Nearly 20 years ago now — long, long before counselors, communities and Congress coined catchy phrases for the nation’s heroin crisis — I reported from the front lines on the hell and fury opiates unleashed on one small town in Appalachian Ohio.

This was way before commercials combating addiction and opioid-induced constipation crossed paths on TV. It was a time ahead of states suing big pharma and the development, distribution and — in some ways — dependence on life-saving drugs like Narcan.

Southeast Ohio really isn’t much different from Butler County when it comes to demographics. Rural, rolling farms surround county seats. A couple colleges dot the landscape. Hard-working folks who are fearless to a fault and ready to roll up their sleeves when the world calls.

Talking to veteran crime reporter Jim Smith, these communities share another, more unfortunate trait. Both regions saw an uptick in heroin use and addiction around the same time during the early 2000s. Both communities lost countless citizens to their chase for an elusive dragon.

Covering that “beat” as a reporter was eye-opening, daunting. Losing a close college friend around the same time to demons none of us even knew he battled was humbling, frightening. Hearing years later that a bright young man who vulnerably lifted the veil of addiction and became a poster-child for recovery in my news stories lost his battle against this life-long disease was disappointing, disheartening.

Back then, people addicted to heroin were “those people.” They were a fringe population of people living on the wrong side of the tracks, shooting up behind boxcars and standing huddled around burn barrels.

At least that’s what the rest of us thought.

But here’s the cold, hard reality. Heroin, opiates — drugs in general — don’t discriminate. Drug dealers don’t look at your bank account or check your pedigree. Addiction doesn’t care if you’re a college graduate or criminal.

Beyond drug counseling and intervention, addicts need understanding. More to the point, they deserve to be recognized for who they are as people, not as addicts. Behind the mask of addiction is someone’s daughter, brother, mother, husband, cousin, uncle, best friend — fill in the blank with just about any human relationship you can think of.

Local group Action in Recovery, founded by Jason Beckwith, helps all of us look past the mask of addiction toward the road to recovery by reminding the world that addicts are first and foremost fellow humans, active community members willing to roll up their sleeves when the world calls. Members of the group spent this past Saturday volunteering their time to build a shelter at Rotary Park in Butler’s Island neighborhood.

Beckwith put it best when he said, “It’s not the I and me, it’s the us and we.” Powerful statement.

Addiction isn’t about “those people.” It’s a disease affecting people from all walks of life, all socioeconomic backgrounds, all ages, all abilities.

Action in Recovery aims to help people in recovery reclaim their dignity and self-esteem by volunteering in their community. Those people deserve our respect and gratitude as people, volunteers and, most importantly, community members first; and our admiration as recovering addicts second.