DarkwingPsyduck
Active Member
I was on opiates of any kind, but preferably oxycodone. But I did 'em all. Opana, Morphine, Dilaudid, Hydrocodone, etc. Amazingly, I only ever did heroin twice. Most people go from pills to straight heroin due to the cost effectivness of it. I was using anywhere from 300-400mg of oxycodone a day. Usually, I had the 30mg IR oxycodone, or Roxicodone. When I was using, the pills went for about 15 a pop retail. I would buy in bulk from a Hell's Angel (big presence here in Reno) at 6-8 bux, and sell for 15. You'd think I'd have been LOADED, but I was broke. Always. Every dime went straight up my own nose. I realized that the size of the habit is generally equal to the access you have. If I had less, I could make do with it. If I had more, that'd be my habit. I was only using habitually for 3-4 years. Aside from that, I was a heavy binge drinker, but never anything resembling an alcoholic. I was 16, and on my own. Living off the good graces of girlfriends' and friends' parents whenever possible. I only had to be outside overnight a hand full of times, but that was bad enough. My friends an I would get hammered whenever we could. I was young, and didn't have a whole lot going for me.
I got clean the exact same way every other addict gets clean. That's to say, I struggled, and failed more times than I am proud of. I got better, then got worse, then kinda stagnated. I tried to do it on my own for 2 years straight, without ever bringing it up with my aunt or uncle. They knew, because they weren't blind or stupid, but they waited for me to approach them. Finally, I became desperate. With head hung, I swallowed my pride and talked to my aunt about it. Which is what she had been waiting for. I went into a Suboxone treatment program that had pretty strict rules. At first, I only got 1 week supplies at a time, and had to pee clean every week. I did that without issue for the first year, then was on a normal monthly schedule, as well as NA meetings. Finally realized that my doctor had no intention of getting me clean. He wasn't pushing me to drop my dose at all, and he never brought up the future. Once a month, I would go into his office, step on a scale, piss in a cup, and get handed my prescription. He had a financial incentive not to push the matter at all. So I started doing it myself. It was incredibly difficult. I had been on it for far too long without tapering a single time, so even the smallest drops were felt. Nowhere near as bad as the withdrawal from 300mg of oxycodone, but pretty bad. In one year, I went from 8mg a day to 2mg a day. Finally, I got into it with my doctor, and refused to go back. I took 1 year to drop 6mg, and 1 month to drop 2mg. Didn't sleep for 5 days. Went down to 110lbs. It has only been about a year since my last dose, and I am STILL not entirely 100%. I still feel residual physical and mental symptom. Called Post Acute Withdrawal Symptoms, or PAWS. It gets easier, just at a snail's pace.
Like I said, it isn't that your son WANTS to fail. But failing is much harder than not trying at all. After so many relapses, I was at the point where I was afraid to try again because I didn't want to fail. I didn't want to disappointment my aunt anymore. Didn't want to get her hopes up, only to blow it days or weeks later. I think your son probably feels the same way.
without them. Couldn't enjoy anything without them. Couldn't enjoy spending time with my friends without drugs. Couldn't even have sex without drugs. I think I truly accepted that I had a very serious problem when I realized that I wasn't taking drugs to get high anymore. I was taking them just to not feel like death incarnate. I was continuing to use drugs despite the fact that the recreational value was gone entirely. THAT was when I finally saw it for what it really was.
