My dad is dying from pills

I never meant to write one of these posts. Fatherhood is everything to my dad. It’s the only thing he’s ever been proud of, I would say it’s the only thing he’s good at but that’s not true. My dad is an amazing mechanic he’s always been very talented and very thoughtful. I remember camping trips and food stamps and late night oil changes under the streetlight so he could afford to feed us. He also had chronic pain since he was a kid. A rare condition that makes his bones break easily, and instead of getting better once they heal they stay broken, and hurt. When I was about 10 years old he discovered that hydrocodone helps him sleep at night and wake up in the morning. That was 24 years ago. He still had his license back then and was able to get prescriptions easily, and he thought they were safe because they were legal. I don’t blame him. I felt the same way until it happened to me. So he took them as directed, sometimes he would run out a couple of days before his appointment and he would drink to get to sleep, but he never took more than he was prescribed. He had health insurance and medical care in those days. The little bottle you get from the pharmacy lists codeine and hydrocodone and acetaminophen and ibuprofen and all sorts of things you don’t want to take too much of, but he thought that was to prevent overdose, he didn’t know it meant the pills were changing his brain. I don’t want to bore you with the details. Maybe you already know about this. But I want you to see how this happened, I want you to see how it happens to lots of people, and how it could be prevented. He didn’t think he was addicted. He thought he was just in pain. He didn’t mean to take more pills than he was prescribed. He would just hurt so much. The only thing he wanted was to feel better, and pills made him feel better faster than anything else. He didn’t know that his tolerance would keep increasing. He didn’t know it would keep getting worse forever, that every day would hurt a little more and every pill would do a little less. He was still working at that time. Back then it was$body shop worker, sometimes upholstery, always manual labor. He had a boss who also had chronic pain, and one day when my dad asked to go home he was fired and given 120 pills instead of workman’s comp. My dad didn’t know that he was fired partially because of drugtesting, or that his boss was high all the time partially because he was an addict, or that his tolerance was increasing also and he would give away his leftovers to feel like he was still getting high. My dad took the pills, because he still had no idea he was an addict. A week later he had no pills, and no job, and no medical care. The withdrawal symptoms were the worst pain he’d ever felt. He couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to eat. He was sweating and shivering and his muscles hurt and his bones hurt and his heart hurt. This is where I have to admit that I’m to blame. I was an addict when I was a teenager, mostly meth and weed and drinking, but pills sometimes, and my dad was afraid to ask me for help because he knew I would say no. Don’t get me wrong, I loved him very much, and I loved being his son, it was the only thing that ever made him smile, but I don’t do that shit anymore and I knew how shitty it would make him feel and I knew it wouldn’t fix anything. I don’t want to sound cold. I wish I could fix it. I wish he would let me help. I wish he would tell me the truth. I learned how to be an addict from him. In a lot of ways it’s his fault. But it’s also my fault. I should have tried harder. I didn’t know how to help him but I didn’t even try. I was selfish and lazy and I hurt him more than I helped him. I want him to forgive me. Anyway, he still had no pills, and no job, and no medical care, and no appetite, and no sleep. He still had chronic pain. And he still had no idea he was an addict. So he went to a friend, who gave him a couple of pills. The next day he still had no pills, and no job, and no medical care, and no appetite, and no sleep, and no friends, because this time when he asked his friend said no. He still had chronic pain though. And he still had no idea he was an addict. Somehow he got the idea that he could buy them from a dealer. I have no idea where he got the money or the courage or the dealer. I hope it wasn’t me, but it might have been. But he didn’t know how much pills cost, or where to get them, or what they looked like, or who to buy from, or how to take them. He thought he could buy a bottle of pills from a stranger in a parking lot and he would be ok. He didn’t know how pills are made in secret labs run by cartels. Or that they’re all different sizes and shapes and colors and dosages. Or that they could be real pills, or fentanyl, or literal sugar. Or that he could get caught and lose his drivers license, or arrested and put in jail and lose his house. He didn’t know any of that. It’s not his fault. His doctors should have told him. His politicians should have warned him. The pharmaceutical companies should have told him. This is 100% preventable. Pills are the most common way that people get addicted. This is a pill epidemic, it always has been. Opiates in the Civil War. Heroin in the 70’s. Pills in the 2000’s. Fentanyl now. It’s always pills. I want to scream it at the top of my lungs. All my friends are dead. All my dad’s friends are dead. We grew up together. We got sober together. Now they’re all dead. videogames, work, school, and sports. Anything to distract themselves from the pain and the pills. This is the reality of being an addict. Every day is the same. Every moment is the same. You can’t imagine how boring it is. Most addicts don’t even use the drugs they love anymore, they just take them automatically so they don’t feel withdrawal symptoms, and the rest of the time they look for money and drugs and an escape. It’s so boring. Boredom is why most addicts relapse. It’s why most addicts kill themselves. It’s why my dad killed himself. I don’t say that like it’s his fault. I don’t think it’s his fault. I think he’s the victim. I just want you to know how hard it is. I want you to know how sad it is. I want you to know it’s preventable. I want you to know how it works. I want you to care. I didn’t mean to write all this. I just wanted to say my dad is dying. He had an overdose and now he has brain damage, and it’s my fault because I didn’t do more, but it’s your fault too. We should fix this. Edit: I had no idea this post would blow up like this. I thought it would be just for the sub. I was wrong. I guess it was wrong to say it’s my fault. I don’t think that now. I do think it’s your fault. Don’t take pills. Don’t give pills. Educate yourself. Educate your kids. Talk to an addict. We’re not bad people. We want to be cured, we want to be helped. I don’t want your pity. I don’t want your sympathy. I want you to do something. I want you to care. Edit 2: I came back to this post for the first time in years and re-read it. It made me cry. I still miss my dad and I’m sorry for blaming you. I’m sorry for blaming myself. I still think it could be prevented but now I know it’s not that simple. I hope it helped someone.

My dad is dying from pills

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