The Addiction Crisis
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The addiction crisis touches every community and social class. The public health emergency is marked by mental health challenges, addiction, loss, and systemic strain.
​The hardship is not just in the deaths, but in the quiet erosion of trust, trust in the belief that life can be rebuilt. And yet, even amid devastation, there are stories of resilience. The crisis is not only a measure of tragedy; it is a mirror reflecting how pain, untreated and unseen, can become epidemic.
The Hardship​
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These stories of hardship are about the people of Mass & Cass a tent city area in Boston, MA, better known as Methadone Mile.
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To protect the privacy of these people the names are nom de plume.
Steve
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Steve has a 23-year-old son. With a proud smile, he told me that his son had just bought a house in Vermont. But when I gently asked if his son knew where he was, his expression changed. He held back tears and asked if we could talk about something else.
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When I later asked Steve what he thought was the biggest problem on Methadone Mile, he didn’t hesitate. “Getting robbed,” he said quietly. “By other addicts.”
PJ
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PJ began using heroin as a way to cope with depression and his struggles with mental health. When I met him, his cousin was with him, explaining that he was only visiting to check on PJ and that he didn’t use himself. But after his cousin walked away, PJ quietly admitted that they both did.
He said there’s no point in lying about addiction, because no matter what, you end up hurting the people who love you. PJ has two daughters, ages 11 and 3, whom he hasn’t seen in some time. He told me that life on Methadone Mile strips people of their worth. “Everyone here is being used,” he said. “Nobody cares if we live or die. Addicts are just pawns in someone else’s game for money.”
Dustin & Matty
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Dustin was in a car accident, and his doctor prescribed opioids for the pain. What began as medical treatment turned into addiction. When the prescriptions stopped, he started sniffing heroin.
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He spoke with anger and bitterness, saying “I am a slave to the needle. I have hurt, stole, broke, and destroyed everything around.” He couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. He just let them come, and Matty put his arm around him.
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We sat quietly for a while, surrounded by the noise of the street and the scattered voices of others nearby. Then I asked Matty about his experiences with people who weren’t homeless or addicted. He said, “They don’t understand at all, and most people look at us as less than human. But something they don’t know is this could happen to any mother fucker. It’s so simple and easy to get hooked on this shit.”
John
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John injured himself on a dirt bike and was prescribed oxycodone. Like many others, he got hooked. When the prescriptions stopped, he turned to heroin.
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I met him with his girlfriend, and he told me, “I am so in love with this woman.” John is a roofer, he works when the weather is warm and he talked about saving enough to get them a decent place to live.
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Then he asked if I wanted to photograph him shooting up. I hesitated, but he said, “If you want people to really understand what this is all about, you have to show them.”
I watched as the heroin entered his body, his words slowing, his head nodding until he fell silent.
Before I left, I said, “I hope I never see you down here again.”
circumstance, he smiled and said, “I hope so too”
