G.I. Aspirin Part 4

For Lindsey

*** This is the last in a series of essays about my long history with opiate addiction. A battle that has lasted for decades and will never truly be over. But I am happy to report that it’s a war I’ve been winning for the last 9 years. ***

January 2023 / July 2024

Tonight I learned that the one person I kept in close contact with from my heroin rehab program, very recently passed away. She was a woman in her 30s with a child that she had after getting clean. We became close friends while in detox and stayed in contact afterward for a few reasons. Chief among them was that I felt she had a real chance of staying clean and would not be a threat to that shared objective.

Which, unfortunately, is an exceedingly rare trait in rehab. Of course, everybody arrives with a suitcase full of affairs that are currently in a sad state, and under the guise of wanting to get their lives back on track. But some were only going through the court-ordered motions. Others were phoning in a fallacy of heartfelt intent to please others, knowing full well that they weren’t truly ready to put it down.

Then there were the forlorn souls who desired with every fiber of their being to be clean. That wanted it more than anything in the world. Prepared to go down swinging, giving it everything they could muster while doing so. Something I had in common with them. But due to environmental factors on the outside, for many, rehab was a repeating and terminal fate that was all but guaranteed. That’s where I was lucky. My case was different.

Getting and staying clean requires a favorable set of circumstances. At the very least, you’d want loving and supportive friends and family. A career or job prospects on the other side. A new, clean, and safe place to call home. The ability to sever all the ties that need severing and not view them as safety nets. Even in a perfect world with everything lined up just so, the act of getting and staying clean is a remarkably difficult, against-the-odds undertaking. Providentially, I had all of those carrots dangling in front of me after detox. Few others get to say the same. I would be coming out of there with the wind at my back, while almost everybody else was facing an insurmountable climb. And you could see it in their eyes.

Nearly all of them had been there before and knew exactly what was or wasn’t waiting for them when they were done. Severely strained or non-existent relationships with family members. No “real” friends left. Nowhere clean or safe to turn to and no detectable hope on the horizon. Giving it another honest and earnest effort while wearing protective but penetrable layers of courage and optimism. Yet knowing deep down, that being alone and girded only with will, the odds of staving off the monsters waiting on the other side of those doors were practically nil.

She was an exception. Not only did she have fight in her eyes, there was a lot of life left in them too. She didn’t have quite the same optimal set of positives that I had waiting for me, but she had more than a puncher’s chance and I was happy to be in her corner. She was among the most wonderful, inspirational, humorous, intelligent, and magnetic human beings I have ever met. Beautiful inside and out. She was a world-beater and it was written all over her, even though she was unable to recognize that about herself at the time. I felt like if given the opportunity, she eventually would.

As friends and compatriots, we kept in contact after rehab. Leaning on each other for strength or encouragement for whatever, whenever either of us needed it. Especially early on. We would also meet up from time to time over the years, and she looked and sounded great. Better every time I saw her. Life was certainly hard for a single mother with some holes in her resume. But she was making it work and seemed happy to be handling it all. Two years ago she moved to Idaho for a thoroughly fresh start. She reached out to me a month ago via messenger and it was evident that she wasn’t in a very good place. I offered to call her to catch up and help her hash it out. She never responded. I never followed up. She died from an overdose.

That’s how eternally insidious this shit is. Neil Young once wrote, “Every junkie’s like a setting sun.” A stinging, bluntly painful yet hauntingly accurate assessment of an affliction, that is never too far from my conscious mind. There, but for the grace of God and all that.

There are several remorseful takeaways from all of this. Quite a few about addiction and ongoing recovery. Volumes-worth, actually. But I wish to conclude this series of essays with a message about addiction that is also universally applicable - which is to please check in with your people. If something is off, if they are acting in a way that is cause for concern, or if something simply doesn’t feel right, check in. And if they are reaching out, please follow up.

I can tell you firsthand, that knowing somebody out there gives a shit, goes a long way. And could be the thing that gets a person to tomorrow. It’s no guarantee, but sometimes that might just be enough. Because, as Ernest Hemingway once wrote, “The sun also rises.”

G.I. Aspirin Part 1

G.I. Aspirin Part 2

G.I. Aspirin Part 3