We have a substitute. She gave us work to do. You can tell by this entry what kind of work I'm doing. It doesn't take very long to do the assignments in my workbook, so I'm not too concerned. Actually, I should be working on the questions that I will be presenting in my English class for The Toilet by Gcina Mhlope. I've got most of what I want to say prepared already, so I'm not really concerned about what I don't have written down. I'm pretty good at winging it. There's always a bit of an advantage of knowing how to bullshit your way around.
As sad as it is to say this, and as much as I don't want to admit it, there is a part of me that is feeling depressed. The reason for this bit of depression (which never really went away, just subsided by quite a bit) is because of my jaw. Not only has it been hurting like hell, but my craving for my medication is getting worse. I can't function like this. I don't even feel human sometimes; mostly, I just feel like a drugged up zombie walking around, hardly ever responding to the situations that surround me, and always feeling so tired and unfocused.
Being tired is my constant state of mind whenever I'm in school. Being able to sleep is easier now since I'm aided by Remeron. The hard part is finding the time to sleep. I spend so much time being spaced out (I blame this on a lack of adderall to help me focus at night, being sleepy from a combination of medications and very little sleep earlier in the week, and my own inability of forcing myself to be alert). It's just so hard. Most of the time, I don't even know how to deal with my feelings.
My mom doesn't understand. She thinks that I purposely forget the things she tells me (when I really don't; I try to absorb the information she gives me, but my brain refuses to accept and remember it). Most of the time she ends up being totally frustrated by my indifference (how else am I suppose to feel when I'm half out of it?) and tells me about what a sorry person I am, how I'm going to end up like my dad, etc. I don't think she knows how those sort of things just make me feel worse, and I don't think she would care, if she did.
I've been eating less. The upside is that I've lost about five pounds. However, the down side is that my stomach is so upset from (mostly) consuming nothing but pills and water. I switched things up a bit this morning and drank a glass of milk with my pills, hoping that the milk would coat my stomach some. To chew food is to envoke the rath of my jaw. It's not a pretty sight (and it's an even less pleasent feeling). I tried eating a bit of rice last night. I got about three bites down and then stopped. Pain will make the appetite decrease, and this pain is only getting worse.
My mornings aren't so bad. In fact, they're the best part of the day. When I wake up, my jaw hurts, but after my medicines kick in, I feel okay. With sleep comes a bit of a rest for my jaw, so it doesn't feel so wore out in the a.m. After lunch, my jaw begins to hurt a little worse. I usually only eat a sandwhich and maybe some cookies for lunch. It's not the chewing of the food that makes up the greater precentage of my pain -- it's just the overall useage of it. It's like a build up kind of thing. Then, by the afternoon (between 4-6), I do nothing but crave my medicine. Often enough, I find myself shaking from the pain. Once I take my medicine (at 6), my jaw calms down, but not by much. If I had another dose of adderall (at 6) it would help my consentration. I'm sure of that. I have to try having my homework finished before 10 p.m., because that's about the time I start craving my medicine, again.
Dr. White, the surgen that Dr. Woodruff was suppose to refer me to, is the same doctor that I saw back in 2000 when my jaw first went crazy. She's the same doctor who didn't believe that I had pain as severely as I did (and still do). Her office called the house yesterday, leaving a message on the answering machine to call them in reference to the approved referel I got for her, since they were unaware of my reasoning for returning. My mom called them back. The receptionist told mama that they'd get back with us, probably sometime next week, after a discussion with Dr. White as to whether she'll pick me back up as a patient.
That really didn't help this helpless, pointless, and general crappy ass feeling I've got. Really, I think that news alone was the entire reasoning behind me finally breaking down for that cry. Usually, crying helps one feel better. I felt a little relief, but not much.
I'm just so tired of hurting. It's this constant state of pain that makes life so difficult to deal with. I'm seventeen years old! I'm not suppose to be so fucked up.
But I am. And that's one very sad fact.
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