Jules Chapman
Local Journalism Initiative Reporter
Megaphone Magazine
I have been off methadone since April 13, 2024, and I feel healthy — both mentally and physically. After 18 years on the medication, following years of heroin addiction, I knew quitting wouldn’t be easy. But I also knew it was time.
The process wasn’t quick. I tapered my dose down gradually, reducing it in small increments over time. I went from 10 ml per day down to eight, then eventually to four, where I stayed for a year. Each decrease felt manageable once I had adjusted, and my doctor assured me I could increase my dose again if needed. By taking it slow and persevering, I gave myself the best chance of success.
But getting off methadone isn’t just about utilizing personal willpower; it’s about navigating a system designed to keep you on it.
There’s no structured exit plan, no real support for patients who want to taper down. Pharmacies make money on every dose, and some even receive financial incentives for keeping people on the program. Methadone isn’t just a treatment — it’s an industry, and once you’re in, the system is set up to keep you there.
A cycle of dependency
In B.C., methadone maintenance treatment (MMT) is a common approach for managing opioid dependence, with thousands of people enrolled across the province. While methadone helps many people stabilize and avoid street drugs, transitioning off it is difficult for several reasons.
Results from a 2017 study published in 2023 in Frontiers in Public Health highlighted that the longer someone stays on methadone, the more physically and psychologically dependent they become, making it harder to taper down successfully. This dependency, combined with a lack of support and structured exit plans, creates significant barriers to those who want to quit but struggle with the process.
Another recent study published in 2024, with collaboration from scientists and public health professionals across B.C. and beyond, found that the risk of treatment discontinuation was lower among methadone recipients compared to those on buprenorphine/naloxone — another opioid dependence treatment.
However, the challenge remains that the system itself isn’t designed to help people leave the program, contributing to the cycle of dependency for many patients who try to taper down.
Despite all this, I decided to quit methadone completely.
For the first two days, I didn’t notice much difference. But by the third, I felt irritable, my body ached and mild flu-like symptoms set in. It was uncomfortable but tolerable. After a week, sleep became a struggle, and I developed restless, twitchy legs that wouldn’t stay still. I tried pacing, taking hot showers — anything to ease the discomfort.
At two weeks, my concentration was shot, and sleep remained restless, though the body aches improved. By three weeks, I felt noticeably better, but recovery wasn’t linear. Some days, I felt unstoppable; other days, mild withdrawal symptoms crept back in. Over time, though, those “sick days” became fewer and further between.
Looking back, my only regret is not setting up a support system. I didn’t tell anyone I was quitting, nor did I ask for help when I could have used it. Still, I pushed through. As the days passed, I started feeling more like myself: less tired, more focused and with my energy returning to normal.
It makes sense that something I took every day for 18 years wouldn’t leave my system overnight. Recovery takes time. But the rewards are worth the effort.
Long road to recovery
My journey to methadone began more than 20 years ago when I first arrived in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside, addicted to heroin. It was the only way I knew to numb my pain — at least temporarily. I had just come out of a decade-long relationship, one that gave me two sons but left me raw and unmoored. At the same time, I was still carrying the weight of childhood traumas I hadn’t yet learned how to face.
I was exhausted from the constant hustle — always borrowing, always scraping by to feed my addiction. Anything of value, I had already pawned. I owned little more than the clothes on my back and relied on a monthly government assistance cheque that barely covered food, let alone the cost of heroin.
In 2008, I decided to find a doctor who could help me get onto methadone. I was referred to Dr. Gabor Maté, a well-known physician at the Portland Hotel Society clinic, who was widely recognized for guiding patients toward the methadone maintenance program.
During my first appointment, it felt as though Dr. Maté understood what I was going through. He helped me explore why I might have turned to heroin in the first place and how that cycle had kept me trapped in addiction.
At that point in my life, I was turning to petty crime just to “maintain” my heroin habit. I couldn’t afford to feel withdrawal symptoms, or as it’s called on the street, being “dope sick.” My body had become dependent on heroin just to function. It wasn’t about getting high anymore; it was about staying stable enough to get through the day.
That same year, I was diagnosed with a life-threatening infection from reusing my own syringes. The infection, osteomyelitis, had spread through my bloodstream into my neck and spine. I had no idea this could happen. When I arrived at the hospital, I was told I needed emergency surgery.
After nearly nine hours in the operating room and a month in the spinal ward at Vancouver General Hospital, I was transferred to the G.F. Strong Rehabilitation Centre. For three months, I relearned how to walk and talk through a full schedule of therapy — physiotherapy, speech therapy, occupational therapy, art therapy and more. Even after I was discharged, rehabilitation continued for months. It was hard work, but by following my doctors’ advice, I was able to regain 90 per cent of my mobility and muscle memory.
My story was even included in Dr. Maté’s bestselling book, In The Realm of Hungry Ghosts: Close Encounters with Addiction, where he shared real experiences of people in the Downtown Eastside. He asked me to contribute because I had survived what so many others didn’t.
I stayed on methadone for 18 years, never “chipping away” (using heroin while on the program). It kept me stable, but eventually, I was ready to move on from the daily deliveries and supervised ingestion.
Doctors should approach methadone treatment with an exit strategy in mind from the very beginning. Just as they help patients stabilize, they should also provide a clear, structured plan for tapering off when the time is right. Without an exit plan, methadone can become a lifelong prescription by default rather than a temporary tool for recovery.
Quitting methadone was a long road, but I made it. No more liquid handcuffs, no more being tied to a pharmacy’s schedule or worrying if my dose will arrive on time. For the first time in years, I can make plans — real plans — without medication dictating my every move. I can even start thinking about a holiday.
Now, on the other side, I’m not just off methadone — I’m free.
Jules Chapman is a born-and-raised Vancouverite who has been living, working and surviving for more than 20 years in the Downtown Eastside. She is one of The Crew, a.k.a. Research 101 co-authors, and works part-time for Vancouver Coastal Health. She has been a Megaphone vendor since 2003. She is a published poet and writer, and is a member of The Shift peer newsroom. She is a self-taught pianist of 30 years.
