When Systems Fail, Truth Matters
Content Warning: 🤍
This post discusses details of death, addiction, trauma, and institutional failure. Details are shared for truth and accountability — not for shock. This is the most detailed and personal story I will likely ever tell. Please read only when you’re in a good headspace and take care of yourself while doing so. 🤍
This post exists because silence hasn’t helped.
For four years, I have tried to work through every channel available — government offices, documentary makers, organizations that claimed to help, and others who have been through similar losses. I asked questions. I requested clarity. I sought accountability for what happened the morning Dustin died.
Those efforts seemed like they might go somewhere a couple times — being ensured I had a strong case and that it was for sure murder — but then I was suddenly ghosted, in every circumstance, leaving me back at square one. There has been no meaningful follow-up, no transparency, and no sense that what happened was ever treated with the seriousness it deserved.
When systems fail, truth becomes important, which is why I am writing this today – as difficult as it is. These recollections trigger my CPTSD in a severe way – but the truth is more important than a bad or emotional day or week.
What Led Up to That Night
The days before Dustin died did not feel like a crisis. It was actually a really good week — besides his knee hurting. He had celebrated his 32nd birthday the week prior and had just earned his six-month sobriety chip that week. He was proud of it. Anyone in recovery who saw him that night could see it, because it was the first time he truly tried — and he was succeeding.
He was still showing up. Still planning. Still talking about the future.
There was no dramatic downfall. No goodbye. No warning that later made sense in hindsight. That matters — because the assumptions people make afterward often erase the reality of where he actually was.
Exactly one week before his death, Dustin brought something up to me that still sits heavy in my chest. He asked about possibly getting a couple pain pills from someone he worked with. He definitely needed a surgery for his knee, it was disgusting looking, swollen to the max and black and blue, but we were weeks out from seeing the surgeon. When he asked, it was the first time. He would always hide it or at least minimize it if I did know – but he never would ask. And that mattered because to me that was proof of a huge improvement in his recovery.
During their texting conversation, there were three main things I asked or said:
- “How do you know they aren’t fentanyl pills?”
He said — and I believe it’s in a text on the phone I still have — that they were coming straight from a pharmacy, so they couldn’t be fake. - “What happens when they’re gone?”
He was only wanting to get three. I know the cycle. Once that relief is gone, what happens for the rest of the weeks? - “You’re a grown man, and only you know how much pain you’re in. If you need them, get them. But it’s not right to truly claim clean time if you’re getting pills off the street.”
He immediately decided right then he didn’t want them and messaged the guy that he was going to pass.
Fast forward one week.
It was a Friday. He texted me late that morning saying they were getting off early and asked if he could go to a friends to play video games. I was genuinely happy that he was making what I thought were local friend connections, because he hadn’t met many people since moving to Kansas — of course I didn’t care. I thought it showed me how much he was trying to be honest with me… but I suppose looking back, I was wrong.
He was home by the time I got off work. We had a great evening. We made dinner, watched a movie, and went to bed like any other night.
The Next Morning (01/22/2022)
I woke up around 3:30 a.m. and noticed he wasn’t in bed. I checked to make sure my car was still there — it was — and noticed the bathroom light on. As mentioned before, he often woke up in the middle of the night with anxiety attacks. So, I gave him his space and decided I would wait until he was done — but of course, I fell asleep again.
When I woke up later and he still wasn’t there, about 6:30A, and he didn’t respond when I yelled for him, an instant panic set in. I noticed the bathroom light was still on, banged on the door and yelling. No response.
I tried to open the door. It was locked. So I had to find a credit card to open it.
I was not prepared for what I found.
I’m not going to describe in detail how I found him. That isn’t necessary — but I will be honest about what followed, because this is where reality stops looking like anything people prepare you for.
I tried to grab my phone and it was dead. So, I had to get his phone out of his pocket to call 911.
The dispatcher kept telling me to roll him over, but if anyone knew Dustin, his size, and the size of my bathroom, they would understand that wasn’t physically possible for me alone — but I was trying so hard.
Time stretched in a way that felt unreal. It seemed like it took forever for someone to get there (even though it was probably less than five minutes). They took over and moved him into our living room.
I remember looking at my dogs in the computer room — where you could see everything — and they weren’t moving. Strangers in the house without them going crazy never happened. But I don’t think they left the computer room until after everyone left. I believe it was extremely traumatic for them. Actually, I know it was considering the anxiety medicine Luna has had to take since and the extreme separation anxiety that followed.
How the Professionals Handled It
They did CPR on Dustin for exactly 20 minutes.
I was a heavy smoker. It was freezing outside. I was in my robe. My phone was dead and charging. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was stuck in a corner, forced to watch literally everything unfold.
At that point, I thought he was okay — because the machine showed him breathing. I had called the ambulance several times for seizures in the past, and it was traumatizing and scary, but he was always ok. In my head, it would turn out like that.
They “called it” at 20 minutes. At that point, I jumped up and started screaming, why were they giving up?! He was breathing! Why were they letting him die?! The police literally held me back as I was screaming to keep going at the paramedics —
And I will never forget what the paramedic said:
“Ma’am, he was never breathing. The machine was breathing for him.”
That is when my world completely collapsed. I had already been thinking about the conversation we were going to have when he woke up. I just hit the floor screaming, I just sat with him for a minute, held him.
The Hours After
I didn’t know what the fuck to do. The first person I called was my sponsor. She immediately called his sponsor, and within about twenty minutes, my sponsor, her wife, and his sponsor were all there.
After that, I called my mom (she lived about an hour away).
While I was waiting for them to get there, I asked what I should do because I hadn’t even been able to use the bathroom. They told me to go ahead.
To do that, I had to step over him. I walked into the bathroom, closed the door, pulled my pants down — and when I looked over, I froze. I saw what was left behind. The items that had been used.
I immediately pulled my pants back up and ran out because it felt like I had just contaminated a crime scene. I panicked and tried to say something.
They told me, in the most nonchalant way, “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
At the time, I didn’t realize what that meant. I didn’t think about it. I was still in shock. I didn’t have the capacity to understand that they were not taking this seriously as an investigation. That didn’t hit me until my sponsor spoke with the detective the following Monday.
I went back to the bathroom, finished as fast as I could, and got the fuck out. At some point, I got into my sponsor’s car. I think she even let me smoke in it. We were just sitting there, waiting for what came next.
That’s when I learned he died instantly — that there was enough fentanyl in that pill to kill him the second it hit his system. There were ways to tell – that brought me at least a little bit of relief. It let go some of those, “what if I had done this sooner” type thoughts. Eventually, the coroner came. I was standing in my front yard, and when they carried him out, I crumbled. I remember all three of them holding me.
And then after everyone was gone, my sponsor helped me start cleaning up everything they had left, and discovered two more “oxy” pills in a bottle that did not belong to me. My sponsor said, “You got this?” I just said, “No, I don’t think I do”. So she took them and to the police department the following Monday.
Then I knew that phone call had to be made to his parents immediately — and it would be the hardest phone call I have ever had to make.
Calling His Parents
I remember my sponsor and her wife standing behind me, holding me when I called.
I don’t remember who answered the phone. I just know it was on speaker — and that meant they both found out at the same time. There is no way to prepare for that call. No wording that makes it gentler. No pause button once you start.
I believe the words I used were, “Dustin is gone,” (it may have even been a different way of saying it, but it was short) and the response came almost before I even got the words all the way out. They knew what it meant immediately. The scream was immediate. Raw. Blood-curdling. A sound I will never forget as long as I live. I knew it would be hard — but I was not prepared for that. I just started almost uncontrollably shaking, my entire body was trembling, and all they could do was hold me.
And when the call ended, there was no relief. Just more weight.
After That
After that, my mother showed up.
My sponsors left, and my mom stayed with me. She was supportive and steady — trying to think about things I wasn’t capable of thinking about yet.
She was also very clear that since my phone had been dead when I needed it most (would only stay charged for a couple hours), and would be alone, we needed to get a new one.
So, we left the house and went to Walmart to get a new phone. I remember just standing in the electronics section, thinking about how bizarre it was that I was at Walmart within hours of all of this happening. Nothing felt real. The world was still moving while my life had just shattered.
All I could think was: What the fuck do I do now?
The Days After & How Law Enforcement Treated Us
I don’t remember much of the days — or even months — that followed.
However, as said before, my sponsor took the pills to the detective the following Monday. We wanted them tested immediately. We wanted documentation. We wanted proof. At that time, we did not know the results. But he said it would probably be 9- 12 months. It was outrageous!
What we did know was how they were treating it. It took about six months to get the autopsy back — since it was labeled a suicidal overdose. If this had been treated for what it actually was — a murder — the autopsy would have taken days, not half a year.
We did not receive confirmation that there was no oxycodone and only fentanyl until six months later. But I knew. Dustin didn’t want to die and knew the dangers of fentanyl. He never would have done that amount had he known there was fentanyl in them. But still….
Six months of silence.
Six months of assumptions.
Six months of being dismissed.
When the detective spoke to my sponsor that following Monday after he passed, when the pills were turned in, he said:
“She’ll be relapsed within the week.”
That sentence burned into my brain. In a way, it just gave me that much more motivation to stay sober — because I refused to let that motherfucker be right. I was treated like a deadbeat addict. Like Dustin didn’t matter. Like this was something to brush off and move on from. That was not acceptable.
After one or two calls, they refused to return them entirely.
“Injustice makes the rules, and courage breaks them.”
–Ursula K. Le Guin
Closing & Advocacy
Next week, this will continue. I’ll share what I have done personally since to seek justice — and what progress had been made.
Because here is the truth:
If there was only fentanyl in those pills, this was not a suicidal overdose.
This was poisoned pills.
This was someone taking something they did not consent to.
And it should have been treated with urgency and seriousness — not assumptions and silence.
If this story made you uncomfortable, it absolutely should.
This is happening every single day — in your town. It could be your daughter, your niece, your teacher, your best friend, your mother. Anyone.
“One pill can kill” is not a slogan or cliché. Now it is quite literal.
Accountability begins with people willing to ask questions and refuse to let stories like Dustin’s disappear. We know they won’t be proactive so we have to.
Change doesn’t come from one loud moment.
It comes from sustained pressure, collective effort, and not letting this shit be brushed aside.
They tested the wrong bitch.
I truly believe I can be the most persistent, motivated, relentless woman you may ever meet if it’s something I am truly passionate about — and that is an understatement in this case.
“There may be times when we are powerless to prevent injustice, but there must never be a time when we fail to protest” – Elie Wiesel
I will never quit fighting. I may get busy. There may be periods where I can’t put in as much time or energy. But there is no statute of limitations on truth, accountability, or justice….. when it comes to murder. And I plan to keep asking questions and pushing forward until someone gives me an answer that is acceptable.
This was not okay.
This was a disservice to everyone involved.
This continues to affect many people every single day.
And Dustin deserves justice.
Next week — we continue to what the search for justice has looked like and what I believe it will look like in the future or what we can do to make a difference.
“If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor” – Desmond Tutu
Thank you for reading this week.
I know this may have been very heavy for some – but heavy seems to be necessary sometimes to catch the attention of the right people. If anyone has any ideas on who to contact or what I can do, let me know. I still have his phone locked in a safe place. And believe me, I have contacted (or emailed) tens if not hundreds of people from different offices — I have googled and tried everything I can. I need a concrete answer on what can you do to get justice when no one is willing to listen to the truth? There has to be a good answer to that.
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