My shrink referred me to a pain specialist last week, raised my Effexor to 300 mg and refilled my Klonopin. She was disgusted by the actions of my GP.

“If you want to die, you’ll find a way. You’re in pain! If I could give you something for it, I would.”

I called the pain specialist and they are supposed to call me back by the end of the week to make an appointment. It could take up to 8 weeks to see the doctor himself or a nurse practitioner.

Meanwhile, I am doing what I can to make do.


In the evenings, now that my daughter has finally gotten her drivers license, I start off by having a can of this. Then I take 2-3 mg of Klonopin and smoke a little weed.

Please, no lectures. I know that mixing alcohol and benzo’s are not a good idea. At this point, I give absolutely no shits whatsoever. Throughout the day, every day, I am miserable. I am also fucking tired of it. Since I can’t get any help from a doctor right now, I have to use my noodle and make up my own form of relief. I end up falling asleep within 2-3 hours anyways and sleep for a good 4-5 before I am awakened by the pain.

It’s not good, guys. For whatever reason, this disease has taken root within my body and won’t budge. Even my good days suck balls.

You get to a point where you just stop caring about being the “good” girl.

This is my fake smile. Pretty damn believable, eh?

Yes, I’m tough. But for fucks sake, I can only handle so much. I am at that breaking point.

Again, please no lectures or natural cures. I am fully aware of the predicament that I am in. I binge watch the TV show “Intervention.”

But like I said, by 5 PM, I am in a world of hurt and need to take a vacation for awhile. I am harming no one. (But myself, yadda yadda.)

Time will tell what will happen at the pain doc. But for some reason, I am not holding my breath.