Nights Turn to Days

Day of the Dead Red Skeleton Cowboy Magnet

“There’s nothing like the sleep that comes with immediate withdrawals,” a friend who knows about these things wrote on my Facebook page this afternoon. “No dreaming like the dreaming of opioid withdrawal.”

For the last seven weeks I believe I’ve only slept through the night perhaps a slim handful of times. Something is always waking me up, be it stomach upset, leg cramps, headaches, or vivid bad dreams. Some days it feels like being on a roller coaster at breakneck speed and the operator has gone off for an extended lunch break.

Yesterday, thanks to help from a friend, I picked up three RX meds at CVS and one roll of gauze for my afflicted hands. That  was yesterday. Today I find myself in need of more Imodium, another roll of gauze, and a small amount of groceries. I am desperately craving a pre-cooked chicken from the grocery store, which more often than not indicates that I need comfort food, which that bird is for some damn reason. And I remain immensely troubled over how I’m going to get to the doctor this month without my co-pay in hand.

Urgent assistance of any size is always most welcome and most appreciated at the same Paypal Maginot Line: rodger_jacobs@yahoo.com

Thank you and God bless …

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About Rodger Jacobs

Writer

One response to “Nights Turn to Days”

  1. Bill says :

    The Pains of Sleep

    Ere on my bed my limbs I lay,
    It hath not been my use to pray
    With moving lips or bended knees;
    But silently, by slow degrees,
    My spirit I to Love compose,
    In humble trust mine eyelids close,
    With reverential resignation,
    No wish conceived, no thought expressed,
    Only a sense of supplication;
    A sense o’er all my soul impressed
    That I am weak, yet not unblessed,
    Since in me, round me, every where
    Eternal strength and wisdom are.

    But yester-night I prayed aloud
    In anguish and in agony,
    Up-starting from the fiendish crowd
    Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me:
    A lurid light, a trampling throng,
    Sense of intolerable wrong,
    And whom I scorned, those only strong!
    Thirst of revenge, the powerless will
    Still baffled, and yet burning still!
    Desire with loathing strangely mixed
    On wild or hateful objects fixed.
    Fantastic passions! maddening brawl!
    And shame and terror over all!
    Deeds to be hid which were not hid,
    Which all confused I could not know
    Whether I suffered, or I did:
    For all seemed guilt, remorse or woe,
    My own or others still the same
    Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame.

    So two nights passed: the night’s dismay
    Saddened and stunned the coming day.
    Sleep, the wide blessing, seemed to me
    Distemper’s worst calamity.
    The third night, when my own loud scream
    Had waked me from the fiendish dream,
    O’ercome with sufferings strange and wild,
    I wept as I had been a child;
    And having thus by tears subdued
    My anguish to a milder mood,
    Such punishments, I said, were due
    To natures deepliest stained with sin, –
    For aye entempesting anew
    The unfathomable hell within
    The horror of their deeds to view,
    To know and loathe, yet wish and do!
    Such griefs with such men well agree,
    But wherefore, wherefore fall on me?
    To be beloved is all I need,
    And whom I love, I love indeed.
    ~Samuel Taylor Coleridge

    A poem, allegedly, about his own bouts with the ravages of opium withdrawal.

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