For Sofus, addiction crept in slowly – just as it has for hundreds of young Danes. Hospitalisations for opioid poisoning have tripled in recent years.
Photo: Cornelius Dohn. Guldbergsgade-kvarteret, Nørrebro, 1. May 2025.
“Rest in peace Viggo” – A murial honouring the memory of Sofus’ dear friend.
By Cornelius Dohn & Johanne Elina Nielsen
A Nørrebro native with a high fade, tracksuit and tinted glasses, Sofus carries a tough exterior – but his soft tone and attentiveness to a passing child reveal something else.
He gently warns the boy about the cracked tiles around the ‘Megaron / Et felt’ sculpture at Assistens Kirkegården, a cemetery for both artists and addicts.
It’s a quiet gesture, but it sticks. Just a couple of years ago, Sofus was slipping through those same cracks.
Behind him, the numbers linger – steady, clinical, rising.
But what the data misses is the quiet of 4 a.m. with a handful of pills. Or the silence after a friend is suddenly gone.
A comfortable numbness
Photo: Sofus’ private photos. Showing one of many benders involving opioids and benzodiazepines.
At 18, Sofus was just experimenting: Tramadol from a relative’s cabinet, then codeine, benzodiazepines, stimulants – whatever was in reach.
By 21, he was mixing Xanax with alcohol to sleep after nights on ecstasy and cocaine. Three days without rest. Blackouts. By then, it wasn’t about fun – it was existential relief.
“Exactly these kinds of drugs – opioids and benzodiazepines – have the effect that if you’re not feeling well, if life hurts, they work fantastically,”
says Mads Uffe Pedersen, professor and psychologist at the Centre for Alcohol and Drug Research.
Sofus knows that feeling: “I’ve got social anxiety, ADHD, clinical depression, and I’m being tested for autism. I was overthinking everything. When the stimulants wore off, the bad thoughts came back tenfold. The anxiety got worse. The depression got worse. Then the benzos worked as an off-switch.”
Mads adds: “They’re highly addictive, and the withdrawal symptoms are severe. You can die from them – they can paralyze the respiratory system.”
Sofus wasn’t alone. Between 2021 and 2024, 842 out of 7,198 young Danes aged 15–25 in treatment had used opioids the previous month – about one in nine.
Calls to the Danish poison hotline back this up: Tramadol inquiries rose from 333 in 2019 to 528 in 2022; Oxycodon from 172 to 231.
‘Viggo 4-ever’
Photo: Cornelius Dohn. Near the Hans Tavsens Park, Nørrebro, 1. May 2025.
One of the hang-out spots of Sofus and his friends.
Sofus didn’t see himself as an addict. “When I heard addiction stories, I’d think, ‘yeah, but that’s not me.’ But it was. How you see yourself and how you actually are – two completely different things.”
That difference became clear during a trip to England, when his phone rang.
His longtime friend – the one who once pulled him back from the brink – was dead. Found alone. Three days gone. Morphine in liquid form.
They hadn’t been close toward the end. One getting clean, the other sinking deeper.
“I wonder if I’d been there for him, the way he had for me – maybe the outcome would’ve been different. He saved me, but I wasn’t there when he needed me.”
Even sober, the cravings struck. Opioids were his first thought. The body remembers, even when the mind tries to forget.
Now, he carries the story not just as a warning, but a tribute. “I want to honour my friend. Make sure his story isn’t forgotten. Maybe someone struggling will hear it and make better choices.”
Photo: Cornelius Dohn. Guldbergsgade-kvarteret, Nørrebro, 1. May 2025.
Roadside memorial with written messages of grief: “We love you forever”, “Miss you Viggo”, “Viggo 4-ever”.
With stigmatization comes darkness
Bente Møller, a member of Copenhagen’s City Council and its Health and Care Committee, doesn’t sugarcoat it: “This is a threat to health. A threat to a generation. And frankly, a threat to the economy. Addiction costs. A lot.”
The Rockwool Foundation reports that 4% of 15–19-year-olds and 3.7% of 20–29-year-olds have tried opioids. These are not fringe numbers. They’re mainstreaming – quietly.
“We need to break down the stigma without glamorizing addiction,” says Sofus. “Make it clearer what an addict looks like. That might help teachers or parents recognize it early. It’s okay to have the disorder. And it’s okay to get help.”
He slips a nicotine pouch under his lip and pauses.
Photo: Cornelius Dohn. Søerne, Nørrebro, 1. May 2025.
A place Sofus and Viggo often confined their shared struggles with one another. It was also the last place he saw his friend alive.
For Sofus, what changed wasn’t the pain – it was admitting it.
“It’s very basic, but the first step is acknowledging you have a problem. And that’s okay. Your reality right now doesn’t have to define your future.”
He tells the story not because it’s easy – but because someone else, somewhere, is where he was. And because his friend can’t tell his own.