My Apartment Is A Prison

I'm at the coffeehouse I so often go to, but haven't been to since I began my current pain-management regimen.

I've stayed away because I haven't wanted to aggravate the pain in my legs by walking the four block round-trip to here and back home. I also thought it would be a bad idea to go to a noisy place that could do nothing but exacerbate my ever-present migraine.

But I'm here today. I came out... To discover that, as always, I'm right.

Today I awoke to a studio apartment that felt like a jail cell -- or, better, a holding cell. I've been in quite a few of those, so it's better for me to make a comparison to one of those since I know how it induces claustrophobia and the desire for -- to the exclusion of all other desires -- escape.

So I put a hat over my greasy hair and bellowed a Braveheart FREEEEEDOM! as I locked my apartment door behind me as I left.

My stilt-y, unbending legs tottered me here and I ordered my usual sixteen ounces of coffee, to which I added a quarter-ounce of half-and-half, seven heaping teaspoons of Sugar In the Raw, and two taps of powdered cinnamon.

I scored a spot on the love seat, but was bothered by the noise the few, but loud-talking -laughing -moving -breathing -existing, people made. So I moved to an outdoor table, where I sat and smoked until I couldn't take the annoyance of the line of people that qued up to ask me for a cigarette. (See this post for how I feel about would-be cig-bummers.)

back inside, it had quieted down in the time it took me to smoke two cigarettes. So I finished my coffee and got a refill to try to remedy my lethargy (which you can read about in my previous post).

Then the place filled in and the people who took the table behind me began playing dominoes or something like it. Something that involved blocks or tiles that someone was always hammering into the table or shuffling with enough force to crack to tabletop.

...Ug.

It's best for me to go home and lock myself safely back into my apartment.

...How long will I have to jail myself? Methadone: Take me away! ...Er, Set me free!

Mixx it!

I Am So Very Tire...... huh? Wha? Oh. Right. I'm Tired.

I need to make this short because I don't have the mental energy to make it long.

Yesterday I began Methadone. This week I take five mg every eight hours, and use fifteen mg of Oxycodone for breakthrough pain, up to four oxys a day. Klonopin remains at six mg a day, which is where it will be the rest of my life.

Taking any opiate that is foreign to your system will make you tired. And so the Methadone has got my brain feeling like mush and the couch crying whispering: "Just lay down for a second... Maybe shit your eyes for just a second. Then you can go do the chores you need to take care of. ...And holy shit -- I just happen to have that super-comfy pillow right here!"

Goddam couch. It's talked me into a lot of naps. But for some reason that seems suspect, right now, I'm fighting them. I suppose I'm trying to avoid them mostly because I don't want to get out of my sleep schedule, which is bad on its own for a fibromyalgian, and because I don't want to be stuck wide awake in the wee hours, when only televangelists and infomercials are on. ...And since televangelists are always selling shit, why don't we call the programs they're on Evangemercials or some such thing?

Before I sign off and likely heed the siren song my couch is singing, it occurred to me that my last post wasn't clear on a very key item: Why Dr. N couldn't just keep prescribing me more oxycodone. Here's why: Oxycodone is a short-acting opiate, and if a doctor prescribes nothing but a hell of a lot of short-acting opiates, the feds are likely to come get him/her.

So I needed/need a long-acting opiate -- Methadone being the best choice -- with which to supplement my drug diet so my doctor is safe, and so I don't have to pop a pill every two-and-a-half hours, and have no "pain coverage" overnight and, therefore, wake every morning with the screaming withdrawals.

...I don't know if any of this made sense. I do know it sure doesn't make sense to me because I'm so tired I can't go back and read what I just wrote.

Anyway: I'm sure my level of tiredness will go down as I become accustomed to Methadone -- which I will take ten mg of after one week, and then see Dr. N for further instructions. And I'm sure we're taking the right course of action.

And my couch agrees!

Mixx it!