This is What Opiate Withdrawal Feels Like
If you ever wanted to know what Hell feels like…withdrawal must be close.
I carry two items in my front pocket every day: my AA sobriety chip to remind me where I am, and my last armband from detox to remind me where I’ve come from.
If ever there were a circle of Hell…it must include opiate withdrawal.
There is a reason addicts will do almost anything to get well, and until you’ve experienced withdrawal from any substance you will truly never have any idea what it is really like.
For me, withdrawal was more than just a physical sensation; it was a mental state of pure agony. Time stretched like taffy, the restlessness in my bones made me feel as though I was about to turn into the Hulk at any moment, and I prayed to God every 5 minutes just to kill me.
God, either kill or cure my ass…or if you wanted to send a little bit of Valium my way…actually, I take that back. Just go ahead and kill me. If you won’t kill me, at least kill my detox-mate so I don’t have to listen to him throw up all night. Actually, I take that one back too…please just kill me so I don’t have to throw up all night. Amen.
P.S.…seriously though, some Valium would be nice.
Some common symptoms of opiate withdrawal
Looking at the symptoms alone, it can be understandably easy to misconstrue opiate withdrawal for the common flu. In fact, I’ve even heard medical professionals compare it to a bad case of the flu — this is complete and total horseshit.
Imagine having the flu while having a continuous, upright seizure and maybe we might be getting somewhere close.
- Vomiting…lots, and lots, of vomiting
- Shitting…lots, and lots, of shitting
- Restlessness …lots, and — okay, you get the point
- Nausea
- Hot/cold sweats
- Sneezing — seriously, you will sneeze like 5–6 times in a row on the hour, every hour
- Insomnia (you may as well just get comfortable with just not sleeping at all for a very long time)
- Dehydration
- Anxiety/depression
This list is only comprehensive and is nowhere close to the entire spectrum of symptoms any given addict may face. These were just some of the most common ones.
Opiate withdrawal: a timeline
Everyone withdraws differently. Sorry for the gore, but I never got the legendary, explosive diarrhea that so many have told me about. What I did receive was worse: a double case of the pukes.
A nurse once told me that she had never seen a human being projectile vomit so much in her entire career. Thanks, I guess?
With this in mind, I put on my journalist hat and went deep undercover — as myself — and interviewed a handful of my closest junkie friends (all recovering). The idea was to create a collective timeline of withdrawal. Ten fiends are better than one. I’ve not used the internet or consulted with medical professionals — the following list was made by junkies and junkies alone.
Also, it is worth noting that withdrawal is also relative to the opiate that the addict is using. Myself and most of my friends were heroin/fentanyl users. Some opiates take much longer to leave the body, and others can have a remarkably short, but intense half-life.
0–24 hours after last use
During this time, your body still has dope in its system. If I had to come up with a metaphor, I would compare it to a divorce. Papers have not yet been served, you’re not entirely sure what you want, and there is still a 50/50 shot that you and opiates might work things out and get back together.
For the first 4–6 hours, depending on your tolerance, you will still be a little high. Somewhere around 12–18 hours after your last use your nose will begin to run, your eyes will begin to water, and a sense of panic will begin to set in. By the time you hit 24 hours, you will likely begin to get really sick.
2. 25–72 hours after last use
This is by far the worst part that you will encounter not only during your luxury stay in detox or jail, but most likely in your entire life as well. Papers have now been served.
Your (soon to be former) spouse has hired the best divorce attorney around to take half of your shit. Meanwhile, between your very booked schedule of shitting and vomiting, you spend your time writing eloquent love letters trying to get him/her back.
During this time you will spend all of your waking hours — which let’s face it, you’re not going to sleep — praying to the porcelain Gods, riding the porcelain train, or both at the same time. One of my now highly successful addict associates, who shall forever remain anonymous, phrased it like this:
“For two months I was forever in fear of shitting my pants. For a long time I no longer peed standing up.”
-Anonymous
Your entire body, which has been very successfully numbed by the dope for so long, is now going into total sensory overload. During this phase you will cry. You will thrash and scream. You will try to sleep in some genuinely bizarre places — almost anywhere but your actual bed — in an attempt to at least feel SOME form of relief.
In addition, your addict brain is also now in hyperdrive; you will say and do almost anything in order to manipulate someone into helping you get what it is you crave.
3. 73 hours to 1 week after last use
Things have started to calm down. You now only have to sign the papers. You’ve come to terms with the fact that your ex has taken half of your shit, and is now living in your house. You are completely fine with it, yet you still consider returning for one last shag for old time’s sake.
The vomiting has likely begun to subside, though you might still be shitting. The body aches and pains are on their way out, and the restlessness is slowly transitioning from full-blown Hulk back to Bruce Banner.
Your legs likely still won’t stay still, but if you’re lucky you might even be able to sleep 4–5 hours per night now. After one week, you are medically classified as “detoxed.” From here, you will transition into PAWs (Post Acute Withdrawals), which I will cover in another article at a later date.
I should also point out that I know all about MAT (medication assisted treatment), Suboxone, and Methadone. I have my own opinions, both good and bad, concerning MATs. I plan on addressing these in a future article as well.
I just don’t want anyone saying “But Lucas! You are writing an article on opiate withdrawal, but forgot about Subs…” I’m an expert junkie…I’m well aware of them. Moving on…
You’re detoxed! Good for you, I guess
Look, don’t be expecting any medals just because you’ve now officially detoxed. You’re still missing half your shit, homeless, and thoughts of returning to your ex (who is still living in your house I might add) will continue to cloud your mind at least 50 times throughout the course of any given day.
You’ve likely fucked a lot of people over in your addiction, and made many promises which you never had any intentions of keeping. No one plans on you staying sober, and it’s not fair to expect anyone to believe that you mean business this time just because you went a week without using heroin.
Some people go their ENTIRE lives without ever shooting dope. Don’t anticipate a parade just because you are now doing the same thing that every single other responsible adult you know has been doing for years. You are now literally doing the bare minimum.
The good news is that there is hope. You’ve got a lifetime of hard work ahead of you, but your freshly cut detox wristband can be your last one ever if you choose to make it that way.
Where you go from here is up to you, but do whatever the fuck it is you have to do in order to never forget those nights tossing and turning in detox…it just might save your life.
It sure as hell has saved mine.
Disclaimer: While you may certainly wish you were dead, opiate withdrawal itself cannot directly kill you. However, if you or someone you know is detoxing from benzodiazepines (Valium, Xanax, etc.) or alcohol…you need to go to a hospital immediately. Withdrawal from benzos and alcohol can leave you dead. Very dead.
If you’re struggling to quit drinking/using, you’re not alone.
If you’re ready to try something different, try my alcohol experiment. Do whatever it takes to stay sober for 30 days: go to your doctor, try Smart or AAor NA or Hip Sobriety or Soberistas. Read beautiful hangover. Listen to Recovery Elevator and SHAIR podcasts. If you think it could work, try Moderation Management.
There is a whole community of people just waiting to help you. Reach out. Something better is waiting for you.
