![]() From the depths of my soul, I emitted a wail of unmitigated heartbreak. I am dopesick and hungry, and for the first time since I was a child, I cried out in public. The next moment - I wake up to the blinding light of day on a park bench. One moment, I am upright, foil in one hand, torch in the other. I have salient memories of my time on the streets, bursts of euphoria punctuated by intense anguish. We took the Narcan and the water bottles but left the offers. “There are groups and rehabs and doctors who will see you.” They would try, again and again, to throw us life rafts, and I would bat them away. They would bring Narcan and granola bars. Good-hearted people in yellow vests marked with the word “VOLUNTEER” would venture down to the trail that was dotted with makeshift structures and deteriorating tents. I felt a deep and abiding sense of shame, a hurt so profound it defies articulation. ![]() The fallout from my addiction was immense, and my family was left strewn in the wreckage. I was addicted to fentanyl - deadly, illicit fentanyl - and I knew in my bones exactly what that made me: a no-good junkie. I had tried, again and again, to get clean to no avail. My appearance told a story of despair - the despair that had encircled every facet of my life. Not to mention, I hadn’t showered in … a while. ![]() There was a just-barely-healed abrasion near the corner of my mouth where I had been smacked, hard, across the face. My jeans were caked in mud and my hands were dirt-stained. I knew I looked bad - I hadn’t slept well, the rain kept leaking through the tent. ![]() It rained the night before and I am carrying the only possessions I have left to my name : a little roller bag, packed with mildewed clothes and various half-empty toiletries from the volunteer crew that would occasionally push their Radio Flyer wagons through the little tent city under a bridge. My mother wears an expression mixed with fear, anticipation, and relief. Nick Otto / The Washington Post via Getty Images In this file photo, a drug user looks at the package of Narcan she was handed by Paul Harkin, director of harm reduction at GLIDE, who was walking the streets to handout Narcan, fentanyl detection packets and tinfoil to drug users in need as a part of outreach on the streets of San Francisco on Feb. ![]()
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