listening to the newest album by The Libertines (Anthems for Doomed Youth). Time ticks by waiting for the krater to set in--a crap replacement for oxycodone, when 20mg of oxy won't even get me high. At least I'm trying, that's what they always said was the important part.
Like the fan, I'm spiraling out of control with anxiety and pills. I'm far too close to being out with at least 2 weeks before I can even fill a new prescription. Living in the pharmacy, I factor in the number of days in a month, the rules of how soon I can fill, and how the doc will write my script this time--my script, my ticket out of this hell hole of a mind.
I'm far too close to cracking in 2, or 5, or dissolving into a puddle of pure excrement. Back to the old punk ways of showering barely twice a week (not a good look in public). Maybe I can just blame it on my old ways starting to break back in.
I lay my arms out across the bed and close my eyes, as if to summon the days of my youth when I would save those precious few oxys I'd thieved for the end of the week. On Friday nights, as Trainspotting or the Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson played in the distance of my darkened bedroom. My arms across my chest, ready for the grave, nodding in and out of those strange dreams. Sometimes, I'm amazed at my self control to save those pills for the end of the week, when now I can't keep myself from my fingers reaching back into the bottle for double the pills I'm prescribed.
40mg of oxycocdone/apap and 30mg of morphine er a day should suffice for one human being, but there's no way to stop myself from crawling back into that amber vial. I hand them off to R to hold for me, but he's far too nice to stop me when I request another, and another. He can't help it, he loves me, wants me happy. And sometimes, I equate happiness with being high. Depression has swept back over me like the waves on Long Beach Island, where the Atlantic would come crashing down on my head once more--suddenly gulping sea water and tumbling in the surf.
Drugs surround my every waking moment, from work to home to sleep, dreaming of aisles, shelves full of medicine for those broken minds, bodies, and bones.
Thursday, September 8, 2016
Squirming in my Skin
It is unending... a tape worm that never gets enough and it's eating through my brain. I took the 3.5 oxys after work plus now my nightly morphine, a tizanidine, and an adderall xr since Rob took one a while ago before going to class at 7:30. I figure an rx speedball is always a good night. Perhaps I'll be entertained for long enough to keep my mind off of how low my drug supply is becoming.
I have 7 days to get to my doctor appointment, which means I have only 2 oxys a day if I want to have some each day.... technically less than that even. That's half the amount I should have, minus the couple of days from then until when my fill date "should" be. However, he wrote it last time 2 days before I filled it last, and i'm hoping that means he'll let me fill it right away. He may be slightly off from his family emergency that totally fucked up my medication schedule because he wasn't in his office and no one would tell me what was going on. I ended up getting my oxys early, I filled my morphine on time, and now I'm wondering how this will all play out.
There is a special kind of hate that blossoms when you realize your past actions are constantly undermining your future comfort you can't help but hate it. I have to take a xanax, only 0.5mg, although I'm not such a big fan of them. I'm squirming in my skin and ready to run out of the room, under the Texas moon, and scream as loud as possible until all this frustration that's built up subsides.
We have no money, running out of my meds, constant stress stress stress, and I have to hold it together for R. He's an adult, and he handles a great deal of our responsibilities, but I always have to deal with the real tough shit: insurance, bonds for his school, getting his fafsa taken care of, getting our SNAP benefits together, etc.. It becomes tiring to feel like both a wife and a caregiver (not a mom). I want him to do some shit on his own, but his anxiety builds to the point where he is stammering and unable to even move let alone work on anything complicated.
I love him and I know his anxiety/mental problems are not his fault--if he could do anything, it would be to be mentally healthy.
.........
1 day until the doctor. Tonight we're off to see the Toasters, and my excitement is mixed with pain.
The soles of my feet burn and the bones running up my legs ache without end. I woke up like this and I will go to sleep like this. I am left with 1 oxy, my nightly morphine, and maybe some tea--if it's necessary to keep me on my feet for the show.
This fucking body is only 25 but 25 more years stuck here seems interminable. The only positive are the drugs--amphetamines in the morning to wake up, and morphine to keep my pain reduced, and oxycodone to really knock me and the pain out.
The world is fucked up, it's not related to fairness, but sometimes I wish that it was a little less arbitrary.
I'm rambling now. the pain is distracting pushing every thought out.
I'll be back later on.
I love you all,
Lucy
P.S. If you ever have a question or anything, feel free to comment or follow me on twitter. I'm here, just quiet sometimes.
I have 7 days to get to my doctor appointment, which means I have only 2 oxys a day if I want to have some each day.... technically less than that even. That's half the amount I should have, minus the couple of days from then until when my fill date "should" be. However, he wrote it last time 2 days before I filled it last, and i'm hoping that means he'll let me fill it right away. He may be slightly off from his family emergency that totally fucked up my medication schedule because he wasn't in his office and no one would tell me what was going on. I ended up getting my oxys early, I filled my morphine on time, and now I'm wondering how this will all play out.
There is a special kind of hate that blossoms when you realize your past actions are constantly undermining your future comfort you can't help but hate it. I have to take a xanax, only 0.5mg, although I'm not such a big fan of them. I'm squirming in my skin and ready to run out of the room, under the Texas moon, and scream as loud as possible until all this frustration that's built up subsides.
We have no money, running out of my meds, constant stress stress stress, and I have to hold it together for R. He's an adult, and he handles a great deal of our responsibilities, but I always have to deal with the real tough shit: insurance, bonds for his school, getting his fafsa taken care of, getting our SNAP benefits together, etc.. It becomes tiring to feel like both a wife and a caregiver (not a mom). I want him to do some shit on his own, but his anxiety builds to the point where he is stammering and unable to even move let alone work on anything complicated.
I love him and I know his anxiety/mental problems are not his fault--if he could do anything, it would be to be mentally healthy.
.........
1 day until the doctor. Tonight we're off to see the Toasters, and my excitement is mixed with pain.
The soles of my feet burn and the bones running up my legs ache without end. I woke up like this and I will go to sleep like this. I am left with 1 oxy, my nightly morphine, and maybe some tea--if it's necessary to keep me on my feet for the show.
This fucking body is only 25 but 25 more years stuck here seems interminable. The only positive are the drugs--amphetamines in the morning to wake up, and morphine to keep my pain reduced, and oxycodone to really knock me and the pain out.
The world is fucked up, it's not related to fairness, but sometimes I wish that it was a little less arbitrary.
I'm rambling now. the pain is distracting pushing every thought out.
I'll be back later on.
I love you all,
Lucy
P.S. If you ever have a question or anything, feel free to comment or follow me on twitter. I'm here, just quiet sometimes.
Saturday, May 7, 2016
Speedballing Behind the Pharmacy Counter
I haven't posted in such a long time because of all the crazy shit going on... I'll make a list of what's changed for the most part:
- We now live in downtown Austin
- We got engaged, and legally married
- Our "real" wedding is in about a month
- I'm still working at the pharmacy and training for my exam
- Rob is being brutalized by his job, but pushing himself through to support us (that's not really new...)
....otherwise life is basically the same
It's been rather strange working in the pharmacy lately--stranger than usual that is. There's been such a large talk about addiction that my lead pharmacist and I have even discussed it a few times...which is, as you might imagine, incredibly awkward for me (luckily she can't read minds or I wouldn't have a job or my meds filled there anymore).
This past week with the death of Prince, she was saying how we (people in the pharmacy) are on the frontline to help people by not filling their prescriptions. As long as you only go to the same doctor (dirty or not), and go to the same pharmacies, no one would every suspect you had a problem--unless you come in high as balls and slurring your words or get a million downer RXs. It is true that we can see who they have been getting scripts from and if it's multiple doctors--as well as catching forged rxs.
We recently caught a woman trying to phone in 120 soma for a 25 day supply--as well as some phentermine, I guess to try and wake her up from her coma. It was apparent to me that it was a fake, not only because that sounds like a recreation of Brace New World, it was supposedly sent from someone at a doctor's office that I use. She also called in some phentermine, to help awaken her from her coma. Now, this rx was called in at 7:30, but that place barely does anything during the time they are open, so there is no way that was happening (I'm pretty sure emergency soma and phentermine doesn't exist...). Of course, the next day once we called in to the office, the doctor and DEA# were real, but they no longer worked there. I'm sure the night before when she came in to pick it up, and my pharmacist told her we couldn't dispense it because we spoke to the doctor that she was shitting her pants (figuratively). The obese woman with the fake soma RX never reappeared to find out what happened, but I wish I knew...
I was thinking about it the other day and I realized that my doctors are currently prescribing me a pharmaceutical speedball: morphine er and amphetamine er on a daily basis. I take them together in the morning, with oxy at night (sometimes in the day) to sate my cravings for the intense high I need to keep going. I don't know why it took me so long to make this connection, but I've been on this for almost a year without any thought to it.
Right now I'm laying on the suede futon under the afternoon sun flowing through our den. My mind is swimming with a content pleasure that's numbed the majority of the pain in my twisted ankle and aching back. My lower back is pulsing with some pain reminiscent of pulling the tendons or muscles around my spine... who know what I did to fuck up my back and ankle this time. Recently, my ankle has been killing me the past few days. It's snug in an ACE bandage to apply pressure and keep it in place, which keeps most of the pain at bay.
I was suddenly hit with pain running down the bone of my left hip. This is bone and neuropathy pain is the newest addition to my host of problems. Every part of my body is breaking down, powered by chemicals taken every day or injected once a week, yet still constantly in pain. I wish I was naive enough to believe there was enough medicine in the world to cut off all my pain, without ending in an overdose. Sadly, I'm aware my situation with pain is futile, maybe that's what fuels me to constantly seek out my high in the pills they give me. I get 4 10-325mg oxy everyday, along with my 2 morphine er, to help me survive the day without jumping into the abyss of suicide.
I've been able to keep working with the help of the drugs. With the opiates constantly coursing through my veins, the pain I feel I can push down to at least make it through the day as I'm standing on my feet through out the day.
The abyss swallowed me up a few minutes ago, and I came back just now. My mind was divided, part lying right below the surface of consciousness, and the rest fallen deep into a hole of strange vivid dreams or into an empty void.
On that note, I'm going to get back to enjoying my afternoon. I will come back and write more in the next few days, as there are many stories I've accrued over the past few months that I need to share. We'll see each other again soon.
Love,
Lucy
- We now live in downtown Austin
- We got engaged, and legally married
- Our "real" wedding is in about a month
- I'm still working at the pharmacy and training for my exam
- Rob is being brutalized by his job, but pushing himself through to support us (that's not really new...)
....otherwise life is basically the same
It's been rather strange working in the pharmacy lately--stranger than usual that is. There's been such a large talk about addiction that my lead pharmacist and I have even discussed it a few times...which is, as you might imagine, incredibly awkward for me (luckily she can't read minds or I wouldn't have a job or my meds filled there anymore).
This past week with the death of Prince, she was saying how we (people in the pharmacy) are on the frontline to help people by not filling their prescriptions. As long as you only go to the same doctor (dirty or not), and go to the same pharmacies, no one would every suspect you had a problem--unless you come in high as balls and slurring your words or get a million downer RXs. It is true that we can see who they have been getting scripts from and if it's multiple doctors--as well as catching forged rxs.
We recently caught a woman trying to phone in 120 soma for a 25 day supply--as well as some phentermine, I guess to try and wake her up from her coma. It was apparent to me that it was a fake, not only because that sounds like a recreation of Brace New World, it was supposedly sent from someone at a doctor's office that I use. She also called in some phentermine, to help awaken her from her coma. Now, this rx was called in at 7:30, but that place barely does anything during the time they are open, so there is no way that was happening (I'm pretty sure emergency soma and phentermine doesn't exist...). Of course, the next day once we called in to the office, the doctor and DEA# were real, but they no longer worked there. I'm sure the night before when she came in to pick it up, and my pharmacist told her we couldn't dispense it because we spoke to the doctor that she was shitting her pants (figuratively). The obese woman with the fake soma RX never reappeared to find out what happened, but I wish I knew...
I was thinking about it the other day and I realized that my doctors are currently prescribing me a pharmaceutical speedball: morphine er and amphetamine er on a daily basis. I take them together in the morning, with oxy at night (sometimes in the day) to sate my cravings for the intense high I need to keep going. I don't know why it took me so long to make this connection, but I've been on this for almost a year without any thought to it.
Right now I'm laying on the suede futon under the afternoon sun flowing through our den. My mind is swimming with a content pleasure that's numbed the majority of the pain in my twisted ankle and aching back. My lower back is pulsing with some pain reminiscent of pulling the tendons or muscles around my spine... who know what I did to fuck up my back and ankle this time. Recently, my ankle has been killing me the past few days. It's snug in an ACE bandage to apply pressure and keep it in place, which keeps most of the pain at bay.
I was suddenly hit with pain running down the bone of my left hip. This is bone and neuropathy pain is the newest addition to my host of problems. Every part of my body is breaking down, powered by chemicals taken every day or injected once a week, yet still constantly in pain. I wish I was naive enough to believe there was enough medicine in the world to cut off all my pain, without ending in an overdose. Sadly, I'm aware my situation with pain is futile, maybe that's what fuels me to constantly seek out my high in the pills they give me. I get 4 10-325mg oxy everyday, along with my 2 morphine er, to help me survive the day without jumping into the abyss of suicide.
I've been able to keep working with the help of the drugs. With the opiates constantly coursing through my veins, the pain I feel I can push down to at least make it through the day as I'm standing on my feet through out the day.
The abyss swallowed me up a few minutes ago, and I came back just now. My mind was divided, part lying right below the surface of consciousness, and the rest fallen deep into a hole of strange vivid dreams or into an empty void.
On that note, I'm going to get back to enjoying my afternoon. I will come back and write more in the next few days, as there are many stories I've accrued over the past few months that I need to share. We'll see each other again soon.
Love,
Lucy
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