Tuesday, November 13, 2012

The unbearableness of it all, I feel a sudden compassion

I'm not sure how I feel about my current doctor at this point. It's such precision work, you don't do or say anything lightly in the healing business. He told me I could just drop down off my methadone prescribed pain killer, I've been on for several months.

How wrong he was.

Part of me would really like to say try out these prescriptions before you write them, and then follow your own advice. If it works out good, then you would almost have to assume that your directions are bound by experience or at least real in some way, rather than just trying to find something or anything to say.

Friday morning less than 36 hours of my last dose of, be it small, I woke up in the most incredible situation. I was curled in a ball, pain in my back, nerve endings felt like they were exposed to wind and sand, I was out there too, didn't know I would be facing something like this.

I simply needed to know for two fucking days, getting this doctor dope out of my system, so I could find out if it was the methadone causing the morbid depression.

Indeed, after shifting down pretty low with only a few early side effects, constant headache with light sensitivity, strange pains popping up everywhere inexplicably. But I could handle it, not being very nice, arguing with people. And the dog is still mad. Though I think he finally figured something out, listen to me, look at me, and we won't have these communication issues.
I don't and never have liked to have to walk my dog on a leash. I would prefer a dog that understood, like my dog Doller Bill. She was incredible even if she didn't start off that way. Then I realized she was reading me, listening and watching, and she did the training, I did nothing but look at her and make some suggestions.
She was one of the smartest dogs who ever lived. Her only problem was getting car sick, or she would have been exposed to many more things in her dog life.
My animals keep teaching me things. Walter the boxer pissed me off last week, he thinks he owns the yard, like there's a yard that is his and it's my house. I don't know if should put my urine all over the yard. That might be funny to see how he would react.
But anyway, I got really, really mad, the kind that makes dark clouds suddenly appear above. Walter wouldn't listen no matter what I said and I kept getting more angry. Finally, I picked up a rock threw it and it missed. I was pretty certain this dog would bend to my will or pay. I picked up the second rock, and the former sure shot I was pegged him in the side of the head.
After two hours I kept him outside blocked even from the deck. I sat in the house worried if I had hurt him.
At first I said, well he should have listened. Then I realized I couldn't even watch TV without wondering.
He finally came to the door, unsure whether to come in, and I wasn't sure I was able to control myself yet. He came in and I looked at his head, he had a knot. I took out the ice pack and made him lay down and treated his head.
I thought all that just to make my dog bend to my orders.
Somehow it didn't seem right.
Or it was irrelevant in some way.
He's been really attentive since the incident, watching my every move. I've been watching him understand things that most dogs don't get. He's like Doller Bill, she studied not just me, but the cat behavior and the other dogs.
Then there was the dog I lost that I have not completely recovered from, JR. Rotten was another smart dog, sensitive and funny.
The night I threw the rock and hit Walter I was feeling bad about myself, but tried to get some work done on the computer. There was a picture of Rotten looking oh too cute and I enlarged it to look at him, his tiny brown eyes.
I had not been able to look at his picture, I felt like I let him down, and wasn't grieving the loss properly. So for an hour I cried and talked to him. I told him I was bummed not to have seen him grow up and mature. I kept hearing myself blame myself for his death. I should have done this and you would still be alive.
Acceptance is one of those things you have to what, just fucking accept. Let it be what it is. Maybe I did make mistakes. I wish to hell I hadn't, but whatever the situation I have to accept I fuck up all the time, and focusing on that isn't going to do anything good for me.
I would rather be able to think about JR then to suppress my thoughts about him because I feel bad.
I'm also not helping myself by wishing I had more time with him, Scooter decides that one. I'm not that powerful. So, why would I continue to feel so bad?
Walter is also not all that wild about other dogs these days. I mean he has lots of dog friends he visits and plays with, but I notice it's not the same for him, when he had his own dog.
I feel bad that I screwed up Walter's situation too.
Then after an hour of feeling like a terrible person, the JR tells me to leave it alone and quit hurting myself over it. Quit feeling like I have that kind of control over anything.
What do I have control of only how I feel. It wasn't a loss at all, it was win win. Walter and I had a great time and we are both the kind of piss ants who wanted good stuff to continue. There's nothing wrong with that.
I felt better after having talked my own issues out with my dead dog. Now I know he is always there and so am I.
There was sure a lot of activity out of the corner of my eyes that night, things were moving around a lot. Maybe set free.

My time is being spent trying to break free of the things that do not serve me in a positive way. This I learned from being horribly depressed from prescribed medications. I don't ever remember a more challenging time, maybe one, in my life, where the only thoughts were horrible, ugly thoughts.
I could hide them sometimes, but they were beginning to permeate all my actions.
But I learned, the hard way. I thought it was me, then somehow I knew it was the medications, then I knew I had to save my sanity, once again.
The drugs they have handed me not knowing what they would do to me. I'm just a problem in that I don't want their fucking drugs, but it is seemingly all they have.
Methadone I was told was a superior pain reliever, with a 12 hour therapeutic time frame, and it wasn't as addictive as the other opiates. It was synthetic but what isn't?
I began taking it not knowing anything about it.
Tonight, sitting here, waiting for the scary pains to start again, the legs to want to walk, walk the hell out of the pain is my assumption.
I want off this because I reached a point where I was believing what my depression was saying to me. Die you fuck up, die.
My reactions were anger,, I obviously had some issue with my dog. My bird is the telltale sign. She yelled at me one night, when I was yelling. She is notably louder and won. The word she was yelling was, "relax."
When I gave up and listened, I realized she was right.
Now, tonight, I'll try again to take the tiniest amount to ward off the full withdrawl.
It's unreal, my life. That's why that depression is tricky, because I've been through so much, it's hard not to believe it's dark, unforgiving message.
I have to manually turn the station to something more upbeat.
My sister freaked out that I was going to come off this medication myself, and we haven't talked for a month.
She wanted me to go into the hospital, she said I didn't know what I was getting myself into...and she's right.
My doctor didn't know or did, I will deal with that later, as I'm hoping to hold off just long enough, before the pain is unbearable.
I suddenly thought of those junkies out there, with their needles or their oxycontin, what stupidity.
Personally, I haven't seen what they are looking for as far as pleasure. My chemistry doesn't do opiates. I get more "high" of coffee or marijuana.
Quitting smoking is not like heroin, fuck them. I quit and suddenly am now having cravings again. So, I took a few inhalations, and it was so gross I couldn't stand it. That seems to be over.
But these junkies who get caught on these drugs, there lives are ruined trying to avoid what I'm currently trying to find the other side of.
I feel bad and people need to be warned, it's a job, not a drug. Keeping yourself on enough to avoid physical reaction, withdrawl.
Afghanistan is pumping out opium and we are probably buying it, and the rest is "chemical restraining" the mid east and our enemies.
When I woke up this morning, I cried for a long time. I didn't want to have to take more of the methadone. I cut a fragment and chewed the little thing waiting to see if it would stop.
Then another hour passed, and nothing changed. Pain was there, I tried Ibuprofen and ativan with it. Nothing.
It's the devil.
I'm strong willed but this has taken possession of my body.
I'll know more soon. I'm hoping to take the dose before the pain gets to strong, but then sometimes its sudden.
Was at 10 milligrams, now under 2 milligrams in three days.
My chest hurts sometimes, and I think that my sister isn't talking to me because she has it her mind I will have a heart attack coming down too fast.
30 to 2 in I guess six weeks.
I don't know what the rate is as I did with my Ativan which I'm sure I'll never be rid of. I may get down to a low dose, but I think the shit has bonded with my DNA.
In between all of this drama, is work that needs to get done. I don't have time to deal with this, but I don't have the ability not to either.
So, much has happened, and now I'm a junkie, trying to get off my doctor dope, and my doctor was a dope when he prescribed it.
But funny enough I still believe or make believe, that everything happens for a reason. I pray everyday for not only me and my mistake ridden life, but for those good people who don't even realize it.
I'm hoping to progress, to make it out of this darkness, to learn all that I can, so I don't have to repeat this particular life experience.
It's hard being held back so many grades in life.

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