Several weeks later, when things were much more clear, I knew 3 things; I had nearly died from a drug overdose, my mother blamed my friends for nearly killing me when it was my own choice to attempt the overdose, and those same friends had a possible cure for the mental illness I now admitted to myself that I had.

I felt giddy. Maybe it was the admission that I had a problem, or the thought that there was a solution, or the promises I made to myself and my mother and my friends that I would never do that again, but I became happy, bubbly even.

I kissed my mother on the cheek, played football with my little brother, teased my sister, and kept a smile on my face. It was all too easy to escape the house for a few small errands that grew into hours-long excursions to meet Kyle and Bryce to discuss the plan.

“We got it all covered, man.” Kyle assured me. “Just show up under the Franklin overpass at 8 tomorrow.”

“We’re in this together.” Bryce held out his fist for a knuckle bump. Smiling, I bumped them both.

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