gnarlynicholas88
Greenlighter
- Joined
- Jul 9, 2019
- Messages
- 4
April 25th, 2019 was the last time I ever went to my methadone clinic.
I was scheduled to go to rehab later that day at Narconon in Louisiana. I took my final dose of 145mg, popped a couple .5mg Xanax, and boarded my plane from LAX. What came next was the closest I’ve ever been to hell since I’ve been alive.
A quick description of myself: I’m 24 years old, male, roughly 160lbs, from Los Angeles, California. Healthy, no physical restrictions, and free of any serious diseases. I was on methadone for approximately two years and towards the end (my last few months) I was compounding my dose by taking Xanax bars (2-4mg a day minimum)
Coming to rehab for my detox was a moment of fear and relief. Relief in the sense that I knew, eventually, I’d be off methadone but fear because I knew how painful it was going to be. And painful it was.
The first few days were the easiest. Being on methadone for as long as I was I knew I had a solid three days before the most brutal symptoms would set in.
That being said, I still had to deal with the unbelievable anxiety from lack of benzos and no more daily methadone doses. I was given Librium to prevent a seizure and vitamins to keep me as healthy as possible.
I had zero appetite and didn’t eat a single thing for almost four days. The idea of food was almost enough to make me gag, and even though this was all just part of the detox, there were times I was sure I’d never eat again.
The gooseflesh came first, my body temperature desperately trying to regulate itself. It felt like someone was constantly turning my internal thermostat up and down. One moment I’m sweating in a completely air conditioned room, the next I’m shivering in 90 degree heat while wearing a hoodie.
Nausea came next. Imagine being trapped on a small fishing boat during a Hurricane 3 storm. The rancid stench of rotting fish while you constantly work to keep your balance during a heavy storm.
My stomach churned nonstop, compounded by other equally uncomfortable sensations one experiences during opiate withdrawal: yawning repeatedly, constant tears, depression, anxiety, muscle aches, and of course restlessness.
Anybody who’s ever been through withdrawal knows the unbearable, skin-peeling feeling of wanting to jump out of your skeleton for a moment of relief. Take that feeling and magnify it x100 and you’ll start to get an understanding of how I felt. Every second of every day for three weeks.
Now, I’m not going to tell you I did my detox “cold turkey” because technically that wouldn’t be true. On my fourth day my lack of eating and drinking fluids was becoming a legitimate issue. The medical director of the program ordered a rapid methadone taper and induced me with 40mg later the same day.
This, compares to the heroic dose of 145mg I was on was like throwing a frisbee at a freight train. It helped marginally, but by using methadone to keep the withdrawal at bay, you’re only delaying and extending the inevitable. My taper after the 40mg went to 20mg three days later, 10mg after another two, and a final 10mg after two more days. The doses kept some of the most unbearable symptoms at bay, but it was still one hell of a struggle.
After my taper ended I still had some of the more uncomfortable symptoms: gooseflesh, chills, nausea, aches, and of course restlessness.
My sleep was nightmarish and feverish, waking up throughout the night coated in a fresh layer of sweat. I was constantly exhausted but couldn’t sleep, always starving but couldn’t eat.
I was depressed to the point of hilarity, crying randomly for seemingly no reason whatsoever. Sitting in the corner of the room, making an attempt to read while my feet bounced uncontrollably with restlessness.
I was defeated, both physically and mentally.
It’s been almost three months and today I feel like an entirely new person. Probably not much comfort if you’re reading this and debating the idea of trying to get off methadone.
But I can tell you, anybody reading that it is possible. Despite whatever reservations you may have, any reasons you’re telling yourself that you can’t, you absolutely can.
I won’t tell you that it’s going to be easy, but nothing worth having ever is. All I’m telling you, the reader, is that if you’re truly finished with being chained to a device so devastatingly powerful as methadone, that you possess the strength to cut it loose.
I was convinced I didn’t, but I did, and it was the best decision I’ve made in my entire life.
I regret nothing, and never intend to fall back into that cycle of madness. I still have some mild post-acute symptoms (appetite, sleep, etc) but it’s more than bearable. And the promise of my future has never been so bright.
“If you’re going through hell, keep going.”
Never has that quote rung more true for me something than when I was going through my detox. And if you decide you want to get clean and free of methadone, I want you to remember it as well.
I was scheduled to go to rehab later that day at Narconon in Louisiana. I took my final dose of 145mg, popped a couple .5mg Xanax, and boarded my plane from LAX. What came next was the closest I’ve ever been to hell since I’ve been alive.
A quick description of myself: I’m 24 years old, male, roughly 160lbs, from Los Angeles, California. Healthy, no physical restrictions, and free of any serious diseases. I was on methadone for approximately two years and towards the end (my last few months) I was compounding my dose by taking Xanax bars (2-4mg a day minimum)
Coming to rehab for my detox was a moment of fear and relief. Relief in the sense that I knew, eventually, I’d be off methadone but fear because I knew how painful it was going to be. And painful it was.
The first few days were the easiest. Being on methadone for as long as I was I knew I had a solid three days before the most brutal symptoms would set in.
That being said, I still had to deal with the unbelievable anxiety from lack of benzos and no more daily methadone doses. I was given Librium to prevent a seizure and vitamins to keep me as healthy as possible.
I had zero appetite and didn’t eat a single thing for almost four days. The idea of food was almost enough to make me gag, and even though this was all just part of the detox, there were times I was sure I’d never eat again.
The gooseflesh came first, my body temperature desperately trying to regulate itself. It felt like someone was constantly turning my internal thermostat up and down. One moment I’m sweating in a completely air conditioned room, the next I’m shivering in 90 degree heat while wearing a hoodie.
Nausea came next. Imagine being trapped on a small fishing boat during a Hurricane 3 storm. The rancid stench of rotting fish while you constantly work to keep your balance during a heavy storm.
My stomach churned nonstop, compounded by other equally uncomfortable sensations one experiences during opiate withdrawal: yawning repeatedly, constant tears, depression, anxiety, muscle aches, and of course restlessness.
Anybody who’s ever been through withdrawal knows the unbearable, skin-peeling feeling of wanting to jump out of your skeleton for a moment of relief. Take that feeling and magnify it x100 and you’ll start to get an understanding of how I felt. Every second of every day for three weeks.
Now, I’m not going to tell you I did my detox “cold turkey” because technically that wouldn’t be true. On my fourth day my lack of eating and drinking fluids was becoming a legitimate issue. The medical director of the program ordered a rapid methadone taper and induced me with 40mg later the same day.
This, compares to the heroic dose of 145mg I was on was like throwing a frisbee at a freight train. It helped marginally, but by using methadone to keep the withdrawal at bay, you’re only delaying and extending the inevitable. My taper after the 40mg went to 20mg three days later, 10mg after another two, and a final 10mg after two more days. The doses kept some of the most unbearable symptoms at bay, but it was still one hell of a struggle.
After my taper ended I still had some of the more uncomfortable symptoms: gooseflesh, chills, nausea, aches, and of course restlessness.
My sleep was nightmarish and feverish, waking up throughout the night coated in a fresh layer of sweat. I was constantly exhausted but couldn’t sleep, always starving but couldn’t eat.
I was depressed to the point of hilarity, crying randomly for seemingly no reason whatsoever. Sitting in the corner of the room, making an attempt to read while my feet bounced uncontrollably with restlessness.
I was defeated, both physically and mentally.
It’s been almost three months and today I feel like an entirely new person. Probably not much comfort if you’re reading this and debating the idea of trying to get off methadone.
But I can tell you, anybody reading that it is possible. Despite whatever reservations you may have, any reasons you’re telling yourself that you can’t, you absolutely can.
I won’t tell you that it’s going to be easy, but nothing worth having ever is. All I’m telling you, the reader, is that if you’re truly finished with being chained to a device so devastatingly powerful as methadone, that you possess the strength to cut it loose.
I was convinced I didn’t, but I did, and it was the best decision I’ve made in my entire life.
I regret nothing, and never intend to fall back into that cycle of madness. I still have some mild post-acute symptoms (appetite, sleep, etc) but it’s more than bearable. And the promise of my future has never been so bright.
“If you’re going through hell, keep going.”
Never has that quote rung more true for me something than when I was going through my detox. And if you decide you want to get clean and free of methadone, I want you to remember it as well.
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