I was 12 years old, growing up in Pine Bluff. Pine Bluff was (at the time) a progressive city in Southeast Arkansas located in the Arkansas River delta. I landed my first girlfriend, a tall, dark-headed outspoken girl that was a year older than me named Lindsay Holcomb. Lindsay taught me how to love, and taught me how to kiss. You can imagine my excitement when I was invited to Lindsay's house to spend the day with her and her family. There, I met a little dark haired spectacled boy, three years my junior. He was Lindsay's brother, and his name was Jacob Holcomb.

          "Do you want to play Nintendo in my room?" Jacob asked.

       Of course, I did. My memory fails me while trying to recall what game we played on Jacob's Super NES. I played for about 10 minutes, probably manuevering my way through a fast-paced platform world full of morphing creatures and perilous pitfalls. At one point Jacob had evidently got bored as he said, "Dude, you're doing it wrong. Give me the controller." 

         I handed Jacob his controller back and thought to myself, "Who is this little shit? Telling me I'm playing a game wrong." I would come to find out. 

          Like so many relationships before, mine and Lindsay's ended during the summer of that year. I would go on to see Jacob several times through the coming years. Our interests changed as we grew older and we went from passing video game controllers to passing bottles and joints around. No matter how knowledgable I thought I was, Jacob was always there to say, "Dude, you're doing it wrong." 

        The years went by, and the morphing creatures and perilous pitfalls that once faced us only in a digital world became our lives. Out of boredom and our own insecurities, our habits changed too. The once progressive city we lived in had began to regress as more and more businesses disappeared in search of lower-taxed land. As the unemployment rate grew, so did the crime rate. All along, big pharmaceutical companies frantically pushed out a new drug called Oxycontin. Oxycontin spread like wildfire across America behind claims that it was non-addictive and not dangerous like its longtime used counterpart, morphine.

        When the FDA finally denounced the claims that the makers of Oxyconyin had been making for years, the drug became increasingly harder to find. Waiting in the wings, eager to recover profits lost to the decriminalization of marijuana, Mexican farmers shifted their focus from exporting marijuana to the exportation of opiates and the manifestation of opium in the form of heroine. Heroine was back to stay. Millions of Americans that had become addicted to products pushed by big pharmaceutical companies found themselves seeking a cheaper and more easily attainable alternative in heroine. Jacob and I were no exception. 

         One day, lost in a numb fog, I crushed up an Oxycontin and using a straw snorted it up my nose. There beside me, always eager to offer a helping hand, Jacob said, "Dude your doing it wrong." He produced a syringe and I watched in amazement as Jacob administered the drug to himself intravenously. We didn't understand the severity of our newfound method of addiction. And did not understand how much our addictions would take from us. 

     Friends disappeared. 

     Needing to shield themselves from our destructive behaviors, family members clamored for distance, all the while urging us and begging us to get ourselves help. 

        My decision to stop using opiates would only come to be after overdosing on heroine in a hotel room alone in Austin, Texas in January of 2019. Luckily, I didnt perish there, but three days passed before I was able to move or to begin to have thoughts that werent lost in a foggy haze. I had already lost so much but it wasn't until I almost lost myself in this manner that I decided I was done with opiates. 

         Jacob began to get his life together too. He had a little girl, Evie Mae Holcomb, born in early November of 2019, and she quickly became the light of his life. Every so often though, Jacob would revisit his relationship with pain pills or heroine, almost as a reward for working so hard and living cleanly for what he felt were long spells. Jacob DID work hard. He was proud of his job driving a truck for Waste Management in West Monroe, Louisiana.

             I was, extremely grateful when a few months ago, Jacob, realizing I was struggling with my own sobriety, extended his hand and allowed me a place to stay clean in the safety of his home. It was very clear that I was not to use or he would no longer be able to house me. But Jacob's own struggles intensified as he shielded me from mine. In early September, Jacob overdosed in Gulfport, Mississippi and luckily I was able to get an EMS crew to him to administer Narcan in time to bring Jacob back. 

         I did express my worries to Jacob after this incident and for the last several months have internally struggled with what obligations I owed to my friend. I watched Jacob slip deeper and deeper into his drug use. Selfishly, I remained quiet, fearing that bringing attention to Jacob's struggle would cost me my best friend along with the shelter he provided to me. I watched as the funny, loving, character I had come to love became introverted and shut out the world around him. He lost interest in everything. The halls that once echoed with our laughter housed a tension of unknowing consequence that could seemingly be felt by every pore of my body. What could I do? Where could I turn? The guilt that stems from my silence haunts me at every turn. 

             On the evening of December 9, 2021 Jacob lost his battle to drug addiction. Although I didn't stop chest compressions until the fire department arrived, I somehow knew Jacob wouldn't return from this fight. It was too little, too late. I imagine Jacob was standing over my shoulder as I heaved on his chest. Shaking his head, he was probably saying, "Dude, you're doing it wrong."

           I tell this story not to evoke sympathy for myself or for Jacob's loved ones. I join Jacob's family in a completely transparent journey to tell his story. I do so in hopes that anybody that struggles with addiction may find the strength and determination to seek help. Not just for themselves but for the ones that love them. 

       If anybody reading this has a newfound determination to help themselves or a loved one please reach out to me at [email protected]

I will do my best to find resources that can help you and your family with this struggle. 

Please know that you don't have to face this struggle alone, and that you are worthy. 

Much love,

Nick Carnathan