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EADD Heroin thread v.XXIV -- welcome back, PinkPapaver!

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I'm sorry I'm new to this. I know he is using oxys for years now. I think he has turned to heroin I see marks on his arms but they heal fast. I want to help him if I can
 
Track marks can heal pretty fast (at first) if he or someone he knows has a good injection technique. How have you seen them? Most users are very conscious of their tracks and will hide them. Unfortunately, it is nigh on impossible to help a user unless they want help. The more you interfere the more he will avoid you and cover up his activities. Talk to him, but don't be judgemental or get aggressive - it won't work. Try to assure him you'll be there for him when he needs you, but try not to give him money. Has his oxy supply been cut off, or are they just not working for him now?

Also, I wouldn't recommend making him take a drug test yet. If you can get him to admit to using, try and get him to seek medical help. If he's been using oxys for years he will be opiate dependant and should qualify for a methadone or subutex script - but only if he's willing.

Good luck!
 
I'm guessing you're in the US? Oxy prescriptions aren't that common in the UK (although EADD covers the whole of Europe and Africa, the vast majority of posters in this subforum are Brits). I personally don't know what treatment options are available in the US so you might be better advised to contact the UScentric forums if that is where you reside.
 
Yeah being judgemental, or trying to force anything on or from him is the last thing that will help your son. That will just cause him to lash out or to refuse outright to have anything to do with such efforts. Be understanding, tolerant and open with him. And drug tests, they can have false positives (such as say, if he has been using OTC codeine/DHC based pain meds or some cough mixtures for example), and if nothing else, he is likely to tell you to get stuffed. I would if someone waved a cup in my face and told me to piss in it. I'd probably piss on them for the cheek of it.

Talk to him, not talk AT him, but WITH him, and listen to what he has to say.

And FUBAR-as for being highly paid...I fucking wish. As it is, best I can manage it seems is to hire my skills out to whoever is willing to pay for my services. It isn't a salary, its on a per-job basis, but at least it isn't taxable and its extra ???, and for doing something that I enjoy doing; since I've always had a 'thing' for chemistry and biotech, ever since I was first old enough to be able to go out and get some money in some way, be it selling flowers taken from cherry trees in the street and bunched up, door to door, or filching lead and copper pipe from abandoned, derelict buildings, scrapping car batteries, truck batteries etc for scrap metal in order to go buy things like OTC solvents, and the things needed to make other solvents (such as ether, chloroform etc.) and other available reagents and the things to make other reagents from.

Not easy carrying a backpack full of lead, copper pipe etc. whilst balancing a truck battery on each shoulder when you are 7 years old, though. Although there wasn't the rabid chemophobia directed against hobby chemists back then, and the selection of OTC items has severely dwidled in these bad times for chemophobia. I did still get a few funny looks from the likes of pharmacists, auto store sales clerks and DIY store checkouts, when bringing bottles and bottles of caustic soda, sodium chlorate weedkiller, HCl, iodine tincture, various fertilizers and other garden chemicals, formic, sulfuric, phosphoric acids, shopping carts full of solvents and all manner of other bits and pieces. Had a lab bench built for me even when I was pretty young, although had to be in my bedroom at that time. Got up to all sorts, including a fair few godawful stinks and quite a few volcanoes of acid, exploding flower-vases (sorry mom, I didn't realize what would happen when trying to electrolyse a flower vase full of caustic soda with the mains electric supply, I honestly didn't think it was going to cause that prized flowerpot to detonate, and certainly not go off with quite the bang it did........although luckily I was never caught. Although they did see a few thermite reactions started on the garden path; to say nothing of some truly teeth-withering, toenail-shrivelling reeks and the odd cloud of various tear gases.




Oh, and oxy scripts aren't THAT rare in the UK are they? I have one for IR oxy and one for morphine.
 
^Limpet, you fuckin crack me up man! =D The mental image of a 7 year old you with a backpack full of scrap metal and truck batteries, and blowing up your mum's vases is fuckin priceless!!

As for UK oxy scripts, perhaps they are becoming more common, but the use of the term 'rx' for 'prescription' to me is largely an Americanism.
 
Meh, 'rx' is a term common enough in both countries is it not? I use it.

As for me in my younger days...oh boy..you don't know the half of it. Neither did my folks. Cooking GHB in the middle of the night, and slowly evaporating off the H2O in the oven with the concentrated NaGHB on Al foil lined baking trays, about 2.5 liters worth of GBL at a time, experimenting with THAT synthesis using red phosphorus and iodine, after reading about methamphetamine in a library book on org. chem...big bergens full of scrap lead and copper (which I always stuffed full of soil and rocks to make it weigh more, a bit naughty of me, but my excuse is that I was only 7 or so and I didn't get much other money, I had to stock my lab somehow did I not? =D)

Electrolysis gone wrong (that vase), I'd done a quick and dirty, inexperienced hack on a plug, replaced the fuse with a cast slug of metal so it wouldn't trip, connected up to a pair of carbon electrodes cut out of batteries, drilled two holes, one in either side of mom's vase, epoxied them in place and then filled it with molten caustic, using a broom handle to push the electric 'on' switch. Should have heard the sodding great CRACK!! sound that followed immediately after. That was vase no. II if I recall correctly, the first having been sacrificed to an attempt at doing it in aqueous solution. Oops.

And of course, it blew a volcanic plume of molten caustic soda near enough onto my bedroom ceiling.

Lets see..what else....thermite reactions lit on the garden path, my folks wondering, most likely, why I was walking out there wearing a pair of welding goggles and carrying a blowtorch.

A garage filled with chloroacetone (tear-gas), and me diving for cover and doing a commando roll under the gap of the door, after it turned a sort of pallid, bleached, chlorine-esque shade of green, then immediately afterwards, flash-boiled in an exothermic runaway, vaporizing the entire batch into the air, sending me diving for cover, whilst an eye-watering, lung-searing virulent cloud of noxious fumes and chlorine gas began belching out of the garage.

White phosphorus burn once, that left me with one arm and hand near enough paralyzed, leaving me having to go to school and try fobbing the teachers off with an excuse as to why I was using only my non-dominant hand for the best (worst) part of a month to a month and a half, because I couldn't even hold or pick up a pencil without it falling out of my hand.

Distilling chromyl chloride (a violently water-sensitive, carcinogenic, toxic, fuming volatile oxidizer from hell with a nasty tendency towards setting things on fire on contact, made by heating a mixture of a dichromate salt, concentrated sulfuric acid (98%) and table salt to about 120 degrees 'C and distilling the result, condensing the orangey-brown bromine-looking vapors to condense it to a volatile, foul smelling liquid with the appearance of bromine) and a flask failure, cracked right round the middle causing the bottom to drop out, only just managed to jump to the side and avoid being doused from the waist down, and the part that hit the bench-top, literally burnt it to ashes at a touch of the searing blazing hot mixture of boiling chromyl chloride, concentrated sulfuric acid and potassium dichromate. Had to carve out the section of my lab bench that was touched by it and dispose of the hexavalent chromium impregnated, acid saturated, poison-fuming carbon foam left in its wake of destruction. as hazmat waste and patch in a fresh piece of unburnt wood, since what was left was just charcoal, albeit charcoal saturated in corrosive, fuming, virulently acidic kidney and bladder cancer.

Perchloric acid burn on my hand, and a burn from thionyl chloride, the SOCl2 burnt straight through my leather gloves, rusting the steel spikes on them in moments, and when I tried taking the remnants of the gloves off, it just tore off what was left of the skin from 3/4 of my hand, which had been burnt down to the muscle, which was left smoking and saturated in acid, giving off choking fumes and hurting like all fuck. Still got the scars from that one.

flashpowder burn to the eye once, although thankfully not too severe, compared to what could have happened (I.e taking my head off its shoulders)

And once, managed to accidentally wash a small (i was young and had to teach myself, didn't know better at the time) amount of acrolein down the sink, only to chase it with HOT water, vaporising a filthy, burnt grease-stinking, rancid cloud of virulent choking lachrymatory fumes back up the pipes and into the kitchen.

Successful electrolysis, argon inert gas tank ran dry, causing sodium to form at an alarming rate, in little to medium sized blobs, at several hundred degrees 'C, which immediately exploded, sounding like machinegun-fire, interspersed with the odd and not particularly infrequent large blast, as if the machinegun were accompanied by artillery shelling.

And of course, plenty high-jinx of the kind kids just love, involving shoulder-launched rockets, grenade launchers, black powder, flashpowder, some improvised plasticized incendiary composition of mine based on chlorates and perchlorates, TNT and plenty others beside. That incendiary mixture most often finding itself strapped to a propane tank, with a fuse stuck in one end, accompanied by a pre-teen boy running like hell until far enough away to turn and watch as the propane cylinder would burn through and the gas would burst out and explode, firing the gas bottle up like a missile into the air.

The garage at the time, had a pretty much permanent odor of chlorine gas, solvents, the tang of sulfur dioxide and HCl gas hanging around too. Was a bit of a bugger at that age.

And lets just say, I've learned never to fire a rocket propelled grenade down a sewer with only one open end. The shockwave sent me reeling, my ears ringing and seeing nothing but white.
 
Limpet_Chicken said:
Meh, 'rx' is a term common enough in both countries is it not? I use it.

As for me in my younger days...oh boy..you don't know the half of it. Neither did my folks. Cooking GHB in the middle of the night, and slowly evaporating off the H2O in the oven with the concentrated NaGHB on Al foil lined baking trays, about 2.5 liters worth of GBL at a time, experimenting with THAT synthesis using red phosphorus and iodine, after reading about methamphetamine in a library book on org. chem...big bergens full of scrap lead and copper (which I always stuffed full of soil and rocks to make it weigh more, a bit naughty of me, but my excuse is that I was only 7 or so and I didn't get much other money, I had to stock my lab somehow did I not? =D)

Electrolysis gone wrong (that vase), I'd done a quick and dirty, inexperienced hack on a plug, replaced the fuse with a cast slug of metal so it wouldn't trip, connected up to a pair of carbon electrodes cut out of batteries, drilled two holes, one in either side of mom's vase, epoxied them in place and then filled it with molten caustic, using a broom handle to push the electric 'on' switch. Should have heard the sodding great CRACK!! sound that followed immediately after. That was vase no. II if I recall correctly, the first having been sacrificed to an attempt at doing it in aqueous solution. Oops.

And of course, it blew a volcanic plume of molten caustic soda near enough onto my bedroom ceiling.

Lets see..what else....thermite reactions lit on the garden path, my folks wondering, most likely, why I was walking out there wearing a pair of welding goggles and carrying a blowtorch.

A garage filled with chloroacetone (tear-gas), and me diving for cover and doing a commando roll under the gap of the door, after it turned a sort of pallid, bleached, chlorine-esque shade of green, then immediately afterwards, flash-boiled in an exothermic runaway, vaporizing the entire batch into the air, sending me diving for cover, whilst an eye-watering, lung-searing virulent cloud of noxious fumes and chlorine gas began belching out of the garage.

White phosphorus burn once, that left me with one arm and hand near enough paralyzed, leaving me having to go to school and try fobbing the teachers off with an excuse as to why I was using only my non-dominant hand for the best (worst) part of a month to a month and a half, because I couldn't even hold or pick up a pencil without it falling out of my hand.

Distilling chromyl chloride (a violently water-sensitive, carcinogenic, toxic, fuming volatile oxidizer from hell with a nasty tendency towards setting things on fire on contact, made by heating a mixture of a dichromate salt, concentrated sulfuric acid (98%) and table salt to about 120 degrees 'C and distilling the result, condensing the orangey-brown bromine-looking vapors to condense it to a volatile, foul smelling liquid with the appearance of bromine) and a flask failure, cracked right round the middle causing the bottom to drop out, only just managed to jump to the side and avoid being doused from the waist down, and the part that hit the bench-top, literally burnt it to ashes at a touch of the searing blazing hot mixture of boiling chromyl chloride, concentrated sulfuric acid and potassium dichromate. Had to carve out the section of my lab bench that was touched by it and dispose of the hexavalent chromium impregnated, acid saturated, poison-fuming carbon foam left in its wake of destruction. as hazmat waste and patch in a fresh piece of unburnt wood, since what was left was just charcoal, albeit charcoal saturated in corrosive, fuming, virulently acidic kidney and bladder cancer.

Perchloric acid burn on my hand, and a burn from thionyl chloride, the SOCl2 burnt straight through my leather gloves, rusting the steel spikes on them in moments, and when I tried taking the remnants of the gloves off, it just tore off what was left of the skin from 3/4 of my hand, which had been burnt down to the muscle, which was left smoking and saturated in acid, giving off choking fumes and hurting like all fuck. Still got the scars from that one.

flashpowder burn to the eye once, although thankfully not too severe, compared to what could have happened (I.e taking my head off its shoulders)

And once, managed to accidentally wash a small (i was young and had to teach myself, didn't know better at the time) amount of acrolein down the sink, only to chase it with HOT water, vaporising a filthy, burnt grease-stinking, rancid cloud of virulent choking lachrymatory fumes back up the pipes and into the kitchen.

Successful electrolysis, argon inert gas tank ran dry, causing sodium to form at an alarming rate, in little to medium sized blobs, at several hundred degrees 'C, which immediately exploded, sounding like machinegun-fire, interspersed with the odd and not particularly infrequent large blast, as if the machinegun were accompanied by artillery shelling.

And of course, plenty high-jinx of the kind kids just love, involving shoulder-launched rockets, grenade launchers, black powder, flashpowder, some improvised plasticized incendiary composition of mine based on chlorates and perchlorates, TNT and plenty others beside. That incendiary mixture most often finding itself strapped to a propane tank, with a fuse stuck in one end, accompanied by a pre-teen boy running like hell until far enough away to turn and watch as the propane cylinder would burn through and the gas would burst out and explode, firing the gas bottle up like a missile into the air.

The garage at the time, had a pretty much permanent odor of chlorine gas, solvents, the tang of sulfur dioxide and HCl gas hanging around too. Was a bit of a bugger at that age.

And lets just say, I've learned never to fire a rocket propelled grenade down a sewer with only one open end. The shockwave sent me reeling, my ears ringing and seeing nothing but white.
Click to expand...

Heh, by all rights you should have been killed long ago. If not by your experiments, then by your long suffering parents... =D
 
Quite correct, at times. I have had a few narrow scrapes. Probably the scariest being a phosgene release. That scared the living mother of all shitting fuck out of me, not knowing if I was a dead man walking, just waiting to find out whether my lungs were going to fill with my own blood plasma and if I was destined to drown in it hours later. Phosphine fire, diborane and pentaborane were probably the others that shit me up worst of all. (extremely lethal poisonous gases in all cases, phosphine (or rather the diphosphine that was evolved with it) and diborane spontaneously catch fire on contact with air.

Downright nasty in all cases. And once almost got sliced to bits by the thin metal casing around an explosive charge, that I immediately after the blast, observed to have flattened out into a razor-sharp tape-like projectile and embedded itself into a tree close to me.

It was a bit of a trial by fire (with plenty smoke, stinking clouds of various none too pleasant fumes, fairly frequent explosions and a few pretty nasty burns), given that I had to be my own teacher, whilst starting without experience.

Still, I earned my wings, and I'm certainly not going to hang up the glassware, dispose of the cupboards, shelf stacks and fridges full of reagents, bugger that, not when I've spent..over a lifetime, perhaps 25-30k on the hobby, on equipment and chemical supplies, solvents etc. And I'm always after more and better equipment. Next, I think, is going to be a replacement vacuum pump, as I'm stuck with a water aspirator pump at the moment, after having some problems with the rotary vane pump I used to use.

Although you have a point, I'm surprised that my old man actually built me the lab bench. Although he sometimes does complain about the amount of space I take up in the fridge I keep some of chemical supplies in, since we share it and he uses it to keep maggots and the like for fishing, whilst I've got it full of nitroethane, iodine monochloride, benzaldehyde, various solvents, about a kilo of iodine, and all manner of other bits and pieces; I've pretty much used up about 85-90% of the space in the fridge. Theres a little bit of one shelf with a few pots of his bait in there, the rest of it is..taken over from day one. Then again, most of the house is stuffed full of crates full of flasks, condensers, test tubes, still heads and adapters, vac pump, hotplates, rotovap etc.

I started young, and my first special ed school, my first secondary school, they didn't do science classes. Had nobody to teach me but textbooks, experiments and an unquenchable thirst for knowledge.
 
"Are you mad Mr Z? I could hit those in your hand from over here with a fucking dart with a blindfold on"

"I don't have any Vit C right now but I got some Jif"

:\
 
My cup, it runneth over.

I've a choice between oxycodone (IR), morphine (zomorph 30s, zomorph tens), 5mg methadone tablets (a box plus several strips more), and a baggie containing that (in)famous, slightly perfumed, acetylated powder that has as its origin, the latex of the sweet, sweet Papaver somniferum, a nice little 'cake' of the stuff a bit wider than a 2 pence coin and perhaps 1cm deep, maybe a bit more. A pretty lady by the name of 'diacetylmorphine', currently being tooted out of a pipette with the rubber bulb temporarily taken off the end, so as to be able to tamp it down into a little twisted plastic wrapper, before knocking any on the outside into foil, and the pipette be heated from below with a cigarette lighter.

Oxy, morphine sulfate, heroin freebase of a real nice looking very pale tan color, no fent in it, that I am just beginning to toot from, and an over-stuffed box of physeptone tablets. Oh and both some codeine and dihydrocodeine, the DHC being for 6-monopropionyldihydromorphine and 6-monoacetyldihydromorphine, courtesy of some 30% HBr in anhydrous glacial acetic acid or anhydrous propionic acid. Yes indeed...no worries about weekend withdrawals as I went through, causing me to have no sleep for 3 days and nights until I picked up my med refill. A few physeptone pills, and/or some good ol' skag. Still got to weigh the brown, but it tastes good and I'm having a pipette-pipe full of her ladyship now first before I weigh the rest. Good stuff, very good stuff. I'll probably not even use the oxy until I have to, and rely mostly on the methadone, whilst the sulfate of morphia, that can become morphine base, and then be propionylated with propionic anhydride or propionyl chloride and then have me some yummy dipropionylmorphine, or as I've come to think of it, 'prope-dope'. And that I can know 100% has never, ever been cut, and has come straight from propionic anhydride, a little sodium propionate, and pharm grade morph, after extraction from zomorph after basing with aqueous ammonia, taking up in dichloromethane, and recrystallization as 100% heroin no.4 (this is indeed the white, very pure version, is it not, heroin no.4? the china white type stuff?) (or rather in this case, the 3,6-propionyl diester of course, since its far more potent than H, faster acting, more euphoric, and so much longer acting as to more than double the duration, which is closer to poppy pod tea.)

Time for some brown, a cold beer and a cigar, then some munch.

Time to go say hello to the ol' girl=D
 
Oh that is good. Not had any H in a while actually. That was most refreshing, especially after being sleep deprived for days. My ragged nerves seem to have all magically reknit themselves and worked out all the knots and squirrely-bits.

30mg methadone too. And relaxing, watching Andromeda on TV, bottle of chilly cold coke straight from the fridge. This is one hell of an improvement over last night, thats for sure.
 
Fucking hell served on a plate..I just realized it is thursday.

Where the mother of arsebiscuits did monday through to wednesday night go...? its like..I started the week, using my regular pain script, then switched to (mostly) an 8th of brown, and all of a sudden, its really early thursday morning. And I'm sat here with a bottle of lager, just realizing that the majority of this week has evaporated as easily as a test tube loaded with a mound of gear and a length of glass tubing stuck in it=D
 
Thata an interesting way to vape the gear rather than running on jimmy - is it not wasteful? or do you just use a very low flame so you dont burn the gear?
 
Seems our police commissioner is making even more waves, his in Switzerland looking at their drug policy & is saying in 2/3 months the West Mids will have legal shooting places & a blind eye will be turned to heroin use. Not sure how I feel about this as the west mids is not a nice place & I can only see the trouble these places will cause, keep it illegal & on the street I say.
Also clean, pure heroin or morphine gives quite a different feeling to the #2/#3 we get out on road to say the least, I didn't like pure morphine that much if I am honest.
 
I knew a nurse who use to give me diamorphine amps that had been partially used and the high is imo very different and not as good as good ol #3 as street gear has other alkaloids in it e.g. thebaine, codeine,morphine etc......still nice mind but not as dreamy.
 
I actually prefer morphine to street gear, although dipropionylmorphine is by far my favoutite, at least as long as we are speaking strictly of those phenanthrene opioids of a closer relationship to morphine than dihydromorphine. I've a large tolerance to MOR full agonists and with street gear, I often find that heavy dosing causes severe shaking/twitching of the hands, so much so that if i am to shoot any then I need to do the IV first, otherwise my hands will shake so damn badly I can barely hold the rig, let alone make any fine movements with it, only really rough, large scale movements (E.g if I were to stab a knife into a wooden board, I'd be able to manage that, but no way could I do anything other than an IM shot), even if I register, it'll come out again before I can get more than a few microliters in me.

Smoking a lot also gives me the shakes, I've had to use a dose of chlormethiazole and nitrazepam before to deal with it, alongside some clonidine and tizanidine before it will stop. I find (street) H to be a lot more likely to prove over stimulating than morphine.
 
blondin said:
I knew a nurse who use to give me diamorphine amps that had been partially used and the high is imo very different and not as good as good ol #3 as street gear has other alkaloids in it e.g. thebaine, codeine,morphine etc......still nice mind but not as dreamy.
Click to expand...

I agree there 100%, I would never say "no thanks" to a nice dose of Morphine but I guess over the time I have got a taste for the street smack a bit too much.
 
Is it just me that prefers morphine (assuming either are dosed via the IV or IM route?), although I prefer dipropionylmorphine to either morphine or H, and 6-monoacetyldihydromorphine to any of them.

Just got a nice bit myself, nice big solid chunk of brown, woke up early in the morning, not quite in full withdrawal, not the restlessness, well, very slight, although I had enough residue on a load of foils to get me through, should have got it yesterday, but for an error where it was sent accidentally, to the wrong address, luckily they were out of the house and it was returned to the post dept.

Old fuckweasel there yesterday refused to hand it over, because the house number was wrong, even with my having the tracking number and ID, but I went again earlier and there was a young guy working the counter who was quite decent about it, and gave me my little package without any fuss.

Just smoked a couple of foils, and feeling right as.
 
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