We started drinking at 11am. It's now 9:20pm. I'm covered in mosquito bites, temples pulsing with the approaching hangover. 3 mimosas, and what... 4 beers? Or 6 beers? I don't know anymore. In the past, this would've been nothing for me. But now, with a husband who doesn't drink, my tolerance is strikingly low. But this weekend is going to be different...
My 3 best friends from home are here. They flew in this morning, and are staying a few blocks away at a cute little house from AirBnB.
I now have to spend the next 6 days walking a thin line and hiding whatever remnants of my past they think have died, are still alive and well. These are the people who saw me before and after I first started shooting pills, went into the hospital, went to college, got hooked and clean from coke, moved to Texas, etc. etc.. Of the 27 years I've been alive, I known 2 of them for 20 years, and the other almost as long.
Although it's been 2 years since I last saw them, it seems like no time has passed. The possible mischief that will ensue this weekend, reminiscent of high school, is exciting. I've been overwhelmed with joy since the moment they arrived. Just being in their presence is more euphoric than any drug I've ever taken.
However... friendship won't keep me out of withdrawals. My doctor appointment is Tuesday and I'll be able to squeak by until then. Enough oxymorphone er to get me to that morning, and only 4 more oxycodone... I gave in and took my third one of the day today. Technically, I'm prescribed 4 per day, so that's not an issue. But my own indulgence at the beginning of the month has meant (as it does every month) I have to ration them. 2 oxys per day, 2 oxymorphone er per day. That's it... until push comes to shove, and then, ya know, sometimes you have to take another that was meant for a day or two from now.
My future self hates my guts, but she's not here right now. She never is--just a distant possibility.
-------------------------
I haven't craved coke in so long. Being out at all the bars downtown, walking endless blocks, all I could think of was that odd taste of gasoline (or was it rubbing alcohol) numbing the back of my throat. Stress from trying to meet every dietary restriction was causing me a headache. Pissed off at their ungrateful attitudes as I led them to a place I knew would have food for everyone. I wanted something, anything to keep me going. To keep me from losing my mind. To get me as high as I wasn't right then.
I'm not sure what to do about taking my next pill later on. How to get the powder to their place and snort it in one quick snap. I haven't crushed one up in a fold dollar bill in ages. I am thinking of grinding it up here and finding a way to transport it. Maybe like the good old days in my contact case. Yeah, that's a good idea. Ill just do that.
Just because they're here that doesn't change anything. Just another obstacle to get what I need.
Saturday, September 29, 2018
Thursday, September 27, 2018
Self-Control and Lack Thereof
The bottle looks curiously empty. Well, 1/4 full is more exact. I could count the pills.
But once you know the number, then it all becomes real. The anxiety sets in. How will I make it to the end of the month? How will I work? How will I get high?
With 2 weeks to go, I shouldn't be this low. I've been rationing down to 2 pills per day since I noticed it. I've actually had enough self control to stick to it, too. It's a skill, shoving down those most intense impulses in the moment, that I mostly fail at practicing.
Right now, my left nostril clogged full of oxymorphone, only one oxycodone for after work, yet I've stuck to my goal. I haven't taken another oxycodone from my dwindling supply. Each drag of my cigarette only intensifying the opiates storming through my nervous system. The mosquitoes are eating me alive as I sit out here in front of our apartment. I hope they all overdose from the chemicals in my blood.
My best friends from home are coming out for the 6 days right before my appointment. I can't be in pain or withdrawal while we're hanging out and enjoying the city. It's the only reason I'm working hard to control myself. I don't want to ruin the time that they're out here, crumpled on the toilet, intestines ready to explode from my asshole, sweating out the chemicals I stuff down my throat and nose, unable to function beyond breathing and shitting. It's one thing to put myself through that hell, it's another to take away from the short time I have to see them. It'll be the first time since my wedding that we'll be together--and I can't wait!
-------------
I took 800mg of Cimetidine (brand name Tagamet) to potentiate the oxymorphone and oxycodone. It is working perfectly. There are perks to be a pharmacy tech, one of them is a nuanced understanding of how drugs are metabolized. In this instance, cimetidine works to inhibit the enzymes that breakdown oxycodone and excrete it. This allows more of the drug to build up, producing a better high. Oxymorphone is broken down into oxycodone--thus both drugs are now building up to perfect levels in my blood stream. The spot in the center of my forehead is overwhelmed with those calming effects that only opiates can bring. Each cigarette drag another torrent of dopamine rushes through my spine. I'm sweating from the muggy Texas heat, even though it's already 5:48pm. But in this state it's almost bearable.
But once you know the number, then it all becomes real. The anxiety sets in. How will I make it to the end of the month? How will I work? How will I get high?
With 2 weeks to go, I shouldn't be this low. I've been rationing down to 2 pills per day since I noticed it. I've actually had enough self control to stick to it, too. It's a skill, shoving down those most intense impulses in the moment, that I mostly fail at practicing.
Right now, my left nostril clogged full of oxymorphone, only one oxycodone for after work, yet I've stuck to my goal. I haven't taken another oxycodone from my dwindling supply. Each drag of my cigarette only intensifying the opiates storming through my nervous system. The mosquitoes are eating me alive as I sit out here in front of our apartment. I hope they all overdose from the chemicals in my blood.
My best friends from home are coming out for the 6 days right before my appointment. I can't be in pain or withdrawal while we're hanging out and enjoying the city. It's the only reason I'm working hard to control myself. I don't want to ruin the time that they're out here, crumpled on the toilet, intestines ready to explode from my asshole, sweating out the chemicals I stuff down my throat and nose, unable to function beyond breathing and shitting. It's one thing to put myself through that hell, it's another to take away from the short time I have to see them. It'll be the first time since my wedding that we'll be together--and I can't wait!
-------------
I took 800mg of Cimetidine (brand name Tagamet) to potentiate the oxymorphone and oxycodone. It is working perfectly. There are perks to be a pharmacy tech, one of them is a nuanced understanding of how drugs are metabolized. In this instance, cimetidine works to inhibit the enzymes that breakdown oxycodone and excrete it. This allows more of the drug to build up, producing a better high. Oxymorphone is broken down into oxycodone--thus both drugs are now building up to perfect levels in my blood stream. The spot in the center of my forehead is overwhelmed with those calming effects that only opiates can bring. Each cigarette drag another torrent of dopamine rushes through my spine. I'm sweating from the muggy Texas heat, even though it's already 5:48pm. But in this state it's almost bearable.
Thursday, September 13, 2018
Slinging Pills
This afternoon at the pharmacy:
"I'd like to get these filled." She hands me 2 prescriptions.
Before reading the name or anything else, I ask "Have you been here before?"
"They're not for me, they're for my mom. And yeah, she has."
The name immediately jumps out at me. It's her...
-----
She had come in last Friday, gripping a stack of scripts in her pudgy fingers.
"I went to HEB, but they said it would take 5 hours--and I don't have time to wait for that."
"Alright, let me see what you have."
Clonazepam 2mg. Hydrocodone-APAP 5/325mg. Tramadol 50mg.
2 opioids and a benzo--a combination that can easily cause respiratory depression. Only a doctor that didn't care or didn't like her patient would write these 3 together.
There was a handwritten note on the top of the Tramadol RX: "gave 2." What the fuck? It's an opioid... why would they give her any without filling the RX? Was the pharmacist high, too?
"Give me one moment." I could tell she was hesitant to let me walk away.
I walk the 15' over to my pharmacist B and begin to whisper, "You remember, that woman, Dina, who is always trying to get controls and has brought in fake scripts before? She just dropped these off. Tramadol, hydrocodone, and clonazepam"
B looked at each one slowly, taking a moment to process the information. The warp speed of the pharmacy continued on around us, but now I could sense each sluggish second slipping past me.
"I'll have to check the PMP before we fill these and call the doctor." She said, eyebrows raised far above her black, cat-eye glasses. (The PMP is the state's prescription monitoring program. It allows us to see all the prescriptions for controlled medications that an individual has filled at any pharmacies. It provides us with the name of the medication, dosage and quantity, as well as the prescriber etc.. It is our way of tracking any patient who we know to be a doctor shopper or pharmacy hopper--those 2 favorite pass times of pill heads.)
"Okay, I'll tell her it'll be an hour or two...?" trying to gauge if that was what I should do. I could feel the burning sensation on the back of my neck increasing from Dina's scalding gaze.
"Sure."
A rush of anxiety rolled down my spine as I approached the counter. Her lips drew a straight line across her face, her clenched jaws frozen with anxiety. I knew she was shitting it but pretending to be an average, exasperated patient with no time to wait.
"Miss Dina? My pharmacist has to confirm some information with your doctor before we can fill them so it'll probably be 1 to 2 hours." my tone wavered. I braced myself and waited to hear an onslaught of "fuck you"s.
"I don't have time for this." She spat, "Give my prescriptions back and I'll go somewhere else!"
"Alright, let me grab them." Glad to be rid of her, and pleasantly surprised not to be subjected to a torrent of abuse.
B was already on the PMP looking her up, as I told her that Dina was going to get them filled somewhere else because she doesn't "have time to wait." Once more her eyebrows raise in mock surprise, "Okay."
-----
Now (only 6 days later), I am faced with her prescriptions again. Another cocktail of CNS depressants. The first one is Clonazepam 2mg (again), and the second is codeine/acetaminophen 30/300mg (another opioid). Welp, I understand. Downers are my favorites, too.
"Did you want to wait or come back?" I ask the girl as she twirls the hair from her ponytail around her finger. She's probably not more than 17 years old.
"I'll wait. How long do you think it'll be?"
"15 or 20 minutes."
"Okay. I'll be here." I begin to type in the date of birth on script as the girl's ponytail disappeared between the store aisles.
When I search her birthday, Dina's name doesn't appear. Assuming I typed it incorrectly, I do it again. Still not there. I search her up by name. Her date of birth is 11/19/1973 on the prescription, but our system (correctly) has 11/19/1975.
I can already hear my pharmacist M saying, in his clipped Egyptian accent: "tell hem we don't have it." That was his way of dealing with forgeries or questionable RXs, making them another pharmacy's problem. (A practice which is frowned upon.)
Sidling up alongside my coworker Ann as she's typing up electronic RXs that are coming in faster than we can fill them. I hand her the prescriptions and point out the name. "Look who it is!"
"Are you kidding me?"
"Nope. This time she had her daughter bring them in. Also, check this out!" I search her up by name. "The birthday they have on these scripts is 2 years off." We both had stupid smirks on our faces. Dina's game is going to be up very quickly... at least with these doctors.
"Do you wanna call the doctor?" I ask her. "I'm supposed to be doing production." I give am exaggerated glance at M, whose standing behind us. It's only a matter of time before he questions what I'm doing without a spatula in my hand and a vial in the other.
"Sure. No problem."
"Let me know how it goes!" I sing.
Back at the production work station, I see that 10 prescriptions are coming due in the next 30 minutes. The printer roars into life and spits out labels, while I run to the shelves and pull drugs that I see will be first. Proair, Metformin 500mg, Lisinopril 10m, Duloxetine Dr 30mg...
A mix of curiosity and excitement builds up in my guts, but I refuse to acknowledge it. Instead, I keep filling as quickly as possible, almost unable to steal glances over at Ann to see if she's off the phone with the doctor's office yet.
5 people suddenly appear at the register. I speed them through the process. When I step back to the computer and glance back at the time, it's been about 15 minutes since I handed off the scripts. Ann is still on the phone. I can see her shaking her head in agreement, before putting the receiver down.
Right then, four people get in line at the register. Reluctantly, I drag my maroon, high-top Adidas, with the black wings, over to them. My curiosity is overwhelming. I wanna catch that bitch.
All I want is that satisfaction of catching her in the web of lies she's spun. The trail of identities, doctors, prescriptions that she didn't think we'd notice is now her undoing.
Finally, freed from the register. I glance around to check and make sure no customers are approaching.
"What'd you find out?" I run over to Ann, brimming with enthusiasm.
"So, they have to files for her at the hospital under those 2 birthdays. Each file has the same name, address, emergency contacts, everything, but the social security numbers are different."
"Holy shit." I've never had a customer that dedicated to the pursuit of pills. Her addiction or business must run deep.
"I asked if they had a copy of her driver's license under the fake date of birth, but they didn't. I don't know how that's possible. When I worked in the hospital, I made sure to scan that in for every person."
"Yeah, I've had to do that just to go to my regular doctors. What the fuck?"
"Yup. But, they didn't want to void the prescriptions. However, the nurse is going to alert the doctor."
"Again, let me say: What. The. Fuck? They aren't going to void them? I wonder if the doctor is complicit..."
A moment of stunned silence hangs between us, the possible enormity of this find is overwhelming.
"What's going on?" M has noticed that we've been talking.
Ann explains the situation to him.
"Just tell her we don't have them." Dismissing all of our work with the flick of his wrist, as he waves Ann over to the drop off to tell Dina's daughter.
I wonder if she knows about her mom's double life... I will never do this to my future kids. I've crossed a lot of lines in my life but I will never cross this one.
Her daughter is annoyed with us, just as impatient as her mother. She leaves in a huff, stomping off to buy the bag of powdered donuts hanging from her left hand--no wiser of all the information we've pulled up on her mother's life.
I'm sure we'll see Dina again... and I can't fucking wait to catch her.
Until later,
Lucy
Saturday, September 8, 2018
Lope a' dope
Monday 12p
God, those malicious thoughts trickle in until I'm drowning in lust.
I am a junky. I don't care what I toss in my body as long as it works. By that I mean, gets me fucked up. I pray those 24 Immodium ADs I took will do the trick. Only down now to 1 10mg oxymorphone er, divided into 2 pieces: 1 for tomorrow before work, 1 for tonight around 4pm. I'll snort the 1 tonight, heightened by the Immodium blocking the opiate receptors in my bowels.
After only 20 minutes right now, I can feel those tiny tablets kicking in, my head going blank and heavy. The weight of a thousand bowling balls on the back of my neck. Eyes cross and uncross.
This morning at 2am I woke up with the ominous feeling that I would soon be doubled over on the toilet, cursing my existence. I refused to get up until 3 am when I began to worry I'd be shitting the bed. By the time it was 4, and I'd left, I was overwhelmed with disgust for what had flooded out of me. Sweating and shitting all the chemicals out of my system. Left to wonder whether once all the chemicals were gone, what would even be left?
The lope makes it almost bearable. Its long half-life and affinity for the receptors in the guts manage my worst symptoms. It keeps me from diving off the edge and hunting for another way to take the edge off. If only I could control myself, this wouldn't happen every month. But, who am I kidding, that would require self-control--and I have none.
---------
Saturday 11:11am
The doctor appoint on Tuesday was a repeat of the month before, and the month before that. The repetitive farce ad infinitum.
The PA's smile was kind, framed by straight auburn hair down to her chest. Cherubic cheeks highlighted her youth, she might be 35, but well below 40.
"We talked at the last time appointment about tapering your dosage down to be more inline with the recommended 90 morphine milligram equivalent. And right now you're at 120. Have you thought about which medicine you want to reduce?"
I understood every word she said. I'd done the calculations before on the app on my phone, the CDC's opioid calculator for morphine milligram equivalency per day. Both my 4 oxycodone/apap 10/325 per day and my 2 oxymorphone er 10mg are equal to 60mg of morphine, respectively. A small part of me was interested in lowering my dose. Perhaps the lower the dosage goes the less of a junky I am. Is that how it works?
"I think we could try going down on the oxymorphone er."
"Okay. Now you'll be taking 7.5mg twice a day. That'll bring you down to 105MME. And then once you're doing well on that, we can talk about the next step. This will also mean you can your Percocet at 4 times per day."
"Sounds great."
"Is there anything else I can do for you today?"
"Nope. That's it. I have enough refills on my tizanidine (my muscle relaxer)."
"Okay, great. I will need a urine sample today."
Thank fuck I didn't take anything this week that would show up. Being a good girl means never having to worry about coming up positive on a urine screen.
"Alright."
"Once you're done, you can go out and make an appt for 4 weeks from now."
"Sound good. Thank you!"
"You're welcome! Have a nice day."
I'm concerned about tapering down. But, at the same time, happy I can keep my Percocet dosage. The oxymorphone high produces a much stronger nod. Unable to control it, I find myself jolting awake on the patio most nights, worried the neighbors have seen me. It's an unmistakable scene to anyone who isn't naive about the drug world.
The oxycodone high is more euphoric. A blissful warmth of euphoria wrapping it's loving arms around me. Without that, what would be the point? It's the soothing balm to my daily battle to keep returning the pharmacy and the abuse by my boss behind the counter as well as customers on the other side of it.
Without R, I would have no reason to fight my own desire to stay in bed and never leave. But that pills make it possible, physically and mentally, to press on.
Let's hope this taper doesn't make that impossible.
All the best,
Lucy
God, those malicious thoughts trickle in until I'm drowning in lust.
I am a junky. I don't care what I toss in my body as long as it works. By that I mean, gets me fucked up. I pray those 24 Immodium ADs I took will do the trick. Only down now to 1 10mg oxymorphone er, divided into 2 pieces: 1 for tomorrow before work, 1 for tonight around 4pm. I'll snort the 1 tonight, heightened by the Immodium blocking the opiate receptors in my bowels.
After only 20 minutes right now, I can feel those tiny tablets kicking in, my head going blank and heavy. The weight of a thousand bowling balls on the back of my neck. Eyes cross and uncross.
This morning at 2am I woke up with the ominous feeling that I would soon be doubled over on the toilet, cursing my existence. I refused to get up until 3 am when I began to worry I'd be shitting the bed. By the time it was 4, and I'd left, I was overwhelmed with disgust for what had flooded out of me. Sweating and shitting all the chemicals out of my system. Left to wonder whether once all the chemicals were gone, what would even be left?
The lope makes it almost bearable. Its long half-life and affinity for the receptors in the guts manage my worst symptoms. It keeps me from diving off the edge and hunting for another way to take the edge off. If only I could control myself, this wouldn't happen every month. But, who am I kidding, that would require self-control--and I have none.
---------
Saturday 11:11am
The doctor appoint on Tuesday was a repeat of the month before, and the month before that. The repetitive farce ad infinitum.
The PA's smile was kind, framed by straight auburn hair down to her chest. Cherubic cheeks highlighted her youth, she might be 35, but well below 40.
"We talked at the last time appointment about tapering your dosage down to be more inline with the recommended 90 morphine milligram equivalent. And right now you're at 120. Have you thought about which medicine you want to reduce?"
I understood every word she said. I'd done the calculations before on the app on my phone, the CDC's opioid calculator for morphine milligram equivalency per day. Both my 4 oxycodone/apap 10/325 per day and my 2 oxymorphone er 10mg are equal to 60mg of morphine, respectively. A small part of me was interested in lowering my dose. Perhaps the lower the dosage goes the less of a junky I am. Is that how it works?
"I think we could try going down on the oxymorphone er."
"Okay. Now you'll be taking 7.5mg twice a day. That'll bring you down to 105MME. And then once you're doing well on that, we can talk about the next step. This will also mean you can your Percocet at 4 times per day."
"Sounds great."
"Is there anything else I can do for you today?"
"Nope. That's it. I have enough refills on my tizanidine (my muscle relaxer)."
"Okay, great. I will need a urine sample today."
Thank fuck I didn't take anything this week that would show up. Being a good girl means never having to worry about coming up positive on a urine screen.
"Alright."
"Once you're done, you can go out and make an appt for 4 weeks from now."
"Sound good. Thank you!"
"You're welcome! Have a nice day."
I'm concerned about tapering down. But, at the same time, happy I can keep my Percocet dosage. The oxymorphone high produces a much stronger nod. Unable to control it, I find myself jolting awake on the patio most nights, worried the neighbors have seen me. It's an unmistakable scene to anyone who isn't naive about the drug world.
The oxycodone high is more euphoric. A blissful warmth of euphoria wrapping it's loving arms around me. Without that, what would be the point? It's the soothing balm to my daily battle to keep returning the pharmacy and the abuse by my boss behind the counter as well as customers on the other side of it.
Without R, I would have no reason to fight my own desire to stay in bed and never leave. But that pills make it possible, physically and mentally, to press on.
Let's hope this taper doesn't make that impossible.
All the best,
Lucy
Monday, September 3, 2018
Wasting Face
Saturday, August 24, 2018
Midnight
The soft pallet at the back of my throat is caving in, expanding my nasal passages. Soon when I snort pills all the powder will simply fly down the back of my throat, no better than popping them. I ignore the niggling pain in the roof of my mouth, that burns after each line. The oxymorphone clings to the wet spaces, the irritation never goes away—no matter how much water I gulp.
It's been 8 hours since I got home and inhaled my nightly medication, but the sting of the powder lingers. That last bit of sugar stuck at the bottom of the coffee cup.
Tonight I decided to make tea for the first time in probably a year at least. I made the first batch an hour ago, and only drank the second about 10 minutes ago. It pours into each of my limbs like thick concrete. My muscles ache with each movement under the weight. Around 11:30pm, I ate a bowl of cereal--my only meal of the day besides breakfast and a bag of sour gummy bears this afternoon.
1:50 am
The tea only weighed me down with a stoned-out, stomaching-churning, body-high. I relented to the thought rattling on in my brain: "snort your morning dose at 3am, you'll end up doing your night one at 3 in the afternoon anyway."
R was nestled under the covers in our bed. The handmade quilt (made for us by a friend as a wedding gift) pushed to my side of the bed. A swirling noise hung in the air from the fan spinning overhead. It has to be kept on low at night, on any of the higher settings it squeaks and rocks wildly. I have imagined it flinging itself from the ceiling, onto my prone body far too many times.
I am sure his eyes opened just enough to see me slide my nightstand drawers open, pulling out all my supplies in silence. Until it came time to grab the medicine bottle, I gave the first one I picked up a shake--too empty. The next one was far too heavy. But that third one was my oxymorphone. With my index finger I fished one out, before returning the bottle and closing the drawer.
After the drawer was closed and I put everything down on the sofa, I realized I had forgot the alcohol swabs. Once more, I snuck in and grabbed a couple--1 for now, the rest to be kept in the living room for next time.
I hit play on the remote to continue watching Live PD. (I love the stupid people on that show... R hates it, so I have to watch it when he's asleep). The alcohol pad was slowly stained with orange dye as I rubbed the ever-whitening tablet on it. The most heavenly creamsicle. I then toweled it off with my paper towel, removing the slimy film of alcohol left on it.
I dropped it and twisted down the lid of my pill crusher (the best $5 a junky with a pill habit could spend available at any grocery or drug store). Each time the resistance grew weaker as the powder became finer, until I felt none.
The $2 bill I use to snort my oxymorphone with was a gift from my old pharmacist. She had given it to myself and another tech to put into our wallets as good luck--that way we would always have $2 if an emergency arrived. Instead, I found it more amusing to do the act she found most abhorrent with it. A sick joke just for me.
My future-self requested that I only snort half. Enough to top off the tea for a good high, and leave me with enough for later on in the morning. However, as has been proven for over a decade now (as retold on this blog), I have no self-control. Once the thought enters into my mind, it becomes immovable.
2:26am
To breathe, I have to keep my mouth open a little bit. Whenever I'm not sucking down another cigarette, at least. I'm all alone outside our apartment, feet pressed to the painted green bars of the walk way, leaning back in one of our wicker kitchen chairs. They were my father's from his first apartment in the late 70s, our kitchen table chairs when I was a child, and then ours. Now 2 of them are always outside are place, except during downpours.
There's a light breeze blowing my smoke across the computer screen. Nausea keeps creeping up on me (I baked some cookies a little while ago), but I can't control the desire for the pull on each cigarette I devour. There's a lamp post on the other side of the courtyard
The morphine mixes with the oxymorphone to create a strange high--the heavy morphine numbness and the oxymorphine pleasure. It blasts up my spine once more and leaves an aurora of pleasure in every extremity. My blood pulses faster along the my skin, reverberating in my ears.
Orbs glow on top of the lamp posts beneath me. Like tiny moons, so close I could touch them, if only I could get a little closer.
Wednesday 5:53pm
There is no high. 25 mg of oxycodone produces nothing. I might as well have taken a tylenol and called it a night. Once more, I fucked myself. The same story each month repeated ad nauseam. I've used up my pills too soon and now I have to make up for 2 missing doses. I decided to skip my regular oxymorphone dose tonight, opting to take 2.5 oxycodone instead--hoping they would make up for it. But that thick oxymorphone high, or upbeat oxycodone, is elusive.
My cravings are growing steadily with each passing second. All I want is to feel that warm, fucked up glow.
What can I say? I'm a junky to the core. There will never be enough chemicals in my blood stream to fill the desire in my head. The spot in the middle of my forehead pulses, waiting for a sensation that isn't going to come.
Maybe if I split one of my oxymorphone er tablets... one half tonight, one half tomorrow... but I still be short my morning dose the day of my appointment on Tuesday.
But once Tuesday rolls around, that fat bottle full of chalky tablets will be more than my greedy mind can absorb. Sometimes I'm surprised I haven't OD'd yet after receiving a new prescription. I pop the tablets with a reckless abandon more fit for the end of the world, than a regular week night.
Time to go back inside now, put down the cigarettes and reevaluate this situation. Once the thought of taking another dose hits me, it runs rampant. All logic vanishes. Concern for my future condition are erased and supplanted by the screaming desire of now.
6:09pm
And my overwhelming desire overrode my better judgement once again. Sniffle every few seconds to keep the powder in my nose, running through the passages and burning my throat. That raw hole in the back of my pallet is expanding every day.
I don't feel high. I doubt I will. It was 4 when I popped those oxycodone, and after 2 hours, this 5 mg of oxymorphone won't do shit. It's more to quiet the screaming. However, I feel them growing louder.
Fuck the future. Sniff the rest of the pill now. You can take lots of loperamide later... over the weekend. You'll be home if you end up shitting yourself. You deserve to be miserable anyway. You could always get drunk, that'll strengthen the effects. Invite people over Saturday and get wasted,
Or maybe I'll just take some alprazolam right now. Even if the high doesn't surface, it'll quiet my mind.
6:45pm
Nine tiny alprazolam tablets (Xanax) floated at the bottom of the bottle. I took two, washed down with Glacier Freeze Gatorade (The best flavor--and if you don't think so, fight me! ;). They're only 0.25mg tablets, but two will fuck me up easily. I have no tolerance to benzos, unlike the monstrous once I've created with opioids.
It was a bad sign when I did black tar those couple times last year and found the high lackluster. Perhaps it was also my overwhelming histamine response, resulting in me stripping down naked to try and sleep (not really appropriate attire with friends in the next room). Out of Benadryl, still awake with a constant need to scratch, Lee and I walked to the gas station at 6am to purchase some (and I don't do anything at 6am, so this is a testament to my dire need for antihistamines).
6:53pm
I swear the alprazolam is kicking, but it may be that more of the oxymorphone has been absorbed.
7:17pm
Giggles stream from my mouth. Idiotic jokes funneled through my euphoria become examples of my great wit. Every thought is no longer consumed by an overwhelming desire to take more opiates.
8:09pm
But that freedom is short lived as the disinhibiting properties of the alprazolam grow stronger. That shitty opiate high. That apathy to the future.
It has dawned on me that this RX for xanax from my psychiatrist may get me in trouble with my pain management doctor. All the rules I had to sign there, as far as I know, none stated I couldn't be prescribed benzos.)
Midnight
The soft pallet at the back of my throat is caving in, expanding my nasal passages. Soon when I snort pills all the powder will simply fly down the back of my throat, no better than popping them. I ignore the niggling pain in the roof of my mouth, that burns after each line. The oxymorphone clings to the wet spaces, the irritation never goes away—no matter how much water I gulp.
It's been 8 hours since I got home and inhaled my nightly medication, but the sting of the powder lingers. That last bit of sugar stuck at the bottom of the coffee cup.
Tonight I decided to make tea for the first time in probably a year at least. I made the first batch an hour ago, and only drank the second about 10 minutes ago. It pours into each of my limbs like thick concrete. My muscles ache with each movement under the weight. Around 11:30pm, I ate a bowl of cereal--my only meal of the day besides breakfast and a bag of sour gummy bears this afternoon.
1:50 am
The tea only weighed me down with a stoned-out, stomaching-churning, body-high. I relented to the thought rattling on in my brain: "snort your morning dose at 3am, you'll end up doing your night one at 3 in the afternoon anyway."
R was nestled under the covers in our bed. The handmade quilt (made for us by a friend as a wedding gift) pushed to my side of the bed. A swirling noise hung in the air from the fan spinning overhead. It has to be kept on low at night, on any of the higher settings it squeaks and rocks wildly. I have imagined it flinging itself from the ceiling, onto my prone body far too many times.
I am sure his eyes opened just enough to see me slide my nightstand drawers open, pulling out all my supplies in silence. Until it came time to grab the medicine bottle, I gave the first one I picked up a shake--too empty. The next one was far too heavy. But that third one was my oxymorphone. With my index finger I fished one out, before returning the bottle and closing the drawer.
After the drawer was closed and I put everything down on the sofa, I realized I had forgot the alcohol swabs. Once more, I snuck in and grabbed a couple--1 for now, the rest to be kept in the living room for next time.
I hit play on the remote to continue watching Live PD. (I love the stupid people on that show... R hates it, so I have to watch it when he's asleep). The alcohol pad was slowly stained with orange dye as I rubbed the ever-whitening tablet on it. The most heavenly creamsicle. I then toweled it off with my paper towel, removing the slimy film of alcohol left on it.
I dropped it and twisted down the lid of my pill crusher (the best $5 a junky with a pill habit could spend available at any grocery or drug store). Each time the resistance grew weaker as the powder became finer, until I felt none.
The $2 bill I use to snort my oxymorphone with was a gift from my old pharmacist. She had given it to myself and another tech to put into our wallets as good luck--that way we would always have $2 if an emergency arrived. Instead, I found it more amusing to do the act she found most abhorrent with it. A sick joke just for me.
My future-self requested that I only snort half. Enough to top off the tea for a good high, and leave me with enough for later on in the morning. However, as has been proven for over a decade now (as retold on this blog), I have no self-control. Once the thought enters into my mind, it becomes immovable.
2:26am
To breathe, I have to keep my mouth open a little bit. Whenever I'm not sucking down another cigarette, at least. I'm all alone outside our apartment, feet pressed to the painted green bars of the walk way, leaning back in one of our wicker kitchen chairs. They were my father's from his first apartment in the late 70s, our kitchen table chairs when I was a child, and then ours. Now 2 of them are always outside are place, except during downpours.
There's a light breeze blowing my smoke across the computer screen. Nausea keeps creeping up on me (I baked some cookies a little while ago), but I can't control the desire for the pull on each cigarette I devour. There's a lamp post on the other side of the courtyard
The morphine mixes with the oxymorphone to create a strange high--the heavy morphine numbness and the oxymorphine pleasure. It blasts up my spine once more and leaves an aurora of pleasure in every extremity. My blood pulses faster along the my skin, reverberating in my ears.
Orbs glow on top of the lamp posts beneath me. Like tiny moons, so close I could touch them, if only I could get a little closer.
Wednesday 5:53pm
There is no high. 25 mg of oxycodone produces nothing. I might as well have taken a tylenol and called it a night. Once more, I fucked myself. The same story each month repeated ad nauseam. I've used up my pills too soon and now I have to make up for 2 missing doses. I decided to skip my regular oxymorphone dose tonight, opting to take 2.5 oxycodone instead--hoping they would make up for it. But that thick oxymorphone high, or upbeat oxycodone, is elusive.
My cravings are growing steadily with each passing second. All I want is to feel that warm, fucked up glow.
What can I say? I'm a junky to the core. There will never be enough chemicals in my blood stream to fill the desire in my head. The spot in the middle of my forehead pulses, waiting for a sensation that isn't going to come.
Maybe if I split one of my oxymorphone er tablets... one half tonight, one half tomorrow... but I still be short my morning dose the day of my appointment on Tuesday.
But once Tuesday rolls around, that fat bottle full of chalky tablets will be more than my greedy mind can absorb. Sometimes I'm surprised I haven't OD'd yet after receiving a new prescription. I pop the tablets with a reckless abandon more fit for the end of the world, than a regular week night.
Time to go back inside now, put down the cigarettes and reevaluate this situation. Once the thought of taking another dose hits me, it runs rampant. All logic vanishes. Concern for my future condition are erased and supplanted by the screaming desire of now.
6:09pm
And my overwhelming desire overrode my better judgement once again. Sniffle every few seconds to keep the powder in my nose, running through the passages and burning my throat. That raw hole in the back of my pallet is expanding every day.
I don't feel high. I doubt I will. It was 4 when I popped those oxycodone, and after 2 hours, this 5 mg of oxymorphone won't do shit. It's more to quiet the screaming. However, I feel them growing louder.
Fuck the future. Sniff the rest of the pill now. You can take lots of loperamide later... over the weekend. You'll be home if you end up shitting yourself. You deserve to be miserable anyway. You could always get drunk, that'll strengthen the effects. Invite people over Saturday and get wasted,
Or maybe I'll just take some alprazolam right now. Even if the high doesn't surface, it'll quiet my mind.
6:45pm
Nine tiny alprazolam tablets (Xanax) floated at the bottom of the bottle. I took two, washed down with Glacier Freeze Gatorade (The best flavor--and if you don't think so, fight me! ;). They're only 0.25mg tablets, but two will fuck me up easily. I have no tolerance to benzos, unlike the monstrous once I've created with opioids.
It was a bad sign when I did black tar those couple times last year and found the high lackluster. Perhaps it was also my overwhelming histamine response, resulting in me stripping down naked to try and sleep (not really appropriate attire with friends in the next room). Out of Benadryl, still awake with a constant need to scratch, Lee and I walked to the gas station at 6am to purchase some (and I don't do anything at 6am, so this is a testament to my dire need for antihistamines).
6:53pm
I swear the alprazolam is kicking, but it may be that more of the oxymorphone has been absorbed.
7:17pm
Giggles stream from my mouth. Idiotic jokes funneled through my euphoria become examples of my great wit. Every thought is no longer consumed by an overwhelming desire to take more opiates.
8:09pm
But that freedom is short lived as the disinhibiting properties of the alprazolam grow stronger. That shitty opiate high. That apathy to the future.
It has dawned on me that this RX for xanax from my psychiatrist may get me in trouble with my pain management doctor. All the rules I had to sign there, as far as I know, none stated I couldn't be prescribed benzos.)
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