The Night My Best Friend Died

And the wake-up call that saved me

Ben Fuller

Addiction makes you believe you’re invincible. You tell yourself you’re different. That you have it under control. That won’t happen to me. Until it does. I learned that lesson the hard way. And by the time I realized the truth, my best friend was already gone.

His name was Ryan. We had been using [drugs] together for about ten years. We partied together. Got high together. Laughed together. Hid the addiction together. And then, on December 16, 2017, his mom found him dead in his kitchen.   

I still remember the phone call. 

I still remember the way my stomach dropped. 

Because deep down, I knew—I could have done something. 

I could have said, “Hey man, maybe we should stop.” I could have called him out. I could have helped him get clean. But I didn’t. Because I thought we were fine. 

Hiding in Plain Sight

Ryan was like me—a functioning addict. We had jobs. We paid our bills. We showed up when we were supposed to. And because we weren’t the guys living under a bridge, because we weren’t strung out on the street, we thought we were okay. 

But addiction doesn’t care how well you hide it. 

It will steal everything from you—your joy, your hope, your future. And for Ryan? It stole his life. 

After Ryan died, I told myself I wasn’t like him. I convinced myself I was stronger. Smarter. That my addiction was just a habit I could drop anytime I wanted. So, I did nothing. I didn’t quit. I didn’t slow down. I didn’t change. I went right back to it—because facing reality was too painful. 

The Escape That Wasn’t

By fall 2018, I thought I had found my way out. People had been telling me for a year, “You’ve got to move to Nashville, man. You’ve got talent. You could really make it.”   

So I sold my house. Packed up everything. Left Vermont behind. I thought if I changed my location, I could leave my problems behind, too. But addiction doesn’t stay in one place. It followed me 1,200 miles—right into Nashville. 

Within a week of moving to town, I was playing at Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge—one of the biggest honky-tonks in Nashville. My dad was finally proud of me. His son made it to Nashville. But I was falling apart. I was drinking during the day. Getting behind the wheel when I had no business driving. It’s a miracle I never killed anyone. A miracle I didn’t kill myself. 

And yet, in my mind, I was still in control. Because I was showing up. Because I had a job. Because, just like Ryan, I was hiding in plain sight. But the truth was—I wasn’t far from the same fate. 

“I Could Have Been Ryan” 

I think about that a lot. If one thing had gone differently—if I had taken just a little too much one night—that could have been me. Maybe you know that feeling. Maybe you’ve lost someone. Maybe you’ve sat in the guilt, thinking I should have done something. Or maybe, you see yourself in Ryan. And you’re telling yourself the same lie I did: 

• “I’m fine.” 

• “I’m not that bad.” 

• “I can stop whenever I want.” 

But listen to me: 

 You are not invincible. 

And I don’t say that to scare you—I say that because I love you. Because I’ve been you. And because I lost someone I loved before I realized just how much danger we were really in.

The Truth about Addiction 

Addiction doesn’t start with rock bottom. It starts with one little compromise. It starts with one excuse. And before you know it, you’re telling yourself: 

•  “Well, at least I’m not homeless.” 

• “At least I still have a job.” 

• “At least I’m not dead.” 

But let me tell you something—“at least I’m not dead” is a terrible way to live. And you don’t have to live like this.   

The Only Real Escape 

Moving to a new city didn’t fix me. Getting a job in Nashville didn’t fix me. Success didn’t fix me. Because the real problem wasn’t where I lived—it was who I was without Jesus.  

Jesus didn’t just save me from my addiction. 

Jesus saved me from myself.   

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18 NIV). 

If you’re reading this, and you feel like you’re one step away from disaster, let me tell you—it’s not too late. I lost Ryan, but I don’t have to lose you. And you don’t have to lose yourself. 

Ask yourself today: 

What am I using to escape? 

Have I convinced myself I’m “fine” when I’m not? 

Do I believe the lie that I’m in control? 

If this is you, you are not alone. And you don’t have to fight this battle by yourself. 

Jesus is waiting. Reach out to someone. A friend. A pastor. A recovery group. Because your life is worth saving. And I promise you this—Jesus is the only escape that lasts. 

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