Last night I puked for no reason. I hate that. I wasn't drinkingor taking any other drugs besides my methadone, which has never made me puke before, and I had taken it some fourteen hours earlier anyway. I wasn't anxious. (Yes, sometimes I get so anxious I ralph, sort of like Trina on Mad TV) I hadn't been sick at all.

But at three forty AM, I was heaving my guts out into a trashcan, while Owen kept wiping my mouth and making sure I didn't fall over.

I'm beginning to think I ate something at a buddie's house last night that my stomach rejected, because stomach-rejection puke is so much more violent than one-shot-to-many puking.

But since I don't know what cause it, I'm afriad it'll happen again. So I'm afraid to take my methadone, because I don't want to ralph it up and essentially miss a dose.

The points of this rant are:

  1. Mystery puking sucks.
  2. I'm realizing how tired I am of being on methadone.


  • Luna Kay
  • Wocket

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