Poisoned

I felt terrible this morning. I had a stomach-ache that woke me up around 1am, I went back to bed...before daybreak I was in agony. It felt like my intestines were inside a giant, clenching fist. There was a special vise just for my balls.
Clench and twist.
Clench...
Twist...
Oh hell. It hurts so bad I can't help but moan.
My body is planning it's exit strategy, Plans A and B seem to be already in motion- gotta move quick...
I sit on the toilet and lean my head over onto the sink, splashing some cool water on my sweaty face. In the mirror, I am as grey as a space alien.
This must be food poisoning, I think to myself. I've had a life-threatening gastric incident and it hurt a hell of a lot more than this,which is saying a lot. This hurts, but it doesn't feel fatal- I know what dying feels like and this, fortunately, ain't it.

I start feeling a little better, but I can tell I'm going to be in here a while. If I stretch, I can reach a couple of comic books from here.
See? I can't be all that sick- I'm thinking about reading something.
Reach...

I wake up on the bathroom floor- I'm not sure where I am for a minute. I taste blood and my head really hurts...did I start drinking again?

My guts use 'pretzel' as a verb. The pain clears my head. I must've passed out when I stood up to grab the comics. I'm still sober...I'm not even stoned. I'm just sick. Poisoned.

I spit blood into the sink- I almost panic, but I realize that I've simply bitten my tongue.
There's a welt on my forehead. I wonder if I hit the tub or the floor?
Do I have a concussion? Maybe I should go to hospital...but even with insurance, I am already in deep medical debt - and there's nothing they can really do anyway- as I said, I can just tell
that I will survive this.

I clean myself up and go back to bed. I can't sleep, my heartbeat seems erratic...fuck, I am having a panic attack after all...if I take my pills at this hour ( 5am) I'll be too groggy to work. If I don't take them, I'll spend the next couple hours in a state of nearly immobile mental meltdown and I won't make it in to the office either.

Oh crap. It's suddenly 9AM. I can't even remember what decision I made regarding my meds, but it doesn't matter- either way I was going to feel just like I do , which is fucked-up.

I'm still grey, but there's at least a hint of pink to my skin. The fist and the vise have relaxed their grip a bit, but I'm nowhere near being functional.
I barely manage to call work.
It must be a slow day, because the boss starts telling me 'war stories' of famous Kansan gastric disasters.
Normally, I like my boss' sense of humour, but I'm already trying really hard not to shit myself and I don't think, in this particular case, that laughter is the best medicine.
Gotta go! Click.

After, I lie down for a few minutes. A few minutes become a few hours.
I feel OK now.
A little shaky, but I ate some rice and a couple bananas - I'm actually trying some coffee at this point-slowly- so I think everything is going to be alright. The whole ordeal seems to have lasted under twelve hours.
I'm glad I didn't go to hospital. If I had, I'd probably still be in there, despite feeling much better.

Funny thing , back when I was drinking, I always felt worse than I do now, yet I managed to get to work etc...every single day.
I'm much happier being sick once or twice a year than I was when I was drunk every single day. How did I cope with feeling so bad all the time? Not very well, I'm afraid.
Still, I'm sick now and I can't deal with any part of my daily routine that requires being fully dressed.
Another nap is needed.

Tomorrow I should be OK again.