Posted: Fri Mar 30, 2012 10:09 pm
I have spent the last solid year using between 15-60 mg of oxycodone daily. Year prior to that it was an on and off thing perhaps a one week or one month bender hear and there, but a little bit of a snotty nose and fatigue and I was fine. The ex was the main user and I codependently joined in the fun when it suited me. I had a month clean once back in August 2011 with little withdrawal after just one week on methadone. Had very little issues. Never really thought about taking pills, it didn’t seem like much of a big deal–the ex was gone and so was the using. Perhaps I was so scared of the direction the doomed relationship (and the life we were suppossed to be building) was sailing as the ex would take enormous amounts if available and ultimately graduated to shooting. He crossed a very scary line and my finances (sole breadwinner) were wrecked. Also leading up to my discovery, I met a parade of other users that were in various stages of loosing all that they had. Homeless, jobless, carless, track marked skin, rotted teeth, neglected children who at the age of five knew that their mamma had to "get straight" first thing every morning before she could have breakfast, some mammas that already lost their children and didn’t seem to care, nodding out zombified people with polka-dotted with cigarette burns bedding. These people came and went as my ex searched for the next great connection. Even allowing those with meds to stay with us, until they ran out and didn’t pay rent and got kicked to the curb, sometimes with a fight. It was terrifying. The discovery scared me straight for that month and the mental aspect (I thought) was licked. Perhaps I wasn’t an addict. Perhaps I was just a true hard core codependent enabler. Such a bad one that I in fact joined in and became physically dependent.
I have found that I was wrong. The mental thing wasn’t licked. Relapse on both the boy and the drug. In September, I let him come back and we used together again. And I was never a completely irresponsible addict. I took mothering my own two kidsand my profession seriously. I worked hard at both and generally took only 15-30 mg a day. I was generally in control. Took doses as needed to feel good but not get blitzed, far from blitzed as my tolerance built. After three weeks the ex had some pressing legal issues to attend to. Thank goodness. A new try, taper to methadone very short term get off, no big deal. Got down to 2.5mg, but didn’t jump. Figured oxy here and there would be okay until I jumped. Then more oxy and less methadone. My parents moved in to help them save and help me getting my life, budget on track. Get clean. I hid the use from everybody. Still relatively minor amounts held stead at 30-45 mg most days. Then bam, got my tax return.
Battling depression and anxiety and codependency as the ex tried daily to worm his way back into his meal ticket. Extra money got spent increasing my tolerance. Held steady at 45-60 mg for a few weeks. Blew through the cash. Hid the use. Was loosing my own dosing control. Things that were suppossed to be saved wouldn’t be. I never had this loss of control before. I had always been the responsible one holding stuff together. I had my parents to help me with the kids and the responsibilties that I held up on my own before without any problems. I leaned on them. I needed them. I used their support to escape the reality of a scary transition to single motherhood. I finally discovered the true meaning of addiction as my own obsession took hold.
So as "good" friends ripped me off for about 600 bucks, I started realizing how little control I had over my mental capacities. I longed for the taste and the drip and the rush that I don’t need to remind every one of here. I looked forward to my morning use. I used places I never thought I would. I always snorted. I was more and more scared. As I hit the 90 mg mark a few days in between here and there, I got scared. Enough to be scared straight. Almost. I hope. Just knowing that I lost that self control was scary. Never too bad. At least not as bad as I had seen. I never nodded out like the needle users I met. I never neglected household or child rearing duties. I kept myself from getting too sick to function even when I couldn’t find anything.
I admitted that I was indeed not just a codependent who adopted my mates addiction for a while. I was on my own using. I was escaping the pain of transition. I came clean with the parents. Gave them carte blanche on my tapering plans and finances. First I tapered on methadone again. Just as I did before. Then I got a few 8 mg suboxone. I was down to 2.5 mg methadone again and a little oxy 5-15ish a day. Took my last methadone Tuesday, (long acting). Took oxy Wednesday, Thurday, Friday 20ish mg give or take. Today was the last day. Perhaps took a bit more than 20mg (60ish) just for that one last time. I’m so ready to be done with the dependency, but I’m also ready to release my mind from this obsession. Though I’m scared to be saying goodbye to my crutch, my friend (evil little false happiness inducing devil) that helped me release my brain from the ex (previous crutch). Moving on I wonder about the loneliness and the anxiety (preexisting, but numbed while using) I attended my first NA meeting yesterday. Got some yoga and one on one counseling lined up. I have a very supportive family. I’m ready.
So what dose of Subs should I plan on taking? From approximately 20-30 mg of opiates (oxy) to what on suboxone. I know to wait the recommended 12-24 hours to feel like crap when I take it. I planning on 1mg to start, but no more than 2mg most days for about a week, then nothing except some sleep aids and any OTC’s that may help. Though I could drag it out for two weeks, but I want to just get it over with. I’m in a professional field so can’t miss work or be sick at work.
So it goes. So it goes. And indeed there will be time… And time yet for a hundred indecisions. And time for a hundred visions and revisions…I have known them all already, known them all: Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, I have measures out my life with coffee spoons; I know the voices dying with a dying fall. Vonnegut and Eliot offer me insight. But how about any of you? How much suboxone? How long?
So how should I presume?
Any tips or suggestions?
Do I dare disturb the universe?