Harold Plaster had been awake for nine days when he noticed his face in the mirror. It was January 2017, and he was on his latest heroin binge inside a red house on the Lummi Reservation in north-western Washington state. The windows were covered in garbage bags and there were rats scurrying around.
As he looked at himself, dangerously thin, he said he began thinking about his six children, all either adults or in foster care, and about his mother, whom he had promised his late father he would look after.
“I seen myself in the mirror, and I was like, ‘What the fuck are you doing Harold?’” he told the Guardian.
