Opium Eating: An Autobiographical Sketch by an HabituateAnonymous
History
Opium Eating: An Autobiographical Sketch by an Habituate
Anonymous
Opium abuse -- United States; United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Prisoners and prisons
The phial which had been used for me I noticed still remained after the
physician had prescribed for our ward, one morning, without giving me
anything, and had gone; so when the hour for going after medicine came
around, I informed the head nurse that the doctor had prescribed my
draught for me as a general thing; that I was to have it every night, and
that he must not fail to get it for me. I startled the fellow; he looked
astonished.
"Why," said he, "I didn't hear him say anything about it. I guess not,"
etc.
"Yes, he did, though; I heard him," I replied; "and I want you to get it
without fail."
The stratagem was successful, and the duped nurse brought the medicine
regularly every day, and the result was that I slept every night, owing to
the kindness of the medicine, and my health began to improve from that
time; and I may say I noticed no injurious consequences or effects of the
medicine.
On arriving home, I told my mother of my inability to sleep. The first
night on my arrival home I did not, because, arriving in the night, I
could get no medicine; but the next day I spoke to my mother about the
matter, as I have stated, and she procured me some medicine. This I took
for a short time, when I discontinued it without any difficulty. I found
that I needed it no longer.
After this, for some time, my main and only trouble was with my stomach.
Although I had a good appetite, and was so hungry in _my mind_ that I
could not see victuals removed from the table, or scarcely a bone thrown
away, without feeling pained at the loss; I could not eat very much, as my
stomach seemed so diminutive that it would contain but a small quantity,
and what I did take into it seemed to turn to lead within me, or rather
into a pound of tenpenny nails, determined to cut and grind its way to the
outside. That is, it did not sour; my food digested (slowly and
painfully), but from some cause it hurt me continually. I gradually became
able to eat more; grew somewhat fleshy, and looked well; but my stomach
hurt me, nevertheless, _all the time_.
I did not apply for a pension within a reasonable time after coming home,
because my mother thought I was young, and would soon recover my health.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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