I did not really know where to post this. If it is in the wrong place I apologize. I am 5 days sober (almost 6 now) and last night on the tail end of physical withdraw I was for some reason compelled to put my struggle into words. The whole ugly truth. This is completely unedited ramblings of an addict that is detoxing from Opioids so please excuse any spelling grammatical etc errors. I was not sure if anyone would even be interested in reading this but after i was done typing I figured I may as well post it on Bluelight. If TL;DR i most certainly understand. It was meant to be short and to the point but most certainly failed in that regard.
For me it all started oh so innocently. I was 19 years old and out on my own for the first time. A cheap small apartment that was part of a duplex with my roomate. Who was then and is to this day my best friend. We both had minimum wage jobs to cover rent and electricty and all the weed we were smoking at that time. Everything just felt so normal and I felt so alive. Looking back now 10 years later and I do not even think I know what normal feels like anymore.
Neither of us were drinkers. I am not sure how he felt about it really but alchohol just never appealed to me. I mean maybe a beer or two occasionally but never really with the goal of getting hammered drunk. I did not enjoy the process, it just felt laboring to me like I had to work to get that 'not there' feeling that reefer provided with just a few tokes. Weekends were the only time I really partook in the stuff and that was only because everyone else was doing it and admittedly it did help loosen me up when trying to talk girls into sleeping with me. Our whole existence revolved around getting stoned and getting laid. It was a great time in my life. I was young and I was making my own way. The whole world was in front of me. I had decided to take a year off before starting college. It felt like a right of passage after high school before starting my journey into the 'real world'.
We regularly had friends over even on weekdays after work for smoke sessions. I had no extra money for cable and had no need for it. We would just sit around and contemplate the universe while Nirvana or Dr Dre or Pearl Jam provided the background noise. During one of these smoke sessions as a friend was leaving he asked if I could sell him a *snip*(*snip* worth of weed) so he would have something for the next day. I agreed and stuffed a generous amount of my stash into one of those little tiny bags that you buy at your local headshops that I had lying around from a similar purchase I had made a few days ago. I went to hand him the small baggie but before he reached out he stopped and said "I do not have any cash on me". I thought for only a very short moment and told him not to worry about it he could get me back next time. He still did not reach for my outstretched hand that was offering him the reefer. "Or.." he said "we could trade" and he opened his hand and revealed a presicely cut half of a small blue-ish green pill that I would later affectionately refer to as hospital blues. "It is Oxycontin." he said if you want to try it just remove the coating and crush it up and snort it." I was somewhat familiar with snorting having tried cocaine once at a party. I remember him saying so vividly even today that I can still hear his voice saying the words "It will be the best ten dollars you ever spent."(This turned out to be maybe the most incredibly true and incredibly false statement anyone ever made to me.) He went on to explain he would usually get no less than *snip* for this little half of a pill no larger than a tictac and gave me a few further instructions on how to prepare the pill for snorting. He warned me to maybe not do all of it at once or it might make me nauseous which seemed exceedingly rediculous to me at the time for such a small thing. I mean I had obviously heard of Oxycontin as well as how strong and dangerous they were but I had also heard that marijuana would make me a chronic masterbator and a serial rapist so I didnt pay it much attention. I reluctantly agreed having no history of ever using any kind of opiate or even considering it. But he was a friend who regularly got me stoned and I wanted him to have the weed for the next day and he seemed to not want to owe me.
So later that evening everyone else had left and my roomate had passed out on the couch. I decided I was going to go ahead and follow the instructions he had given me for the pill. I had drank a few beers and smoked copious amount of weed already but I was not really tired so I figured at least it might help me sleep. I grabbed my hard cover copy of "The Dark Tower" which was frequently used as my surface for breaking up weed to roll joints or blunts and wiped off any residue with my t-shirt. I remember dipping my fingers in the cup of beer I was drinking to apply moisture to the blue green coating to remove it. After a little awkward fumbling I was finally able to remove the coating. I laid the tiny half of a pill on the book and pulled a lighter and a crisp 20$ bill from my pocket. I laid the twenty flat over this little thing and took the butt end of my lighter and smashed it. I then ran the smooth side of my lighter up and down the bill a few times as instructed. Grabbed a credit card from the table (incidentally a credit card that would soon be maxed out rather quickly as a direct result of these next few moments.) I took the card and scraped any residue that stuck to the 20$ bill back onto the book then I scraped all the powder into one pile. It seemed to still have peices that were sticking together I thought maybe from using to much moisture earlier to remove the coating so I began chopping at the pile with the edge of the card. That chop-chop-chop noise that a card or razorblade makes against a hard surface or glass that would later become in itself theraputic and part of a ritual.
When I was satisfied that I had gotten it to a fine enough powder to suck up my nose I split it into 3 lines. In retrospect not really knowing what I was doing I would not even say I cut them into lines. It was more like 3 tiny little piles. I rolled up the twenty dollar bill and quickly snorted the first one. It burned a little and tasted bitter and like chemicals (again a taste I would grow to love and crave.) I waited a few minutes and did not feel anything. My friend had told me that even snorting it would take a few minutes for the buzz to hit me. I thought to myself that I should probably wait but I went ahead and blew the 2nd pile anyways. Then almost immediately after that I began to feel it. I sat back in my dirty broke down thrift store recliner and it felt like it just washed over me. I even remember the song that was playing, it was a Nirvana cover of a David Bowie song "The Man Who Sold The World". I had never experienced a feeling like this. It felt like someone had wrapped me in a warm blanket of the finest silks the world had ever known. I sat there in that chair as the rush came and it felt like it was the most amazing feeling I would ever feel in my life. I had never felt more content, more worry free. For some reason I thought of those old ads or posters or whatever from I guess after WWII with the wife and 2 kids and the dog and the Husband still in his navy uniform freshly back from the war with the little white hat standing in front of their house with white picket fence. Maybe it was just because being from America that is what was sold as the height of happiness, of contentment. Again being a 19 yr old kid I have no idea why I thought about propaganda posters from WWII but it is and I thought this must be what those people felt like in that picture. I sat there for what seemed like a while but I really have no idea. I only moved to scratch these strange itches that I was almost happy to have because if felt so wonderful to scratch them. When it began to level off I did the 3rd pile and felt the rush all over again and I sat in that chair until the sun came up with what I am sure was a perpetual smile on my face. I, to this day, still wonder how I did not puke my guts out or even get any nausea whatsoever blowing 40 mg of oxy for my first experience with opiates. Looking back I wish that it had made me sick. I wish before I could do that 2nd pile it would have caused me to empty all the contents of my stomach so violently that I threw the rest of that thing away and cursed my friend for ever giving it to me and swore off all opiates forever. But it didnt... There was only the feeling of wonderful bliss for that entire night. Followed by a lifetime of the slavery of chasing that feeling again for the rest of my life.
After that night I was in love. I felt like I had met my soulmate only she didnt have cute dimples and wear mini-skirts. In fact she was not a she at all but a tiny little ball of compressed powder. And if 'she' were in fact a she. She would have turned out to be a jealous, smothering, all consuming, soul sucking succubus bitch. That demanded all my time and resources and possibly ruined my life. The old cliche that I used to laugh off like it was some line from some extreme ludicrous film like Reefer Madness that "You only have to try it once to become addicted." It was true. Not literally of course. I was not dependant on this substance physically. I did not yet need it. But, for me at least, there was no looking back after that. I wanted that feeling all the time and I never even stopped to consider any consequences. It even got bad right away. I already had a hook up in my friend who was their that night who had turned me on in the first place he had a script for 80's because he had some slipped disc in his back. I was spending every penny I made from that minimum wage job on those hospital blues. When the money ran out he was still there with a freebie until the next check came like the devil in a blue dress.
Eventually and obviously it caught up to me a few months later. Nobody knew what was going on even my best friend or family I hid it well. But I stopped paying rent and caring about anything really but scoring. I still stood at the register of my crappy gas station job like a zombie but it was only to punch a clock and collect a check to hand over to some dealer for another day of bliss. But even though I did not consider consequences that does not mean that there were none. When you stop paying rent you get evicted. That is bad enough personally to fail at even the most basic of things but I also let my roomate and best friend down. He suffered for my mistakes. He never even touched the stuff(at least he did not at the time. A short time later I turned him onto it and he is just as bad as me to this day and I will always carry that guilt as well) So he was forced to move back in with his parents for a while. After that I lost my job. I do not even remember why I was probably nodding out at the register or something. I stayed at the girls house I was seeing or random friends for a while. Then the girl realized I was a not good for her and my hook up got tired of giving me freebies when I no longer had income. So I moved back in with my parents but they still did not really know what was going on. The day I moved back in with them I think was the first time I did not have a daily fix since that first night. And that night and the following days were the first time I experienced withdraws.
There are many feelings in life that are difficult to describe to someone else who has never felt that particular thing before. To try to explain opiate withdraw to someone who has never experienced it might be one of the most extreme. Over the years I have had to explain why I was sick to friends or family when it was one of the many times I had run out money and charity or just was trying to kick and they never understand nor could they. Withdrawing from opiates is one of the most painful experiences I myself have had to go through. I have had dry socket from wisdom teeth, kidney stones etc., I would take any of those things twofold over withdraw. Because withdraw is not just about the physical pain... and there is physical pain. But the drastic change in body temperature; one minute you have to cover up with 3 blankets because you feel like you just came in from a snowstorm and the very next minute you are lying in bed in nothing but your underwear with your whole body and bed covered in sweat. The excruciating head aches. The nausea and vomiting. The nagging and ever persistant muscle twitching and restless leg syndrome that seems to simply not allow you to fall asleep. Worst of all, at least for me, is the diarrhea if you want to call it that. That word is way to pleasant to even come close to explaining it. I could only describe it as molten lava shooting from my rectum. And I am not talking once or twice a day you almost have the urge to go constantly and as much as you try not to go because you think you can not possibly subject yourself to that pain again. Your body will not cooperate and you will be on the toilet with your ass hole in seering pain at least 6 times a day(on a good day) Dante himself could not have dreamt up a more torturous state for even the deepest levels of hell.
So after experiencing the personal hell of withdraw and staying in my parents guest room for a week straight drinking water and eating barely anything with only cold medicine and tylenol to help with the wd symptoms because I had pawned it off to my parents as just being "the flu or something". So after I got past those horrible first days I realized that as great as it was to get high nothing was worth ever going through that again. So I swore I would never touch them again, and I didnt... for a while. I went to college like I had planned to and was doing well. I still thought about getting high every day and longed for that feeling again but through sheer terror of having to withdraw again combined with being a broke college student with no hook ups. I was able to abstain and not do anything. Eventually that feeling of longing subsided and I was able to go about life without spending every waking second thinking about it. For almost 2 years I never so much as ate a Tylenol 3.
Everything was going well with school and life was back to normal. Around this time I met a girl who I was really into. We had a film appreciation class together and we would flirt with each other and eventually we started hanging out. Well when things got serious and I started staying at her place occasionally I find out that she is addicted to Percoset. She is very embarassed about it she had some car accident and was prescribed them and started taking more than the rec. dose, liked the feeling, and it grew from there to eventually she was running through her 120 10/325's in a week or less. So surprisingly what happend next is I help her kick. She stopped going to the pain clinic (she no longer had any real chronic pain but was still going and lying to score the script.) I had read some things about easing withdraw since I had gone through it before. We tried to taper her a little with her last script but she still ended up wd's but it was made much easier by me setting her up with everything she needed for the Thomas method
and just being there with her for moral support. It was fairly painless considering how bad that it can be cold turkey with no treatment of individual symptoms. So she kicks and does not even seem to have the same desire that I had to get high after the initial symptoms are gone. We are both clean and have that experience in common. It ends up being maybe the best relationship I have ever had in my life to this point.
Somewhere around 9 months later I had gotten a pretty good job and was still taking classes in the evenings. The girlfriend is still a full-time student and the relationship with her is great. I had just bought a new car and was selling my old 92 Subaru Legacy. I put an ad in the local ad bulletin for $1000 firm. Few days later I get a call from someone who is interested. Turns out it is someone I knew from my hometown he knows the car has low miles and has seen it around and knows it is in good condition and agrees it is a fair price. We arrange for him to come pick up the car the next day. The next day he shows up to pick up the car but he says there is a small problem. He could only get $800 cash today. I do not even remember why. He could however give me the $800 today and bring me the rest on Monday(this was on a Saturday if I remember correctly) OR... and this is another one of those moments in time I wish I could time travel back to and slap myself right in the face point my index finger firmly in my past selfs face and loudly and sternly just say "NO!" ...Or he will give me 20 oxy 40's right now. I only thought about how good of a deal that was and nothing else. I mean at this time I could probably get *snip* each out of these if I wanted to just sell a few at a time and could have them all gone in faster than I could get a pizza delivered for *snip* each. So that is an extra $400 conervatively that I would be getting for my car. So I barely even hesitate I take the $800 and the oxy and sign over the title. The worst part is right before he is about to leave he turns to me and says something to the effect of "If you ever want any more of those I have as many as you need."
So I actually think about who might want these because I really could use the extra money with just buying the new car and the down payment has put a pretty big dent in my savings. -The one useful thing I learned from this particular chain of events/life experience was that an addict will always be an addict.- After I get back up to the apartment nobody is home not sure where Amy was but I was alone in my apartment with 20 oxy 40's. I somehow decide it is a good idea and not a big deal if I just do one. I mean at this point I have only had one significant stint with losing control and it was only for like 3 months and has been almost 3 years ago. So in my mind at this point it was never even a real problem. I mean I was young that 3 months was just a product of my enviroment and I was experimenting, thats what kids are suppose to do at that age right? And any other imaginable justification going through my head. Anyways the devil on the left shoulder overpowers the angel on the right and I crush a 40 and blow it all by myself in one line. Unlike the last time however, after 20 minutes or so of feeling great I get sick. Run to the restroom puke several times in the toilet.
While I am still in the restroom trying to recover at the sink with cold water there is a knock on my door. I freak out a little because I have 19 Oxy 40's laying on my coffee table. I rush in the living room scoop up the goodies and just stick them in my pocket. I open the door and it is my best friend (former roomate from the beginning of this increasingly long tale). He actually went off to college out of state after I got us evicted and he moved back home so I do not get to see him much. He had been in town for a few days visiting family but we had not been able to get our schedules straight to hangout yet. So I am pretty excited we are catching up and talking about old times, discussing what is going on with us now. He has a blunt of some Kush that we smoke which makes my stomach feel much better from the vomiting incident. That is when I make the decision that I may regret more than any other in this whole story. I tell my friend the whole story about the car and ask if he has ever tried them. He says that he hasnt so I ask if he wants to split one to try it. He is hesitant at first and in my own defense I did not pressure him in any way. He wrestles the idea around in his head for a little while and decides he is on a quasi-vacation and why not. He has wanted to try it in the past and has not so why not now with his best friend, have a little fun on his vacation. So I do it up chop in into 2 lines and rail mine in one fell swoop. "Hello darkness my old friend." He is a little skiddish with his line he does half up one nostril stops for a minute and does the rest up the other side. I ask why and he explains that he had done a little cocaine through the years and it always made him feel 'off' if he only railed with one nostril so he always alternated. For some unexplainable reason after that I have always done the same thing. No matter how big or small the line if I am putting it up my nose I do half up left half up right still to this day. Anyways I am feeling pretty good. I probably wasted some of the first one with the whole vomiting but now I feel like I am exactly where I want to be. I have that same feeling that I remember so fondly. We sit there and chat some more for about maybe 30 minutes and he is really digging the buzz. He asks if I want to split another one and offers to pay for this one. When you are high everything just feels so right with the world. I can not really explain it but other users will understand what I mean so at this point none of this still feels like a bad idea to me. I am still not an addict in my mind. I am just having a good time. I tell him his money is no good here and proceed to chop up another one. Split it into 2 lines and tell him to go ahead that I am going to wait a few before I do mine. He does his business and now he is really loving it, going on and on about how mellow of a buzz that this is and now he sees what all the rage is about. And I am just all "I know right."
A little while later we have just been relaxing on my couch shooting the shit or whatever enjoying the buzz. Then Amy comes home. She walks in and of course my line is still sitting there on the glass insert of our coffee table. I know that she sees it so I immediately jump into telling her the story about the car and the guy being short us splitting a couple "just a one time thing" I say to her. She is not happy I can tell. She just has that look on her face that I know all too well from all my fuck ups of the past. I am pretty sure if we did not have company she would have completely flipped out on me. She did however still voice her displeasure with the situation in a civil manner. Stating obvious reasons for why I should not be doing this. My friend feels really bad and is being very apologetic and of course taking all the blame saying it was all his idea because he wanted to try them. Which is not exactly or really at all the case but I mean what are friends for if not to help a brotha out with his woman if he is able to. To this point Amy and I have been brutally honest with each other through out our entire relationship.(which is probably why it is the most succesful functional relationship I have ever had) I decide I will just let this one slide it is not a big lie and it seems to have calmed her down and now she is somewhat apologetic about the situation not wanting to offend our company. That day I learned that lies in a relationship even small ones, like many other things, is a very slippery slope. So now all 3 of us are sitting in my living room after a somewhat short period of uncomfortable-ness. We then start talking about what we are going to do for the night. Our friend is in town we have to entertain. We are discussing going out maybe hit the clubs(which I quickly shoot down; I never was a club guy), maybe going to see a movie and grabbing some dinner. I suggest that Amy could invite over one of her slutty friends for my friend. Which leads to her hitting me in the arm and declaring "I don't have any friends like that." Which is not true practically all her friends would fit that description in my opinion but I let it go and move on. We start looking in the paper for movies or any events that are going on in the area. Turns out that their is a Pink Floyd indoor laser light show at this local place in what is usually a planetarium. (They just play Pink Floyd music and have like an indoor laser light show may sound kinda boring for a weekend night out if your not a stoner but it was really awesome) This sounds pretty cool to all of us and then I, just without thinking about how angry she was earlier, blurt out "How cool would it be to get faded on oxy and that Kush and go to that show." She gives me that all too familiar look again and I cringe inside and prepare for her to really get angry this time. She turns to my friend and asks if he will excuse us for just a moment and immediately walks out the door into the hallway. He just stares at me blankly and says flatly "You are a fucking moron." I say nothing and just dutifully follow into the hallway and shut the door behind me. She does not start yelling as soon as the door shuts and I look up to a conflicted face rather than an angry one. "If we do this you have to promise me it is just this one time." I am completely taken off guard by this, she goes on to say a bunch of other things after that about how she likes to have fun too but she does not wanna go down that path again etc etc. But I blanked out after the first bit. I catch back up as she is making me promise her "say it" she said. "I promise." I said without hesitation. Slippier and slippier that slope would become.
So we go back inside and my friend just looks at me inquisitively. Probably wondering if I had screwed up enough that I and therefore he would have to find somewhere else to crash tonight since he was planning on staying with us. I give him a look like "we are good" with a thumbs up and he still looks confused. Amy walks over to the coffee table grabs the pen that I had cut in half to use for the earlier oxy consumption and rails the line that is still sitting in the middle of the coffee table without saying a word. The rest of that night was amazing. Had I had kept that promise that I made in that hallway it would be one of the best nights of my life. I had my two favorite people on this planet with me. We laughed all night we saw the light show. We ate at some Pizzaria that was open all night at 3am. The food was awful but it did not matter in the slightest. We walked the several blocks back to where we had parked earlier in the night singing the thunderous chorus of "Us and Them" at the top of our lungs. We were all Euphoric and stoned and just happy. It was the perfect "last time we do this" night and it should have been the last time I ever touched an opiate. But it wasnt, not by a long shot. I do not know how many of those lovely little pills we went through but it was enough that we all got sick and then did more to the point that we did not care. Amy and I agreed earlier in the night that whatever was left would not even be held onto to sell to make up the money for the car to avoid any temptation. That they would just be tossed out the car window or down the toilet or whatever just as long as they were gone before the night was over. I did not hold on to any of them to sell... but I did not throw them out either. I wish I could say that I at least had them in my hand ready to dump them and then at the last moment decided not to but that would be a lie. I never even considered dumping them. In my mind at the time I rationalized it as I could never do that because it is like burning money. That was not the reason though. I was an addict and now I was awoken. I had a stash already and a connect that told me that he had them whenever I wanted them. I was in love again. The next morning my best friend left my house also with the beginnings of a sickness that we share to this day and I even gave him one for the road. I also started lying to Amy that day. Both of those things (near the top of a long list of other bad decisions I have made in my life) I deeply regret.
Down the rabbit hole I went and this time it would not be a 3 month binge. You would think this is the part of the story where I tell you my whole life went to shit and everything fell apart. But that is not quite the case. It was really a slow build from there I guess. Like one of those cars cars from the soap box derby at the top of a big hill where the slope is still gradual, heading for the inevitable stomach wrenching steep part of the hill which there is no return. The leftovers from that night which may have been 8 or so I really do not recall exactly. Lasted me about 3 weeks. I was just gonna do them occasionally I told myself. Why should I not have something that I enjoy? I have a good job where I work hard all week. I will be a weekend warrior I half heartedly reassured myself. Like a well earned treat for myself at the end of a long work week. Then the big game was coming on and this would be so much better with a little buzz. Next it was as long as I never do them two days in a row I will be fine "I will not become physically dependant that way at least." I lied to myself. It all broke down from there but I maintained. Well except for with Amy. I mean we lived together there was no way I could get away with the lies for long. I would have thought the lies alone would be enough to drop me like a bad habit. But no, she wanted to work it out. I made more promises I knew that I would never keep and it all fell apart quickly after that. She was loyal and loving but also very smart. She saw where I was headed and it was either get pulled down with me or walk away. She chose the latter and wiser path. I held my job fine. I guess I was what some people would call a functioning addict for a very long time. I went to work everyday I payed my bills and my taxes and attended social gatherings. After a while the "normal" me that everyone knew was the me on oxy. Being high was my baseline now. I continued this for a very long time. I paid back my old buddy who bought my Subaru back probably 1000 times over if not more. I probably put his kid through college.
I tried to kick several times over the years when I started getting a tolerance level that I thought was too high. And I did kick several times... but not really. I would be off for a week or two maybe a month tops. Then I was right back there giving that guy back his money for that Subaru over and over again. He was an amazing hook up I will say that. He seemed to have as many as I wanted anytime I wanted them day night did not matter. I never knew how or why or where he would get that much oxy. I never asked, I didnt care as long as it was there. I never let myself get to a point where I couldnt feel something off of 120 mg. and I tried to only dose once a day. When that didnt seem like enough I would quit... "for good this time" ...every time. I knew people who were banging 3 times that amount every day maybe more. "I am not as bad as them at least." I told myself. I stopped in a lot of different ways. I just detoxed cold turkey almost as if to punish myself and remind myself of the damage that it must be doing to my body if it hurt that much just to heal. I tapered my dose down to completely nothing by myself with nobody controlling my meds(which if you have ever tried know is a very very difficult thing to do.) I found a source for Suboxin and did that for a while. My thing with myself is I will never put a needle in my arm as long as I never do that I am not a junkie. I was a junkie though I knew it then as clearly as I do right now but I managed to convince myself and always justify it somehow. I was not like those guys banging H on Capital St. I was not a junkie I did not even shoot. But the only thing a needle would have changed was I would have gotten more for my money. I was a junkie all the same.
Still I maintained this lifestyle and continued being a contributing member of society. Sometime around late 2009 or early 2010 though that facade came crashing down as well. A new opiate finally made it's way to my area. It was called OxyMorphone or Opana. It was like it was made for me. 3x stronger than oxy and I didnt even have to shoot it like Hyrdomorphone(Dilaudid). The BA was almost as good insuffilated. The first time it was like falling in love all over again like all those years ago melted into that beat up recliner. I had finally almost chased down that feeling again ... almost. But to quote a popular artist. "No matter how much, too much is never enough." I stopped trying to kick after that and just stopped following all the rules... except the needle. Still no needles, I was no junkie. But now more than ever I was just that. I spent more and more money on this new better love that I had found. Eventually I "borrowed" some money from petty cash at work and got caught and I no longer had that good job to help me be a functioning sociatal member. I did things after that that make me sick to my stomach as I sit here. I took advantage of trust built over the years by getting large amounts fronted to me with no way to pay it back in the forseeable future. I pawned jewelery that belonged to my deceased grandmother. Near the end when it got really bad I was stealing oxycodone from my grandfather who was dying from Luekemia. My own grandfather who was in incredible pain at the end of his life. I mean he was a terminal cancer patient I am sure he had no trouble getting replaced what I was stealing from him. But if it caused him one day, one hour of extra pain or suffering then I deserve every second of every agonizing moment of withdraw that I experienced in my life and that would not even cover the interest. I was sick. I am sick. I will be sick for the rest of my life. I am an addict. I am a junkie.
I sit here having just written all this way too wordy, incredibly long story of the escalation of my sickness in one sitting while I am 5 days sober. I am in the end stages of the physical WD symptoms right now there are still some there but after the first 3 days of hell this feels like a swedish massage. I stopped cold turkey again but this time it was not to punish myself, or perhaps it was on some subconscious level, but consciously something just clicked off or on or whatever and I realized I have to stop. Not because of the damage I have done to myself and my life but because of the damage I have done to others. Not just to any "others" but people I love. People I love very dearly and some who I will never be able to even try to make amends because they are gone now, like my grandfather. So after considering all the peoples lives I have negatively affected I just mentally lost the desire to continue using or maybe I am taking to much credit and my body and brain realised I am killing them and decided to fight back. I dont know what it was but it feels different this time. I was never very spiritual I do not really have a fear of making amends to the things I have done to make peace with any god. I am not even sure I beleive in any god. I just know this time I really want to stop and I am going to reach out to people this time because I now know that I am ill. I have a disease that I can not defeat on my own any more than I could if it was cancer. I also have no disillusion that just because I think it "feels different" this time that I will win. I know that I have a high chance of relapsing at some point but if I do I will dust myself off and fight again. Because I am lucky enough to have family and friends that still love me enough to help me and hold me accountible. That doesnt even mean I will succeed. But it does mean they give me the chance to succeed if I want to badly enough. If anyone ever reads this and you have read this far there is a good chance that you and I either share this sickness or you have conquered it in the past. If you are the the latter I congratulate you. Anyone who has not been an addict of some kind can never truly appreciate your triumph. It is something to be proud of you defeated the toughest opponent at least I personally ever came across in this life. If you are the former and you are readind this and you too are still plagued by this disease I hope you can take at least something from my words. Maybe learn from my mistakes if you have not already made the same ones. I hope you also choose to fight if it has negatively effected your life the way that is has mine. And I hope you are victorious.
I think when I started writing this it was so I could show people that is was not my fault. How unlucky I was. All the small things that happend that if they were a little bit different just one little thing and I would have avoided temptation and just been a normal person. I mean the last thing I should want to do while I am in the middle of detoxing and withdraws is talk about it and bring it more to my own attention. A sane person would be trying to distract themselves from the pain not talk about it. I may not be sane I do not know. But I know I feel more sane now than I have in a while. Again when I started writing this I wanted to blame my old friend from when I was 19 that traded me that first oxy for a little bit of reefer. I wanted to blame the random chance that some guy who saw an ad for a car I was selling had both the drug itself and the gumption to actually offer it to me. I wanted to blame the drugs themselves for being somehow inherently evil. I wanted someone, anyone to see that it was the fault of these people, things, events that have gotten me to where I am now. But over the course of actually writing it I guess it was theraputic in a way because I realized that none of that is true at all. I made every decision that led me to where I am right now. I was in control of my own destiny. I am still in control of my own destiny. I make the decsisons that both positively and negatively effect my life. The results of those decisions for better or worse are of my own doing. I take responsibility for my actions.
an addict
For me it all started oh so innocently. I was 19 years old and out on my own for the first time. A cheap small apartment that was part of a duplex with my roomate. Who was then and is to this day my best friend. We both had minimum wage jobs to cover rent and electricty and all the weed we were smoking at that time. Everything just felt so normal and I felt so alive. Looking back now 10 years later and I do not even think I know what normal feels like anymore.
Neither of us were drinkers. I am not sure how he felt about it really but alchohol just never appealed to me. I mean maybe a beer or two occasionally but never really with the goal of getting hammered drunk. I did not enjoy the process, it just felt laboring to me like I had to work to get that 'not there' feeling that reefer provided with just a few tokes. Weekends were the only time I really partook in the stuff and that was only because everyone else was doing it and admittedly it did help loosen me up when trying to talk girls into sleeping with me. Our whole existence revolved around getting stoned and getting laid. It was a great time in my life. I was young and I was making my own way. The whole world was in front of me. I had decided to take a year off before starting college. It felt like a right of passage after high school before starting my journey into the 'real world'.
We regularly had friends over even on weekdays after work for smoke sessions. I had no extra money for cable and had no need for it. We would just sit around and contemplate the universe while Nirvana or Dr Dre or Pearl Jam provided the background noise. During one of these smoke sessions as a friend was leaving he asked if I could sell him a *snip*(*snip* worth of weed) so he would have something for the next day. I agreed and stuffed a generous amount of my stash into one of those little tiny bags that you buy at your local headshops that I had lying around from a similar purchase I had made a few days ago. I went to hand him the small baggie but before he reached out he stopped and said "I do not have any cash on me". I thought for only a very short moment and told him not to worry about it he could get me back next time. He still did not reach for my outstretched hand that was offering him the reefer. "Or.." he said "we could trade" and he opened his hand and revealed a presicely cut half of a small blue-ish green pill that I would later affectionately refer to as hospital blues. "It is Oxycontin." he said if you want to try it just remove the coating and crush it up and snort it." I was somewhat familiar with snorting having tried cocaine once at a party. I remember him saying so vividly even today that I can still hear his voice saying the words "It will be the best ten dollars you ever spent."(This turned out to be maybe the most incredibly true and incredibly false statement anyone ever made to me.) He went on to explain he would usually get no less than *snip* for this little half of a pill no larger than a tictac and gave me a few further instructions on how to prepare the pill for snorting. He warned me to maybe not do all of it at once or it might make me nauseous which seemed exceedingly rediculous to me at the time for such a small thing. I mean I had obviously heard of Oxycontin as well as how strong and dangerous they were but I had also heard that marijuana would make me a chronic masterbator and a serial rapist so I didnt pay it much attention. I reluctantly agreed having no history of ever using any kind of opiate or even considering it. But he was a friend who regularly got me stoned and I wanted him to have the weed for the next day and he seemed to not want to owe me.
So later that evening everyone else had left and my roomate had passed out on the couch. I decided I was going to go ahead and follow the instructions he had given me for the pill. I had drank a few beers and smoked copious amount of weed already but I was not really tired so I figured at least it might help me sleep. I grabbed my hard cover copy of "The Dark Tower" which was frequently used as my surface for breaking up weed to roll joints or blunts and wiped off any residue with my t-shirt. I remember dipping my fingers in the cup of beer I was drinking to apply moisture to the blue green coating to remove it. After a little awkward fumbling I was finally able to remove the coating. I laid the tiny half of a pill on the book and pulled a lighter and a crisp 20$ bill from my pocket. I laid the twenty flat over this little thing and took the butt end of my lighter and smashed it. I then ran the smooth side of my lighter up and down the bill a few times as instructed. Grabbed a credit card from the table (incidentally a credit card that would soon be maxed out rather quickly as a direct result of these next few moments.) I took the card and scraped any residue that stuck to the 20$ bill back onto the book then I scraped all the powder into one pile. It seemed to still have peices that were sticking together I thought maybe from using to much moisture earlier to remove the coating so I began chopping at the pile with the edge of the card. That chop-chop-chop noise that a card or razorblade makes against a hard surface or glass that would later become in itself theraputic and part of a ritual.
When I was satisfied that I had gotten it to a fine enough powder to suck up my nose I split it into 3 lines. In retrospect not really knowing what I was doing I would not even say I cut them into lines. It was more like 3 tiny little piles. I rolled up the twenty dollar bill and quickly snorted the first one. It burned a little and tasted bitter and like chemicals (again a taste I would grow to love and crave.) I waited a few minutes and did not feel anything. My friend had told me that even snorting it would take a few minutes for the buzz to hit me. I thought to myself that I should probably wait but I went ahead and blew the 2nd pile anyways. Then almost immediately after that I began to feel it. I sat back in my dirty broke down thrift store recliner and it felt like it just washed over me. I even remember the song that was playing, it was a Nirvana cover of a David Bowie song "The Man Who Sold The World". I had never experienced a feeling like this. It felt like someone had wrapped me in a warm blanket of the finest silks the world had ever known. I sat there in that chair as the rush came and it felt like it was the most amazing feeling I would ever feel in my life. I had never felt more content, more worry free. For some reason I thought of those old ads or posters or whatever from I guess after WWII with the wife and 2 kids and the dog and the Husband still in his navy uniform freshly back from the war with the little white hat standing in front of their house with white picket fence. Maybe it was just because being from America that is what was sold as the height of happiness, of contentment. Again being a 19 yr old kid I have no idea why I thought about propaganda posters from WWII but it is and I thought this must be what those people felt like in that picture. I sat there for what seemed like a while but I really have no idea. I only moved to scratch these strange itches that I was almost happy to have because if felt so wonderful to scratch them. When it began to level off I did the 3rd pile and felt the rush all over again and I sat in that chair until the sun came up with what I am sure was a perpetual smile on my face. I, to this day, still wonder how I did not puke my guts out or even get any nausea whatsoever blowing 40 mg of oxy for my first experience with opiates. Looking back I wish that it had made me sick. I wish before I could do that 2nd pile it would have caused me to empty all the contents of my stomach so violently that I threw the rest of that thing away and cursed my friend for ever giving it to me and swore off all opiates forever. But it didnt... There was only the feeling of wonderful bliss for that entire night. Followed by a lifetime of the slavery of chasing that feeling again for the rest of my life.
After that night I was in love. I felt like I had met my soulmate only she didnt have cute dimples and wear mini-skirts. In fact she was not a she at all but a tiny little ball of compressed powder. And if 'she' were in fact a she. She would have turned out to be a jealous, smothering, all consuming, soul sucking succubus bitch. That demanded all my time and resources and possibly ruined my life. The old cliche that I used to laugh off like it was some line from some extreme ludicrous film like Reefer Madness that "You only have to try it once to become addicted." It was true. Not literally of course. I was not dependant on this substance physically. I did not yet need it. But, for me at least, there was no looking back after that. I wanted that feeling all the time and I never even stopped to consider any consequences. It even got bad right away. I already had a hook up in my friend who was their that night who had turned me on in the first place he had a script for 80's because he had some slipped disc in his back. I was spending every penny I made from that minimum wage job on those hospital blues. When the money ran out he was still there with a freebie until the next check came like the devil in a blue dress.
Eventually and obviously it caught up to me a few months later. Nobody knew what was going on even my best friend or family I hid it well. But I stopped paying rent and caring about anything really but scoring. I still stood at the register of my crappy gas station job like a zombie but it was only to punch a clock and collect a check to hand over to some dealer for another day of bliss. But even though I did not consider consequences that does not mean that there were none. When you stop paying rent you get evicted. That is bad enough personally to fail at even the most basic of things but I also let my roomate and best friend down. He suffered for my mistakes. He never even touched the stuff(at least he did not at the time. A short time later I turned him onto it and he is just as bad as me to this day and I will always carry that guilt as well) So he was forced to move back in with his parents for a while. After that I lost my job. I do not even remember why I was probably nodding out at the register or something. I stayed at the girls house I was seeing or random friends for a while. Then the girl realized I was a not good for her and my hook up got tired of giving me freebies when I no longer had income. So I moved back in with my parents but they still did not really know what was going on. The day I moved back in with them I think was the first time I did not have a daily fix since that first night. And that night and the following days were the first time I experienced withdraws.
There are many feelings in life that are difficult to describe to someone else who has never felt that particular thing before. To try to explain opiate withdraw to someone who has never experienced it might be one of the most extreme. Over the years I have had to explain why I was sick to friends or family when it was one of the many times I had run out money and charity or just was trying to kick and they never understand nor could they. Withdrawing from opiates is one of the most painful experiences I myself have had to go through. I have had dry socket from wisdom teeth, kidney stones etc., I would take any of those things twofold over withdraw. Because withdraw is not just about the physical pain... and there is physical pain. But the drastic change in body temperature; one minute you have to cover up with 3 blankets because you feel like you just came in from a snowstorm and the very next minute you are lying in bed in nothing but your underwear with your whole body and bed covered in sweat. The excruciating head aches. The nausea and vomiting. The nagging and ever persistant muscle twitching and restless leg syndrome that seems to simply not allow you to fall asleep. Worst of all, at least for me, is the diarrhea if you want to call it that. That word is way to pleasant to even come close to explaining it. I could only describe it as molten lava shooting from my rectum. And I am not talking once or twice a day you almost have the urge to go constantly and as much as you try not to go because you think you can not possibly subject yourself to that pain again. Your body will not cooperate and you will be on the toilet with your ass hole in seering pain at least 6 times a day(on a good day) Dante himself could not have dreamt up a more torturous state for even the deepest levels of hell.
So after experiencing the personal hell of withdraw and staying in my parents guest room for a week straight drinking water and eating barely anything with only cold medicine and tylenol to help with the wd symptoms because I had pawned it off to my parents as just being "the flu or something". So after I got past those horrible first days I realized that as great as it was to get high nothing was worth ever going through that again. So I swore I would never touch them again, and I didnt... for a while. I went to college like I had planned to and was doing well. I still thought about getting high every day and longed for that feeling again but through sheer terror of having to withdraw again combined with being a broke college student with no hook ups. I was able to abstain and not do anything. Eventually that feeling of longing subsided and I was able to go about life without spending every waking second thinking about it. For almost 2 years I never so much as ate a Tylenol 3.
Everything was going well with school and life was back to normal. Around this time I met a girl who I was really into. We had a film appreciation class together and we would flirt with each other and eventually we started hanging out. Well when things got serious and I started staying at her place occasionally I find out that she is addicted to Percoset. She is very embarassed about it she had some car accident and was prescribed them and started taking more than the rec. dose, liked the feeling, and it grew from there to eventually she was running through her 120 10/325's in a week or less. So surprisingly what happend next is I help her kick. She stopped going to the pain clinic (she no longer had any real chronic pain but was still going and lying to score the script.) I had read some things about easing withdraw since I had gone through it before. We tried to taper her a little with her last script but she still ended up wd's but it was made much easier by me setting her up with everything she needed for the Thomas method
and just being there with her for moral support. It was fairly painless considering how bad that it can be cold turkey with no treatment of individual symptoms. So she kicks and does not even seem to have the same desire that I had to get high after the initial symptoms are gone. We are both clean and have that experience in common. It ends up being maybe the best relationship I have ever had in my life to this point.
Somewhere around 9 months later I had gotten a pretty good job and was still taking classes in the evenings. The girlfriend is still a full-time student and the relationship with her is great. I had just bought a new car and was selling my old 92 Subaru Legacy. I put an ad in the local ad bulletin for $1000 firm. Few days later I get a call from someone who is interested. Turns out it is someone I knew from my hometown he knows the car has low miles and has seen it around and knows it is in good condition and agrees it is a fair price. We arrange for him to come pick up the car the next day. The next day he shows up to pick up the car but he says there is a small problem. He could only get $800 cash today. I do not even remember why. He could however give me the $800 today and bring me the rest on Monday(this was on a Saturday if I remember correctly) OR... and this is another one of those moments in time I wish I could time travel back to and slap myself right in the face point my index finger firmly in my past selfs face and loudly and sternly just say "NO!" ...Or he will give me 20 oxy 40's right now. I only thought about how good of a deal that was and nothing else. I mean at this time I could probably get *snip* each out of these if I wanted to just sell a few at a time and could have them all gone in faster than I could get a pizza delivered for *snip* each. So that is an extra $400 conervatively that I would be getting for my car. So I barely even hesitate I take the $800 and the oxy and sign over the title. The worst part is right before he is about to leave he turns to me and says something to the effect of "If you ever want any more of those I have as many as you need."
So I actually think about who might want these because I really could use the extra money with just buying the new car and the down payment has put a pretty big dent in my savings. -The one useful thing I learned from this particular chain of events/life experience was that an addict will always be an addict.- After I get back up to the apartment nobody is home not sure where Amy was but I was alone in my apartment with 20 oxy 40's. I somehow decide it is a good idea and not a big deal if I just do one. I mean at this point I have only had one significant stint with losing control and it was only for like 3 months and has been almost 3 years ago. So in my mind at this point it was never even a real problem. I mean I was young that 3 months was just a product of my enviroment and I was experimenting, thats what kids are suppose to do at that age right? And any other imaginable justification going through my head. Anyways the devil on the left shoulder overpowers the angel on the right and I crush a 40 and blow it all by myself in one line. Unlike the last time however, after 20 minutes or so of feeling great I get sick. Run to the restroom puke several times in the toilet.
While I am still in the restroom trying to recover at the sink with cold water there is a knock on my door. I freak out a little because I have 19 Oxy 40's laying on my coffee table. I rush in the living room scoop up the goodies and just stick them in my pocket. I open the door and it is my best friend (former roomate from the beginning of this increasingly long tale). He actually went off to college out of state after I got us evicted and he moved back home so I do not get to see him much. He had been in town for a few days visiting family but we had not been able to get our schedules straight to hangout yet. So I am pretty excited we are catching up and talking about old times, discussing what is going on with us now. He has a blunt of some Kush that we smoke which makes my stomach feel much better from the vomiting incident. That is when I make the decision that I may regret more than any other in this whole story. I tell my friend the whole story about the car and ask if he has ever tried them. He says that he hasnt so I ask if he wants to split one to try it. He is hesitant at first and in my own defense I did not pressure him in any way. He wrestles the idea around in his head for a little while and decides he is on a quasi-vacation and why not. He has wanted to try it in the past and has not so why not now with his best friend, have a little fun on his vacation. So I do it up chop in into 2 lines and rail mine in one fell swoop. "Hello darkness my old friend." He is a little skiddish with his line he does half up one nostril stops for a minute and does the rest up the other side. I ask why and he explains that he had done a little cocaine through the years and it always made him feel 'off' if he only railed with one nostril so he always alternated. For some unexplainable reason after that I have always done the same thing. No matter how big or small the line if I am putting it up my nose I do half up left half up right still to this day. Anyways I am feeling pretty good. I probably wasted some of the first one with the whole vomiting but now I feel like I am exactly where I want to be. I have that same feeling that I remember so fondly. We sit there and chat some more for about maybe 30 minutes and he is really digging the buzz. He asks if I want to split another one and offers to pay for this one. When you are high everything just feels so right with the world. I can not really explain it but other users will understand what I mean so at this point none of this still feels like a bad idea to me. I am still not an addict in my mind. I am just having a good time. I tell him his money is no good here and proceed to chop up another one. Split it into 2 lines and tell him to go ahead that I am going to wait a few before I do mine. He does his business and now he is really loving it, going on and on about how mellow of a buzz that this is and now he sees what all the rage is about. And I am just all "I know right."
A little while later we have just been relaxing on my couch shooting the shit or whatever enjoying the buzz. Then Amy comes home. She walks in and of course my line is still sitting there on the glass insert of our coffee table. I know that she sees it so I immediately jump into telling her the story about the car and the guy being short us splitting a couple "just a one time thing" I say to her. She is not happy I can tell. She just has that look on her face that I know all too well from all my fuck ups of the past. I am pretty sure if we did not have company she would have completely flipped out on me. She did however still voice her displeasure with the situation in a civil manner. Stating obvious reasons for why I should not be doing this. My friend feels really bad and is being very apologetic and of course taking all the blame saying it was all his idea because he wanted to try them. Which is not exactly or really at all the case but I mean what are friends for if not to help a brotha out with his woman if he is able to. To this point Amy and I have been brutally honest with each other through out our entire relationship.(which is probably why it is the most succesful functional relationship I have ever had) I decide I will just let this one slide it is not a big lie and it seems to have calmed her down and now she is somewhat apologetic about the situation not wanting to offend our company. That day I learned that lies in a relationship even small ones, like many other things, is a very slippery slope. So now all 3 of us are sitting in my living room after a somewhat short period of uncomfortable-ness. We then start talking about what we are going to do for the night. Our friend is in town we have to entertain. We are discussing going out maybe hit the clubs(which I quickly shoot down; I never was a club guy), maybe going to see a movie and grabbing some dinner. I suggest that Amy could invite over one of her slutty friends for my friend. Which leads to her hitting me in the arm and declaring "I don't have any friends like that." Which is not true practically all her friends would fit that description in my opinion but I let it go and move on. We start looking in the paper for movies or any events that are going on in the area. Turns out that their is a Pink Floyd indoor laser light show at this local place in what is usually a planetarium. (They just play Pink Floyd music and have like an indoor laser light show may sound kinda boring for a weekend night out if your not a stoner but it was really awesome) This sounds pretty cool to all of us and then I, just without thinking about how angry she was earlier, blurt out "How cool would it be to get faded on oxy and that Kush and go to that show." She gives me that all too familiar look again and I cringe inside and prepare for her to really get angry this time. She turns to my friend and asks if he will excuse us for just a moment and immediately walks out the door into the hallway. He just stares at me blankly and says flatly "You are a fucking moron." I say nothing and just dutifully follow into the hallway and shut the door behind me. She does not start yelling as soon as the door shuts and I look up to a conflicted face rather than an angry one. "If we do this you have to promise me it is just this one time." I am completely taken off guard by this, she goes on to say a bunch of other things after that about how she likes to have fun too but she does not wanna go down that path again etc etc. But I blanked out after the first bit. I catch back up as she is making me promise her "say it" she said. "I promise." I said without hesitation. Slippier and slippier that slope would become.
So we go back inside and my friend just looks at me inquisitively. Probably wondering if I had screwed up enough that I and therefore he would have to find somewhere else to crash tonight since he was planning on staying with us. I give him a look like "we are good" with a thumbs up and he still looks confused. Amy walks over to the coffee table grabs the pen that I had cut in half to use for the earlier oxy consumption and rails the line that is still sitting in the middle of the coffee table without saying a word. The rest of that night was amazing. Had I had kept that promise that I made in that hallway it would be one of the best nights of my life. I had my two favorite people on this planet with me. We laughed all night we saw the light show. We ate at some Pizzaria that was open all night at 3am. The food was awful but it did not matter in the slightest. We walked the several blocks back to where we had parked earlier in the night singing the thunderous chorus of "Us and Them" at the top of our lungs. We were all Euphoric and stoned and just happy. It was the perfect "last time we do this" night and it should have been the last time I ever touched an opiate. But it wasnt, not by a long shot. I do not know how many of those lovely little pills we went through but it was enough that we all got sick and then did more to the point that we did not care. Amy and I agreed earlier in the night that whatever was left would not even be held onto to sell to make up the money for the car to avoid any temptation. That they would just be tossed out the car window or down the toilet or whatever just as long as they were gone before the night was over. I did not hold on to any of them to sell... but I did not throw them out either. I wish I could say that I at least had them in my hand ready to dump them and then at the last moment decided not to but that would be a lie. I never even considered dumping them. In my mind at the time I rationalized it as I could never do that because it is like burning money. That was not the reason though. I was an addict and now I was awoken. I had a stash already and a connect that told me that he had them whenever I wanted them. I was in love again. The next morning my best friend left my house also with the beginnings of a sickness that we share to this day and I even gave him one for the road. I also started lying to Amy that day. Both of those things (near the top of a long list of other bad decisions I have made in my life) I deeply regret.
Down the rabbit hole I went and this time it would not be a 3 month binge. You would think this is the part of the story where I tell you my whole life went to shit and everything fell apart. But that is not quite the case. It was really a slow build from there I guess. Like one of those cars cars from the soap box derby at the top of a big hill where the slope is still gradual, heading for the inevitable stomach wrenching steep part of the hill which there is no return. The leftovers from that night which may have been 8 or so I really do not recall exactly. Lasted me about 3 weeks. I was just gonna do them occasionally I told myself. Why should I not have something that I enjoy? I have a good job where I work hard all week. I will be a weekend warrior I half heartedly reassured myself. Like a well earned treat for myself at the end of a long work week. Then the big game was coming on and this would be so much better with a little buzz. Next it was as long as I never do them two days in a row I will be fine "I will not become physically dependant that way at least." I lied to myself. It all broke down from there but I maintained. Well except for with Amy. I mean we lived together there was no way I could get away with the lies for long. I would have thought the lies alone would be enough to drop me like a bad habit. But no, she wanted to work it out. I made more promises I knew that I would never keep and it all fell apart quickly after that. She was loyal and loving but also very smart. She saw where I was headed and it was either get pulled down with me or walk away. She chose the latter and wiser path. I held my job fine. I guess I was what some people would call a functioning addict for a very long time. I went to work everyday I payed my bills and my taxes and attended social gatherings. After a while the "normal" me that everyone knew was the me on oxy. Being high was my baseline now. I continued this for a very long time. I paid back my old buddy who bought my Subaru back probably 1000 times over if not more. I probably put his kid through college.
I tried to kick several times over the years when I started getting a tolerance level that I thought was too high. And I did kick several times... but not really. I would be off for a week or two maybe a month tops. Then I was right back there giving that guy back his money for that Subaru over and over again. He was an amazing hook up I will say that. He seemed to have as many as I wanted anytime I wanted them day night did not matter. I never knew how or why or where he would get that much oxy. I never asked, I didnt care as long as it was there. I never let myself get to a point where I couldnt feel something off of 120 mg. and I tried to only dose once a day. When that didnt seem like enough I would quit... "for good this time" ...every time. I knew people who were banging 3 times that amount every day maybe more. "I am not as bad as them at least." I told myself. I stopped in a lot of different ways. I just detoxed cold turkey almost as if to punish myself and remind myself of the damage that it must be doing to my body if it hurt that much just to heal. I tapered my dose down to completely nothing by myself with nobody controlling my meds(which if you have ever tried know is a very very difficult thing to do.) I found a source for Suboxin and did that for a while. My thing with myself is I will never put a needle in my arm as long as I never do that I am not a junkie. I was a junkie though I knew it then as clearly as I do right now but I managed to convince myself and always justify it somehow. I was not like those guys banging H on Capital St. I was not a junkie I did not even shoot. But the only thing a needle would have changed was I would have gotten more for my money. I was a junkie all the same.
Still I maintained this lifestyle and continued being a contributing member of society. Sometime around late 2009 or early 2010 though that facade came crashing down as well. A new opiate finally made it's way to my area. It was called OxyMorphone or Opana. It was like it was made for me. 3x stronger than oxy and I didnt even have to shoot it like Hyrdomorphone(Dilaudid). The BA was almost as good insuffilated. The first time it was like falling in love all over again like all those years ago melted into that beat up recliner. I had finally almost chased down that feeling again ... almost. But to quote a popular artist. "No matter how much, too much is never enough." I stopped trying to kick after that and just stopped following all the rules... except the needle. Still no needles, I was no junkie. But now more than ever I was just that. I spent more and more money on this new better love that I had found. Eventually I "borrowed" some money from petty cash at work and got caught and I no longer had that good job to help me be a functioning sociatal member. I did things after that that make me sick to my stomach as I sit here. I took advantage of trust built over the years by getting large amounts fronted to me with no way to pay it back in the forseeable future. I pawned jewelery that belonged to my deceased grandmother. Near the end when it got really bad I was stealing oxycodone from my grandfather who was dying from Luekemia. My own grandfather who was in incredible pain at the end of his life. I mean he was a terminal cancer patient I am sure he had no trouble getting replaced what I was stealing from him. But if it caused him one day, one hour of extra pain or suffering then I deserve every second of every agonizing moment of withdraw that I experienced in my life and that would not even cover the interest. I was sick. I am sick. I will be sick for the rest of my life. I am an addict. I am a junkie.
I sit here having just written all this way too wordy, incredibly long story of the escalation of my sickness in one sitting while I am 5 days sober. I am in the end stages of the physical WD symptoms right now there are still some there but after the first 3 days of hell this feels like a swedish massage. I stopped cold turkey again but this time it was not to punish myself, or perhaps it was on some subconscious level, but consciously something just clicked off or on or whatever and I realized I have to stop. Not because of the damage I have done to myself and my life but because of the damage I have done to others. Not just to any "others" but people I love. People I love very dearly and some who I will never be able to even try to make amends because they are gone now, like my grandfather. So after considering all the peoples lives I have negatively affected I just mentally lost the desire to continue using or maybe I am taking to much credit and my body and brain realised I am killing them and decided to fight back. I dont know what it was but it feels different this time. I was never very spiritual I do not really have a fear of making amends to the things I have done to make peace with any god. I am not even sure I beleive in any god. I just know this time I really want to stop and I am going to reach out to people this time because I now know that I am ill. I have a disease that I can not defeat on my own any more than I could if it was cancer. I also have no disillusion that just because I think it "feels different" this time that I will win. I know that I have a high chance of relapsing at some point but if I do I will dust myself off and fight again. Because I am lucky enough to have family and friends that still love me enough to help me and hold me accountible. That doesnt even mean I will succeed. But it does mean they give me the chance to succeed if I want to badly enough. If anyone ever reads this and you have read this far there is a good chance that you and I either share this sickness or you have conquered it in the past. If you are the the latter I congratulate you. Anyone who has not been an addict of some kind can never truly appreciate your triumph. It is something to be proud of you defeated the toughest opponent at least I personally ever came across in this life. If you are the former and you are readind this and you too are still plagued by this disease I hope you can take at least something from my words. Maybe learn from my mistakes if you have not already made the same ones. I hope you also choose to fight if it has negatively effected your life the way that is has mine. And I hope you are victorious.
I think when I started writing this it was so I could show people that is was not my fault. How unlucky I was. All the small things that happend that if they were a little bit different just one little thing and I would have avoided temptation and just been a normal person. I mean the last thing I should want to do while I am in the middle of detoxing and withdraws is talk about it and bring it more to my own attention. A sane person would be trying to distract themselves from the pain not talk about it. I may not be sane I do not know. But I know I feel more sane now than I have in a while. Again when I started writing this I wanted to blame my old friend from when I was 19 that traded me that first oxy for a little bit of reefer. I wanted to blame the random chance that some guy who saw an ad for a car I was selling had both the drug itself and the gumption to actually offer it to me. I wanted to blame the drugs themselves for being somehow inherently evil. I wanted someone, anyone to see that it was the fault of these people, things, events that have gotten me to where I am now. But over the course of actually writing it I guess it was theraputic in a way because I realized that none of that is true at all. I made every decision that led me to where I am right now. I was in control of my own destiny. I am still in control of my own destiny. I make the decsisons that both positively and negatively effect my life. The results of those decisions for better or worse are of my own doing. I take responsibility for my actions.
an addict
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