I’m going to hit them all tonight

September 16, 2018 0 By pygmie1

I’m just kidding, I’m not going to hit all the categories.  But I’ve been keeping my busy this entire Sunday.  Woke up early.  Did my early morning ritual (coffee and cigars).  Worked for hours.  Moved a (fucking) futon bed downstairs by myself while out of it (I didn’t want to have to rip the thing apart but there we are).  Dropped by the pharmacy to get a shit ton of money (they ripped me off, didn’t go through insurance when my wife picked up some prescriptions this past week) then came home and thought I’d relax only to find the restaurant I took my wife and sister-in-law to last Friday decided I’d paid a $50 tip (for a shit hole meal and experience).  Then went to my favorite dive for a burger, some onion rings, read a bit of the book my sis-in-law bought me, and then came home and buzzed a bit by whisky realized I was feeling oh so fucking drawn into circles.  Everyone else is at the beach you see.  So I did the only thing someone in my position could do, something I’m never allowed to do during the normalcy of life:  turned the music louder than I’d ever dare in an apartment!

God I love living in a house!

(At those rarely moments where I can enjoy music–which is almost never anymore brain lyme bullshit I don’t know fuck universe and God etc.)

So I haven’t written in awhile.  I used to say that all the time in my last year of blogging.  But I get to say it now, only because I’ve spent the entire week rationalizing it.  Why?  Because I’ve been detoxing from a non-narcotic drug.  Yeah, that’s something else I never would have shared before.  Never would have wanted my doc to possibly catch on.  Long story for another day.  Oh, and I didn’t want my readers to know because there were usually a couple I wanted to maintain friendships/relationships with.  Well, that went well didn’t it?

Rocket man.  Just saying.

On and off for the last fifteen or so years I’ve been taking heavy duty narcotics.  Read into that what you want:  you’d be wrong.  I spent most of that time in EXTREME pain without knowing what the cause was.  Sure, I spent over $100k on doctors to find out what was going on without answers.  It tried years of physical therapy and bone stretchers (wtf are they called again?  Oh yeah, charlatans!) and yoga but just kept getting worse.  Diet changes, medication a, b, c, through z, no change.  Was often so bad I could not drive to work and sometimes so bad I couldn’t get out of bed to take a shit.  But my primary from the time seemed to just think I had some minor joint issues.

Health care, American Version.

Which also explains why I have a pretty good buzz right now.  I didn’t start drinking liquor until 1999 when my then girlfriend would constantly put me to shame at bars with her family so I picked up a taste for Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Whiskey.  And while I thought wow, I really can pound them down now, what I pounded down then, and how often, was child’s play.  Now I can pound them down–and if you didn’t know me you wouldn’t know.  Trust me, when you’re in this much pain on a regular basis and nothing helps goddamnit this shit at least gives the illusion that I’m feeling better.

And it sure as shit gives the illusion that ear bleeding music sounds good!

(I am also known to diddly-sorta-dance alone when I’ve had a few, cranked, alone at home, so fucking sue me people who can dance in public!)

I had a lot I wanted to share this week.  Bare with me while I try to remember.

Yeah.  So, I’m quite accustomed to withdrawal.  I can drive to work and get through a 40 hour work week–on withdrawal–without anyone catching on.  The irony is I can’t be sober for weeks or months and goto work without getting fired for showing Lyme symptoms.  That happened once.  Well actually twice.

Fair dinkum.

For now I’ll simply say I’m well acquainted with a drug called Tramadol.

Let me tell you a few things about it.  First, it’s not a narcotic–not until your liver turns it into one.  But that takes so goddamn long you might as well be taking Tylenol, well, something slightly better.  And don’t try taking a handful of it to make it feel like a narcotic, you’ll stop breathing.  Trust me, I’ve gotten close enough to realize people that do that shit are stupid.  Am I an asshole for being hard on people that may have killed themselves from these drugs?  Not really.  Because no doctor ever says, “Take ten at a time”–because it’ll make most people’s lung muscles stop working!

So what do we do?  We make them illegal for those who follow the doctor’s orders whether or not the docs know what they’re talking about.  Really.  Not shitting you.

The funny thing about Tramadol is unlike my go-to hydrocodone (more on that another time) which only took 2 to 3 days to ween off of (mostly just a lot of pain and spaciness) Tramadol, when you cut down and then off, you feel okaish for awhile.  And then it kicks your ass.  Pain.  Pain.  Insanity.  A lot of insanity.  Hallucinations even.  You can’t sleep.  I don’t mean insomnia.  If you think this is insomnia you’re a fool.  This is like you just got to sleep and then God and Satan got into cahoots to rip and tear at EVERY SINGLE nerve in your body IN EVERY DIRECTION so you, what?  Wake up!  But so what?  While it’s happening you WILL NOT have a fucking clue what’s going on at 3am while the lights are out.  No, “Oh, I’m withdrawing,” moments.  That would be paradise.  Just confusion so you turn in bed thinking that’ll do the trick.  Get up and drink some water thinking a five minute break will do something.  You dumb asshole.  No matter how many times you’ve done this it’ll be different this time.  This time the powers that be will rip at your brain and pull up all the worst memories you’ve ever had–make them hundreds of times worse than anyone never on narcs could ever dream of–all the while you’re trying to not make your wife worried and not go screaming to the doctor for anything because you’re done with this shit.  I mean, the best thing about it is it’s better than coffee in the morning–absolutely no “buzz” just a sense of being awake.  And do you know how wonderful feeling “awake” is to someone who has/had Lyme who had edema almost every morning since god knows when, was thus never a morning person, and wouldn’t feel awake until maybe noon?  Fucking priceless.  Except at 1am then 3am and 4am and 5am etc. for the the first three to seventeen days after you go cold turkey.

So for the past few days the symptoms haven’t been bad, except when I’m trying to sleep and satan has his finger up my butthole (I mean the buttholes of every cell of my body).  I may or may not have some pretty nasty edema symptoms in the morning (+ hours 1 thru 10 of my waking day, which are unrelated and as of yet undiagnosed).  I worked last weekend knowing this would hit me.  And then I couldn’t function Monday.  Unlike hydro, I could “function” as in walk, talk, make food, all that shit, but I could not make sense of yesterday, so to speak (can’t remember where that’s from, but if you get what I’m saying you get you can’t function if you can’t remember that–unlike hydro where I can function fine when withdrawing cause it’s just a matter of overcoming the pain and focusing on what needs to get done).  But I just keep moving on.  And before night, last couple nights, I feel okay.  Then I go to sleep.  Then Satan…right up my ass….for about five hours straight….followed by a couple hours of good sleep…followed by waking up feeling like I’m hung over.

So I’m drinking this afternoon.  Why?  First, I feel better.  Artificial, but that’s what it is.  Second?  Because I almost always wake up feeling better after a night drinking.  I don’t know why.  I do know if I tell any doctor I’ve been to in the last fifteen years about it they’ll send me to therapy or at the very least accuse me of being a liar.  But it’s true.  On nights I drink to excess there’s a 75% chance I’ll feel better the next morning.  I’ll feel like shit tomorrow but I’ll feel better than I did this morning.

Woohoo!

I have my theories about why this is true.  Think if I could go to the Mayo Clinic for three days they’d figure out why.  Something with my heart I suppose.  Or at the very least something with a system in my body that effects my heart.  Something to do with salts.  Kidneys?  Well, I’ve been to every kidney doc and they tell my those are fine.  Or something else.  Related to bacteria at some point because a lot of this was worse before the antibiotics.  Slight nod to point in time next to the bus station in the woods.

Anyway, I’m going off any kinds of pain killers.  I’ve been off them in the past.  For years even.  Not good years.  Really terrible years in fact.  But I’ve done it.  Not oh yeah kinda.  I’ve gotten over the worst and I don’t have any doc that will help me live a life without extreme pain.  So I gotta see if I can deal with whatever comes my way.  And keep a job.  And keep a house.  And keep a marriage.  Oh, maybe that new Sleep Number bed will make the difference.

Ha ha ha.

Sorry, feeling very sarcastical.

And I’m wondering who’s reading this.  A feeling I haven’t had in a long time.  And when I’m in one of these buzzes I think of person X and a song comes to mind and that’s all I have to say anymore (possibilities tonight include:  Amazing by Seal, Movin’ Out by the Stranger, and Your Song by Elton John–don’t get cocky, they’re probably not for you, but don’t take that wrong, it means that I actually give a shit).

Okay, so directions.

Go to some place quiet where you won’t be interrupted.  Put on some candles, turn off the lights, incense doesn’t hurt.  Listen to the song.  Over and over.  You may eventually get what I’m saying.  It’s not a criticism even though it may come across that way the first five times, maybe even twenty.  It’s not me being twisted emotionally either as you’ll get in 5 through 10.  Maybe by twenty you’ll get it.  Nah.  Wait a couple days or weeks then while you’re having coffee with a friend the lyrics will go through the back of your mind and *boom*.

Then ask me and I’ll confirm or deny.  And if you don’t like the answer fuck you.  Because I like the truth.  And the fact that you got pissy means you’re don’t.

Yeah, and I’m the asshole.

I picked the song you egotistical fruitsical.

The subjective truth is a voice that is rarely heard.

So one time deal:  want to know your song?  Send me a private message.  Or a public one.  Fuck, just write a comment here.  Don’t even need to say who you are or much at all, just enough to know who you are because I’m pretty sure there’s something only you and I know about you and I, like that time we went and snuck in to kick penguins at the Oregon Zoo (like you wish you were that person 😉

Okay, at this point I’m just thinking I’m hoping I can have a good night’s sleep (best and worst case scenario quite frankly) so I can work a ten hour day tomorrow.  And I want to.  I want to feel good enough to work ten or twelve or fourteen hours.  Doesn’t bother me working that long when I can.  Because it means I’m not dying.  It’s those I just got through hour two and want to put a gun to my head days because of the pain days that I can’t stand.  The rest are no bother.

Fuck, I want to just go out and get shit faced now and listen to loud music and sleep in tomorrow.  Like that’s going to happen!

Gotta keep myself busy.

Until later.