I'm almost out of Benzo's. I've called who I'm suppose to call, no answer. Left a message, no call back. Of course today is the day everyone gets their welfare/financial assistance, I'm sure I'm not the only one who left a message. What I should have done, was got my ass in the car and drove downtown. I don't want to do such a thing. I was there yesterday, where I was told to call tomorrow. Well its fucking tomorrow, and I'm down to four flippen Xanax bars, and then what. Go without, see if I do have a seizure. I doubt I'll die. I have yet to die.
Which reminds of last nights incident.
I woke up around 6pm after my afternoon nap. The sun was just going down, but the air was still hot and thick. I got up out of my bed, and walked around the apartment, to find I was all alone. Mom was at work and Dad was at the bar. It was a Monday night, good TV shows were on, so I wasn't too pissed that I was locked in my house, no way out until my dad got home with the keys. Eleanor was sitting on the couch, and looked so depressed. She always looks depressed when I'm not playing with her, which make me of course feel guilty for not playing with her all the time.
Since my parents weren't home I decided to watch the nights TV shows in their room. Their room has a ceiling fan, and a stand up rotating fan. We do have central air, and its cranked as high as it can go, but still its hot in the apartment. If my parents would have closed the shades when the sun was high in the sky, and shining directly in our apartment this place would be at least a bit cooler, but of course those types of duties are left up to me.
Before my shows started I made myself a plate of spaghetti. I could feel my methadone wearing off, and my body started aching. My mind started wandering, going to places I try to keep it from going. Places like, what would it be like to die, I wish we had all my fathers guns here in Hawaii with us. Stupid suicidal stuff that I would never act on.
My shows started, and the first one was House, which was a really good episode. Then I watched Medium, my favorite show at the moment. For some reason when I watch medium I get this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach that goes all the way up to the top of my head. I hate how just when the show is getting good, it goes to commercial break. I start to get all worked up, and ended up having a panic attack. I was low on benzos, so I could only take two, and I stole one of my dads Kpins, I also took two, two hundred mg morphines to keep the sickness away. Don't ask where I got them, I just got them for just in case situations, now that I'm going down on my Methadone. This is the first time I had to use them.
Medium ends up being a special two hour episode, and druing one of the commercials I got this wild hair up my ass to go out on the patio, and see if could see my dad walking home from the bar. I couldn't see him. While looking for him I was sitting on this green plastic table, with cheap green plastic patio set. I got in my head to stand on the this table. So I take on foot and step onto the table, and I take the next foot onto the table. Two seconds after I got on the table, It fell to pieces under my weight, and in the crash I suffered a number of injuries to my feet and legs.
As soon as I got back on my feet, they hurt like I they just been hit with a switch ten times. I ran back into the apartment and turn the bath water on cold, and put my feet in their, and I noticed alot of blood coming from my feet. I looked on the bottoms of my feet and I only had one scratch. I couldn't figure out where all this blood was coming from. So I took a wash cloth, and put a bit of soap on it, and I washed my feet, and I found the source of the blood. It was on the back of my foot just above my heal. More on my ankle. I had a huge gash their. I looked like I might have needed stitches. Except I could leave the apartment, and I didn't have a phone to call anyone. So I got out the bandaids, and made a butterfly bandage, to close up the wound best I could, and then I put more bandaids over that, and then wrapped it tight with an ace bandage.
I swear on my sisters grave, I wasn't even thinking about jumping, I just wanted to stand on the table and see if I could see over the seven eleven to the bar where my dad was. I knew it was dangerous, and if I had feel forward I would have fallen fourteen stories to the cement below. Instead I fell straight down. I hadn't had time to lean over and see before the table gave way to my fat ass.
So while I'm patching myself up, I'm watching Medium still, and still getting frustrated everytime a commercial comes on. I got so sick of it, that I pushed pause on the DVR, so I could fast forward thru the commercials. Why I didn't do this earlier, I don't know. Oh yes, I remember because I was in my parents bedroom, and they don't have a DVD in their room, only in the living room.
Not 5 minutes after I pushed pause, my dad comes stumble thru the door drunk. I ran in his room and grabbed my blanky before he passed out on it. Then I told him I'm going down to buy some smokes, and a butterfinger. Which I did, I took Eleanor with me for her nightly walk. Oh fuck did my feet hurt on that short yet long walk over to seven eleven. It was on that walk that I realized I was pretty fucked up from taking those morphine, and benzo's. I didn't feel high, but I was nodding out. Eleanor would stop to piss, and I would be startled awake by her pulling on her leash.
I got to Seven Eleven, and got what I needed, and walked to the counter to check out. I set my candy and bottled water down, and nodded out. The clerk...whom I've become friends with after seeing her three time a night at most, and at least once a night. She asked what was wrong, and I said, ohh yeah, I cut my foot and my dad gave me a percocet and now I feel really tired. ( I have told this particular clerk about my addiction, and methadone. I, of course left out the benzo use, and such. Her name is Roselyn. She thinks I'm a recovering addict doing really good. Which I am. I could be alot worse. After I gave her the wrong the card for my food stamps, she was said, "Anna, your high as kite. What are you doing, I've never seen you like this. Your slurring your words, and you eyes look glassed over, and you look pale, with bluish lips." By now I just wanted out and to get back home. I didn't feel high, as in the euphoric, warm happy childish sense, I just felt wasted. I had no control over myself, and wanted to get Eleanor home without incident. So after she found my food stamps card, and did all the transaction for me, and started to give me the third degree, and though I was ODing, I got my ass out of their. Didn't even say thank you or good buy. I just fled the scene. I knew I wasn't ODing, I was out and moving, I was just intoxicated by taking too much opiates, and benzo's.
When I got home, my dad had already passed out in his room. I pushed play to watch the rest of Medium, but there was no way, I was nodding, and would wake up, and find I had left a cigarette burn in my pants, and in my shirt. Oh God, I though for a second, my parents know when all my clothes have cigarette burns in them I've been using. They will check my arms for tracks, which they won't find, because I ingested them. finally I was out, and didn't wake up until 4am when I went in my bedroom.
The next morning I was worried they would know that I had used. I had forgotten about the table on the patio incident. Both my parents are convinced I was trying to jump, but I wasn't. Now they are acting all weird around me. Feeling guilty, when they have no reason to feel guilty. I tried to explain it to them, still they don't believe me. They want me to call my theripast and tell her about what happened, and be taken inpatient in the physc hospital for undetermined amount of time. Finally I just admitted I had taken a panic attack, and I took a Xanax. I left out the Morphine part, that would just cause even more unwanted attention. After I took all my manipulative behavior to get the to stop thinking I tried to off myself, and for my mom to go to bed, she has work again tonight, and my dad to go lay down and nurse his hanger over. So my dad takes the couch and falls asleep. I go do my laundry because I have nothing to wear, and while down the hall I called who I'm suppose to call for my meds. No answer.
So now here I am. blogging about being scary low on my Xanax.
I got to go now. Thanks for reading this post.
Lots of love to everyone.