More about my situation, I'm living in a halfway house currently. It's 1:36 a.m. right now. And here's a story that you just can't, and certainly shouldn't, make up. There are six bunk beds in my room. Tonight we had a total of eight guys, including myself. My bunkie just overdosed. Paramedics came, hit him with Narcan and he's alive, conscious, and coherent. By the grace of God. But it's tearing me up on the inside. I cried. Earlier tonight he was just asking me, rather in depth, about the NA meetings I go to, asking me when and where they were, and if he could come with me. I was very open about my recovery process and more than welcoming to have him join me. And here we are about seven hours later. Heroin is a mother fucker. This was the first time I've actually seen an overdose happen in real life. It's a scary, traumatic event. I just ask that you keep my bunkie, T.K., in the prayers you pray to whatever God you choose to pray to. As for myself, I am eight hours away from an NA meeting. I don't wish this upon anyone, ever. I don't care how common this kind of shit is, I hate seeing it happen.
