I extended my hand, hiding the folded piece of paper with my name and number written on it. I hoped my nervousness didn’t cause my hand to shake.
“If there’s anything on your heart you’d like to talk about, I’m here.” I said to the young man sitting next to me with his head in his hands.
I don’t know where the words came from, I don’t know why I said them, but I had known for nearly an hour that I had no choice in the matter.
The folded paper was taken, and for the first time the young man seated next to me looked up and replied, “Yes, please.” I recognized shock and relief in his eyes as I looked back at him.
I have had a few moments in my life like this, where it feels like I am witnessing a ghost of my past.
Each time these encounters have happened to me, the recognition is instantaneous the moment the other person enters into my realm of perception. My actions in these instances seem out of my control, as if the scenario were presented to me with a script I am required to follow. As much as I have tried to fight back by downplaying the need to engage, it never feels that I have a choice in the matter.
That Sunday the young man and I sat and talked for twenty minutes after church ended. The only thing that pushed us from our seats was the start of the next service.
With equal clarity, I knew what I was supposed to do as I watched a strange truck drive through our alleyway one Tuesday morning. Thirty seconds after first seeing them, I stood outside of my garage, too late to get to them, but knowing there had to be a way to reach them. I lifted the trash bin that they had paused next to on their drive through our alley and saw the empties they had ditched, away from their own home. Just like I used to do. Trying to rid myself of the shameful evidence, and hoping to throw away the disgusting behavior and part of myself that kept giving in to the call to drink.
So I decided to create something to meet that person in a moment of despair. I know that state. It’s desperate for a way out, longing for any sign or any way in which to stop the madness from entering their lives. There’s shame, but there’s a genuine desire to escape. What I built is simple, non-confrontational, and easy for you to participate in. It’s a sticker designed to go on the lip of a trash can with a simple message: You’re not alone. There’s a resource page the sticker directs people to that aims to meet the person where they’re at and bring forth a message of hope.
Will this actually work? Who knows, but it’s damn well worth a try.
I took a sticker out with me to our local park and the second trash can I opened had empties that had been ditched in it. Granted, I know what to look for in a good dumping location. I scouted out these public dumping sites and carried out this shameful act for years. But you can find these too. Maybe you already know of a spot. Or maybe you’re unaware of the evidence of struggle that sits right in front of you.
We may never get to see that sense of relief in someone’s eyes when they’re met with a message they’re longing for, but don’t even know how to seek. I’ll likely never see that old, red pickup drive through my alley again. But there’s still hope. There’s still a way to reach them in this moment of despair and shame.
If interested in helping to spread the message, stickers can be ordered here.
Share this with a friend or loved one who might know a spot to place one, or many.
Not sure what addicts look for in a location to ditch their evidence? Drop an ask in the comments and I’ll explain how to quickly identify them around any town or neighborhood.
Keep showing up, even if you don’t get to see the fruits of your impact on others.
We continue to be so proud of you everyday! Keep up your great efforts for yourself and for so many others!