Week 7 - Person (REVISED)

Matt is the second oldest of five children, and comes from a large family of people who were religious in some way and did not drink whatsoever.  He attended a local high school and graduated with a good portion of some of my present friends; many found his behaviors to be odd or of ill-repute, but gossip is only words, not fact.  As the years went on, Matt found himself working odd jobs in random kitchens around the area shortly before moving to Portland in 2006.  It wouldn’t be until years later that he would move back to the Bangor area.

I first met Matt in the summer of 2008 while frequenting his apartment to visit other people I knew; his daily routine consisted of racing to the bottom of a fifth of Jameson’s and trying to remain straight enough to buy another.  He would stagger around, sometimes happy, sometimes ornery, but always somewhat inebriated.  It became obvious after a few casual visits that the occasional drinks at night turned into daily events and evenings turned from afternoons into the late hours of morning.  On occasion, there would be others partaking in this self-indulgent drunk fest, but the others slowly started to dwindle away as I noticed his drinking starting to spiral out of control.  I often wondered if he could see exactly what was happening to him even though I was right there with him entertaining drinks myself. 

Always a worker, Matt had many jobs throughout the times I spent with him.  After several trips of bringing Matt to work, it became clear that he was only able to make it through these jobs by drinking while on the clock.  Sometimes even after work, I’d pick him up and even though he had clearly had numerous shots of whiskey and other random liquors at work, it wasn’t enough.  He would then request to go to local dive bars and down some beers and even still to no avail, he would request to stop at a store to buy more to consume.  Often, I would make random comments: “It’s only 11 am, why don’t you wait a little bit longer first?”or “You shouldn’t mix the beer and liquor, that always makes me sick…”  Still, he felt that as long as he could hold a job his drinking was not an issue.  Eventually the constant intoxication began to take a toll on his jobs and one after another, he started “quitting” and “walking out” on fairly lucrative jobs, when truthfully, he was being fired for gross negligence for being drunk at work. 

A year into our friendship, Matt wasn’t able to pay for the rent at the apartment where he had been living, and I invited him to come live in my house for a substantially cheaper rent; he would also have his own room.  It was at that point that he was working at what would be his last job around the area, considering he had exhausted about every option and jobs were scarce for those without education past a high school diploma or GED.  Life was cohesive for the first few weeks, but I had been previously warned by his ex-roommates that until I started living with him, I would have no idea who Matt really was when he was drunk. Ignoring their remarks, I welcomed him in - I should’ve had a more objective opinion.

Matt’s father was someone that no one in the family liked to talk about.  From what I did gather, he was a loving man but rarely showed it.  He also suffered from various ailments that took a toll on the family life and their dynamic.  It didn’t shock me, given those facts, to hear many interesting stories throughout my time knowing Matt - some of which I am still unsure about.  Apparently there was a time during his teen years where he decided that he was going to be a skin head, and marched through school dressed as such; rebellious nature seemed to fit the bill. But there was this one disturbing story another of my male friends who went to school with him mentioned. When Matt was in his early twenties, my friend went to visit him one afternoon. Upon reaching his apartment, my friend walked in to witness gratuitous, fetish porno playing full screen on his desktop monitor.  Apparently, Matt was showing it to one of his other male friends as well, who looked equally as disinterested. 

Within two weeks after Matt moved in, it became obvious that he was drinking a lot more than I had anticipated previously.  He would come out of his room at 8am every morning clutching a Pabst Blue ribbon can of beer, slugging it down on his way to the bathroom.  I noticed that this was a trend of his that I had previously overlooked at the old apartment he lived in.  There were a lot of things starting to surface that I hadn’t noticed.  Matt seemingly liked to get volatile at a certain point in the night, clearly once he had had one too many.  Being that he was into his thirties, I thought he could handle himself and didn’t need a babysitter when it came to drinking, but that was disproven immediately.    

It wasn’t until he decided to attack the stairway banister with a knife after a long day of belligerence and ire that I decided maybe my house wasn’t the best living situation for him, or anyone residing there.  The following morning he was asked to leave and arrange to live elsewhere; although my behavior might’ve been subpar, his was becoming exceedingly dangerous.

I haven’t seen much of him since that day, especially in the past years, but I’ve kept him in mind, hoping he’s found some kind of resolve as I have.  The last thing I had heard from him, he had found some sense of sobriety, was married, and moving into a new home.  I wished him well, and that was the extent of our conversation.   As of recent, my mother was reading the newspaper and found an article about a man who got combative in the middle of a fast food restaurant.  After further inquiry, I found out it was none other than Matt.  The cops discovered after patting him down that he was smuggling a bottle of whiskey under his jacket.  A few weeks later, Matt posted a message on Facebook about how he and his wife were divorcing.  It makes me wonder how we could’ve been so content living destructive lives way back when.