I love my drugs.

Here. Alive. Still recovering from the vigil...

That, and C's computer "broke" two days ago, the very day that I wanted to spill myself all over the keyboard and leak into the screen. Didn't happen, obviously, 'cause the computer was down. Then it fixed itself. I made C back up his most important stuff, just in case, since he had never gotten around to it.

Ran out of pain meds yesterday morning-- took the last one sometime before noon. Not even 24 hours without prescription meds and I was a quivering, whimpering mass of painsomnia and awful flu-like symptoms. I essentially staked out the pharmacy this morning until they opened. I still hurt now that I've got the real stuff in me, but it's so much less in comparison that it's almost laughable. And maybe it's just that the overall general crappiness has been diminished to the point where I notice the really specific and intense pains?

You know what? I don't care. I just care that I can breathe again, and look in the direction of the fridge without threatening to toss my cookies... or think the word "cookies" without threatening to toss them.

I don't care who disapproves. I love my pain meds, and I cannot function without them. I would sell my body for money if I had to, in order to be able to afford them. I joke about that sometimes, but I'm deadly serious about this one. With the memory of my Night of Horror so fresh in my mind, I know that I would do a lot of things short of thievery or murder to make sure that I stay in meds... if I could move well enough to do them, that is.

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