Every morning, a 32-year-old Bostonian named Mike places an orange tablet under his tongue just before leaving for work. An acrid, citrusy flavor fills his mouth as he packs his briefcase and walks to his job in the Financial District.
The slowly dissolving tablet contains buprenorphine, and Mike says the medication is the reason why today, after 10 years of shooting heroin, he has a white-collar job, a luxury apartment, and plans for graduate school and marriage.
But no one at his workplace knows about the little orange pill, and Mike asked the Globe not to publish his last name to keep it that way.
Mike faces a double stigma — against addiction and against the medication that enabled him to overcome it.
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