*This is what my gloom-depression looks like.*

Three weeks after my second surgery — in the fall of 2006 — I went to my appointment with Dr. Beecher and told him I was done with methadone and the horrific puke attacks it provoked. He pointed out the puke attacks occurred when I had a migraine. I noted I've had migraines since I was 14, and could count the number of times they've made me throw up on one hand. His perspective: my puke attacks were a result of the migraines. My perspective: my puke attacks were a result of the methadone. In any case, I was done with it.

He prescribed levorphanol and described it as "the perfect narcotic." He told me to ramp down off the methadone by reducing my dose by 5mg, waiting 3 days, reducing it by 5mg more, waiting 3 days, etc. He warned me it might make me irritable, but said it shouldn't make me sick. Once I was off the methadone, I could start taking the levorphanol, increasing my dose over time the same way.

I filled the levorphanol prescription but once I was off the methadone, I didn’t start taking it right away. I needed to take nothing for at least a few days. I needed to see how I felt, underneath it all, without a layer of drugs intervening.

Instead of irritable, I just felt depressed. I could barely leave the couch. I didn’t answer the phone, check my messages, or return calls. I hid when I heard anyone at the door. I was sure my current state described the best of what I could expect in the future.

This noble exercise was a painful reminder I had spinal surgery just three weeks ago.

My back hurt. I started the levorphanol.