When people experiencing addiction tell John Lawlor their stories, he often nods along in empathy. John, a Prevention Point Philadelphia (PPP) harm reduction specialist, knows what it’s like to live on the streets, to be hungry and isolated, to have painful, open flesh wounds and even deeper psychic ones. He understands the guilt associated with doing whatever it takes to get money for drugs, the trauma caused by arrest and incarceration, and the shame that comes with disappointing others and himself.
That was John’s life, too, until October 2023, when he chose to confront his addiction and use his experiences to help others do the same.
“I love my job because I remember what I used to be, and I see what I’ve become. It’s beautiful,” says John, now 43. “If I can help one person with my story, my job is done.”
John grew up in Fishtown, the youngest of four children in an Irish-Catholic household. He was hanging out with a group of older guys when the man who sold them drugs handed John a box of cigarettes topped with a neat line of white powder. He’d never had a beer or smoked a joint, but he took what was offered him and snorted it. He was 14.
"I was like a record player, going in circles, hitting the same notes."
“That’s how I got sucked into the addiction world,” he says. “(The dealers) don’t tell you the full story when they’re offering people stuff. They’re not telling you you’re going to get sick when you do this. They’re telling you to do this and this feels great.”
John was soon using, and selling, heroin daily. He became “a domestic terrorist,” he says, stealing cars and joyriding, robbing people and places to finance his substance use disorder. He was arrested at age 17 and served time in a juvenile detention facility. When he was released, neighbors complained to elected officials and tried to get him removed from his mother’s house.
They need not have bothered. John soon began the cycle that he would repeat for the next 20 years: in and out of jail, fully immersed in his addiction whenever he was released.
“I was like a record player, going in circles, hitting the same notes,” he says.
A few years ago, John got out of prison and thought he’d break the cycle. He got a job in a meat-packing plant. He found a girlfriend and they moved in together.
Then, in February of 2022, the pair argued. She stabbed him in the arm and he needed 17 stitches to close the wound. He had to leave their shared home and, embarrassed, chose not to reach out to friends or family. Instead, “I was frustrated and I didn’t know how to process it. So I got high.”
John was imprisoned yet again from October 2022 through October 2023. By then, fentanyl had been the predominant opioid on the street for years, but now it was almost always contaminated with xylazine (“tranq”). John saw what this combination did to others—and he didn’t like it. That’s what pushed him to fight back.
When I’m at work, I see what will happen to me if I start using.
In fall of 2023, in recovery, with a clear head and a drive to right his own wrongs, John took a job with PPP. He knew the organization well, having used its programs including syringe services and the MOUD clinic, which had ensured he could continue Suboxone treatment when he was released from prison. He went back to school and earned his Certified Recovery Specialist (CRS) certificate as well as certifications in ASAM Level of Care and Basic Life Support. He was promoted to harm reduction specialist. He continues to study so he can move up within the organization, reaching and helping as many people as he can. This work, John says, gives him purpose. It provides the motivation he needs to stay in recovery.
“What I make in two weeks here I could make in one week (at the meat-packing plant), but that’s not a destination. It’s just a journey,” he says.
John often sees old friends who are still immersed in substance use and eager for his company. He is kind, but keeps them at a distance.
“The things I’m most scared of are getting high and losing myself again. I know if I mess up one time, I’m going to be back out there. I can’t do that,” he says. “When I’m at work, I see what will happen to me if I start using. I face my demons, and I decide, ‘I don’t want this.’”