In the late 1980’s I got kicked out of my supported housing, mainly due to drug use. I kept paying my rent late because I spent my paychecks and SSDI on crack. I moved into my own studio. It had no connection to mental health anything. I made friends with a neighbor and that was cool and for the next 8 months we hung out a lot and we drank a lot and smoked crack and did a lot of powder cocaine too.
We really got around and did a lot of cool, fun stuff. But 5 months into the friendship I got a rude awakening that the guy was a violent drunk. An alcoholic. I faced my first, and virtually only instance of stigma at that time. It’s a long story but we were at a club at 1:00 a.m. once and he was drunk and he attacked me. I said screw it, and I started walking the ten miles home alone (I was once in excellent shape). But he couldn’t drop it and he went nuts and followed me and he was out of his mind with anger and he kept trying to figure me out and he had a very small inkling that I was mentally ill and that just added fuel to the fire and infuriated him.
I seriously thought he was capable of killing me. Anyways, I survived but it set a pattern of occasional bursts of rage from him from then on. We were still neighbors and hung out but then a mutual friend informed me that the guy was talking behind my back. My other friend told me that the guy said I had no social status and my friend told me the guy was talking about me like I was an animal. The friend acted concerned and assured me that he respected me.
Anyways, life went on and three months later I got kicked out of this place too. Again, for being three months behind on rent. I moved away from the area and life went on. a lot of stuff happened both good and bad. I left all my old using friends behind, I got clean, I got a job, I enrolled in college. I started enjoying life. I had a friend, I had a girlfriend. I left my old drug life behind and started life anew.
But a couple of years later I was riding a bus somewhere and I was sitting in the back and I look to the front and I see my old neighbor. He was laying sprawled out and passed out on a seat. From knowing him I knew he must have been drunk. This was kind of anti-climatic but a month later I was telling my sister a little about the situation and seeing the guy passed out. I laughed and told my sister, I was glad I saw him like that and I was glad he had a drinking problem. She exclaimed, “But Nick he was your friend”.
Yep, I am a cold-hearted bas*ard because i didn’t care. Hey, like I said, I am a 100% sure that the guy would have no qualms about hurting me or accidentally killing me. What kind of friend is that? What’s your opinion on this?Currently I have been a member (inactive right now) of AA for 27 years. I want to spread the word and help any alcoholic I can. He is the only alcoholic I have ever (in 27 years) been glad that he suffers from alcoholism. I’m sorry, maybe I’m evil but I was out on that street 30 years ago, just me and him and I know what transpired and no one else.
What’s your opinion? What do you think? I forgot to mention that I was disabled and had a job and he was not disabled and he did not work. In fact, he had nowhere to go at one point and I let him stay with me and sleep on my floor for an entire month rent free.