Post by Meercat on Jul 5, 2008 17:32:13 GMT
Drug induced message from Meercat.
Its been a peculiar few weeks. Weeks that have felt like months for some reason. Weeks that have been a mixture of drug induced pseudo-reality, stark, pain filled reality and more often than not, frustration.
I had big plans for my time after my operation. I have two books I’m currently writing (and have been for ten years) to finish, this was my ideal opportunity. I had research to do, new articles to pen, ‘angry’ letters to the media to write. My recovery time would fly by. Then the reality of the operation, and the subsequent drugs kicked in, about 4 hours after the operation.
“I won’t lie to you ” said the Consultant prior to the operation, “It’ll be painful for up to a year”. I could accept that. The problem comes in defining ‘pain’. I have a high tolerance for pain, I have no idea why, but I’ve always been that way, so it came as a shock to the system to find myself unable to ‘cope’. The solution? Medication.
Naproxen, Co-Codamol, Mobic, Tramadol, Morphine, Buprenorphine, a combination of them, all of them, sometimes washed down with Jack Daniels, sometimes lots of it. Doses adhered to, doses exceeded and sometimes disregarded completely.
My plans for constructive use of time seemed to dissolve in front of my eyes. Literally, with lights and patterns I had not seen since discovering LSD as a teenager. I haven’t written, I’ve scribbled notes occasionally, most of them important at the time and yet meaningless when read later.
I sleep. A lot. At times it feels like days. I’m assured that I am awake during those times, and yet I recall little. I learn the cruelty of these drugs on your mind. I awake after dreaming a concept for the perfect book, THE perfect book. The storyline, the plot, the characters and most importantly the ending, only to find that the minute I go to write it down, not one drop of it remains. I try to sleep again to ‘recreate’ the dream, I fail. The frustration of knowing I have that knowledge inside me but am unable to access it drives me crazy, until I pass out once again.
Morphine and Tramadol during a thunderstorm creates bizarre mental images of lava on a beach, and for some reason, burning men rolling in puddles too shallow to be effective. I don’t know these people but they appear to know me by the look in their eyes as I watch them burn. Curiously I have no emotions about this. I know it’s not real, but the heat of the flames makes me doubt it.
There was the upside to the drugs, the reason some people take these for ‘recreation’. I saw a UFO. Now that may or may not be a side effect of the drugs, but I am aware that I will never know if it really happened or if it was ‘created’. I stood in the garden looking at the stars, so many visible that night. I watched an object, black, huge, silent, a light at each end, pass slowly, very slowly, through the night sky.
I am not of ‘sound mind’ I have a system overflowing with drugs. Real? I doubt it. Hallucination? Probably. I find myself annoyed I will never truly know. So many stars. It’s a warm night, I’m staring straight up, my neck aching, I feel water running from my eyes, down the side of my face and neck and wonder why. I realise it’s because I haven’t blinked. Has it stopped the pain? No, but it’s distracted me.
I mentally wrote a new political constitution, I solved most of the Countries problems in a fifty point plan, all I remember of it now is that it would be illegal to wear tracksuits unless involved with, going to or returning from, a sporting event. I also recall I solved the immigration issue but cant remember where the shaving foam fitted into the plan. I just know it was important.
I think straight when I don’t take the tablets, then long for the tablets to kick in again to remove the pain. I start to get concerned. Is my mind creating the pain because I ‘need’ the tablets now? I know I have a tolerance, but have I now developed a dependency? I consult the Doctor. Is it supposed to hurt this much? It’s to be expected apparently. That eases my mind, but not the pain.
I found Jesus. He was in the cupboard under the sink. It’s my turn to hide next.
Thank you so much to the well-wishers, it’s good for the ego to be missed, even a little bit. I will do my best to catch up as soon as I can, I have not logged on for many reasons, mostly staring at a screen is just too bizarre to cope with, also, I will find myself making comments that are drug induced rather than meant.
I also pass out quite quickly these days making writing anything constructive quite difficult. I have spent nearly a week writing this so I can just cut and paste it. I don’t want that. From what I have seen, all I can say is keep up the good work.
Normality will be resumed as soon as possible. I need to write.
With kind regards to all
Dave
(Meercat)
Its been a peculiar few weeks. Weeks that have felt like months for some reason. Weeks that have been a mixture of drug induced pseudo-reality, stark, pain filled reality and more often than not, frustration.
I had big plans for my time after my operation. I have two books I’m currently writing (and have been for ten years) to finish, this was my ideal opportunity. I had research to do, new articles to pen, ‘angry’ letters to the media to write. My recovery time would fly by. Then the reality of the operation, and the subsequent drugs kicked in, about 4 hours after the operation.
“I won’t lie to you ” said the Consultant prior to the operation, “It’ll be painful for up to a year”. I could accept that. The problem comes in defining ‘pain’. I have a high tolerance for pain, I have no idea why, but I’ve always been that way, so it came as a shock to the system to find myself unable to ‘cope’. The solution? Medication.
Naproxen, Co-Codamol, Mobic, Tramadol, Morphine, Buprenorphine, a combination of them, all of them, sometimes washed down with Jack Daniels, sometimes lots of it. Doses adhered to, doses exceeded and sometimes disregarded completely.
My plans for constructive use of time seemed to dissolve in front of my eyes. Literally, with lights and patterns I had not seen since discovering LSD as a teenager. I haven’t written, I’ve scribbled notes occasionally, most of them important at the time and yet meaningless when read later.
I sleep. A lot. At times it feels like days. I’m assured that I am awake during those times, and yet I recall little. I learn the cruelty of these drugs on your mind. I awake after dreaming a concept for the perfect book, THE perfect book. The storyline, the plot, the characters and most importantly the ending, only to find that the minute I go to write it down, not one drop of it remains. I try to sleep again to ‘recreate’ the dream, I fail. The frustration of knowing I have that knowledge inside me but am unable to access it drives me crazy, until I pass out once again.
Morphine and Tramadol during a thunderstorm creates bizarre mental images of lava on a beach, and for some reason, burning men rolling in puddles too shallow to be effective. I don’t know these people but they appear to know me by the look in their eyes as I watch them burn. Curiously I have no emotions about this. I know it’s not real, but the heat of the flames makes me doubt it.
There was the upside to the drugs, the reason some people take these for ‘recreation’. I saw a UFO. Now that may or may not be a side effect of the drugs, but I am aware that I will never know if it really happened or if it was ‘created’. I stood in the garden looking at the stars, so many visible that night. I watched an object, black, huge, silent, a light at each end, pass slowly, very slowly, through the night sky.
I am not of ‘sound mind’ I have a system overflowing with drugs. Real? I doubt it. Hallucination? Probably. I find myself annoyed I will never truly know. So many stars. It’s a warm night, I’m staring straight up, my neck aching, I feel water running from my eyes, down the side of my face and neck and wonder why. I realise it’s because I haven’t blinked. Has it stopped the pain? No, but it’s distracted me.
I mentally wrote a new political constitution, I solved most of the Countries problems in a fifty point plan, all I remember of it now is that it would be illegal to wear tracksuits unless involved with, going to or returning from, a sporting event. I also recall I solved the immigration issue but cant remember where the shaving foam fitted into the plan. I just know it was important.
I think straight when I don’t take the tablets, then long for the tablets to kick in again to remove the pain. I start to get concerned. Is my mind creating the pain because I ‘need’ the tablets now? I know I have a tolerance, but have I now developed a dependency? I consult the Doctor. Is it supposed to hurt this much? It’s to be expected apparently. That eases my mind, but not the pain.
I found Jesus. He was in the cupboard under the sink. It’s my turn to hide next.
Thank you so much to the well-wishers, it’s good for the ego to be missed, even a little bit. I will do my best to catch up as soon as I can, I have not logged on for many reasons, mostly staring at a screen is just too bizarre to cope with, also, I will find myself making comments that are drug induced rather than meant.
I also pass out quite quickly these days making writing anything constructive quite difficult. I have spent nearly a week writing this so I can just cut and paste it. I don’t want that. From what I have seen, all I can say is keep up the good work.
Normality will be resumed as soon as possible. I need to write.
With kind regards to all
Dave
(Meercat)