Someone stole all my medication.
Roughly 52 tablets of 15 mg oxycodone and 15 tablets of 20 mg oxycodone.
I won't name who I think it was in order not to create drama among my friends. But I AM filing a police report. I'm fucking sick of this happening. I was so happy this month, thinking I could be pain-free and see my friends and generally be somewhat normal again. But no. It's never that fucking easy. My mom, bless her, bought me a few to get by. But I don't get them refilled until Febuary 22nd and it's up to the doctors digression to refill stolen perscriptions. I am so sick of this shit. I hate being on pain medication. If you have them, they either get stolen or you're labelled a junkie.
I'm sick as fuck. I saw a friend who I haven't seen in awhile at a Dunks drive-through. She texted me later saying she was disturbed by how sick I looked. Well, I told everyone awhile ago that I had liver failure and possible pancreatic failure, but no one seems to grasp the situation I'm in until recently, where I look like a walking corpse. The pain meds are the only thing that help while the doctors are trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong. So, damned if I do take them, and damned if I don't. I hate the stigma that taking narcotics bring. When doctors look at my medication list the first thing they say is "Gee Wiz you're on a lot of narcotics" no shit sherlock. Being on Ambien, Xanax, Muscle Relaxers and Oxycodone was NOT my first choice, believe it or not. It just happens to be the only things that work, and believe it or not, I'm not suffering any bad side effects from them, nor am I addicted. I have to say the full weight of the stigma came down on me when some cunt messaged me on facebook accusing me of being the one that sold Mike the Oxys that killed him 4 years ago. I went on painkillers a year AFTER Mike died. Still, people find it easier to blame me then use their fucking heads.
I've only had 4 hours of sleep because I woke up in terrible pain and had to take a PAINKILLER to settle myself. By god, get me into rehab! (people have actually said that)
By the way, I'm completely devastated that someone, who I welcomed into my home, stole my meds, which I desperately need to survive. I'm aware they have a street value of over 1,000 dollars. You've still made a crippled, sick girl even more miserable. I hope you feel good about yourself, and I hope the police arrest you.
My kitty, Geek, died a night ago. My cats are my life. They are the only ones who I know will never disappoint me. Other than @NachtDerEwigkeit anyway. They love unconditionally. And I love them more than I could love any person. Geek was getting fluids injected under his skin everyday to keep him hydrated. The other day I had severe breakthrough pain and had to go to the ER for pain control, but gave him fluids first. We came home to a horrible moaning noise and saw Geek, all arms stiff, growling. Half his face was covered in water and he couldn't move. Geek is a pure love, he always kinda smelled funny though. I would often move him off my bed and he'd jump right back up, persistent to lay next to you and put his paws in your hair. Anyway, this was not a cat that ever growled or hissed at people. I was sent home with a 2 mg dilaudid (hydromorphine) and I cut it in half and forced him to swallow it. It stopped most of his moaning and growling, but he still couldn't move. We contacted a 24 hour vet to have him put down. He had renal failure, as well as something neurologically wrong. He slowly closed his eyes and fell asleep for the last time. Tommy and Rosie didn't suffer nearly as much as Geek did. The picture is me holding Geek while he was in intensive care at the vet's office a month and a half ago, when he started getting sick. I will miss his meow, his loving nature and personality, the way he played with Spooky and licked her head, the way he followed us around... I adored him. And I'll miss him forever.
People ask why I keep getting cats when their death is so painful. Because knowing a cat's love is worth it. Knowing I gave them a good life is worth it. But the pain of their death is sometimes unbearable...
Being called shallow for taking a picture of oneself, in particular, myself, is obnoxious. I used to wear makeup everyday. I used to wear cute high heels, and pretty dresses. Now most of my days consist of laying in bed, or throwing on sweats to make it to a doctors appointment. Once I lived by the phrase 'beauty is pain'. Now my existance is knowing that living is pain. Waking up from just having a seizure is pain. Violently throwing up everything you've eaten is pain. Having a liver and pancreas that are failing is pain.
So when I manage to make myself to look presentable, I'm not ashamed to take pictures of myself. I'm happy too.
I feel like I'm not going to last much longer in my present state. No, I don't want to last much longer in my present state. It's embarrassing. I'm a burden to my mother, my friends... I don't want to be in pain anymore. I want my old life back.
I envy those who wake up without pain. I envy those who go to sleep and KNOW that they're going to wake up in the morning. I don't know if I will. My future is uncertain. But this I know for sure- if I continue living in this much pain, death will be a relief.
Yes, I know, I'm wallowing in self pity. But I'm not sure quite how to deal anymore.
My passions in life are this: makeup, clothing and style, writing and reading, and cats. Most of this has been stripped from me by my illness.
I deeply miss my teenage years...
