Comment by YeGoblynQueenne | Hacker News Reader

Comment by YeGoblynQueenne | Hacker News Reader

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YeGoblynQueenne

My experience with people on drugs is that their ability to make a correct judgement in any situation diminishes drastically.

For example, many of my friends would see cops everywhere after smoking weed (edit: secret cops, in civilian clothes. See how well they hide among us?). Another friend would always misplace her stuff, then start suspecting whoever was with her of stealing them (e.g. she would think I stole her baccy, though I don't smoke, etc).

A friend of mine who was a heroin addict (and died of it at the ripe old age of 34) used to tell me how heroine makes you sociable and friendly, but my experience was that when he shot, he would just fall asleep and then be too smashed to be anything like sociable. But in his head he was the soul of the party.

I've also known a fair few people who developed some kind of paranoid delusion most likely as a result of doing too many drugs. For example, I had a friend who thought one of his pals' brother was a hitman sent by the secret services to kill him. When he was sober, he was OK, most of the time, but when he was under- you couldn't make sense of him.

I mean, let's face it. You don't take drugs because they make you smarter.

Thanks for explaining what you meant. However I don't quite see how your examples relate to the kind of fallacious reasoning in the example (that it is OK to steal from self-checkout stores because they're making you do work). This (the example) is not just bad reasoning; it seems to stem from moral deficiency, and one can be morally deficient with or without being a drug addict.

Also, the specific mental issues you list are: a) paranoia and b) amnesia. Neither of these seem to relate well to this example. It only seems old-fashioned generalised disdain for 'junkies'.

I don't disdain junkies. Addiction is a disease. I fault junkies for letting themselves get the disease, and they are a huge pain once they have it but, disdain? Why?

I relayed my experiences with the people I basically grew up with- most of my friends when I was a teenager did drugs and by that I mean that they hardly did anything else. A few were honest-to-god junkies, who ended up in rehab and never really left, most of them (except the fortunately only one friend who died).

Is "disdain" derived from my statement that you don't take drugs to get smarter? My observation is that drugs make you you do stupid things and that most people who take them know this very well. Sometimes they seem to take the drugs to justify stupid behaviour that they wouldn't dare adopt otherwise.

The two examples are provided are general examples. I consider them examples of unreasonable thinking, and of how drugs make you do stupid things. I don't attribute the stupid behaviour of people on drugs to a moral deficiency (if that was the cause of the disdain interpretation)- I attribute it to the effect that drugs and the resulting intoxication have on their mental faculties.

As another exaple, I had a friend who started stealing our stuff when he took barbiturates. Once we were at my place and I showed everyone a silly trinket I had bought. After a while I noticed it had gone missing and I started looking for it. Seeing my frustration that I couldn't find it, my friend told me he had taken it and gave it back to me, _very_ embarassed at his own actions. I laughed, of course. Later another friend accused him of stealing some other trivial thing from his own house. My friend who stole those things (he was one of my inner circe, so to speak) was a pretty straight-up guy with very conservative values and he would have never deigned to stoop so low as to steal stuff from anywhere, in his sober moments. When he was under the influence, he basically turned kleptomanic.

I think this is a more relevant example to our discussion? If so, apologies for not bringing it up earlier.

The following is unrelated to our main discussion- a digression. Apologies, but your comment about disdain of junkies made me reminisce (also- it hurt my feelings, but OK, I'm a big girl) (I'm on a diet).

The first time someone tried to sell me heroin was when I was sixteen. I had gone for the first time to Exarchia Square, a place in Athens, Greece, were all the countercultural types gather. I had heard that all the punks and the anarchists gathered there and I wanted to meet some.

When I got there the place was empty so I sat on a bench and waited. At some point, this older dude came and sat next to me and started chatting me up. He started telling me about this thing called "paramytha" ("fairy-tale stuff") that people take to have a good time. He explained the name comes from the fact that it "makes you believe stuff" ("se paramythiazei"). I asked what this "paramytha" looked like and he described it as a powder, sometimes brown, sometimes yellow, sometimes grey, etc. So basically not only did he want to sell me heroin (I was 16, remember) he also wanted to sell me heroin cut with whatever dirty shit he had lying around (as normal).

Well, I wasn't buying. A while later an other older dude came and sat with me and told me to stay away from the other guy and the stuff he was trying to sell me. This dude, let's call him Dude B, told me that the "paramytha" was heroin, that it was a horrible disease that caused you to do the most degrading things to yourself and others. He told me that a grown man had once told him he gave someone a blowjob for money to get his "paramytha" (I'm guessing it was Dude B himself who did and that he did it many more times than one). I am not going to look down on a man (or woman) who gives blowjobs, or who gives blowjobs for money. But giving blowjobs to get money to spend on heroin that makes you give blowjobs for money is scraping the bottom of the lowest pit of degradation, in my book. Edit: but when you're addicted that's all par for the course.

So, no disdain. Sometimes pitty. Sometimes anger and frustration. Most of the time these days just a great big distance between myself and anyone who bears the marks.

I hope that is intersting to someone in this thread.

Another story- sorry.

I had a friend, called Mitsos, the Sailor (because he used to be a sailor). I first met him after he had come out of jail- I don't know what he was in for and I never asked. He had this way about him that you see in people who have been in jail and have taken it as a harsh lesson. Once they 're out, you look at them and they may be a bit scruffy, a bit uncouth, a bit down and out (because jail never lets you move on) but they are straight like a rod, figuratively speaking. I don't mean sexually. I mean they watch their own behaviour like a hawk watches prey. The slightest misstep can lead to trouble, you see, and trouble can only end in one place.

So, Mitsos, he was trying to get his life back on track. He was homeless for a while. He slept at the benches in the park where we all hung out. At some point I noticed that when this girl -I don't remember her name but she was from Brazil- so when she was around, Mitsos was more smiley, more polite and even better groomed than usual. One day I saw him, out of the corner of my eye, hand her an actual boucquet of flowers, all wrapped up in crispy plastic sheet with a huge big smile on his face.

Eventually, Mitsos shacked up with this girl and they were happy together. Unfortunately, one of Mitsos friends was a junkie. But he was Mitsos' friend, so the Brazilian girl let him into her house.

It pains me to remember what happened after. One day the Brazilian girl came home and found her house empty- Mitsos' junkie friend had sold everything off. For junk money, it goes without saying. It goes without saying that Mitsos and the Brazilian girl had a huge row and Mitsos ended up on the streets again.

But he didn't stop there. I lost him, for a while, then one day I was in Athens' central square, Omonoia square. Omonoia is where you go to buy heroin and I saw Mitsos standing in a corner with another guy and trying to shoot up with what looked to me like a syringe with a broken needle. I went over and talked to him but he didn't want to talk. He wasn't drugged yet, he was still trying to shoot. He was angry and desperate and, I think, ashamed that I had seen him like that. I stood and watched him for a while trying to insert the needle in his vein and all I could think of was how grotty that syringe was. I worried he might get an infection.

Do you understand what he was doing? Mitsos wasn't a junkie. He had junkie friends but he was clean. At Omonoia he wasn't trying to get high. He was committing suicide. I only figured it out a couple of weeks later, when I heard they had found him dead.

I've thought often that maybe I could have helped him- given him a place to stay, even though my folks would never have agreed. Anyway, it happened as it happened. Mitsos took a last shot to nowhere a day when I was with my other friends at the park and we were all happy and laughing and having fun enjoying each other's company.

At least I got to say goodbye.

I just wanted to let you know that I read both of your stories and took them both to heart. So thanks for sharing.

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