Dear assumed drug addict,

My name is LSAM and today was the second happiest day of my life, which is exactly what I said to my husband M earlier.  Today we bought our first house.  It’s not a pretty house right now, but it will be.  And it’s ours.  We own it.  No one can take it from us.  The only day that I have been more excited in my life, was the day I got married…

And we went there to eat dinner, and talk about what we need to accomplish in the next four days, to get the house to the point where we can move in.  Because, you see inconsiderate jerk, we, along with our three children (they are all beautiful by the way), have been homeless for the last four months.  No, we have not been sleeping under bridges or in cardboard boxes, but we have been displaced, the five of us sharing a room and a half, in a house that is already chaotic.  So our plan was to do the necessary things that we needed to make the house somewhat livable, even if the walls weren’t up and the flooring wasn’t down.  We want to be just us again, and our family, even if that means we live with a little discomfort for awhile.  We are willing to do that, just to have a space to call our own again.  And we were hoping that we could have that done by the end of this weekend.

I had a smile on my face all day.

We ate dinner with our kids in the front yard.  A neighbor stopped to introduce themselves.  It was a very nice evening.

I walk around the house, talking with my grandmother and watching the children play in the grape arbour, their new “secret hideaway.”  And M wanders into the garage, I’m sure imagining what it will look like in a few years.  And he notices the electric wire is missing.  Fuck.  “Maybe they didn’t get in the house.”    M goes into the basement, and finds all the wires from the breaker box cut.  Every last fucking wire.  Gone.

You are a mother fucker.

And I am so angry right now, I would fucking spit on you.  If you were standing in front of me, I would punch you so hard, there is a good possibility I would break your jaw.

At the same time, I feel sorry for you.  See, you must understand, I work with addicts.  I see addiction manifest in horrible ways everyday.  I see people hurt the children that they love.  I see them steal from people that would hand over the world if they would only ask.  Addiction makes you think only of yourself.  When you are not using, you aren’t this person.  Even in your addiction, your acts are not malicious, nearly self-centered.  Your addiction makes you think only of it, of the drug, whatever it may be (given that you probably live in the area, I would make the assumption that it is heroin or roxies or some other form of opiates, you fucking junky).  You do what you need to, so that you are able to feed the beast.  I understand this, and I am empathetic towards you.

And it makes me want to cry.  Even though we are not yet living there, even though we only received the deed today, you have violated me.  I have considered this home mine since the end of May, when the first contract was signed.  Had roadblocks not been thrown in our way, we would have already been living there for six weeks.  But, alas, life happens, and, for all intent and purposes, the house has only become ours today.  Yet I feel as though you have broken into a space that is mine.  That is my home.  That is somewhere that I should feel safe and secure.  You, fucking prick, have taken that away from me.  You have taken away my safety and my security.  For that, I am angry.  If my children become afraid because of this, I will be enraged to a degree I have not yet reached.  Ever.

But then compassion makes me aware that you broke into a home that is obviously not lived in.  The for sale sign was still in the front yard.  There is nothing in the house.  You probably thought that you were stealing from some agency, trying to make your sin justifiable.  Because that is how us addicts think.  We justify.  You thought you weren’t hurting anyone.  You minimize.  It was only a little wire.  I understand your thinking.  I truly do.

But you were wrong.  You are fucking with my life.  The life of my family.

And truly, this is something very minor, in the grand scheme of things.  A few hundred dollars, a days worth of labor.  M, the dear man that he is, is rather good with his hands.  It will be fixed, and in a year from now, I will look back at this event, and shake my head, again feeling sorry for you.  For this will be just one of things that happened, that we will tell stories about throughout our lifetime.

Being angry, hurtful, and resentful only hurts me at this point.  It serves no purpose.  I say this and although I comprehend it, and agree wholeheartedly, there is still rage boiling inside of me.  Hatred.  And that pisses me off more than anything.  The thoughts that you now have me thinking.  The things that I would do, if I only knew who you were.  You have brought out a side of me that I do not like.  And you, mother fucker, are feeding it.

So here is a warning to you.  We are gun owning citizens.  We have a loaded gun in our bedroom, within an arms reach, every night.  And, see, within the last year, the Castle doctrine has been passed in our state.  That means if you break into my house, my castle, if you will, as a man’s home is his castle, I am allowed to protect it, by any means.  That means I am not held at fault, even if you are not carrying a gun.  Even if you do not threaten my life.  Even if you don’t see me coming, as you are bent over rummaging through my jewelery box.  I can kill you, if you step foot in my house, and won’t even have to go to court.

And, if I would have been asked this morning, if I would be able to shoot someone, in a circumstance like that, I probably would have said yes.  But that is only to sound like a tough girl.  Really, the honest answer would have been no.  I don’t think I could.  I’d pull the gun.  Give you the opportunity to run.  I’d only shoot if you pursued me.  Came at me or my family.

But I was wrong.  So fucking wrong.  I now know, without a doubt in my mind, that if you step foot in my house again, for any mother fucking reason, you will not come out alive.  That, you poor miserable bastard, is a promise.

Yours truly,

LSAM, a gun carrying citizen