Latter-Day Saints (you know, the Mormons) have a commandment to not partake of “harmful drugs.”
This gets interpreted variously, but for the most part it means “don’t take anything illegal, don’t take recreational drugs, and be careful with prescription stuff.” Mormons in Amsterdam, for instance, aren’t allowed to smoke marijuana, even though it’s legal there.
Intellectually, I understand this commandment. Chemicals that alter your consciousness can block your ability to cope with the “real world” around you, and cloud your ability to listen to the Holy Spirit. A drug that makes you feel happy and peaceful may prevent you from taking appropriate action in times of trouble.
That’s my “intellectual” understanding, and until now it’s all I’ve had. I’ve never been drunk, high, or had any sort of “trip” with the help of stuff that I swallowed, snorted, smoked, or injected, so there was no practical understanding.
This evening I took two Lortab. They were the first two I’d taken in 48 hours. Shortly after taking them I felt really, REALLY mellow and happy. The massive workload I’m staring at here in front of my computer couldn’t shake me from this blissful, peaceful sense of “it’ll all work out.” I’ve had that feeling before when I’ve prayed for help with a problem, but at those times I had to work for it, and the feeling came with a bit of edification. In THIS case, however, I’m just happy for no reason.
I like this feeling. I see the attraction of being able to pop a couple of pills to be happy. I was grumpy, irritable, and in pain prior to dropping a 15mg dose of hydrocodone, and now I feel like most of us probably wish we could feel most of the time: HAPPY.
The bottle of Lortab is almost empty. I’m smart enough to know that the feeling I’m enjoying is drug-induced, and the thought that I won’t be able to do this anymore makes me scared. But the scared feeling can’t quite cut through the happy feeling.
So… I’m happy, and mellow, and smiling like a fool while the little Howard in the back of my brain worries about where we’re going to get the emotional cash to pay the piper when the prescription runs out. The doctor might be willing to refill it if my shoulder is still giving me grief, but Sandra will not let me ask him to. Smart lady. Smart, and acting on the express instructions I gave her a month ago.