Colonel Contin
Bluelighter
I'll start from the beginning, attempting to be thorough while remaining concise...
I started using painkillers roughly 7 years ago. I have always had severe issues coping with anxiety and depression, and oxycontin seemed to allow all of my problems to melt away. At first I was able to control my usage - taking small doses once or twice a week to 'blow off steam' - and life was grand. Before long (within a year), as is typically the case, I was using daily and my tolerance was through the roof (compared to where it started). I spent every cent I had on oxy 80s, but it was never enough. I tried to quit numerous times and succeeded, but only for a week or so at a time. After two years of habitual use, I decided to move out of state to attend graduate school and dry out.
Isolated in a new town with no drug friends, no connections and a full plate, I was able to abstain from using (mostly) for almost two years. I patted myself on the back, thinking I'd conquered the world. Unfortunately, I craved opiates every day (and I felt like I deserved a reward), so whenever I'd return home to visit I would relapse, only to reset the clock and resume my abstinence when I left again. Eventually, inevitably, after so much sniffing around, I began to accumulate connections in my new area, and the cycle started all over again... this time it would get much worse.
Rednecks'ville, the neighboring town, was rampant with drug use. The prices were high, but I was no stranger to being gouged and I certainly wasn't going to let that stop me. I applied for some student loans and a couple of credit cards and I was set. I had my hands on 300mg of roxicet a day without issue and had no real incentive to quit. I started injecting the pills and my love for them grew. I didn't even think about the money until I couldn't get any more (I had accumulated over twenty thousand dollars in debt). At this point I was hurting for drugs and had pretty much exhausted my resources for acquiring them. I tried to quit numerous times, but could never follow through. Detoxing over and over again had become exhausting, and I was tired of failing. I think at some point I conceded to being a hopeless addict, and became convinced that drugs weren't the problem - the real problem was my inability to fund a satisfactory habit... so I switched to heroin to save a little scratch and started hustling (it only seemed natural).
Within a year, clever addict that I am, I was hustling hard. Without breaking a sweat I was injecting two grams of black tar a day and kicking a gram to my roommate for shits and giggles. I'd always thought I'd be happy if I could get my hands on enough dope to inject 'til I just couldn't cram any more into my veins, but for some reason this wasn't the case. I kept this up for quite a while, but the guilt of ruining my credit and wasting years of my life was catching up with me, and the stress of the hustle - laying my life and freedom on the line day in and day out - had begun to take its ugly toll. I had become a shell of myself - I was on my physical and emotional last leg. I was malnourished, dehydrated, riddled with ulcers and I could barely stand without blacking out and biting the dust. My veins were ruined and I looked like shit. No matter how much dope I did I was unable to escape this looming, piercing feeling of anxiety. I started smoking crack and upping my phenibut dosage, but I could not recapture any momentary semblance of the contentment I had always associated with opiates. I was scared... nearly ready to hand myself over to death... heroin had failed me.
One day recently, to my admitted surprise, my roommate suggested trying to quit. Having milked all of the pleasure I could out of the drug, I agreed that it was probably time to put it down (though I wasn't sure if I could). I had roughly a half dozen suboxone and subutex pills, and an open-ended resource for acquiring more, so I decided to give it the old college try. We both quit on the same day. While the initial sickness was far less taxing than I had feared (I thought it might literally kill me) I have had a rough time in the weeks following, but shockingly I have not faltered. It has been 23 days since my last shot of heroin. I spent the first two weeks on the couch, unable to stand without fainting. The past week has been easier, but I still feel crippled. My initial dose of bupe was 16 mg, and I've tapered down to about 1.3mg per day (an 8 mg pill split into 6 pieces). I've started going to the store and buying fresh food for healthy meals and getting some light exercise (brisk walking), but I haven't felt physically capable of doing much else. The process seems slow-going and sometimes hopeless. My roommate has relapsed and gone back to using and it's in my face all the time, which fills me with resentment (even though it hasn't been a trigger... up to this point anyway).
I've tried to keep this light-hearted, but truthfully I've been in a dark place for a long time. I guess my question is "what is the next step?". I feel stuck. I found a doctor with a family practice that doubles as an addiction specialist, but I'm not sure what, if anything, she'll be able to do for me. I have looked into NA meetings in the area, but they have always been a trigger in the past (though I am in a much different place now than I was then). I harbor nothing but hate and resentment for heroin at this point, and for the first time in my life I actually do not have any desire to use. I just feel so lost, and I'm such a wreck. I experience these waves of terror almost daily and I don't know how to cope anymore. Any kind words of advice... perhaps from somebody who has had a similar experience with abstinence?
I started using painkillers roughly 7 years ago. I have always had severe issues coping with anxiety and depression, and oxycontin seemed to allow all of my problems to melt away. At first I was able to control my usage - taking small doses once or twice a week to 'blow off steam' - and life was grand. Before long (within a year), as is typically the case, I was using daily and my tolerance was through the roof (compared to where it started). I spent every cent I had on oxy 80s, but it was never enough. I tried to quit numerous times and succeeded, but only for a week or so at a time. After two years of habitual use, I decided to move out of state to attend graduate school and dry out.
Isolated in a new town with no drug friends, no connections and a full plate, I was able to abstain from using (mostly) for almost two years. I patted myself on the back, thinking I'd conquered the world. Unfortunately, I craved opiates every day (and I felt like I deserved a reward), so whenever I'd return home to visit I would relapse, only to reset the clock and resume my abstinence when I left again. Eventually, inevitably, after so much sniffing around, I began to accumulate connections in my new area, and the cycle started all over again... this time it would get much worse.
Rednecks'ville, the neighboring town, was rampant with drug use. The prices were high, but I was no stranger to being gouged and I certainly wasn't going to let that stop me. I applied for some student loans and a couple of credit cards and I was set. I had my hands on 300mg of roxicet a day without issue and had no real incentive to quit. I started injecting the pills and my love for them grew. I didn't even think about the money until I couldn't get any more (I had accumulated over twenty thousand dollars in debt). At this point I was hurting for drugs and had pretty much exhausted my resources for acquiring them. I tried to quit numerous times, but could never follow through. Detoxing over and over again had become exhausting, and I was tired of failing. I think at some point I conceded to being a hopeless addict, and became convinced that drugs weren't the problem - the real problem was my inability to fund a satisfactory habit... so I switched to heroin to save a little scratch and started hustling (it only seemed natural).
Within a year, clever addict that I am, I was hustling hard. Without breaking a sweat I was injecting two grams of black tar a day and kicking a gram to my roommate for shits and giggles. I'd always thought I'd be happy if I could get my hands on enough dope to inject 'til I just couldn't cram any more into my veins, but for some reason this wasn't the case. I kept this up for quite a while, but the guilt of ruining my credit and wasting years of my life was catching up with me, and the stress of the hustle - laying my life and freedom on the line day in and day out - had begun to take its ugly toll. I had become a shell of myself - I was on my physical and emotional last leg. I was malnourished, dehydrated, riddled with ulcers and I could barely stand without blacking out and biting the dust. My veins were ruined and I looked like shit. No matter how much dope I did I was unable to escape this looming, piercing feeling of anxiety. I started smoking crack and upping my phenibut dosage, but I could not recapture any momentary semblance of the contentment I had always associated with opiates. I was scared... nearly ready to hand myself over to death... heroin had failed me.
One day recently, to my admitted surprise, my roommate suggested trying to quit. Having milked all of the pleasure I could out of the drug, I agreed that it was probably time to put it down (though I wasn't sure if I could). I had roughly a half dozen suboxone and subutex pills, and an open-ended resource for acquiring more, so I decided to give it the old college try. We both quit on the same day. While the initial sickness was far less taxing than I had feared (I thought it might literally kill me) I have had a rough time in the weeks following, but shockingly I have not faltered. It has been 23 days since my last shot of heroin. I spent the first two weeks on the couch, unable to stand without fainting. The past week has been easier, but I still feel crippled. My initial dose of bupe was 16 mg, and I've tapered down to about 1.3mg per day (an 8 mg pill split into 6 pieces). I've started going to the store and buying fresh food for healthy meals and getting some light exercise (brisk walking), but I haven't felt physically capable of doing much else. The process seems slow-going and sometimes hopeless. My roommate has relapsed and gone back to using and it's in my face all the time, which fills me with resentment (even though it hasn't been a trigger... up to this point anyway).
I've tried to keep this light-hearted, but truthfully I've been in a dark place for a long time. I guess my question is "what is the next step?". I feel stuck. I found a doctor with a family practice that doubles as an addiction specialist, but I'm not sure what, if anything, she'll be able to do for me. I have looked into NA meetings in the area, but they have always been a trigger in the past (though I am in a much different place now than I was then). I harbor nothing but hate and resentment for heroin at this point, and for the first time in my life I actually do not have any desire to use. I just feel so lost, and I'm such a wreck. I experience these waves of terror almost daily and I don't know how to cope anymore. Any kind words of advice... perhaps from somebody who has had a similar experience with abstinence?
Last edited:
