My fentanyl experiences have entirely been as part of surgery: it's part of the balanced triad of anaesthesia and I "recently" injured myself quite badly, resulting in three operations. After one of these, I spent about 36 hours on a fentanyl infusion and more than a month on oral morphine of various doses with my leg in an orthopaedic brace while I was bed-bound. I should point out that the alternative was a lot of screaming: visceral pain of the variety I cannot describe – I had a panicked, "help me" expression on my face and just felt utterly, utterly desperate. I was in a lot of pain and medically the drugs were appropriate, given the injuries I sustained.
I totally get why some people become addicted to drugs. Diazepam made me both in less pain and care less that I was in it. The opiates produced this warm, fuzzy haze of vivid dreams and imaginations and made a difficult time bearable. Fentanyl made me feel less than human but not able to suffer, and it was a necessity at the time.
Of all of them though, diazepam was the most dangerous. It just felt – well, nice. I didn't care that things were bad. I needed it medically to stop neurogenic muscle spasms and it made me both able to sleep well and feel OK about life in a way that is really hard to put into words. I have some in a bag, prescribed for me, in case I need it. Part of me – a small part of me, but a part nonetheless – wants to use it, a lot, when I don't need it. There's a little voice that just says "this makes you feel like you've been tucked up into bed nicely". I really can't explain it, but I know that voice is a temptation and a gateway to something that I don't want to have – but at the same time, I know that that drug both saves me from agony and helps me medically if I need it. I'm really not sure how I feel about that. I haven't had any in months, but the psychological aspect remains.
I can only imagine what "real" drug addicts go through. It must be incredibly hard, and individual's range of experiences will be very broad indeed.
My mother spent 6 weeks sedated with Fentanyl, on top of Alzheimer's. After a few days I realized she would survive. But she was in a hellish state for over a year, hallucinating and constructing parallel realities.
Ironically, she worked on the UK medical trial for Fentanyl when it was first introduced for surgery.
Once you actually don't need it anymore, throw it far away and do not look back. Benzos and opiates ruin lives because of that little voice. That voice will be strong enough one day that if you have those close by you will take a few, because why not?
That voice is the voice of addiction. Once it starts it never fully goes away. It just gets less frequent.
I totally get why some people become addicted to drugs. Diazepam made me both in less pain and care less that I was in it. The opiates produced this warm, fuzzy haze of vivid dreams and imaginations and made a difficult time bearable. Fentanyl made me feel less than human but not able to suffer, and it was a necessity at the time.
Of all of them though, diazepam was the most dangerous. It just felt – well, nice. I didn't care that things were bad. I needed it medically to stop neurogenic muscle spasms and it made me both able to sleep well and feel OK about life in a way that is really hard to put into words. I have some in a bag, prescribed for me, in case I need it. Part of me – a small part of me, but a part nonetheless – wants to use it, a lot, when I don't need it. There's a little voice that just says "this makes you feel like you've been tucked up into bed nicely". I really can't explain it, but I know that voice is a temptation and a gateway to something that I don't want to have – but at the same time, I know that that drug both saves me from agony and helps me medically if I need it. I'm really not sure how I feel about that. I haven't had any in months, but the psychological aspect remains.
I can only imagine what "real" drug addicts go through. It must be incredibly hard, and individual's range of experiences will be very broad indeed.