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Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

I guess it works :)

Anne

After Almost Killing Myself With Methadone

I am now on a methadone regimen of an even greater dosage than I was on before. Last time, we were trying me on 2.5 mgs of methadone 3 times a day. Half a tab. Well, so of course, in 2 days I took 24 pills. I don’t remember any of it- sadly, I actually do suffer from confusion now and then. Confusion sucks, btw. So anyway, yeah, all that methadone and all my other meds and sleep apnea kinda got on top of me and almost snuffed me out.

So, as I said, now I am taking FIVE mgs of methadone 3 times a day for chronic pain. To save myself, I have purchased 2 sets of “pill dispenser” containers. You know what they are- plastic trays with days of the week written on them… you fill them before hand with the meds so there can BE no confusion. It’s right there. One set is an AM/PM bundle, and the other (because I have to take my meds 3 times a day) is just a single set of the days of the week.

“Did I take todays meds?” Well, the pit for the day still has pills in it. No, I did not. Time to take them.

“Did I take todays meds?” Well, the pit for the day is empty. I have taken todays meds.

No CHANCE of accidental overdose in case of confusion. Me be set.

I am so old now.

Anne

I Thank Everyone For Their Kind Support

It is nice and it does help me feel better.

Wandersmann, search your hard drives for .mbx files. They contain all the emails you want to save.

I do have a very low opinion of myself. It’s very sad. I’ve been depressed all my life, and been on anti-depressants for the past 20 years. I live with MOUNDS of self-loathing at all times. I’m better, kinda, than I was while I was an active alcoholic- At that time, my self-esteem had been worn to a bare nubbin, something you had to rilly search for. Now it’s grown into a small fence, about an inch high. So I’m getting there. On my deathbed I’ll suddenly say my last words- “I think I finally like myself!” Then I’ll die.

On this day I had two story ideas. I am going to try and write them. Finally, my brain seems to be repaired to the point I may be able to write! Let’s see if I still can, hmmm?

Here’s hoping!

Anne

What I Like About Sexual Fantasy/Vore

Among many things . Wandersmann had wondered about the misogyny I sometimes display in my writing. Part of my sexual desires are in fact woven into misogyny- but not in MY hating other women- but being hated. Being used. Mostly the being used part Hatred kinda sucks. But FICTIONAL misogyny is ok… while REAL misogyny makes me so fucking MAD.

That’s tied into, I think, the whole rape fantasy. I don’t so much like rape fantasy… mostly. My other twisted desires about this whole subject are in humiliation… which would probably explain my urine fetish, because I would REALLY like my husband to pee on me… which he won’t do. He’s a VERY good man.

So a scenario, a fantasy, of being punished in public by being stripped naked and having many men pee on me, forcing it on my face, where I drink it as well- that’s HOT.

Which I think is part of the whole vore aspect. Whether I (or another woman) am offering myself to the animal that wishes to devour me, and I let it… Or I (or another woman) am suddenly caught and devoured totally unwillingly by some beast, swallowed whole and digested alive… (I am getting myself very HOT right now! Whoops ) It’s mostly the aspect, I believe, of becoming just a THING now.

Not a woman anymore. Not a person. Not a human being with  wishes and desires and a love of life… but just a someTHING now. Something to fill a hungry tummy with. Something unique, admitted- the best food for this particular creature- but even with that, still just something to EAT.

Hokey smokes.

See you all later!

Anne

I Know That No One Reads This Blog

But that’s OK. I get to at least get some stuff said so it’snot just rotting in my skull.

I have been having depression problems that I find very hard to deal with concerning my last “near death” experience. Honestly, I should be dead- it’s amazing I am alive. I kept STOP BREATHING and no one but Rudy could make me breathe. I mean, I’ve done stupid things in my years of life, and I’ve taken a run towards Death’s Door quite a few times. But never ever ever have I had to have people DRAG ME BACK through that door.

Rudy’s been back and forth through Death’s Door a lot, so I asked him if he has any tips for dealing with it. He has none. The best thing he could say about the feeling’s we have is “Creepy, isn’t it?”

So you one or two people that might read this, hoping that one day I’ll put in a story about some nice gal being swallowed whole and digested alive… One day   But right now I’m trying to get through this. Soon.

Anne

It’s Been Another While Since I Posted

But I am still alive. Just- I’ve been sorta spending more time with my family since I almost kicked off.

Dying is easy. I discovered that. Very easy. I almost went away and it was almost uneventful. I went for a nap and just almost… never woke up. Living is the hard part.

When I think about it, it’s all weird. I just want to sit and cry. I try and remember what happened as I was being brought back because it feels important to me, but… I dunno. Everything about it is… scary/weird.

Anne

Where I Have Been

This is a longish post. 

I haven’t been online for a while, and not just not posting here. On November 2, 2007, I made a grave error.

The doctors told Rudy afterward that if the ambulance people had come even 5 minutes later than they did, I would have had no chance at all. If my little girl hadn’t told Rudy that I was blue and not breathing even 5 minutes later than she did, I would have been gone with no hope. If Rudy hadn’t decided that my afternoon nap had gone on long enough and waited another 5 minutes to give me more nap time, I would have been DOA.

On Thursday I was prescribed methadone as a pain killing medication. I also recieved a flu shot that day. I cannot remember how much methadone I took that day.

On Friday, I remember feeling like I was coming down with a cold. I do remember I was feeling more confused than usual- I get confused periodically. I cannot remember how much methadone I took thaty day, but I do know it was more than normal. I also was taking at least a full compliment of my normal medications.

Have I mentioned also that I have sleep apnea? I am getting a CPAP machine in about a week and some.

About 4ish I took my little girl off my lap and told her I needed to stop playing computer games. I remember that. I then told Rudy I was going to go take a nap. I remember that.

First, the rest of the story from Rudy’s Point Of View:

He sent our little girl in to wake me up from my nap because she wanted to play computer games. When she came back, she said I was sleeping and wouldn’t wake up. After a few back-and-forths, Rudy came in to see, and he found me barely breathing, covered in sweat, and blue. He called 911 as he tried to wake me up. As he was then waiting for the ambulance, he had to fight to get me to keep breathing because I kept stopping. Eventually they got me into the ambulance, after parading my fat naked body about the house on a stretcher and outside with just a nightgown tossed on TOP of me for “modesty”. (Sometimes I sleep in the all-togethers, usually I wear an oversized Tee. Of course, this day I want for the all-togethers). In the ambulance, as they took me away, I vomited and it is believed that I inhaled some of it. They also had to put a breathing tube in so I would keep breathing. My voice, almost a week afterwards, is still a hoarse mess.

At the hospital, Rudy was the only one that could keep me breathing. I would breathe when he told me too, otherwise I tended to stop and not even the doctors could command me to breathe. But after they filled me with Narcan, which counteracts narcotics in the bloodstream, they were able to get me breathing and woke up. After a few hours when they had taken blood and put in a catheter so I would pee and I was moderately awake and with the world, they admitted me for the night.

The rest of the story from My Point Of View:

I felt pretty good actually. Everything was dark but I wasn’t processing thought, just feelings. After a time, I don’t know how long, I started being able to hear things. I don’t know what it was, just sounds. I was still feeling good, and the sounds were like carnival sounds. Not actual carnival sounds, it’s what it seemed like. After that, I started hearing voices too, and I was listening to all this and feeling nice and I started listening closer. Some of the voices seemed to be saying my name, and it was getting very loud. I tried doing some of what the voices were asking me to do, and it was very loud and the sounds were actually sounding very urgent and not very pleasant at all.

I started processing thought, very slowly and small amounts, at this time. I began to realise that this wasn’t a fun thing that was happening- the noises were too loud, there were many voices, and they seemed very anxious. I was starting to realise that I was lying down and that there were many people around me.

It had gone from being a pleasant feeling and kind of cartoon carnival sounding to realising that something was very very wrong. That I was in terrible danger, and that everyone, including me, was trying very hard to keep me alive.

To Be Continued

I R Programmer

And I say it that way NOT because of the lame “LOLcats” stuff, but in the way of the old cartoon (old in that it’s just a few years old and not like decades) cartoon, “I R Baboon”. In this show there was a baboon and a weasel, and apparently they fought against each other to ‘one up’ each other so they could say to each other, “I R BABOON!” “I r weasel.”

Anyway.

I’ve been ’homeschooling’ myself and trying to learn Python programming. Whoo hoo! Anyway, my early, lame attempts have been paying off- I have written my first program and am working on learning more! Yay! Soon I’ll be rich!

Yeah.

Anne