The Man With The Red Panama Baseball Hat

So I lied again today, not about my apple playlist laced with more showtunes than a Broadway diner, but about my addiction. Only this lie felt oddly necessary even if uneasy. It was about 730 in the morning at the gas mart in southeastern Massachusetts and I was three away from the counter holding a Starbucks Frappuccino in my left hand, a bag of goldfish in my right. Don't judge - I have a problem. Next in line was a man with curly hair. He turned back toward me as if he felt bothered by the impatience from those in line. I can't remember his face exactly but did see him long enough to catch that he was wearing a tattered red baseball cap with "Panama" on the front, and I distinctly recall the middle "a" was missing.  His jeans were baggy and his charcoal gray t-shirt was tucked in the back - in his left hand a tall orange Celsius drink, and in his right - gripped sort of tightly in his fist - a bottle of the Kratom. Those pills can be addictive I've heard and maybe in one way not all that unlike my own goldfish habit, but the stories of their risk of fatal overdose are on a whole other level. I felt for the guy, was it pain, anxiety, alcohol withdrawal? Was it the last straw after months, years of medication or therapy? But as he walked by me on the way out, I said nothing...I just paid for my stuff and left. But that man was still standing by the trunk of his blue dodge and so as I walked by him this time I did a stutter step and pivoted back to him. "You know...I used to take that."  There was no reaction, so I just paused and lied again. "I don't take the pills anymore. Just felt too dizzy." There was silence at first so I just sort of awkwardly ambled away. We had made eye contact but the man gave no expression even though I felt that he knew what I meant. "So what do you do now?," he said. There it was. The man with the red Panama hat and the baggy pants, a stranger who happened to be at the same gas station as me on a Friday morning in July, was reaching out. Maybe this was fate, a quiet call for help. I'm no doctor and no social worker, but I suspected he might be struggling enough to ask that. What do I do now. I didn’t have an answer, not an honest one anyway…. The problem isn't so much Kratom in my opinion, as what leads to it and why he bought it to begin with. Maybe he was like others - seeking help, unable to access solutions for pain, confused or frustrated by a dysfunctional system with too many hurdles. Kratom is easy to find in most states, even if some are starting to ban it.  It's addictive and dangerous and becoming a more common cause of admission at hospitals and behavioral health treatment programs. But its use to me seems more like another signal that there's still a pretty wide gap in access and probably knowledge about safer alternatives for pain, anxiety, depression, and alcohol or opioid withdrawal. Kratom cost this guy $12. It was easy - it makes him feel better. The cost to see a psychologist or pain management doctor is at least $200 without insurance, detox several thousand. But something in the way the man was holding it, almost hiding it from those of us in line, let me think he was ashamed— that he wanted his addiction hidden. That's stigma, but the man shouldn't feel shame. He should know there are other ways. Second chances, and a lot of people in health and social services who can and want to help. I gave the man my number and told him my name. If he calls, and I hope he calls, I may not tell him the truth about me and may not be able to help, but I won't judge and I will direct him best I can - the man with the red Panama baseball cap. After all, isn't that what our health system is supposed to do?