Friday night, or rather Saturday morning in the wee hours, I decided I could take it no longer. I had endured some two and a half days of headache to a greater or lesser degree. It had lately gotten worse to the point where I am not sure I had ever been in so much pain before. I could not endure it. It was 2:30 a.m. My options were limited and all of them bad. I could:
1. Wait it out somehow.
2. Drink a lot of alcohol until I passed out.
3. Wake Michael up, have him take me to the ER, convince them I’m not a hophead, wait a long time for a shot that will provide a few hours’ relief, then worry about how I’m going to pay for all of this without insurance.
4. Go to my parents’ house and check the pain management options there.
5. Commit suicide.
Lemme tell you, Option 5 was looking pretty good. I had never been in so much pain in my life. But I took what seemed to be the least of all the evils.
I slipped out of my boyfriend’s house and drove for an hour to my parents’. They were asleep and I hoped very much that I would not wake them. I didn’t. I sneaked inside and went to the place where Mom stored all of my dead grandmother’s numerous very powerful prescription painkillers. I took some and then went back to Michael’s apartment. The recommended dose was two. I had to take eight to bring the pain down to a manageable level.
Later in the day, I began to reflect on the situation, which clearly could not continue as it had. I have a care for my liver and would rather it not curl up and die. But I could not endure such agony as I had lately been experiencing.
I called Mom and confessed to what I had done. Then sat through quite a lot of You Idiot, Don’t You Realize How Dangerous That Is, Do You Want To Die, I Should Never Have Told You About Those Drugs, Respiratory Suppressant, Liver Failure, and so on and so forth. Then she insisted on speaking to Michael. It’s a scary thing when Michael and Mom come to be united on anything. They have always hated each other. But in response to my mother’s instructions Michael took the pills away, dragged me to the store, purchased a multivitamin that contains almost the entire periodic table of elements, and told me he was going to force me to eat regular, nutritious meals from now on, because he and Mom both think the headaches might be caused by a vitamin deficiency. I disliked being treated like a child or an anorexic and said so. We bickered half the night. He told me I would abide by his eating rules or leave his apartment right now. I stayed.
Tomorrow, as early as possible, I’m off to the doctor’s again to figure out what’s to be done. All that I know is I cannot live like this.
Still no internet access at Michael’s apartment.