20 trips

Yesterday I vomited consecutively more times than I can remember.

rewind.

I had made a few calls to friends looking for a muscle relaxer, probably one of the only people making that call for the drug's intended purpose. While waiting I asked Alex, who if she didn't have them herself, would probably know someone who did. She dipped into her room and came back with a tiny piece of an orange pill.

"What's that?"
"Suboxone, it's just a tiny tiny bit, it'll do the trick."
"What's it for?"

I hate quoting without being able to remember exact words. More or less, Suboxone is an opiate that's prescribed to morphine and heroin addicts to help them get the body effect without the high, relieving them of the pain from withdraws. She racked off scientific information about some receptors in the brain being blocked and whatnot, telling me I would feel better but wouldn't get the head high.

Went to a chiropractor and got a cheap deal thanks to Wolfgang, Alex's dad, and already had some range of motion back. Nothing had turned up from either of my friends, so I decided to settle on what Alex had given me, assuming I had done enough research on it to justify consumption.

Ate a dinner of sauteed greens, some chicken, rice, and poke. Took the Suboxone, and got in the bath around nine. Something felt extra wet about the water, my senses probing past the boundaries of the shower curtain, my toes giggled with suds as I scrubbed. Suddenly I realized I was dizzy.

Getting out of the bath I realized I was really dizzy. And couldn't focus on one thing. Loosing my balance I stumbled to the bed, and decided to ride and enjoy what was happening. At least my pain was going down. Early bed, and tomorrow I'll feel great.

The next two hours were splendid. Floating half between awake and sleep, the state of dreaming was warm and cozy. I drifted off to sleep.

2 am. I wake. Everything felt soooo goood to touch. I wished for specific company, muttered a curse at the distance of the sea, and slipped back to sleep.

4 am. I wake. Everything felt bad. Okay, puke and feel better, a common rational. Went to the toilet, vomited hard.

I remember looking at the greens floating, thinking to myself as I watched them sink, it should have been cake.

What a waste.

I brushed my teeth and laid back down.

A few random minutes passed and nausea possessed me. Okay, puke twice and feel better, right?

Only this time when I laid back down, I was freezing, and shaking. I closed my eyes, slipping into a dream wild sleep until revolution hit my stomach again. what the fuck..?

After three hours and five vomits I had run out of food to expel, left with dry heaving to the sound of rain smacking on the ground, glowing golden with the morning sun. Pain and beauty truly do compliment each other.

The cycle seemed to be 30 minute increments. Wake, vomit/dry heave, break into a profuse sweat, become freezing cold, lay back in bed shaking for five minutes, close my eyes and immediately fall back into a restless busy sleep. Wake, repeat.

One strange thing about drug-induced delirium is that it can become very hard to tell the difference between reality and non. Slumped over the toilet, even if my eyes fluttered closed for a second, I believed what ever was broadcast across the back of my eyelids, until I'd realize I had no toothpaste in my hand or that I was, in fact, not buried in a hill. Opening my eyes gave me little compensation, for everything moved that should not have moved, and I was trapped in the cycle, teeth chattering so hard I could have put wind-up toys out of business.

Somewhere I heard my phone blurt out a familiar ring tone, and I cried out silently.

There came a point where I had nothing left in my stomach, and instead of at least some stomach acid or dry heaving, a wrenching pain slashed across my stomach, and clear liquid mixed with reddish-brownish gunk started coming up. Upon sitting in the sink for a minute, it would oxidize, turning a darker shade of fear.

I thought I was vomiting blood. Scared the shit out of me.

Mama Lindsey says it was bile...I know I psych myself out sometimes, but this was fucking horrifying.

Everything slowed down around 6:30. By 8 I had managed to drink a glass of water and juice.

What a day. Few times in life have I considered going to the hospital.

This was one.