Cutting through the misleading information
Editorial By Staff Writer Lisel B
For years, we’ve been sold a tidy explanation for addiction: the bottle of pills after surgery, the doctor’s pen, the unwitting patient turned victim. Cue the lawsuits, the headlines, and the dramatic voiceovers. But beneath this sanitized narrative lies something far less convenient, and far more human: people don’t just get addicted from prescriptions—they get addicted trying to survive.
In the opioid conversation, the prescription pad has become both scapegoat and smokescreen. Yes, overprescription was reckless. Yes, it seeded a crisis. But most addicts didn’t get there by following doctor’s orders. They arrived through detours marked by trauma, mental illness, and emotional injury. They weren’t managing pain—they were medicating despair.
Self-medication is addiction’s true gateway drug. It’s not OxyContin in a hospital gown—it’s vodka at 2 a.m. after a panic attack. It’s weed to block out past abuse. It’s Adderall to keep your job when depression steals your focus. These aren’t party favors. They’re DIY survival kits.
We treat addiction like deviance when it’s often adaptation. The brain, starved for serotonin, finds shortcuts. Some reach for therapy. Others reach for fentanyl. In this paradigm, the drug isn’t the disease—it’s the symptom management. The wrong prescription, maybe—but a prescription all the same.
Prescribed painkillers aren’t harmless, but they’re also not the black hole we pretend them to be. Countless patients recover from surgery, dental work, and chronic pain without spiraling into dependency. The few who do? They’re often already quietly unraveling when the script gets filled. The drug is a match—not the fuel.
Why does the “painkiller turned addict” story get top billing? Because it’s easy to sell. It shifts blame to Big Pharma while letting society off the hook. Mental health access? Childhood trauma? Racialized policing? Let’s not get messy. Let’s sue a corporation and call it closure.
Same substance, different spin. When a suburban mom gets hooked on Percocet, she’s a victim of the system. When a homeless man uses heroin, he’s a criminal. Addiction isn’t just chemically mediated—it’s culturally mediated. Empathy is applied unevenly. So are resources.
In the end, the data is clear but inconvenient: people who feel safe, supported, and seen are less likely to become addicted. Not because they’re stronger—but because they don’t need to self-medicate. So maybe addiction doesn’t start at the pharmacy. Maybe it starts in the absence of connection.
