Monday:
I called out today from work. Probably more nerves than anything else, although I have been coughing up thick gunk since last night. Now I'm lounging in the thick Texas heat--cut through by a warm breeze. A layer of sweat licks my brows as I'm writing this.
I shouldn't be smoking, but it's not as dangerous as my other vice.
The pills I'd doled out to last me until my appointment Wednesday (it's Monday today) have been squandered besides the 3/4 of a crushed up one. The line cut on my favorite plate, with the picture of a New York State prescription pad printed on it. The other 1/4 in my pill box, along with another one that's split in 2. That's supposed to last me until I get there at 8am in 2 days. I'll get through it. A few handfuls of loperamide (Imodium) will make it last.
There's a heavy feeling on my back. I'm not high but almost content. I will probably go back and sniff another small line to placate my unending desire.
I start at a new pharmacy tomorrow. It's in the same chain as the one I was working at, which was unceremoniously shut down a week ago. We only had 1 month's notice from the landlord. This meant a desperate scramble to prepare to leave and hundreds of confused/terrified customers.
Inside our apartment smells like rotting garbage from a sink full of dirty dishes. I can't seem to bring myself to wash them, all the while knowing I have to.
I'm trying to spend my day writing; I have to do something worthwhile since I didn't go to work today. Thick mucous bubbles up in my lungs. I cough up a small amount of sticky green crud on to my right hand as I type. As I wipe it onto my sleeve, I find a larger bolus of phlegm on the keyboard. It's the size of a large marble. (The past 5 minutes have been utterly disgusting, but on the junky scale probably only rate a 2 out of 10.)
This morning's pill barely covered up my sickness. The sign that my tolerance has reached an unhealthy level. I worry that the half a pill I have for tomorrow will barely cover me for my 8 hour shift. I plan to take 7-10 loperamide caplets (each at 2mg a pop, that number should do the trick). It'll keep me well enough to get through it... even if I'm in pain, at least I won't be in withdrawal.
Withdrawal is a powerful specter that clouds any junky's judgement. At a certain point, the high becomes second to staying well. After I took my pill for this morning, a dose that should've kept me well--I felt the sweating begin. Every muscle in my legs and back cramped up, as my stomach fell through my asshole. I had to take another pill... and then I had to take some of tomorrow's doses. I had to squander my insurance for the future in order to survive the next moment today. It's a constant cycle of need, want, and fear. But mixed in with that is the glorious high. Eye-shutting, mouth-gaping, spine-shivering euphoria is what drives us on. Then those tense moments as the sickness hangs over our heads, that is what drives us back. Every morning and every night I'm consumed with the knowledge that without my doses I'll be on the toilet, doubled over and crying in pain. Not the worst pain I've experienced, but I'd gladly trade sticking needles between my vertebrae to that.
When I was younger, off my head on drugs, with a baby habit, sickness barely factored into my calculations. Now it runs below the surface of my days, a barely audible hum in the background.
.......
#junxlife
Sunday:
The doctor wrote my oxymorphone script incorrectly. We had to go back and turn in the old one, written for a dosage that doesn't exist with instructions that are totally different from before, then pick up the correct one. But by that point on Wednesday, R had been puking and was still nauseous. Although I had the oxycodone RX filled and ready for me to dive into, the long acting oxymorphone that keeps me standing
