High on Life

A few months ago, I attended a Narcotics Anonymous meeting in Manhattan with my friend Alice. We were studying opioid addiction in our Neurology course, and we remembered a patient from one of our first year classes who had encouraged us to sit in on a drug addiction support group to better understand what our patients go through. Having taken his words to heart, we searched online for Narcotics Anonymous meetings open to non-addicts. The groups sometimes had tacky, overly optimistic titles such as Circle of Miracles, Free to Be Me, Miracle on 33rd Street, and High on Life, which left me skeptical of what I was in for.

On a Monday evening, Alice and I found ourselves in a large hall on the ground floor of a settlement house. Having arrived late, we scrambled to find a seat along the back wall as a woman at the front told her story to an audience of 40 people. I shrank in my seat, feeling desperately out of place, but no one cast a second glance at the two of us. I never quite imagined what a room full of former and current heroin addicts would look like. I should have known better. An addict is a subway rider, a movie-goer, a neighbor, a friend, the face in the mirror. I could have been at a PTSA fundraiser or a town hall meeting, but I suspect the atmosphere wouldn’t have been quite as supportive and unconditionally loving as the one I witnessed. I’ve never experienced anything like it, and I hope it won’t be the last.

What follows are a series of quotes collected during the meeting, with minimal context. It didn’t feel right to describe at length any of the speakers or inject my own commentary on what transpired. After all, the titular adjective is anonymous, and while I love journalism, people need the opportunity to tell their own stories, unfiltered and ungarnished.¹

“My name is ___,” each person began. “I am an addict.”

A woman described being a victim of child abuse and trying heroin for the first time. “When I did this heroin, I thought I was 6 feet tall. I thought nothing could hurt me.”

“I lived to use and used to live.”

“I didn’t believe that I was worthy of someone wanting to help me.”

“I told myself, ‘No matter what happens, I am not going to use.’ I am 27 years and 14 days clean.”

“I had 23 days clean, then I relapsed.” The person next to the speaker leaned in and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Welcome home,” he said.

“I didn’t know how to function outside. I always had a substance or alcohol in me.”

“This is a life and death situation. This is not a joke.”

“I wasn’t comfortable growing up. Every chance to escape being me, I tried.”

“[When I saw people around me doing drugs], I told myself I’d never be like that. I turned out exactly like that.”

“I have to do this for me. If I don’t love me, how can I be in a relationship? How can I love my son? How can I love anyone else? [During the recovery process] I’ve fallen back in love with myself.”

“[At my first NA meeting] I went to shake her hand, and she was like, ‘We don’t do that shit.’ She walked me around the room and made me hug everyone.”

At the end of the meeting, the attendees stood in a circle, holding hands. “Keep coming back,” they chanted. “You’re worth it, you’re worth it, you’re worth it, you’re worth it.”