I Co-Signed a $1,200 Loan to Aid My Best Friend’s Heroin Addiction

Liz was the kind of girl who always needed a bailout. She’d been this way from the moment I met her in high school. There was always “something” she needed to be saved from. Sometimes, it wasn’t her fault but also she was the impulsive type who never learned. And why would she when she had someone to catch her before she fell?

All of that changed when she got diagnosed with fibromyalgia and rheumatoid arthritis. By then, Liz was a single mom to a toddler, had a high school education, and had no career plans. She struggled to make ends meet while working a physically demanding job at a local restaurant. Her baby daddy remained unemployed to dodge child support while the mother of his other children supported her own family, so Liz couldn’t rely on him. She had some help here and there but only to a certain extent. Because her illnesses didn’t have a visible marker, many people (including myself admittingly) didn’t take her pain as seriously as they should have.

There was a time where she got better. A new medication gave her back her mobility. A Lap-Band managed her weight, helping to relieve her bones and muscles of added stress. She could work a full shift with ease. And most importantly, she could pick up, bathe, and hug her daughter without feeling like her body was on fire.

A year passed, and her recovery came to a halt because she could no longer afford her medication. The people that normally bailed her out didn’t want to help her. At least that’s what she told me.

Her mother and other best friend were too selfish and consumed with their new relationships to deal with her. Her older sister couldn’t help because she had marital problems. Her baby daddy remained useless, which left her with me to help. She was back at square one, but worse.

Liz always reminded me how good I had it. And compared to her, I did have it pretty good. I had a nice car my parents bought me. As a recent college grad, I had the flexibility to explore different career paths and tried careers in celebrity styling, e-commerce, marketing, and retail. Living at home meant all my expenses were covered, leaving me with my credit cards and student loans to take care of. I did regular 20-year-old stuff. I went out with my friends, traveled, and did whatever else it is that 20-year-olds do.

We lived completely different lives and anytime we were around each other, something always happened to remind me how different we were.

I didn’t have $1,000 lying around, but I had good credit and a solid relationship with a local credit union. When Liz hinted she needed a co-signer for a loan application, I wished her the best of luck and offered to help her find a better job.

That’s where it should have ended. But it didn’t.

For the next week or so, she confided in me how wrong everything was in her life. After months of searching, she found a cheaper apartment that could accommodate her limited mobility. But with first, last, and security due, she couldn’t get her hands on quite enough money to make the move.

I didn’t know much about budgeting, but I offered to help her save. Instead of taking my offer, she sulked and cried about her “fucked up life.” She made a regular habit of talking about “ending it all,” and I took her suicidal ideations seriously. The fear of losing her pushed me to agree to help her, but not without hearing her payback plan, and going through every person I could think of in her life, to make sure they couldn’t help.

She had an answer for every question, and before I knew it, I signed the papers granting her access to $1,200. The look of uncertainty on the Client Representative’s face when the papers were signed tore my stomach apart. It was as if they knew something I didn’t.

I was too sheltered and naive to see the signs of a drug addict. By the time I found out Liz used heroin to manage her pain, she had taken her daughter and went on the run. I wasn’t the only person she took money from. The people she claimed deserted her turned out to be victims too.

A check she wrote to pay me back from the first loan payment she missed came from her sisters’ stolen checkbook. The man her “selfish” mom chose over her gave her a fair amount of cash. Her other best friend that was too busy with her boyfriend?

She also “covered” first, last, and security for the same apartment my $1,200 loan covered.

And, that first payment she missed obviously wasn’t the last. I ended up using my tax refund to pay off that entire stupid loan.

Liz contacted me months later – clean – via Facebook messenger to apologize. I knew I was never going to see that money again – apparently, she stole tens of thousands from other people, so my money was chump change in the grand scheme of things. Still, I wasn’t trying to hear it for a long time. I think a lot of that had to do with my ignorance about addiction at the time but mainly the betrayal.

I was able to eventually move past it, but I haven’t heard from here in about 4 years.

I don’t want to reconnect with her, but I would like to know if she’s okay, so on occasion, I Google. I’m 70% sure she was at a treatment center around the time the pandemic started, but I have no way to confirm that. The worst part about this isn’t the money I lost, the choices I made, or the addiction itself. It’s the possibility she’s no longer alive and I have no idea.