When THC and I spoke, his parents were awaiting the toxicology report. She's basically done girlfriend duty, even though she's been his ex for a while, through all of this, and she hasn't mentioned the test results since. I'm not going to nudge her; I don't reckon she wants to nudge parents who just lost their only son.
Whatever the cause was, finding out what it was won't bring him back, so I'm inclined to just let it be. If it wasn't a case of him doing the same (pre-rehab) amount of methadone and that being too much and that killed him, then he it's possible he got high and died.
UBC spoke to him on the phone more recently than anyone here (that I'm aware of), and he was tired, but optimistic. So I'm guessing it was a whoops with the methadone.
And f'g sh!t that there wasn't a spot for him at the subox clinic yet, 'cause he might still be alive, if it was methadone that did him in. And f'ing sh!t if he died from doing what methadone subs for, 'cause he'd been doing so well. Will we ever know? I don't know.
I'm going with what I read on his fb profile and how UBC said he sounded, and guessing it was too much methadone by accident. One can argue that either way, his addiction did him in, and I wouldn't waste energy arguing. "If the thunder don't get you, then the lightning will." At the same time, reading over his fb posts from his last month or so, it was clear he was working on internal issues; he knew that his drug_use was an attempt to self-medicate something that his meds of choice couldn't effectively tame. So was it drug_addiction? Yes and no. He wasn't well, by the time he was on his way to better, he knew it, and certainly past attempts at self-medication weren't effective. And that sucks. I'm glad he didn't die in pain, and I miss (the healthier) him.
I don't know of anyone who ever planned on becoming addicted to hard_drugs. Folks from my high school class -- smart, beautiful, sharp, often chronically depressed folks -- who don't want to feel their pain. For that, I can't blame them. Other folks from the same graduating class just keep themselves super-busy, so they don't have time to think. They cope by not coping. People choose different ways of dealing with stuff (I'm sorry; I know I'm just kind of rambling, now; I realize most people understand all of this). There were times when I had to step back, 'cause he wasn't being himself. It was hard. Hard for him, too, I imagine, if he noticed.
I don't know anyone who hasn't had to learn to roll with life's punches. I don't know why opiates really work for some people, and others aren't attracted to them. Me, I don't like needles or putting stuff up my nose. I did a like of American Smarties in 5th grade, in math class, and it tickled my nose and it hurt and it made me sneeze. I never wanted to do that again. Needles that have stuff inside them? I don't like ouch on purpose. Post-surgery, morphine was the biggest waste -- it did nothing for me. Some folks like coffee, some folks like lemonade. Good night.
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And lots of other people, too, myself included.
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