When I woke up this morning it was all, like, WHOA. Medicated. Nice. I was alert and functional and I didn't have fifteenZILLION thoughts racing through my head at once. That lasted all of about five hours after I woke up.

The crash, when it came, was hard. It made the blackness feel even worse because I had been so much better right before. Just goes to show me that I'm an idiot who needs her pills. Wasn't I posting a few weeks ago about wanting a Mother's Little Helper? Isn't this kinda ironic? Now I'm medicated, I haven't even resorted to believing any of the promises in my Spam email. Vicodin, oxycoton, your pain can vanish overnight.

That would be bad. So I'm seeing my shrink like a good girl, and I was *supposed* to call him this morning and let him know how the med increase went last night. But I didn't. Yet another thing that I find nearly impossible to do- when I get to the point where I pick up the phone to place a call to anyone these days, it's either because I'm heavily medicated or on the very last straw. Tomorrow my Boy is going to throw me out for five whole hours. Five Whole Hours. I'm not allowed to call the house, I'm not allowed back in the door for a whole half day. I have no idea what I'm going to do with myself.

Just... hoping that I can extend that magical morning I had today. Extend it an hour longer tomorrow, fifteen minutes more the next day. I've got to have hope. If I lose that I might as well give up.