Andrew lived in my supported living in the room above mine in the 'wet' house.
He'd said he quit using again and was going to be going back to rehab soon.
We were messaging about how we wanted to meet, id just quit heroin successfully but didn't want to say yet cus it felt too soon.
It was a few days before both our birthdays so i messaged him about that, but then he stopped replying.
I felt really anxious and went to go out my room to go upstairs and check on him, but i had such bad social anxiety i was scared of bumping into one of our other house mates so i just went to bed..
A few days later i got a phone call telling me to come into our housing office by our support worker. I brought my friend with me because I was anxious, we sat down and the support worker made small talk and then asked if id spoken to Andrew and if i knew what happened, i half anxiously jokingly said ' he's not dead is he' and she just said yes he is. I just felt empty, cried a bit but mostly felt numb.
Since then ive always blamed myself, if id checked on him, broke his door down or called the support worker to check on him, i always carried naloxone and i was trained in cpr, im just left with guilt, regret and hating myself.
He had overdosed on heroin if it wasn't obvious, he wasnt even a heroin user before but he hung out with the wrong people that he went to rehab with, which to say the least i hate them and they dragged him into relapse with drugs he hadnt even touched before, i hope they feel more pain and guilt than me. But it doesn't fix anything,
He is gone forever and theres nothing i can do to bring him back, or even go back to that night and change my decision to make it so i went upstairs and checked on him.
There was a police investigation, that confirmed that he died roughly when we stopped messaging and that i was the last person to talk to him alive.
