Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - The Line Outside the Clinic Where Our Lives Fell Apart One Prescription at a Time #31

Episode Date: July 13, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales#addictionhorror #medicalnightmare #prescriptionruin #realhorrorstories #losingeverything  "The Line Outside the Clinic Where Our Lives Fell Apart One Prescription at a Time" is a chilling, real-world horror tale about the slow, silent collapse of lives through addiction and false hope. What began as a search for help became a descent into dependence, deceit, and despair. This story captures the haunting reality of prescription addiction—how it doesn’t strike like lightning but erodes everything quietly, from relationships to identities. It’s a disturbing look at how horror sometimes comes in bottles, with a doctor’s signature.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, prescriptionaddiction, cliniclinehorror, medicaldependency, emotionalruin, lifecollapse, opioidnightmare, trustbroken, healthcarehorror, downwardspiral, addictiontruth, painandpills, horrorinreality, realaddictionstory, drugsanddespair

Waiting in line at the methadone clinic, I'm standing here with a bunch of 20-something-year-old women, all of us looking like we've been chewed up and spat out by life. We're in Comoka, this nothing little town just outside London, Ontario. The air's crisp, autumn creeping in, and here I am wondering how the hell I ended up like this. How did I get to the point where standing outside a clinic with other addicts is just, my Tuesday? It wasn't supposed to be like this. I had a future, man. Junior year of high school, I hurt my back playing field hockey. I didn't want to sit out, didn't want to lose my shot at a scholarship.

I mean, I was good. Real good. So when my doctor handed me a prescription for Percocet, I thought, yeah, this'll help me keep going. And it did. For a while. Until it didn't. Then came the fentanyl. Fentanyl. That word still makes me sick. I got hooked before I even realized what was happening. I kept playing through the pain, pushing my body harder than I should have, lying to everyone and myself that it was just temporary. By the time I made it to university, I was so thin that my own parents barely recognized me.

I'd withered into this ghost of myself. No more trophies, no more glory. Just pill bottles and lies. I flunked out. Straight F's. My scholarship went up in flames, just like the rest of my life. Moving back in with my parents was like stepping into a pressure cooker. They tried to help, at first. But then the stealing started. I took jewelry, cash, even stuff like DVDs or old electronics,

anything I could pawn off for my next fix. One day, I came home and my bags were on the porch. That was it. They'd had enough. And the doctor? The one who got me started on all this. He dropped me too. Just stopped seeing me.

No more scripts, no more legal access to the pills that had become my oxygen. So I did what a dix do. I turned to the streets. Now here I am, on this dreary day, surrounded by other girls who probably have stories just like mine. We all look like cracked out paper dolls, pale, frail, broken in different ways but standing in the same damn line. The girl in front of me glances over her shoulder. She's got that same hollow look in her eyes. I ask, how long have you been on methadone?

Three months, she says. Her voice is flat. She looks like me, run down, worn out, clinging to whatever hope this treatment might bring. Bet you never thought you'd be here, huh? She snorts a half-lath. Nope. I got hooked after a sports injury. Rugby.

No way, I say. Same thing happened to me, but it was field hockey. Then another girl behind me pipes up, tennis, for me. My wrist wouldn't heal. Got prescribed perks. I turn and get a good look at her. Something about her face, it's familiar. I squint a little. Can't place it, but I've definitely seen her before.

We all keep talking, trying to make sense of the wreckage. I start noticing patterns. We're not the grungy, down and out kind you'd expect. We're not covered in tattoos or dressed like biker chicks. We're suburban. Normal. Or at least, we used to be. Our clothes are worn but were clearly once expensive. We're the girls who used to be the nice ones. Then it hits me, I recognize more than just the girl behind me. All of these girls look kind of familiar. Where'd you guys go to school? I ask. Sonders, the girl behind me mumbles. Same, says the one in front. Sonders. That's where I went too. That's three of us already. Weird, right?

Not impossible, since it's a big school, but still, weird. Who were your doctors back then? I ask. Dr. Chong, says the girl in front. Same, both me and the girl behind me say, our voice is overlapping. That name lands in my stomach like a stone. Dr. Chong. He was nice, yeah, but now that I think about it, maybe a little too nice.

Always quick to hand out pills. Never questioned anything. I graduated with his son, I say, fishing for more info. Oh yeah. Me too. Class of 2016, the girl behind me says. I was 2018, with Peter, his younger son, I reply. Jeffrey Chong was class of 2016, she adds.

I almost went to prom with him, actually. turned him down because my crush finally asked me. Broke Jeffrey's heart, poor guy. I nod slowly. Peter asked me out in junior year. Things got super awkward after that, and I kind of just ghosted him. The girl in front of me chimes in. I graduated in 2017.

Jeffrey asked me out too. Said no. Then a girl two spots ahead spins around and goes, I was 2013. Had to nearly get a restraining order on Yong Chong, that's the dad, he wouldn't stop creeping on me. Okay. Now the hair on my arm stands up.

It's not just a coincidence. My whole life flipped upside down the same week I turned down Peter Chong. Before that, I'd gone to his dad a few times for minor stuff, sore neck, sprained ankle. He always brushed it off, told me. me it'd pass. Then suddenly, after I rejected his son, I hurt my back and boom, percassette prescription. No second opinion. No questions. Just pills. One of my therapists in rehab once asked, what kind of doctor gives a teenager opioids? At the time, I shrugged it off. Figured I was just

one of the unlucky ones. But now I'm starting to think it wasn't just bad luck. I remember I remember standing on York Street one night, trying to turn a trick just to get by. A car pulls up to the light, and it's Dr. Chong. He rolls down the window, gives me this smug little wave and a smile, like he's proud of what he's done. Like he won. I can't stop thinking about it now. All these girls from the same school. All of us with the same doctor.

All of us having rejected one of his sons. and all of us got hooked on opioids before we even knew what was happening. I'm not saying I was perfect. Far from it. I flirted with half the school. I was hungry for attention, especially from guys. But I wasn't mean. I didn't think turning down a date could ruin someone's life, let alone mine.

But looking around this line, I realize something chilling. I'm the only one who's put it all together. The same school The same doctor The same heartbreak And the same prescription pad Leading all of us to this line, This clinic, this half-life

And as crazy as it sounds, I think Dr. Chong did it on purpose. I think he got off on watching us fall. One rejection for his son. Boom, a bottle of percassettes. Another one. Fentanyl. It's like some.

some twisted revenge plot, hidden behind a lab coat and a smile. The scariest part. No one else seems to see it. They're just here for the pills, for the hope of getting clean. And maybe they will. Maybe I will too. But I'll never forget the way he smiled at me that night. Like I was a trophy on a shelf.

Like all of this, the pain, the ruin, the broken lives, was exactly what he wanted. And now I know. I know what he did. I know how it all started. Maybe one day I'll tell someone. Maybe one day I'll do something about it. But today, I'm just standing in line, waiting for my dose, surrounded by ghosts of the past I didn't even know were haunting me. And Dr. Chan.

He's probably still out there, prescribing poison with a pen, ruining lives with a smile. The end. or maybe just the beginning of something darker finally coming to light the end