I graduated high school in June of 2013. Since then, I can name 11 people that I know— or knew— that use heroin. Of those 11 people, eight have overdosed…and four are dead.
These are people that I spent my primary education with, who I said hello to as I passed them in halls. They are people who I sat up with for late night conversations about life and pointless, meaningless things that were so intriguing to us at the time. People who I would see in a random place and we would spent 20 minutes giving each other crash-course updates on our lives.
These people were siblings, and children, and first loves, and best friends. But now, four souls that were once smiles in the crowd of my life are now gone.
I’m no stranger to loss, but it’s a different feeling when you lose someone who was your age. It’s different when you lose someone who was your pre-school classmate, and shared the football field with you on high school graduation day. It’s different when it’s someone you saw potential in, and you knew that if they could just kick the nastiest of habits, they might have done some truly great things.
I’m no stranger to addiction either, but there is nothing more lethal than the heroin epidemic the people of America are facing at this moment. New Jersey seems to be a particularly potent breeding ground for the drug, and I’m sure my list of 11— as well as my list of four— will grow as time goes on. The thing about drugs like heroin is that they spread like wildfire, and soon, everyone you know is encompassed in it all in one way or another. How is it that the cheapest drug can be bought for $8 by the sketchy dude on the street corner is forcing so many families to bury their children and siblings.
For those of you who we have lost, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you found yourself in this situation, and I hope you don’t blame yourself, because sometimes addiction can be a force of nature. I’m sorry that in the grand scheme of things you’re just another number, a tally-mark to be compiled into the statistic of young people who lost to heroin. But something I promise is that you won’t be forgotten by us.
You won’t be forgotten by the kid who you picked up off the floor when he got too drunk, you won’t be forgotten by the person who you shared your first kiss with, you won’t be forgotten by your parents or siblings or your best friend who found your laugh and smile to be contagious. You won’t be forgotten by your first love and your last love and person who loved you and you didn’t even know. You won’t be forgotten by your prom date or your sports team or your favorite teacher. You won’t even be forgotten by your nail technician or hair dresser or the nice lady who waxed your eyebrows.
So again, I’m sorry that you fell in the trap, but no one can blame you. I’m sorry that people had to be told how you died, and I’m sorry about the way you’ll be talked about. I’m sorry you’ll be “another kid that OD’d on heroin,” and I’m sorry that that is the memory that will linger with your name forever for those who didn’t know you. But something to remember is that, those who did know you, won’t care what happened. They’ll hear your name and remember your smile, or your laugh, or the way you scowled when you tasted something sour or the way your bedhead was when you woke up with tired eyes. The people who remember the way your lips tasted and what it felt like to have your skin on theirs and hear your voice whispered in their ear. Those are the people that are important, and who will smile with your name on their lips, and not scowl.
I honestly and truly hope you’re in a better place, because if I’m being honest, I have no clue what I believe awaits us on the opposite side of this life. But whatever it is, I hope it’s beautiful, and maybe, when I get there, I’ll see your face in the crowd, and say hi. Just like high school.