If you wound up at this blog, it is probably because you are hooked on Oxy, or one of its little brothers, like Percocet, Vicodin, or even it's creepy old uncle: Heroin. What bothers me is that the title of this post, "Five Years Later" might scare you away. The reason I say this is because, if you've found this blog, you're probably here because you want to figure out how to live Five Hours Later, not Five Years Later. You know what I mean. You want to know how to live five hours after your last hit. I do not spend any time promoting this blog, so it's really hard to find, and it's totally non-commercial. If you managed to find this information, you worked hard for it, and it's probably because right now you're sweating and shaking, or you've just run out of cash, or worse, your connection has evaporated. Maybe everything has fallen apart. You've lost your job, family, friends, or worse, your self respect. I don't know where you are at, but you should know this: every one of the 67,000 individual people who have managed to stumble upon this blog in the past ten years has been in whatever situation you are in right now.
All I ask is that you please stay with me for a moment.
If you can just hang on for a second, I promise that you won't get a lecture about magical powers, treatment centers, crazy detoxification schemes, or religion. If you'll just stay with me for a few more minutes, I promise that you won't be judged or condemned, and you won't be coerced or scammed. If you will hang in there for just a little while, you will read a lot of stories that will probably sound familiar to you, and I think it will help you to feel better. That's all I care about. I don't make a single penny by writing these things. I feel good when I know that I can honestly tell other people about what it's like to live in OxyHell and what it is like to get away from it for a while. Down at the bottom of the page, you'll find links going back to 2004 when I also was rolling around in my own vomit and sweat, shivering, crying, and wishing I was dead.
I hate to disappoint you, but as you go forward in time through the links, you won't find that I experienced some sort of miraculous recovery. I'm sorry. Life just isn't that way. But I think you will find that things can get better than they are right now. It's going to take some time. I wish there was some kind of a pill or magic power that could have made the whole OxyHell problem go away, but the only "pill" that could have done that would be, of course, Oxy itself. You'll be ok. It won't be easy, but one thing is for certain: you're going to wind up somewhere. Hopefully, it will be a better place.
I won't bullshit you, but looking back at my own experience, I think you need to know that there are some people in this world who will, who recognize that you are vulnerable right now, and would love to take advantage of you. They might be preachers, your connections, your friends, your family, your shrink, your doctor, other "addicts," the courts, the cops...I don't know your story. I just know that I've been there and that most of those people haven't got a clue about what it's really like. Everybody who knew about my problem thought they knew the solution. Frankly, OxyHell is personal for each of us, for me, for you, and only those of us who have been through it. The rest of them have no idea. What you need right now is real empathy, not sympathy, and there's a very big difference between the two.
Nobody who knows you can possibly understand what you are going through, unless they've been hooked too. Even then, we each approach the problem in our own way, and unlike most online material about addiction, I'm not going to tell you what you need to do or should do. I'll tell you my story, but realize, my story is no big deal, and I don't have any secrets or remedies for you. You are in a bad spot. You've got to write your own story. I just want people who are suffering to hear an honest account about OxyHell from another person who has been in the exact same spot you are in right now.
Are you still with me?
If you view some of my posts from 2004, and later, you'll hear a lot of familiar things. I hope that simply reading about someone else who is in the same place as you are right now will help you realize that you aren't the first person in the world to be going through this. You've got to be strong. What I mean by that is that only you can find your way out of this. There isn't a medication, a shrink, a rehab, a program, a kind of science, or voodoo that is going to make it go away. There's no magic. If there was some magic power that could give you what you need, that magic power would give you an unlimited supply of Oxy just as easily as it could make you not lust after it anymore. Just keep yourself alive, and you'll at least wind up somewhere, hopefully on the other side of this evil. Keep yourself alive, above all. If you can do that, you just might be able to carve out a life for yourself somehow.
I don't post to this blog very often. My illicit love affair with Oxy is not something I want the whole world to know about. I've done my best to hide it away. People do all kinds of weird shit in their personal lives. If they find out you were a junkie, they'll discriminate against you ("once an addict, always an addict") and then run off to their homes to do the whacked things they repeatedly do behind closed doors that no one will ever find out about. My last post was a year and four months ago. I titled it "Four Years Later" because it had been so long since I posted, not because I had been clean that long. When I last posted to this blog, I had been clean a total of one year and ten months. If you have chance to read it, you'll know that keeping track of how long you've been clean, whether it is 96 hours (a horrible place to be), 96 days, or 9.6 years,doesn't matter. The quality of my life, or your life, isn't measured in the number of hours, days, or years that we haven't been high. It's measured in something else, and it is that "something" that you need to find.
What matters is what we do with our lives. I could go get high right now, but I probably won't. As of today, it has been three years and two months since I last got high on opiates. Like the last time I wrote about this, I actually had to sit and calculate the years and months on my fingers. I really could go get high right now. I'd love it. Seriously. I could. I think I've made my point about that. However, I have to tell you that life changes. If you keep yourself alive, and if you manage it, you too could rack up days and months on a calendar, but Oxy will always be out there. She's waiting for you. You need to find a life that you want to live, that you really want, and she won't matter anymore.
I rarely think about Oxy these days. Of course, it pops into my mind every now and then. I'm glad I don't know anyone who has it or sells it. That would make it difficult, I think. However, the reason I don't know anyone like that isn't because I have worked really hard to stay away from those folks. That has nothing to do with it. My life is simply different right now. That's not because I've spent every day thinking about ways to avoid Oxy. In fact, I live without Oxy right now because I simply chose to live a different life, to take a different path, to be what I really wanted to be. I didn't spend each day of the past three years and two months slaying the Oxycontin dragon. I spent the last three years and two months living the kind of life I have chosen to live, and it just so happens that Oxycontin isn't something that could be a part of that life. For the kind of life I am living right now (and no, I won't tell you about it), there's just no place for Oxy. I might also add, that my reasons for doing Oxy in the first place have kind of evaporated. I'm living a different life right now. Maybe I just got lucky. I don't know.
I hope the same thing happens for you. But don't get me wrong. I don't want to infer that getting out of OxyHell is as easy as just deciding that you want to live a different kind of life. I know it's hard. I went through it also. But I think you can do it too, if you just keep yourself alive. There are a lot of folks who would like you to think that you are powerless and that there is only one way to get through this: their way. In fact, there is only one way to get through this: your way. And while you may be powerless when it comes to Oxy, don't let anyone fool you into believing that you are powerless with regard to your life. Oxy is just a pill. Your life is something much greater, that only you can control and direct. You do have power. You might not be powerful right now, but the next time someone tells you that you are powerless, remember that only you can keep yourself alive. Because you are the only one who can do that, you are the master of your life. You, and only you, are the one who can decide your fate.
Right now you're getting the shit beat out of you. Don't give up. Realize you aren't alone. Accept that there isn't just one route out of OxyHell; there are many. Have compassion for yourself. Think about who you want to be. Accept that you must start over; you can't go back. You will never be who you used to be. You can only be who you allow yourself to become.
Lastly, it will always be there. Even if you never touch opiates again, they will always be a part of your life, your history. There probably won't be a magical moment when the sun shines down from the heavens upon you and it will be all over, like when a fever breaks. There probably will come a time when you are able to live a different life, one that suits you, doesn't destroy you, and gives you a sense of fulfillment.
Until then, just keep yourself alive, and you might get there.
Friday, June 06, 2014
Saturday, February 09, 2013
Four Years Later
Life goes on. Doesn't it?
One day, you might look back, and somehow, some way, you're here, and OxyHell is way, way back "there" somewhere. When you are in the bowels of OxyHell, it's hard to believe that there could ever come a day when you are able to look back at it as way back anywhere. When you are in the jaws of OxyHell, it's up in your face, and it's hard enough to imagine living through even the next five minutes.
But those next five minutes will come, whether you like it or not. They surely will. And you will probably be there, one way or another.
Today, I checked an old email account that I hadn't logged onto in years, four and a half years to be exact. The inbox was packed with hundreds of solicitations for the usual spam: get rich quick schemes, dating services, the latest scams, and of course, predators selling pills from God knows where. What stood out the most though were the many notifications informing me that people had been commenting on this OxyContin blog for several years, and I hadn't even known it. There was a time though, when I was neck-deep in OxyHell, unable to envision that a day would come when I would revisit this blog, amazed that I'd somehow lived through the hazy memories of it all.
So I'm still alive. The stories about my romance with Oxy, her iron grip, my futile attempts at escape, and how I kissed her Oompa-Loompa-colored sister, Suboxone, are all still here. What amazes me right now is that, every day there are people who have found themselves in OxyHell, discovering those old stories of mine and adding stories of their own. However, I've come to the realization that "my stories" on this blog aren't really my stories at all. Instead, they seem to be much the same as everybody's else's. My stories are identical to anyone who's found themselves in one chapter or another of what seems to be a collective OxyContin saga.
For now, I'll spare you the details of the past four and a half years, but because the world seems to measure a person's success by how long it has been since they have been high, I'll give you the obligatory report. Before I do though, I hope you understand what I meant by what I just said. If I've learned anything about getting out of OxyHell, it isn't about measuring how long it has been since you last got high. In fact, that has nothing to do with it.
Getting out of OxyHell is about figuring out how to live, really live, right now. It's about realizing that, despite how many minutes, hours, days, months, or years it has been since you were last high, there will never be some single moment when suddenly everything is going to be alright. Life goes on, and on, and on. There will be new challenges, new demons, and twists and changes and turns you simply can't imagine. And really, many of those challenges, eventually, and hopefully, won't have a lot to do with Oxy. For that reason alone, you've got to ask yourself, "Am I living life, really living it, right now?"
If you don't die because of it, there may come a time when you're going to look back at OxyHell and feel like it's mostly behind you. But until, or if, that day arrives, you've got to figure out how to live right now, how to be happy right now, and how to turn this crazy trip called "life" into a meaningful thing that will someday be worth looking back upon.
As of February 2013, I haven't been high or needed Suboxone for a year and ten months. I had to think about it for a couple of minutes just to figure out that meaningless statistic. There wasn't some particular day that I can recall as "my last day," like some sort of ridiculous end point. There were no wondrous epiphanies along the way, no astounding miracles, and no magic moments that marked where my OxyHell began or ended. Life just went on. Sometimes life was better. Rarely was it worse. I'm just in a different place now; however, it's just a place that's a year and ten months later. I'm still learning how to live. I always will be. That's the way life is. That's the way it is for everybody.
Your life will go on too. Won't it? Make the best of it.
One day, you might look back, and somehow, some way, you're here, and OxyHell is way, way back "there" somewhere. When you are in the bowels of OxyHell, it's hard to believe that there could ever come a day when you are able to look back at it as way back anywhere. When you are in the jaws of OxyHell, it's up in your face, and it's hard enough to imagine living through even the next five minutes.
But those next five minutes will come, whether you like it or not. They surely will. And you will probably be there, one way or another.
Today, I checked an old email account that I hadn't logged onto in years, four and a half years to be exact. The inbox was packed with hundreds of solicitations for the usual spam: get rich quick schemes, dating services, the latest scams, and of course, predators selling pills from God knows where. What stood out the most though were the many notifications informing me that people had been commenting on this OxyContin blog for several years, and I hadn't even known it. There was a time though, when I was neck-deep in OxyHell, unable to envision that a day would come when I would revisit this blog, amazed that I'd somehow lived through the hazy memories of it all.
So I'm still alive. The stories about my romance with Oxy, her iron grip, my futile attempts at escape, and how I kissed her Oompa-Loompa-colored sister, Suboxone, are all still here. What amazes me right now is that, every day there are people who have found themselves in OxyHell, discovering those old stories of mine and adding stories of their own. However, I've come to the realization that "my stories" on this blog aren't really my stories at all. Instead, they seem to be much the same as everybody's else's. My stories are identical to anyone who's found themselves in one chapter or another of what seems to be a collective OxyContin saga.
For now, I'll spare you the details of the past four and a half years, but because the world seems to measure a person's success by how long it has been since they have been high, I'll give you the obligatory report. Before I do though, I hope you understand what I meant by what I just said. If I've learned anything about getting out of OxyHell, it isn't about measuring how long it has been since you last got high. In fact, that has nothing to do with it.
Getting out of OxyHell is about figuring out how to live, really live, right now. It's about realizing that, despite how many minutes, hours, days, months, or years it has been since you were last high, there will never be some single moment when suddenly everything is going to be alright. Life goes on, and on, and on. There will be new challenges, new demons, and twists and changes and turns you simply can't imagine. And really, many of those challenges, eventually, and hopefully, won't have a lot to do with Oxy. For that reason alone, you've got to ask yourself, "Am I living life, really living it, right now?"
If you don't die because of it, there may come a time when you're going to look back at OxyHell and feel like it's mostly behind you. But until, or if, that day arrives, you've got to figure out how to live right now, how to be happy right now, and how to turn this crazy trip called "life" into a meaningful thing that will someday be worth looking back upon.
As of February 2013, I haven't been high or needed Suboxone for a year and ten months. I had to think about it for a couple of minutes just to figure out that meaningless statistic. There wasn't some particular day that I can recall as "my last day," like some sort of ridiculous end point. There were no wondrous epiphanies along the way, no astounding miracles, and no magic moments that marked where my OxyHell began or ended. Life just went on. Sometimes life was better. Rarely was it worse. I'm just in a different place now; however, it's just a place that's a year and ten months later. I'm still learning how to live. I always will be. That's the way life is. That's the way it is for everybody.
Your life will go on too. Won't it? Make the best of it.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Lawyers suck. Never tell anyone you are hooked.
Maybe Dante was right about Hell.
In “The Divine Comedy,” Dante’s Inferno describes nine different levels of hell. I guess it’s not good enough for the powers running the universe that there is merely a Hell. No, there has to be nine different levels to the place, and each one, according to Dante, inflicts increasingly greater punishment.
He goes on to inform us that, whether we wind up on the sundeck of this cruise ship of misery, or nine floors down in the engine room, depends on how wicked we are in the life we are all living right now.
Presumably nobody has ever been to Hell and back (although Oxy Hell might come close), so we’ll never really know if Dante’s description of the place is accurate. All I can say is, should his description be inaccurate, then he is one sick bastard. He describes maggots sucking the blood out of those condemned to the place, the putrid sewer water of the river Styx, and bizarre tortures that would turn the stomach of even the most avid bondage lover. If Dante is right about hell, then you sure as hell don’t want to go to hell.
Sometimes though, it seems like hell is right here.
A friend of mine is going through a nasty divorce. Yeah, she had her Oxy Hell a few years ago, just like millions of other Americans have had, and the millions more who will. She got professional help though and managed to live, recover, and claw her way out of Oxy Hell and back.
Her account of life in Oxy Hell, and the divorce that followed, is quite similar to Dante’s though.
In her account, the maggots are there just as they are in Dante’s hell, except that they show up as lawyers, and the stench that emanates from the river Styx is no more vomit inducing than the river of nasty words that spew forth from angry, vengeful spouses.
My friend and her spouse had dealt very responsibly with the OxyContin problem several years ago. She came clean to her partner, one of the most important steps anyone in a relationship can take when chemical dependency rules your life. She let him know all the sordid details, pleaded for forgiveness, but most of all she begged for help to escape from Oxy Hell. As a couple, they seemed to handle it quite well. She got professional help. She did whatever it took. She wasn’t perfect. She stumbled like everyone is likely to do, but she got back up, and with the support of her spouse she lived to see today.
Unfortunately, living in Oxy Hell necessarily entails the need to hide the unending refueling of its fire.
Dante never explains the nature of the energy source that keeps the hell fires burning, but for anyone who has been to Oxy Hell, that fire must be stoked hourly, daily, weekly, or forever, until the walls come crashing down. In a relationship, efforts that kept alight the red hot glow of Oxy Hell usually entail a breach of trust.
When the private walls of Oxy Hell are reduced to cinders, and its victim is left standing naked, exposed, singed and broken, there can be nothing less graceful, less humane nor more repugnant and grotesque than those who would exploit, humiliate and shame the bare soul who asks for nothing more than to be allowed to recover in peace.
My friend and her spouse survived Oxy Hell. The walls collapsed and she stepped away from the ashes, her lover reaching for her hand, providing her with cover from her nakedness, and allowing her to heal in private, far from the eyes of the beasts who would shame her for having fallen in to the pit to begin with.
But just escaping from Oxy Hell isn’t enough to be forever free from it, evidently. For my friend, long after escaping, long after reconstructing her life from the ashes, the hand of Oxy Hell reached back up to humiliate her. And, in that way, perhaps Dante was right: there are many different levels to hell.
For my friend, Oxy Hell didn’t end with her recovery, but she thought it had. A few years later the marriage began to crumble under other weight. To be sure, addiction puts a huge-ass chink in a relationship, but as a friend of mine once said, "Addiction is a symptom of some greater problem." How many people have fallen prey to Oxy because of some greater underlying pain that needs to be fixed.
I will not drag this point out too terribly far. My formerly hooked friend went through a divorce. Although she and her husband had dealt with the problem in a humane way, when the divorce came about, the Oxy habit resurfaced.
Lawyers, some of which are the lowest scum that could ever scavenge the depths of a toilet, look for every advantage they can. Her husband's lawyer decided that a trip through OxyHell would be an excellent advantage to his case. Upon discovering that my friend and her husband had rafted down the river Styx together, the lawyer presented such as an opportunity to degrade and diminish my friend.
Yep. You read it right. An email from the ex-husband's attorney wound up in the hands of the attorney representing my friend. It described in glorious detail how the demise of their marriage was due to the addiction my friend had acquired. The husband's lawyer used this as an attempt to exploit a part of divorce law (in most community states) that allows a punitive action against the addicted or formerly addicted spouse. Yes, our laws allow you to be punished because you somehow wasted the resources of 'community property' in the futherance of your addiction.
The result is that you will not only be portrayed as some sort of freakish drug addict, but that whatever rights you have to your half of your property can be diminished because Oxy gave you some sort of refuge from the hell you were living in.
Do not trust anyone with your addiction. Whoever your spouse is today, might become a legal opponent in the future. You can count on some sleazy lawyer to use it against you.
As if the hell of addiction isn't bad enough, there are actually human beings out there who will take money from someone else and tell the world how bad you are because you were a junkie.
Should any of us ever actually see Dante's hell, the only pleasure we'll find there is observing dead lawyers manning tillers on the boats paddling down the Styx.
See you in hell, as you approach the bar.
Peace,
Gus
In “The Divine Comedy,” Dante’s Inferno describes nine different levels of hell. I guess it’s not good enough for the powers running the universe that there is merely a Hell. No, there has to be nine different levels to the place, and each one, according to Dante, inflicts increasingly greater punishment.
He goes on to inform us that, whether we wind up on the sundeck of this cruise ship of misery, or nine floors down in the engine room, depends on how wicked we are in the life we are all living right now.
Presumably nobody has ever been to Hell and back (although Oxy Hell might come close), so we’ll never really know if Dante’s description of the place is accurate. All I can say is, should his description be inaccurate, then he is one sick bastard. He describes maggots sucking the blood out of those condemned to the place, the putrid sewer water of the river Styx, and bizarre tortures that would turn the stomach of even the most avid bondage lover. If Dante is right about hell, then you sure as hell don’t want to go to hell.
Sometimes though, it seems like hell is right here.
A friend of mine is going through a nasty divorce. Yeah, she had her Oxy Hell a few years ago, just like millions of other Americans have had, and the millions more who will. She got professional help though and managed to live, recover, and claw her way out of Oxy Hell and back.
Her account of life in Oxy Hell, and the divorce that followed, is quite similar to Dante’s though.
In her account, the maggots are there just as they are in Dante’s hell, except that they show up as lawyers, and the stench that emanates from the river Styx is no more vomit inducing than the river of nasty words that spew forth from angry, vengeful spouses.
My friend and her spouse had dealt very responsibly with the OxyContin problem several years ago. She came clean to her partner, one of the most important steps anyone in a relationship can take when chemical dependency rules your life. She let him know all the sordid details, pleaded for forgiveness, but most of all she begged for help to escape from Oxy Hell. As a couple, they seemed to handle it quite well. She got professional help. She did whatever it took. She wasn’t perfect. She stumbled like everyone is likely to do, but she got back up, and with the support of her spouse she lived to see today.
Unfortunately, living in Oxy Hell necessarily entails the need to hide the unending refueling of its fire.
Dante never explains the nature of the energy source that keeps the hell fires burning, but for anyone who has been to Oxy Hell, that fire must be stoked hourly, daily, weekly, or forever, until the walls come crashing down. In a relationship, efforts that kept alight the red hot glow of Oxy Hell usually entail a breach of trust.
When the private walls of Oxy Hell are reduced to cinders, and its victim is left standing naked, exposed, singed and broken, there can be nothing less graceful, less humane nor more repugnant and grotesque than those who would exploit, humiliate and shame the bare soul who asks for nothing more than to be allowed to recover in peace.
My friend and her spouse survived Oxy Hell. The walls collapsed and she stepped away from the ashes, her lover reaching for her hand, providing her with cover from her nakedness, and allowing her to heal in private, far from the eyes of the beasts who would shame her for having fallen in to the pit to begin with.
But just escaping from Oxy Hell isn’t enough to be forever free from it, evidently. For my friend, long after escaping, long after reconstructing her life from the ashes, the hand of Oxy Hell reached back up to humiliate her. And, in that way, perhaps Dante was right: there are many different levels to hell.
For my friend, Oxy Hell didn’t end with her recovery, but she thought it had. A few years later the marriage began to crumble under other weight. To be sure, addiction puts a huge-ass chink in a relationship, but as a friend of mine once said, "Addiction is a symptom of some greater problem." How many people have fallen prey to Oxy because of some greater underlying pain that needs to be fixed.
I will not drag this point out too terribly far. My formerly hooked friend went through a divorce. Although she and her husband had dealt with the problem in a humane way, when the divorce came about, the Oxy habit resurfaced.
Lawyers, some of which are the lowest scum that could ever scavenge the depths of a toilet, look for every advantage they can. Her husband's lawyer decided that a trip through OxyHell would be an excellent advantage to his case. Upon discovering that my friend and her husband had rafted down the river Styx together, the lawyer presented such as an opportunity to degrade and diminish my friend.
Yep. You read it right. An email from the ex-husband's attorney wound up in the hands of the attorney representing my friend. It described in glorious detail how the demise of their marriage was due to the addiction my friend had acquired. The husband's lawyer used this as an attempt to exploit a part of divorce law (in most community states) that allows a punitive action against the addicted or formerly addicted spouse. Yes, our laws allow you to be punished because you somehow wasted the resources of 'community property' in the futherance of your addiction.
The result is that you will not only be portrayed as some sort of freakish drug addict, but that whatever rights you have to your half of your property can be diminished because Oxy gave you some sort of refuge from the hell you were living in.
Do not trust anyone with your addiction. Whoever your spouse is today, might become a legal opponent in the future. You can count on some sleazy lawyer to use it against you.
As if the hell of addiction isn't bad enough, there are actually human beings out there who will take money from someone else and tell the world how bad you are because you were a junkie.
Should any of us ever actually see Dante's hell, the only pleasure we'll find there is observing dead lawyers manning tillers on the boats paddling down the Styx.
See you in hell, as you approach the bar.
Peace,
Gus
Saturday, July 19, 2008
How many licks does it take to get an OxyContin habit?
There was a TV commercial millions of years ago for Tootsie Pops, a hard candy sucker on a stick that had at its very center, a Tootsie Roll, which is a nasty, fake chololate thing that's more aptly suited as a chew-toy for a dog, and probably made out of that stuff you seal head-gaskets with. The commercial asked "How many licks does it take to get to the chewy center of a Tootsie Roll Tootsie Pop?"
I got an email today that reminded me of that old commercial, and I think you'll see why.
First, let me just say, that I get tons of letters, and that you are welcome to write to me anytime. I will do my best to answer and help you. I will never forward or republish your email to me, and it will always remain confidential. As a writer I do have some control over the confidentiality of my sources, so you don't have to worry that some asshole from the NSA is going to send the DEA over to get you because you wrote me about the OxyContin you gobbled down and now have questions about it. Lastly, I legally have to remind you that I am not a doctor, have no medical experience, and you should never ever take any action whatsoever based on what I say because I am an idiot. Doctors on the other hand are smarter than everybody in the whole world, and we know this is true because the government tells us so, and demonstrates this by giving exclusive licenses to them.
Now, all of that being said, I did receive an email today that I need to share with you. However, there's no way I would ever post the actual text of anyone's email, so I am going to paraphrase its content for you.
Somone wrote to me, we'll give her some really fancy original name like "Jane," and she wanted to know how long she has to keep doing OxyContin before she's going to feel the effects of withdrawal.
Uh, yep.
She managed to get her hands on a huge, family-sized bucket of 80s. She got them so cheap too! Back when I was using, if I'd stumbled across a deal like the one he scored, I'd be happer than if I'd won the lottery. Suffice it to say it was a huge quantity of OxyContin tablets and she acquired them for about ten cents on the dollar as compared to the typical street price. Oh, and no, they weren't those smarmy little 10 milligram scooby snacks either. She hit the motherlode. Got it?
She'd never used them before this acquisition. A virgin to opioids, she has been using them for about 75 days, but did not say by what method she is administering the OxyContin. She has noticed though, that after a nice smooth buzz for a couple of days, she's felt kind of icky when she decided it was time to get back to the real world. As a result, she decided she'd extend her run for a week or so, and now she feels oh so good!
She's now a little concerned. She has no street contact to get more when her 44 ounce sized Big Gulp Prescription runneth out. She asked me if she was likely to go through withdrawals when the well finally runs dry.
I don't mean to embarass her, and I am teasing her just a bit, but in the event that there are other people out in the world who are in the same situation, asking the same questions, I thought it would be beneificial for them in the event anyone comes across my extremely wordy and obscure blog.
Before I let you read my response, I just want to say this: if you are in the same situation as this young woman, please realize that you are in dangerous territory. If you have to wonder, have to ask, whether or not what you might have felt is the onset of withdrawal, then the question isn't "What will it be like when I finally stop?" Nope. The question is, "Why the hell don't I stop NOW?"
Go smoke a joint, drink a bottle of Belvedere, go to Disneyland, go get laid, go eat chocolate, go do whatever it is that gets you off, but stop taking the OxyContin. Stop now. Any vice that you have is better than the one you are exposing yourself to. And, let me state that 'vice' is a really stupid word, because it says something about those activities being somehow morally wrong, and in my mind, they aren't. In my mind, there's nothing morally wrong about using OxyContin either. What's 'wrong' with OxyContin is twofold. First, if you get hooked, you are cooked. It's a living hell. Secondly, even if you get past the hooked part without OD'ing, without going broke, without dying, without losing your sanity, friends, and everything else that matters to you......even if you survive all that, I promise you this:
You might never, ever again, find so much pleasure in anything else on this planet.
Jack Nicholson made a movie years ago, in which there's a scene I will never forget. He plays a character who has a lot of psychological/emotional problems. He's in the packed waiting room of a psychotherapists office, and it's a foregone conclusion of course, that all those people are there because life just aint' giving them what they want. As he looks over the sad crowd before exiting the room, he glares, and loudly addresses the whole room with the following question:
"What if this is as good as it gets?" He turns, quietly shuts the door, and leaves.
Damn, that is cruel! OxyContin is cruel in exactly the same way. Forget the withdrawals, dependency, and everything else. If you survive, what if OxyContin is as good as it gets?
The real answer of course, is that life goes on. My shrink actually suggested that I might be correct to assume that I will never again find anything as alluring as OxyContin. He may be right, but that doesn't mean I should, or anyone else should, give up. Life will go on, but why put yourself through the hell that most of the people who write to me have gone through (myself included).
Oxy sucks. Oxy is wonderful.
Getting screwed over sucks. Revenge is fulfilling. Somehow we manage to avoid killing the bastards who have screwed us over and life goes on. Maybe it's the same with OxyContin.
So to answer Jane's questions...
Are you going to go through withdrawal syndrome after such a short duration? I think you probably will, but you might not. Nobody knows for sure. I can assure you of one thing though:
...You will find out.
Do you want to find out now, or later?
Stop taking the shit right now, Jane.
Peace,
Gus
I got an email today that reminded me of that old commercial, and I think you'll see why.
First, let me just say, that I get tons of letters, and that you are welcome to write to me anytime. I will do my best to answer and help you. I will never forward or republish your email to me, and it will always remain confidential. As a writer I do have some control over the confidentiality of my sources, so you don't have to worry that some asshole from the NSA is going to send the DEA over to get you because you wrote me about the OxyContin you gobbled down and now have questions about it. Lastly, I legally have to remind you that I am not a doctor, have no medical experience, and you should never ever take any action whatsoever based on what I say because I am an idiot. Doctors on the other hand are smarter than everybody in the whole world, and we know this is true because the government tells us so, and demonstrates this by giving exclusive licenses to them.
Now, all of that being said, I did receive an email today that I need to share with you. However, there's no way I would ever post the actual text of anyone's email, so I am going to paraphrase its content for you.
Somone wrote to me, we'll give her some really fancy original name like "Jane," and she wanted to know how long she has to keep doing OxyContin before she's going to feel the effects of withdrawal.
Uh, yep.
She managed to get her hands on a huge, family-sized bucket of 80s. She got them so cheap too! Back when I was using, if I'd stumbled across a deal like the one he scored, I'd be happer than if I'd won the lottery. Suffice it to say it was a huge quantity of OxyContin tablets and she acquired them for about ten cents on the dollar as compared to the typical street price. Oh, and no, they weren't those smarmy little 10 milligram scooby snacks either. She hit the motherlode. Got it?
She'd never used them before this acquisition. A virgin to opioids, she has been using them for about 75 days, but did not say by what method she is administering the OxyContin. She has noticed though, that after a nice smooth buzz for a couple of days, she's felt kind of icky when she decided it was time to get back to the real world. As a result, she decided she'd extend her run for a week or so, and now she feels oh so good!
She's now a little concerned. She has no street contact to get more when her 44 ounce sized Big Gulp Prescription runneth out. She asked me if she was likely to go through withdrawals when the well finally runs dry.
I don't mean to embarass her, and I am teasing her just a bit, but in the event that there are other people out in the world who are in the same situation, asking the same questions, I thought it would be beneificial for them in the event anyone comes across my extremely wordy and obscure blog.
Before I let you read my response, I just want to say this: if you are in the same situation as this young woman, please realize that you are in dangerous territory. If you have to wonder, have to ask, whether or not what you might have felt is the onset of withdrawal, then the question isn't "What will it be like when I finally stop?" Nope. The question is, "Why the hell don't I stop NOW?"
Go smoke a joint, drink a bottle of Belvedere, go to Disneyland, go get laid, go eat chocolate, go do whatever it is that gets you off, but stop taking the OxyContin. Stop now. Any vice that you have is better than the one you are exposing yourself to. And, let me state that 'vice' is a really stupid word, because it says something about those activities being somehow morally wrong, and in my mind, they aren't. In my mind, there's nothing morally wrong about using OxyContin either. What's 'wrong' with OxyContin is twofold. First, if you get hooked, you are cooked. It's a living hell. Secondly, even if you get past the hooked part without OD'ing, without going broke, without dying, without losing your sanity, friends, and everything else that matters to you......even if you survive all that, I promise you this:
You might never, ever again, find so much pleasure in anything else on this planet.
Jack Nicholson made a movie years ago, in which there's a scene I will never forget. He plays a character who has a lot of psychological/emotional problems. He's in the packed waiting room of a psychotherapists office, and it's a foregone conclusion of course, that all those people are there because life just aint' giving them what they want. As he looks over the sad crowd before exiting the room, he glares, and loudly addresses the whole room with the following question:
"What if this is as good as it gets?" He turns, quietly shuts the door, and leaves.
Damn, that is cruel! OxyContin is cruel in exactly the same way. Forget the withdrawals, dependency, and everything else. If you survive, what if OxyContin is as good as it gets?
The real answer of course, is that life goes on. My shrink actually suggested that I might be correct to assume that I will never again find anything as alluring as OxyContin. He may be right, but that doesn't mean I should, or anyone else should, give up. Life will go on, but why put yourself through the hell that most of the people who write to me have gone through (myself included).
Oxy sucks. Oxy is wonderful.
Getting screwed over sucks. Revenge is fulfilling. Somehow we manage to avoid killing the bastards who have screwed us over and life goes on. Maybe it's the same with OxyContin.
So to answer Jane's questions...
Are you going to go through withdrawal syndrome after such a short duration? I think you probably will, but you might not. Nobody knows for sure. I can assure you of one thing though:
...You will find out.
Do you want to find out now, or later?
Stop taking the shit right now, Jane.
Peace,
Gus
Monday, June 30, 2008
Oxy Hell
Like most people, it seems like I have several email addresses, some that I use frequently and others, like the one associated with this blog, that I don't check as frequently as I should. Of all the addresses I have though, I must admit that I have only recently realized that this one is the most important.
Every time I log on to the email address associated with this blog, I am inundated with comments and questions from people who are currently living in, and have lived in Oxy Hell. If you found this obscure little blog because you are locked in the painful jaws of dependency, or because you are remembering the pleasure you once had (and are wondering why you work so hard to avoid it), I want to let you know something: you are not alone.
I know you are not alone because it is really difficult to find this blog, and from the tons of emails I receive, it is obvious how much people like you and me are taunted by, haunted by, and controlled by this drug. You need to know that, from the emails I receive, it appears that we all seem to share a very similar experience. From the initial joy of the drug, to the first shock of realizing that you can't survive without it, the attempts to replace it, the Suboxone, the Methadone, and not the least of which, the challenge of staying away from something so incredibly pleasurable after working so hard to stay clean, we are all living the same story line. I am convinced of it.
Someone recently commented that there are doctors who refer this blog to their patients, and I must admit that it takes a lot of courage for a doctor to do that because what I have shared here is blatantly honest and not always in-line with the story that 12-steppers, shrinks, and the CDC would like to promote. However, what you see here is not just my story, it is the story of anyone who's ever slid down into that beautifully comfortable place where Oxy can take you, and the devastating cost that one must pay to get there or get out. And, I always remember that there are some who check into that beautiful place, never check out, and pay the ultimate price.
There are those who have suggested that I have put too much emphasis on the machine that creates and promotes Oxy, and not enough emphasis on individual responsibility for the situation we've all found ourselves in. Perhaps that's true, but it cannot be denied that this drug presents the ultimate dichotomy: Oxy is good for you, and Oxy is bad for you. It's good for you if you are a cancer patient suffering from the ultimate pain. It is bad for you if you are a cancer patient and you recover from your cancer but remain hooked on Oxy. Oxy is good for you if you are depressed, but Oxy is bad for you because it leaves your depression at the door when your wallet, your sources, or your ability to function has run dry. Sure there are other drugs in this world, and they each present their own challenges, but the irony of Oxy is that there is a blurry line between that point where Oxy is good for you, and that point where Oxy becomes bad for you.
Unfortunately it has been almost a year since I have posted to this blog, but when I think about it, all the important parts have been posted. The important parts are the ones you are here for. You are here to wonder if you are the only one who is shivering at the toilet for the first time wondering why your hands feel like giant frozen rocks. You are here to wonder what will happen if you visit your doctor and attempt to get the help you need. You are here because you want to know what happens when you try to kick the Drug Replacement Therapy. I hope you'll find those answers here, but looking at the fact that I haven't posted in a year reminds me that there is something else I must share with you.
I guess my affair with Oxy began around five years ago. If you read my posts you'll join me from the beginning and travel with me through all of the different chapters of the Oxy Love Affair that you too will likely go through. What I want to share with you is the idea that there doesn't seem to be a time (at least not in my experience) when Oxy is positioned so far back in your rear-view mirror that it is inconsequential. In March of 2007 I finally got off Suboxone and it wasn't easy. I will reiterate that it was not even remotely as difficult as going cold-turkey on Oxy, but it did take effort. In August of 2007 I encountered a challenging 'life event' as the shrinks might put it. The shrinks should tell it like it is. I was going through something that had nothing to do with Oxy, but it was something that rocked my world with equal destruction, and it had nothing to do with drugs. I will let you think about what kind of 'life event' it might have been, but that's not what's important. What matters is the fact that Oxy was there, it will always be there, and it is like an old lover that will always take you back. I took her in my arms and she lovingly held me when there was nothing else that could stop my tears.
After two or three weeks of allowing Oxy to let me sleep over, I realized that she was just as bad for me as the situation I was seeking comfort from. I found a new doctor who dispensed Suboxone, and this doctor had a remarkable attitude and approach to the situation. Although I had only been taking Oxy for a few weeks, I felt I probably could stop, but I knew I didn't want to. This wasn't just a question of dependency, as three weeks or so probably wouldn't be such a hard string to kick. This was a question of whether or not I would ever stop taking Oxy in light of the situation I was medicating myself for. I started taking Suboxone again, and I haven't even attempted to quit.
To some, this might sound wrong. But the attitude and approach of my new doctor was something that struck me in a different light. He suggested that I recognize the fact that while I was on Suboxone I didn't feel the urge to take Oxy, or any other opiates for that matter. Considering that Suboxone had very few negative consequences on my day-to-day functioning and health, why would I quit taking it? After all, it seemed that when I took Suboxone I was less likely to take opiates, and ultimately, whatever negative consequences arose from taking Suboxone, they were much less than the risk that might arise if I went back to my opioid lover.
So, here's the idea I will leave you with until the next time I have something important to add to this blog. Oxy is kind of like having a child. Kids grow up and eventually, for better or for worse, they go away. However, they are always out there. You love them, but you don't want to live with them forever, and you hope they move along and live their own lives, but no matter what you do, they will always be a part of you. There will never come a time when you can look back and say to yourself "Well. parenthood is over, and I don't have to worry about those kids again." Oxy will always be a part of you. We all want to hear that there will come a time when we are "free" of our memories and that we'll never again have to reflect on the years when Oxy was such a big part of our lives, but I think that it is unlikely that anyone could ever get to that point.
This might be kind of depressing for someone who is at the point where they are deep in the throngs of dependency and desperately wanting to rid themselves of Oxy's crushing grip, but maybe this paradigm could be helpful. Oxy gave us all something wonderful, but ultimately painful. Instead of attempting the daunting task of ridding ourselves completely of our memories and desires, instead of wishing and hoping for a way to erase what has happened, maybe it is easier to accept that we can't eliminate Oxy from our lives any more than we can eliminate our affection for our first kiss, our first love, our deepest joys. It might always be there. It might be easier to accept this fact, to live with what we know about Oxy, than to hope for a day when what Oxy has revealed to us somehow disappears. After all, if you could erase your Oxy experience, you'd probably discover it all over again.
Peace,
Gus
Every time I log on to the email address associated with this blog, I am inundated with comments and questions from people who are currently living in, and have lived in Oxy Hell. If you found this obscure little blog because you are locked in the painful jaws of dependency, or because you are remembering the pleasure you once had (and are wondering why you work so hard to avoid it), I want to let you know something: you are not alone.
I know you are not alone because it is really difficult to find this blog, and from the tons of emails I receive, it is obvious how much people like you and me are taunted by, haunted by, and controlled by this drug. You need to know that, from the emails I receive, it appears that we all seem to share a very similar experience. From the initial joy of the drug, to the first shock of realizing that you can't survive without it, the attempts to replace it, the Suboxone, the Methadone, and not the least of which, the challenge of staying away from something so incredibly pleasurable after working so hard to stay clean, we are all living the same story line. I am convinced of it.
Someone recently commented that there are doctors who refer this blog to their patients, and I must admit that it takes a lot of courage for a doctor to do that because what I have shared here is blatantly honest and not always in-line with the story that 12-steppers, shrinks, and the CDC would like to promote. However, what you see here is not just my story, it is the story of anyone who's ever slid down into that beautifully comfortable place where Oxy can take you, and the devastating cost that one must pay to get there or get out. And, I always remember that there are some who check into that beautiful place, never check out, and pay the ultimate price.
There are those who have suggested that I have put too much emphasis on the machine that creates and promotes Oxy, and not enough emphasis on individual responsibility for the situation we've all found ourselves in. Perhaps that's true, but it cannot be denied that this drug presents the ultimate dichotomy: Oxy is good for you, and Oxy is bad for you. It's good for you if you are a cancer patient suffering from the ultimate pain. It is bad for you if you are a cancer patient and you recover from your cancer but remain hooked on Oxy. Oxy is good for you if you are depressed, but Oxy is bad for you because it leaves your depression at the door when your wallet, your sources, or your ability to function has run dry. Sure there are other drugs in this world, and they each present their own challenges, but the irony of Oxy is that there is a blurry line between that point where Oxy is good for you, and that point where Oxy becomes bad for you.
Unfortunately it has been almost a year since I have posted to this blog, but when I think about it, all the important parts have been posted. The important parts are the ones you are here for. You are here to wonder if you are the only one who is shivering at the toilet for the first time wondering why your hands feel like giant frozen rocks. You are here to wonder what will happen if you visit your doctor and attempt to get the help you need. You are here because you want to know what happens when you try to kick the Drug Replacement Therapy. I hope you'll find those answers here, but looking at the fact that I haven't posted in a year reminds me that there is something else I must share with you.
I guess my affair with Oxy began around five years ago. If you read my posts you'll join me from the beginning and travel with me through all of the different chapters of the Oxy Love Affair that you too will likely go through. What I want to share with you is the idea that there doesn't seem to be a time (at least not in my experience) when Oxy is positioned so far back in your rear-view mirror that it is inconsequential. In March of 2007 I finally got off Suboxone and it wasn't easy. I will reiterate that it was not even remotely as difficult as going cold-turkey on Oxy, but it did take effort. In August of 2007 I encountered a challenging 'life event' as the shrinks might put it. The shrinks should tell it like it is. I was going through something that had nothing to do with Oxy, but it was something that rocked my world with equal destruction, and it had nothing to do with drugs. I will let you think about what kind of 'life event' it might have been, but that's not what's important. What matters is the fact that Oxy was there, it will always be there, and it is like an old lover that will always take you back. I took her in my arms and she lovingly held me when there was nothing else that could stop my tears.
After two or three weeks of allowing Oxy to let me sleep over, I realized that she was just as bad for me as the situation I was seeking comfort from. I found a new doctor who dispensed Suboxone, and this doctor had a remarkable attitude and approach to the situation. Although I had only been taking Oxy for a few weeks, I felt I probably could stop, but I knew I didn't want to. This wasn't just a question of dependency, as three weeks or so probably wouldn't be such a hard string to kick. This was a question of whether or not I would ever stop taking Oxy in light of the situation I was medicating myself for. I started taking Suboxone again, and I haven't even attempted to quit.
To some, this might sound wrong. But the attitude and approach of my new doctor was something that struck me in a different light. He suggested that I recognize the fact that while I was on Suboxone I didn't feel the urge to take Oxy, or any other opiates for that matter. Considering that Suboxone had very few negative consequences on my day-to-day functioning and health, why would I quit taking it? After all, it seemed that when I took Suboxone I was less likely to take opiates, and ultimately, whatever negative consequences arose from taking Suboxone, they were much less than the risk that might arise if I went back to my opioid lover.
So, here's the idea I will leave you with until the next time I have something important to add to this blog. Oxy is kind of like having a child. Kids grow up and eventually, for better or for worse, they go away. However, they are always out there. You love them, but you don't want to live with them forever, and you hope they move along and live their own lives, but no matter what you do, they will always be a part of you. There will never come a time when you can look back and say to yourself "Well. parenthood is over, and I don't have to worry about those kids again." Oxy will always be a part of you. We all want to hear that there will come a time when we are "free" of our memories and that we'll never again have to reflect on the years when Oxy was such a big part of our lives, but I think that it is unlikely that anyone could ever get to that point.
This might be kind of depressing for someone who is at the point where they are deep in the throngs of dependency and desperately wanting to rid themselves of Oxy's crushing grip, but maybe this paradigm could be helpful. Oxy gave us all something wonderful, but ultimately painful. Instead of attempting the daunting task of ridding ourselves completely of our memories and desires, instead of wishing and hoping for a way to erase what has happened, maybe it is easier to accept that we can't eliminate Oxy from our lives any more than we can eliminate our affection for our first kiss, our first love, our deepest joys. It might always be there. It might be easier to accept this fact, to live with what we know about Oxy, than to hope for a day when what Oxy has revealed to us somehow disappears. After all, if you could erase your Oxy experience, you'd probably discover it all over again.
Peace,
Gus
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Guliani Lobbing for Oxy?
Rudy, Rudy, Rudy! What were you thinking?
According to the Washington Post, Guliani Partners was hired to lobby for Michael Friedman, one of three executives at Purdue Pharma who plead guilty to charges of misbranding OxyContin as being less addictive than doctors suspected.
Friedman plead guilty. In his sworn statement before the court, he claimed that he knew he had the opportunity of a trial, but chose instead to plead guilty because he agreed with the government's assertion that he was responsible for the company and it's behavior.
Why would Guliani then, make calls to the DEA, the courts, and whoever else would listen, as he defended Purdue? Why would Rudy defend someone who signed an agreement admitting that the company they were responsible for had gone bad?
The government says I'm a bad guy. I agree with them. All I need to do is call Rudy, and with a few calls, my admission of a crime results in no sentence.
Granted, the guys at Purdue wound up paying tons O' cash to the government, but I really doubt it will ultimately come out of their own pockets (can you say: Help me Sackler!!!).
The problem with Rudy, is the problem with Purdue, is the problem with this entire country. We'll all trade our integrity for cold, hard, cash any day.
The finest lubricant known to man has a picture of Benjamin Franklin on it.
According to the Washington Post, Guliani Partners was hired to lobby for Michael Friedman, one of three executives at Purdue Pharma who plead guilty to charges of misbranding OxyContin as being less addictive than doctors suspected.
Friedman plead guilty. In his sworn statement before the court, he claimed that he knew he had the opportunity of a trial, but chose instead to plead guilty because he agreed with the government's assertion that he was responsible for the company and it's behavior.
Why would Guliani then, make calls to the DEA, the courts, and whoever else would listen, as he defended Purdue? Why would Rudy defend someone who signed an agreement admitting that the company they were responsible for had gone bad?
The government says I'm a bad guy. I agree with them. All I need to do is call Rudy, and with a few calls, my admission of a crime results in no sentence.
Granted, the guys at Purdue wound up paying tons O' cash to the government, but I really doubt it will ultimately come out of their own pockets (can you say: Help me Sackler!!!).
The problem with Rudy, is the problem with Purdue, is the problem with this entire country. We'll all trade our integrity for cold, hard, cash any day.
The finest lubricant known to man has a picture of Benjamin Franklin on it.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
OxyContin Addiction: Blame The Victim
In light of the recent OxyContin lawsuit, The Eagle-Tribune, a newspaper from a suburb north of Boston, ran an opinion/editorial today suggesting that pharmaceutical companies can do some bad things, but that the "ultimate responsibility" lies with the drug user.
Something about that pissed me off.
I whacked away at the keyboard with the following response, which basically mirrors my manifesto. I hope you enjoy it. A link to the Op/Ed is at the end. As always, I welcome your thoughts.
To the Editor:
I was one of the people referred to in a recent Eagle-Tribune editorial who became addicted to OxyContin by “…crushing it and snorting it up the nose to achieve an instant high.” The editorial asks the question “…who is responsible for the addiction?”
Despite the sarcastic response to the question by the Eagle-Tribune, I choose to stand exposed and humbly admit that the responsibility was mine. However, the assertion by the Eagle-Tribune that “…the ultimate responsibility for prescription drug abuse rests with those who misuse products intended to provide relief from legitimate medical conditions…” is shallow and far too simplistic.
The active ingredient in OxyContin is oxycodone. Oxycodone is made from opium. Opium comes from a plant called papaver somniferum, the opium poppy. The main source for the opium in oxycodone is Afghanistan, where it is legally grown under controls by the United Nations.
The active ingredient in heroin comes from opium, which is made from papaver somniferum, the same poppy plant that makes the opium for OxyContin. The main source for the opium in heroin is Afghanistan, where it is grown illegally.
When I abused OxyContin, I didn’t have a “heroin-like” high. I had the exact same high.
The Eagle-Tribune could have asked a better question, which is: despite all of our advances in modern medicine, why is it that our front-line response to severe pain is virtually identical to the same drug that has been turning good people into drug-crazed junkies since the beginning of civilization? Can we seriously tell cancer victims that the best we can offer them is a modern-day version of the same opiate that made life-long addicts out of wounded soldiers in the Civil War? Is telling a sufferer of debilitating, chronic arthritis that the best medicine we can prescribe is a derivative of the same drug that killed John Belushi, Chris Farley, and Janis Joplin? How can we not laugh at the insanity of our doctors being urged by pharmaceutical companies to prescribe a variation of the same drug, from the same poppy plant that was used by Hippocrates over 2400 years ago?
Is OxyContin a miracle drug or is it merely the same old thing dressed up in a new a costume, hand sewn by pharmaceutical executives? If OxyContin was a miracle drug, it could not be abused, and as a result, this conversation wouldn’t be necessary.
We imprison the sellers of heroin and seize the profits from their activities because of the harm their product causes our society. When a company sells a drug that can be diverted from legitimate use, then be traded, abused, and destroy lives, the Eagle-Tribune would have us believe that the company is ultimately absolved because those who died merely lacked the moral capacity to accept responsibility and were therefore deserving of their death.
If it is assumed that Purdue Pharma was paid for every single tablet of OxyContin that left their factories, then it must be true that every time I snorted a crushed tablet of OxyContin, the money eventually found its way back to Purdue Pharma. If I was wrong for snorting their OxyContin, is Purdue Pharma right for keeping my money? The Eagle-Tribune would have us believe that if a pharmaceutical company warns the public that a drug has the potential to be used in a harmful way, the company is relieved of responsibility. Using that same logic, I should be able to sell heroin as long as I sell it to someone with the “intent to provide relief from legitimate medical conditions such as chronic pain.” How can the position of the Eagle-Tribune draw a distinction? After all, heroin and OxyContin are twin alkaloid brothers of the same mother poppy, and heroin could be legitimately used to kill the same pain that OxyContin does.
To recover from my addiction to OxyContin, I was prescribed a real miracle drug, another opiate derivative called Suboxone. Without it I would still be addicted, or spending the rest of my life going to a Methadone clinic. The government is so concerned about people misusing Suboxone that the manufacturer has been required by the D.E.A. to formulate it in a complex way that would radically sicken anyone who tried to abuse it. As a result, addicts take this new medicine as intended and they get well. The government placed strict requirements on how the Suboxone can be administered, who can administer it, and even placed a limit on the number of patients a doctor may prescribe it to. Getting treatment with this new miracle drug is difficult because of the few doctors who are willing to put up the training and reporting the government requires. The difficulty I faced in getting this life-saving treatment led me to one last revealing question.
After making the reprehensible suggestion that those who died from abusing OxyContin are ultimately responsible for their own deaths, my final question is one that the Eagle-Tribune doesn’t have the empathy to understand, but is quite capable of answering:
Why is it so easy to obtain and abuse OxyContin in this country, but so difficult to obtain and abuse the medicine that heals those who are addicted to it?
Should the Eagle-Tribune care to consider the answer to that question, they will find the truth about where the ultimate responsibility for prescription drug abuse lies.
The original Op/Ed piece resides at The Eagle-Tribune.
Something about that pissed me off.
I whacked away at the keyboard with the following response, which basically mirrors my manifesto. I hope you enjoy it. A link to the Op/Ed is at the end. As always, I welcome your thoughts.
To the Editor:
I was one of the people referred to in a recent Eagle-Tribune editorial who became addicted to OxyContin by “…crushing it and snorting it up the nose to achieve an instant high.” The editorial asks the question “…who is responsible for the addiction?”
Despite the sarcastic response to the question by the Eagle-Tribune, I choose to stand exposed and humbly admit that the responsibility was mine. However, the assertion by the Eagle-Tribune that “…the ultimate responsibility for prescription drug abuse rests with those who misuse products intended to provide relief from legitimate medical conditions…” is shallow and far too simplistic.
The active ingredient in OxyContin is oxycodone. Oxycodone is made from opium. Opium comes from a plant called papaver somniferum, the opium poppy. The main source for the opium in oxycodone is Afghanistan, where it is legally grown under controls by the United Nations.
The active ingredient in heroin comes from opium, which is made from papaver somniferum, the same poppy plant that makes the opium for OxyContin. The main source for the opium in heroin is Afghanistan, where it is grown illegally.
When I abused OxyContin, I didn’t have a “heroin-like” high. I had the exact same high.
The Eagle-Tribune could have asked a better question, which is: despite all of our advances in modern medicine, why is it that our front-line response to severe pain is virtually identical to the same drug that has been turning good people into drug-crazed junkies since the beginning of civilization? Can we seriously tell cancer victims that the best we can offer them is a modern-day version of the same opiate that made life-long addicts out of wounded soldiers in the Civil War? Is telling a sufferer of debilitating, chronic arthritis that the best medicine we can prescribe is a derivative of the same drug that killed John Belushi, Chris Farley, and Janis Joplin? How can we not laugh at the insanity of our doctors being urged by pharmaceutical companies to prescribe a variation of the same drug, from the same poppy plant that was used by Hippocrates over 2400 years ago?
Is OxyContin a miracle drug or is it merely the same old thing dressed up in a new a costume, hand sewn by pharmaceutical executives? If OxyContin was a miracle drug, it could not be abused, and as a result, this conversation wouldn’t be necessary.
We imprison the sellers of heroin and seize the profits from their activities because of the harm their product causes our society. When a company sells a drug that can be diverted from legitimate use, then be traded, abused, and destroy lives, the Eagle-Tribune would have us believe that the company is ultimately absolved because those who died merely lacked the moral capacity to accept responsibility and were therefore deserving of their death.
If it is assumed that Purdue Pharma was paid for every single tablet of OxyContin that left their factories, then it must be true that every time I snorted a crushed tablet of OxyContin, the money eventually found its way back to Purdue Pharma. If I was wrong for snorting their OxyContin, is Purdue Pharma right for keeping my money? The Eagle-Tribune would have us believe that if a pharmaceutical company warns the public that a drug has the potential to be used in a harmful way, the company is relieved of responsibility. Using that same logic, I should be able to sell heroin as long as I sell it to someone with the “intent to provide relief from legitimate medical conditions such as chronic pain.” How can the position of the Eagle-Tribune draw a distinction? After all, heroin and OxyContin are twin alkaloid brothers of the same mother poppy, and heroin could be legitimately used to kill the same pain that OxyContin does.
To recover from my addiction to OxyContin, I was prescribed a real miracle drug, another opiate derivative called Suboxone. Without it I would still be addicted, or spending the rest of my life going to a Methadone clinic. The government is so concerned about people misusing Suboxone that the manufacturer has been required by the D.E.A. to formulate it in a complex way that would radically sicken anyone who tried to abuse it. As a result, addicts take this new medicine as intended and they get well. The government placed strict requirements on how the Suboxone can be administered, who can administer it, and even placed a limit on the number of patients a doctor may prescribe it to. Getting treatment with this new miracle drug is difficult because of the few doctors who are willing to put up the training and reporting the government requires. The difficulty I faced in getting this life-saving treatment led me to one last revealing question.
After making the reprehensible suggestion that those who died from abusing OxyContin are ultimately responsible for their own deaths, my final question is one that the Eagle-Tribune doesn’t have the empathy to understand, but is quite capable of answering:
Why is it so easy to obtain and abuse OxyContin in this country, but so difficult to obtain and abuse the medicine that heals those who are addicted to it?
Should the Eagle-Tribune care to consider the answer to that question, they will find the truth about where the ultimate responsibility for prescription drug abuse lies.
The original Op/Ed piece resides at The Eagle-Tribune.
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