It saddens me that so many people won’t hear my case about tough love. If you dealt with the homeless population the way I have—face-to-face, eye-to-eye—you might see the other side.
Tough love might sound like a solid solution from a distance, but up close, it looks more like abandonment. When applied to those with mental illness or addiction, especially, it becomes less a tool of healing and more a sentence. I’ve seen it firsthand. I quit working with the homeless as an artist because they kept dying. Not metaphorically—literally. Usually within three to five years. This isn’t about “happy campers” who chose to live free. Homelessness is a fatal situation. It’s not the cure. It solves nothing.
Tough love promotes homelessness. It punishes vulnerability. It hits the mentally ill the hardest, because it’s often impossible to get off the streets when your brain is already working against you. Somebody has to say it. Homelessness is not the cure for mental illness and addiction.
Over the years, I noticed something unsettling in group therapy sessions: families with abusive histories often love the concept of tough love. Why? Because it lets them off the hook. It sounds righteous. It sounds like justice. It sounds like they’re doing the hard thing because they care. But too often, it’s just cruelty with a good PR team.
And of course, there’s my own family.
Someone recently said to me: “I heard your case about tough love, and I’ve adapted my approach with my son. I don’t know why you’re still fighting me. I’ve already agreed with you.”
And to that, I say: I’m not trying to fight you. Really, I’m not. We both play devil’s advocate sometimes—it’s part of how we think, how we explore the truth. But let’s be clear: this conversation isn’t about your son or his treatment. It’s about me. About my experience. And about those like me, whose lives are being dismantled by these programs disguised as help.
Supportive friendships, family and friend circles are the key. That’s how most of us got into addiction—through peer pressure. So why not use that same force for good? Not shame. Not exile. But connection.
To those who say, “You won”—I say, this isn’t a game. It’s not about winning. In critical thinking, the purpose of an argument is not to win, but to uncover the greatest possible truth. That truth, for me, is rooted in humanism. An old philosophy, yes, but perhaps the best psychological solution we’ve got.
These groups—Telecare among them—aren’t just misguided. They’re dangerous creating a socialist structure that oppresses the patient controlling both our treatment and our housing. They grab us by the balls. They co-opt words like “accountability,”"enabling" and “self-reliance” and twist them into tools of control. They use manipulative language to appeal to good people like yourself. But make no mistake—they are fanatics. And they should be stopped, or at the very least, publicly exposed.
I’m not asking for pity, and I’m not trying to pressure you into doing more than you can. That wouldn’t be just, and justice is at the core of my belief system. This shouldn’t be your responsibility nor the government's. It should have been my family’s as part of my inheritance when my father died. They failed me. And I believe they’re not alone.
As I advocate for change, I also advocate for myself. I’d like to keep collecting my Social Security so I can maintain stable housing and earn additional income through my art. That’s not a crime. That’s survival. That’s humanity. Simply getting a job isn't the answer either. Because the kinds of employment we can get and do with our mental illnesses won't pay the rent
Your empathy—the fact that you even listened—is humanist in itself. And as part of my own humanist philosophy, I will honor your kindness by not asking more than necessary.
Have a good day at work. And thank you for hearing me out.
by Dan and Bonkers
SUPPORT MENTAL HEALTH AWARENESS NOW!!!
