One cold and painful night, many many moons ago, I stood staring at the little white pain pill sitting on the counter top laughing at me. I needed the pill, for I was in pure physical agony of the kind only Fibromyalgia can deliver. But I lived on the pill in order to get through work and life and quite frankly, it sucked. I was moody, bitchy, short-tempered, nauseous and constipated. And those were my good days. There were days my pain was so bad I could not take enough to damper it and still expect to live. So on top of being moody, bitchy, short-tempered, nauseous and constipated I was also in writhing misery. Fire coursing through my extremities. There were days off of work where I simply could not take the pill that day, just could not take the side-effects, and condemned myself to lying in bed sobbing at the torturous injustice of it all for twelve hours straight.
Oh yes, that little oval Percocet and I danced every dance, boxed every match, battled every tune. When I was healthy prescription narcotics were something a person took for a short while after surgery or a car accident. Anyone else was thought of as "dependent" or sometimes more specifically "an addict". Judged and condemned without need for an explanation. So how on earth did I find myself at the age of 30 going through over 100 of these nasty little bastards a month? Me? How? I was a party girl in high-school and college but that was long behind me and this was certainly no party. I was an adult with a career and husband and a life full of promise and potential! At least before this pain started I was.
Well the more determined I became to not need the little white pill the more I needed it. Oh such a lose-lose situation, no winner allowed. One of my driving forces behind getting Fibromyalgia "managed" was to get off these suckers. I was living a dulled-out, vacant half-life but also needed to work to support myself. Believe it or not moody, bitchy, short-tempered, nauseous and constipated accomplished working a job far better than unmanaged Fibromyalgia pain did. And I learned a thing or two along the way. The more you take, the more you need. Narcotics create more pain receptors, actually increasing the pain. Hence the need for a larger dose, ie. addiction. I also learned when taking a medication prescribed for a condition by a treating doctor a person is not an addict. I was worried about this one so I asked my doctor. He asked me if I was breaking into cars to steal stereos to pay to obtain drugs illegally off the street. When I answered no he reassured me I was not addicted. I also learned living on them for the rest of my life would most likely severely compromise my internal organs and shorten my life. So I set about figuring out how to get off them. I don't take anymore than a few pills a month for severe breakthrough pain these days. Whenever I wake up the next day I thank God I don't have to live on them anymore. I also learned I would have never gotten here, not needing them, without them. They were part of the treatment plan that got me here. In so many more ways than one.
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