Crying always gives me a headache. It makes my eyes all puffy and fills my nose with cotton. Especially when it lasts for almost an hour, with hitches and sudden intakes of air.

Where to start? A story like this is difficult to tell, because in all honesty, I did it to myself.

I have caused my own suffering.

I saw my doctor yesterday. Not the warmest woman in the world, but I’ve stayed with her for these last 5 years because she knows me and is also my mom’s doctor. She’s the one who discovered that I had diabetes and the one who refills my various prescriptions. It was easier to just stick with who I knew.

She was on her computer and saw what I had tried to do to myself a few months ago. Twice.

“You tried to kill yourself?” she asked.

“Yes,” I whispered, somehow feeling ashamed of myself.

“Tsk. I can’t give you any more pain pills now. No doctor will give you anything for pain. All you have left is the Flexeril.” (A muscle relaxer.)

I get it. If she gives me a refill and I try to overdose again, she could lose her license and also have my death on her shoulders.

But it was the way that she said it, so indifferent and cold. A total lack of empathy.

I felt the tears start to well up. I tried to force them back, but they started to spill, hot down my cheeks.

She ignored it. She listened to my chest while I silently cried.

She sat back down and talked about my sugar, blood pressure and the fact that I haven’t gotten a mammogram yet. Am I still smoking?

“How’s your mom?” she asked.

“Fine,” I responded. I just wanted out of there. I wanted to go out to my car and weep alone. To light a cigarette, because what the fuck does it matter?

smoking

She gave me the paperwork for more blood tests (that always come back fine and dandy) and another order for the mammogram. A referral to a rheumotologist that I had no intention of following through with, because I’ve been down that route before. The last one gave me a medication that made me lose my hair. Nothing he gave me did anything positive for me and in the end, he was actually at a complete loss.

“I want to see you in 3 months,” she said, dismissing me.

I nodded, knowing deep down that this would be the last time that I saw her.

And then I walked out the door, down the elevator and finally outside into the oddly warm November weather. Once I got to the car, I let the sobs take me over.

At home, I ripped up the paperwork. Threw it in the trashcan.

I don’t know what I will do now. My pain is real and now I have no way to keep it at bay, all because I abused them when I wasn’t in my right mind.

My eyes look washed out this morning and I am so extremely exhausted.

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