It seems like I’m the only person who still knows what happened a year ago. Someone else made some rather half-hearted apologies about it, and claimed to have lied so much about the incident that it couldn’t be reversed. Meanwhile, I’ve taken the brunt of those lies and accusations, and even had those lies used as further evidence for more things that never happened.
It truly sucks to watch someone you care about devolve into paranoia and mania because of past trauma. It’s even harder to watch them drink themselves into oblivion, effectively brainwashing themselves into believing their own bullshit because they’re too weak to stand up and say, “Hey, I have a problem, and I need some help.” Sure, I’ve self-medicated the same way myself at times, but I’ve also known enough to realize when I needed help — and sought it out and taken it.
So, suffice it to say, I’m more than a little down today.
And my shoulder is killing me.
Last week, I threw it out pretty bad. I kept eating Ibuprofen, putting FlexAll on it to try and deal with it. But by Friday, it was so bad that I had to go to the doctor. I dreaded the Cortisone shot as much as I might dread a catheter, because they always hurt like Hell.
This time was worse. The shot was easy in and of itself, but filling an already inflamed joint with a thick paste adds tremendous pressure where you’re already feeling it. That’s usually tolerable, except in this case, the entire bottom of my arm went cold and numb, and the fire shooting through my arm’s nerve tunnels had me pretty damn close to tears.
“Keep your mind off it,” I kept thinking on the way to get my prescription filled. I gave Mushy a random call, knowing he’d gone through a worse bout of it last year with his shoulder. Didn’t work. “Horror stories. Fuck.”
And then, of course, came time to deal with the idiot Pharmacy techs who can’t read, “ALLERGIC TO ACETAMINOPHEN” on a prescription. Nor did they have the brains to figure out the milligrams for a one-size-fits-all drug. Nor did they have the social skills to treat me like anything less than an addict, even going so far as to say, “This doesn’t look like a real prescription.”
The third pharmacy, of course, was the charm — but not before going back to the doctor’s office to get them to fill out the prescription form properly and call in the medication to the pharmacy of their choice, who also missed, “ALLERGIC TO ACETAMINOPHEN,” as did the third after having that one called in by the second pharmacy.
I finally got the drugs I needed.
And I logged in here after an extended absence to find a rather overwhelming amount of spam.
“Are tose numbers even close to right?“ I can’t even tell. Since the spam filter only shows twenty per page, the page numbers I can click to are also in expoential notation … all thanks spambots, page scrapers, content theives, and Southeast Kentucky Rednecks, thanks to the bullshit in the first part of this post…
Some days, I just shouldn’t bother.
