I mean Vicodin. I don't want to say I'm addicted to Vicodin but I think I'm addicted to Vicodin. First clue out of the way. Moving on.
I was never a fan of this drug when I've taken it in the past. But that's because I was on a limited amount due to dental woes or buying if off the Druggertons, who live next door. Second clue to my addiction is my hypocritic oath, hereby sworn, because I totally trashed them a few posts back for being drug dealers. And expensive ones I might add.
When my doctor first gave me 60 with a refill for 60 I thought he might have confused them with Vitamin C. Who gives a patient access to 120 Vicodin? I mean besides Anna Nicole Smith's doctors. But never one to look a drug mule in the mouth, I didn't say anything. I barely even took them because I had no pain. And the first week post-op I was too busy trying not to throw up to even think about ingesting anything that would cause further expectoration.
But now, with just 27 days until the cast comes off I am seriously depressed. I find it hard to believe that only 2 months have passed since the surgery since it totally feels like 5 years. About 2 weeks ago I was in such dire straits that the only thing that would make me get out of the straits and onto the narrow was the Vicodin. And not just one at a time, like I had been taking, but 2 at a time. And then 6 hours of complete bliss would settle over me like a Thanksgiving dinner. I would prattle on and on about how great life was and I would work like an elf at Christmas on my final polish for my novel, which I'm now beginning to hate.
When the Vikes would finally wear off, I had the perfect pill cocktail to go to sleep. As a lifelong insomniac, (Seriously, I should have ticked off Cat Burglar on those questionnaires they make you fill out in high school about where your aptitude lies), I found a combo-platter that kept me out for 12 hours. 2 over the counter Unisom and .025 Xanax. That is the lowest dosage possible of Xanax but on the few occasions I've overindulged and taken 2 of those then the next day I wander the rooms of my apartment on my scooter, in a daze. So maybe that low dosage isn't as low as I think. And imagine how retarded I look dazed on a scooter.
I'm writing all this out because it's better to let the world in on the secret you're trying to hide. So in case someone else out there is reading this and has a similar problem, go ahead and taper off with me and then quit. If you need NA, go there. But TELL someone. I'm also doing it in case I die. KIDDING, PLEASE DON'T WRITE ME, I'M NOT HEATH LEDGER. And the Medical Examiner would be too embarrassed to print out what killed me and have to instead write in that I was the worst drug overdose he's seen in his 36 years of Medical Examining. Of course we're talking about Los Angeles so there's quite a few million people ahead of me on the pussy list of Drug Overdosees.
So I'm cutting down on both the Vikes and the Xanax as of today. I also have a stash of 24 Darvocet (Good Lord when you count your pills you might just as well call Tatum O'Neal and ask her if she has any leftover crack) but have no idea if they stave off depression or just make you sleepy. Because I'll say it again, I have no pain. I've never had any pain. So the last time I saw my doctor I mentioned that I was happy to have the Vikes and he said, "Because they make you feel good, right?" And therein lies the answer to why I got 120 Vicodins. He knew my situation was particular, living alone, second floor, etc. He KNEW I was going to plunge into a depression because of the long incarceration. He planned that all out and made sure I'd have something to keep me from heading the scooter down the stairs and into the deep end of the pool. As IF I could even do that and not end up in the shallow end.
So let the deprogramming begin.
End of chat.