That’s not his real name, of course, but that’s his real address and he ought not to be there. He ought to be in a hospital. He needs special care. He’s trouble on the hoof.

Jerzy came to Canada from Poland a few years ago, when he was in his teens; you can bet your boots the Poles were glad to see him go. If you think that sounds harsh, pay close attention because the next time I write about him, it may be too late – for him, or someone else.

Jerzy is short and short-tempered, he’s hard and angry and cruel, and he’s got an appetite for kicks. I’m not convinced he knows right from wrong. Oh, and he hears voices. I don’t know which language the voices speak, but they tell him to do things.

There’s trouble when he listens.

Jerzy wasn’t listening to much when I met him recently. He was doped to the eyeballs. He takes 15 different pills, a cocktail of medication so strong he can barely stand up. The pills keep him from hurting himself.

Sort of; not always.

He shuffled into the room where I was waiting for him, and he slumped in his chair. If he’d have tripped and fallen on the floor, he’d wouldn’t have been able to get up; he’d have nodded off in an instant on the floor. That’s how strong his meds are. You understand if he doesn’t always take them.

Here’s how he got to Seaton House.

The police picked him up six months ago. He was threatening to commit suicide, he was out of control and hopped up on cocaine, morphine, THC, booze; you name it, he was using it.

He’s been at Seaton House ever since.