Feb 2nd: Saturday Morning 4am.

It's 4:00am. The fight is over. I cannot win today. Rational thought escapes me. I need sleep just as much as I need air to breath. I get up, grab the fucking pill bottle and take my medication. I don't care if I lose today for I live to fight another day.

I lay back down and fall fast asleep within minutes. That's how psychological this is for me. I'm asleep before the meds hit my system. Mine is a psychological addiction.

I sleep for six hours then wake up to agony.

"Ok. Ok. Ok. I'm up. You got my attention mother fucker. I'm awake".

This is part of what I do now. I talk to the my leg. I talk to my pain. It has a voice. It has needs.

I'm soak en wet from pain inspired perspiration. It can make me jump. It can make me wince. It can make me cry.  My fucking leg hurts. I walk around the apartment then park myself on the couch with leg elevated.

Eventually I will make the leg and pain bow to my will.

I believe the key is in my breathing. Every time I wake with pain and anxiety my breathing is all fucked up. I'm panting, like a dog. I believe meditation holds the key to free me from both anxiety and pain but that's for another day.

I take more pain meds and go back to sleep. Sleep. Joyous Wonderful beautiful blissful sleep.

I live to fight another day.