valium/Methadone Withdrawal

Preston Peet ptpeet at
Thu Oct 7 08:53:48 EDT 2004

Jim also wrote >Also, Valium can relax some of the back muscle, maybe you
doc will give you some.  But as usual you can take a hand full and not feel
them.  Take two a day, you won't "really" feel it but it will help.  If you
should take a large amount and quit you can have seizures. I know, I had

I too have tried using Valium to help me kick, buying a few during the
aforementioned methadone withdrawals (but very few actually, less than ten
during the whole thing) and also using them more than once for heroin
    Here is an excerpt from a book I wrote a couple years ago and am now in
the process of rewriting back into first person as I believe I've mentioned
here more than once. It's a story about one time when I was using Valium to
kick, having been handed a handful before leaving London by a friend
specifically to help ease me through the worst of the upcoming cold-turkey
kicking I knew one hundred percent for sure I was going to be going through
once arriving in NYC, where I was headed to reunite with my then girlfiend
(spelled correctlly btw). I ended up living the semester out on the SUNY
Purchase college campus, out past White Plains, landing at the beginning of
February 1994, during one of the very coldest Winters NY had seen in
decades. Withdrawals, as most all of us are probably aware (at least it was
always the case with me) leave me extremely succeptible to cold
temperatures, and this lead to my landing in hell for lack of a better
description. By the time the plane landed in New Jersey I was already in
withdrawals, and things just got worse as I got closer and closer to, then
finally arriving at the Purchase campus.
    So here, for a brief glimpse of what can happen when using Valium (mixed
with copious amounts of alcohol liberally applied to my otherwise empty,
jetlagged stomach), I offer the following snippet from "Something in the
Something in the Way by Preston Peet

(current) Chapter 6-

The Return


I figure there's no better way to break the ice with college students than
by breaking out and smoking hashish with them. All are appreciative and
impressed by the taste of, and high from, the hash. After a couple of
joints, rolled the European way, mixing hash with tobacco, everyone relaxes,
except me. Even Bob begins to thaw a bit towards me, but I can see in his
eyes and demeanor he still has reservations about me.

It's not much longer before I cannot take anymore socializing. "I've got to
lay down Bob. Where are we sleeping, please?"

"Hey, no problem," Bob says as he climbs to his feet. "Help me pull this."
He takes hold of one end of the sofa, chasing those sitting there off for a
moment, and he and I pull it away from the wall a few feet. He grabs a
mattress leaning against the wall and drops it to the floor behind the sofa,
right there in the living room where everyone is still making no signs to
leave. "I hope you don't mind the lights on," says Bob with an evil little

He has no idea that this is still luxury living to me.

Unfortunately, there is steady traffic in and out of the apartment for
hours, which keeps the Arctic air on me. I'm so sick now that each move I
make makes me want to throw up. My skin is alternately on fire and freezing
cold, and I can't stop sweating, soaking the sheet beneath me. The Valiums I
've so far taken aren't helping me sleep at all. I can hear snatches of
conversations as I drift in and out of lucidity, both from the students and
from Oliver Stone's film, "The Doors," now playing on the tv. I distinctly
hear Jim Morrison tell Pamela to get out and to not forget her heroin. "I
won't" I mumble in my delirium, right there in the film with the characters
and their drugs.

I lie there for I don't know how many hours, drifting in my state of hell.
Then I'm jerked to full awareness by my girlfiend shaking me.

"Come on, get up, we gotta get out of here," she says. "Bob needs the
apartment, 'cause a bunch of people are coming over to study and he can't
have someone tossing and turning and mumbling the whole time behind his
sofa. It's distracting."

So the room's been privy to my suffering. I don't care. I'm feeling like
shit, and don't care less what Bob nor his friends think of me now. But I've
no choice in the matter, I have to go with her out of the apartment. Before
we leave, I have to race to the toilet because my bowels are loose and I
have the runs, one of the worst parts of kicking heroin for me.

My girlfiend leads the way through the night, across campus over an unending
sheet of ice and snow. I just want to lie down, right here in the snow and
go nowhere, but I manage to keep to my feet, trudging grudgingly along
behind her. It's snowing hard, making the going a total Eskimo Hell even
more slippery than it was earlier, but we eventually arrive at a garage-like
building, climbing up a narrow metal staircase and entering through what
looks like the back door.

We're now in the cafeteria building, which at night houses the student bar,
where my girlfiend introduces me to the red haired, heavily tattooed
bartender, Mike. I proceed to ask Mike for a pitcher, for myself. I take it
to a table where I sit by myself the rest of the long evening, popping one
Valium after another until they are all gone, drinking them down with
pitcher after pitcher, finishing off four of them almost entirely by myself
in the three hours we are there at the bar. I'm trying desperately to escape
the withdrawals, but it's no good. I cannot get away from myself, so now I'm
blind drunk and still completely sick too. We finally leave, thinking it
must be late enough that the study session has ended.

Outside on the ice again I fall repeatedly, my girlfiend bitching and
snapping at me the entire way. I haven't stopping thinking all night what an
incredibly stupid idea this was, to come back here to the US. My girlfiend
is acting like a total stranger, completely different from the girl I'd
known in London. There she'd been a friendly, compassionate young woman, not
this evil troll she's been since my return. She knows what I'm going through
right now, that I'm kicking a very serious, over-a-gram-a-day-of-good-heroin
habit, because she'd been with me the previous six months and gone right
through it with me, though not doing nearly the amounts I've been doing. She
hadn't done enough for long enough to catch more than a mild chippy, but she
's lived close enough to not only me but many other addicts as well, close
enough to know what withdrawals are and how bad they can be. She's even seen
me go through it before in London, though I had a bottle of methadone there
to help me get through the bad parts. Now she's acting like she had no idea
that was part of the bargain, that by my coming here I was definitely
putting myself knowingly into a situation where I was without question
having to go through kicking a heavy dope habit and it was to be with her I
was doing it.

Back at Bob's I drop to the mattress, grateful for the respite from the
troll. Sleep will be a blessed relief. With all the Valiums and the beer, I
expect to fall asleep no matter how sick I am. For normal people this would
be the case, but I'm far from normal when it comes to drugs and tolerances
to those drugs. All I seem to have accomplished with all the pills and
alcohol is to remove my ability to focus my eyes and to give myself the
spins, on top of being in withdrawals. When I finally do pass out, it's
lightly, fitfully, and nowhere near as deep a sleep as I need.

I go in and out of dreams, strange and terrible dreams, vision of shooting
up, or trying to shoot up but not finding my vein no matter how many time I
stick myself, missing the vein when I finally give up and push in the
plunger. In one I've got the money but can't find the dealer, then I'm
running from the person I robbed for the money. Then I'm dreaming I'm in
London, back in the squat. In my dream I get up to relieve myself, using one
of the old glass milk bottles I keep by the door for just this purpose, so I
don't have to go downstairs through the cold building to the only toilet a
floor below. There's something distinctly wrong, but peeing is such a relief
I don't think about it, I just go.

"Hey man, Yo! Get the Fuck Up!"

I bolt upright out of sleep and into a real nightmare. My body feels like it
's going haywire, my muscles jumping and twitching, on fire and hurting. To
top if off I'm soaking wet with sweat, and my girlfiend is shrieking at me.

"You tried to piss in a coke bottle and peed all over the living room carpet
by the front door, you ass!" She's beside herself with anger, because Bob
had come back to one of the back rooms to tell her what was happening.
Apparently, I'd suddenly risen to my knees behind the sofa and, paying no
attention to Bob and the other people still awake and studying in the room,
had grabbed a bottle and begun to pee, all over the floor, my hands and the
wall and door. Then I'd laid back down behind the sofa.

I'd thought that dream was a little too real. Now I'm embarrassed on top of
everything else. So much for worrying about my reputation. I don't know what
to do, so I just stand there, until my girlfiend pushes me to the restroom
and throws some clothes at me.

"Get changed, and I'll clean up," she tell me as she slams the door in my
face. After I change, I go back out to the living room where Bob and my
girlfiend are now the only ones in the room.

"I'm sorry, jetlag you know," I try to explain, but Bob just waves me off.

"Don't worry about it," he grunts at me.

I lay back down on the now clean mattress, and with my legs and arms pulled
up under my body to keep the muscles from kicking, I finally fall back into
a restless sleep. In the morning no one says anything to me so I stay under
the blankets, shivering and shaking and trying not to moan out loud,
delirious but in enough control to manage remaining quiet while feeling like
hell. The day slowly turns into night then back into day. As soon as it is
light out, I wake my girlfiend and tell her to give me the 50 pound note I'd
given her in London to bring with her to the States for me. She doesn't want
to, arguing with me for a while but I prevail, telling her I'm only going to
go to White Plains and exchange it into dollars. After she leaves for the
first class of the day, I ask around the apartment for directions, asking
where to go in NYC to buy weed.

"I can get you excellent pot here," Bob tells me. "Why go all the way to the
city when you can get it here?" He's giving me a funny look.

"I've never been to NYC before," I tell him. "I want to do this for the
adventure." It sounds kind of lame when I say it, but do I really care what
this fat cop-wannabe thinks? No, I don't. The real reason I want to know
where to buy pot is because I think the people selling pot on the streets
more likely than not know where I can score some heroin. One of the benefits
of prohibition is the mingling of drugs, harmless pot sold alongside
hardcore powders.


Peace and love,

"Madness is not enlightenment, but the search for enlightenment is often
mistaken for madness"
Richard Davenport-Hines

ptpeet at
Editor "Under the Influence- the Disinformation Guide to Drugs" (Out Oct.
Cont. High Times mag/.com
Cont. Editor
Columnist New York Waste

----- Original Message ----- 
From: Jim Hadey
To: ibogaine at
Sent: Thursday, October 07, 2004 12:18 AM
Subject: Re: [Ibogaine] Methadone Withdrawal

Hi Julian,

Everyone I know except one person quit methadone via H - everyone.  Maybe if
time goes on you can lower your dose and take pills like Tylenol #4 or
Lortab or Demerol or those Durgesic patches.  But one of the hardest times I
remember is when I was only doing four Tylenol # 4 a day.  That really is
very light.  But I damn near called the fire department to put my ass out.
I had the shits so bad and sweats too.  I know it is hard to believe that 4
lousy Tylenol #4 would do that to ya.  But with the pain your in you will
most likely be taking some narcotic for pain.  And as you know you end up
taking more and more for the same relief.  And rainy days are so much worse,
at least for me.  I hope the Igbo works for you but then as we said you
still have the pain problem.  Damn, can't win for loseing.  Out of them all
Tylenol # 4 I would say is the best.  Can't explane why something to do with
the first pass of ! the liver.  For example, if you were to eat a dillie, no
big deal, but if you shoot it it hits ya sooo nice.  Well for some reason
Tylenol# 4 is the one of the best to eat.  But it can stop you up, I know I
took them for 20 years or so.  You know I wish you the VERY best good buddy.

BTW you said >>>but I am very weak when it comes to discomfort via drug

Not that it is a contest buy I think I am weeker than you. Also, Valium can
relax some of the back muscle, maybe you doc will give you some.  But as
usual you can take a hand full and not feel them.  Take two a day, you won't
"really" feel it but it will help.  If you should take a large amount and
quit you can have seizures. I know, I had them.

  - JIM

Sapphirestardus at wrote:
Howard, How are you feeling? Reading this excerpt only serves to remind me
why I never detox from meth. Maybe it does come down to 'weakness' for it is
stated that some do get off and stay off, but I never got past the 1-3 day
detox. This only because I was put into jail and had no choice, but the
experience reinforced my committment to staying on meth or some opiate.
Possibly the ibo experience will change this for me. It did for you and some
others, but I am very weak when it comes to discomfort via drug withdrawal.
I don't know.......

                                                Thanks for this withdrawal

                                                            Julian Robinson
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