3/7/15. At around 3 pm my roommate got out of bed to use the bathroom. He found me collapsed by the toilet. I wasn’t breathing. After some deliberation, my friends called 911. I was rushed to a nearby hospital, and, thanks to a shot of Narcan in the ambulance, I woke up. A lot of people didn’t. There were 52,404 opioid-related deaths that year.
So, I was alive, but for what? Doctors told me I’d almost died. My family was horrified. None of it mattered. All I could do was stick to the cycle that had worked for me for so long. Feel bad, use, feel good, feel bad. Within a couple of hours, I was asking my friends to sneak booze into my hospital room. Within two weeks, I was stealing opiates from my sick mother’s purse. Confused and ashamed, I had reached the bottom. It was there that I met John.
This film is for him.