Answer Addiction

Tag: opioids

  • How I Supported My Heroin Addiction by Selling Meat

    How I Supported My Heroin Addiction by Selling Meat

    After I pushed in the plunger, all the anguish, self-hatred and regret faded into blackness. Heroin was an anti-depressant and the only thing I found to ease the constant sadness that clutched my throat.

    It was the blistering hot summer of ‘75 in Los Angeles. I was over-dressed as I headed to the supermarket in a brown corduroy jacket, jeans, and a faux leather purse that bounced off my bony hip.

    I pushed my cart through the automatic doors, my eyes darting back and forth behind my $10 aviator shades. I was on the lookout for the store manager. I knew that he was in his early 40’s, with a crew cut and a paunch belly that hung over his belt.

    Relieved that he was helping a customer on the far end of the store, I rolled straight for the cereal aisle, but I wasn’t there for the Cocoa Pebbles or Frosted Flakes. I just used the boxes for cover. I was there for meat. And not just any meat would do. I wanted only the most tender, most expensive cuts, with the USDA stamp of approval on them.

    I was 21 and strung out on heroin for the first time. I had been shooting up in moderation for years until my boyfriend Max and I crossed some sort of invisible line. I can still remember the first morning I ran to the toilet throwing up until there was nothing but slimy yellow bile.

    That was a game changer for me. I was now addicted and had to find a way to support my habit. But how? I couldn’t sell my body like some of the junkie girls did. The thought of sleeping with a greasy old man made my skin crawl. Instead I asked Sammy, another junkie, to teach me his trade. Boosting: what the police would refer to as petty theft.

    At my first day of on-the-job training with Sammy, we pretended to be a married couple grocery shopping. But in reality I was watching him steal with laser-like focus. By the end of the day it was apparent I had a natural talent for stealing meat. After we stole the meat we’d sell it half price and get our dope money. It didn’t take long before I had customers all over town who wanted to buy my meat. I soon had a reputation with other junkies for being the best cattle rustler west of the 405.

    I sped down the cereal aisle and grabbed three boxes of Corn Flakes. I then headed to the butcher section. My gaze landed lovingly on the bulging pink meat packaged in tight saran-wrap that lined the open freezer. I took a deep breath before loading my cart up with filet mignon, New York and T-bone steaks. In less than a minute I had what I considered to be a pretty good haul. I covered the packages with my Corn Flakes boxes and did a 180 with my cart.

    I headed down the back of the supermarket until I found an empty aisle. There, I stopped midway and loosened my belt. My heart pounded so loudly I could hear it beating inside my brain. I bent over, grabbed a steak, and shoved it down the back of my pants. It was cold. Goose bumps erupted all over my sun-starved flesh. I moved fast, stuffing one steak after another around my waist.

    Suddenly, a fresh-faced mother with a toddler tucked in her cart headed toward me. I dropped the steak back into my cart and reached for a can of Campbell’s soup, pretending to read the ingredients. The click-clacking of the other cart’s wheels drew closer.

    Whenever I boosted, my super powers kicked in. My mind could easily shift between thinking, observing, and analyzing my surroundings for any threats. This hyper-vigilant state was the direct result of growing up with a schizophrenic mother who was loving one minute and ballistic the next. When I was 7, my mother drowned herself in the bathtub but by then the neural pathways in my brain had already been set. This vigilance, which had once been a handicap, became a gift whenever I boosted.

    The cart was behind me now and the mother’s voice sounded soothing as she spoke to her child: “You can have a cookie after dinner sweetie.”

    Hearing their tender interaction turned my stomach into a tight fist. I felt the familiar pang of resentment. I often imagined how things might have been different if my family hadn’t been so fucked up. What if I’d had a loving mother who was there for me through all the benchmarks in my life? Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t be standing in a market with a steak stuck in my pants and blood dripping down the back of my legs.

    I watched them disappear around the corner before stuffing more meat around my emaciated waistline. By the time I was done I resembled a suicide bomber ready to blow the place up. With meat.

    Once the last two steaks were securely tucked away I abandoned the cart and moved stealth-like towards the front of the store. My goal was to slip out without any employees noticing me. But with blood seeping down my legs I was afraid I’d draw unneeded attention to myself. All my favorite jeans were ruined.

    My breath grew shallow as I turned sideways through a closed cash register aisle. I was several feet from freedom when the paunch belly store manager yelled from his station, “Excuse me miss. Hold it right there!”

    I quickly assessed the situation. The manager was walking toward me. I could see my car parked close to the front of the store. I asked myself if I should run or wait to see what the manager wanted. It turned out to be a no-brainer. My foot instinctively hit the rubber mat causing the automatic doors to spring open. I ran as fast as I could, my arms and knees pumping, my tennis shoes slapping the hot asphalt ground beneath me. A steak slipped out of my pants. I hoped this minor obstacle would slow the manager down. But no.

    Having watched plenty of nature shows as a kid, I could imagine how this scene might have resembled a cougar chasing his prey. Unfortunately, in this action adventure I was the prey and I was afraid a claw would reach out and grab the back of my coat any second. And then what? I’d be arrested. I’d heard plenty of horror stories from junkies kicking heroin in jail. I was determined not to let that be my fate.

    I don’t know if I imagined it but I felt the manager’s hot breath at the base of my neck. I leaped inside my Volkswagen Bug and punched down the lock. The manager grabbed the door handle at the exact same time. With his face inches away, I could see his nostrils flaring, his eyes wild with rage.

    “Open this fucking door!” he yelled.

    My hands shook as I fished inside my jacket pocket for the keys. The car rocked as he pulled on the door, the peace sign hanging from the rear-view mirror swaying back and forth. I slipped the key into the ignition and the engine sputtered and popped. I made a mental note: If you don’t want to go jail, get a frigging tune up ASAP.

    I hit the clutch and threw the gears in reverse. As I backed up the manager pounded the driver’s window with his fist and yelled “Get the hell out of the car!”

    After clearing the parking spot, I shifted into first gear just as this wannabe hero stepped onto the running board. He grabbed the mirror with one hand and the door handle with the other. All I could think was: What the fuck? What the hell is wrong with this crazy idiot?

    I pushed the pedal to the floor, picked up speed, and shifted into second gear thinking surely he would jump off. But he appeared to hold on even tighter. I yanked the steering wheel and made a hard right. He finally lost his grip. I watched him in my rear-view mirror tumble away like a loose hubcap.

    Oh God! Had I killed him?

    Relief coursed through me when he hopped up, yelling and waving his fist as I pulled onto Venice Boulevard. My chest heaved as I peeled the steaks from my waist and tossed them onto the passenger side floor. My mind raced with paranoid thoughts: someone must have gotten my license plate number, the entire police force would be out looking for me. I had to get the hell out of there.

    My eyes darted to the rear-view mirror and I twisted my head from side to side like the Exorcist on the lookout for any patrol cars. I had to get rid of the evidence and fortunately, I had plenty of people around town who would buy it.

    Fifteen minutes later I pulled up in front of a house in the suburbs. I hopped out of the car, walked up the path and rang the front door bell as casually as an Avon lady. Moments later, Mrs. Wilson appeared, dressed in polyester pants, head crowned with pink sponge curlers under a paisley scarf. She squinted over my shoulder. “Oh, hi there, Wendy.”

    I nodded toward my car. “I have something for you, Mrs. Wilson.”

    After we did a quick exchange, I had 100 bucks and she had double that in meat.

    Ten minutes later, I was a rat-a-tat-tatting on the drug dealer’s door. Eddie opened it just a crack and glared at me with bloodshot eyes. With a taut nod of my head I handed over all my cash. In return, I got four colored balloons the size of marbles. I followed standard junkie protocol and tossed them inside my mouth. This was done as a precaution in case you got busted. Hopefully you’d have enough time to swallow the evidence before the cops could get their hands around your throat. Thankfully, I made it home that day in one piece.

    Max was still at work so I had the place to myself. Our apartment was six blocks from the beach. A tourist destination for some, but the ocean wasn’t even on my radar back then. Beauty and nature ceased to exist when I was doing drugs.

    The living room was a strange landscape of overflowing ashtrays, beer bottles, and trash from the night before. Others could accuse me of slacking on my domestic duties but who had time for dishes or dusting when you were supporting two people’s habits every day?

    After retrieving the tied red bandana in my panty drawer, I headed for the bathroom and straddled the toilet to face the wall. I laid everything out on top of the tank. Syringe, matches, a cup of water, spoon and cotton. Biting the tiny knot of the balloon I ripped it open with my teeth. I was careful not to spill any as I poured the contents into the spoon. I used the syringe to squirt water and then lit an entire book of matches, holding the flame underneath the spoon until it started to simmer. As the powder dissolved, the smell of Sulphur, burnt sugar and dope filled the air.

    I pulled the brownish liquid into the syringe, spun around and wrapped my left bicep with a belt. There was a bit of resistance before the needle popped through my calloused vein and then my blood mushroomed like a bomb going off inside the syringe. I pushed down on the plunger with my thumb and I was instantly filled with a soothing warmth as the heroin turned me inside out.

    Afterward, I dabbed the blood with toilet paper while my chin drifted down to my chest.

    All the anguish, self-hatred and regret faded into blackness. Heroin was an anti-depressant and the only thing I found to ease the constant sadness that clutched my throat.

    My life was never meant to look like that. I went to a private Catholic school, for Christ’s sake. I knew the difference between right and wrong. When I was a little kid I didn’t see myself growing up to be a junkie. What happened to the little girl who desperately wanted to make a difference in the world? Sadly, she was in a dark place where she would remain for nearly two decades before reappearing tattered and broken in the county jail.

    It was there, while lying in a cell, I realized I had been blaming others for everything that was wrong with my life. It was my mother’s fault, my father’s fault, and then, in a moment of clarity, I realized I was the one who had broken my own heart. And if that were indeed the case, only I could fix it. But how?

    I knew I’d have to be sober to find out.

    In the last 25 years I’ve learned that my mother’s absence left a huge black hole inside my heart. Everything I knew, planned, or imagined for myself changed in an instant. But I was a 7-year-old child and no one seemed to notice my despair. My sadness eventually morphed into anger and I took my anger out on the world. If I were to stay sober, I needed to forgive my mother. It didn’t happen overnight but over time. When I was finally able to let her off the hook, I was the one who was set free.

    I underwent a deep and profound transformation, but some things never change. Every once in a while I find myself craving a steak: medium rare.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Mass Overdose In California Leaves One Dead, 12 Hospitalized

    Mass Overdose In California Leaves One Dead, 12 Hospitalized

    “Every indication is that this mass overdose incident was caused from the ingestion of some form of fentanyl in combination with another substance,” said a police chief at the scene.

    The synthetic opioid fentanyl is most likely responsible for a cluster of overdoses in one Chico, California house. One person died after overdosing and four are in critical condition; a total of 12 people were taken to the hospital. 

    According to NPR, Chico police are fairly sure the mass overdose was caused by the use of fentanyl, in combination with another substance.

    “Every indication is that this mass overdose incident was caused from the ingestion of some form of fentanyl in combination with another substance. That is yet to be confirmed, but we do anticipate confirmation in the coming days,” Chico Police Chief Michael O’Brien said.

    According to Anna Lembke, MD, fentanyl (a synthetic opioid pain reliever) can be 50 to 100 times more potent than heroin. Lembke gives this chilling example: “If you ingest a ‘bag of heroin,’ which is typically 100 mg of heroin, and that bag contains 20% pure fentanyl in place of heroin, you will be ingesting the rough equivalent of 2,000 mg of heroin, enough to kill even a highly tolerant user.”

    Chico Fire Department Division Chief Jesse Alexander said it was the largest mass casualty incident he had seen in years, with six people receiving CPR simultaneously.

    Chief O’Brien reported on the crime scene. “Upon arrival, Chico police officers found multiple individuals in what appeared to be life-threatening, overdose conditions. . . . Officers began to both administer CPR and also naloxone to those individuals. . . . Unfortunately one male individual was pronounced dead at the scene.”

    Chico officers began carrying naloxone on their person one year ago, according to CNN, and in this case lives were saved with the opioid-reversing drug. Police Chief O’Brien reported that officers administered CPR and six doses of naloxone.

    After working the crime scene, two officers reported feeling fentanyl-like symptoms from possible exposure and were treated and later released from a local hospital.

    The Chico Enterprise-Record reported that all of the people hospitalized were over the age of 18, with most of them appearing to be in their 20s. The National Institute on Drug Abuse reports that in 2017 there were more than 72,000 drug overdose deaths, with the sharpest increase seen among deaths related to fentanyl and fentanyl analogs (synthetic opioids) for a staggering total of nearly 30,000 overdose deaths. 

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Opioid Overdose Deaths Surpass Vehicle Crash Deaths For First Time

    Opioid Overdose Deaths Surpass Vehicle Crash Deaths For First Time

    According to a new report from the National Safety Council, Americans are more likely to die from an opioid overdoses than a car crash.

    An opioid overdose is now a more likely cause of death than even vehicle crashes, according to a recent report. 

    The report on preventable deaths from the National Safety Council found that Americans have a 1 in 96 chance of death due to an opioid overdose, based on 2017 accidental death data. 

    “Drug poisoning is now the No. 1 cause of unintentional death in the United States,” the report reads. “Every day, more than 100 people die from opioid drugs –  37,814 people every year – and many of these overdoses are from prescription opioid medicine.”

    In comparison, NPR states, the chance of death in a motor vehicle crash is 1 in 103. 

    “We’ve made significant strides in overall longevity in the United States, but we are dying from things typically called accidents at rates we haven’t seen in half a century,” Ken Kolosh, manager of statistics at the National Safety Council, said, according to PR Newswire. “We cannot be complacent about 466 lives lost every day. This new analysis reinforces that we must consistently prioritize safety at work, at home and on the road to prevent these dire outcomes.”

    According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the drug at the forefront of overdose deaths is now fentanyl, which the council addressed in a statement. 

    “The nation’s opioid crisis is fueling the Council’s grim probabilities, and that crisis is worsening with an influx of illicit fentanyl,” the statement read. 

    Causes of death such as motor vehicle crashes and overdoses are different from heart disease and cancer deaths in that they are considered “a preventable, unintentional injury” — a statistic that has increased in the last 15 years, according to NPR. Falls also top the list of preventable causes of death, at 1 in 114, compared to 1 in 119 a year ago. 

    “It is impacting our workforce, it is impacting our fathers and mothers who are still raising their children,” Kolosh said. 

    He added that such deaths often impact people in the “core of their life.”

    “As human beings, we’re terrible at assessing our own risk,” Kolosh said. “We typically focus on the unusual or scary events … and assume that those are the riskiest.”

    Though everyone will die at some point, Kolosh says, action can still be taken to prevent unnecessary deaths. 

    “Your odds of dying are 1 in 1,” Kolosh added. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t do something. If, as a society, we put the appropriate rules and regulations in place we can prevent all accidental deaths in the future.”

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • What Does 2019 Hold For Opioid Lawsuits?

    What Does 2019 Hold For Opioid Lawsuits?

    Many are looking at the settlements with Big Tobacco to see how the opioid settlements—if there are any—might take shape.

    During 2018, as opioid overdose rates continued to soar, municipalities from around the country vowed to hold drug manufacturers and distributors accountable. This year, 2019, will show how many of the lawsuits around the opioid epidemic will pan out. 

    The plaintiffs — mostly local and county governments from around the country — hope that settlements from the lawsuits will help them recoup some of the costs of treating people addicted to opioids and maybe even help finance better treatment options going forward.

    “We are still in the throes of a public health crisis in Summit County,” Greta Johnson, a county official in Akron, Ohio, told NPR. In order to respond to that crisis, she said, the county needs funds from the major companies that caused or contributed to the epidemic. “We’re confident the court will see it that way as well.”

    Johnson’s argument, echoed in dozens of lawsuits, may sit well with Federal Judge Dan Polster, who is presiding over the largest group of lawsuits out of his Cleveland courtroom. Polster has called the opioid epidemic a “man-made plague,” and called for comprehensive solutions to the issues of addiction and recovery. 

    While defendants will likely try to have certain allegations dismissed on legal technicalities — like the statutes of limitations being up — Richard Ausness, a law professor at the University of Kentucky, told NPR that effort is unlikely to succeed entirely.

    “The judge has made it clear that he wants a settlement ultimately from this, along the lines of the tobacco settlement,” Ausness said. “If that is indeed the way that he feels, he is probably not going to let the defendants off the hook.”

    As the court cases proceed, the public could learn even more about practices that led to millions of Americans becoming hooked on opioids. Attorney Joe Rice, who represents some governments suing Big Pharma, said that he would like to see the information about misleading advertising and other unscrupulous practices become common knowledge. 

    “Our next battle is to get the documents that are being produced made available to the public instead of everything being filed under confidentiality agreements so we can get the facts out,” he said. 

    Many people are looking at the settlements with big tobacco to see how the opioid settlements — if there are any — might take shape. Tobacco companies have paid more than $100 billion in damages to Americans, some of which have been used to fund anti-smoking public health campaigns. A similar settlement with manufacturers and distributors could impact how future generations are educated about drug use.  

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Maine's First Female Governor Targets Opioids

    Maine's First Female Governor Targets Opioids

    Governor Janet Mills is making the opioid epidemic in her state her top priority.

    Democratic Governor Janet Mills is making the opioid crisis in her state her top priority. Going the complete opposite direction of her predecessor, she has expanded Medicaid and made plans to appoint an opioid czar in her first days in office.

    Her Medicaid expansion would allow thousands of additional Maine citizens into the program, including those who need assistance in fighting opioid addictions.

    “A major part of the health care crisis is the opioid epidemic,” Governor Mills said in her inaugural address. To combat the epidemic in Maine, Mills said on Twitter she wants to appoint a czar to “marshal the collective power and resources of state government,” hoping to prevent deaths such as the 418 overdose deaths in Maine last year.

    Mills’ predecessor, former Republican Governor Paul LePage, was not constructive in approaching the drug crisis, suggesting the problem had something to do with race. In August 2016, LePage claimed he had a binder that showed a massive majority of busted drug dealers were black or Hispanic. 

    “I don’t ask them to come to Maine and sell their poison, but they come,” LePage said. “And I will tell you that 90-plus percent of those pictures in my book, and it’s a three-ringed binder, are black and Hispanic people from Waterbury, Connecticut, the Bronx and Brooklyn.”

    An audit of the binder revealed roughly half of the offenders in the binder appeared to be white. After being accused of being a racist, LePage denied the charges and claimed he was just stating facts.

    “You’ve been in uniform? You shoot at the enemy,” he once said at a statehouse press conference. “You try to identify the enemy and the enemy right now, the overwhelming majority of people coming in, are people of color or people of Hispanic origin.”

    Treatment advocates have high hopes for Mills’ plan.

    Gust Stringos is the medical director of a family practice in Skowhegan, a small town in Maine with a population of 8,000. He said half of his patients are battling opioid addiction.

    “Many of them were on Medicaid and then lost it in the era of LePage,” he said.

    He recalls one 21-year-old female who relapsed after losing coverage and dropping out of the treatment program. When she got pregnant, she requalified and was readmitted.

    “If she had been able to stay on Medicaid in the first place, she wouldn’t have gotten pregnant and wouldn’t have relapsed,” said Stringos. “That’s a typical story of people losing insurance and what happens.”

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Arizona Campaign Aims To Scare Kids Away From Opioids

    Arizona Campaign Aims To Scare Kids Away From Opioids

    “It kind of has a horror movie feel to it,” said one government official about the new opioid public service announcements.

    Officials in Arizona are taking inspiration from scary movies in an attempt to keep kids and teens from experimenting with opioids, despite controversy and conflicting reports over whether scare tactics actually work to deter teens from using drugs. 

    Two 30-second public service announcements aim to highlight the dangers of opioids by showing a teen trapped in a pill, with the message “Opioids: Getting in is easier than getting out.” One ad features a boy, while the other features a girl. At the end of the videos, a lifeless hand is shown next to pill bottles. 

    Arizona Department of Health Services Director Dr. Cara Christ said the images are intentionally frightening. 

    “It kind of has a horror movie feel to it,” she told Arizona Central. “This is part of the Arizona Opioid Epidemic Act. They (the Arizona Legislature) appropriated a little over $400,000 for us to develop this educational campaign and it had to be graphic, and it had to show the law enforcement consequences of opioids.”

    The campaign is meant to target kids ages 12-17 and will appear on websites that people of those ages use often, including YouTube, Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, Spotify and Pandora.

    In addition to the videos, the campaign features still images that include a teen drowning in pills, and another behind bars, which turn out to be hypodermic needles. They all link to the state’s “Something Better” website, which provides information on the dangers of drug abuse. 

    Christ said that focus groups showed the movie-style ads caught teens’ attention while delivering the message. 

    “There is a scary component of it. People don’t realize how dangerous and how addictive these medications are,” she said.

    However, Graeme Fox, who does community outreach for a needle-exchange program run by volunteers in Maricopa County, said the images and videos might not be as effective as lawmakers are hoping.  

    “It could be a good thing but scare tactics aren’t necessarily the way to educate youths,” Fox said. “The state may think it’s a good thing but there are studies that show after a certain amount of time, scare tactics aren’t effective.”

    The campaign will run through June. 

    Results from the most recent Monitoring the Future Survey, which interviews 8th, 10th and 12th grade students about their substance use, found that rates of opioid use are actually falling among teens, reaching their lowest levels to date. 

    “With illicit opioid use at generally the lowest in the history of the survey, it is possible that being in high school offers a protective effect against opioid misuse and addiction,” said Nora D. Volkow, director of the National Institute on Drug Abuse. “We will be focusing much of our new prevention research on the period of time when teens transition out of school into the adult world and become exposed to the dangerous use of these drugs.” 

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Will A Border Wall Help Curb The Opioid Epidemic?

    Will A Border Wall Help Curb The Opioid Epidemic?

    Experts discuss the impact, if any, a new border wall would have on stemming the flow of drugs entering the US through Mexico.

    As the government shutdown continues, President Trump is digging in his heels, insisting that an expensive border wall is essential to national security, in part because it would hamper the flow of opioids into the country. 

    “Our southern border is a pipeline for vast quantities of illegal drugs, including meth, heroin, cocaine, and fentanyl,” Trump said during a prime time speech from the Oval Office on Tuesday, according to Vox. “Every week, 300 of our citizens are killed by heroin alone, 90 percent of which floods across from our southern border. More Americans will die from drugs this year than were killed in the entire Vietnam War.”

    While it’s true that the number of Americans dying from drug overdoses is shocking, and that most of the drugs consumed in the US come over the Mexican border, it’s silly to think that a wall will stop that flow. That’s because most drugs come into the country via legal posts of entry, usually smuggled in vehicles.

    In fact, the Drug Enforcement Administration has said that only a “small percentage” of drugs are carried over the boarder at illegal entry points, according to The Atlantic. 

    In addition, if a wall was erected, cartels would simply adjust the ways they reach the lucrative US market, according to Elaine Carey, dean of the College of Humanities, Education and Social Sciences at Purdue University.

    Cary told The Washington Post, “Drug trafficking businesses are very nimble organizations. The way opioids flow or any drug or narcotic, it’s from all different ways. Yes, it comes across the border, but it comes through airports, ships, on trucks, too. A wall’s not going to do anything unless you deal with the demand.”

    Without addressing the causes of addiction on American soil, building a wall would do little to diminish availability of drugs, she said. 

    “If we build the wall, demand is still going to be there.”

    If Trump really wanted to reduce the amount of drugs coming into the country, he would be better off investing in additional border security staff than spending billions on a wall, according to Christopher Wilson, deputy director of the Mexico Institute at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars.

    “A wall alone cannot stop the flow of drugs into the United States,” Wilson told Vox in 2017. “If we’re talking about a broader increase in border security, there could be some — probably minor — implications for the overall numbers of drugs being trafficked. But history shows us that border enforcement has been much more effective at changing the when and where of drugs being brought into the United States rather than the overall amount of drugs being brought into the United States.”

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Winter Is Coming

    Winter Is Coming

    Then I heard it. I’ll never forget it. The worst sound I’ve ever heard in my life. My mom began to wail. No words, just tones of sadness and helplessness.

    I used to wonder why a lot of people seek treatment around the winter time. And it’s weird because for people in recovery, the winter is usually the time they go back out. The drop in temperature does something crazy to an addict like me. I used to love getting high in the winter. Today it reminds me of the first time I came out as an addict.

    November 2013. That’s when I told my family I was shooting up Dilaudid and smoking crack, and that I couldn’t stop. The walls had finally caved in. I couldn’t hold a job any longer, I was thieving just enough to keep my car legal and on the road with enough left over to support my habit. I had lost a lot of weight because the only food I was taking in was whatever I was stealing out of the 7-Eleven before or after getting right. My diet consisted of string cheese, blueberry Red Bull, and the cigarettes I scooped out of their ashtrays. I had a routine of hitting them either late at night or first thing in the morning. I needed the ash for the cans I was using to smoke crack. I had two cups filled with cigarette ash in my car at all times. It smelled like shit. I was too scared to keep a crack pipe on me or the chore boy to go along with it, so I kept soda cans and ash on deck, ready to go whenever I scored.

    If you knew me growing up, you’d remember me as a generally happy kid. Aside from the slight anger issues and ADHD, I was usually smiling and filled with joy. The criminal lifestyle I adopted while blooming into a career dope-fiend slowly took that away from me. My eyes were no longer clear, and my voice always sounded like I just woke up; there simply was no life to me. I was a shell of a man. My default look resembled a man who was just informed that he had three days to live. Hopeless, defeated, weak and suicidal.

    Over time, I forgot how to keep up with my hygiene. Drugs had a funny way of making me neglect my self-care. There’s no way in hell I’m paying for a $12 haircut, that’s damn near half a pill. I was starting to lose my mind. The crimes I was committing and situations I had been getting myself into were affecting me. Sleep was out of the question. Whether it was from the crack or the insomnia, I’m not sure. Probably a combination of both.

    I am a firm believer and supporter of men and women in recovery who now suffer from PTSD because I know firsthand the horrors that go along with being a really good junkie; the shit we do, the things we see, the things we endure or narrowly escape. It’s hard to come back from that after doing it for so long to survive. I totally understand how when we finally get sober it’s a struggle to let go of certain character defects. Those defects were critical survival skills. 

    I told my brother first. That November, right before winter, I remember losing my job because my boss caught me on camera taking out his MacBook Pro along with some power tools we kept in our warehouse. He told me he wasn’t going to press charges but I knew they were coming. You can smell the police sometimes. I had run out of ideas and was in so much pain emotionally. I was dopesick and needed a fix, with no one to call and nothing to steal. My bright idea was to confess to my brother that I had been using for however many years, explain to him what withdrawing is, and proceed to ask him to buy me drugs. How low can I go? Let me tell you.

    I called him and told him the deal and he was in my driveway in 20 minutes. I explained to him that I wanted to tell Mom but first I had to get right. He was devastated. He loved me. He knew something was up this whole time but couldn’t believe just how bad it was. There were tears rolling down both of our faces. He told me he’ll do whatever he can to help but then we go straight to Mom. At this point I didn’t care, I was minutes away from my next fix.

    The fucked-up thing about this whole situation is that my brother is the complete opposite of me. He is the purest man I know. He shits integrity and pisses excellence on a daily fucking basis. I remember watching him cry the first time he got drunk. It was his 21st birthday and he believed he was letting so many people down. Fast forward to a cold night in November. Now I got him hitting an ATM and taking him to one of the most notorious drug dealers on our side of town.

    I got my pills, I got right, and I lay down. I wasn’t man enough to tell my mom after we got home so I hid under the covers like the bitch I was. My brother came in and asked me when I was going to tell her. I didn’t care anymore because I had a pill waiting for me hidden in the closet, along with a 40 piece of crack I fronted from the dopeman when I was getting the pills. It’s weird, I got what I wanted and I instantly forgot about all the pain and turmoil I’ve been through, like I’m ready to continue this shit show of a drug binge.

    I conceded and told him to tell Mom himself. I threw the covers back over my head and curled into a fetal position. I could hear them whispering in the living room. I couldn’t make out any words but just the tones they were using sounded sad and concerned. Like sitting in the waiting room of a hospital and overhearing doctors talk about something serious, knowing the prognosis is death. This was serious.

    Then I heard it. I’ll never forget it. The worst sound I’ve ever heard in my life. My mom began to wail. No words, just tones of sadness and helplessness. The kind you hear at a funeral when a wife is mourning over her dead husband and finally breaks down as she reaches the casket to glance at the lifeless love of her life. My mom sounded like she just received news that her first born child was murdered. At least that’s how I felt. I instantly began to cry. What the fuck am I doing to my family right now?! I am such a piece of shit. I just want to die. I also want to take a huge hit of that rock right about now too.

    I heard footsteps coming to the door. I knew it was my mom and I didn’t know what to expect. I know how my mom walks. I know what it sounds like to hear her roam around her house. I know it well because usually it’s 3 or 4 in the morning and my ear is under the door listening for her night in and night out while I get high in my room. The fervency in her footsteps caught me off guard. I never heard her walk this way before. I began to tremble. She comes into the room and sits right on my bed, wraps her arms around me and pulls me close to her. With fear in her voice, she says, “I don’t care what it takes, I don’t care how we do it, but I will do whatever it takes, Eli. We will beat this! I will not lose you like I lost your father. We will do this together and figure this out. I love you.” Tears fall as I type this out for you right now, but the tears I shed that night hurt worse than any pain I have ever felt.

    Neither of us could have predicted what was to transpire over the next few years. Her words of “doing this together,” although noble and very motherly, amount to nothing if I do nothing for my recovery. This journey was mine to take and mine alone. My mom can’t get me sober. Her prayers can’t get me sober. Neither can my brother’s. Recovery is up to me.

    Now don’t get me wrong, I have been blessed. My family are not spectators in my recovery, they support me in their own way. At times they have had to give me the “hard no” and love me from a distance. But I have always felt their touch. I’m one of the lucky ones. It’s not like that for a lot of my junkie friends, especially the ones that have undergone a geographical change to seek treatment. I know firsthand the lengths my family members have gone to understand me and encourage me along the way and for that, I will forever love them.

    That was the beginning of my journey. I didn’t attempt to get sober until a few months later but I will never forget that night.

    The dialog was started. The truth came out. The jig was up. The smell of police was in the air and Christmas was right around the corner. Santa would bring a lot of heartbreak that year and for a few more years after that. But the truth came out. The yarn would finally begin to unravel and I would begin the most important fight of my life.

    The fight for my life.

    Today I’m sober. Today in this moment I am alive, I am happy, I am free… Life isn’t perfect, but I am in love with living and I have a purpose.

    My name is Eli and I am an addict. Until the day I spoke those words aloud, I was a dead man walking. One day at a time, I do the things necessary to stay alive one more day. 

    If nobody told you today that they love you, fuck it, there’s always tomorrow.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Lawsuits Aim To Benefit Kids Born Dependent On Opioids

    Lawsuits Aim To Benefit Kids Born Dependent On Opioids

    One West Virginia law firm is reviewing up to 200 cases of children born with neonatal abstinence syndrome (NAS). 

    Last year, dozens of lawsuits were filed against pharmaceutical manufacturers and distributors for the role they play in the opioid crisis.

    Many were filed by states and cities in an attempt to recoup the costs they’ve shouldered as the result of what they say were irresponsible prescribing and misleading marketing of opioid pain pills. 

    Now, a movement is at hand to try to recoup damages for the hundreds of infants born dependent on opioids, many of whom will have life-long health affects. 

    “I really think that we lose the real human toll that the opioid crisis has taken if we’re not bringing cases on behalf of actual human beings who were victimized by the flood of pills that were pumped in here,” Booth Goodwin, an attorney in Charleston, West Virginia, told The Charleston Gazette-Mail.

    Goodwin’s firm, Goodwin & Goodwin LLP, is reviewing up to 200 cases of children born with neonatal abstinence syndrome (NAS). 

    Goodwin has already lodged a lawsuit on behalf of Andriana Riling, an 11-year-old from West Virginia who has NAS and is being raised by her grandparents.

    “Her case is just kind of typical for what you hear from throughout Southern West Virginia,” Goodwin said. “She lost her father even before she was born in a drug-related car accident. Her birth mother is hopelessly addicted to pills and opioids in general.”

    The lawsuit alleges that Purdue Pharma, Endo Health Solutions and Pharmaceuticals, McKesson Corp., Cardinal Health, AmerisourceBergen and Mallinckrodt all bear responsibility for Riling’s condition for their role in making and distributing the opioids that Riling’s mother took during her pregnancy. 

    Although most of the lawsuits against the opioid manufacturers and distributors have been lumped together under the jurisdiction of a federal judge in Cleveland, Ohio, Goodwin argues that cases involving children with NAS should remain separate so that the unique details of each case can be shown, rather than lumping them together in a class action suit. 

    “Each one of them is affected a little bit different,” he said. “And we want to make sure that we focus on each one of these individual children.”

    He said that the individual cases will focus more on the specific ways these children have been affected by the practices of the companies that are named as defendants. The federal case in Ohio will focus more on the overarching — and perhaps illegal — practices that companies had in place. Because of that, Goodwin’s firm filed a motion to keep Riling’s case from being combined with the Cleveland cases. 

    “The complaint contains very specific allegations, unique to this case, with respect to prescribing doctors and pharmacies,” attorneys wrote when they requested that the case be heard separately. “Although there are generalized facts at issue in both [the Cleveland cases] and the Rilings’ case regarding the reprehensible conduct of the defendants, this overlap is minor.”

    They continued, “[The Cleveland cases] potentially involve comparative fault on the part of the plaintiffs, while Riling, a child born opioid dependent, is an innocent victim who is inherently and completely blameless.”

    While Goodwin waits to hear whether the case will be heard on its own, his law firm is continuing to look for children with NAS, which affected up to 5% of births in West Virginia during the peak years of the opioid epidemic. 

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Firefighters Open Treatment Center For Their Own

    Firefighters Open Treatment Center For Their Own

    The center provides beds for 60 firefighters to get treatment for substance use disorder, mental illness or other behavioral health conditions.

    The opioid epidemic has touched people from all walks of life, including first responders, who often find it hard to reach out for help in a work culture that involves putting others first and brushing vulnerabilities aside. That’s why a new treatment center has opened, aimed specifically at helping firefighters who need support with addiction and mental health issues. 

    The International Association of Fire Fighters (IAFF) opened the Center of Excellence for Behavioral Health Treatment and Recovery last year just outside Washington, DC. It is set up similarly to a firehouse and provides beds for 60 firefighters to get treatment for substance use disorder, mental illness or other behavioral health conditions, whether they are associated with work or not. 

    “It’s really a state-of-the-art facility for our membership,” Ray Maione, a captain in the Phoenix Fire Department and vice president of member services for the United Phoenix Firefighters, Local 493, told Arizona Family. “To see it come to fruition is really pretty impressive; a lot of work went into this.”

    Maione said that the services are much needed for firefighters who are hesitant to seek help. 

    “We’re problem solvers, I mean we run into burning buildings when they’re on fire, so people think, and we think, we’re invincible,” he said. “And sometimes it just builds up. . . . When a firefighter reaches out I know they’ve already exhausted every option they have and they’re in crisis.”

    On-the-job injuries can expose firefighters to potent painkillers, and traumatic events can erode firefighters’ mental health, he said. 

    “We started to notice a big increase in suicides, a big increase in opioid addiction,” Maione said.

    Tyler Ramsey, a firefighter, first started using opioids for a back injury but noticed with time that he was becoming dependent on the pills. 

    “You get a prescription for an opiate or a pain medication, and at the start it’s need-based,” said Ramsey. “. . . Once it gets a hold of you, you use that as a crutch.”

    He told himself that because a doctor prescribed the pills they weren’t dangerous. 

    “I guess it gives you a false sense of security, almost, that it’s prescribed by a medical professional,” Ramsey said. “But being a fireman, I thought, ‘Oh I can control this. I don’t need to ask for help. I can manage this.’”

    However, when thoughts of opioids began taking over his day-to-day life, he realized he had a substance use problem. 

    “It’s the last thing you think about before you close your eyes at night and the first thing when you open your eyes in the morning, which is a pretty terrible place to be,” he said. When Ramsey reached out to colleagues, they got him into rehab that day, and they help him stay sober. 

    “I’m happy, upright, breathing and living a normal life again,” he said. “I feel like I’ve been afforded a second chance.”

    View the original article at thefix.com