Saturday, October 25, 2003

All roads lead... here! 

On a somewhat lighter note...

I get endless amusement from reading my list of referrals each day. Sitemeter makes my day -- specifically, the web searches people do that lead them to my site.

Recent searches that have led people to the Asylum:
twenty year old man is fucking two thirteen year old girls (Yahoo)
how to fix a toilet clog getting worse (Google)
Missouri age leave home consent (Google)
lambskin condoms feeling (Yahoo)
I vomited all over the (Google)

Occasionally someone will actually find this site doing a search that's related to the theme -- for example, someone found it when searching for information on triggers for psychotic breaks. Another found it when searching for information on autism.

But for the most part, those folks who stumble into the Asylum when doing a web search, and actually click the link, are looking for something unrelated and bizarre.

Not that I'm complaining.

Vicodin kicked my ass 

I'm in a strange mood tonight -- dark, fatalistic, introspective... just in time for Halloween, I suppose. Then again, I feel entirely too goth for my taste. I'm hoping if I write out the junk going through my head, I'll stop brooding.

Little known fact: I fucked a fat Mexican goth once. I wonder if he has anything to do with my dislike of moods like this.

...or maybe it's the coke. I don't know. This is my addictive mindframe. Not that I've touched cocaine in a year and a half, but I don't recall feeling like this since then.

I've been taking too much Vicodin. Still, that's nothing new -- when I've been prescribed opiates, I eat them like candy until they're gone, rapidly increasing my dose as my tolerence goes up. And it goes up fast -- I remember the days of six bag shots... enough smack to kill a horse.

The weird thing about opiates, however, is they don't hook me. Still, I've been hitting the Vikes way too hard and I'm going to pay for it when I run out. That'll be in about three hours, I figure.

Steve asked me how many I had left today. My gut reaction was defensiveness. This bothers me. It also bothers me that I've been waiting until he's not looking before I take them, because I don't want him to see the quantity I've been taking.

It's only been a week, but as fast as my tolerence shot up, I'm expecting a bit of physical withdrawl. Nothing I haven't done before, and I'm not even really dreading it. I'm almost going to be glad when I'm out -- last night at work was close to a mirror image of one of my worst coke binges.

I'd feel great -- exhilarated, talkative, friendly to everyone -- and then reality comes crashing down. So there I am digging out the pill bottle, taking more in a (quite effective) attempt to forget that everything sucks, at least for a little while.

The problem was, I hit that point where my tolerence was shooting up higher and higher over the course of hours... three of those suckers (and these are 7.5's, folks) wouldn't cut it, and I started stacking.

Stacking is bad. I don't know why. But every time I do it, regardless of the drug, I wind up in a very bad place. With coke it turned into, "let's see how much of this shit I'm physically capable of snorting, and maybe I'll manage to OD this time." Coke binges turned from "I'm going to have some fun" to "I'm trying to coke myself to death" in a few hours.

I wasn't trying to off myself this go-round, just to find a plateau where I wasn't skyrocketing to uber-high and then dropping like a lead brick into the depths of depression.

By the time I got home, there was approximately 37.5 mg of hydrocodone floating around in my bloodstream. Considering the normal adult dose would be 5mg and the maximum 10mg (which is too much for most people), that's quite a lot.

...and I had barely achieved "normal".

The nice thing about opiates, for me, is that I can stop and I recognize when the time has come to do so. This may have something to do with the fact that whatever drug I'm using (even alcohol), I binge -- and opiates are just not good for binging. Tolerence rises too fast, and after a while I realize it's just not doing the trick anymore. So I stop.

Of course, as high as I let it get this time, I'll have some physical symptoms, but the craving just isn't there.

After I got home last night, I went to bed to sleep it off. That's another thing I like about opiates -- I can sleep, and when I wake up I feel okay. Certainly beats the hell out of those incredibly miserable, sleepless nights coming down from a coke binge.

I felt weird, though, after a while... I'd be on the edge of sleep, then get this odd feeling, as if I was on the verge of losing consciousness. Back in the coke days, I would have welcomed that sensation with open arms -- thinking maybe I'd finally managed to do it, and I'd pass out and die. Every single coke binge ended like that -- in a desperate attempt to OD and end my suffering.

Opiates are different, however, and I've got a whole hell of a lot more to live for than I did back then. I had this sudden vision -- Steve coming home from work at lunch, eager to spend those precious fifteen minutes with me, and finding me in the bed... in a state of rigor mortis. He'd always wonder, I think, after the autopsy report showed I'd ODed -- had I done it purposely? Had I chose to leave him, in the worst possible way, without a word? Without even telling him I was unhappy?

So I forced myself awake, and started breathing deeply. If overdosing on opiates is going to kill you, it'll be from respiratory depression. If you can stay awake, and breathing, you can survive even a massive overdose. This is one case where willpower can save your life.

I waited until I stopped feeling weak and faint before I let myself sleep.

If I hadn't, would I have died? It's hard to say -- in someone without tolerence, that 37.5 mg would certainly be potentially fatal. I sincerely doubt it, though. I think I just panicked. That, too, is part of the addictive mindframe.

Still, that was a clear-cut, impossible-to-ignore sign that it was time to start weaning myself off. So that's what I'm doing, although I'll run out before I'm properly weaned, and expect a few days of feeling rather ill. Shit happens.

I don't regret it. Being high 24/7 has been good for our relationship -- I managed to handle Steve's mom visiting with a minimum of stress, we've had a much-needed break from drama, and I managed to express a lot of things I wouldn't have been able to without the Vikes. That's one of the best things about me on opiates -- I'm much more open about my feelings, and yet not harsh at all.

I do, however, regret some of my behavior surrounding this little adventure in prescription drug abuse. The understanding was that I'd take these until I didn't need them (for pain), then split the remainder with Steve. Well, I've stuck to the agreement, except that I've been abusing the fuck out of them in the meantime.

I wonder if there was an unspoken agreement that I was supposed to be sticking to the prescribed dose. I don't know -- but I do know that the tolerence as far as pain relief goes, increases at roughly the same rate as the tolerence to the high. In other words, I wasn't taking more than was necessary (except for that final stacking incident) to eliminate the pain.

Perhaps more importantly, I'm feeling rather dishonest now. I didn't tell Steve I'd steadily increased my dose all the way up to three times what I'd started with. In fact, as noted before, I was waiting to pop my pills until he wasn't looking. Lie of omission? I don't know. I'm not sure if this falls into the category of things I'm expected to reveal.

If I really thought it did, I would have told him though. God knows I'm terrible at keeping things to myself, especially if it involves me doing things I wasn't supposed to. If I had an affair, I'd call Steve from the other man's bed (as soon as he pulled out) to inform him of what I'd done.

At the time of this writing, he still doesn't know what I was doing, or what happened last night when I was trying to sleep after work. He'll read this, though, and while it's probably not the best way to communicate such things, it's easier.

I'm going to cross my fingers and hope he's not mad.

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