I just woke up about one hour ago and I already am exhausted and ready for sleep. Were it not for my commitment years ago to write at least 500 words each day, I probably would not be writing this essay now. I would probably be going back to bed now. I am in so much pain right now that it’s hard to tell if I’m fatigued or trying to escape the constant pain of consciousness.
I am not in pain in my dreams.
My dreams are vivid and expansive. I don’t normally dream, or remember my dreams. I would phrase it best as my dreams tend to be fairly boring, so they aren’t noteworthy. The only time they become noteworthy is if I’m enduring some kind of terrible hardship. I’m not sure if I wrote about this around the time that I started Better Zombie, but I took a contract to help a company move buildings. When they removed some infrastructure from the old building, like cubical walls and such, the air became polluted with a sort of dust that I was terribly allergic to, to the point where if I was in the building for more than 5 minutes – we weren’t provided dust masks – then I would be sick for days. I dreamt about being a minor going into caves frequently throughout that contract. Those dreams were my mind’s way of coping with that reality of constantly getting sick.
My dreams now are random but mostly pleasant.
If I have any nightmares now, it’s over minor logistical things. I dreamt I received a silly email for defamation, written not by a lawyer but by someone childish. I checked my email when I woke up and the most I saw were silly letters that are in my mailbox I still can’t physically access. I can barely change my clothes, I can’t bathe regularly, and I barely have the energy to stay awake through all of this pain, so I’m not sure how I can drive over to the mailbox to collect these letters to address, but they will have to wait as I will until my next doctor’s appointment in three days.
I don’t have much energy now to even think about what to write.
I am so tired right now that I probably should aim to get back to bed when this essay is done or once I write 500 words. I can always write the remaining 500 words later on this afternoon. I know I shouldn’t feel bad if I miss a day or don’t quite achieve that same ambition I set out for myself when I was in good health, but still, I think it’s more important to document how I’m feeling through this process than to skip the documentation process and go back to bed. I don’t think I’ll have the energy to write the remainder of this essay, so let’s end it at 500 words until later on this afternoon.
That was a good 12-minute writing session: from 12:22pm to 12:34pm.
I don’t feel much better but I might as well finish writing this essay tonight so that I can wrap this one up. Maybe I’ll feel better tomorrow? I went to bed and had a whole storyline dream about having lived in California then moving up to Alaska for work, only to return to California. The place in California was a mansion that had many residents living in each room. I found out about this place from a friend of mine that had stayed up in Alaska. They all thought I was my friend, even the landlady, even after I told them I wasn’t. Their only available room was one underneath the stairs to the left as one first walked into this wild mansion. I had to interview to live in this house, and the question that woke me up was: “What’s your favorite sitcom?”
Apparently, that was enough to break the suspension of disbelief of this dream.
I woke up to pain and have been in the sort of overwhelming pain that is causing me to begin to wheeze or question the decisions I make in life about standing up from a sitting position that hurts. I imagine that over the next few days, until I see the spine surgeon doctor, that I will alternate between hurting too much to stay awake, hurting too much to do much of anything, and trying my hardest to sleep through the pain. It would be nice to play more Minecraft to get my mind off of this pain, but if I did, then the pain would compound into something far worse than before.
I can’t escape this pain, whatever it is, and however it is causing as much havoc as possible. It’s with me from the moment I wake up to the moments I find myself in these increasingly more vivid dreams. I don’t have much energy to do anything anymore. I can barely bend down to change my underwear. I’m wearing the same shirt for two days in a row now, not because I like the shirt – a Legend of Zelda shirt in Large – but because I don’t want to take one of my remaining Oxycodone to overcome the pain associated with moving my arms around enough to take the shirt off, and put a new one on, let alone shower for the first time in four days.
I don’t know what the future will hold, but I hope it’s somewhat positive.
How much energy do I have left, if the next two doctors’s appointments are worthless? I can’t drive anymore. Driving home from the sports medicine doctor’s appointment was perhaps more frightening than it should have been, because I needed to focus all of my effort away from my pain and onto driving. It’s almost permanently impaired me since then. I would hope that one of these doctors would take pity on my wretched soul.
However, I know better than to trust the American Healthcare System.
|Sources: My personal experiences.|
|Inspirations: Writing about my life.|
|Related: Sober Living essays and Tripping On [The American Healthcare System] chapters.|
|Written On: 2020 November 15 [12:22pm to “12:34pm” at 12:34pm; 8:56pm to 9:07pm]|
|Last Edited: 2020 November 15 [First draft; final draft for the Internet.]|