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While the convenience of online prescriptions is evident, it's essential to approach this option with caution and responsibility:

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Follow-Up Care: Online consultations should not replace regular in-person visits to healthcare providers. It's important to establish a system for follow-up care, including periodic check-ins to monitor the patient's health and adjust treatment plans as necessary.

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[night---falls]

A Letter to my Drug Dealer

•

i was trying really hard to figure out why i kept trying to get through to you...

like why the fuck was i trying to tell the dude who sold to me to try and get better??

why didn’t i call the cops and rat you out for all the destruction the shit you sell caused?

why didn’t i blast your name on online even after lying to me when i pleaded with you to tell us the truth.

lying to me like i couldn’t tell.

i just had this feeling i couldn’t kick…

that i really want you to be okay too,

even tho under normal circumstances,

i wouldn’t have usually cared.

i don’t think i would have ever have gotten to know you at all

had it not been for the bar.

we’re very different people,

but i kept thinking about it.

i think it’s the tattoo on your neck.

your daughters name.

i’ve never spoken to you very much.

not seriously

or honestly

and i don’t think we’ve both ever been sober

simultaneously in the same room,

but remember that fight you got in with c in my car taking my mom’s dog to the vet?

i’m not sure if you do, you were in pretty rough shape that day

but you kept saying things about your daughter.

and you were blaming it on c

for

no reason

with

no logic

and

no connections

but i know it’s because you felt guilty for not recognizing her

at the fair

a day or few before.

both of my parents have chosen hedonism over me

my entire life.

my dad missed my first birthday

because he was at the boats.

i don’t know who you’ve been talking to

or where your heads at

or if you’ve decided to try and get better or not

and it’s really is none of my business

and i really, really fucking wish i didn’t care-

but i think that the way my parent have treated me,

is ultimately what led me to me trying to kill myself.

i only ever felt loved if i was giving into her addictions and nodding to everything she said.

because so she’s vindictive

when she’s mad

and she gets mad so easily

and im so fucking sensitive

and i’m so naive, still.

i look at people i love and respect for answers and guidance because always feel so unsure of every move i make even if they’ve let me down at every possible turn.

i was doing so much

because i was trying to kill myself in a way that wouldn’t be my fault,

a way where people wouldn’t hate me.

and you know that,

because i heard you and c whispering that day you wouldn’t respond to me,

ten minutes before my mom took you to the back

and yelled at you

and laughed

about telling her friend to sell her severely mentally ill daughter hard drugs

who just got out of an abusive relationship

and who has already tried killing herself with fucking hydrocodone.

i didn’t want any

until she encouraged me to get so high

i vomited.

and you were the only one who caught it.

i had never asked for it until after that night.

and i knew you guys were doing that shit atleast a month and a half before everything with mike happened.

i did it a few times before you ever gave it to me

and i didn’t care for it,

the first time

or the second

to be honest.

but i stayed at the bar doing that shit with everyone because that was the only way to be close with my mom.

the only way for years now.

and my friends had all abandoned me

for accepting the abuse from m

but i had her accepting me

with open an eager arms.

i know you heard my mom and i screaming at each-other the other night,

i bet the whole damn neighborhood did.

i’ve never screamed like that…

well, maybe once or twice at m.

never at my momma.

do you remember how she screamed at me?

the same way m did?

i realized that i was silent as m assaulted me

because i’ve only ever been shown my whole life that

giving people what they want at the sacrifice of my safety and health is the only way to be loved.

to accept every bullet and shoot none back.

she liked being the person i could turn to.

but those drugs made it so she kept me low enough to keep needing her,

not just wanting her.

why do you think she was so angry i stopped coming around?

why she would insinuate that i should be ashamed of myself for

trying not to fucking die

a painful death

and getting myself clean.

alone, by the way…

really, only my little sister knew,

but she’s in ohio.

i hid everything from my grandparents

until she texted them demanding things

that she had no right to demand

after hurting everyone around her.

in the end, she thrived off of my suffering

because it made her feel wanted.

but she could only feel wanted

if i was getting as fucked up as her.

i don’t want that for your daughter.

i don’t want her to think she has to do hard drugs

just to feel love from her father

and then slip away from you

because she falls

too fast

and kills herself.

you love her enough to wear her name on your throat.

there’s something so vulnerable

about walking around displaying someone’s name so close to your face that:

her name becomes a part of your identity.

when i think of you, i think of your face and that tattoo.

not the drugs.

i think of how much you love your baby.

enough to decorate your neck-

something so delicate that all it takes

is one hard,

bad enough hit

to paralyze you for life.

can you love her enough to get clean?

or to at least stop selling…

because you can’t get away with that forever.

you can’t walk your daughter down the isle

from a jail cell.

i don’t want you to feel the way ive felt.

and i know you have.

i know you’ve tried hurting yourself,

and in other ways than just abusing substances.

i’ve heard about how you’ve had to have your gun taken from you before.

i listen.

i just couldn’t comprehend anything until the hazy fucking cocaine fog lifted.

your daughter is going to have to bury you one day,

and i don’t know if you guys even speak

but i don’t want you to ruin the relationship

to such a point that she won’t turn up to your funeral…

because i won’t be at my mothers funeral.

not unless she gets clean.

not after everything she’s said,

because she’s said some stuff that made my grandfather sob.

his dog had a seizure from all the stress in the house,

the worst one she’s ever had.

she made him so angry he was yelling at me,

and he doesn’t yell.

and to be clear,

i don’t blame you.

you tried doing the right thing, quite a few times, i think.

i don’t want you to even really feel guilty.

but i want you to understand what that drug is doing.

i want you to know

exactly how much pain its causing

and has caused

before you allow it to cause any more.

i just want to say that you have a choice

and maybe you have already made it

and maybe you’re still at the point where drugs matter more

or maybe you’re not.

i don’t know.

during the worst part-

around my birthday when i was doing blow every 30 minutes

and it got so bad that i made my baby sister stop at a family express

so i could do a couple lines in the bathroom…

i had a friend come visit me.

i had hazily posted on my private story about how i snorted some klonopins and passed out in my puke and he happened to see it.

he brought his girlfriend to meet me.

i snorted so much i wash shaking so bad i spilled every one of their shots. . .

i left the shop because of the drugs.

a had been doing that shit the entire time and i knew and didn’t care,

didn’t ask for it,

and i didn’t rub what he left on the back of the toilet on my gums

until my mother did what she did.

then i was doing lines with him in the break room

and he was telling me he didn’t care if i did a line in the bathroom.

i said i wouldn’t bring that shit in there…

and i did anyways,

about 3 days later.

my friend’s girlfriend is who got me the job at the new place

right before i quit for good.

the night he visited i told him about m.

and eventually i couldn’t stop sobbing

about how worthless i was

and how i needed to kill myself

because i have never been

and never could have

and never could have the potential to be anything but a burden

to the people i love.

i still feel that way sometimes,

but those drugs made it so that if i was not so dangerously high

so high that my teeth felt funny

all i could hear were the thoughts about hurting myself.

this guy who i had never even been that close with begged me to see that i have a lot of potential

and i could do some good things in this world.

he begged me to see that people would be upset,

not relived if i died.

he had also sold.

he stopped.

his girlfriend told me his body’s so fucked up now that sometimes when they’re laying together she’ll feel a tickle and he will have a stream of blood trickling out of his nose or ear because his blood pressure is so high and it stains her cheek.

he’s only 25.

what do you think it’s done to you?

i hope you don’t remember,

but those bruises i had on my forehead were from hitting my head against the wall to make sure i wasn’t dying.

because as much as i thought it was the right thing to do,

i was horrified of dying.

i was scared to feel it, anyway.

i hadn’t done that in years.

i really don’t know if you care but something tells me you might.

my sister had to come take care of me and clean my room.

she thought i was asleep when she told someone it was worse than she thought.

do you know how humiliating it is to be glued to a fucking bed as someone picks up 8 months of buildup?

my room was almost as bad as your kitchen

it took her 8 hours of cleaning

and i couldn’t even help

because i was so weak.

did my mom tell you that she laughed

when i told her my doctor wants me to get a heart monitor?

she told me not to worry

because “all the Johnson women all have high resting heart rates”

but i’ve been going to that office since i was 20

and that’s never been an issue before.

and i went to the er because i was in so much pain i couldn’t walk.

found out later

that i had tachycardia then too,

and they didn’t even tell me

and it was probably because they drug tested me

and saw that i was doing it to myself.

i told my mom

she said it wasn’t a big deal.

she laughed at me

when i was having that panic attack

after the 4th of july.

i called dh one time

when i was still with m…

when id snorted and swallowed two hydros

and m had gaven me more weed to calm down

and all of my limbs went numb

and my mom didn’t answer the phone

but he did

and then he laughed and said

“oh yeah, i’ve done that before.”

one time i took 7 pills.

because i googled how many it takes for an overdose.

google had said 8.

i told my mom and she laughed at that,

but at-least then she had the sense to tell me not to do it again.

she wouldn’t now.

she would encourage me to try again, now.

is that the kind of support you want to offer your daughter?

i’ve always hated myself because my parents were addicts

who could not show me how to love myself.

i should not have to work this hard

to genuinely accept a compliment.

i shouldn’t have to convince myself

that someone who just hugged me

doesn’t secretly hate me,

that they’re not mad at me.

because m got mad at me for everything,

and before that-

my mom did,

a did.

is that what you would want for that baby that you used to cradle in your arms?

do you want to get to a point

where you truly don’t care if she’s suffering

because your preoccupied with keeping your own thoughts silent,

even though every person good around you

is asking you to just listen to them

just long enough to get past it??

that you forgot when you had that baby,

that she was your responsibility

and you’re supposed to take care of her

because she loves you and looks up to you

and you were her world.

she loves you.

why do you think she was so upset you didn’t see her at the fair?

and yes i might be taking some hurt out on you here.

maybe taking it too far.

you sold to me.

i’m not angry about that, though.

i’m so hurt that you can see how much damage everything has caused

and you were doing even more blow with her

and you came out there and lied straight to my fucking face.

loving people who do nothing but enable you-

will kill you.

and right now i think that’s all you have.

b said she hasn’t heard from you.

ce told me he thought you had a heart attack one night

and that you were on the floor

gasping for air.

i begged my mom to tell you to please just go to the hospital and get checked out

because heart attacks don’t always kill you the day of

and i wanted you to be okay.

that the police can’t even get involved so you don’t have to worry about that because of hippa laws.

and i couldn’t message you because i didnt want c to think i wanted to fuck you

just because i wanted your heart to keep beating.

but now that i think about it,

i don’t think she ever told you

and i don’t think she ever intended to.

she didn’t care.

it’s been recommended to me that i keep my suffering silent before.

i had my best friend from high school ask me if i would consider medically assisted suicide

because she wasn’t going to fight what i wanted any longer,

and i should do it in the best way for everyone.

the girl who bought me weed and alcohol

for the first time

and countinuosly underage

told me i was annoying

because of all the crying.

i had a man tell me he lost all his feeling for me when i begged him for the drugs

that i asked him to hold onto for me-

after he had decided

when to pick and choose

when i got one

on a whim-

and who,

after realizing how bad i fucked up

and trying to give it back,

look led at me and told me that he didnt care anymore.

i went back to all of them.

over and over,

because of how my mother raised me.

to accept any hurt in the name of love

because she was an addict and i needed a mom

so why wouldn’t i forgive her?

i’ve been so angry lately.

i cut off the people who told me to stay away from my mom.

i told them to go fuck themselves for abandoning me

but i didn’t realize they did that because it was so hard to even look at me.

my mother encouraged that.

one time,

when i was small,

i asked my mother to not fall asleep in the bathroom

because it scared me

and i thought she was going to drown.

she told me to shut the fuck up and not tell her what to do.

she cares more about being called bad

not about actually being bad.

a bruised my cheek when i was under ten years old

and my mom was angry

because i had to put my hair in-front of my face to go see my grandparents

and she was embarrassed.

not because i was hurt.

not because ever since then i flinch

when things are too close to my face.

and i’m not even saying these things are even that bad.

much worse could have happened to me.

much worse has happened to you.

but that’s not really what i’m getting at.

we accept the love we thing we deserve.

so what have you taught your daughter?

what does she think she deserves?

will she love a man that’s hurting her so bad

she resorts to substances

and suicidal ideation

but keeps letting him come back

because ‘at least someone is there.’

even if they throw it back her my face

at least they’re there and listening.

is that the lesson you want to leave her on this earth with?

what do you think you deserve?

because one time you said that roadkill makes your heart break.

you hated m for what he did even though you had rarely ever even spoken to me.

you tried not to sell to me.

i’m sorry i put you there.

i know you told n not to hurt me.

to be careful.

you don’t deserve to love yourself so little.

you don’t deserve to be so close with people who don’t care to do the right thing even when it’s the easiest thing to do.

who don’t care about you.

i just want you to look at what these drugs have done to the people you love.

what that shits has done to you.

what it could do to your baby girl.

what it did to me, luke.

and i wasn’t going to send this to you

but m texted me.

did you you know she’s taking care of dm’s baby girls right now

because he can’t?

his transmission is wrecked.

how many baggies did he buy

or is he going to buy

instead of fixing his truck to take care of those little babies?

did you know i took dm to get his truck the night i finished the mural because he was upset with you?

because you acted out to feel loved,

and i know because that what i used to do.

you pushed him to say he would always choose you

and then

kept

pushing

until he walked out and changed his mind.

i’ve done that.

but you can’t do it forever.

one day you’ll push too hard and they won’t take you back.

their loyalty will waver

with the weight of constant reassurance.

look at the people around you.

look in the mirror-

and not the one in your bathroom-

one that’s clean enough

that you can actually see that

you don’t have a spark in your eye

when youre fucked up.

because your eyes aren’t even open all the way.

how many cigarettes have you lost from forgetting to light them?

how many cigarettes have burned your fingers?

how many substances do you love?

have you ever thought about why?

what’s missing in your heart

or your mind

that you need to stuff that hole with drugs?

because that shit will only make it grow.

why do you accept love from someone who pushes you to your breaking point just to feel wanted…

why do you accept love from someone who get off on you being so jealous you hurt people?

because, that’s what you think you deserve.

but it’s not.

one time c had told me that you’ve never called her beautiful.

i thought that was so sad.

but after a while,

i realized its because no one has ever called you beautiful.

because i heard you trying.

trying to call her beautiful the only way you knew how to and getting laughed at for it.

you are beautiful, luke.

you have a good heart.

you mean well.

my mom

she has a habit of hurting people,

she makes sure to find the ones who

are

soft

and

malleable

and

kind

so they will forgive her

until they have killed themselves from holding her up.

and i don’t mean soft in terms of weak, luke.

you’re incredibly strong

and im proud of you for what you’ve overcome in your life.

i don’t know everything but i know enough

to know that not enough people tell you that.

and i don’t know if you care

or if you even read this because i know it’s long

and it took me about 5 hours to write all of this

because im so stressed i can’t sleep right now

and im so hurt.

it hurts to see good people hurting so bad that this is what happens.

it hurts to loose people.

I know you know that.

I know you’re scared to lose my mom

and that’s why you’ve been helping her so much.

but she’s gone.

buried somewhere deep, deep down.

what kind of person shames their own child for a drug addiction that they’ve worked past?

two of them?

what kind of person humiliated their daughter to prove point

“because you guys came to the door and didn’t even ask how i was”

she knows why.

because the last text i let her send to me said

“I sold j’s tools already. So block me. Hate me. Do whatever. Idc anymore. I gave you your own cocaine back for your birthday asshole. I didn't addict you to shit. You did what you did. Did I also addict you to vicodin? Fuck off kid.”

that was copy and pasted.

she wanted me to ask how her day was, after that.

i have so many screenshots of such vindictive words.

that’s not krissy anymore.

is that the kind of love you think you deserve?

that i deserve?

that your daughter deserves??

because i just want to tell you it’s not.

I don’t know you well but i really do love you dude.

i just want everyone to be the best they can.

if you’re not ready for that,

it’s okay.

i understand.

but i hope what ive said stays in the back of your mind the way those words my friends said did for me.

i hope you see that to feel better you have to do better.

even if you don’t,

just know you are loved.

so is dh.

so is my mom.

even if i never see them again.

even if my moms heart gives out tonight

and she dies hating me.

i still love them.

i’ve said my piece

and i’ve spat out all my anger

and i have begged until my knees bled

and im done.

i need some rest.

but just incase my mom dies

and your the only one who knows …

because you’ve never hurt me,

and i think that means something…

if you,

or my mom,

or dh

decide that you want the help you guys need

but you don’t know where to start,

message me.

just know you’re loved.

and when you start doing better you’ll be able to love back in a way that doesn’t hurt everyone.

and i know you want to do better.

i know you’ve tried to quit drinking before,

at least.

but i’m done pleading.

i’m not going to keep trying to help.

so do it for yourself.

if not yourself, then for your daughter.

or don’t.

i won’t ask again.

but know you are loved and you could be so happy if you tried to take care of yourself.

you deserve too.

[islakingsblog]

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[xenopoem]

CORPUSCLE by Heath Ison

INSIDE THE EYES. 

Restless inside the age of paranoia, he walked over to his desk against the  wall of his room and sat down on the chair. He doesn’t open his laptop, but  instead planted his face on top of it inside the corner of his elbow and sighs.  It takes all but four seconds for his head to rise again, opening his laptop. The skin of his face is falling off. The light doesn’t match the shade. He see’s  himself, externally, in an isometric perspective.  

He doesn’t believe in bleeding anymore. Or open wounds. The fight will only  become hostile if you meet it halfway.  

He wanted to step away from it—learn how to shut his eyes again.  Attempting to find the equilibrium of logic and intuition is much easier on  paper written in razorblades. When the symmetrical lines forfeit vibration the  only absolute is where one forcibly exists. But he didn’t believe in absolutes.  So what did he believe in exactly? Did he have hope or faith? What’s the  difference. Since the inception of his adulthood there were a barrage of  personas he had taken over. Any one shaped and molded for a variety of  situations and outcomes (the one’s for workplaces the most recoiled of them  all). 

$

sacrosanct [ sak-roh-sangkt ] 

adjective 

1 extremely sacred or inviolable:  

 a sacrosanct chamber in the temple. 

 2 not to be entered or trespassed upon:  

 She considered her home offce sacrosanct. 

 3 above or beyond criticism, change, or interference:   a manuscript deemed sacrosanct. 

Took a drive. This is all mundane spiritualism stoically redacted.  

All he knew is piss and shit and vomit. Upending conceptions in a time-lapsed vortex of “stop and “go.” No beginning. No end. Only circumference. Only a  cup of coffee with a cigarette to shit along with. A diatribe of countless selves and lost days of the week.  

One day, I’ll make a fine little corpse

A TEMPORARY PAIN RECESSION. 

Yesterday evening he had snatched two hydrocodone pills from his  grandma’s nightstand from her bedroom while she was out for a few  groceries. He had taken them later that night. He wasn’t a pill addict— snatching maybe a couple every 2-3 months or so. But he knew he had it in  his capacity. He knew he liked the way it felt and drinking alcohol wasn’t an  option. He enjoyed when the opiate high made him feel itchy, so he could  take a hair comb and gently scratch all over his shoulders, back, belly and  kneecaps. But this isn’t about addiction and that was yesterday. 

It was late morning, Sunday, and he had a list of exercises to consult.  

“It is not worth the bother of killing yourself,  

since you always kill yourself too late.”  

 - Emil Cioran 

He retrieved his laptop from the desk and walked back over to lie on the bed. He placed the laptop on his chest and opened it.  

Rubber’s Lover (1996, Directed by Shozin Fukui)

A FRAGMENTARY WILL. 

“AI is coming to take our jobs.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Oh fuck yeah, man, most definitely.”  

“If AI and automation replace us I’ll expect less hours of work with the same  pay. As a matter of fact—give me that UBI.” 

“Hahahahahahahahaha!” 

“What?” 

“You really think if AI and machines take over this modern day corporatism  will allow us to take a breather? You have another thing coming.” 

“I know either way we should unionize.” … 

“Shit will get shut down real quick here at this place. These are a bunch of  conservative jerk-offs. You wouldn’t be able to convince one guy in here,  probably.” 

“Burn it to the ground...” 

* * * 

“Fuck you and your Call of Duty governmental controlled psyop game.” * * *

May, 1933. Nazino Island. 

“As a creator, I always want to betray fans expectations”

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If you have gilbert's syndrome, a mostly benign liver condition that's more common than you think, no amount of acetaminophen is safe. You might not even get the benefits at all. No doctor told me this, I had to find it out to my own horror online by chance

Vicodin is a Hydrocodone/acetaminophen mix and docs will try and give it to you post surgery despite Gilbert syndrome being on your charts. This isn't safe for you, and might leave your pain completely uncontrolled. After my last back surgery I was in agony. Turned out they gave me vicodin. They treated me like a drug seeker until my family begged them to just try a much less strong opioid without acetaminophen, and suddenly with that weaker med I was right as rain. Again, despite gilbert's being in my chart, they were shocked I prefered the mild stuff over something strong with acetaminophen

PSA:

Acetaminophen/paracetamol has a hard stop upper dose limit, above which it becomes extremely toxic.

That limit is 4g (8 “extra strength” (500mg) tablets) in 24 hours (about 2 tablets every 6 hours).

A single dose of 22 extra strength tablets can kill you.

Taking 12 or more tablets per day for more than a week can also kill you (this is about 3 tablets every 6 hours).

Symptoms of overdose take up to 24 hours to manifest, and are fairly difficult to distinguish from other problems. They include abdominal pain (especially right upper quadrant), nausea, malaise, and confusion.

The antidote (n-acetylcystine) must be given within 8hours of ingestion in order to be useful.

After 10 hours the only thing that will work is a liver transplant.

You might think “why would I ever accidentally take so much?”

Well, acetaminophen is in almost everything in the cold/flu/pain aisle. Migraine combos like Excedrin, cold and flu combos like NyQuil, basically anything that says “non-aspirin pain relief”, and anything that’s branded as a fever reducer. It’s all probably acetaminophen/paracetamol.

So the goal of this post is to get you to read the labels on your medications. Because taking taking Tylenol and NyQuil together for a week (like you might if you had the flu) could kill you.

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