Just my own experience re intravenous injecting of pills: Please don't! After slamming or trying to slam pretty much every opiate, barbiturate, benzo, and amphetamine in existence between 1971 and 1997, I have lasting health effects that will eventually end my life. Pills are the worst. When I began IV use, I got as badly hooked on the needle and the ritual as I became did the drugs. Early on, I tried every pill I thought would get me high. Some were great and sorta safe, like the Dilaudid and morphine shakers. Most, on the other hand, either couldn't be dissolved in water or could be, but were really dangerous. One of my friends lost a foot to a barbiturate abcess.
Later on, I got seriously into injecting Ritalin. I've been told that the powder that makes up the filler collects in your liver, your lungs, and behind your eyes. The eyes are for real, as a friend of mine lost one of his by the capillaries all getting blocked by filler, making him blind in one eye. For me, it was the lungs. It took years, but I developed pulmonary fibrosis from accumulations of powder either in or attached to the outside of my lungs. It's listed as of unknown origin, as they don't take biopsies any more of things like that. They're too invasive and it doesn't much matter what caused the problem since it's not treatable or curable. So I suppose there's a slight possibility it could be from some other cause, but I doubt it. You don't inject something full of powder for 15 or so years, without a micron filter or even doing a good job of filtering it through cotton, without negative consequences. The damage is done and can't be undone.
I also have emphysema from smoking and cirrhosis from hepatitis C (The hep C was cured with the new treatment, but the damage there, just like with my lungs, is permanent.) I never expected to live this long. Junkies die. They don't make it to Social Security age, which I did this year. So when I was doing all those things that everyone--even other junkies--warned me against, it made absolutely no difference to me. I knew I was going to die; of an overdose, or murder, or suicide, or a car wreck while I was wasted--the ways we die from the things we do are never-ending. I still don't know why I'm alive while all of my friends, husbands, and crime partners are long since dead. But the fact remains that I am, and I'm no longer self-destructive. I can't wish away all the damage that I've done to myself over the years; all I can do is tell others who are doing the same things how it turned out for me. Namaste~