Day Two. What Doesn’t Feel Good?

April 15, 2011

I feel like hell, although I can’t tell you whether that’s because of the drugs to treat the alcohol withdrawal or the withdrawal itself. Which, I suppose, is the point. My initial thought this morning was that I felt hung-over. Which makes sense if it’s true – as people claim – that a hangover is really a mini-withdrawal. Ordinarily, I think the people who say things like that are the same as people who say that LSD stays in your spinal cord forever, or that it takes seven years to digest a piece of gum if you swallow it. People who start a sentence with “I heard that….” Then again, sometimes those people are right.

I always had to look away during this part. Hopefully they used a prosthetic tongue.

I wish I knew which one of the drugs I am taking that makes my mouth so dry; I would probably stop taking it. I avoid taking the Vistaril unless the nurse absolutely insists on it, because when I take that I can just go ahead and forget about the next three hours because I’m going to be asleep. The Clonidine feels familiar to me because it is the same as xanax or the other benzodiazepines. It’s a decent port in the storm.

My brain is definitely not firing on all cylinders. Which makes for interesting conversation when the nurse starts asking me questions. A common one is how do I feel. I don’t know how I feel. I feel like shit. But I can’t say that because then there’s a follow-up question: what doesn’t feel good. What doesn’t feel good is the lack of a drink in my hand, and unless you’re prepared to remedy that situation, don’t ask me to describe what doesn’t feel good.

I definitely don’t feel like thinking about how to describe what specifically doesn’t feel good. Even in an ordinary context, this irritates me. My wife had a habit of asking me  “what specifically doesn’t feel good” when I said I didn’t feel good. Like I hadn’t yet met my burden of proof that I really didn’t feel good. Unless I have an acute stomach issue – in which case I am probably lying on the bathroom floor, or calling the dinosaurs – there’s usually not just one specific thing. I just don’t feel good. They have a word for it: general malaise.

Under these circumstances, I really have a hard time telling you what specifically the problem is. It’s everything and nothing all at once. For one thing, I’m tired of being cooped up and not being able to go anywhere without an escort. I expected that giving up a portion of my independence would be part of this deal, but I kind of thought that wouldn’t happen until I went to rehab. I haven’t had my own car (in a meaningful sense) since Monday, and I guess I wasn’t quite ready to give up the ability to come and go as I pleased until next week.

Physically, I’m having a hard time deciding whether the disease is better or worse than the cure. The one thing I know for sure is that I hate everything. I hate having to ask if I can get in my car and go around the corner from the house. I hate not having control of my finances, my schedule, my life. I suppose this, as much as anything, is a reason to get well.

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One Response to “Day Two. What Doesn’t Feel Good?”

  1. Me143 said

    I SPECIFICALLY like your last sentence. 😉

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