Through me you go to the grief wracked city;
Through me you go to everlasting pain;
Through me you go to pass among lost souls.
Dante Alighieri, Inferno: The Gate of Hell
Timothy Dalrymple, who blogs at Philosophical Fragments, wrote a compelling account of prescription drug addiction in a post titled (oddly enough) Overcoming Sex Addiction.
Tim says that “it would be hypocritical” for him to talk about addiction of any sort without also discussing his own addiction to prescription drugs. At that point, he veers away from the subject of sex addiction into a retelling of his own spiral into physical addiction to painkilling drugs as a result of the lifelong pain he must endure because of a broken neck.
I have family members who are drug addicts. I can sympathize easily with someone who is dealing with prescription drug addiction (or any other drug addiction) from the outside. I know what it’s like to watch someone you love destroy themselves with drugs and be helpless to stop them. I also know how it feels to watch the destruction of their once delightful personalities under the influence of drugs.
I can sympathize with family and friends of drug addicts. The drug addicts themselves, not so much.
Tim’s honest account of how the prospect of a lifetime of pain demoralizes while the steady infusion of addicting drugs into a person’s body and life grows an addiction that won’t be assuaged gave me a new and necessary perspective on my own family members who have lost the battle with addiction to prescription drugs. I sometimes almost forget that a lot of physical pain fueled the original drug-taking that led to the addiction. All I see is the ruined personality, the vacant shell of the individual I once talked to, laughed with and turned to for companionship.
Grief for the loss of the person you knew and loved is part of life for those who must live with the addicted living dead. It is even more acute when the drug addiction is a response to emotional rather than physical pain.
I think Tim’s article is well worth reading for anyone who loves someone who suffers from addiction. In truth, the addicted person is just the center of an ever-expanding circle of suffering that ripples out to parents, siblings, children, friends, and on into future generations.
I admire Timothy Dalrymple. Not many people have the grit to face their own addictions and do something about them. I respect the courage it took to write about it so honestly in this post. I encourage you to read it.
… It was not happenstance that I decided to teach a class on sin and addiction. I became intensely interested in the topic for a very specific reason.
I have taken pain medications more or less constantly ever since I broke my neck in 1996. Every day, I leave my house with a packet of pills in my pocket. For the last six years, I’ve been on a medication that relieves my pain without causing any euphoria or craving — but that was not always the case.
To be clear, my medications have always been prescribed and supervised by a physician. But that does not mean — does not mean at all — that I have not been addicted. One of my doctors, in fact, was very clear with me: if I put you on this medicine for a long time, you will become addicted. There’s no question about it. We will just hope to control the addiction.
As though addictions can be controlled. But what choice did I have? If I did not take the pain medications, then I was in pain constantly. Every hour of every day. Around my two fused vertebrae, I have nerve damage, bulging discs, pinched nerves, traumatic arthritis. What some people don’t appreciate about chronic pain is that the physical pain is one thing, but the psychological burden can be almost unbearable. It’s a terrible thing to stare down the barrel of the rest of your life and know that it will rifled through with agony to the end.
So I went from Vicodin and Percocet to Methadone and Oxycontin. I would be on a certain medicine for a while, my body would build a tolerance, I would need to raise the dosage, eventually the side effects would grow too significant, and we would switch to another medicine. And the most dangerous of the drugs I utilized was, without a doubt, Oxycontin.
I took Oxycontin — and usually felt a “high” — three times a day, for years. While I never ground and injected or snorted it, I learned that there were other ways to get it into your system more quickly, or ways to experience its effects more profoundly. (Read more here.)