Please place this link on your social media, and please consider supporting this independent film project. We all should have our names on the credits. Imagine all the names we can add! So many of us are unheard. This is your opportunity to make our voices loud. Join the struggle to remove the stigma!
In other words, please show your love to Matt and all addicts like him by simply reposting.
The above link is too an article that links the pharmaceutical industry with the irresponsible unleashing of synthetic heroin for the sake of profit.
You really should read this article. It’s long, but here is a snipet:
To cement the brand’s reputation among doctors, Purdue conducted more than 40 national pain-management and speaker-training conferences at resorts in Florida, Arizona, and California between 1996 and 2001. They invited over 5,000 physicians, pharmacists, and nurses to these all-expenses-paid symposia. Many were recruited and trained for Purdue’s national speaker bureau. Purdue offered starter coupons offering a free 7-30 day trial of their medication, a practice that’s common among pharmaceutical companies for everything from skincare medicine to contraceptives. OxyContin became an instant hit among doctors, many of whom saw it as a wonder drug in the battle against the debilitating effects of chronic pain. As the good news spread sales of the drug mushroomed, rising from $40 million in 1996 to more than $1 billion in 2001, outstripping even Viagra. Meanwhile, Purdue’s campaign to extend the use of powerful narcotics to ordinary chronic ailments – for which the drug has been well documented to help – proved highly successful. By 2003, over half of the OxyContin prescriptions written in the United States were written by a primary care physician.
Today I betrayed myself yet again. I rushed off and bought yet another 40. A complete repeat from last month, 165 dollars down the f**king tube yet again. Something is different though. This time I have a genuine feeling of disgust, of failure and shame. This time I wasn’t physically addicted, it was only my mind this time, I completely betrayed myself. Sick, I feel sick, and sad, and down. The OC didn’t make me feel any better this time, it was terrible feeling. I got so angry at myself that I broke every one of my needles, threw them all way–the one bright spot in the day.
I’ve just realized, right this second, that the junkie thing just isn’t working anymore, not at all. I am a ruined individual–I have no real friends, I don’t have a real job despite being moderately intelligent, I haven’t been to Ukraine or back in school, I feel like shit all of the time just trying to live with myself. THIS STOPS NOW. THIS ENDS BEFORE MY REAL LIFE BEGINS.
Intake: (40 mg oxyco IV F**K!)
(I wonder who has been through this also, this feeling of absolute failure. I also wonder why addicts are not given empathy if not simpathy. Why would anyone curl his lip at someone who so wants to be free? Is the reason possibly due to the degree of judgment already leveled at addicts? Is this man really so hard to hug?
Our society would throw cuffs on him and a label–criminal. Yes, what he is experiencing is criminal. He was given opiods at a young age. Someone should go to jail for that. ….
Had the day off today, but it was still horrible. I felt terribly depressed all day long, felt like crying most of the day also. I thought I had enough narcs to get off real good, but it didn’t satisfy all day for some reason. I felt something strange, a twinge of AS creeping in. It shouldn’t start until tomorrow or Saturday. I think it’s all in my head really; this depression is playing tricks on my damn mind.
Talked with mom today. I’ll be going home Sept 13th!! Hope I can get clean by then, or stable on something, but prefer clean. It’s going to be super hard. I start tomorrow, and I figure at the rate I’ve been going through the summer it will take me about 7 or 10 days to get completely off. That’s 7 to 10 days of being just god-awful sick. I started taking the amitriptylene today, for withdrawal as well as depression. Hope tomorrow is better.
Intake: 100 mg oxyco, 10 mg hydroco, 400 mg propxyplene, oral
Awoke today from a horrible nightmare, just terrible. I dreamed that I was in a house in ________(where Matt lived close to home), with my mother and my cousin Brad. My mother was yelling at me about my habit; she was trying to take my kit bag full of my needles away from me, which I fought vigorously. I grabbed my kit bag and ran across a beautiful field to my grandmother’s old house on _______ Rd. I ran down to the lake and tried to hide my kit bag in the old boat-house there. My mother and Brad appeared, as if they ran after me, and attempted to take the kit bag. I don’t know why this was so horrible, but it really was–put me in a depressed mood all morning long. I hated it.
Other things happened today, but nothing of consequence. This is all I care to write tonight.
Intake: 30 mg hydroco, 130 mg oxyco, oral
(Driving Matt out of Oshkosh and to his dream-achieved Madison apartment, I first heard of this dream. He told the dream in much more detail at that point. We both talked in-depth about dreams we had experienced, but this one was still upsetting a year later to him. Dreams, well certain ones, do speak to us, most certainly. This dream was haunting to him. Yes, it may have been induced by his earlier night’s thoughts on home and the addiction he was battling. However, if one looks at the symbolism there, the struggle there, and the fear there, one might understand better the mind of addiction.
Addiction, I am beginning to believe, is rooted in fear and control. Running away through a beautiful field to his grandmother’s house, Matt may have been surfacing in that deep river of subconscious–that darkly slow water that meanders through our minds and carries us along together with real-time of the unreal fabric of a slowly emerging consciousness. Have you ever stopped and dove into your river? Have you ever looked a bit deeper, a tad detached, or a slightly-outside in relation to the unreal side of reality? This is where we really exist and where addiction exists. It exists in the most intangible yet most perceptible true self. This is the self that lies down in the darkness, alone to find peace and rest, yet rest is not there as the river of our self, our essence, is all that is left once our physical bodies give in, and we may be pitifully aware of our imperfections to the point of unrest. We are alone with our true essence, there, floating or sinking, moving or caught in an eddy, cold or refreshed, experiencing metaperception of our lives as they flow.
Addiction is the response to that river. Too deep and dark we become afraid. Too fast and cold we become unsure of the course and try to control the minutia. If this sense is too strong, if those who feel too deeply and sense too emotionally, it then flows into waking life. But, that is not acceptable and not compatible with the job of conscious life; therefore, it must be dulled and subdued. Sensitivity to noise has a drug as does sensitivity to touch. But, sensitivity to the spiritual essence of life only has something that dulls the senses–depressants. A deep sense of our own fallibility, our own sin, our own humanness is painful and cruel to those o fus who sense this. Matt sensed himself and the world around him intensely. He turned to something that made him feel less human, less lost in the river we all are traveling.
I am beginning to believe that his addiction to something that dulls the senses was a response to his ability to feel completely the ills of life. I wonder if other addicts also feel this sense of fear and loss of control by the dark river, deep water, powerful current that carries us along. Are those who feel this in true reality actually more blessed?
Considering Matt’s fear, his cousin who took him hunting/fishing/dirt-biking and myself, who encouraged and coerced him to reconsider his path, were the two enemies he was hiding from, the two who threatened his addiction, who chased him through the beautiful field. However, we were not really us but a part of Matt. We were a part of him that was trying to attack that area. Was this his fear of the part of him that said “grow up”? Was grandma the part of him that wanted to stay a child, wanted to hide from continuing on the river toward the unknown of adultness? I am not sure, but I do know that this dream brought his head to the surface of the darkness enough to breathe in the cold, dank air of reality at the same time, and the mix was melancholic, the glassy mirror at the surface an area too frightening to cross if even in a dream.
Today was a stereotypical day in almost every way possible, a day I would certainly forget about if it weren’t for my trusty journal! I spent the day sitting at Aunt Cindy’s with a big knot in one muscle in my back, didn’t do much there, tried calling mom to no avail. Haven’t spoken to her in several days, which sucks. Went to work at 4, it went well. I felt melancholic all day today. I figure it’s just dealing with the flood of good memories from hanging w/ Jessie all day yesterday. I really miss home now. I’m really hating my existence in Oshkosh, wish I had some friends or something to do, poor poor pitiful me.
Today marks the one month anniversary of starting this journal. It seems that I made everyday except one–pretty good. I’m happy about it. I love my journal now, and make it a priority to write it everyday before I go to sleep.
On the following page I will tabulate my drug intake for the month.
Intake: 20 mg oxyco, oral, 400 mg propox oral
Drug intake: July 13–Aug 13
oxyco oral: 275 mg–free
oxyco IV: 160 mg–$160.00
morphine IV: 600 mg–$300.00
hydroco oral: 850 mg–$65.00
valium: 50 mg–$5.00
propox: 1000 mg–free
# of days I smoked: 11–$20.00 (? maybe)
# of “sober” days in month: 3
methadone and klonopin are negligible–$10.00
So, here I can see my intake for the first time on a monthly basis. I have extrapolated the costs from memory and current prices for the stuff where I get it, for instance, I’m going to remember the $160 I spent on 40’s because it stung. Now, I don’t think that it’s possible that I spent $560, but I believe it reasonable to assume that out-of-pocket for me was about $500 this mouth, out of around $850 total income–so, what I don’t pay in rent goes into my blood-stream. That’s so sad. The oral oxies are all from Cindy, 27 of them, quite a bit.
I NEED TO CUT THIS OUT!!
If you look at how happy Matt was in that picture, being around close family members at the dinner table, and then you look at Matt deep into his drug addiction relapse, you can give yourself a reality check on the value of getting clean and staying there. However, the voice in an addict’s head is like a very small megaphone repeating lies: just this once (once as in 10 years at a time?), I deserve it as I have been good for so long (so, being good means that you deserve to be miserable again?), I will quit tomorrow (didn’t you say that yesterday?), life without drugs is boring (true, making all those connections is very entertaining), I can’t have fun without drugs (true, handcuffs, getting AIDS, always broke, almost dying in deep nods, and all those quality friends… how does the tune go? memories…May be beautiful and yet, What’s too painful to remember
We simply choose to forget), no one will know (the coroner will tell them), and everyone’s favorite–I would be miserable for days trying to get off them (how many days of misery equals how many days of being in control of your life?).
I am rooting for everyone out there who can still read these words in hopes that you will gain some strength, knowledge, and hope for yourself and others.