02/03/2026
Food for Thought on Addiction & Homelessness:
As I sit here enjoying my cup of McDonald’s coffee on a Sunday evening, in a location that is frequented by many of the "Homeless addicts" (as you may know them, we knew them as "community friends") I used to serve while working @ the church, I cant help but have a sense of admiration for those going through the homeless/addiction struggle.
Being out on the streets, in the cold with no hope in hell of any better life in the near future, is already enough to churn a person's gut full of fear, but to have a crippling fentanyl addiction while trying to navigate the cold, snowbank-laden streets of Moncton while fighting to survive another day?
I have to ask myself, “Is there any room for recovery when life has buried ya so deep in a snow-covered trench that all ya can really
do is numb because reality is far too painful?"
“Why don’t they just quit the drugs, get a job and a place to live?”—I often hear these words from people who have only known a 9-5 life. I now keep my answer to myself, since the truth often falls on ears unwilling to listen, though perhaps that’s my own judgment. Regardless, let me attempt to explain.
Try going 1 fu***ng day lying in bed with the worst fever you’ve ever had…Multiply it by 10 when you add the psychosis of op**te withdrawal. All of those sweat beads from your forehead become like little fire ants, dancing all down your body, spitting their little venomous poison into each bite & the moment you can't take it anymore *snap*, the fire hot hell ants turn into frozen little icicles, sending chilling electrical shocks into every cell of your being if you so much as twitch a muscle.
In the moment of silence, you become unaware whether it's fear keeping you paralyzed, or the fact that every movement sends pain you never knew the human body was capable of experiencing before.
But you move…again and again….even though you don’t want to, because even breathing becomes the most painful thing you’ve ever experienced…
A sigh of relief follows as you experience a different kind of pain as you violently start vomiting & sh****ng yourself at the same time, like your body is using its last bit of strength to resorting to expunging itself on purpose just to stay warm, if only for a moment before it freezes and becomes worse, but in addiction land, s**t travels downward faster as we descend further into this hell… as if stewing in the smell of your own rancid f***l matter could make breathing anymore difficult already, but there is not enough drugs in the world to abort the humiliation of doing this in public, so even if the sickness finally does stop, the humiliation that gets burned into the brain with its rusty hot iron can serve as a constant reminder that self worth has gone to a place never to likely be seen again…��Sounds bad, right?
Imagine doing that without being in a comfortable bed
But left out in the cold, night left to die with nobody giving enough of a s**t to so much as even stop and take a p**s on your grave in anger from former loved ones for doing this to yourself, but they’ve long forgotten about you already…
As someone who has spent 30+ years of my life battling the darkest of my demons in the gutters with the rockiest of bottoms, I can say that I would at least need a “little something to make me feel less sick” to even think about what it means to keep my head above water month to month as opposed to just trying to survive the next moment without either wanting a fix or wanting to die, but good thing we live in a world where we have choices!
What would you choose in this situation?
Hope that helps ya’ll understand! ❤
-Justus (Justin Melanson)
