Weekly weigh-in: 322.8. Down two pounds from last week. It isn’t much, but there’s a reason for that. There’s also a silver lining in today’s blog, so hang with me. We’ll get there. This isn’t some pity party, I promise. At least this time there’s a happy ending.

Last Wednesday I woke up, tossed my legs over the edge of the bed, and rolled up using my legs as a counterweight. The momentum helps to keep strain off your back when you’re sitting up. I learned the trick during one of my many stays at in-patient rehab, usually after one of my five different back surgeries. I’ve had to relearn how to walk twice. Anyway, I did everything I was supposed to do while getting up Wednesday morning, and I hadn’t done anything stressful or labor-intensive the day before, but once I stood, it felt as if several claws grabbed onto my back meat and twisted. Excruciating pain dropped me to my knees. Luckily, I didn’t shatter a kneecap, because all three-hundred twenty-two pounds came down on them. I screamed like a banshee in a bear trap. Chelle and the kids came running. We almost called an ambulance, but the cramp finally loosened and I was able to get back in bed. I called my doctor, she wrote me a ‘script for the strongest stuff you can get without an IV, and my mother went to pick it up. I spent Wednesday to Saturday in bed, stoned out of my mind, and I stayed pretty much away from social media because I didn’t want to risk saying anything uncouth while doped to the gills. I ran out of the good dope on Saturday, and guess what happened Sunday?

Withdrawals.

For those of you who don’t know, I was a heroin junkie from 1997 to 2001. I quit when I met the woman who’s now my wife—Chelle. I tell you what, man, I don’t miss withdrawals whatsoever. Nastiest fucking feeling on the planet. Shit crawling under your skin. Greasy sweats. You smell like ammonia and ass, if you can imagine that. The odor is the chemicals leaving your body through your pores. Nothing fun about withdrawals, which is why drugs like heroin are so hard to kick. Mind you, the shit my doctor gave me is legal. Heroin is not. The legal dope is synthetically similar to heroin, but it’s also a controlled, time-release dose. Anyfuck, it was fun while it lasted. I hate to say that, but I can only be honest with you.

I woke up Sunday morning absolutely done with bed. Sick and fucking tired of my mattress. I didn’t want to see it again for a month, I was so done. I got up and stripped the bedding, which of course smelled like an unwashed junkie, and took everything to the laundry room. I put on my shoes and socks and left the house, phone in tow, Usher’s Passing, by Robert McCammon, audiobook loaded and good to go.

I WALKED FOR FOUR FUCKING MILES!

I posted to Instagram and Twitter, I was so excited. I might have gone farther, but my right foot, the one attached to my gimpy leg (I have neuropathy in that leg due to nerve damage, which is a side effect of my back surgeries, and so on), started to feel like I was walking on glass. I stopped on the side of the road and called my mother to come pick me up, because Chelle and I don’t drive. She has extreme anxiety behind the wheel, and my leg is undependable so I can’t manage the pedals.

Here I was terrified that I’d done something to myself, and it seems all I needed was a little downtime. Today, I walked another three miles, and might’ve done more, but it seems I’m acquiring a blister on my left foot. I was a mess trying to go that last mile. I’m sure my hobbling-ass looked a fuckin sight! But I refused to give up because, other than my burning left foot, I felt amazing.

Side note: anybody know what to do about a foot blister? If you say “stay off it” I’mma ignore you cuz I’m stubborn.

By the end, I’d walked from downtown Prattville, near the courthouse, through several side streets and alleys, until I ended up at the library, my home away from home. There I found four books that piqued my interest for a quarter a piece. I grabbed them and then proceeded to call my ride.

All in all, it was a fantastic day. If you want to see my weekly weigh-in, my book haul, and some other updates, you can check out my Instagram @EdwardLorn.

It’s also been announced that I’m one of A Stranger Dreams’ new reps. I’ll be showcasing their products on my YouTube channel, and you guys will get a discount if you use my coupon code. More on that when I find out more details.

So yeah, this shitty-ass of a week came out fine in the end. I’m happy anyway. Many thanks to everyone who wished me well while I was down, and the same goes for all of my cheerleaders on Twitter and Instagram. I’m determined to beat this belly. Maybe one day I’ll even walk a 5k…or run a marathon. Anything’s possible.

In reading news, I’m blowing right through Black House, by King and Straub, with my good friend Angela. I’m also still audiobooking ‘Salem’s Lot with Isaak, as well as listening to Usher’s Passing while I walk, but holy shit what a struggle the McCammon book is. Lastly, I’m reading a chapter a night from So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed, by Jon Ronson, and enjoying it. I’ve long read a nonfiction book a month, but I usually kept them to myself. For some reason I felt that sharing my nonfiction reads was an invasion of privacy, as if it gave people a view of me they shouldn’t be allowed. I no longer feel that way, though, and I have no idea where I got that idea to begin with…

You know how we do. Chime in down there in the doobly-doo and lemme know what you’re reading and how life is going for you. I love hearing from everyone. I might not always respond (because there’s not always call for me to) but I read everyone’s posts.

Take care of each other, and I’ll see you here again next Monday.

E.