The decision had already been made when I decided to consume that first Oxy. I knew this after what has happened in the past whenever I got ahold of an opiate. I get hooked right when I start to feel that beautiful, euphoric sensation of having nothing to worry about. Even though, I had everything to worry about. Now that I’m back on the dope train, I have to worry about coming off it. For mine, my family’s, my friends’, and other loved ones’ sake.
It was just a matter of time before I ended up back on heroin. Even if I begin with a simple hydrocodone pill, over time it will end up with a needle stuck in my arm. Every time. I just think possibly, this one instance, I can do it one time and then forget about it. Never do it again. But it’s never like that. It’s the definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results.
Am I insane? Statistics say “yes.” Magic 8-ball says, “Signs Point to Yes.”
I recognize there are some people out there asking, “why don’t you just quit?”
I wish it was that easy, I truly do.. But now, I’m hooked and riding the train—you can even view the tracks—going nowhere…The crazy matter is, at first, you can stop whenever, with no trouble, but you don’t want to.
And when you want to,
It’s sick, actually.
As sick as the malady you endure when you do try to quit—experiencing the wicked withdrawal. And that is a cruelness I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy. This is how it starts…
Once you inject a shot, you maintain about seven hours of being high—depending on the dope—until you start to experience that “icky” feeling. This is the kickoff to your first few days of Hell on earth. The icky feeling consists of a runny nose and profuse yawning. After another hour, your eyes will begin tearing up incessantly.
Once a new symptom starts, it doesn’t lay off, it simply adds on to the hell you’re already feeling. Then come the sweats, goosebumps, and leg cramps. At about twelve hours without dope, the withdrawal will bring on abdominal cramps, nausea, and muscle/bone aches. It feels similar to the Flu. But that’s only the first day.
If you somehow manage to fall asleep, you will wake up in full-on, balls-to-the-wall withdrawal. This is where the mental malady kicks in. You’re tired and restless, depressed and agitated. Along with everything you felt the day before, you also experience tremors and leg kicking—why they call it “kicking dope.” Another perpetually annoying symptom is the endless temperature changing. One second you’re burning up, the next you’re freezing your ass off. You’re cold with goosebumps while you suffer a fever with sweats. The restlessness and depression are the worst for me. You feel like you’re dying, but in reality you won’t really die from opiate withdrawal. But once the simultaneous vomiting and diarrhea charge in, you’ll wish you were dead. Some people actually kill themselves because they can’t take it anymore. That, having a heart attack, or ripping your esophagus from violent vomiting are the only ways opiate withdrawal can become deadly.
The only things that can make you feel better—other than medical care—are masturbation and a hot bath. Don’t bother trying to shower, the water is like thousands of tiny, sharp arrows being brutally thrown at you while your body is already aching in pain. Plus, vomit is hard to extract out of the bathtub.
You won’t sleep that next night either, so don’t even try, but if you manage to, it would solely be a few half-ass winks. You will be constantly rolling around, trying to capture a little comfort that you’ll never find. The third day is the absolute worst, though.
This is the day you wish you were dead.
You will kill for a fix, but you have no energy.
Your bed sheets are soaking wet with sweat.
Your skin feels sandpaper-rough and drier than the Mohave desert.
The room you’re in reeks of death; though, you only wish you were dead.
Anxiety, depression, hypertension, rapid heart rate, and muscle spasms are heavy at work to go along with the incessant, vomiting and diarrhea. But nothing is as worse as the cravings.
You’re turned into a vampire with an intense desire for more. More delicious, dreamy dope to quench your painful thirst. Not to mention, put an end to your agony.
Though, after the horrendous third day, the symptoms will start to wither.
You will still feel like shit, but you’re there. You’ve rounded the peak of the pile.
… Except for that constant craving, that still lingers around your mind like a starving werewolf at night.
Most television programs you watch pertaining celebrities in rehab, show you that it merely takes three days to kick. This couldn’t be more wrong. It takes three days for the symptoms to start to dissipate, but you won’t feel better for about a week. And you won’t be back to normal—homeostasis—for a month, depending on use. That month will consist of non-stop cravings, anxiety, depression and difficulty finding joy in pleasurable things. Opiate withdrawal is the worse—after Methadone, where the first day feeling ill feels like the third day of heroin sickness—but it most likely, won’t kill you; however, alcohol and benzodiazepine—Xanax, Valium, Klonopin, etc.—withdrawals can, if not treated with good medical maintenance.
“So, if the withdrawals are so bad, then why do the drug? Is the high worth it?”
Truth is, for me, I don’t know. I can go back and forth, but that’s solely when I’m using. Sober, I can definitely say no! N. O. No, It’s not worth it, at all. But there are some addicts out there who would say it is. This can be difficult to understand for an inexperienced individual. You have to just understand that you don’t understand and leave it at that. It’s not worth doing.
I’m laying on my mom’s leather couch, high as a kite, feeling as if there is no ceiling to hold me back me from floating away. The news guy had said it was going to be a beautiful day outside, but I wouldn’t know.
I’m inside of my mom’s apartment with the blinds drawn and the A/C on full blast. My body is tingly and warm on the inside, so I like to be sitting in a freezer.
My mom lived here alone before I moved in. My parents are separated—not divorced—and my brother hates me. Growing up, being the older sibling, my younger brother, by nature, looked up to me. But I hadn’t realized this until it was way too late.
I believe it was brought to my attention by my parents during my heavy drinking stage after high school, or perhaps, while I was in rehab for the first time. Whenever it was, I failed to show him the correct things to do in life. Unwittingly, I threw him the responsibility of being the good son. Over time—while I started shooting dope—I guess you could allege he still could look up to me, only to determine what not to do. This had been the end of our “brotherly-love.” He had unwillingly been bestowed all the responsibility that I formerly held, and was now committed to being the strong and healthy member of our feeble family. An unwanted and unexpected “brotherly-be loathe ” toward me, was veritable now. I do regret everything. It would’ve been a lot different had I known how great a deal my addiction had affected him. Maybe I would have stopped. Who knows? He may hate me, but I still love him to death.
The story with my parents is a longer account, but I will start it where I left off, meeting the girl that changed my world, Scarlett Bolton…