He had a house of his own, but he would tell me it was so lonely there alone and I thought he was clean, so I let him live with us several times. Each time, he ended up falling off the wagon. The last time was almost a year ago.
I often don't sleep well at night, so I was taking a nap while the kids were in school. When I woke up, I thought it smelled like someone was cooking something. I went into the kitchen and found that two burners on the stove were left on, had been from what I could tell, for hours.
My step-dad had gotten his weekly meds from the local mental health center (they came in a bubble pack each week to make it easy for him) and he was sitting on the sofa out of his head, practically drooling. When I checked his meds, I saw that he had taken out the entire week's worth of certain pills. Apparently he had eaten the good ones all up -- yum yum!
I had to call the mental health center and ask what I should do because I was worried he was in danger of overdose. I tried rousing him and was able to get a response, but I had frankly had enough. Years of this stuff was just enough. It was beyond what I was able to cope with. It was beyond what I wanted my family exposed to