Kill The Pain And Everything Else

I was eight years old the first time I swallowed a Percoset. I lost count of how many times I was handed them… or Oxy… or Vicodin… before I even reached ten. They made me itchy but there was something about that itch. I liked it. A prepubescent pillhead. That’s a more accurate term for a child ballet prodigy. My parents had signed paperwork allowing the school to make medical decisions for me on their behalf. I lived there. They were over an hour away. I’m sure all my father was thinking about when he signed those papers was about getting me help quickly in an emergency, not hand-feeding opiates to his child. But medical decisions at a school meant to pump out prima ballerinas on a conveyor belt of broken bones and twisted ankles meant doing whatever it took to keep us dancing. <a href="https://medium.com/black-bear-recovery/kill-the-pain-and-everything-else-32e7d2f45d2b">Click Here</a>