So I went and blew out my back on Thursday. Putting on a pair of socks. How old am I? So I laid around in blinding pain until today when I decided I had to go to the ER. A six hour wait and 6 minute visit with the doctor later, I was told to take 800mg of ibuprofen every 8 hours and it could take a week to heal.
What?
I informed the doc that thats almost exactly what I was doing before I came to see them and observed that the trip and ensuing bill was rather useless. They did give me a Motrin, I cant wait to see what they charge me for it.
So now I am back home. Between the wife and her dad, they came up with a satisfactory cocktail of drugs to keep me sane and my back under control. Hopefully it gets better soon, I really dont like being in pain like this.
I have been pondering why this happened now. For a few months, I have been wanting to go back to the security company I used to work for and get a job with them. The only problem was my brain. At the thought of going to get a job or going to work, I would have these mini panic attacks. My heart would race, I would either feel like crying or start crying and my mind would just shut down sort of. I knew what I needed to do, but my brain wouldnt let me think about it or act on it somehow. I tried and tried to figure out what was going on but I couldnt. So I gave up.
For a while I let my depression and fucked up brain rule me. I came up with excuse after excuse not to do things, not to talk to people I knew I needed to, not to do things that would be good for me or good to do. On Wednesday I got a letter from the pawnshop my camera was in because we needed money. My camera is gone, I cant get it back. I spent a great deal of time thinking about this. I had a few text exchanges with people I sometimes lean on, not about this but just touching base and making sure they were still there. And then I decided it. I have got to get past all my shit and make some moves.
I need a job. I need money. There is a lot of money out there and not nearly enough of it is mine. More of it needs to be. Its stupid to be as anxious as I am about working someplace I have worked before. I know some of the people there still, I could get a job that I can do physically and schedulewise with very little to no problem at all.
I need to take better care of myself. I bought a new showerhead last week and its very nice. I like it a lot. Theres no reason I cant shave and shower every single day. I know this isnt a thought that most people have to even have but I do. When I get depressed I can go for a long time without showering or shaving and barely even realize it. I like the way I feel after I shower and shave, all clean and sleek in the face. I like the way showering feels, the water all over and my body wash smelling all good and being all foamy. I like washing my face and my body. I deserve to have these good feelings every day. Im worth it. And I am going to do it.
Basically on Wednesday I decided to get over my shit and myself and just do it. Just go get what I need and want and what would make my life better. So I woke up Thursday with the intention of getting a good shower and getting dressed and going to talk to the guys at the security company and see what I needed to do to get back on the schedule and into the moneymaking again. I was happy. I had no fear or panic in my head. I remember the feeling very well. Then my fucking back went out.
All I could do for the next 36 hours was lay in bed and cry. I had to get up to go to the bathroom, of course, and when I did the pain made me shout and cry out loud. I was in the most pain I ever remember being in in my whole life. I slept some but not much. I had some hydrocodone left over from a previous prescription and I ate them every few hours.
I thought a lot about killing myself. It hurt that bad. There werent enough pills left to do it and I dont have any more, not that I could have gotten to them if I had them. But I wanted to. It scares me now thinking about it. The way I went from so positive and wanting to fix my shit to so far down and wanting to off myself so quickly scares me. I missed three or so days of regular meds because I hurt too bad to remember them or think about them. That scares me too. I am not going to let myself backslide into depression like i was. I have done too much, worked too hard and fucking bled to get where I am.
Fuck going backwards. This is a temporary detour on the way forward. Thats all...
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