I wanted to write this whole account of the last few days in which I experienced a severe allergic reaction to a medication I was put on. not only did I want to write it, I made a few starts that got pretty far before i ditched them because I wasn't getting any of the magical shit that i get from writing, the stuff that keeps me doing it. Today, I feel like I was just in a steel cage match.
I just got reminded on my that my phone bill is due tomorrow. Normally this is nothing worth mentioning. Today, though, it illustrated that I have been without any frame of reference of time for what is likely numerous days.
All I know is that I woke up fully clothed on my bed at 3pm yesterday afternoon.
if I didn’t have all these scratch marks and a totally cut up inner mouth, I might have trouble believing that the whole ordeal even actually happened at all.
I have no business claiming that I understand anything about how things work. I know that the discomfort I was feeling was at a level I had never known, which says a lot given the kinds of things I have lived through. There wasn't anything I wasn’t willing to do to stop the pain, I started taking the kinds of actions you take to get heroin and Xanax pills. I was more than willing to behave in ways that could get you arrested so that I could get into the emergency room quicker. I had no perception of anything beyond the itch I needed to scratch. I didn’t sleep.
I don’t even have the ability to find meaning in this, or why it feels like a fever dream. This is a new facet of what perception even does.
My last few posts were from a person who thought they had figured a couple of things out, too.
I have no idea.
