(Warning: The following contains disturbing details and graphic imagery.)
Defeated, she sits on the edge of the bed belonging to a fragile senior resident whom she has known for years, has harbored her before, and shares some of the same habits. After a three week crack binge, which I doubt is yet over, she is famished and for the privilege of making and eating four grill cheese sandwiches in a flash is massaging that woman’s sore feet and shoulders. Anything to ensure she doesn’t get thrown out again. Far from her home across the city, without money and in no condition to bargain, she knows no-one else will open the door for her tonight. Running amok for days, several violent outbursts against people and property have angered and alienated her peers, so she is lucky to have this temporary sanctuary.
“I black out. You know I black out? I have an anger problem. I was living with my mom (who has mental health and anger issues herself). We moved out of housing to get away from this, I went to talk to the counselor two times a week. I’ve been working so hard to stay straight. Why did I come back here?”