Open letter to my readers.

Today's entry is directed at you. You as in the collective "you" that take the time out to read my blog stories. First of all, thank you. I started this blog a few years ago as an outlet for the memories that have haunted me over the years. The memory of the hooker with the colostomy bag, the 13 year old boy who used to turn tricks then cry as he begged people to inject him with the money he extracted from the pedophiles that picked him up. There was the opportunity to explain that Jake was a fully realized human being that I called my friend. There was the legacy of the lovers that passed through my life only to end up dead as a result of their drug use. Finally, I got a place to process all the traumas that occurred in those years while I lay slowly dying. The rape, the violence, and sense of despair that hung over my daily existence.



Over the course of publishing this blog, I ended up becoming friends with many of you, mostly young folk. I use the term "friends" to describe a loose relationship based on mutual affection. I have met a few of you in real life. Most of you remain anonymous through reddit or some other form of social media. The blog turned into a naloxone program, a book, and many long days of texting you while you struggled to understand how to get out of the grip heroin had on you. Many of you died. Many of you have gotten clean. Some of you linger in that place of general dissatisfaction. I respect that.



I wanted to make this post to tell you that I love you. I wanted to make this post to tell me that it is possible you are going to die soon if nothing changes. I wanted to make this post to tell you that in six months or six years you will wonder how you could have spent so much time chasing dope. The only thing constant in life is change. You can change for the better or this can get worse. Only you can decide that. But really, truthfully- it is up to YOU. Take some ownership of your destiny. In the years that I have been writing this blog, I've met a 19 year old that died from sepsis from unclean injection procedures. I met a veteran that survived the war then died in a train station. I met mothers and fathers who have lost their children because of drugs. I have seen car crashes, death, despair, and even HOPE. I get letters and messages daily "hey do you remember me?" Yes. I do. I remember you all. And I am richer for knowing you.