When a broken ankle followed a broken tooth, and a car wreck came shortly after those two, was it inevitable that I'd succumb to a painkiller addiction? Sometimes I laugh at the double meaning of painkiller. I know all too well that the pain I wanted to kill was in my heart. Vicodin killed the painful memories that flooded my sober mind. I went from a depressed, struggling, single Mommy to an energetic, patient, accomplished super Mom.
The family was so proud of me. I saw no reason to think I was an addict. Then something happened. I ran out of pain killers. Boy did the pain come back. It didn't come alone though, it brought leg cramps and dope sickness with it.
Just that fast. I am trapped. I do not posses the ability to be rational during the withdrawal stage, so I do what it takes to get high. Whatever it takes. Once I have scored and get that rush again, it hits me the desperation of my actions and I feel guilty. I say to myself, I will not let this control me! I can handle it! Those words are easy to say when the pain is dead again. What happens now? I run out again. Desperation.
Does any of this sound familiar? Am I the only one who got stuck in the opiate trap this way?