My writing is becoming less and less. My desire to write has always been, yet I'm stifled and told to "shut up", or sometimes, "go fuck yourself". In about a year's time, I've lost my dad (yes you've all heard) and have gone through excruciating and underestimated chronic pain that I cannot take any longer. It's made my quality of life not worth living. I'm zombied out on Percocet, because I got an ulcer from NSAIDs and I can't take any other pain relievers. So I'm stuck with the stigma of an "addict" when in fact, it's for pain only. So I sweat it out for a week or two without meds, screaming and crying in pain all night without a wink of sleep. Then I'm a "nuisance" because many of the times my "level 10" pain requires trips to the ER. I've become a huge burden, on others and on myself. I can't live this way anymore. Please forgive me if my writing somewhat dissipates into another meaningless blog out there in cyberspace. I have no content, no material, nothing other than complaints. I feel dead inside. I'm running on "E".
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