Hell in a Bottle

Have you ever had a nightmare that was actually an experience you have lived through? One that was so horrible that it frightened you half to death? I have, and it is the most terrifying nightmare I have ever gone through in my lifetime.

It started with me going to the doctor years ago for some pain relief from my lupus. Once again, she pushed the narcotics on me. After a few years of saying no, I took her up on it. I couldn't handle the pain anymore.

In no time at all, my dream quickly turned into me realizing that these little "Miracles in a bottle" made everything in my life seem better. I was looking at the world through rose-colored-glasses and I liked what I saw. They were helping with much of the pain, so I thought that the rest was a bonus. 

As time went by,  they seemed to wear off faster. So, when life started to get to me, I remembered that I had the cure, and I would take an extra pill and it made everything easier to handle. I am not proud that I relied on them, but that is what addiction is about. 

It wasn't long before I was begging for more, and my doctor was increasing the dose again and again.

Fast forward ten years, and I was on enough Oxycontin and Percocet to kill me. 

My newfound happiness was chiseling away at my marriage and my relationship with my children. At first I didn't understand why everyone thought I was acting differently. Didn't they like to see me happier? But the family said they could see I was high, and with a little convincing, I acknowledged it as well.

I knew I needed to get off of them. Suddenly it was apparent, even to me, that I was equivalent to a junkie. I might as well be doing street drugs. Yet, my idea of a drug addict did not fit my description. I found that addiction is not fussy about looks or who it claims as a victim. 

Yet, sadly, I had convinced myself it was so innocent as long as they were for my pain and from my doctor. 

I realized that living without them was going to be painful. My new doctor's plan was to wean off slowly,  but then I thought that maybe if I would try to take less than I am supposed to, the withdrawal period would be done sooner. Obviously, the drugs had dimmed any common sense I had left. 

To make things worse, there was a mix up at the pharmacy regarding another of my medications and I was without those as well. I didn't know at the time, but going without two controlled medications was asking for trouble. I had no idea of the danger of withdrawal. 

It was painfully hard from the start, but I needed to do what I had to do to make this work. However, by the third day, it had become excruciatingly difficult. The pain was unbearable, mentally and physically. My nerves had me ready to pounce at anyone who was within throwing distance. 

That third night, not long after I had gone to bed, I thought I was still awake. I felt something moving in my bed, and when I opened my eyes I realized that I had fallen prey to satan. He had wrapped me in electric barbed wire, and he sat on my bed and taunted me over and over again. Then he hissed as he poked something sharp at me, and he even spit some of his venom on my face. 

When he appeared to make advanced moves toward my body, I tried to scream. But in my nightmare, nothing came out.

Suddenly, I woke up with my husband shaking me. He said he could hear me screaming from the other room, even with my door closed, and he had been trying for the longest time to wake me. 

Since then, I have had a few nightmares about that nightmare, and they are almost as terrifying.  Yet, the worst nightmare is the thought of ever going back on narcotics again.

It's been over ten years since I went off the pain killers. I had two knee replacements in the summer of 2022, and I refused all narcotic pain medication. The nurses argued with me and told me nobody should try to do it completely narcotic-free.  So, I thought about it for a moment, and the hell I had gone through to get to where I was, and I said, "Just watch me!"