I yawn until the skin around my mouth can stretch no further. My mind has only one concern—the oxymorphone I’ll soon be snorting. The oxycodone, I already popped to kick in.
Pills test my patience as I wait for them to dissolve and swarm the blood brain barrier. Until they spill over and spread shivers through my spinal chord and the rest of my nervous system.
My stomach has been empty all day. Powered on by my morning coffee and the handful of pills I take. I’m basically a walking talking pharmacy. Swallowing pills for depression, ADHD, arthritis, inflammation, asthma, anxiety, and, of course, pain.
The same tablets and capsules I spill across my tray all day, count by 5s, and pour into bottles. To heal their mental and physical defects or deficiencies or at least to mask them.
The oxycodone kicks in a few stops from home. A thick layer of sweet pleasure warms my back. Each muscle has relaxed, as if my whole body is breathing a sigh of relief.
We’ll only 1 more day then I see my doctor on Wednesday. I can make it through. I know I can.
