Breakthrough Addiction Recovery: One Man's Story of Pain Pill Addiction

This is one man's story of his addiction to prescription pain killers. He describes in detail the lengths to which he had to resort to support his addiction and the psychological effects and toll it took on him. It is a true story and was written by one of our clients during his detoxification and treatment.

Pain Free?

My journey through pain pill addiction

Chapter 1

It’s what we all want, isn’t it. To live our lives happily, free from pain. Not one person I have ever met enjoys it. Whether the pain is physical, emotional, financial or spiritual, we all long for a life that is pain free. Perhaps it is an impossible goal, but every last one of us shoots for it, dreaming of having no problems.

I thought my life was pretty good. I grew up in a Brady Bunch mentality family with all of my needs met. At the very least, mine was a family that most would dream about. Not only did I always have a roof over my head, but I had my own room, never missed a meal, went to good schools, had all the toys any boy could ever want, a sister to tease, parents that were actually married and happy for the most part. I even went to a Christian College which my Dad happily paid for. Yes sir, I had it all and never really needed anything. So why not do what every red blooded American kid does when he goes to college. PARTY!!

I was fairly naïve when I went away to college. Maybe had two or three drinking episodes as a teen under my belt, but I would soon learn what happens to kids that go to Christian colleges. Of course it doesn’t happen to us all, but for the most part this is what happens at Christian liberal arts colleges. The kid goes to a “Christian” college because he grew up in the church and this makes mom and dad very happy. When he gets there he realizes that he is among a group that has at least one thing in common. They were fairly sheltered growing up and now we have FREEDOM!! We can come and go as we please and there is no one there to question where we have been and what we have been doing. Most of all we are free to try all of those new experiences that we could not while living at home.

So, here we go… at first it’s the drinking, then it’s the weed. And boy did I like the weed. I was a surfer, and I didn’t find it hard at all to find other surfers that liked to smoke a joint or hit a bong whenever the opportunity stood before us. I never was much of a drinker. I didn’t have the stomach for it. Like all college kids I had my late night puke fests, swore to the good Lord that if He would take away this hangover I would never drink again. I am sure He has never heard that before. What I discovered is that when I smoked pot, I had a better time, and I never felt bad from it; unless you consider a horrible case of the munchies bad. So I found it. I found my first drug of choice. It was readily available, relatively inexpensive, and I had tons of friends to keep me company.

Enter, the concerned friend. I had a friend back home that new of my daily use of marijuana, he was not a user, and he was concerned about me. I have no idea why, I was only smoking weed. Sure I started each day with the proverbial "wake and bake" and ended each day with the good night bong hit. But it was only pot. It’s not like I am on the street corner smoking crack, what’s the big deal. Mr. concerned friend decided to tell my dad what I was doing and dad panicked. Now that I am a dad, I can’t say I blamed him. It was something he had very little experience with and he was concerned. He showed up at my apartment after driving 1200 miles away completely unannounced. He walked in to find empty beer cans throughout the apartment and my bong and rolling papers on the kitchen table. Needless to say I was slightly surprised. Basically he told me I was coming home with him and getting drug counseling, or I was completely cut off financially. Being that he was paying for school, and my apartment, and my food, and I had no job, it was a fairly easy decision, so home I went.

He just didn’t get it. We are talking about pot. It grows out of the ground. It is something God created for our enjoyment. It is not physically addictive. Sure it is bad for you physically, but so is smoking three packs of cigarettes per day, which he did. We were just filling our paper with a different type of plant. I was fine and he just didn’t understand. So I had a plan. I would go through the motions, be compliant and make them happy. Then I could go back to school, continue as I please, and make sure I never told that back stabbing friend that ratted me out anything again.

And that’s what I did. I went to a counselor that they set up for me. First let me say that I was in no place to receive help, mainly because I didn’t want it. I knew this lady from church and knew her background. On my first day of counseling I asked her a simple question. Have you ever smoked marijuana? I knew full well that the answer was no. She skirted it and I could tell the question made her uncomfortable. I told her that there was no way she could help me because she never walked in my shoes. You see, I have worked with young people for years, and this is what they want. If you haven’t experienced what I am experiencing, you cannot help me. Now I know now that may not necessarily be true. I am sure there are plenty of counselors out there that have not done drugs and they know how to help. But if a kid feels this way, it is difficult to help them and that is where I was at. I went to a few sessions and hated every minute. Meanwhile, I would get together with my buddies from home and smoke away, never intending to stop.

My parents could tell that I was not getting anything out of my sessions with her and they had another idea. What about the assistant pastor at the church? He has experienced it all. Not only had he had experience with pot, but later in life he almost died on the streets as a heroin addict before giving his life to the Lord and making something of himself. I began counseling with him and I was much more open. I respected where he had been and trusted his experiences. He really did help me in many areas of my life. The only thing I didn’t buy into is him telling me what I had heard others say before. That is that marijuana is a “gateway” drug, opening the door to trying other drugs. No way mister, not me. I was perfectly happy with my ganja and had no desire for anything else. Open mouth, insert foot.

Chapter 2

Back to college I went, ready to study, surf, and of course smoke a little weed with my buddies. Like everything else in life that you do too much, I began to get bored with pot, but I was intimidated by other drugs until one of my friends showed up with some shrooms. For those few who are not aware, there is a type of mushroom that grows on cow shit that when eaten or made into tea make you feel quite funny. Not quite as intense of a hallucinogenic as LSD, but nonetheless it is quite a trip. I nervously tried it and liked it as promised. I never became a regular to this, but would do it with friends on occasion. So much for never trying anything else.

I pretty much stayed on the pattern of drinking, smoking pot, and tripping on shrooms once in a while throughout the remainder of my college daze. It wasn’t long before I graduated and decided to get married. I realized that it was now time to grow up. I was seeking a job working for the state and new that there would be no way to avoid a drug test. So I made the mature decision to stop smoking weed and begin my adult life. I did not really have a hard time stopping. My mind was occupied with starting my life with a new career and starting a family. I became very involved in church with my wife and soon we had a son.

Now it was my turn to live the Brady Bunch lifestyle. We bought a house and we were in church three or more times per week. Life was good. Actually looking back now it was almost that pain free state we all look for. I had everything I could want or need. I wasn’t wealthy by any means, but I had a beautiful wife, an awesome son, and just a great all around routine. As the years passed I began to feel what most feel at some point. Boredom. Sure things were good, but I was kind of bored and at the same time we had just gone through some pretty tough financial problems. I landed a better job and was just coming out of my financial problems then it happened. I needed a rood canal. I am sure at this point you may be saying, “yeah, o.k., a root canal, so what. Everyone has dental issues sometimes, what’s the point”.

It wasn’t the root canal that changed my life. It was this cool little pill that the dentist prescribed for me after the procedure. Maybe you have heard of it. It’s called Vicoden. It didn’t take me long to figure out that not only did it deaden the pain; it made me feel pretty damn good. Whenever I took a pill, I felt happy. I would get a little chatty, felt mellow, had just a good feeling overall about life. It was only a couple of days and the pain from the dental work subsided and I didn’t need the medication anymore. I came home from work, ate dinner, and went to the bathroom. As I sat in my favorite seat in the house I saw my amber colored prescription bottle on the counter. I opened it up and there were five more pills left. I didn’t see the problem at the time and looking back I wish I did. It would have saved me years of trouble if I realized that it was a problem that I wanted to take one even though there was no medical reason to take it. I wasn’t in the best of moods that evening and I instantly thought about how good I felt when I took one of these white pills. So I took one.

I had quite an enjoyable evening. Chatted with my wife, watched some football, and just enjoyed my good mood. I had no idea what a life altering night that was. I now viewed this pill not as medicine for physical pain, but to alter my mood. Why can’t we see flashing red lights and hear “danger, danger” at these moments in life. If I did see the light, and hear a warning, would I have run away? I think we so long for our life to be free of any type of pain we are blind to any warning signs. After all, I knew some people could possibly get addicted to these types of drugs, but not me. I am just taking one pill to be in a good mood. No problem.

Four nights later I was out of Vicoden. I was disappointed I was out of them, but oh well. It was nice while it lasted. Life went on as normal. Work, church, eat, sleep. Work, church, eat, sleep. Work, church, eat, sleep. I was in a pattern. I was fairly happy but not thrilled. My marriage was ok, but dull. Work was good, and my son was great. My wife however began having some physical issues. She had no idea how, but she found herself with a herniated disc in her lower back. She had tried Advil and Tylenol, but nothing was working for her. She went to the doctor and he wrote her a prescription for a muscle relaxer and… you guessed it. Vicoden. She began taking the medication and the muscle relaxer helped, but the Vicoden made her sick to her stomach.

I felt bad for her, but I was quite happy there was a bottle of thirty Vicoden in the house that she had no interest in. And so it began. I started taking a pill everyday after dinner and I couldn’t be happier. That little white pill became my carrot at the end of the day. I would work hard, come home to my family, and be able to instantly get in a good mood for them. It was so easy. I am not hurting anybody and I feel great. For all who don’t know there are about thirty days in most months. The bottle of thirty pills was now down to a few left. This bothered me. I was now in a habit of taking one pill per night and they were almost gone. But guess what? My wife continued to be in pain and she returned to her doctor. She came home with two prescriptions. One was for the muscle relaxer, but the other Rx was for something different since the Vicoden made her sick. Now she had an order for a bottle of thirty Percocet. I had heard of Percocet but had never taken it. She tried it and didn’t like it. She said it made her feel spaced out.

I am sure you didn’t see this coming, but I tried one and guess what? I loved it. It basically made me feel the same way the Vicoden did. It was a different milligram dose, but did the same thing. I was thrilled. She wasn’t going to take them so I had another month of good moods ahead. Lucky me.

Chapter 3

My poor wife. I felt so bad for her. She was in legitimate pain and nothing helped and in some sick way I was benefiting from it. Over the next few months she has scripts for it all; Vicoden, Lortab, Percocet, Darvocet and none of it helped her. I did all I could to help her and I never complained. Of course not, I had quite a supply of things to keep me happy. It wasn’t long before I started to realize that I wasn’t getting quite the effect I desired. That is the problem with opiates, our bodies start to get used to having that chemical and we don’t feel it so much any more. I was nervous the very first time but I decided to give it a try. If one pill didn’t work anymore, maybe taking a second pill would give me that feeling I so loved. BINGO! It worked. I thought I felt good before taking one pill, now it was double the pleasure. So now this became my daily routine after work. Have dinner and now it was my time to relax. Pop two pills and I was a happy camper.

Unfortunately my wife had to have back surgery. There were two great things about this though. The surgery helped her greatly, and she had all kinds of prescriptions for pain pills. She was feeling better and I was taking her medicine. We were both happy, right? Wrong. Very wrong.

I am divorced now, and that is a topic for another book. Was my addiction the cause for my divorce? I don’t believe it was directly, but it definitely played a part. There were many reasons for the divorce but a major player in the drama was the fact that I became apathetic. I looked at my recreational use of opiates as a release, or a way to relax. What I didn’t realize at the time was that this was a numbing agent for me.

One of the symptoms of this was me becoming a couch potato at night and beginning to take for granted all of the things God had blessed me with. I look back now and my numbed state of mind took away from me being the husband and father I needed to be. I never cheated on my wife, and I always provided for my family. I loved my son and was there physically every day. But the choices I made to numb my unhappiness robbed the people I cared about most of the true me.

Soon my wife was feeling much better and her trips to the doctor stopped, and so did the prescriptions. The pills that were in the house soon ran out now that I was taking two pills per night and suddenly they were gone. I was not happy about this and actually became depressed once I took the last two. Now what? How am I going to feel this good and escape from my unhappy marriage? The next night came and I had no pills. I thought “oh well, its not like I am addicted or anything, I will be fine.” So I just went through my normal routine and went to bed. Tossing, and turning I realized I was not feeling so hot. My lower back was aching deep inside, my skin was clammy, and my nose would not stop running. What on earth was wrong with me and then it hit me. Am I going through withdrawal from this stuff? Can’t be. Withdrawal is something heroin addicts go through, not me. I felt like complete shit for the whole next day and finally my symptoms began to subside. I just brushed it under the carpet and told my wife I must have had a bug and was feeling better. I probably went about a month or so and life was pretty normal. It’s amazing how wrong we can be about our own lives.

It was fall and I came down with a nasty cold that started in my head and dropped into my chest like it does every year. After the cold I had a persistent cough that was keeping me up at night. Nothing worked to suppress the cough so I went to the doctor and he gave me an antibiotic and a prescription for a cough medicine called Tussionex. I took my prescriptions home and couldn’t believe how big this bottle of cough syrup was. I opened the packaging and read the ingredients and I saw a word that I had become very familiar with. Hydrocodone. For those who do not know, hydrocodone is the active ingredient in Vicoden, Lortab, and many other pain medications. Turns out hydrocodone is not only a pain killer, it’s a cough suppressant. My old friend was back.

I started taking the cough medicine as prescribed and realized it made me feel the same way as the pain pills did and I loved it. The bottle was so big I had a pretty good supply and of course started taking two or three teaspoons instead of one with some pretty good results. I was feeling as good as ever. But like everything else, the bottle became empty. I went for my follow up visit with the doctor and he asked how I was feeling. I was at a crossroad and very casually took the wrong road. This was a huge event for me and I had no idea at the time. This was the first time I actually lied to a doctor. I told him I was feeling better, but the cough was not going away and it was keeping me up at night. He asked me how the cough medicine that he given me had worked and I told him it worked great and it was the only way I was able to stop the cough to sleep at night. He gave me a refill and I left the office with mixed feelings. I was ecstatic that I had another bottle of my friend, but I kind of felt like a scum bag for lying to him. Oh well, I’m not hurting anyone. It is amazing what we can justify to relieve ourselves of guilt. I was desperately looking forward to that evening when I would take my medicine and watch Monday Night Football. And so the viscous circle began. Little did I know how viscous that circle was going to get.

Chapter 4

Eventually like every other time my prescription ran out and I felt like hell for a couple of days. I went for a month or so and I began to have a physical issue. I did a number on my lower back while working out in the gym and ended up at the doctor. This is the problem. I have great respect for physicians but often they only have tools to treat symptoms, not the actual problem. I soon learned that low back pain is quite common and unless it is a surgical problem, only the symptoms can be dealt with. There are options to try to fix the problem such as physical therapy and visiting a chiropractor, but most medical doctors will treat with some combination of anti-inflammatory medications, muscle relaxants, and of course, pain killers.

The doc gave me the magic combo and my old friend, hydrocodone was back. I never seemed to care that I would feel awful when the meds were gone. It was worth it. I was getting relief from the pain and enjoying the benefit of getting high at the same time. I would actually endure the pain during the day, just so I could take the whole day’s dose all at once at night to enjoy the high. These medications are great when used for short periods and taken as prescribed, but I enjoyed the side effects and would calculate out how to take enough to get high, but not run out too soon.

My back pain subsided but I learned a dangerous lesson. Back pain is almost impossible to prove and now I new the symptoms to describe to get what I wanted. I returned to the doctor to complain of the phantom back pain that won’t go away. And of course, the only thing that helps doc is the hydrocodone. After 3 or 4 visits to him for the same thing he suggested that I get an MRI. I was very hesitant to go, but I couldn’t blow my cover, so I went.

When the results of my MRI came back I was a bit surprised. There was actually a problem. I had what they described as a degenerative disc. It was nothing serious enough to be of great concern. Nor was it a problem that could be fixed with surgery. What this became was my ticket to more pain medication. I now had a medical diagnosis that I could exaggerate any time that I wanted to in order to get my precious pills. After a few more trips to the doctor, and several more scripts, he suggested that I go to a pain management clinic. At this point I began to see that this was spiraling out of control. How could I justify going to a pain management doctor for a pain that didn’t exist. I decided to cool off for a bit, went through my withdrawal, told my wife I was sick and stayed clean for awhile.

This didn’t last long, for my old friend was calling my name. My marriage was falling apart and I was depressed. I knew this was the only thing that made me feel better. I couldn’t go back to my doctor for the pills because he already sent me somewhere else. I knew if I went back to him he would be on to my game. So I did what any semi intelligent addict would do. I found another doctor. I went in as a new patient and told the old sob story of my degenerative disc acting up. I knew exactly what symptoms to describe and told him I had a medication a long time ago for this that worked great. Said I couldn’t remember what it was called (B.S) but it had hydro in the name. Once again I received what I wanted. This went on until I felt that this doc might catch on. Then it was on to the next doc.

You see, the normal starting dose of hydrocodone is 5mg. They also come in 7.5mg and 10mg for higher intensity pain. As the body becomes tolerant to the meds it requires more and more for the desired effect. At this point I was requiring 30-50mg to get the effect I desired. So naturally the prescriptions were not lasting very long. Then I remembered about my friend hiding in cough syrup as well. So back to the original doctor it was. Not for back pain, but for the fake cough. I began hopping between doctors and symptoms. You would think it would get confusing, but it was amazing how straight I kept it. I was beginning to realize that my entire thought process was around these meds and how I was going to get them, all of the while my tolerance was growing out of control. I figured I was at the peak of how bad it could get. It was about to get worse.

Chapter 5

Throughout this entire time I did have a legitimate physical condition. The diagnosis is gastro esophageal reflux disease, otherwise known as GERD. The symptom is horrible heartburn and is absolutely miserable. I was on medication to control the symptoms but I was worse than ever. One of my doctors, one that I actually trusted, referred me to a specialist in this area. His suggestion was surgery. He told me that I was a prime candidate for this surgery because I was young. If we didn’t control the symptoms there was a good chance that I would develop esophageal cancer later in life. That was all I needed to hear. We scheduled the surgery for August 5, 2005. I was nervous about the surgery but I new I had to do it, and better yet, I knew there would be pain meds after.

The surgery went fantastic and I was on morphine in the hospital, so I couldn’t be happier. When the doc came in to release me he told me I would have quite a bit of pain and he was going to prescribe oxycontin. Jackpot! I had heard about oxycontin, but never tried it. I was literally excited about the opportunity. I know... it was sick. I believe this is where I really began to spin out of control.

The day after the surgery I found out my wife was having an affair. Again, a topic for another time. I was completely devastated and depressed as you can imagine. So here I was, post surgery, broken marriage, and a bottle of oxycontin. I was enjoying taking the pills but was in such a depressed state I decided to try something I never did before. I had heard that oxy’s could be crushed and snorted. Never in a million years did I think I would ever do something like that, but desperate times call for desperate measures. At least that was how my mind was operating.

I hated the way it burned when I did it but I loved how quickly it worked and how high I got from it. I would endure the surgical pain all day with no meds just so I could enjoy a larger amount in the evening. At this time, it was the only thing keeping me sane. It was the only thing at the time that took my mind off of my problems. Why is it couldn’t I see I was creating the biggest problem I could ever create for myself. I guess what they say is true. Hind sight is 20/20. Nonetheless I kept on doing it. Now in the middle of a completely broken world, chemicals seemed to be my only friend. I would go about my business, going to work and church and act as if there was nothing wrong. I would drag myself through each day just for the prize waiting for me when I got home. Looking back now, it was quite a sad existence.

I ended up getting divorced and moving to Atlanta. I figured I would start a new life, without the drugs. I would make new friends, maybe meet a nice girl and start over. Even though I learned this lesson before, I would have to learn it again. You cannot run away from yourself.

Chapter 6

Here I was, separated, waiting for my divorce to be final, five hundred miles from my son, addicted to pain killers, depressed about my life. How did I get here? If someone told me twenty years ago that this is where I would be when I was 38 years old, I would have laughed at them. This could not possibly be my life. I grew up in a solid Christian family, I had a college degree, a great job, married a Christian girl, I had a wonderful son. When I began to look back it absolutely amazed me how much these chemicals altered my life and my thinking. I was able to justify anything in order to get more. I now found myself not just wanting my drugs, now I needed them. My body was so accustomed to having these receptors in my brain filled, my body now demanded them. If I started getting low on my supply I would spend every waking moment trying to figure out how I would get more. It didn’t matter if it was Lortab, Vicoden, Percocet, cough syrup, or the OC (oxycontin); I just needed to have it at the end of my day.

I continued to hop between doctors, juggling my symptoms in order to get what my body now required. I would often contact my friend to see if the OC was available and I was always willing to pay for it even though I couldn’t afford it. Oxycontin became my favorite. You see, it now took between six to eight 10mg of hydrocodone to get the desired effect. The problem with this is with each one of these pills had 500mg of acetaminophen in them. So here I was, consuming 3000mg or more of acetaminophen at time in order to get my hydrocodone. For anyone who is not aware, this can be toxic to your liver. No one should take more than 4000mg of acetaminophen per day, and that is through an entire day and here I was swallowing it all at once. I knew this could be dangerous, but it didn’t matter.

This is why I loved the OC. It was pure narcotic with no acetaminophen and I was well aware of this. It was what I loved, without the risk. Twisted way of thinking isn’t it? Deep down inside I knew it was a sick way to think, but my brain and logic were not in control, the craving of my body was now the decision maker. Just like when you are hungry you go to the fridge and eat, when it was time for the chemicals, my body needed the chemicals. If my body didn’t get what it wanted, it made me pay the price. Withdrawal is miserable and I would do whatever I had to in order to avoid it.

I was what most would call a “functioning addict”. I went to work every day, called my son every day, I drove 7.5 hours every 4 weeks to see him. I paid my alimony and child support along with all of my other bills. I was living a fairly normal life, except for this enormous skeleton in my closet. Only my closest friend knew about my addiction and I think he was concerned. He would still help me get pills on the street. We would use together and have a good time, but he could put it down and walk away, I couldn’t. Then one day I received a phone call. One of my best friends from college died. I knew he was a heavy drug user and I knew what the cause of death was going to be. Sure enough, he died from a drug overdose. A phone call like this would have been a wake up call for most people. Unfortunately, it was not for me.

Chapter 7

I went to my friend’s funeral. I swallowed about 8 pills before I went. What kind of sick mind did I now create in myself? Here I am, going to the funeral of a dear friend who died from a drug overdose, high as a kite on the very drug that may have played a part in his death. Did I think I was immortal? Why is it as humans we all have the “it could never happen to me” mentality. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a drug overdose, a divorce, a natural disaster, a car accident. We have all heard it. “I just never thought it could happen to me.” It was the worst funeral I ever attended. There he was, my dear friend, 37 years old, father of 2, lying in a casket. It looked like he was just taking a nap. I was a roommate with him in college and had seen him sleep many times. That’s what it looked like. He was just napping, right? This was not happening.

As I sat there and looked at him I fully realized that if I took one too many pills, that could have been me. My tolerance was now so high that I would never think twice about taking just one more pill just to get a little bit higher than I was. That’s all it takes folks. One more pill. You can deny it all you want, but here is the fact. While our tolerance grows to the narcotic, the deadly dose doesn’t change. Opiates depress the respiratory system and what happens is we go to sleep and just stop breathing. I believe almost all opiate overdoses are an accident, not a suicide attempt. Our tolerance grows so high that eventually we cross that deadly line while just trying t get the desired effect.

Sitting there looking back and forth between his lifeless body and the face of his daughters it began to hit me. Here I was thinking that my addiction affects no one but myself. Try to tell those little girls growing up that daddy’s addiction affected no one but him. He was gone. Those little girls now had to grow up with no dad. His mom looked like all of the life had been sucked out of her. His dad was weeping like I had never seen a grown man weep. His brother sat staring, no expression on his face. All of our friends from college came from all over and just sat and stared at his lifeless body. It was surreal. It made me think. But it didn’t make me change. Looking back, I have no idea why I didn’t just make the decision to stop. I was at a point that stopping did not even seem like an option. My body now needed this drug as much as it needed water. Stopping didn’t seem like an option. I would just have to be more careful and watch my intake closely. No gambling. I knew from all of my experience what my body could tolerate and I would just be careful. No problem, right? I am a smart guy. I know my limits. I would use his death as a wake up call. Not to quit, but to not get sloppy. Now I know what happens if we get lazy and don’t pay attention to how much we take. Just make sure you don’t push the limit. Sounds like a good plan, but it wasn’t quite that easy.

Chapter 8

After the funeral I returned to Atlanta and began to go about my normal business. My problem was now getting bigger. The real problem was my addiction, but that was not the problem in my mind. In my mind the problem was I was running out of both resources to get the drug, and realized that I couldn’t buy the drug on the street or that is where I would be living because I would be broke. Not only was I hopping between docs, but these docs began to require testing and procedures to justify giving me my meds. I am now going to list the unnecessary medical procedures that I endured just to get my meds. Cortisone shots, chest x-ray, drilled teeth, epidural blocks, MRI’s, ultrasound and anything else it took to convince the doctors I was in real pain. Enter the internet. This couldn’t be for real. I heard about people getting prescriptions through online pharmacies but I had no idea how to do it. Guess what? It is just a Google search away. I began searching the internet and doing my homework. It really wasn’t that complicated. Pay a one time fee for a medical consult with a physician, fax some medical records showing you had been on these meds and bingo; it was mailed right to your door. I obtained medical records showing I was diagnosed with a degenerative disc and that I had been prescribed Lortab for the pain. I was on the phone with the “physician” for about 30 seconds. He asked me what the problem was, if the medicine worked, and if I had any allergies. He said “ok, I will go ahead and approve it.” Less than a week later there was a bottle of 90 pills sent to my door with three refills.

I couldn’t believe it was this easy. The script was to last me 30 days. It lasted 1 week. You see, what used to be an evening habit now was taking over the rest of the day. I loved how chatty my little pills made me at work. Being in sales, it is always a good thing to be in a happy mood and wanting to talk to people. So now I was taking a handful of pills in the morning as well as in the evening. Taking the pills at this rate my scripts wouldn’t last very long. So I figured if getting the pills online from one company worked, why not search out another. So I did. Now I was getting pills from two separate online pharmacies. Not only were they filling the scripts, they were kind enough to contact me when my refill was due. Now I am juggling two online pharmacies, several doctors, a dentist, and of course my street connections.

Deep down, I knew this was spiraling way out of control, but I just ignored my common sense. It was to the point that I was getting confused about who I had gotten scripts from and when. I actually began logging in my Day-Timer, in secret code of course, who I received the meds from, what strength, and how many. I was exerting an amazing amount of energy organizing my resources so I would not get caught.

It is not so much the drug that was exhausting me, it was the chase. The chase of the next script was starting to drain me. It was getting confusing and I knew I was completely out of control. It was time to get help.

Chapter 9

I knew I was out of control. I had tried several times to stop with no success. I didn’t want anyone to know about my problem. It was embarrassing. I never wanted to admit that something had control of me, but it was. My entire life now revolved my addiction. I was either high or chasing my next script. It was a never ending circle and I knew I had to do something. I didn’t want my parents to know because I know how they worry and I didn’t want to be a disappointment. I was afraid if my now ex-wife knew, she could use it against me with my son that I so desperately wanted custody of. I didn’t want the girl I was seeing to know because I thought she would run. Many of my friends that I had in the new city I was living in were associated with work, so I didn’t want them to know either. There were only about two people I felt that I could trust, so I made the call.

My friend Eric had been one of my best friends for about 25 years. He had a serious addiction to heroin for years and was now clean. He told me about methadone and how it worked. We discussed how similar the addiction is between heroin and opiates. Heroin has such a scary sounding name compared to Lortab, but essentially it is the same thing. They are both narcotics and bind to the same receptors in the brain. Eric told me that he thought methadone was the greatest thing ever. You go in to the clinic, they figure out the dose you need, and you go at the beginning of each day to take your dose and you are good to go. So I went.

This was a major pill to swallow, no pun intended. Here I was, walking into the methadone clinic in my snazzy suit, sitting in the waiting room with the most interesting cast of characters I have ever seen. Most seemed to be the dregs of society. Dressed in clothes that most would get rid of and waiting for their number to be called so they could function for that day. After my initial examination with the doctor, he explained the process to me. They would start me at 30mg for the first day. Each day after that they would push my dose up by several milligrams until I reached the dose that would rid me of any withdrawal feelings. I took my first dose and headed off to work. I felt great. This was too good to be true. All I had to do was pay my twelve bucks, wait for my number to be called, and take my dose. I felt about the same as if I had taken my precious pills, but this was completely legal and I didn’t feel guilty about buying on the street or lying to docs.

I began to feel a little bit of my withdrawal symptoms that night, so on day two I told them to push the dose. They upped my dose to 40mg and I was off to work. Within about 60 minutes I began to feel horrible. I can’t exactly explain my symptoms, but I felt horrible. It kind of felt like I had been hit by a truck. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I went back to the clinic in the morning and told them how bad I felt. We decided together that maybe the 30mg dose was better for me so that’s what we did. I dosed up for the day and went to work.

What on earth was this poison doing to me? I felt worse than ever. I couldn’t even work. I went home and tried to just go to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. All I wanted was to get this shit out of my system. I went back to the clinic the next day and told them what was happening. They encouraged me it would get better and talked me into taking my daily dose. This was horrible. The same thing happened and I decided to go into the clinic and have a chat with the counselor. I told her there was no way I was going to continue this and I thought the cure was worse than the disease. She tried to encourage me to give it time and it would be better, but my mind was made up. She tried to persuade me to continue with the counseling part of the therapy but I wanted nothing to do with this clinic. I told her I would get counseling on my own and I left.

I was very discouraged. I figured I had three days under my belt of no pills, so I would just try to stop on my own again. I managed to stay clean for about a week or so. Then the phone rang. It was one of my online pharmacies letting me know that I was due for a refill. Even though I had been clean for about 10 days, I said yes. They approved the script right on the phone and I anxiously waited by my mailbox for the next 3 or 4 days. The candy man showed up and the circle started all over again.

Chapter 10

I was out of control and I knew it. I was now up to having to take about 100mg of hydrocodone to get high. Keep in mind the acetaminophen part of the equation. 100mg of hydrocodone was ten pills. Do the math. I was taking ten pills in the morning and ten pills in the evening. The maximum dose of acetaminophen is 4000mg per day. I was now consuming 10,000mg of acetaminophen minimum per day in order to feed my starving opiate receptors. I was getting very concerned that I was doing irreversible damage to my liver. Apparently, I was not concerned enough to stop because it continued. I chased down oxycontin whenever I could because I knew there was no acetaminophen in it. I also knew my liver would get a break with my cough syrup I loved so much, but the syrup and the OC were much harder for me to get than the Lortab or Percocet. I was running out of options.

The next step was desperate and I have a difficult time talking about it because of the embarrassment. I guess I hate to admit how much control this drug had over me, but it was as if I had no say in it anymore. My body’s needs were now controlling my actions and my decision making.

I love looking at houses for sale. I was not a homeowner anymore since my divorce and I desperately wanted to buy a home again. I was in no position financially to buy one yet, but I loved looking at open houses. One Sunday I was driving home from church and saw an open house sign, so I stopped. As I strolled through the house admiring the décor and found myself in the master bathroom and my eyes were suddenly fixed on the medicine cabinet. I looked around to make sure I was alone and casually opened the medicine cabinet just like I am sure you have done at a friend’s party while using the facilities. There it was staring me in the face. A big bottle of Lortab with at least 50 pills inside. I don’t remember making the decision to do it, but it happened. The bottle landed in my pocket and I was out the door. As I drove away I could not believe what I had just done. I took someone else’s medication that they probably needed, to quench my body’s thirst for its opiate. With mixed feelings of guilt and ecstasy, I quickly pulled into a convenient store to get a drink to swallow my pills with. This was too easy. Is this medication really that common?

I spent the next several Sundays going to 8 or 10 open houses to try to find pills. It amazed me at how easy they were to find. Each Sunday I would find one or two houses that had at least one of my favorite brands of medication. Were all of these people really in pain, or did they have the same problem I did. Either way, I found another avenue to feed my hungry demon. At times I was eaten alive with the guilt. Not only am I a drug addict, I am a thief. I was living a life that I had always preached against. Drug abuse and stealing. How could this be me? It wasn’t me. It was my addiction. It had completely taken over my life.

One Sunday in the middle of my search my cell phone rang. It was my girlfriend. She was in a panic on her way to her mother’s house. No one had heard from her mom for three days and she was unreachable. I tried to console her but I had a bad feeling in my gut. She had shared with me that her mom had an addiction to pain pills her whole life and she was afraid she was taking the pills again. A few minutes later she called me back and was only able to mutter out two words. “She’s dead.”

I was in complete shock. There was nothing I could do, nothing I could say. I hung up and did the only thing I could. I prayed for her, and then continued my open house hopping. I found some pills and went home. The guilt that began to overtake me was unbearable. It was very possible that the girl I was falling in love with just lost her mother to the very thing I was addicted to and I was hiding it from her. I was hiding it from everyone, even myself at times. I knew how bad this was getting, but in a way didn’t want to give it up. I had brought myself to the place that I believed I could not be happy without these pills. But was I happy? I was miserable. But somehow I felt I would be more miserable without the pills. They were my life. I felt I could not function normally without them, and I was right. I had grown so dependent on the chemical that my body could not function without it. Withdrawal was miserable, and even if I pushed my way through the withdrawal stage, I was psychologically hooked too. I would talk myself into the fact that it was ok to start again. After all, it was only a couple of days of feeling bad once I stopped. It was worth feeling good until then.

However, I was now at the place that my need far surpassed my resources. My tolerance was at a dangerously high level and there were not enough doctors, online pharmacies, open houses, or money to feed it. I now had two people dead from the very thing I was doing. How much longer could I keep this up and expect to be alive. I began to think about my son. I love him more than anything and I was doing this not just to me, but to him. He had no idea I was doing this, but he would know when he saw me in a casket. I began to think about the faces of my friends little girls at his funeral. I refuse to do this to my son. I want to be here for him. I want to watch him grow up. He was almost a teen now. How can I expect him to stay away from drugs if I am unable to? It is time to get help and get it fast.

Chapter 11

It was time to get help, but how. I had tried methadone and there was no way in hell I was giving that another shot. No one knew how bad this problem was. Even my best friend that knew about my addiction didn’t know how badly I was spiraling out of control. You don’t exactly admit you are stealing drugs from people’s medicine cabinets on a regular basis. It is humiliating to be that out of control. The opiates now controlled every move I made and it was time to take my life back.

I began to do some research and read about a new medication on the market called Suboxone. What Suboxone does is partially fill the opiate receptors in your brain and it reduces the withdrawal symptoms to almost nothing. After some time on the medication you begin to wean off slowly, about 2mg at a time. There are very few side effects and I have read and heard many positive testimonials. I wasn’t sure where to begin because I knew from my research that not all doctors can prescribe it. When I went to the Suboxone website there was a directory of physicians that are trained in this treatment, so this is where I started.

I found several psychiatry offices that could prescribe this treatment and I finally found a good fit. I knew, however that this was only addressing part of my problem. While medication could help reduce the physical addiction, there was a reason hiding somewhere deep inside of me that I began self medicating. I knew that I had to do some counseling, but had to swallow some pride if I was going to beat this thing.

I made an appointment, pushed aside my pride and began the process. They told me that I had to be going through withdrawal in order to start the treatment. I still had a bottle of pain meds when I made the appointment and knew I couldn’t have them around if I was serious, so what did I do? Most may think I threw them away, but I figured I was about to say goodbye to my old friend, so why not go out with a bang. The day before my appointment to start treatment I took ALL of my pills. That last day before I began my new journey I consumed thirty-six pills throughout the day. For those who are poor at math like I am, that is 360mg of hydrocodone, along with 18,000mg of acetaminophen. I know now that I was in the hands of my God. I believe that most people would have died consuming this much poison into their system. I felt like crap at the end of the day, but the pills were gone and I was ready to begin the process of detox.

Chapter 12

As I humbly entered the facility where I would begin detox, I wasn’t sure what to expect and was a little nervous. I was beginning to feel symptoms of withdrawal as instructed, so I wasn’t in the best of moods to begin with. The physician assistant that would walk me through the process of getting me started on the correct dose of Suboxone was very friendly and supportive. It was explained to me that we would start with 2mg and add 2mg every 30 to 60 minutes until my withdrawal symptoms began to subside. I took my first dose and got myself comfortable in the cozy room they had set up. I brought plenty of reading material to occupy myself, but didn’t feel much like doing anything except staring at the wall and wondering how on earth I found myself at this low point of my life.

As I began to think about my situation and all of the times I tried to quit before that ended in failure, I realized something. I once heard that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. Looking back, the one thing that was the common thread of all of my failed attempts to recover from this addiction was that no one knew. Not one person that cared about me knew the extent of my addiction. This had been my little secret for so long, and no one knew. Sure my best friend knew I loved my pain pills, but he had no idea the extent I went to get them. I sat and had a true heart to heart with myself and the Lord. The only way I would get a different result was to go about this in a different way. If I was really serious about changing my life it was time to face my dragon. I had to come clean. I was not happy about this revelation, but I knew it was right. Again I found myself at a crossroads. Finally I made a right choice and I reached for my cell phone.

The first number I dialed was my father. I felt I owed it to my parents to let them know first since they brought me into this world. I decided on my dad because he is much less emotional then my mother, and honestly, I just wasn’t in a position yet to be able to tell my mother. He answered the phone, we said our normal hellos, and then I told him I needed to talk to him. “Dad, I need to tell you that I am highly addicted to opiates and have been for years. I am sorry I have been hiding it but I realized that I cannot quit on my own and I have entered a program. I am in the middle of going through detox and I knew that the only way to prove to myself that I am serious is to tell the people that love me.” After the awkward silence he made sure I was ok and had several questions of course. He was very supportive, which I figured he would be, told me he would pray for me and then I asked him something that probably wasn’t fair, but I asked anyway. “Could you please not tell mom. I want to tell her, but I need to get going with this first. I don’t want her to worry. I will tell her soon, but not today.” He understood and agreed and I went back in the building for my next dose.

Throughout the day I went between my cozy room and the parking lot. Making phone calls to the people that I knew cared about me the most. Every single one made the process easier and easier. Each one was not only supportive, but told me how proud they were of me for doing this. In fact, this meant so much to me I am beginning to cry as I write this. You see, this is when I began to realize more than ever that my choices did not only affect me. For so many years I had justified my use by thinking I was the only one being affected. I feel this is the biggest lie we believe as addicts. That no one else is affected. Each one of the people I loved was greatly affected by my actions. I was robbing each of them of the real me. I was lying to each of them on a regular basis. I was telling lies to and hiding things from the people that trusted me the most. Last time I checked, when someone I love lies to me I feel betrayed. I was the betrayer all of these years and never saw it. Lord, forgive me. I slowly began to feel a very heavy weight lifting off of my shoulders. It felt as though I spent years unable to breathe, and now air was rushing into my lungs.

By mid afternoon I had finished my phone calls for the day and was beginning to feel my withdrawal symptoms subside. This was great! I would normally feel horrible for days after running out of meds, it was only hours and I felt pretty stinkin’ good. We had figured out the dose I would be on and somewhere down the road we would begin to taper down. I would begin to meet one on one with a counselor and maybe attend some group sessions. I always knew some type of therapy might help, but the physical part of the addiction was so overpowering that I just couldn’t get past it enough to get the counseling part of the equation. That is what was so great about this new medication. I relieved me of the physical withdrawal symptoms and allowed me to begin to focus on why I became addicted in the first place.

As I write this, I know I am not finished fighting this battle, but I am more confident then ever. I know full well that this is an issue that I must always keep in the forefront of my mind and never get lazy. I knew I would have to fight some battles, but the one I was about to fight never crossed my mind.

Chapter 13

For those who are wondering, yes, I did call my mom. About a week after I was clean, I came clean with her. She of course, was the most supportive of all and understood why I didn’t want to tell her right away. She has always been supportive of me like most moms are, and I am convinced I am alive and have my health today because of her daily prayers. She is the most Godly woman I know and have the utmost respect for her.

The next several weeks were not nearly as hard as I thought they would be. Not only did I not have any cravings for the pills, but I began to feel myself aligning against the whole idea of taking them. I began to feel angry that I had wasted so many years, doing damage to my own body, and I was determined to succeed. Then the most unlikely of things happened. I received a phone call from one of the online pharmacies I had bought from in the past. They were kind enough to inform me that I was due for a refill and they wanted permission to charge my credit card and send out my medication right away. I politely kept it simple. I didn’t need the medication anymore, but thank you for calling. They hung up and I figured they were just doing their job and that was it. That was hardly the case.

Over the next 4 days my phone rang twelve, yes twelve times from the same online pharmacy. Each call I became a little more agitated. Why were they calling me? I told them I don’t need the meds anymore. They began to offer me discounts if I would refill. This began to infuriate me. When is the last time a Walgreens, Rite Aid, or any chain pharmacy badgered anyone about refilling a medication they didn’t need anymore? What made me angry the most was by about the tenth call, I thought about just saying ok so they would stop calling. I couldn’t believe what these calls began to trigger in my brain. I used to look forward to calls like this with great anticipation. This was the jackpot call I would get when I would begin to run out of resources. Now, here I am trying to quit, I don’t want the call, and they won’t leave me alone.

For the first time I felt myself begin to justify going ahead and just getting some pills. I proved to myself I could stay clean. After all, I hadn’t taken any pain pills for two whole weeks. Like that was a long time or something. And so, the process in my brain began. I was about to go get my son, hated the place I had to go to get him, hated facing my ex-wife, and that was all the reason I needed. I didn’t order from the online pharmacy. That took too long. So I went to one of my doctors, filled a prescription, and carefully planned how I would wean myself off of the Suboxone, and back onto the painkillers for the weekend. I am not sure why I made this decision, but I did. I took 60 pills over a three day period and felt like complete shit the entire time. I did not enjoy one minute. Not only did I feel terrible physically, but I beat myself up mentally the entire time. All of these people I came clean with; here I am back using. I am a complete loser.

The weekend passed, the pills were gone, and I went back on the Suboxone. I felt so much better but decided to at least come clean with the people at the clinic that were trying to help me. I figured if I was serious, I had to be honest. I feel terrible that I fell off the proverbial wagon, but there is a big part of me that is glad I did. It made me so positive that I want to quit, that I know I am in this for the long haul. I am learning to recognize the things that get me thinking about using and changing my thinking patterns. I know that one day soon I will be off of the Suboxone for good and I will be ok. But until then, I am glad modern medicine it here to help. With the help of God, those who love me, and modern medicine, I am confident that I will stay clean. Not only am I confident, but I am excited about it. This brings me to the reasons I decided to write about this experience.

Chapter 14

There are many reasons I decided to get clean and many reasons I have decided to write about it. First and foremost there is my son. Words cannot describe the love I have for him. When I began to realize that he was approaching the years when he would feel the world’s pressures of drinking, drugs, and sex I looked in the mirror and had to ask myself what kind of example am I setting. He had no idea of my use, but how long would that last? He is a very smart kid and I am sure I am not as good at hiding things as I think I am. I said it earlier and I will say it again. How can I expect him to stay away from drugs if I can’t? That is not fair and it is hypocritical of me to think differently. I want him to always trust me and by lying and hiding I am not building trust. Trust is not given, it is earned, and I was not earning it.
Then there was the issue of the rest of my family. I owe it to each and every one of them to give of myself fully. Not some broken and twisted version of who I am. They deserve better. Whenever I was around them under the influence I had a great deal of guilt. Guilt that I constantly justified with any illogical reason my foggy brain could muster up.

Then there was the girl that I was in the process of falling in love with. She had just lost her mother to the very thing that I was addicted to. She used to share with me what she had to go through growing up with an addicted mother. She had some terrible things happen to her that no little girl should endure. Her mother loved her with all of her heart and her mother was a wonderful person. But she was addicted to opiates. The same thing I was addicted to. I wanted only the best for this woman. I felt she deserved only the best. And here I was, trying to win her heart while carrying the very baggage she was trying to unload from all of her youth. Not very noble, is it? I would beat myself up daily, not wanting to let her go, but knowing she would be in for more than she bargained for if I did not get clean.

There was also the Lord. I had spent most of my life, trying to live for Him. Trying to live a Christian life and be a good example. Not just for peers, but I have always loved working with teens. I was involved in helping lead a youth group for years and my heart longed to do this again. How can I get involved in the state of mind I was in? I knew I couldn’t and put the very thought of it on the back burner. How can I ever do what God has called me to do with my life if I am living in a fog? Not a day would pass when I was in a completely sober state of mind. No one can live up to there full potential in this state. We all, as addicts, try to convince ourselves that it is just a release. It is just recreation. I function better when I am taking my drug of choice. No one knows, so its hurting no one. These are all lies and if we are truly honest with ourselves, we know it is true.

Then of course there is me. All of the reasons above encompass my world. If I wanted my world back, I had to quit. I was no longer in control of myself. If I know one thing it is this. What controls your thoughts controls your life. For me, it was pain medication. What is it for you? Is it pain meds, like me? Is it alcohol? Is it sex? Is it pornography? Is it a relationship? Is it television? Is it bitterness? Anger? Hate? Whatever it is, if it runs your life or if your mind is occupied with it every waking hour, it is an addiction.

There are two reasons I have decided to put my thoughts to paper. The first is because it has been very therapeutic for me. It has been therapeutic to write it. It has been therapeutic to look back and read it. I really cannot believe this has been such a long chapter in my life, but nonetheless it is. I know I am and will be stronger than ever after having survived this. I am well aware my journey is not over and it is living one day at a time that will get me through. But my biggest reason is you. Whomever may have taken the time to pick this up and read it. If one person hears my story and decides to get help, all of my self inflicted suffering was worth it. It doesn’t really matter what your drug of choice is. Whether it is pain meds, weed, cocaine, meth, ice, alcohol, sex, anger, it does not matter. Whether you are just beginning to dabble and think you have complete control, or whether you have lost everything and are at rock bottom. It doesn’t matter. There is no shame in getting help. The shame lies in ignoring there is a problem. The shame lies in continuing to hurt everyone who loves you. The shame lies in a wonderful life like yours being wasted. God created each and everyone of us for a purpose and He has a plan for our lives. We just need to let go and trust Him. We need to trust that the ones that love us so much will be as forgiving, understanding, and supportive as my loved ones were. My guess is they are waiting for the chance. The time has come to give them that chance. They are worth it, and so are you.

Contact Us