That's an interesting point. I used to be terrified of the idea of being a narcissist because I was terrified of what they did to me in the past; I kept noticing in myself little things that at the time may or may not have been exactly healthy, and each such a detail made me more and more anxious. I feel like you're spot-on about addicts: now that you've mentioned

I imagine somebody who has been in an environment where people say degrading things about addicts and how horrible they are might find themselves in a position where they fear becoming that as my friend feared being gay.

I remember never hearing a single word of compassion spoken of the heroin addicts who've lived in the neighbourhood or, in my grandma's situation, right in her house (I wanted to say "подъезд" but could find no corresponding word in English; elizabeth, I hate to bother you, but - do you know any, by chance?). My parents and grandparents always looked down at such people, and our law enforcement kept drilling into our young heads the idea that's perfectly expressed with the title of this post. It was always the good-looking and the well-mannered that deserved helping.