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add+coldplay+opiates. current song: 42 by coldplay. those who are dead are not dead they're just living my head and since i fell for that spell i am living there as well time is so short and i'm sure there must be something more those who are dead are not dead they're just living my head and since i fell for that spell i am living there as well time is so short and i'm sure there must be something more you thought you might be a ghost you thought you might be a ghost you didn't get to heaven but you made it close you didn't get to heaven but you made it close you thought you might be a ghost you thought you might be a ghost you didn't get to heaven but you made it close you didn't get to heaven but you oh those who are dead are not dead they're just living my head his reply? "well, it's working right now, so let's not change anything." i say, "but i think i'm getting tolerant of them, and maybe even dependant." he says, "pssh, no, you're probably getting tolerant of the percocets, but i wouldn't say you're dependant. you haven't been on them that long in a high enough dose." i then point out that i've been on 3 a day for over a year now. he just kind of stops, and then prints out the scripts, and hands them to me. "you'll be ok. i think you're worrying unnecessarily." but, at this point, i'm not thinking about him, or the conversation; i'm thinking about the piece of paper in my hand that entitles me to 90 more little white tabs of bliss. 90 more grammes of soma. and i'm thinking about driving as fast as i can to the walgreen's so i can take one, because i haven't had one since 7:30, and now it's almost 1. and i do, and i shop while they fill my scripts, so i don't have to come back, and i buy things i don't need to pass the time. and then, i don't even really think about eating, i just take home the things that i bought, and on the way back to work i tear open the bag and break one of the tabs in half, and chew up my half-gramme of soma while driving down central ave. like a maniac to get back to work. i've really been in quite a bit of pain, in my defense to a point, lately. seriously, i'm not trying to justify my mental "need" for these pills, i'm just stating the physical explination for the need. i'm getting worse, which is disconcerting on levels upon levels, because now i'm not even doing any heavy labor - i'm sitting my fat ass behind a desk and my back still hurts so bad i chew holes in my lip. and it's not like i'm neglecting my therapy exersizes, though i should be going to the gym, and it's not like i'm moonlighting as a furnature mover, either. i'm doing everything i should be doing and nothing i shouldn't and still, when i get home from work, i hurt so bad that i'm crying. every damn day. i've gotten to the point that i don't write anymore, i don't answer my phone, i don't do anything. god damn it, i got hurt a year, 12 days, 8 hours, and 54 minutes ago, +/- 5 minutes. i can count it down that fucking close. it's because every minute of that time has been horrible, even all the time that i spent stoned off my ass, and even all the time that i spent deluding myself that i was going to get better. ~*~ immediate yesterday. ~*~ divination. ~*~ get your own guestbook here |
