* Poking Up My Head *

Well, here I sit again. What to write about? I really have no clue; I’ve shut my mind off a lot lately because it’s the only way (at times) I’ve been able to cope. And really, who am I kidding, anyway? I can’t really shut my mind off, at least not as much as I would like. Mental images of Patty pop into my head a lot, visions of: the time she visited me in Seattle; the first time she picked me up in her city after what was the worst, most terrifying flight of my life; riding with her on the Sea-Doo up at the beautiful lake house; sitting on her big chair at her home with her sweet little Angel kitty on my lap; talking for hours with her on the phone, sometimes when either or both of us were a lot sicker than we were letting anyone else know (it was between us); the laughter, God the laughter! I could write my memories from now until…? Well, I’m sure it would take me years to do that because each memory brings up three or four more, if you know what I mean.

I’m doing somewhat okay now, with a little bit of time gone by. But yes, of course, it’s still very fresh, too, as it is for anyone who knew Patty. But she would kick my ass if I allowed what happened to affect me negatively for too long. So I got back into physical therapy this week and I also returned to the IOP class even though I’m tired of it for several reasons that maybe I’ll get into in a bit.

The point? Who knows if I even have one! I’ll just say that I’m doing my best to adjust and get into what is my new normal, my life without one of my closest, dearest friend’s physical presence. I haven’t been able to get rid of the tightness in my chest yet; I suppose that, too, takes time. And I can still break out into guttural sobs when something triggers me and makes me think about her.

Now, about the IOP, the program I’ve been in which has been helping to learn better life skills, better coping skills, and working with preventing my relapsing with the morphine abuse. Sometimes I really frustrated because I, having been on morphine for twelve or fifteen years or something, never had a problem with it until that last major depression I went through. So I took assloads extra of it for about six months (choosing to feel “nothing” instead of being overwhelmed by everything). After that I began titrating myself down again, handling everything myself instead of asking for help. It was only after I already had 280mg (prescribed dosages throughout the day) and took an additional 450mg in order to make everything stop permanently that I realized I needed extra help. So I brought it up with my counselor, my psychiatrist and my doctor. I sometimes, still, wonder if I should have just kept my mouth shut.

At first I was getting a lot out of the IOP classes. The group was small and respectful with the exception of one guy who slept through the whole thing. There were a lot of little annoyances that the facilitators let slide, and those annoyances kept getting more and more evident the longer the facilitators ignored what was going on. For the seven or so (eight?) weeks I’ve been going (missed all last week due to Patty’s death and my not coping well with it) the group has slowly been getting larger and larger, the rules getting more and more broken, and some days have been total chaos. The first time things felt under control again was the last part of yesterday’s session. The facilitator, a counselor at the place where the IOP is held, didn’t take any shit from anyone. She kept waking up the sleeper; jumped on people for talking over others or not being present; making guys get off of their phones; and so on. I thought she was great!, the best facilitator I’d seen this group have. And she was only filling in for the head cheese, who has been out because of the death of his mother. The woman who will head up today’s and Friday’s meetings seems to be really intimidated by some of the guys in the group and they run roughshod over her pretty much every time she’s the boss.

I expect today and Friday to be disasters, again. I just am not getting much out of the group anymore because of all of the distractions. I mean, one of the huge rules is that one cannot show up high, under the influence of anything. One of the guys found a doc who loves to hand out medical marijuana (which I don’t have a problem with and would use it if I could afford to… he gets it for free!). There are many of us who have more of a need for it, to be sure. He gets it in some kind of vaporizer thingie, kind of like the new electronic cigarettes. Not only do the facilitators not say anything when he’s toking away, getting high during the sessions, but no one says anything when he begins sharing it with about five other guys in the group! I mean, really? We’re in a drug program and they’re letting the guy get high just sitting there? It really angers me, but all I’ve been told when I’ve expressed anything at all is to just focus on myself and such. Well, duh! That’s what I’m trying to do. But with all of the chaos and drama and with just how much shit goes on that is distracting, how in the fuck am I supposed to get anything at all out of this program? I’ve still got several weeks to go and I’ve changed from practically bounding there those three mornings per week to dreading it and having the three hours seemingly drag on forever. It’s not what it once was, and I’m not happy with its present formation.

My plan is to talk once again with my counselor during our appointment tomorrow, especially if today is a total disaster, and see if there is any way at all they will let me out of my agreement to go through this program. I pretty much know the answer, of course, but one can’t get change unless one asks, right? My “team” has me kind of trapped into this, too, because they only way they are going to assist me with finishing getting off of the morphine is if I honor my commitment to the program. Rock, meet hard place, and try to not squish me too much when I’m found in between you two.

So I have no choice but to get busy, to get going in a little while with a shower, etc., so I can convince myself it’s going to be a great day. I know, I know… the day is what one makes of it. I just don’t have high expectations for this morning, totally based on the way it has been going and escalating over the past few weeks.

I’ve got a meeting after lunch with the financial woman at my clinic to go over and find out just what the dollar amount of the outstanding insurance debt I’m going to get stuck with. It’s not looking good for me, either. Not only have the program changes/cancelations at the clinic taken about $200/month out of my already-limited budget; but now it seems as if I’m going to have to come up with over $300 that I was assuming the clinic was paying… that’s an entire year’s worth of all of the insurance premiums except the Medicare supplement medical insurance. I swear… one more hit and I’m not sure I can be responsible for my actions. Now don’t take that as my

being homicidal/suicidal… I’m neither. I’m just frustrated, more poor than ever, and hoping that all shoes have dropped.