Warning: Pity party inbound
For the better part of 13 years I've dealt with the physical (and sometimes mental) aspects of my accident. Sometimes better than others to be sure, usually worse in the winter when storms blow through, or it gets really cold. There has always been discomfort, again both physical and mental, but it's been manageable with a steady regimen of PT, massage, over the counter drugs, and liberal doses of alcohol. But here in the last 6 months or so, this routine just isn't cutting it. It's gone from discomfort, to genuine pain, that the OTC drugs, the bourbon, and the other things just aren't touching any more. I suppose it's just age, but who knows? I remember my lawyer, way back when, talking about how I would be dealing with my injuries "for the rest of my life". At 28 of course, the rest of your life seems pretty fucking abstract. At 42, I appreciate the magnitude of her understatement. I'm a raging prick. I don't sleep, ever. I hurt. When I was a kid, my best friends mom was in a horrible car accident. Her back was FUCKED. She would spend the rest of her life on a steadily increasing number and volume and potency of pain killers. She was one of the kindest, most caring people I ever knew despite the pain she was in and despite the drugs she was on to be able to function. I loved her. She was the caring mother figure I didn't really have in my life. She was 42 when she died, as a side effect of the drugs she was on. I've spent 13 years being uncomfortable because Marylin's fate fucking terrifies me. To have the morphine take you out 20 years after the car accident couldn't. But I can't do it any more. I've made an appointment with a doctor for tomorrow morning to do something about the physical pain I have and I'm fucking scared. The last time I saw Marylin was at my wedding. She only made it to one of her own kids weddings. She didn't get to meet her grand children. She would have loved my daughter.
I suppose I'm over reacting. It seems most likely. Doc is liable to prescribe or suggest something really simple and dumb. I'm probably freaking out over nothing.
But this is where I'm at. Something has to give. It feels like defeat.
Edit: Not a suicide thread, though I realize it might sound like that. I've just had to admit that I can't deal with this through sheer strength of will/dumb.
For the better part of 13 years I've dealt with the physical (and sometimes mental) aspects of my accident. Sometimes better than others to be sure, usually worse in the winter when storms blow through, or it gets really cold. There has always been discomfort, again both physical and mental, but it's been manageable with a steady regimen of PT, massage, over the counter drugs, and liberal doses of alcohol. But here in the last 6 months or so, this routine just isn't cutting it. It's gone from discomfort, to genuine pain, that the OTC drugs, the bourbon, and the other things just aren't touching any more. I suppose it's just age, but who knows? I remember my lawyer, way back when, talking about how I would be dealing with my injuries "for the rest of my life". At 28 of course, the rest of your life seems pretty fucking abstract. At 42, I appreciate the magnitude of her understatement. I'm a raging prick. I don't sleep, ever. I hurt. When I was a kid, my best friends mom was in a horrible car accident. Her back was FUCKED. She would spend the rest of her life on a steadily increasing number and volume and potency of pain killers. She was one of the kindest, most caring people I ever knew despite the pain she was in and despite the drugs she was on to be able to function. I loved her. She was the caring mother figure I didn't really have in my life. She was 42 when she died, as a side effect of the drugs she was on. I've spent 13 years being uncomfortable because Marylin's fate fucking terrifies me. To have the morphine take you out 20 years after the car accident couldn't. But I can't do it any more. I've made an appointment with a doctor for tomorrow morning to do something about the physical pain I have and I'm fucking scared. The last time I saw Marylin was at my wedding. She only made it to one of her own kids weddings. She didn't get to meet her grand children. She would have loved my daughter.
I suppose I'm over reacting. It seems most likely. Doc is liable to prescribe or suggest something really simple and dumb. I'm probably freaking out over nothing.
But this is where I'm at. Something has to give. It feels like defeat.
Edit: Not a suicide thread, though I realize it might sound like that. I've just had to admit that I can't deal with this through sheer strength of will/dumb.
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