on prescribing opioid medication to 12 year olds: a chronology of events leading to a broken yet peaceful adulthood
to preface, this is a really dark one. as the title mentions, this post will contain graphic description of drugs and adolescent drug use as well as extremely graphic mention of attempted suicide. i'll try to keep it brief, but if you're sensitive to those topics: please look away.
sages of protection ( from wandering eyes )
born to a pillhead father and an alcoholic mother, i was blessed with a double dose of the addiction gene.
i was 10 when i began actively planning my funeral and i was 12 when i caught the flu. it was bad enough that my mom took me to the doctor for the first time. we never go to the doctor. i was prescribedhydrometcough syrup and kept the bottle in my closet.
i drank nearly the whole 24oz bottle in one sitting. i remember laying in the dark that night with my hands on my chest, feeling it rise and fall a meager few inches. why couldnt i breathe? i tried to fill my lungs but my body felt somehow separate from my brain. i think it was this moment where my brain activated its self-preservation protocol. i snapped out of my apathy and realized i was stuck in a body that was quickly failing me.
its almost scary how clear the image of this night is in my mind.
i called my online friend hyperventilating, begging him not to tell my mom or the police, begging him just to stay on call with me for as long as i was still here. i lay on my floor all night with him on the phone next to me, trying to breathe steadily and keep myself awake. somehow i knew if i slept now, i woulnt wake up again.
then the next day came. (school waits for no one.)
should i have had access to opioids at age 12?
was it the doctors fault for prescribing it? or was it my parents fault for letting me keep it in my room? or... is it my fault? i shouldve known better. why was i 12 years old with a lethal dose of oxycodone in my hands in the first place?
i realize now, the reason i didnt like heroin as much as i expected to was that fear... the one i felt when i was little. knowing that if i were to sleep, id die. i felt it again at 21. the struggle to keep my eyes open while losing control of my motor systems. ah. thanks little me.
now i needn't detail the events of my active addiction. retelling of my drug use only seems to make me miss it.
this story ends at age 19 when i was admitted to psych as an alternative to prison. they wanted to charge me for posession with intent to distibute. i guess nobody just buys 400 pills for themselves anymore?
seeing my parents cry was strange. ive never talked to them much, even as a kid. i wonder if they saw themselves in me. i wonder if they blamed themselves for this?
ill never ask.
current day
im 24 now. i drink occasionally, but dont enjoy it that much. ironically, alcohol has never been my thing.
its strange, being sober. feeling my body is so alien to me. instead of an all encompassing numbness... i can feel each part of my body clearly. i can feel myself breathing and i can feel the slight hunger in my stomach from skipping breakfast.
i take my little vitamins and eat my little fruits. im rather sedentary, but otherwise as healthy as i can be. i want to get old one day!
and as someone who used to say: "id rather die than be sober,"
im glad i grew up.
sorry again for the heavy read. still hung up on my past, im hoping that through writing i can finally detach from these old memories. i cant allow myself to be stuck in my 12 year old mind forever.