Opium versus Sleep.—Manner of taking Opium.—Different Considerations Relating to the Habit.—A Prophetic Warning.
What three things does opium especially provoke? As to sleep, like drink in a certain respect, it provokes and it unprovokes;—it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance; therefore, much opium may be said to be an equivocator with sleep; it makes him, and it mars him; it sets him on (though it does not take him off); it persuades him, and disheartens him; it makes him stand to, and not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him.—Shakespeare altered.
But, of the three things that drink especially provokes, but one, and that sleep, is concurrently provoked by the extract of poppies. Still, the sleep provoked by opium is not
“Tired Nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep,”
but “death’s half-brother, sleep,”—a state in which, with reference to opium eaters, “their drenched natures lie as in a death;” “their breath alone showing that they live;” “while death and nature do contend about them, whether they live or die.”[5]
The three things which opium especially provokes are,—first, sleep; second, loss of sensibility; and third, loss of sublunary happiness.Opium puts a man under an influence which must pass away before natural sleep, and in consequence rest, can supervene. Of course, if the opium eater takes an exceedingly moderate quantity of the drug, he may get rest that is refreshing,—that is, if he get any sleep at all; taking too little, defeats the whole object. But in general the opium eater arises in the morning in an inconceivably ill state of feeling. It is almost impossible to arise at all. The heart feels much affected,—and no wonder, lying all night in the embrace of poison sufficient to kill half a dozen of the strongest men. It is a most wretched condition, and the most trying. A man gets up in the morning with no sense of rest, feeling that he has been aroused long before he should have been. Before going to bed he does not feel so; it comes on after having slept about seven hours. His sense of want of rest before going to bed is not to be compared with his misery on getting up in the A. M., though he in fact shrinks from going to bed at all, so painful is the anticipation of the misery of the morning. In the case of De Quincey, it may have been that he had all the time he wished to sleep in. He may have been master of his own time to such a degree that he could go to bed when he desired, and get up when he felt like it. If this was true, he no doubt escaped the miseries others are compelled to endure, whose duties require them to arise at an early hour,—that is, at the hour at which the business portion of the world generally arise. It is most probable, not being under the regimen of fixed hours, that he was able to sleep off the effects of opium, and then get all the natural rest his system demanded before arising. If this theory of his case in this regard is the true one, he escaped a great deal of the suffering usually entailed upon the victims of the prince of narcotics. If I could lie two or three hours longer (or rather later) in the morning (which would carry me far beyond the beginning of business hours in the A. M.), I would get up feeling a great deal fresher and better. Going to bed early does not contravene or anticipate the difficulty. It is compulsory upon one to go to bed early, as it is. The proposition, boiled down, is simply this: The effect of opium lasts a specific length of time, and that must be slept by, and passed, before full relaxation sets in, and the overload of opium passes out of the system. Were I master of my own time, I think I could regulate my hours so as to avoid this misery of opium: at least so modify it that it would be much more tolerable than it now is in my own case. But let us pass on to something else.
It was in the year A. D. 1867 that I was misled into the habit of using morphia, and I have continued its use ever since in greater or less degree: assuming that the essential principle or foundation of all nostrums invented to cure the baneful habit is opium in one of its various forms.My practice is now to take a dose of so many grains exact weight at ten o’clock A. M., and another at four and a half o’clock P. M. At the latter dose I need not necessarily be so precise in weight. Regularity is absolutely enforced. There is no getting along otherwise. It is essential to preserve any uniformity of feeling, to secure sleep and tolerable digestion. An habituate periodically becomes bilious under the best regulations; frequently so where large quantities are taken, and the system is kept clogged with the drug. By adhering to strict regularity in weight and time, I still derive some stimulation from the drug, and when the stomach is in good condition, and free from lodgments of food, I sometimes feel a momentary touch of pleasurable sensation from the morning dose. In the afternoon there is usually too much food in my stomach for the medicine to take strong hold; often I can scarcely perceive that I have taken a dose, though usually there is a dull feeling of stimulation. By eight o’clock P. M. I begin to get drowsy, and it is best for me to get a doze at that time. I generally take a couple of dozes during the course of the evening, going to bed at ten o’clock, or about that hour. To get sleep enough is a point of the utmost importance. It is obligatory upon one to watch himself closely in this respect. The opium must to a great extent be slept off, and the system thoroughly relaxed, before refreshing sleep can be obtained. Getting up at the usual hours, compels an opium eater to arise before his sleep appears to be more than half out. He feels awful for a time, gradually becoming less wretched. The matter of sleep is one of so great importance, and so prominent a feature in the life of an opium eater, that I have treated the subject specially and at length in the beginning of this chapter. I hope the reader will pardon me for again adverting to the matter, and for what seems little less than a repetition of the same remarks. But I ask his charity on the whole work, with its repetitions and tautology, which I am too much pressed for time to avoid,—writing, as I do, by snatches and in haste.
Taking a certain large quantity of opium, so binds up one’s nerves that it is difficult to sleep at all. The narcotic effect then seems lost. One must relax this tension, by taking less of the drug, before he can rest easily either day or night. This effect comes from too much opium. Another effect of opium, or more properly result, is that after a meal,—I speak only for myself in this, however,—particularly after dinner with me, if one walks about much,—that is, immediately after he has eaten,—what he ate weighs like a chunk of lead in the stomach. I think it used to derange my stomach, and make me miserable till the next day. I avoid it now as much as possible, and very rarely am afflicted with it. Another effect,—but one, however, of which I have spoken heretofore,—I am beginning to feel very gloomy and scary at night again. Oh! I do pray God that I may escape, dodge, or ward this off in some way. There are no other earthly feelings so terrible. It is the valley and shadow of death. One seems to stand upon the verge of the grave, breathing the atmosphere of the dead. There is such a lasting intimacy with, such a constant presence in the mind of, the idea of death. All seems so dark, dreary, and so hopeless; so painfully gloomy and melancholy. A man is completely emasculated. The full development of this condition I must prevent. It shows an alarming state, and that a change in the management of the habit is imperatively required.
The quantity of opium taken by old practitioners varies greatly. A reasonable quantity, after six or eight years’ steady use, would be from twelve to sixteen grains morphia per twenty-four hours, I judge. They might take less, and I have known cases where much more was taken. The quantity, however, depends not so much upon the question of time as upon the temperament and general make-up of the particular victim in every respect. Leaving the question of time out, I have known the quantity to range as high as sixty grains sulphate of morphia per diem. This was awful. One can keep pretty near a certain quantity, by struggling hard and being determined to allow it to make no headway. In doing this, though, more distress and inconvenience are undergone the longer a specified quantity is adhered to. It will not supply a man and sustain him as well, as time wears on, as it did when he first adopted the dose stated. Opium seems to wear away the strength of a person just as the gradual dropping of water wears away a stone. Hence it is usually the case that, as time passes on, the dose is gradually increased.
I was just speaking of a little different matter, by the by. What I meant was this,—that, through a certain course of years, the dose would increase to a certain standard, which, from that time on for a number of years, would remain about the same, and appear to be sufficient, and not need any addition. As in my own case, for instance. After a few years I arrived at the quantity of twelve grains per diem, six A. M. and six P. M. This quantity I continued to take for a number of years, with but slight variation.
There is a reason for the writing of this inside history of the opium habit beyond the one people would naturally hit upon. It is this. This is an inquisitive, an experimenting, and a daring age,—an age that has a lively contempt for the constraints and timorous inactivity of ages past. Its quick-thinking and restless humanity are prying into everything. Opium will not pass by untampered with. Even at this time, it is not entirely free from vicious handling. But as yet, in any age, this included, as far as the Caucasian race is concerned, there has been no such a wresting from its legitimate sphere and proper purpose of the drug, as I have great fear there will be in years to come. Will alcohol become unpopular, then be abhorred, and then opium be substituted in its stead? Will it? This is the grave question I am now propounding. In order that I may not be thought to be speculating upon a subject not within the realms of reason or probability, I will just reinforce myself here by stating that a Senatorial committee, of which the late Mr. Charles Sumner was a member, thought it not unworthy their time and the nation’s interest to investigate into this identical question. I have good reason to believe that, even at this day, the number of persons addicted to the habitual use of opium is far beyond the imagination of people generally:—even of persons who have looked into the matter somewhat, but who have never used the drug, or made its use a matter of special observation for years. I have good reason to believe that even now the use of opium is carried on to such an extent, that a census of the victims would strike the country with terror and alarm. But yet this is trivial in comparison with the opium afflictions of which I prophesy; when liquor will be abandoned and opium resorted to as commonly as liquor now is. Heaven forefend! God, our Father, in mercy avert the day! It will be a time of general effeminacy, sickness, and misery,—should it come. “Should it come!” Ah, there is some solace in that. Let us intercept it, if possible. I believe knowledge is stronger than ignorance. To know your danger, and yet avoid it, is better than to pass it by through the mere accident of ignorance,—it is safer. Then know, that opium has charms you could not resist did you once feel their influence; that it is like the beautiful woman in Grecian mythology, ravishing to look upon, but poisonous to touch. Knowing your danger, keep out of its reach; for, no matter what its transitory influences may be, its most certain, permanent, and overshadowing results are pain and misery!
Having put forth my hand to warn the world of the miseries inherent in opium, when perverted from its proper medical purpose, I now end this chapter, in order to hasten towards a conclusion of my task.
