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Oxy, the Love Drug. Or, How I Became Addicted to Orgasms.
The dentists- and I had more than my share- always gave me oxy. I can’t recall a time that they didn’t. Thirty years ago when I was having a scad of dental surgery and repairs, all in the failed effort to save my chompers, I needed serious pain meds.
I have been high once, on weed. Ate everything in sight. Never did it again. I already had a goddamned weight problem. This wasn’t helpful. I ate a lot of Oreos. No. Really. A lot. Some of you can relate. I started on a table leg but it was too chewy.
The other other times I got high were on laughing gas, the only way I could handle the godawful pain that my teeth (and eating disorders) were causing me. Temporary loopiness, followed by serious fucking pain. Opioids helped.
But when I was done with the pain, I was also done with the pills. I had bottles that were many years old before I cleaned them all out. I think that had to be about the time that muckraking journalists started going through trash for…goods, if you will. And you thought it was research. Get the goods on someone. They got the goods all right.
Good God look what I found!! A month’s supply of oxy!!!