My Second Chance

One of the worst things about my addiction to Vicodin was my ability to get ahold of it without a prescription. Living in an east coast city where gangs and drugs where as common as corner convenience stores. I could leave my mother’s house, walk two blocks, turn one corner and as long as I could pay for it, I could have all the Vicodin I wanted. I was never a recreational drug user. Being a born- again Christian, I abstained from alcohol. That changed one icy Sunday afternoon, when my jeep was slammed from behind by a skidding eighteen-wheeler.

After three surgeries and a massive scar, my neck did move somewhat better, but none of those operations did anything to relieve the pain that radiated down my left arm or the unbearable stinging that went up to the right side of my head and settled behind my eye.

I was forced the sit in granddad’s old wing chair. Its high back was the only thing that gave me the support I needed. What nobody outside of our house knew, before Vicodin, that wing chair had become my world. It was the only place. I could sit where the pain would sometimes be manageable.

The problem was that because of the angle of the TV, I was unable to keep my head turned long enough to watch it. I tried reading. That too was difficult since I could only keep my head tilted down for a short amount of time. I became bored and depressed.

My cautious doctor prescribed Vicodin. It helped lots. I could sit on the couch and watch TV. I could manage to lie down and sleep. After my prescription was finished, my doctor recommended pain management and refused to give me anymore Vicodin. After a nasty argument, I decided his so-called medical ethics weren’t going to come between me and my relief. I didn’t need a prescription all I needed was cash. After my accident settlement ran out, I didn’t much care how I got it.

I don’t remember when, but at some point after my body started building up its tolerance to Vicodin, all the energy I could muster was used on acquiring more and more of those white pills. Then came the paranoia. Every time the phone rang or someone came to the door. I assumed it was cops, the DEA or someone after my hidden stash.

My mother was concerned about me always being drowsy and sweating. She begged me to get help.

Then after a long talk with my Lord and Savior, I realized mom was right. I wanted my old life back and it was time to do something about this. If there is anything close to hell on earth, it’s got to be like withdrawal from Vicodin. Between the sweats, chills, vomiting and the returning pain in my neck, it was all I could do to keep myself from ending it all. I never thought I’d make it but with rehab, my personal savior and a family that loves me. I no longer take those white pills.

The pain in my neck is still there but so is the wing chair and it helps. I’m now in pain management and doing the best I can. I take every day as it comes I’m thankful for the good ones and pray for strength to get through the tough ones.

Darnel - Newark, NJ

Contact the National Information Center for Pain Medication Addiction anytime toll-free at (855) 222-1980 or through our online form, and receive the answers, information or our recommendation for the help you or your loved one need to stop their pain medication addiction!

Get back the quality of life and level of dignity that is only possible when you or your loved one are no longer addicted to pain medication drugs . . . regardless of whether they were obtained legally or illegally.

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