I guess this comment could be a trigger to some people, as it discusses finding someone dead after they have overdosed, so this is just a warning.

When I saw this question, my heart kind of sank. The opioid crisis destroyed my life. My whole life my dad was addicted to prescription painkillers. He had a fused spine, and just awful back problems. I don’t know why he loved the pills so much, I really don’t. After giving him many chances, ultimatums, trying to get the family involved, my mom left my dad when I was in 2nd grade because he wouldn’t get help. That’s the problem: you can’t make addicts realize they have a problem. They have to realize it themselves. My dad and I obviously maintained a relationship, but he could barely keep a job. He was mentally unstable sometimes because of the pills, lashing out at me, and falling asleep at the wheel. Those days I wished I just didn’t have a dad at all. He would scream at me and make me feel like nothing, and he was extremely impatient. Then, there were days when he was the nicest person in the world and my best friend. My family always kept his problems from me. I knew he was addicted, but at the same time I didn’t. As a young girl, I didn’t want to believe that my daddy (my superhero, someone who is supposed to be a strong person), was addicted to opioids. Even after coming home from school to find him trapped in our bathroom after collapsing on the floor, I didn’t want to believe it. I don’t know who was prescribing him these medications: Oxycodone and the Fetanyl patch, to be exact. They were taken at the same time. How this was allowed? I’m not sure. He would even go to the hospital because of how much “pain” he was in to get short-term access to painkillers.

On December 31, 2015, I found my dad dead from accidentally overdosing. It was the worst day of my life. I was only 18, and my grandfather (dad’s dad) had passed away 9 days prior. I hadn’t heard from my dad and he wasn’t picking up his phone (which was normal sometimes for 1 or 2 days at a time) but on the 2nd day I decided to go check on him to see if he was okay. He had just lost his dad and it was a shitty time of year to lose someone (Christmas, both of their birthdays are in December). It really sucked. As I opened the door to his apartment, I saw him sitting on the couch, looking like he fell asleep while sitting. He did that frequently. I wasn’t surprised that the door opening didn’t wake him up, as he was a pretty heavy sleeper (probably due to the painkillers). I said, “Dad? Are you awake?” And he didn’t respond. I closed the front door and felt a sinking feeling in my stomach—I thought he looked kind of pale. I yelled louder this time, “DAD? DAD?” And ran over to him. He wasn’t waking up, and my heart was pounding. Tears were coming out of my eyes and tunnel vision started to kick in. I touched his neck to check his pulse, and it was cold. I didn’t feel any pulse. I tried to move his arm to wake him up but it just flopped back down onto the couch. All I remember was screaming so loud and crying. I was so scared, and all alone. I ran to the phone and dialed 911, and the words, “Please help me, I think my dad is dead.” Came out of my mouth and it all really hit me. The paramedics came, had to treat me for shock, and my mom and best friend came as fast as they could and sat with me on the ambulance, as I had to be hooked up to an oxygen machine.

This night repeats over and over in my head. I think the worst part was wondering what to do after I called 911. Do I stay in the apartment with my dad—who is dead? Or do I wait outside? I was so scared and alone. To this day, I know that I have a lot of survivor’s guilt. I’m in therapy for the guilt and grief, as well as OCD. I always tell myself that I could have done something more, pushed him to get treatment more, or what if I could have checked on him a day earlier? It hurts to think that way. My dad had a lot of potential. He was a retired police officer, and was looking to go finish his masters degree before he passed away. Almost 2 years later, I am growing more than I ever have, and I know my dad is so proud of me. I’m convinced he led me to meet my boyfriend in June of 2016, as my boyfriend lost his father to an opioid overdose, and neither of us knew we had that connection before we met. I’ve started to let a lot of my guilt go, and realized that I could have tried so hard to get him to go to treatment, and my dad wouldn’t have listened to me. You could have told him he was an addict, and he would absolutely deny it. My family and I tried many times to help him get to a treatment center, but he just wouldn’t do it. The addict themselves needs to realize the severity of their problem in order to decide to get treatment. They have to be able to look themselves in the mirror and say, “I am an addict, but I am more than my addiction and I will get better.” I miss my dad more and more every day, and I’m sad that he won’t see me graduate college, walk me down the aisle, or be there when my first child is born. I know he’s in a “better place” but if he were in a better place, he’d be here with me. I miss him so fucking much.

I made a promise to myself that I would always advocate for the sufferers of opioid addictions. This is a monstrosity of an issue that our country has, and I hope to God it stops soon.

To all of those who are affected by this crisis, I am praying for you, sending love your way, and applauding you for your strength.