From an Opiate Addict:
A Day Addicted to Opiates
It can be incredibly difficult to understand exactly what an opiate addict is going through unless you have experienced it for yourself. Some may even wonder why an individual would “put himself through” the constant trial of opiate addiction—as if they have some choice in the matter. The truth is that opiates are among the most potent, addictive, and dangerous drug substances currently in existence, and an individual who is suffering from opiate addiction is living no life at all. Take a moment to consider what one day addicted to opiates is like, from the perspective of an opiate addict.
One Day Addicted to Opiates
Imagine waking up in the morning not because of an alarm or lightening in the sky, but because of cold sweats and muscle aches. Imagine that it’s the same thing you experience every single morning, and the harsh, raw pain and discomfort of opiate withdrawals allow for only one thought: you need more opiates—and fast. As you struggle to get up and soothe your aching body in a hot shower, you wonder how you’re going to get more opiates—where you can steal them from or who you can buy them from. The pain of opiate withdrawal intensifies and you search desperately for some leftovers from the previous day, finding just enough to push back withdrawals for a brief time. You know what’s coming if you don’t get more opiates soon—and you struggle to clear your mind enough to think of a solution.
Your dealer is your first thought, but when you call they don’t answer. You try again and again, hoping they just might pick up, but there’s nothing. You wander through the dark, quiet house, finding money your dad has left sitting out on the kitchen counter and quietly taking some. Desperate though you are, you also know that you have to hide your habits carefully, even from your parents. While they may suspect that something is going on, they likely have no idea that you’re addicted to opiates or that you spend all day, every day trying to get your next fix. You have no life at all outside of your addiction—no job, no real friends, no hobbies, and no social interaction. But you don’t care—opiates are all that matter.
With money in hand, you are out the door and in your car just as the sun begins to rise. Withdrawals are beginning to kick in again, hard, and you find yourself searching the streets for a dealer who has what you need. Finally, your phone rings and you reach for it like a lifeboat in the storm. The mumbling voice of your dealer confirms that he can give you what you need, but it’ll be a while longer. To fill the time, you head to a local twenty-four-hour department store to steal things that you can sell later for drug money. Afterward, you sit in your car and wait for your dealer to call and confirm a meeting spot. Withdrawals grow steadily stronger, and just like every other day you begin to consider rehabilitation treatment. You know it’s really only a passing inclination, one you are unlikely to ever take action on, but the thought occurs every now and again.
After what seems like a painful eternity, your phone finally rings and your dealer tells you where to meet him. He gives you what you so desperately need, and you immediately find yourself searching for a bathroom to use. You find a small restaurant with a single stall bathroom and get your fix. As opiates flood your brain and body, you finally experience much-needed relief. You connect up with a “friend” who also uses, and together you hang out at his place until it’s time to get your next fix. Finally, you head out to sell the items you stole and then go through the same routine as earlier—calling your dealer and waiting for him to contact you with where to meet him. You head back to your “friend’s” house to get your fix and hang out until it’s time to head home.
Once home you sneak in the back way to avoid your parents, and though you intended to save the rest of the opiates you bought for the next morning, your cravings are strong and you end up getting one more fix in before lying down. It doesn’t take long to nod off into a troubled, drug-induced sleep.
The very next morning you wake up again—not because of an alarm or lightning in the sky, but because of cold sweats and muscle aches. This is your life.