Bomb319
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Nov 26, 2011
- Messages
- 583
Background:
Maybe the topic title seems a bit melodramatic. All I know is that the day it happened, I *knew* at the time, that that day was going to be my last. Obviously, and incredibly thankfully, it wasn't. I was/am a pretty severe opiate addict - the chain of progression stemming from being prescribed Percocet by my doctor - 100 of the 5/325 pills per month for 3 years, at which time he suspected I was becoming addicted. He cut me off cold-turkey, called the pharmacy to cancel my remaining pills, and didn't put me on anything else or even suggest counselling. Although I was definitely developing a problem with it, these actions are what made me plunge off the cliff and eventually become an IV heroin addict. During the time I was going through the worst of it and losing everything, I experimented with other drugs at the same time - but only if I already had, and was high on, enough opiate. Cocaine was my second most used drug, but paradoxically, I honestly did NOT like the feeling of it, and generally felt nothing but anxiety. Yet as soon as I used it all up, I would go and buy more - but only right after using it. If I waited until the next day, I had no craving or desire to buy more at all. Even after using it in this way on and off for several months, I easily quit and haven't bought or wanted to buy it for close to 2 years. I felt (and still feel) however, that I could never kick my severe opiate addiction (I do love them). So I've been on methadone maintenance for the last 2 years and have been entirely clean for over a year.
The Story:
Anyway, the worst day of my life was due to cocaine. This is a bit long, so you don't have to read the rest unless you're interested
One time I had bought some coke that I suppose was more potent (purer) than usual. This was during a time in my life where I had a very severe opiate addiction, and it was destroying every aspect of my life - especially my education since I lived alone and wouldn't/couldn't go to class because of opiate withdrawal, or needing to go out and buy more or wait for my guy to be ready (or get money however I could). Anyway, I woke up in the morning, unwisely snorted more coke than I should have, strapped on my heavy backpack, and left my apartment for the 20-30 minute walk to school.
This was one of two times in my life where I was absolutely convinced that I had killed myself - I was dying, and there was nothing I could do about it. About halfway through my walk, the coke began kicking in intensely. I was already very sweaty and had a rapid heartbeat from the exercise and weight of my backpack alone. When the coke kicked in, it shot up my anxiety and heart rate to levels beyond those I had thought the human body could withstand. To make matters somehow even worse, my awareness of this fact in addition to knowing that the come-up was only going to become more intense, there was nowhere I could lie down, sit or even rest since I was in the middle of a huge field, and the fact that I would have to somehow make my way either to school or back home in that condition, made all of my symptoms spike even more than they already had! I swear to God, my heart was racing so fast, I couldn't even count its beats; it was like one solid, intense, continued beat. I started puking, which put even more strain on my chest and heart, and added to my anxiety. This is the point where I KNEW I was dead.
Yet somehow, even though I'm sure my heart had temporarily been damaged, or blood flow blocked, etc., I managed to make it to my school building (it was slightly closer than home, and at this point I was just desperate to rest anywhere I could get help). I did it by collapsing down to set every few minutes, leaning against buildings, and I don't even remember much of it. All I know is that when I eventually managed to get to the building (still carrying my heavy-as-hell backpack), I was shaking and trembling so hard, I couldn't sit on the chair. My lab instructor whose class I was missing eventually came out and saw me there. I lied and told him I was having a severe panic attack - which I suppose was partly true, plus my extremely obvious symptoms corroborated that story well. He was sympathetic and kind, and he let me sit on the chair outside the class when I was able to do so without falling. He even brought me a bottle of water, however I could not drink it - my hands were shaking far too wildly and erratically to execute any semblance of motor control.
So I had to sit in hell, but at least out of the field which could have been the last place I ever saw. I was sitting alone - I had to somehow contend with and try my best to control my extreme anxiety which had only been increased even further by having this reaction in front of my teacher. I also had to contend with the continued cocaine-induced hyperstimulation and generally the entire experience, doing my best to lower my heart rate in spite of it all. It took me nearly four hours before I could even get up off the chair. I had no money to buy food, either. When the coke eventually wore off entirely and my body stopped vibrating uncontrollably, I went home, choked down some food, and lay down.
It was a hellish nightmare, and I'm immensely lucky to be alive. Heart attacks and stroke run in my family to such a high degree, every single male in my mom's family died of one or the other before the age of 55. That knowledge didn't exactly help me, either. My sedentary lifestyle, migraines with aura, and other risk factors (many caused by my opiate addiction) made me almost certain that escaping death that day was miraculous.
Maybe the topic title seems a bit melodramatic. All I know is that the day it happened, I *knew* at the time, that that day was going to be my last. Obviously, and incredibly thankfully, it wasn't. I was/am a pretty severe opiate addict - the chain of progression stemming from being prescribed Percocet by my doctor - 100 of the 5/325 pills per month for 3 years, at which time he suspected I was becoming addicted. He cut me off cold-turkey, called the pharmacy to cancel my remaining pills, and didn't put me on anything else or even suggest counselling. Although I was definitely developing a problem with it, these actions are what made me plunge off the cliff and eventually become an IV heroin addict. During the time I was going through the worst of it and losing everything, I experimented with other drugs at the same time - but only if I already had, and was high on, enough opiate. Cocaine was my second most used drug, but paradoxically, I honestly did NOT like the feeling of it, and generally felt nothing but anxiety. Yet as soon as I used it all up, I would go and buy more - but only right after using it. If I waited until the next day, I had no craving or desire to buy more at all. Even after using it in this way on and off for several months, I easily quit and haven't bought or wanted to buy it for close to 2 years. I felt (and still feel) however, that I could never kick my severe opiate addiction (I do love them). So I've been on methadone maintenance for the last 2 years and have been entirely clean for over a year.
The Story:
Anyway, the worst day of my life was due to cocaine. This is a bit long, so you don't have to read the rest unless you're interested
One time I had bought some coke that I suppose was more potent (purer) than usual. This was during a time in my life where I had a very severe opiate addiction, and it was destroying every aspect of my life - especially my education since I lived alone and wouldn't/couldn't go to class because of opiate withdrawal, or needing to go out and buy more or wait for my guy to be ready (or get money however I could). Anyway, I woke up in the morning, unwisely snorted more coke than I should have, strapped on my heavy backpack, and left my apartment for the 20-30 minute walk to school.
This was one of two times in my life where I was absolutely convinced that I had killed myself - I was dying, and there was nothing I could do about it. About halfway through my walk, the coke began kicking in intensely. I was already very sweaty and had a rapid heartbeat from the exercise and weight of my backpack alone. When the coke kicked in, it shot up my anxiety and heart rate to levels beyond those I had thought the human body could withstand. To make matters somehow even worse, my awareness of this fact in addition to knowing that the come-up was only going to become more intense, there was nowhere I could lie down, sit or even rest since I was in the middle of a huge field, and the fact that I would have to somehow make my way either to school or back home in that condition, made all of my symptoms spike even more than they already had! I swear to God, my heart was racing so fast, I couldn't even count its beats; it was like one solid, intense, continued beat. I started puking, which put even more strain on my chest and heart, and added to my anxiety. This is the point where I KNEW I was dead.
Yet somehow, even though I'm sure my heart had temporarily been damaged, or blood flow blocked, etc., I managed to make it to my school building (it was slightly closer than home, and at this point I was just desperate to rest anywhere I could get help). I did it by collapsing down to set every few minutes, leaning against buildings, and I don't even remember much of it. All I know is that when I eventually managed to get to the building (still carrying my heavy-as-hell backpack), I was shaking and trembling so hard, I couldn't sit on the chair. My lab instructor whose class I was missing eventually came out and saw me there. I lied and told him I was having a severe panic attack - which I suppose was partly true, plus my extremely obvious symptoms corroborated that story well. He was sympathetic and kind, and he let me sit on the chair outside the class when I was able to do so without falling. He even brought me a bottle of water, however I could not drink it - my hands were shaking far too wildly and erratically to execute any semblance of motor control.
So I had to sit in hell, but at least out of the field which could have been the last place I ever saw. I was sitting alone - I had to somehow contend with and try my best to control my extreme anxiety which had only been increased even further by having this reaction in front of my teacher. I also had to contend with the continued cocaine-induced hyperstimulation and generally the entire experience, doing my best to lower my heart rate in spite of it all. It took me nearly four hours before I could even get up off the chair. I had no money to buy food, either. When the coke eventually wore off entirely and my body stopped vibrating uncontrollably, I went home, choked down some food, and lay down.
It was a hellish nightmare, and I'm immensely lucky to be alive. Heart attacks and stroke run in my family to such a high degree, every single male in my mom's family died of one or the other before the age of 55. That knowledge didn't exactly help me, either. My sedentary lifestyle, migraines with aura, and other risk factors (many caused by my opiate addiction) made me almost certain that escaping death that day was miraculous.
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