(or this cute meme)
I can't help but think of what independence means for me personally. First and foremost, thank you to all of the heroes that have made our freedom and independence possible. From my heart to yours. I don't think quite a few people realize how many of our homeless are actually veterans; the very people I am thanking. Take a few minutes to think about that. Our homeless are stigmatized, stereotyped, thrown under the bus, slipped through the cracks, ignored, laughed at, beat up, ridiculed, mocked, and judged; but have you ever, just once, actually stopped to listen to them for a single minute? A second? Do you know their stories? Homelessness is a result of lifestyle choice sometimes, but what if it isn't? What if it is about circumstances beyond control? If it is because of lifestyle choice, what if those people have changed? Shouldn't they be given a "second chance" to be part of what society has determined is "normal?" Are you aware that there are a lot of homeless people simply because they are disabled or have mental health disorders, and cannot care for themselves and have somehow fallen through the gaps of our so-called system? I realize that is a lot of information and quite a few questions, but there is a reason I am passionate about the subject.. and the people.
I AM THEM.
I grew up in... houses. Different houses, with different people, depending on what age we are talking about. When I was 18, I moved in with my first husband and we shared a home for approximately 8 years. Then I lived by myself for 5 years.
Then I lived nowhere and everywhere all at once.
I am a recovering drug addict. My addiction with my drug of choice began in late 2004, peaked in 2005, and lasted until 2008. Because of that addiction, I lost everything.
I lost my house at the end of 2005.
By January 2006, for various reasons, I hit the streets. I would live with an aunt for a while, a friend for a while, in my van for a while, under a tree for 3 nights, escaped the city for 4 days on a Greyhound bus after being beaten for 4 days, came back on a Greyhound bus, lived in an extended-stay hotel for 6 months, weighing a mere 116 pounds because I rarely had enough to eat. All the money I made went to pay for the hotel room, just so I would have a roof over my head during that time period. Lived with another friend for a while, an aunt again, a friend again, another friend. Although I cleaned my life up in 2008, the cycle of homelessness continued through 2010. Why? Because once you are homeless, it is really hard to become "not homeless," especially if you lack resources and support.
It wasn't for lack of trying. I would get jobs. Companies would close. They would hire too many people. They wouldn't hire me at all. I would lose jobs. I would get more jobs. Even though I was clean from my hardcore drug, there was still something very wrong, and I had an extremely hard time putting my finger on it. Eventually that finger would point to severe bipolar disorder type I, with severe depression and psychotic behavior (self-injury).
Mental illness. Just what I needed; something else attached to huge stigma.
Unless you've struggled with mental illness, you will never fully understand the difficulty of holding down or getting a job if you are not completely stabilized; or at least mostly stabilized. I don't have the words that would even allow you to comprehend the magnitude of what something like bipolar disorder can do to you or how debilitating or even completely crippling it can be as far as functioning as a normal human being. Something as simple as making a phone call can seem like the most monumental task.
In 2011, I moved in with my [then] fiance. I was finally home. I found someone I loved, more than I'd ever loved anyone in a relationship. He appeared to love me. We seemed happy. We were happy. I worked through my fear and eventually got all of my personal belongings that had been sitting in storage since 2006 (well, half of them.. the other half was destroyed by, 1. someone I had lived with along the way, and 2. a flood during a hurricane that decided my storage room would make a great swimming pool.) unpacked and placed around the house. I will be honest. I deeply feared mixing my things up with his, because I didn't want to have to go through everything again if it didn't work. I didn't want to have to box everything up again. I never wanted to think about another storage unit or being homeless again for the rest of my life. As the first year went by, I became comfortable with "my home" and made it ours. Pictures on the walls, my possessions that I'd missed so much, my memories on paper and photograph, gifts from my children, books I had read, jewelry I had worn, journals I had filled; all there. I was happy.
Then I began to be unhappy.
That is a completely different blog all together.
I shouldn't have had to worry again. I wasn't supposed to have to think about it again. However, in May of this year, while I was in the hospital, I received a text message that I was not to come home ever again.
"That's it, you are never coming back here. You are not my problem anymore."
I had/have no car. I had no job. I had been helping on the farm we lived on for almost 3 years. I had tried to get jobs, but because of my newly diagnosed bipolar disorder in 2011 (no matter the diagnosis, it is a relief to know there is a name to what is going on with you), it was extremely difficult for me to even test for positions, much less actually land one in my line of work. When I did land one, there would always be a reason thrown my way as to why I couldn't keep it. I tried. I don't think HE thinks I did, but I tried. I was not adequately controlled and stabilized to an extent just yet, BUT my problems were also situational.
Again, another blog.
I left the hospital that day, in the beginning of May 2014, with the clothes I had worn there, my bag containing my wallet with my ID, and my cell phone and cell phone charger. I was confused, weak, breathless, upset, bewildered.... I hadn't reached angry yet.... and I was homeless. Again.
Had I not had a great friend that had just moved back down to Florida the previous year, I would have been on the streets or in a shelter, and that's only if there was room in a shelter. That friend took me to grab a few belongings, which I didn't grab much of because of my emotional state and complete inability to even process a thought at the moment, and then brought me to her home where I have been sleeping on a mattress in the front hallway for 2 months. I am thankful for that friend. I am thankful for that mattress. I write this blog sitting directly in front of that mattress, and I am thankful for that, too.
I knew many of my problems had been circumstantial and situational, because once here, I was able to test for and land a position as a medical language specialist within the first week and a half of being here, and I've had that position ever since. Granted it has only been 2 months, I am thriving in my job and I once again love what I do. I am stable mental health wise, but once again...
...another blog.
What is my point? Homelessness starts with many things. It can start with drug addiction. It can start with no one wanting to give you a second chance. It can continue with no one wanting to give you a second chance; or a third chance; or a long enough chance to actually figure out what in the hell is wrong, change it, and get on your feet. It can come from having to leave a violent situation. It can come from losing or not being able to hold down a job. It can come from someone elses decision entirely.
Sometimes we are responsible for it. Sometimes we have no control over it. Sometimes it is a combination of both. Sometimes it starts one way and ends another. But ultimately, we are all still human beings.. with human feelings.. human needs.. human lives.
Homelessness isn't always about whether or not you have a place to "live." You can have a roof over your head and still feel homeless, just as easily as you can stand in the middle of a completely crowded room and feel utterly alone. True homelessness, yes, is living under that tree.. or riding that bus.. or sleeping in that van. But homelessness is also that sense of not belonging anywhere and that worry that you are going to wake up the next day not knowing what is coming next, not knowing anything.
Independence is that sense of confidence that you are on your way to something greater, that feeling that you really don't have to worry about every single day, because tomorrow will always have it's own troubles. Independence is knowing that you will be able to take care of yourself and make it, even if you aren't doing it on your own just yet. Independence is knowing that you do not have to completely rely on another person to meet every single one of your needs, be it physical, financial, emotional, or otherwise. Independence is as simple as being free from your old self and the thoughts that bind you.
That being said, I value my independence, even if I'm not in my own place right now, and I'm thankful that I'm not truly homeless anymore, even if I'm sleeping on a mattress in a hallway, and yes I still get scared now and then because I know by experience that anything can happen at any given time. The difference now is I'm extremely proud of who I have become, I love the confidence I now have from letting go of all the chains that were literally choking me, I'm learning to love myself and not base my self-worth on the opinions of others, and I'm diligently working toward my goal of getting my own small place and my own cheap little piece of crap car. And no matter what happens in the interim, that diligence will never change... even if my circumstances do.
ALWAYS BE KINDER THAN NECESSARY. EVERYONE YOU MEET IS GOING THROUGH SOME SORT OF STRUGGLE.
"YOU MAY KNOW MY NAME, BUT YOU DO NOT KNOW MY STORY."
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