I remember the day I tried OxyContin like it was yesterday, or rather, like I don't. The haze of that first experience is etched in my memory forever, but everything before and after has become a blur. My cousin Eric and I were at a party in the hills, surrounded by mutual friends eager to share their latest discovery – OxyContin. We sat in the cab of his truck, splitting a 20-milligram pill between the three of us. The rush was immediate, like a whirlwind that swept me away from reality.
As a high school senior class president with a GPA above 4.0 and a tennis star, I wasn't supposed to be an addict. But life had other plans. After graduating in 1999, I returned to my hometown of eastern Kentucky, unaware of what I was walking into. The past year and a half had seen OxyContin become ubiquitous – it was everywhere, even among people I grew up with.
Purdue Pharma's aggressive marketing campaign had taken hold, preying on the region's high cancer rates and chronic pain patients. The numbers told the story: 2.5 to 5.0% higher than the national average for non-OxyContin opioid prescriptions. It was a recipe for disaster. I became one of the many who got hooked, chasing a high that would become my lifeline.
The line between nothingness and death is thin. That's what I learned when I was trapped in the cycle of addiction. Every day was a struggle to find equilibrium – too much or too little, and I'd plummet into darkness. But then, like a mirage on the horizon, came the feeling of being free. Complete numbness of body and mind, my only goal was to breathe.
It was intoxicating, like waiting in line for a rollercoaster ride. Hours of anticipation, followed by a three-minute rush. I felt invincible, like I could conquer anything. And for a brief moment, every day, I thought I had it all figured out – a job, independence, and a sense of purpose.
But the truth was far from it. The guilt, shame, and anxiety crept back in, pulling me under. I was trapped, unable to escape the cycle. It took years, but eventually, I found my way out through rehab and the 12 steps. Now, as a small business owner running a bookstore in Hazard, Kentucky, I'm living proof that recovery is possible.
But there are still those like him – struggling with addiction, forced to live on the streets. The faces change every day, but the pain remains. We make eye contact, and he comments about my store, Ale-8-One. It's a small comfort in an ocean of despair.
As I look out at the world from behind my bookstore window, I wonder if he has a home, someone who cares where he'll sleep tonight. Thirty years after the opioid epidemic took hold of our community, we're still learning to navigate it together – with community, not isolation. That's why I live my recovery out loud, giving hope and empathy to those who've lost their way.
It's a long journey, but I'm one of the lucky ones. If only Eric had been given that chance – a do-over. We're still learning how to navigate this epidemic, but it starts with acknowledging our own humanity, not just our struggles. As bell hooks said, "rarely if ever are any of us healed in isolation."
As a high school senior class president with a GPA above 4.0 and a tennis star, I wasn't supposed to be an addict. But life had other plans. After graduating in 1999, I returned to my hometown of eastern Kentucky, unaware of what I was walking into. The past year and a half had seen OxyContin become ubiquitous – it was everywhere, even among people I grew up with.
Purdue Pharma's aggressive marketing campaign had taken hold, preying on the region's high cancer rates and chronic pain patients. The numbers told the story: 2.5 to 5.0% higher than the national average for non-OxyContin opioid prescriptions. It was a recipe for disaster. I became one of the many who got hooked, chasing a high that would become my lifeline.
The line between nothingness and death is thin. That's what I learned when I was trapped in the cycle of addiction. Every day was a struggle to find equilibrium – too much or too little, and I'd plummet into darkness. But then, like a mirage on the horizon, came the feeling of being free. Complete numbness of body and mind, my only goal was to breathe.
It was intoxicating, like waiting in line for a rollercoaster ride. Hours of anticipation, followed by a three-minute rush. I felt invincible, like I could conquer anything. And for a brief moment, every day, I thought I had it all figured out – a job, independence, and a sense of purpose.
But the truth was far from it. The guilt, shame, and anxiety crept back in, pulling me under. I was trapped, unable to escape the cycle. It took years, but eventually, I found my way out through rehab and the 12 steps. Now, as a small business owner running a bookstore in Hazard, Kentucky, I'm living proof that recovery is possible.
But there are still those like him – struggling with addiction, forced to live on the streets. The faces change every day, but the pain remains. We make eye contact, and he comments about my store, Ale-8-One. It's a small comfort in an ocean of despair.
As I look out at the world from behind my bookstore window, I wonder if he has a home, someone who cares where he'll sleep tonight. Thirty years after the opioid epidemic took hold of our community, we're still learning to navigate it together – with community, not isolation. That's why I live my recovery out loud, giving hope and empathy to those who've lost their way.
It's a long journey, but I'm one of the lucky ones. If only Eric had been given that chance – a do-over. We're still learning how to navigate this epidemic, but it starts with acknowledging our own humanity, not just our struggles. As bell hooks said, "rarely if ever are any of us healed in isolation."
. It's heartbreaking to think about how far-reaching Purdue Pharma's marketing campaign was and how it preyed on people's suffering 
. The fact that your cousin Eric didn't get the help he needed before passing away must be devastating for you and his loved ones 
. It's amazing that you've been able to turn your own experience into something positive by opening a bookstore and sharing your story - it's giving hope and empathy to others, which is exactly what we need in these times 
.
Man, can you even imagine being hooked on OxyContin at 18? 
It's crazy how far we've come since then, but some things like this opioid epidemic still affect people hard. I remember my dad talking about how he knew someone who died from addiction in the early 2000s... it was a real wake-up call for him.
.
How some of the same marketing tactics used by Purdue Pharma are still being used today, just in different forms. It's like we're stuck in a never-ending loop of addiction and recovery... but at least we're learning from our mistakes 
.
. It's crazy how Purdue Pharma's marketing campaign back then preyed on ppl with cancer & chronic pain 
. We gotta acknowledge our own humanity & not just focus on the struggles 
#OpioidCrisisAwareness #RecoveryIsPossible #SupportEachOther
. But what's amazing is that he managed to get out and start a new life – he owns a bookstore now! 
. It's like, we can't just assume that someone is lazy or weak if they're struggling with addiction – it's a real disease 
. And I love how he mentions the importance of community and support for those in recovery 
. We should all be supporting each other, not isolating ourselves from people who need help 
. It's time for us to come together and support each other, rather than just talking about it 
.
especially considering that Purdue Pharma basically created this crisis by pushing deadly pills like OxyContin on people already dealing with chronic pain & cancer 
. It's all about making a quick buck, no matter the cost to lives. I mean, what's the point of having 4.0 GPA and being a tennis star if you're still gonna die from an overdose? 
the fact that your cousin Eric wasnt able to get help and recover is heartbreaking 
. It's crazy to think about how Purdue Pharma's marketing campaign manipulated people like you, especially those in rural areas with high cancer rates 
. As someone who's struggled with addiction themselves (I'm lucky I didn't end up on the streets 
), it's heartbreaking to hear about the stigma and isolation that still exists.