Last week something happened to me. I suppose you could say I got sick. I don’t know what caused it, and I don’t know what you would call my condition. All I know is that it was a really shitty three days.
I woke up in severe pain. My lower/middle back was being treated to what felt like multiple, pulsating stab wounds. I decided to medicate myself and stay in bed. Luckily it was the weekend so that is what I would have done anyway. The pain pills helped but I was still in such amazing pain I could barely move. At times, I had a difficult time breathing.
It was impossible to sleep because of the pain so I did what any man would do: I stayed up all night drinking and watching TV. So the next day not only was I in pain, (the pain got worse by the way. By this time my stomach hurt as well) I was also tired and angry, not to mention drunk. I spent that day wondering what the fuck was wrong with me. Here’s a list of what I imagined might be wrong.
1.) My kidneys were melting.
2.) An alien that had grown in my body was trying to claw its way out of my insides.
3.) The ghost of a vengeful ninja was attacking me.
4.) I was dead and in hell.
5.) Some voodoo dickhead I pissed off made a voodoo doll of me and was going to town on it with a hot poker.
6.) I had been poisoned.
7.) Internal flesh-eating virus.
8.) Some muscles had snapped like a bundle of overstretched bungee cords.
At any rate, my life sucked more than usual and I was pissed. I hate being pissed and not being able to do anything about it. My only real options were to go to the hospital or just wait out whatever was wrong with me. Because I’m not going to let some pervert in a lab coat fiddle with my balls when the pain is in my back, I decided to wait it out.
Then I realized that maybe if I went to the hospital, they would figure out what was wrong with me. Maybe it was something they could fix. Then I thought, “Shit, maybe it’s something that will kill me if I don’t get help.” That thought bothered me for a moment until I remembered I didn’t give a shit if I died.
I did however want to sleep. So that night I took some nighttime medicine that was supposed to be pretty strong. On its own, maybe. Combined with a gut full of cheap whiskey, holy shit.
I was borderline hallucinating. I could barely feel my limbs, as if they had become weightless and were about to float away. I was all dizzy and fucked up too. All I wanted was to sleep so I was glad when I started nodding off. I slept for a little while and then the strangest thing happened.
I woke myself up. I started dreaming that I was in my own head and every time I fell asleep I reminded myself that I was asleep which woke me up. It was a pain in the ass. After a while I started getting into debates with myself. I would fall asleep and my sleeping self would say something about other dimensions and how time can be bent based on your location within these different dimensions. Then I would wake up and think about it. When I passed out the next time, my sleeping self would counter what I thought about while I was awake.
This pretty much went on all night. It was very strange and would have been a lot more fun had I not been in so much pain. We talked about the different vibrations a being has to radiate at before being able to exist in other dimensions. We talked about the theory of relativity and wormholes, and all kinds of other weird shit. My sleeping self even proposed that he was me existing elsewhere with a different vibration perhaps even on a higher plane of existence. My stance was that I was just really whacked out on booze and pills.
My sleeping self said that maybe I was going back and forth between life and death and that maybe death is just another dimension. I dismissed his new age hippy crap. It kind of seemed like I became less tolerant of new ideas as the medication wore off. Not surprising as I am completely closed minded about a lot of stuff.
By the time the medication had worn off it was morning and there was no more reason for me to keep trying to sleep. I spent that whole day the same as the last two, and that evening I drank until I passed out and woke up the next day feeling fine. I don’t know what the fuck was wrong with me those three days, but it sucked. I still think it’s funny that I’d rather suffer for 72 hours than go to a doctor. I may be unreasonable, but I’m no pussy.