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.