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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.orgShown: posts 1 to 4 of 4. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by Lindsay Rae on November 23, 2003, at 11:13:54
I won't write a novel here. Besides the ridiculous amount of space it would require to rehash my entire path to drug use aboard the depression express, no one here knows me yet, so it would probably not fit into the "good read" category.
Since discovering this board moments ago, however, I feel an intense need to share bits and pieces of what lead up to the loss of my fiance less than a week ago to his addiction, and seek answers that only the intellectual spirits I found here could give me. I have searched substance abuse boards, specifically about opiates, Methadone, Xanax, and antidepressants such as Zoloft and Celexa, but never have I come across a board that addresses both drugs and brain function synergistically.
I'm a twenty something college grad (if an English B.A. degree from a state college is impressive), with a one-year-old baby girl who is the happiest living being I've ever had the pleasure to know. She's brought joy into my life that I never thought possible, as did my first Darvocet in April of '98. I believe another poster mentioned that the introduction of "black beauties" into her chemical makeup made her feel like she was "supposed to feel." That's what opiates did for me.
I met Darvocet through a chance encounter with an iron fire escape type staircase, when my platform shoes and said staircase did not mesh well. I was taken to the hospital and diagnosed with a broken tailbone. They sent me home with a donut (for my bum) and a bottle of Darvocet, along with a referral to the city's "best" Orthopoedic surgeon (he was the doc all the college football players relied upon). There I received an MRI and X-ray that would seal my fate. The good doc put up the bone sillouhettes and explained all of the abnormalities that were obvious to the untrained eye: slight spinabifida (spine not fused together properly), scoliosis, herniated disks pushing on nerves, etc. He told me I had the back of a 90 year old, made some off the wall analogy comparing my back to a "rusty hinge", implying that I should not follow up with physical therapy, gave me 50 Darvocet and Flexeril and sent me on my way. For six months, I called for refills because the Darvocet made me feel joy I supposed other people felt. I was 22 then.
Depression and insecurity set in with the onset of puberty. I was the happiest child and the most miserable young adult. Drinking in college cured the insecurity part, but the lingering depression led me to the unshakeable desire to go crazy. I wanted out of my mind and fast. I had met some new friends who shared my passion for pot smoking, and they introduced me to LSD. Alas! My chance to go crazy. But the black blotter only made me think more deeply about the thoughts already swimming around in my head. It was a release from boredom and what I thought was the solution to my deeper way of thinking. I couldn't identify with the sorority/fraternity types--they were just too shallow. I would meet loners who shared my desire to explore beyond the surface. Looking back, they all thought they could play accoustic guitar, and they were all pretty bad at it. I was introduced to books by Jane Roberts, such as The Nature of Personal Reality. I was convinced I could control everything.
A year was long enough to do that acid thing. I tried ecstacy, but it only brought the anxiety bubbling to the surface. By '97, I could no longer endure any kind of hallucinogens or uppers. Cocaine felt nice for a couple of hours, but I always wound up in a desolate church, devoid of sleep or sanity, reaching out blindly to a stranger for help and answers. In other words, the coming down part was too much for my Serotonin-deprived brain.
I realize I just back-tracked there a bit...sorry about that. Come back with me to December of '99, when I graduated college with an accidental English degree. I say accidental because like too many students, I was forced to choose a major when I hadn't the slightest clue what I wanted to do, nor was I privy to the real world actuality that one's major does not necessarily determine the lifelong career that inevitably ensues.
I self-medicated with opiate pain meds for three years, never exceeding the three pill per day limit I set for myself, but almost always washing them down with beer, then wine, then Vodka respectively. By April of 2001, I was ordering Deprancol over the internet, which was basically Darvocet minus the acetaminophen, Hydrochloride instead of Napsylate, 150 mg instead of Darvon's 100. Doing the math reveals that these capsules were about six times stronger than a mere Darvocet N-100 (I'm sure most of you pharmaceutical types know that Hydrochloride is thrice the potency of Napsylate). I was working double shifts waitressing, on a steady diet of Deprancol and Stoli Vanilla with soda and a cherry (nightly after work cocktails with coworkers).
With a bottle of Stoli in hand and several CD's made lovingly by friends, I drove down the coast to live with college friends. My guaranteed shipment of pills did not arrive, and my credit card was maxed. I didn't know what to do. Although my habit never escalated beyond a few of these opiate pills per day, I couldn't live without them. I suddenly had a studio appartment I couldn't afford, a new sports car I leased in my mom's name, and no job to speak of. I started waiting tables at a popular chain restaurant, but my spirit was gone. I felt empty, dizzy, shaky, and petrified. I began sweating while freezing, and after some research discovered that I was "dope sick." A friend introduced me to Heroin, first snorting then injecting. I became attracted to the tall thin dark-haired guy who was helping us get it. He was charismatic and fearless, and I couldn't resist the urge to be near him. We became one person very quickly, junkie lovers. Then he revealed the practice of injecting cocaine and even crack, broken down by lemon juice. You can imagine the hustling and emptying of bank accounts and pawning and stealing that occured withing those two short months.
We were caught buying dope in a not-so-friendly part of town, in a sting operation. He went to jail, but I was let go because he told them I didn't even know why we were there. His father agreed to bail him out on the condition that we come to live with him. Long story boring, we did just that, and I became pregnant, so my using days were over. I was put on Methadone and remained on it throughout my pregnancy. But daddy to be kept on using, putting pregnant me in danger, so I left. We talked every day on the phone, and I visited a couple of times, both of which he was using either crack or heroin, depending on the holiday. He was in and out of jail this past year, but we kept up the "I love you"s and he wanted nothing more than to beat the addiction that had such a firm, unrelenting grip on his entire being. Last month his lawyer talked the judge into letting him out, contigent upon his entry into a treatment facility for 30 days. He was supposed to beging last Tuesday, but he died in his bed early Monday morning. I spoke to him the night before, ending the conversation in anger and annoyance at his obvious intoxication. But I never dreamed it would be the last time we'd speak.
I brought our baby daughter to the funeral to ease the pain of some of his family. I collapsed when I saw his body lying there lifeless, thinking only of the shirt he was wearing. He would not have wanted to wear that shirt! I was so angry about the stupid shirt.
Whomever has read thus far, thanks for your patience, and forgive me for breaking my promise to keep it short but bittersweet. I think I just really needed to put it all out there so I can better understand death, as I've never had to deal with it before, and I'm not sure I can handle it now. My psychotherapist says I'm still in a state of shock. I know there is a grief and loss board too, but I felt more at home with the substance abuse gang. I know all about the evil that creeps in when you're in the belly of the beast. I've felt it there, and it's unbearable. Thanks again for listening, and any comments are welcome and appreciated.
L. Rae
Posted by krazybirdlady on November 23, 2003, at 14:24:35
In reply to What happens now?, posted by Lindsay Rae on November 23, 2003, at 11:13:54
your post was incredibly well written and, i think, as concise as you could make it considering your life. i can't help but wonder why everyone who posts here is so damned intelligent. is ignorance trully bliss? i think that your subject line summed up your feelings perfectly. What happens now? you go on, because you have to. perhaps with a gaping wound for awhile, but as they say, time heals all wounds. you have a beautiful daughter to live for. my heart goes out to you, though, for what you must be going through. i also understand the fixation with the shirt. it's a coping mechanism to concentrate on one thing. please keep posting and let us know how you are holding up. stay strong...
Posted by KimberlyDi on November 24, 2003, at 11:01:54
In reply to What happens now?, posted by Lindsay Rae on November 23, 2003, at 11:13:54
What happens now? You breathe in and out, wake up each morning, and go to sleep each night. Rejoice in your daughter and the good part of her daddy that lives on forever in her. You don't repeat mistakes though you may make new ones. You'll learn and you'll grow.
And one day you'll find a new daddy for her and best friend/lover for yourself. You'll share your past and he'll understand why you value his good qualities so much.
What you went through can made you uniquely qualitied to go through life without taking it for granted.
I wish you the best!
KDi in TX
Posted by mdb1224 on November 26, 2003, at 16:10:46
In reply to What happens now?, posted by Lindsay Rae on November 23, 2003, at 11:13:54
The bad news is that it is a very sad story, the good news is that it was well written and thought through; And, the better news is there is more story to tell about you, your daughter, and all of your pain. Keep in touch and make the story better!
This is the end of the thread.
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