It’s 0330 or so. An errant pain spike has woken me up.
The realization that it now takes a double of my pain meds has me feeling some type of way. Those would be scared and disappointed.
For a long time I have felt that these things are just a crutch for weakness. Specifically my weakness. And I can’t stand thinking of myself in that zone.
But lying here, I… Almost know better.
With my pain almost wrangled, I can feel the three worst parts inside of me so clearly—the tear just near the diaphragm; the one in my middle, the one that fails me so often sitting up; the one that starts low and radiates into my groin.
I’m able to swallow water that I carried in a bottle next to me. It’s my first intake since Sunday. The sensation of “thing in stomach” has revived pain center number three.
Drinking water is pain. But I hadn’t had it in a day. I am not brave enough yet to try food.
0340. Nauseated. Praying that sleep takes me back. It was only an hour of respite.
I am not OK.