Sunday, 12 April 2009

Hep C, Ulcers, Jaundice etc.

I am on such a low dose of methadone it is rediculous; 40ml. My doctor announced that I was going to go back on subutex, I didn't have a say in the matter. I did stay clean for a few months on subutex but when I decided to use one weekend, I couldn't cope with going into withdrawals before going back on them (which you have to do) so as a result, I just went back to heroin, where I have been ever since. I haven't had a hit since Friday morning, and that was barely anything. Since it is easter Sunday, I didn't have to go to the chemist to get my methadone which I have to do 7 days a week. Good job I am not lazy or I would hate the 4 mile walk everyday. Actually, I have been sitting in all day and since I drink all my holiday booze (1.5 litre bottle of vodka, 5 special brews) yesterday that I only bought that morning to see me through until Monday, I have been going out of my mind. Bored, frightened. I don't know what of. I have been sitting in this house all day and have been going through the dredges of booze; the last of the peach vodka, 1 Tenants super, sherry, red wine.

As it is Easter Sunday my Nanna and Grandad went to church. They left around 9am and I had woken at 7am. Thank god their hearing isn't as great as it was because I spent from 7.15-8am hanging over the toilet bowl. She heard me being sick and ran to the toilet, I let her in and told her I was hungover. Then I turned on the TV, turned it up and left it loud while I proceeded to sit in my room with a bucket retching and heaving. I cannot explain the panic when this happens most mornings. I sweat, get faint as the pressure builds up in my head and begin to stress when it gets to the stage where there is nothing to sick up anymore- that means I just retch and bring up the bile and blood. This morning, I knew I had been sick for 3 days in a row already so I kept an ice-cream tub to collect the blood (if there was anymore- which there was) so I could show my Mum who is a nurse, or my own doctor. Since I hadn't eaten yesterday, I had nothing to sick up but a little fluid and the blood came up, as predicted. About 2 or 3 egg cups full. I didn't want to put it on my Mum again (last time, she cried, got hysterical, made plans to stop me drinking) so I laid down on the floor begging God not to let me die. I always want to die, until I actually think I am going to. Just like last April when I woke up after having died after I had a heroin overdose. Hooked up to loads of machines in the hospital with my Mum and sister at my bedside. When the doctor told me I had cardiac arrest I went into an acute panic thinking "shit, that was my life, over. gone." But as soon as they disconnected my oxygen and machines I left that hospital and yep, you guessed it, scored. And injected the drug that had just days earlier killed me, literally. TO THINK- THATS NEARLY A YEAR AGO! Anyway, I had to go into hospital to have my stomach looked at as the doctor pretty much diagnosed an ulcer, just, now I must have the camera down the old throat (again) to confirm it. While I am there, they are going to try getting blood again. The doctors in a&e couldnt do it but my psychiatrist insisted there are people there that can as I need confirmation that I do or don't have Hepatitis C as these bouts of jaundice I get (where I am as yellow as the sun, I swear) are going to be extra dangerous if its HEP C thats causing it apparently. Why? Because of my drinking, that mixed with Hep C and I apparently don't have a chance in hell.

I'm 21. Jeez. I cannot believe I have never had a boyfriend, or anything like that. It is pretty easy to understand why though. When I got on heroin, I was just a kid, and I have been on it ever since. As a result, I have never emotionally grown-up. Those years were just spent chasing a drug, nothing else. I never socially learnt to deal with people, have relationships etc. etc. I wouldn't have a clue how to behave with the opposite sex. It makes me laugh that I haven't had sex in over a year. I am so shy I can't look at a man. I giggle at the thought of somebody saying they love me or like me or asking me out. Will I ever get back these vital years in which one needs to mature? I don't know but I don't think it matters that much because judging by the bruises I have on my ribcage and my legs (i haven't hit myself, or fallen, they just happen) I won't be around much longer.



Sarcastic Bastard said...

You are an excellent writer, and I admire your honesty. Your life is fascinating, though you probably don't think so.

I will be reading regularly, and I wish you the best.

I.:.S.:. said...

You get the chance to make up the lost years later... You always get another chance, at least until the end credits roll...