Today's bullshit: He got a piece of jerky stuck on the way down, and has been in a shitton of pain for three hours. Keeps vomiting (so it's probably not stuck anymore) and can't keep anything down.

Does he see a doctor? Nah, because the sooner he dies the better. Also meds don't work on him, how will the doctor help? Yet. YET.

Yet he wants to go get Zantac, Pepcid, Tums and Prilosec, then down them all because he thinks that'll work. Remember he can't keep anything down longer than five minutes.

What the absolute FUCK you idiot.

I've been telling him all evening to go to the ER, or a clinic, but nah. Engage dumb fucking argument again.

He's literally in charge of my special needs trust too so bye bye. I have no fucking way of getting my own apartment financially.

I can take care of myself, I just can't work and Social Security won't let me run the trust myself. So this is awesome.

Because while this might not kill him, something else eventually will.

This is ongoing bullshit, has been for years. He wonders why I'm suicidal. Holy fuck I wonder.

I'm going back to my Highlander binge. Fuck.

Okay. He sent his boss a text possibly calling out of work tomorrow. He decided against the meds because he can't keep anything down. He's afraid when he sleeps tonight - if he sleeps - that he'll wake up puking or choke on it.

AND HE STILL WILL NOT GO TO THE ER.

He's hoping tomorrow the pain will stop and he'll be able to eat and drink.

I can't. I just can't. My anxiety has been through the roof this week and I can't deal with this. I wish I had somewhere else to go, holy shit.

And now he's gone for a walk to keep his mind off it. Just...dude.