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January 28, 2006
Breathing Life Into A Drowned Soul - How do we resuscitate an addict's free will?
Reprinted from The Pulse, January 25, 2006
Leroy is 22 years old. Just days ago, he was released from a local men’s correctional facility, where he served his second sentence in as many years on drug-related convictions. He was arrested a mere week after his first release. Parole violations were de rigueur added to the charges, and in he went again. But he’s out now, and now is when we pick up Leroy’s story. He’s free. He’s homeless, jobless and alone. And he’s high.
Leroy is an addict. Some chemical compound – we don’t know whether from crack or meth – has twisted his desires and has taken control of his willpower. Oh, no, I’m not saying it wasn’t without his explicit invitation. Choices were made at some point, though their exact timing and distinct import are impossible to guess. Don’t try asking Leroy about choices and stuff just now. He gets really edgy. Really.
Chattanooga has thousands that are homeless. You’re just thinking of the visible few, but I’m referring to a paper the city published in 2003 that put the figure at 4,000. This document freely admitted officials they don’t have a way to know the actual number. National studies mark the number of homeless that suffer from mental illness between 15 and 35 percent. Some don’t, but if you consider substance addiction a form of mental illness, that percentage climbs much higher, notably in the single adult segment. There are arguably hundreds of Leroys and Lisas among us.
How addiction gets classified for the medical library is a problem for a different day. It has its unique qualities either way. Friends and family have often been let down, lied to, stolen from and worse by their own. The rest of us all of a sudden have to rub elbows with this raw pepper of a fellow who has teed off the only people who cared about him. That puts a little too much spice into the social mix. Addiction is severely sensitive, too: a recovering addict can suffer a relapse just from making eye contact with the wrong people. And those wrong people always come around.
Where is Leroy supposed to sleep at night? He has options, however limited, but he eschews them for the company of his “friends” who help get him a fix. Halfway houses exist, but they offer zilch in the way of treatment. Rehab centers often have celebrity price tags; regardless, there are too few beds for all the addicts. How soon will Leroy’s bunk again be behind bars? Worse, it’s certain that drugs are available in the workhouse, or else he wouldn’t have had the cravings so badly the day he got out.
Leroy sits there, twitching slightly, huffing long drags of a bummed cigarette; and we stand here, awkwardly silent, quizzing our collective selves as to what we can do. As a community, we have historical data to tell us that it’s only a matter of time before Leroy’s petty theft and frequent lies give way to highly more problematic crimes and misbehaviors. A revolving prison door just doesn’t seem to be an effective solution for this particular problem.
Not one of us can straighten this out by ourselves, but each one of us bears the minimal responsibility to consider Leroy when we vote for District Attorney, Public Defender, and the slew of judges and legislators whose responsibility includes just treatment of the homeless addict. (Once in office, what will Candidate X do about Leroy?) By being aware, by working with public officials, we can build a strong network. Our goal should prioritize health over punitive concerns; we want to resuscitate the addict’s free will, rather than to further diminish his ability to make independent decisions. Exactly how that’s done is a matter for much discussion, but let’s continue to have that discussion.
Author’s note: the persons and biographical events depicted in this article are fictional, and are not intended to resemble any actual person or event.
Pulsations | By joe lance | 09:02 AM