Hey everyone,
I've been reading this site for probably over a year. I'm at a very low place and am having such trouble, but nobody in my life could possibly understand. Bottom line is I need to talk about this so here I am.
Long Story of How I got Here:
My background is what I think is shockingly more and more normal these days. Until recently, I thou5addicts were so easy to spot from everyone else. I grew up around addicts so perhaps my fate was sealed before I coukd walk and talk. Who knows. My mom's side of the family is so fucked up. In ac, they're all dead including my mom. My oder sister's were both strung out on me that for years and that shit tore up what was left of my family. I was young but had already begun doing drugs. By age 13, I was actively smoking meth. I also took hallucinogens whenever I could, smoked weed daily, and popped pills if I got my hands on them. My mom died from cancer and we found her box of pills once. She was gone so we figured why not take them? I am so lucky I didn't OD then. I barely made it out. I ran out, if I'm being honest. I was still on meth though and hated what I was becoming.
My dad had been trying to convince me to move away (I lived in the LA area at the time), so I agreed at age 14 so I could get my shit together. And I did. Still was a partier by most standards, but I didn't touch hard drugs. I also convinced myself I was allergic to pain killers because they made me itch. I had 5 surgeries and didn't take shit after day 1 because of that belief. I'm allergic to TONS of shit so it made sense. I even quit smoking weed by about age 21. I drank though, big time.
I got myself through college and grad school, doing very well. The best, in fact. I did it without any help, as my dad ended up in prison so I was truly on my own. This led to a very misguided belief that I was strong enough to handle anything.
I got married at 21 to my high school sweetheart. He used to be into meth at a young age, too, but had quit by the time we got together. We became the picture of perfection, but in a real sense because we both had rough childhoods so had been around the block. He continued to smoke weed until recently. So, we were "cool" yet had our own home, money, took great vacations, threw amazing parties, and generally people looked up to us. My family mooched off of us.
Then, the most seemingly innocent thing happened. I got a minor head injury horsing around with my husband. I was about 31. At the ER, the dr went to write a script for percocet. I explained my believed allergy. He told me it's not an allergy, but just a side effect and to take benadryl. Ok. Percocet heaven resulted! But, the script ran out and I thought that's that. Then, another unexpected turn of events. My sister asked to borrow money. I hated lending family money but she'd never asked before (forgot to mention my sister's cleaned up, one through jail and the other on her own, both like 10 years before this). I had no idea, but it turned out, my sister made a living selling her meds at the time. She had a medical history that was insane and back then there were hardly any regulations. She offered percocet as payment. I took it. Fun, I thought. Plus, by then, I was drinking a lot and thought it's a good thing to take pills instead. I didn't drink when high on percs.
She repaid me over the course of probably 6 months with enough 10mg percs to keep me high every day. I handle drugs and alcohol well. Too well. Nobody but me can tell when I'm high or drunk unless wasted, which is extremely rare. Nobody knew. Except my husband, as I do tell him everything. He thought the same shit I did. I would never get addicted to anything and that was better than drinking.
After she repaid me, I began buying. It was cheap!
Then, I tore the cartilage in my wrist. Vicodin scripts. I was quite happy, but not hooked. I'd go days without and be fine.
One day I was working out with a friend and I dropped to the floor in excruciating back pain. I thought surely it would just go away. But, it didn't. It got worse. It got so bad I couldn't walk. I went to an orthopedist and went through physical therapy. No help. MRI time and then I got the call that was my doom. "You have severe arthritis and there's nothing more we can do for you. You need to go to pain management." I was only 32. It was the result of a birth defect doctors had warned me about fucking up my back when I was a kid, but what kid listens to that? My God, we're they right!
I went to a spinal doctor who also did pain management. I tried 6 months of more physical therapy, and religiously did home exercises daily. I had an oxy script by this time, and supplemented on the side from my sister. I had a high tolerance, I rationalized. Besides, I'd never get addicted. I took a few days off here and there as part of my safety plan.
I was about to try epidural injections but then I found out I was pregnant. First time ever. We were thrilled! I stopped everything with the exception of a bit too many "occasional " glasses of wine. Overall, I did good. I was utterly miserable in pain though. I suffered from more complications than I could list, like for instance, my fucking arms and hands went completely numb in a painful way. At week 20, my legs got weak and I started falling. No solution for pregnant girl other than vicodin. After being assured my baby would be fine, I took it. Much to my shame, once I got that green light, I took oxy s on the side as well. Nothing like my "usual, " but it happened just the same. I ran out about 2 months before I gave birth (I got preeclampsia so delivered 7 weeks early ), and although not happy, I did okay. I wast adduced, I thought to myself. Moreover, when they put me in the hospital indefinitely, I got off of everything again, although they offered. I didn't like it, as I was fucking dying in pain, but I did it.
I ended up with a c section and the spinal block was a fucking cure for my back. I declined the percocet day 2 on. Wow, I was fucking cured, I thought. I was so happy! I loved my baby beyond words, my husbabd and I were thrilled and overall life was fantastic. Then, the block wore off completely. I went for those epidural injections immediately. I just knew they would fix me and I was psyched. Wrong! I came out worse than before. Resume oxy.
Here's the best part: dr tells me he had to give me 3 separate injections to sedate me, which he's onmy seen once before with my sister. We have a genetic condition whereby we metabolize narcotics like crazy, he said. Excuse of the century for myself as to why I needed more oxy than the normal person. It may be true, but it did NOT help me to know it. Soon, I'm prescribed 4 30mg oxy per day and getting up to 4 more from my sis on side for ridiculously cheap cost.
Getting to Current Day and the Point:
Here I am 2 1/2 years later and I have fully realized I'm as addicted as it gets. I got up to like 20 per day and can't seem to get down. My sis got cut back so no more from her and I of course found my own friends, but holy hell do I pay a fortune! At first, I thought I could afford it, and I could. But, some bad things happened to us that legit have nothing to do with this but cost us hundreds of thousands of dollars. Yet I still have my habit ad I spend every penny we get. I'm still majorly fucked up with my back and getting worse. I've nevertheless tried to quit several times but can't stand the withdrawal. I don't even get ill but instead have burning pain throughout my back and into my arms. It's so bad I can't sit still and can't sleep.
I go through this frequently now because I'm always running out. I can't seem to make my script last more than five days! !! What the fuck?? Where did that crazy will power and strength go??? I even fucking considered doing heroin. I would not IV but I'd snort or smoke, I thought. I got to that point when I realized I CANNOT get off this shit! ! I just tried again and made it 6 days and never felt even remotely better. I kept waiting in agony for the withdrawal to ease but it never did. So, fuck it. And I considered saving my family some money by getting heroin instead. I even asked someone I knew for some but he either wouldn't or didn't have any then.
I don't even know who I am anymore. I don't think about much else except what a terrible person I am. What a fucking awful mother! !!! I love my daughter so much but I am useless as a human being unless well stocked with oxy and even then so limited by my back problems. I'm now coming up on 36 and this is my life. I don't see a future here.
Everything I've read about getting off is substitute for another drug, like suboxone. What's the fucking point of that? We own our own business so pay a shit ton for health insurance. Nothing is cheap. Even if I stuck to my scripts, which I don't ever anymore, I'd be costing us too much.
As things stand I'm killing us. I hate myself. Genuinely and truly hate myself. Although I keep my shit together most days, if I'm out I'm completely useless as a person abd do nothing but worry my husband. I'm ruining our business because I am fighting off withdrawal so often. Or spending time hooking up. I don't know what to do. I truly want to get off but just can't. I even pushed for us to move away from everyone I know and we did, but now I'm just fucked knowing nobody so going through withdrawal like 3 or 5 times per month for 2 to 4 days. People will send stuff or visit, and I do get my scripts still.
I'm at such a loss. I don't even sort of know what to do. I used to think 72 hours was the max for withdrawal but now I know that's bullshit. I've been doing a lot of reading and I've seen so many people say it takes a couple months to ease up and then is very hard for a few months more. I have a business and a toddler. I can't take that much time. I'm either better off dead or missing something here. What the fuck do I do?? I doubt anyone has advice beyond "stay strong " and all that, but I'm out of options. I'm about to rum out AGAIN so beyond nervous right now. I don't think I can keep doing this. I honestly feel so fucking hopeless. Any thoughts, ideas, etc are very welcome.
I've been reading this site for probably over a year. I'm at a very low place and am having such trouble, but nobody in my life could possibly understand. Bottom line is I need to talk about this so here I am.
Long Story of How I got Here:
My background is what I think is shockingly more and more normal these days. Until recently, I thou5addicts were so easy to spot from everyone else. I grew up around addicts so perhaps my fate was sealed before I coukd walk and talk. Who knows. My mom's side of the family is so fucked up. In ac, they're all dead including my mom. My oder sister's were both strung out on me that for years and that shit tore up what was left of my family. I was young but had already begun doing drugs. By age 13, I was actively smoking meth. I also took hallucinogens whenever I could, smoked weed daily, and popped pills if I got my hands on them. My mom died from cancer and we found her box of pills once. She was gone so we figured why not take them? I am so lucky I didn't OD then. I barely made it out. I ran out, if I'm being honest. I was still on meth though and hated what I was becoming.
My dad had been trying to convince me to move away (I lived in the LA area at the time), so I agreed at age 14 so I could get my shit together. And I did. Still was a partier by most standards, but I didn't touch hard drugs. I also convinced myself I was allergic to pain killers because they made me itch. I had 5 surgeries and didn't take shit after day 1 because of that belief. I'm allergic to TONS of shit so it made sense. I even quit smoking weed by about age 21. I drank though, big time.
I got myself through college and grad school, doing very well. The best, in fact. I did it without any help, as my dad ended up in prison so I was truly on my own. This led to a very misguided belief that I was strong enough to handle anything.
I got married at 21 to my high school sweetheart. He used to be into meth at a young age, too, but had quit by the time we got together. We became the picture of perfection, but in a real sense because we both had rough childhoods so had been around the block. He continued to smoke weed until recently. So, we were "cool" yet had our own home, money, took great vacations, threw amazing parties, and generally people looked up to us. My family mooched off of us.
Then, the most seemingly innocent thing happened. I got a minor head injury horsing around with my husband. I was about 31. At the ER, the dr went to write a script for percocet. I explained my believed allergy. He told me it's not an allergy, but just a side effect and to take benadryl. Ok. Percocet heaven resulted! But, the script ran out and I thought that's that. Then, another unexpected turn of events. My sister asked to borrow money. I hated lending family money but she'd never asked before (forgot to mention my sister's cleaned up, one through jail and the other on her own, both like 10 years before this). I had no idea, but it turned out, my sister made a living selling her meds at the time. She had a medical history that was insane and back then there were hardly any regulations. She offered percocet as payment. I took it. Fun, I thought. Plus, by then, I was drinking a lot and thought it's a good thing to take pills instead. I didn't drink when high on percs.
She repaid me over the course of probably 6 months with enough 10mg percs to keep me high every day. I handle drugs and alcohol well. Too well. Nobody but me can tell when I'm high or drunk unless wasted, which is extremely rare. Nobody knew. Except my husband, as I do tell him everything. He thought the same shit I did. I would never get addicted to anything and that was better than drinking.
After she repaid me, I began buying. It was cheap!
Then, I tore the cartilage in my wrist. Vicodin scripts. I was quite happy, but not hooked. I'd go days without and be fine.
One day I was working out with a friend and I dropped to the floor in excruciating back pain. I thought surely it would just go away. But, it didn't. It got worse. It got so bad I couldn't walk. I went to an orthopedist and went through physical therapy. No help. MRI time and then I got the call that was my doom. "You have severe arthritis and there's nothing more we can do for you. You need to go to pain management." I was only 32. It was the result of a birth defect doctors had warned me about fucking up my back when I was a kid, but what kid listens to that? My God, we're they right!
I went to a spinal doctor who also did pain management. I tried 6 months of more physical therapy, and religiously did home exercises daily. I had an oxy script by this time, and supplemented on the side from my sister. I had a high tolerance, I rationalized. Besides, I'd never get addicted. I took a few days off here and there as part of my safety plan.
I was about to try epidural injections but then I found out I was pregnant. First time ever. We were thrilled! I stopped everything with the exception of a bit too many "occasional " glasses of wine. Overall, I did good. I was utterly miserable in pain though. I suffered from more complications than I could list, like for instance, my fucking arms and hands went completely numb in a painful way. At week 20, my legs got weak and I started falling. No solution for pregnant girl other than vicodin. After being assured my baby would be fine, I took it. Much to my shame, once I got that green light, I took oxy s on the side as well. Nothing like my "usual, " but it happened just the same. I ran out about 2 months before I gave birth (I got preeclampsia so delivered 7 weeks early ), and although not happy, I did okay. I wast adduced, I thought to myself. Moreover, when they put me in the hospital indefinitely, I got off of everything again, although they offered. I didn't like it, as I was fucking dying in pain, but I did it.
I ended up with a c section and the spinal block was a fucking cure for my back. I declined the percocet day 2 on. Wow, I was fucking cured, I thought. I was so happy! I loved my baby beyond words, my husbabd and I were thrilled and overall life was fantastic. Then, the block wore off completely. I went for those epidural injections immediately. I just knew they would fix me and I was psyched. Wrong! I came out worse than before. Resume oxy.
Here's the best part: dr tells me he had to give me 3 separate injections to sedate me, which he's onmy seen once before with my sister. We have a genetic condition whereby we metabolize narcotics like crazy, he said. Excuse of the century for myself as to why I needed more oxy than the normal person. It may be true, but it did NOT help me to know it. Soon, I'm prescribed 4 30mg oxy per day and getting up to 4 more from my sis on side for ridiculously cheap cost.
Getting to Current Day and the Point:
Here I am 2 1/2 years later and I have fully realized I'm as addicted as it gets. I got up to like 20 per day and can't seem to get down. My sis got cut back so no more from her and I of course found my own friends, but holy hell do I pay a fortune! At first, I thought I could afford it, and I could. But, some bad things happened to us that legit have nothing to do with this but cost us hundreds of thousands of dollars. Yet I still have my habit ad I spend every penny we get. I'm still majorly fucked up with my back and getting worse. I've nevertheless tried to quit several times but can't stand the withdrawal. I don't even get ill but instead have burning pain throughout my back and into my arms. It's so bad I can't sit still and can't sleep.
I go through this frequently now because I'm always running out. I can't seem to make my script last more than five days! !! What the fuck?? Where did that crazy will power and strength go??? I even fucking considered doing heroin. I would not IV but I'd snort or smoke, I thought. I got to that point when I realized I CANNOT get off this shit! ! I just tried again and made it 6 days and never felt even remotely better. I kept waiting in agony for the withdrawal to ease but it never did. So, fuck it. And I considered saving my family some money by getting heroin instead. I even asked someone I knew for some but he either wouldn't or didn't have any then.
I don't even know who I am anymore. I don't think about much else except what a terrible person I am. What a fucking awful mother! !!! I love my daughter so much but I am useless as a human being unless well stocked with oxy and even then so limited by my back problems. I'm now coming up on 36 and this is my life. I don't see a future here.
Everything I've read about getting off is substitute for another drug, like suboxone. What's the fucking point of that? We own our own business so pay a shit ton for health insurance. Nothing is cheap. Even if I stuck to my scripts, which I don't ever anymore, I'd be costing us too much.
As things stand I'm killing us. I hate myself. Genuinely and truly hate myself. Although I keep my shit together most days, if I'm out I'm completely useless as a person abd do nothing but worry my husband. I'm ruining our business because I am fighting off withdrawal so often. Or spending time hooking up. I don't know what to do. I truly want to get off but just can't. I even pushed for us to move away from everyone I know and we did, but now I'm just fucked knowing nobody so going through withdrawal like 3 or 5 times per month for 2 to 4 days. People will send stuff or visit, and I do get my scripts still.
I'm at such a loss. I don't even sort of know what to do. I used to think 72 hours was the max for withdrawal but now I know that's bullshit. I've been doing a lot of reading and I've seen so many people say it takes a couple months to ease up and then is very hard for a few months more. I have a business and a toddler. I can't take that much time. I'm either better off dead or missing something here. What the fuck do I do?? I doubt anyone has advice beyond "stay strong " and all that, but I'm out of options. I'm about to rum out AGAIN so beyond nervous right now. I don't think I can keep doing this. I honestly feel so fucking hopeless. Any thoughts, ideas, etc are very welcome.
I hope you find being here as useful as I have and all the best for your future!