Tapering into Oblivion

Every rib hurts. The tips of my shoulder blades. The dip in my back. Tender to the touch, as if I've become a giant bruise. Even my tits hurt. Down to 5mg of Oxymorphone er twice a day and it's pushed me into a spiral of excruciating pain.

I'm avoiding taking my oxycodone... as per usual, the beginning of the month, I dove into the bottle freely. Now, I've trapped myself into only being able to take 2 pills a day to last me to my appointment in 10 days. Even then, I'll still be without pills for 2 days. I have plenty of oxymorphone because I couldn't find my dosage at any stores near me. That meant I didn't fill my prescription for another 3 days after my appointment, leaving me with a couple days surplus until I see the doctor again.

At least it's Saturday. The apartment is warm and comforting, bathed in the low lights from our many lamps. The building was built in the 70s, when it was common not to have overhead lights built in. Instead, there are outlets across the walls attached to the light switch. I prefer my lamps, the soft glow spreads across the apartment, carrying a homey sense.

I can't lie down. Whenever my body touches any surface, the pressure hits me as if I'm pushing on a deep bruise.

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Only 4 days until my appointment. 3 really, if you don't count the day of. I'm sated.

Our friends, suddenly pulling out a tiny bag of coke from an inner pocket, was so easily tempting. Crisper and sweeter than the juiciest apple, but I resisted. Instead, I blew another oxymorphone on top of the one I had snorted hours earlier.

Now, mixed with the tequila, vodka, and beer, I'm high enough not to care. They left a few minutes ago, and I'm now in that sweet spot of alcohol and opioids. Whatever powder has dripped down the back of my throat, has dissolved into oblivion. The opioid receptors running along my spinal column, brain stem, and appendage are filled.

I mean, I might have to get up in 5 hours in order to do some early voting. But, fuck it.

The present must be enjoyed--first and foremost. The nauseating hangover that will hit soon enough is a distant problem. Unlike the drug test which I will pass with flying colors, having escaped the dangers of coming up positive for cocaine.

A doctor has confronted me with that once. Technically, it happened on 2 drug tests in a row. The first one he did not tell me about,  only bringing it up after the second positive (one month later). In my shock and horror, I told the weak lie that I must've been drugged by friends--perhaps due to some mixed into the punch? As if I hadn't put the dollar bill up my own nose, taking that line swiftly, with a deftness practiced from years of pulling powder..

Yes, I know the danger of mixing opioids and alcohol.

The real question is: do I believe this will kill me (like it has so many others)?

The simple answer is, obviously, no. Everyday, for the thousands of days I've done this, I bet that my brain's desire to breath is stronger than the pull of the drugs to cease my chest from expanding.

Even now, my muscles are tense in my legs--soon I will take a tizanidine to release them from their tense state.

The nausea is just an annoyance.

Like the room spinning and my head pounding.

But, I didn't do any of the coke they offered me. I controlled myself, seeing the consequences clearly before me.

Thank god. For once I was strong enough to see the future consequences, and not risk coming up positive--dooming me to painful withdrawals. Even if I snort my oxymorphone and mix it in a belly full of liquor, at least I didn't put that coke up my nose.

As long as I wake up in the morning, it'll be evidence that I've matured enough to see the obvious dangers in my actions.

But damn: a bump of that coke would've been so right.

However, now it's time to sleep.

Love you all,
Lucy