A Painful Sunday
I had a decent sleep, but it didn’t matter. I still woke up in excruciating pain. I took my regular pain meds first. When the pain got worse, it was around 1100. I wasn’t going to go to the store to get my bread, despite the warm weather. I took a strong pain pill and waited. I finally drifted off two hours later.
I haven’t moved my bowels in days. And for once, I don’t care. I don’t care about anything really. I just know that I am hurting and it’s wearing me out. My mother called me around 1645 for dinner. If she didn’t cook, I wouldn’t eat. After dinner, I put some of the food away for her and placed the dishes in the sink. I thanked her for dinner and then went back to my room, where I am now. I just took some more pain pills. I know this is because of the weather. It has to be. I haven’t done a damn thing other than sleep to cause myself pain? That doesn’t sound like a good reason.
I woke up with the blankets off me again. I guess I got hot. It’s in the 50s and the heat is still on. Tomorrow it’s supposed to be in the 20s. There isn’t supposed to be any precipitation in the air. I might go to the store then. I don’t know. I need bread so I can make a damn tuna sandwich. And I want multigrain bread not wheat bread that my mother has. It all depends on how bad my pain is and how much I can ignore it to do what I want to do.
I need to fill my pill box for the week. I’ll do that after I write this blog. I got to call the dentist tomorrow and set up an appointment for my filling. I have no plans this week so there won’t be any conflicts. I won’t set it up before 0900 either. It’s too early for me and I can’t get out of bed.
It’s bothering me that this blog is changing. It used to be that I wrote about my suicidality and feelings of depression. Now it’s mostly about my chronicles with my chronic pain. I miss my suicidal writing. I just don’t feel that suicidal anymore because of that fucking hero asshole that called the cops on me a few months ago. It’s been hard to express myself since then. So I write about my pain. And it makes me sad. I know I write about other stuff like my therapy but writing about my physical pain has been nearly every day for so long now. It really has taken over my life.
My birthday is coming up this week. It will be the first without my father. I wish I still had one of his birthday cards that he wrote his full name out rather than “dad” or “daddy”. For the longest time, he just wrote his full name and then my sister got him to change it. I was so mad. I didn’t hold on to last year’s card because I thought there would be another year. Now I feel sad that I threw it away.