I really don’t know where this letter came from, but it welled up inside of me instantly this afternoon, after I received some ill-timed news indirectly from my addicted landlord. I try to hate the disease, not the person, but today, I am fighting…

Dear Junkies and Drunks,

If you had any idea how your insane, unpredictable behavior affected the rest of us, maybe you would at least try to get well.

You hurt people; you destroy lives. You cause undue stress and frustration and anxiety.

I’m tired of being compassionate. I’m done being sad when I hear that you want to take your own life. Sometimes I wish you would just do it and save the rest of us some trouble.

Your word means absolutely nothing. Your life is an empty lie. I don’t even hear you anymore.

You steal. You cheat. You lie. You’re incapable of having morals or real friends.

It’s impossible to reason with you. Nothing is logical. You twist the words and shift the blame. You try to make me think that I’m the crazy one. Sometimes I think I am.

But you are on the edge and out of control. I see you flailing your arms around at the edge of the cliff. Do not reach for me – I will not try to save you anymore. I almost want you to fall. Fall to your death, and then my life might finally begin.

I hate what you do. I hate what it has done to you. You aren’t human anymore; I don’t know what you are – some kind of pathetic, angry animal who sucks the life out of everyone around you.

Yet you feel no guilt – no shame – no feelings at all, for they cannot exist in your world.

Unfeeling, life-sucking animal.

I hope someday you have to live with yourself, sober, and it will be your hell.

Bitterly,

me