At the age of fifteen (I'm seventeen now), I started off with a fascination with opiates. Besides using benzos long before, I would steal my Mom's Dilaudid pills to become opiod tolerant before I could get to the *GOLD*...Fentanyl. Being a teenager, those presume that we are easily influenced by the people we hang around with. With me, that wasn't the case. Wanting to tango with Fentanyl was my own decision.
After I felt I was well enough to try my first patch. It was heaven. Euphoria galore. Not the kind of feeling where my inhibitions are totally smashed, but there was a sense of well being.
Time went on, and I become sooo addicted. If I couldn't get into my Mom's safe to steal her patches (she had them locked up so I couldn't get my hands on them, but I found a way at some point to break into the safe). Desperate measures were taken, to the streets I went to find my next fix. Most of them time, I didn't have much luck. Not many people were (and still are) familiar with fentanyl.
As much as I loved the drug, it had to be kicked. I lost the trust of my family, you know, the people I have to live with everyday. And as much as I wanted to quit, it is HARD and the withdrawals are horrendous. My fever spiked, I'd vomit non-stop. It was so much like the flu but MUCH worse.
