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It also
didn’t take her long to realize that, from time to time, I liked to help myself
to her stash. I think my brother may have pilfered on occasion as well, because
those things flew out of her closet like so many newborn moths. Once she
figured it out, they were more difficult to procure. She’s a wily one, and hid
them well.
For the longest time this was where my relationship with pills settled: I’d pop one whenever I could get my hands on it, which was infrequently. So there was no big problem there. And anyway, I was busy with several other drugs which featured more prominently in my life.
For the longest time this was where my relationship with pills settled: I’d pop one whenever I could get my hands on it, which was infrequently. So there was no big problem there. And anyway, I was busy with several other drugs which featured more prominently in my life.
But then,
about three years ago, I came across an excellent and regular supply of Norcos,
which I soon learned were even more warmth-giving and oblivion-inducing
(especially in combination with several drinks) than their weaker cousin which
had brought me into the world of Opioids. I learned that the yellows were the
best and the ones speckled with red were full of acetaminophen and less
powerful. I generally – but not always – had a supply available in the medicine
cabinet and a few in my desk at work, just in case. Still, I took them only
semi-regularly, perhaps twice or three times a week. I felt completely in
control of the situation, and I guess you could say I was.
About a
year ago, however, I met my match in the form of these tiny green fifteen
milligram oxycodones. Through procedures and circumstances I shall not describe
for you here, I fell backasswards into a supply of about a hundred of these
little buddies. At first, a mere half a pill would have me tingling from head
to toe almost immediately upon swallowing. The effect would last for hours on
end and would culminate in the most wonderful, dreamless sleep. Soon however, I
needed a full pill to get the desired effect. Ultimately, I needed one and a
half to get to that special place.
Having so many pills on hand it became more difficult to hold myself back from taking them every day. I would go on a spree of five or six days in a row popping my dear Oxys. I would then take a day or two off and pat myself on the back for showing so much restraint. Finally and mercifully, I ran out of the little buggers, thanks in no small part to the proverbial "little help from my friends." (Who always gave my supply the highest praise.) Knowing with great certainty that I was increasingly descending down into the vortex, I was glad to see them go.
Having so many pills on hand it became more difficult to hold myself back from taking them every day. I would go on a spree of five or six days in a row popping my dear Oxys. I would then take a day or two off and pat myself on the back for showing so much restraint. Finally and mercifully, I ran out of the little buggers, thanks in no small part to the proverbial "little help from my friends." (Who always gave my supply the highest praise.) Knowing with great certainty that I was increasingly descending down into the vortex, I was glad to see them go.
In the
succeeding days, however, the most interesting and unpleasant thing happened. I
would sweat profusely in my sleep and awake to a cold, saturated pillow. I was
extremely irritable during the day. My concentration was at its nadir.
And more than anything, I had a stomach ache and diarrhea that lasted over two
weeks. Sure enough, I looked up the symptoms of physical opioid addiction and
what did I find? All of the above.
PHYSICAL
ADDICTION. The phrase rang through my mind like the tolling of a funeral
bell. Is there anything more inconsistent with the idea of the functioning
addict than physical addiction? I was face to face with a concept that was
truly foreign to me and the questions were unavoidably vexed: had I reached my
end, the point of no return, was the functioning addict now no more than a mere
addict? Was the time to finish the experiment at hand?
After a
five week run cold turkey the answer presented itself as it always has and I
fear always will: of course not. I’m in charge of my own existence. I’m the
functioning addict. My will be done.
And predictably, after a while I started popping Norcos occasionally once again. But
don’t worry: I’ve got it all under control.