A few years in, people started telling me I was slurring my speech. After talking to my brother on the phone, he would later tell my mother I sounded drunk and wasn't making any sense. I had noticed I wasn't as articulate as usual, and I would flub my words sometimes, but I didn't worry about it because I was feeling OK and would never consider not being on Methadone and going back to being in pain all the time. Nothing was worth that.
And then I fell in love. I met a grad student at UNCG who was 11 years younger than I. When we first met, he liked me, too, but I took care of that pretty fast. All he had to do was walk in the room and I would get chills all over my body, and we couldn't keep our hands off each other. I don't think I had ever had chemistry with someone as much as I did with him, at least not that I could remember. He was beautiful and tall and intelligent and even his text messages read like poetry without a single grammar mistake. I started to hound him about not seeing him enough. I called, emailed and texted him constantly. I did everything guys HATE, basically. He was never cruel to me but did tell me he couldn't give me what I wanted. I simply would not accept it and became totally obsessed with him. I did the usual stalking stuff, driving by his house, begging him to see me. He wouldn't respond and it made me crazy so I resorted to outrageous things, just to get his attention, whether that attention was good or bad. Still, he was never cruel, just occasionally said "you need to stop this and move on" or just ignored me. I would apologize to him for my actions, then a few days later, do something even more outrageous than before. I couldn't figure out why I was acting this way. I started crying in the shower, and then crying all the time. I had been broken up with in the past by guys, and I was sad for a while then got passed it. Why was I doing this? I can't remember the exact sequence of events, but I told him I knew I wasn't acting normally and I was so sorry for everything I had done. We saw each other on and off for three years or so (until 2009) and even saw each other after all my craziness. He eventually moved and I heard he got married a few months ago. Had I not acted so psycho, we could have probably remained friends, but now we have no contact.
During the Methadone years, my mother (with whom my daughter and I share a home) and I would get into knock down, drag out fights. At the time, I thought I was in the right and everything was her fault. I would scream and she would scream back, all while my daughter stood witness. It was horrible. I continued taking my medicine because it made me feel better, or so I thought, and had no idea my erratic behavior was being caused by Methadone.
I had moved back to North Carolina about 4 years after I started Methadone, but continued to see my same doctor in Virginia, as he was just over the state line and only a 45 minute drive. It is very difficult to get accepted into a pain clinic so I figured I should stay where I was. My doctor agreed I should stay with him. After doing this for several years, driving and paying $100 per office visit because he did not take my insurance, I decided I should find a doctor in my town. This was early 2011. My doctor made a referral to another pain clinic, but I could not get an appointment for another six weeks. During that six week waiting period, I ran out of my medicines. I called my old doc and told him I was out and couldn't see the new doc for a few more weeks, and could he write me a prescription to tide me over? I was told that I was no longer a patient there and that I wouldn't be able to get a prescription. Um, what? Well whose patient was I?
The events that followed were horrific. I cannot think of the words to describe what this did to me and what it did to my family. I had been cut off COLD TURKEY from Methadone, Vicodin, and Klonopin all at once. I thought I was going to die. My body was spasming, my legs were jumping off the bed, I couldn't sleep or eat and I was experiencing bone crushing pain. My Mother ended up losing her job because she had to stay with me and she went over her FMLA days at work. I went to the hospital, called my primary doctor, had to call an ambulance - NO ONE WOULD HELP ME. Even recalling this is making me upset. I will never forget it as long as I live. Finally, after two weeks or so going through this (I can't remember exactly how it lasted, but it felt like an eternity), it was time for my appointment with my new pain specialist. My Mom had to guide me to the car as I was too weak to walk. My head was down the whole way there and I was unable to speak. When we arrived, she had to get a wheelchair to get me up to the 3rd floor office via elevator. The first thing the doctor said was, "I don't prescribe Methadone so if that is what you are looking for, you may need to go somewhere else." We were told that Methadone can cause heart trouble, changes in behavior, and it would soon be taken off the market. A lot happened after that, like my deciding I never wanted to be on narcotics again, so the new doc tried Lyrica, Neurontin, and a bunch of other stuff that I had been on previously that did nothing for me. I couldn't take the pain anymore and after trying several different opiates, I settled on the one that worked the best and didn't have an effect on my personality.
I have not been the same since that incident. Nothing takes away pain like Methadone, but I will never go on it again. My sister-in-law, and others, have remarked how much more lucid I am, and that the old me is back. I don't fight with my mom anymore (not much, anyway) and I'm a nicer, calmer person. I still have pain, but I would rather have pain than be a raging lunatic. My current medicine makes me tired, and I have a lot of work to do on my legs to make them stronger because I have stayed in bed so much. I wish I would have been "the old me" when I met my grad school lover, but I suppose everything happens for a reason. I don't know what that reason is yet, but hopefully it will be revealed to me. For now, I need to try to rejoin the human race, for mine and my daughter's sake. It ain't easy.
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