Today, I had my first bottle of whiskey-Jack Daniels-since November of 2005. I drank it straight. I even bought a small bottle of Coke, poured the Coke out and filled the bottle with whiskey. Then just drank it. Straight whiskey. It made my liver recoil in horror. At this point, I didn’t care. I was in almost the same place I was in when I started drinking before: Something awful had happened to me, and I needed something to compensate. Ease the pain. I hadn’t been raped, not today, but something inside of me just told me it was a bad idea to go get Chloe from school. I don’t know why that was.

My insurance has been pushed back another week. They have been showing their ass since my dentist wrote a statement that I needed nearly $10,000 worth of work done on my teeth; whether he can save them or not. My insurance company is waiting to see if I pay for all of this out of my own pockets. They keep pushing the date back further and further. None of my kids have medical insurance because of this. In the long run, I felt like a failure. I felt like I have failed myself and my children. The sad part is they all look up to me so much. I am their hero. I am the one they all want to be like when they grow up. A morphine addicted, raging alcoholic? That’s a good role model there!

While I was out, I wandered to a bowling alley. Which was interesting because I’d never saw it before. I crashed inside, watching the bowlers, taking huge swigs from my coke bottle, making trips to the bathroom to refill it. No one questioned me. Until a woman made a gutter ball, and I commented, “Good thing that landed in the gutter! It was so slow it was going backwards!” She spun around with a silly grin on her face and offered me a ball. “Can you do better?” she asked. “I could do better drunk!” I replied, finished the last of the Jack Daniels in the bottle (I had guzzled the entire bottle of whiskey in about five to ten minutes), took the ball from her, swung it at the lanes, and some how it skipped over a few lanes, pushed another ball out of the way, and made a strike. Five lanes away. “How’s that for a good bowler?” I asked. The woman and the other people on her team actually cheered for me! I finished the game with them, scoring three strikes (once I figured out what lane we were supposed to be playing in), and on the way home, I fell asleep. I woke up in my own bed, wearing some weird saddle shoes that weren’t mine.

My husband had the day off, and he was pissed that I did not bring Chloe home. It was about 7pm, and the school called and told him no one had been there to pick her up.We’re going to have to talk, so I ave to sign off. Yep, before 11pm.

See everyone in the morning

My Jewish friend, Josh, sent it to me in February. Ironically, I came down with strep shortly after, but that was a coincidence, right? When the calendar ran out today, I asked the simple question: Why? His response? “According to Jewish law, the world ends tonight at midnight. Since you’re not a Jew, you’ll blissfully think there’s a tomorrow. Good luck with that.” And you guys think I’m weird.

My doctor has bullied me back into taking Metformin. The drug that caused my near-fatal accident in April. Again, that was just a coincidence. Having a blood glucose level in the teens just an hour after taking the nasty pills was totally coincidental. This time, he has told me that if I refuse to take the pills, I won’t be getting out of the mental hospital. He says this is for my own good, but after I took the first pill today, I threw up. There goes my $5000 caps. My dentist has told me that if I keep throwing up, he’s going to drop me as a patient. My physician tells me if I don’t continue to take this medicine that causes me to throw up, he will have me committed.

I was actually happy when I went to see him today. I’ve lost four dress sizes and I’m down 50 lbs. I just have the numbness and pain in my leg. I assumed that when I went to see him today, he’d see that I was serious about losing weight and focus on my pain. Nope. He questioned me about taking the Metformin. Although my three-month blood sugar test was pretty good, it was a 5, he’s hell-bent on me taking a medication that I am having serious reactions to.

Later on today, I had the signs and symptoms of a low blood sugar. It happened around dinner time. I snuck some food before dinner, and ate a little too fast, and it all came up. My husband assumes the worst: That I am pregnant (poor guy is VERY forgetful when he’s on pain killers). Chloe actually chimed in and said she hoped she was getting another little sister. No! No more babies! Hayley is just now sleeping longer than an hour at a time! Besides, I hate being pregnant.

Right now I don’t know what to do. I’m going to try to wait it out. See what happens after I get my insurance through my work. Then it’s kiss this doctor goodbye! Let him experiment on other people. I’m tired of being his guinea pig.

I worked hard to get where I am now, and I am happy with who I have become. Not just academically, but spiritually and emotionally. I like me. I like me very well.

There are many people who will take the easy road in life. Whether it’s with their academic life, or with their own life. They are not doing themselves any favours. It’s easier to send out negativity in the world. It’s not so easy to be the positive light in someone’s life. That is how I want to see myself. The ray of sunshine in someone’s bleak life. The positive that makes up for all the negative that comes their way. For me, this makes everything better. The world is a better place because I am a better person. It’s worked more for me than any pill, drink, ever could. Being a good person: It’s the ultimate high.

Some problems have come up at home. Mainly involving an argument about child care for Chloe, between Dennis and I. See, he called my mother over yesterday to watch Chloe while he slept off his pain meds and I was at the store. My mother and I do not see eye to eye about how a child should be raised, and she did something that neither I nor medical science agrees with, and it ended when I banned her from our home. I demanded to know why Dennis let her around our kids. Dennis said she was the only one who would watch them. I said they would have been better off alone than in her care. They certainly would be safer.

But I choose not to reveal what she did, least someone wants to make my flesh world a little harder. There is no more danger to my kids, the house is clean, and we’re reaching for that happy ending.

Today, Chloe was able to go back to school. I was able to organise the bedroom, so the closet doors shut without the laundry basket in the way. Dennis is going to the studio after a while, and there’s really nothing for me to do but try to nap away the effects of the Roxanol.

I told him to have one of his band-mates take him; I had to finish the laundry and get things ready for tomorrow morning.

Oh what a hateful thing to say! This was an emergency! I’m such a bitch! How could I say something like that?! I bet Darren wouldn’t say things like that…

Fine. Go be with Darren. I’m sick of saying “how high?” when I’m ordered to jump. I put my entire day on hold Friday, and I’m way behind now, so I’ll be damned if I’m going to keep putting my life on hold because Dennis wants attention now. I thought about telling him if he wanted attention so badly, he could wash the laundry or make the bed. I wouldn’t protest that too badly. Ha ha! Or maybe he could clean the bathroom up? That would certainly catch my attention. Being an ex-chronic drug over-doser, I know why and how people do it. The number one reason is attention, especially when they’ve experimented enough with the drug so they know how much to take to make them sick, because they’re such awful actors without the drugs, without killing them.

Besides, Litican isn’t that toxic in less than a gram, even if we had toxic levels of it here, it’s not as if people are dropping like flies over it.

I’ve been saving this little neat tidbit, but here goes: I have/had an octo-rooted tooth. Normally, teeth have two main roots. I had a tooth that had five main roots and three minor roots that branched off of the main roots. It really made my dentist’s day. Yep, look at me. The medical freak. When I go back next week, I’ll try to get a copy of my x-rays and post it here. You know you wanna see that!

Oh, I’m in a good mood today. I don’t know why. I have to go back to work tomorrow, and it’s the last week of freedom that I have for a few days. Maybe it’s all the narcotics I swallowed while I was waiting on my waffles to toast?

It’s been less than a week since I’ve stopped eating solid foods, and I miss eating more than I thought I would. I guess this is why I never really dieted. Eating is just part of who I am. That explains the weight issues, right?

I can’t survive on Gogurt/yogurt, Vitamin Water and Vicodin. However, the Vicodin passes the time quicker.

I’m almost tempted to numb my mouth with EMLA cream and eat this:

Yes, that is a cheeseburger with grilled cheese sandwiches for buns. I almost licked my screen when I discovered it.

Of course, if I numbed my mouth, I wouldn’t be able to chew, swallow, or most importantly, taste, so it would be pointless to eat after numbing, not to mention near impossible.

Dennis seems to think that my pain has gone on long enough, and I need to do chores to keep my mind off of things. Such as washing the mountain of laundry that has grown in the past few days, changing the sheets on the bed and making the bed, plus adjusting the pH and temperature (“I am SICK of sleeping on a cold, wet bag! I have a RASH from the mold in the bed!” WTF? You wanted a water bed!). I was also asked to dump my cloves/alcohol mixture (“The smell is making me sick!” Are you pregnant?). All of this must be done by 10pm, and I had to take him to the studio, in the blistering, hot July sun, and come home.

Joke’s on him though. I got the mail and the credit card bill. I’ve effectively destroyed the purchase listings of the bill, so there.

See those teeth? They were cracked last week when I was hit in the face with the text book that fell out of my closet. The dentist told me that I could tell him “what really hit me in the face” and if it was “really a text book or a fist” but I’m sticking to my text book story. In the long run, the text book can’t deprive me of things I need, should this get any worse.

I’m on Vicodin, antibiotics, and I can’t eat. The pain is just that bad. I need several root canals to fix the problem, but I just can’t get them done yet. I’m already taking double the pain medication, and I’m already building up a tolerance to it. I’ve taken double the dose today, and I’m going to try to go to work like this. It should make for an interesting day.

Taking the morning meds caused a lot of pain, even though I took them with room-temperature water:

Think that’s enough pills? That’s not even all of them. I’m missing two of my prescriptions and I doubt that I will be getting them any time soon because we have all this drama to go through. I imagine with the pain I’m having, and the lack of a blood pressure pill, my blood pressure is back up to 300/250. Yes, it gets that high.

Dennis is repeating things the LOLCow has said to me. Apparently, he was listening in on part of my phone conversation yesterday, and he went apeshit over OMG, me talking about things that apparently happened “years ago”, despite the LOLCow making the same pathetic threats that all the other losers eventually make (calling the JAG on me, and so fourth). It was amusing this morning when my alarm went off; it’s a ring tone that’s like an old phone ringer. He ran over to the phone to see who was calling me at this hour, and the joke was on him: It was just a ring tone. Still, to end some of the drama, I deleted the alarm. Is it wrong that I just want this to all be over?

Oh, and I’m a shitty mother. I told my autistic eight year old step son not to be horrible this morning because he was singing at the top of his lungs, and now he won’t talk again. It’s going to be one of those days. Why haven’t the narcotics kicked in yet?

I called Keith back and asked him what should I do? I can’t get any pain relief, I can’t go to the ED because I have an existing balance there, and I can’t get an appointment until waaay after the already scheduled physical. He said not to worry; he was not planning on replacing me, just focus on getting well. That would be great, if I could do that. Right now all I can think of is the pain in my cheek, the pain in my leg, and the pain radiating across my abdomen. What’s worse than the pain is the despair; I cannot see relief in sight at all. I just lay in bed sobbing or sitting at the table, sobbing. Tylenol masks the pain for ten minutes, and I find myself reaching for another dose, despite the fact that I am at the limit of safe doses.

My doctor is a paradox. He says I have liver failure, but he will not provide me with pain relief beyond Tylenol. Take Tylenol, take Tylenol, take Tylenol! That’s all I ever hear from him! Tylenol only works for a few minutes! So he tells me to take more! Um, if I take more, that’s going to advance the liver failure! He says no. Whatever. No one knows more than him, right? After all, weight loss is a cure-all for him. Asshole. I want a new doctor. And I want one now. Stupid insurance won’t let me have one, though, and no other doctors here will take me on, for some strange reason.

I have to wait twenty more days before my next dose???

And yes, I would have put up a count down for September, October, November and December, but my calendar only goes through August.

I will be posting pictures from the convention after work tomorrow. I have a lot of uploading to do do, and I don’t have a lot of time to do it, since our internet is tied up with my mom downloading dozens of gigs of movies.