Part Two: O.C. Way of Living

Supra ventricular tachycardia or SVT for short- is a condition which in my case is hereditary, that causes the heart to beat in an abnormally fast pace, leading to all kinds of issues. I had an ablation performed on July 10, 2001 at Massachusetts General Hospital. Upon my recovery, I was prescribed 40mg OxyContin, which I knew all about and had used it in previous years but because of so many of my friends who got addicted to it and all my visits seeing them in detox, I was that fond of it. But, the doctors made incisions to my arteries through my groin and I was in a great deal of discomfort, so I assured myself that because they are prescribed, I will be just fine. So I took them twice a day during my entire stay at the hospital.

One of my visitors, a girl who often hung out with the Crew happened to be in the room while a nurse came in with water and my medication, Oxys being one of them. Seeing the pill, she convinced me that we should crush it up and snort it, explaining that I will feel its side effects quicker and more powerfully. Also she wanted a bump(a line). She showed me how and it’s result was mind-blowing! I felt the best feeling I have ever felt in my life. I couldn’t think of anything on this planet that could produce such a euphoric feeling. I had energy and was instantly in a great mood. The pain going away was the least of the amount of pleasure I was receiving from this little pill. Nothing felt this good. Nothing! It was even better than sex.

i left with a refill of the pain-killer and within one week my entire 14 day supply was finished. I called my doctor and I was given another prescription of the drug because I claimed I was still feeling a lot of pain and discomfort from the procedure. But it didn’t stop there. Weekly I was calling the cardiologist to get more and he didn’t just kneel to my demands but he decided then to raise my dosage to 80mg, twice as much. I was ecstatic! I was making trips into Boston and just picking up my prescription at the receptionists desk. I didn’t even have to see the doctor. Needless to say, my cardiac surgeon became my first OxyContin drug dealer.

Little did I know that this was the beginning of a life of hell; torment and torture, self imprisonment, and I was already reconstructing who I was and the morals be stilled inside me. I could not stop getting high. Every morning I would wake up in bed, light myself a cigarette, and crush up an oxy, or shave it down into finer powder using a hose clamp or a Ped Egg. I could not start my day without my fix of this synthetic opiate made by Purdue Pharmaceutical. This little, circular, green pill with the number 80 stamped into its surface on one side and the initials OC stamped on the other had complete control of me. I could not get dressed without snorting one. I could not go back to work. I could not step out of my room and talk to my mother until I put its contents up my nose. But I didn’t realize this at first. At first I only felt like I was on top of the world. And then I ran out.

i will never forget the first time I got sick because of the withdrawal of opiates in my body, otherwise known as being Dope Sick. My doctor was actually killed and due to his death I no longer was prescribed OxyContin. I woke up like I did any other day but as time went bye, I began feeling almost anxious, started sweating although I had goosebumps from feeling cold, and my stomach started to ache. The longer I went the day without the drug, the sicker I felt. I could not stop yawning. The cold sweats were uncontrollable and my hips and knees became restless and uncomfortable. And there was this awful taste in my mouth. God awful taste.

But I was still ignorant to the addiction and I sincerely believed I was coming down with the flu, so I did what any mamas boy would do; I went home so my mom could take care of me. And though I lacked a fever, she pampered me like I was 10 years old again because she could see just how bad I was feeling. My mom fed me chicken noodle soup but I had no appetite. She rented movies for me while I layer on the couch but I couldn’t pay any attention to them because of how terrible I felt and not being able to get comfortable. And I got depressed. Not depression like I had growing up but a severe sadness I couldn’t shake.

One of my friends that I got high on Oxys with stopped by to see me. After hearing about how sick I was and that it was getting worse and worse, he enlightened me with what I now know as the opposite of that euphoric feeling I had experienced prior to this: I was dope sick. He surprised me with a bump, maybe a quarter of what I was so used to using, and within seconds…I not only began feeling better but I was up and on my feet ready to start my day.

That night I was back at my apartment. I remember this clear as day. I had a girl over, a girl I was dating but met because we had the same thing in common; Oxy’s. We were eating ice cream and talking about the couple of days before hand. She said it so simply, like it was no big deal, and what she said I didn’t think too much into at the time. I probably even shrugged my shoulders at the remark. She told me, “Honey, you’re an addict.”

Author: Jake Mitchell

Writing nonfictional & brutally honest experiences, stories, & events, from my life; both before, during, and following my intense destruction of myself and the people who were around me. All because I lived a life of lies, manipulation, and self-imprisonment, just a few of the many truths when you're an Active Addict. Although I'm very blunt, I tend to (or at least try to) write as humble, selfless, & full of gratitude, while sharing some of the tragedies and situations which most likely occured due to my addiction and the way I exsisted during that time of my life, as I only cared about and fiened for my next high or score. Please comment on any material I post. Although I'm quite ashamed and embarrassed for most of the actions, decisions, and outcomes, that happened during my torturous years of Active Addiction, I don't regret any of it. Now, by writing about these true stories and events, I'm hopeful another addict can relate to my pain, distress, and the Hell of using drugs. This HELL, becomes therapeutic and important for my recovery, reminding me that I am not the o my person who has ever done or thought these things. And through relating, I may be able to help another addict.

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