Yes, I get frustrated writing about addiction and the streets in this region. But the frustration comes from somewhere simple: these are human beings who deserve to get better, and too often we prolong their suffering and call it kindness. So today, instead of just venting, I want to point at something that’s actually working.
It starts with a story I keep hearing from people I interview who’ve lived in permanent supportive housing around here. They finally got inside. A room, a door that locks, the thing that’s supposed to be the foundation for putting a life back together. And down the hall lives the dealer. Drugs move through the building around the clock, and staff looks the other way.
Look at what that does to anyone in the building who might want out. The drugs are 40 feet away, 24 hours a day. The guy selling them has a stake in the relapse. It’s hard to find a way out. The help is real, but you have to ask for it first, and until you do, the staff look away, keep you comfortable, and hope you get around to it. In these buildings, recovery was never really on the table…