Prisoner

The Lord made me a prisoner her because of my son’s heroine addiction.

I am being quite blunt and quite frank.

Ian is asking me to.

What these cats went through then? Between 2012, or 2013, and when he moved out about 4 years later? He was plain and simple an addict. I still can’t go near it in my mind because I wasn’t much better myself. We were both struggling to live. He was here I was in an apartment 5 miles away. My addiction? Laxatives. I had 10 or 20 at my disposal. At the crux of it, I used them at night. I flushed the toilet 50 times at night, in an upstairs apartment. The downstairs, older male neighbor was incensed. He was calling the police on me on a regular basis.

I had suffered from intense constipation from 2003 until then. (I did finally get help in 2018 and the constipation is somewhat controlled. Now, the whole process is altered and I have trouble with liquid incontinent diarrhea at times.) But for a long time I lived from day to day at the behest of laxatives. I would go 6 days without going, not knowing when I would. I started keeping notebooks of when I had gone and what I had taken. I have never heard of anything like this before. I was completely alone with it. When I was living in Trexlertown, I did have a PCP who was sympathetic and did not demand yet another colonoscopy (I think) but there wasn’t a lot she could do for me.

Then, the suicide attempt. A full month’s supply of Lamictal, an anti-seizure med. Because I knew that it would f me up. It had to be serious. None of this stupid stuff.

This is what I left behind. It feels like a big white pasty cloud standing between me now and me then. I don’t really remember anything except driving down to quakertown for counseling and med management.

I think I am human.

ha ha!!!

This is what the aliens wanted. Me, right here, right now.

I will let you know how it goes.