Rough Transition, But New Life. With A Side Of Mania, Please. Thanks. Not.

After 4 months and 15 days (or 138 days, if you want me to be like one of those parents that says "my child is 32-1/2 months old, how old is yours?". like, no offense if you're one of those parents.) of struggling with homelessness, I am now in an extended stay hotel, paying 2 weeks at a time to keep a roof over my head, working my butt off, and making an attempt to save for a "real apartment" to acquire some time in the future. Technically, it's kind of like an apartment. I have my tiny little kitchen area across from the bathroom, my work desk area, and my sleeping/living area (that would be my bed). Okay, so it's like an efficiency apartment, but the point is, it's mine, it's a room, and I'm living in it.

It's my first stepping stone of many toward a future that does not include sleeping on the streets, having to depend on others for a lot more than I care to, and a journey on finding me again. I got lost somewhere inside, but I know I'm in there. I got caught up in the madness of loving someone else, and while there is absolutely nothing wrong with loving someone else, if you aren't loving yourself at the same time, it's pretty much the same as killing yourself.

If the transition into my newly obtained room were completely uneventful, I wouldn't have a whole lot to write about. Chances would have it, that I have plenty to write about. Dear Lord, do I have stuff to write about. It starts with attempted murder-suicide and ends with me sitting here on my bed wondering if I should be worried about my "neighbor." The two are completely unrelated, by the way.

My best friend and I rounded up my little gathering of belongings on Wednesday afternoon, September 17, 2014, and packed them up into her sister's SUV.  Bringing them to my little hotel room was uneventful in itself. I was super excited when they told me they had found a non-smoking room for me, then subsequently let down immediately when they found out I had a cat and would have to take the smoking room on the third floor after all, because that's where the pets go. The third floor. It was almost like an episode of rapid cycling. Alas, I cannot part with my cat. She is my companion who has been with me through all of this, and before, and has been my source of unconditional love through the mess of my relationship with my ex-fiance; besides my love relationship with God, of course.

I'd never be able to leave her anywhere. She cuddles up to me without reservation, and really is not like that with anyone else, so I know I'm special. However, she is the one who tried to commit murder-suicide when we first got here. After bringing my stuff, we went back and picked Confetti up, who was already placed in a pet carrier and ready to go. When I got back to the hotel, I had 2 pillows left to carry, one of which contained my laptop inside the pillow cushion, 2 cooler type bags with a few canned goods and food items, and the cat carrier with Confetti inside. I'm on the third floor, as already stated; but what I haven't stated is that when you get off the elevator, you have to walk down to the very literal end of the hallway and turn in order to get to my room. I did that. My key suddenly didn't work. I'd barely made it to the room without dropping anything. I literally tried my key like 13 times at least, praying that "one more time" it would work. It didn't.  The realization that I would have to go back down and get it fixed sunk in and I decided to leave everything but my laptop and the cat in the carrier by my door. I got my key fixed and returned to my room. That's when the real fun began. Confetti has peed in the carrier. Poor kitty. A little too much freaking out and change again. Only I didn't really realize how much she peed until I went to lift her out of the carrier. Oh my gawd, her underside.. my hands... URINE! Gross. I didn't even put her down, because the last thing I wanted was my freshly made bed, or anything else for that matter, smelling like urine. So, I immediately carried her into the bathroom and put her in the sink.

Thank the sweet little baby Jesus that none of that stuff in the picture was on the counter yet and the sink was, for the most part, free of clutter, because psycho attack/murder-suicide attempt was about to commence. As soon as the water came on, she flipped a little. I rubbed some nearby shampoo into her belly and was just about to start rinsing off, and riot-cat appeared, flailing all legs with claws out, grabbing onto anything within reach. Unfortunately, one of those things was a hairdryer, which was currently plugged into the wall, and subsequently went flying into the sink filling with water that I was holding the cat in; thus, her attempting to kill both of us.  It's hard to know how to react in given situation, so I pulled the hairdryer out at lightning fast speeds by the cord and let it hand from the wall. Just as I did that, Confetti did a spiral ninja attack move and latched onto my shirt around my neck and shoulders with both front paws, then wrapped both her bottom legs around my chest. I'm staring in the mirror saying, "okay, this is a major dilemma." I'm being soaked by a shampooed cat, I don't want my throat slit, she isn't peeling off easily, and I really need to rinse her. So, I carefully removed her paw by paw and finished bathing her. By the time I was done, she needed to be dried, I needed to be dried, the floor needed to be dried, and I never did get the hairdryer back in it's holder, so it's still hanging there. Once freed, Confetti immediately went under the bed, never to show her face again until she finally got so hungry she HAD to come out to eat.

The adventure had only begun. She's come out from underneath the bed a lot more often now. She loves being by her mommy, but when someone is too loud outside the door, something happens loud, she scurries for coverage again. She'll adjust. I'm trying to adjust. I think the adjusting is a little harder for me at the moment. My biggest challenge is getting enough sleep.

I don't care how cute you think they are, I'm totally 100% convinced right now that these little dogs are the spawn of pure evil. Yip yip yip yip yip! Seriously, please just stop. You guessed it, they placed me right next to someone who has a little yippy dog that barks incessantly through the day and a lot of the night. I don't know where the owner is during this time exactly, but what I do know is that I've gotten about 8 hours of total sleep over 3 days, and I'm really starting to feel it. What really broke me was this morning at about 6 a.m. when the dog started up and the dude across the hall suddenly yelled SHUT THE F&#^ UP! then proceeded to run across the hall and bang on the door like they were the po-po until the dog did shut up. I've said something to the front desk and I've emailed management. Tonight I went a step further and slid a nicely-worded, yet firm, note under my "neighbor's" door letting him know of the situation and to please fix it. Since he got "home", all I heard was cabinets slamming and haven't heard the dog since. I don't know if I should be worried or not; and whom should I be worried about if I do worry? It's a definite relief, though. I can't lie. I feel like if I say anything more about it, I will have just cursed myself and the dog will start up again. This would be part of the reason for my episodic mania right now. Sleep deprivation and bipolar disorder that is only partially medicated do NOT mix well. I swear the question "I wonder if I dove out of my third floor window head first, would I die, or just suffer a traumatic brain injury or broken neck and then have to live like that?" crossed my mind.

I also stood in my little kitchenette the first night with a can of tuna fish in my hand for like 20 minutes just staring off into space, because I had come to the realization that I had no can opener. And I was hungry. No worries, I made do with something else after I snapped out of my eye-burning, numbing, catatonic state of sudden crash of reality. It's funny now that I can look back a couple of days. It was really not funny at all at the time. I've since had someone bring me a can opener, as well as some pots and pans, a spatula, a potato peeler for when I actually have potatoes, and a few cooking utensils. I'm so thankful. Thus endeth the kitchenette series of the almost-nervous-breakdown. Now all I need is food!

The ants have been driving me crazy just a little bit. The little ghost ones that you can barely see and you don't even really know they are around until you feel one crawl on you, then you notice the almost inconspicuous line of them crawling from each corner of your only window down to the floorboard, along the floorboard, on the nightstand, along the ceiling, and... some other places. I borrowed some spray and literally sprayed EVERYWHERE. All floorboard lines, corner lines, around the window, around the door, the ceiling lines, the cabinets. I've had to repeat twice around the window, but for the most part it seems to be working. The spray is for other bugs, too.  Yesterday, I kicked a cockroach out my door and it ran across the hallway and underneath the door of someone else's room. Oopsies!

There goes the dog whining again, but it seems a little less. I'm doing a whole lot of deep breathing to keep from going totally crazy. I hope I don't have to complain again, but it is what it is. Respect; that would be nice.

Aside from the mania, I really am adjusting. Some have had the misconception that this transition has been easy for me. Don't get me wrong, I love that I am in a room now. How could I not? I'm not sleeping on the streets, I have space, I am taking steps to regain who I really am. Emotionally, it is hard. Bipolar disorder does not help. Neither does realizing that you really are moving forward. Now THAT must sound like a crazy statement; but, see... there is always this little piece of hope in us that the really painful losses of love we have in our lives will find their way back home.  Mine doesn't seem to be finding it's way home. In fact, it's still as uncooperative as ever, and honestly all I really want is to have my belongings back. Everything is a challenge. My brain is a roller coaster. A never-ending roller coaster. Physically, I've been in pain for a few days. It's annoying. My fatigue is still there. My swollen lymph node is still swollen. So, that stuff just leads back to emotions and frustration and it is a vicious bipolar-fear-hope-worry-joy-needabiopsy-rested-fatigued-anorexic-hungry-gotthis-needfood-foundmyglasses-goingtothedoctornextweek-paycheckisntsoonenough-thankgodicanpayforthedoctor-cantpayformytestsormedications-imadjusting-istillneedhelp-beingresponsible-steppingforward-prayingforamiracle-depressed-thankful cycle. Yes, all of that.

It's Just Another Manic Friday. Wait, What?

I have a lot of thoughts tonight.

Like how easily a promise is made; how easily it is broken. What is a promise, anyway? Something that we just tell someone else or to ourselves, because we want it to be true? Should we really even make promises? Even if you are a promise-keeper, how do you know 100% for a FACT you will be able to keep that promise? Like, what if you die first? I'm for cereal. It irks me to even say it, really. I make pinky promises ONLY, because they are the only kind of promises that mean anything to me. A PINKY PROMISE CANNOT BE BROKEN. Don't ask me why - it just can't. Ask my kids. We take pinky promises very seriously. Well, we did anyway. I got a pinky promise from my youngest daughter in June that she would finally call me and we'd talk, but that hasn't happened. Honestly, I kind of didn't really hold my breath on that one to begin with. I could see the lack of promise in her eyes. It hurt, because, you know, it's a pinky promise. You'd have to be us to understand. But even still. What if I pinky promise that I'm going to be somewhere? 

"I pinky promise, I will be there before all the other parents so I can sit right in the front and watch you sing your solo performance!" Then you get into a car accident. I'm not trying to be Miss Negativity or Little Miss Worst Case Scenario, but point-in-fact, you don't know. I didn't pinky promise that I would be somewhere before all the other parents, but I was on my way to pick my kids up the second time I was in a major accident. When you are stopped at a red light and surrounded by traffic (left, front, right) and the person behind you seems completely oblivious to the hundreds of brake lights lit up in front of him, and he plows into the back of you right after making a last ditch effort to slam on his brakes when the DUH moment happens, which SO does NOT work, by the way, it isn't your fault that the back end of your minivan just flew up into the air and the front of it went careening under the Lexus SUV you were just admiring sitting nicely and prettily in front of you. I did make a promise I was picking up my kids and they were excited. When I called frantic and a little out of my mind because I'd just been hit by a man who barely spoke English driving a white utility van hauling a trailer full of white paint, which was now splattered in a very abstract pattern across the asphalt of State Road 436 in Casselberry, Florida, with the back of my minivan now looking slightly like a metal version of an accordion and a lump slowly, but surely, getting bigger on my forehead, the last thing I wanted to say was I'm not coming, mommy just got into a bad accident. BAM. I just broke a promise. Of course everyone survived. Of course they were glad I was alive. But I broke a promise. So I beg the question. Should we ever really make promises? Because really, are intentions good enough in today's society, or is the promise the only thing that matters?

That escalated quickly.

Also, how one day you can have a friend; the next day just "not." Like, they just aren't your friend. I don't understand how that works. How do you just not be friends with someone in a day? Were you really friends to begin with, then? Because if not, that was a whole lot of crap! Just sayin'!!

How can you have a thought one second and the next second it's just gone. As if some strange alien force just swooped in and entirely zapped your brain and you have idea what you were thinking, or saying, or why you walked into a room. It happens to me effortlessly. Honestly, it's quite annoying. When I joked around and said "I think I've finally got my brain cells down to a manageable number."... well, maybe I shouldn't have said that.

The worlds on fire but we're all smiling
Though it's all our fault
But life is short so we resort to laughing through it all

It's the battle within the good and the sin
With both sides standing strong
It's the permanent scars
How broken we are
It's the things that hurt us all

But isn't it beautiful
The way we fall apart
It's magical and tragic all the ways we break our hearts

So unpredictable
We're comfortably miserable
We think we're invincible 
Completely unbreakable
And maybe we are
Isn't it beautiful
The way we all fall apart

You're a liar but I'm a coward so I can't throw a stone
We're so imperfect but so worth it because we're not alone

It's the wars that we wage, the lives that we take
For better or for worse

It's the lion we cage, the love and the rage
That keeps us wanting more

But isn't it beautiful
The way we fall apart
It's magical and tragic all the ways we break our hearts

So unpredictable
We're comfortably miserable
We think we're invincible 
Completely unbreakable
And maybe we are
But isn't it beautiful
The way we all fall apart

The world is dark but all it takes
your love to spark
To set my heart on fire once again

But isn't it beautiful
The way we fall apart
Isn't it beautiful
oh, isn't it wonderful
The way we fall apart
It's magical and tragic all the ways we break our hearts

So unpredictable
We're comfortably miserable
We think we're invincible 
Completely unbreakable
And maybe we are
But isn't it beautiful
The way we all fall apart

Isn't it beautiful
The way we fall apart

Some things can be so tragic and beautiful at the same time.

I think way too much.

I have an internal battle of good and evil going on inside me all day and night.

NOW WHAT?! [-->AGGRAVATION<--]

I inspirationally realized that sometimes I feel like I'm back in high school again. I don't think inspirationally is actually a proper word or why inspirationally and high school would even be in the same sentence, but that's how it came out.

Some bugs freak me out, some bugs don't. Actually, that's a lie. I hate all bugs.

LMAO. I just thought of something. I was watching Family Guy, and in the episode, Peter and Bryan are in jail. They have bunk beds. Bryan is laying on the bottom bunk flipping through something to read and Peter is standing up talking. Peter suddenly says, "I got top bunk!" and he runs and launches himself onto the top bunk, and it falls and crushes Bryan. If you don't watch Family Guy, then you probably don't know that Bryan is a dog; in which case you would find none of the above funny at all, so in reality I probably just wasted like 2 minutes of my time typing out that one piece of the episode for nothing. Peace out.

I hate how I want to cry and just let it all out. Like now. RIGHT NOW. Cry, scream at the top of my FREAKING LUNGS from the highest rooftop in Central Florida. All the stuff that I have that just won't come out. Just act like Angelina Jolie in Girl, Interrupted, because I can. Just yell at the sky and ask it why I have 12 days now to get a deposit to stay in an extended stay hotel so I'm not sleeping on the street on August 17th. Ask it why everything that is suddenly happening around me right now had to happen RIGHT NOW, and why I couldn't have just a little more time. Beg it for a miracle so I can get into a room, put that week's deposit down, and be able to breathe. Just breathe, relax, work my job, and know that I'll be able to pay for my weeks after that IF I CAN JUST GET IN AND STARTED! I CAN'T WORK FROM THE STREETS, SKY! I FINALLY HAVE A GOOD JOB AGAIN AND I NEED TO BE ABLE TO WORK ON MY LAPTOP WITH INTERNET TO DO IT! FROM A ROOM! DO YOU HEAR ME?! I. DON'T. WANT. TO. EVER. SLEEP. ON. THE. CONCRETE. AGAIN!

I'm done screaming and crying now.

My time is running out. Tick tock, tear drip, tick tock, tear drop.

Getting interrupted when you are texting is like getting interrupted when you've been trying to pee for 30 minutes, but you just haven't been able to get it out; and right when the flow starts, someone walks into the bathroom.Something happens to me when I see or hear other people cry; especially if I am close to them. My heart starts to tangibly ache, then it drops a little bit into my stomach. I want to take the tears away. Sometimes, I can't.Townhouse Multigrain Crackers are pimpin'. In two words: they bangarang!

I can't believe I actually just typed that, and while I'm extremely tempted to hit the backspace button however many times it takes to get to before the word pimpin', I'm just not. 

I have a very special talent. I have absolutely no trouble whatsoever losing my cell phone. All. The. Time.

I hate not knowing certain things. Thankfully, God knows all. I would hate to have that much memory. As a person suffering with bipolar disorder type 1, I would literally go insane if I knew everything. So I recant my previous statement. No I don't. I still hate not knowing certain things. Key word: Certain.

Yep, I did it again. I just thought of something and laughed out loud. I guess technically I should have put LOL so everyone would know I laughed. Disclaimer: I did not make that meme. I actually kind of feel sorry for the kid.

Anyway, my oldest son once asked me to make a Peter Pan costume for him, which naturally, I did, because I am the most awesome, creative, talented mom in the universe of whatever, and he had to wear it to school one day to get credit it in drama class. Not just in that class, his WHOLE DAY. AND he had to stay in Peter Pan character all day. OMG. I suddenly visualized him wearing the costume and chasing his shadow down the sidewalk during lunch or something; you know, like trying to catch it? Yeah. Ha! Good times, good times.

We live. We get sick. Sometimes it scares us. Sometimes we don't make it. Sometimes we have absolutely no idea how we are going to get through anything. But, ultimately God has everything under control.Good night sweetheart, well it's time to go, bum bum bum bum. Good night sweetheart, well it's time to go, bum bum bum bum. I hate to leave you, but I really must say; good night sweetheart, fart fart. 

Bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum.

(There's a link in the upper left corner of the page for my fundrazr campaign, aptly title HELP ME START OVER, if you want to click on it up there or you'd like to help in any way get me out of crisis before the 17th, and such. Bipolar Sober Chick, signing out. That's a big 10-4.)

Perfect To Me. A Girl With Aniridia.

When I was 21 years old, I gave birth to my second child; a beautiful little girl. I named her Andrea Meaghn-Jade. I've always insisted on being unique with my children's names, and they all have hyphenated middle names.  Maybe it was also partly due to me wanting to use every name I could think of that I liked. I still have plenty left for future generations.  As a matter of fact, both of my daughters know that two other girls' names I had picked out were "Storey" and "Waverly", and each has picked one of those to use for their daughters name; so, in a way, I guess I still get to use them! Pretty cool, I think. I was blessed with a doubly-unique little girl, with Andrea.  It's actually quite interesting how I had already chosen "Andrea" to be her name, given what she was born with.

Andrea was born with a congenital abnormality called Aniridia. The term aniridia literally translates to absence of iris, usually of both eyes. In her case, definitely so. There is much more to it than that, but let me start at the beginning.

Call it mother's intuition, instinct, or what you will, I knew within a couple of hours of them handing me my daughter that something was wrong.  My first child, a son, had been born with big blue eyes, and he would just fixate on everything around him, totally full of wonder, as soon as he was able to take a peek at the world. I realize that not all babies open their eyes fully within a few hours, but mine did. When my daughter opened hers, I noticed immediately that there was just a simple, very thin ring of blue around the outside edge of what seemed to be a huge pupil. Why would my baby's eyes be dilated? Had they put drops in them? Had they done hearing and vision tests already? I knew that they did these things early on while in the hospital, but nothing was ever said to me, so I immediately became my child's advocate. I thought perhaps her eyes were merely dilated for some reason, as I'd never heard of anything like Aniridia before. So I asked, "Why are my daughter's eyed dilated?" That very first day of her life was a whirlwind. It turned out not to be such an easy question to answer. Her pupils didn't respond to light.  There was no dilation or contraction. Why this was not noticed by someone BEFORE I said anything is still baffling to me. There was barely a blue circle. There was, in fact, just black. I was told that further testing and discussion would be had at her 2-week appointment with our pediatrician. That's the day I literally fell to the floor in the patient room, landing on my rear end, and sobbed. I cried and I was inconsolable. I heard everything the 2 doctors were saying, but it was like a dream. My daughter was essentially blind. She could see movement, shadows, and shapes, but not really detail. Aniridia is a congenital, meaning to be born with, defect that isn't just isolated to absence of the iris. Andrea also was born with cataracts, glaucoma, nystagmus (involuntary eye movement; with her it was rapid eye movement from side to side), strabismus (when the two eyes do not align with each other; in her case, one eye would usually look forward while the other crossed inward, or sometimes both would cross), macular hypoplasia and macular degeneration (underdeveloped macula; has a dark spot in the center of her vision and sees better peripherally, and it will gradually get worse), underdeveloped retinas, associated Wilm's tumor or cancer of the kidneys, cerebellar ataxia (inability to coordinate balance, gait, and movement), genitourinary abnormalities, and retardation.

This was a lot of information for me to take in all at once. I was lead to believe she would have to be in special classes, wouldn't be able to attend regular school, wouldn't be able to read or write without extra large visual aid, if at all, wouldn't be able to run and play with other children, wouldn't be able to drive, and would essentially lead the life of a blind person.

Please understand I know this is not the end of the world, and there are always worse things, but when it is your daughter they are talking about, it seems like the world is crashing down around you and you find yourself surrounded by a million questions. The why's and how's that penetrate your mind are innumerable, especially when you don't have a clue about your dad's side of the family because you, in fact, have never met your own father. Where did this Aniridia come from? Why did Andrea have it? Was it my fault? Did it result when I got kicked in the stomach when I was 3 months pregnant with her? It's a question that will never get answered, so I made the decision right then and there that I would treat her just like any other child, and never make her feel like there was anything wrong with her.

Our next step was seeing the pediatric ophthalmologist, who tested her cataracts and said they were clear, but would eventually cloud as she got older. Her glaucoma pressure was normal, but would increase as she got older. She got her first pair of adorable glasses when she was 1-1/2, in order to magnify things for her in an attempt to help aid her vision. Honestly, I'm not sure whether they helped or irritated her more. When she was finally old enough to recognize shapes, she couldn't even make out the biggest one on top; you know, where the letter "E" usually is? The huge one? Yeah, she can't see that.

The first time she tried to put on make-up, in secret of course, was quite hilarious.  She obviously could not see what she was doing at all, but that didn't stop her. As a matter of fact, by this time I had realized that there wasn't much that COULD or would EVER stop her. She was a force to be reckoned with. Strong-willed, stubborn, persistent, courageous.  I walked into the living room one day when she was 3 to find her almost to the top of the entertainment center, having scaled 4 shelves already like a little monkey with muscles as steel as her... will. I put her in a special pre-K class to prepare her for school, and it was amazing. It was perfect for her. After that, though; public school. All the way. She never went to a special class again, went to school and classes right alongside all of her friends and same-aged peers, and guess what? She did great.  Sure, she had to sit in the front of the class. She had to use a magnifier for her book sometimes. The first few years she had a vision teacher come in every week to make sure she was getting what she needed. Mostly, she was just unashamed and unabashed about the whole thing and stuck her face right up to her papers and books, like quite literally a quarter of an inch away, and did her work without a care in the world.

She watched TV the same way. She still does. Every time someone starts to say "If you keep watching TV that close, you'll go blind," I have to either cut them off and let them know that she actually IS blind, because they don't realize it, or bite my tongue because it's one of her brothers being a smart-ass.  See, hardly anyone ever really realizes there is anything wrong with her eyesight until it's time for her to complete a task that requires astute visual acuity, or until someone mentions it; she has made it that oblivious. She did play with other children and run around just fine, granted she did run straight into the mirror when I put her in karate, but only once. Yes, I put her in karate. She was about 8 years old and her brother was taking karate.  She wanted to take it too. I wasn't going to tell her no. She almost made it to an orange belt (her third belt) before she switched to dance with her sister. The day she ran into the mirror didn't phase her a bit. Not even after I went running onto the mat, almost got kicked dead in the face, yelling, "OMG, Andrea, are you okay? Didn't you see yourself coming?"  I really did say that. To this day, I still can't believe that came out of my mouth.  It was a frantic thoughtless statement, not meant to be funny at all, but has ended up being a joke over the years that everyone, including Andrea, has been able to laugh at.

She never developed Wilm's tumor and was progressively tested for it throughout her childhood. Her cataracts still haven't gotten worse and her glaucoma pressure hasn't altered. Her visual acuity has gotten only slightly worse. Now that she knows letters and how to read, we know for a fact she definitely canNOT see that giant "E" at the top of the eye chart.  Yes, she has learned to read and write just fine, as well. She wouldn't have been able to attend public school all those years, if she hadn't. She has no retardation of any kind, nor does she have any type of ataxia. She thinks just like you and me, and can walk a straight line without falling over.  I'm pretty sure she is smarter than I am, if I'm to be honest. At least, that's what her SAT scores say.

She has developed into quite the gorgeous young lady. Her nystagmus has improved dramatically. The only time her eyes shake is when she is trying to focus on something extra hard. She sees better out of her right eye than she does her left eye, so if you were to watch her read or write you would notice her head tilt sideways so that one side of her face is closer to the paper than the other. If she is watching TV, we clear a spot out in front of it and everyone watches around her. Her siblings, mostly her brothers, get irritated from time to time, but they are siblings. Siblings will be siblings, disabilities or not. Definitely something I have learned! I notice her head wobble a little tiny bit when she is trying to concentrate on a movie, but it isn't anything like it used to be. I can recall an incident when she was about 2 years old and she was sitting on the floor of the pediatrician's office waiting room playing with toys, and one of the little kids was staring at her. I always watched very closely, because I've always been afraid of her being bullied, teased, or taken advantage of, but I've tried not to be overprotective, as I know what harm that did to me as a child, rather than good. There were times, and still are, as a mom, however, where it is hard to bite your tongue or hold back when something happens. This was one of those moments. This child sitting next to her looked straight in my face and said, "Why is she looking all crazy like that?", because her eyes were moving very rapidly as she tried to focus on what she was playing with.

Rationale flies completely out the window. Of course I know that this child has no idea what he is saying and did not mean anything harmful at all by the comment. They appeared to be practically the same age; but, my mouth acted way faster than my mind did and I looked straight at the mom and said, "You better grab your child before I do." Ouch. I instantly apologized once the blood rushed back out of my head and she was very understanding, but it was most certainly a lesson for me on how to react to things that were inevitably going to happen. Lesson learned: Don't do that.

Andrea is still strong-willed and courageous. She is intelligent and beautiful. She loves horses, and when I say loves horses, I mean she LOVES horses. We had a horse, named Jax.

Jax is still at the farm where my ex-fiance lives. Unfortunately, since we are not currently together, it means my daughter also lost a dear means of therapy... Jax. He keeps telling me that he is going to get rid of Jax, but always goes back to "I don't know if I'm really going to do that."  The reasons are never-ending and constantly change, and I'll leave it at that. It's a painful situation all around. I wish I could give my daughter the world. I had given her a little piece of it, this beautiful animal that I love so much, as well, and so much has been ripped away from us because people are just mean sometimes.  She is now training for a guide dog and use of a blind cane.  She knows there is a good chance she will have to depend on one, the other, or both completely in the future.  So far, she is doing very well with the cane. The cane will determine whether she can move on to the dog or not, which is something she strongly desires.

Words could never be adequate to express my love for Andrea and how proud I am of her. I'm not just a proud mother, I am PROUD. She is my inspiration. She is a lot like me with her emotions and takes things to heart; something I didn't fully realize until recently. She holds a lot in. She feels misunderstood on the inside sometimes, but still gives all she has on the outside. She is constantly doing things for other people. She loves taking care of children. She graduated from high school this year and just started college.

TAKE THAT, DOCTORS!!
She studied with dual enrollment during that last part of high school, so she already has some college done. Her original goal was to go into criminal justice, specifically crime scene investigation and forensics; however, after talking about it a long while, she sadly came to the conclusion that she won't be able to pursue that field. Not necessarily because she wouldn't be good at it - she took a CSI class at Seminole State College and aced it! Unfortunately, if she were ever called as a forensic witness for any type of crime, her eyesight would always be called into question, and the reality of the situation is that it would most likely work against her every single time; even if she was right. That's the way society is. She understands that.

She wants to be able to help others. The only thing that she has not been able to do, that the doctors WERE right about, is that she cannot drive a car. She simply does not, and will never, have the visual acuity and/or depth perception to drive a motor vehicle. I have been asked many times if there is a surgery that could correct her vision. In short; no.  Nothing developed correctly or completely. You can't really fix what wasn't there to begin with. The only thing that would work is complete eye transplants, and I can't honestly say we've gone quite that far into looking at something so extensive, and expensive, as a solution.  Not being able to get a driver's license when her friends were all getting theirs is probably one of the only times she ever really let it hit her, "Hey, I can't do this."  And man, did it hurt me to see her hurt! What mainly hurts her is the fact that she feels like she can't help other people as much as they have helped her. That alone tells me something about her heart.

I'm not sure she has completely decided on her change of major yet, but I do know she wants to work with horses during part of her life. It pains me that we cannot see Jax, and I'm trying to figure out something for her.  Until I am able to get back up onto my own two feet again, it's going to be hard to help her.  She wants a little more independence and would love for the two of us to have a place together. I am doing everything I can to make that happen, although right now I feel like I am running as fast as I can and going absolutely nowhere.  Yet, we cling to hope.

The other part, helping people.  Interestingly, her other love is ASL: American Sign Language, and she does it beautifully!  She would love to interpret for people one day. She has such a passion for people. For all people, yes, but especially for children, teenagers, and adults who are considered a little less than perfect in a doctor's eyes. The people that get looked upon as incomplete, messed up, not whole, or otherwise disabled, physically or mentally.  She has more compassion in her heart than most people I've known in my lifetime to have in their pinky toe.  I want to share a song she did recently in ASL. The song is by Julie Durden and it's called "Perfect That Way."  I'm sharing my daughter with you in this video.  Please meet her with a smile.  She's perfect to me.

She was born a little less than perfect
at least in that doctor's eyes
he said that she'll be different
much more than you ever realized

that girl grew up not knowing
the sound of her mama's voice
God's gift to her was silence
in a world so full of noise

and she sings with her smile
and talks with her hands
she listens with her heart
so she always understands

she believes there's more to life
than the sounds that it makes

she's perfect that way

shes got a sign for the thunder
one for the wind and the rain
she's the kind that keeps you laughing
and the first to see your pain

and she sings with her smile
and talks with her hands
she listens with her heart
so she always understands

she believes there's more to life
than the sounds that it makes

she's perfect that way

Raising Notoriety, Not Awareness. Narcissistic Tale of a Fake Homeless Man. WARNING: COMING TO A CITY NEAR YOU OCTOBER 1, 2014.

First, please watch these. There would only be one, but my idiotic feline decided it would be fun to walk across my laptop and shut the first one down mid-recording. If you choose not to watch these first two, as they are the least important, I'm basically expressing my feelings on the matter and letting you know that if you want copies of anything I mention in this article that I don't actually post, just message me and I will send them to you.

Here is one of the first media coverages before he embarked on his..... journey: http://www.wftv.com/news/news/local/orange-county-teacher-goes-homeless-30-days-raise-/ngX4G/

Now you know I can't post everything or this would literally be about 127 pages long, give or take 22 pages.

If you could have heard the very audible sigh that just escaped my lips, you would know just how much of a task this is going to be to write. Even though, like I said in the video, I'm not necessarily afraid of anything about my life coming out in the form of retaliation, because I'm an open book, I do, however, have my personal safety to be concerned with since the person I am going to be talking about knows as good as where I am currently staying. I cannot 100% contract or guarantee that I know for a fact I am safe.  I don't know him well; obviously not anywhere near as well as I thought I did.  Just the little bit that I DID feel I knew went high-tailing it down Interstate-4 on a giant purple elephant the day he made a video and posted it on his Facebook page that, at the time, had over 5,500 followers, where he bashed a handful of people that happened to include myself. 

Not just bashed, said my whole name, just as it is on Facebook, in slow, loud, and clear pronunciation, just in case anyone was hard of hearing, accused me of lying about things which I did not lie about, and pretty much defamed my character and falsely accused me of, ironically, lying about him.  He smeared the names of 3 other people that I am friends with, as well.  Three out of the four of us are homeless.  His Facebook page name? HOMELESS AND HUNGRY. His campaign? "Raising awareness of the issues with homelessness." It no longer says it on the website, since as of August 21, 2014, someone else has been made an "editor" or co-admin of the page (Tom still runs it), but from June 20 - August 21, 2014, it explained that Thomas Francis Rebman was a middle school teacher in Orange County, Florida, who would be "going homeless" for 30 days in order to raise awareness for homeless people. His goal was supposedly to experience firsthand what it is like to be completely homeless for 30 days, taking with him only his cell phone and cell phone charger, so that he could document his "adventures" every day and post them on FB, his ID, and the clothes on his back.  Oh, and his cigarettes, because as he documents with his posts and videos throughout his entire journey, if you decide to go through them, they were extremely important.

I would like to make it clear right now that I was a HUGE supporter from BEFORE day one. My encouraging comments are everywhere throughout the beginning of his journey, unless he has taken those down, too. I was encouraging his campaign before he even left his house. I thought the idea of someone purposely going homeless was a little nutty, but I was enthusiastic about the possibility that perhaps he would learn a lot about resources, be able to share them, and by through sharing his experience, disparage some of the stereotypes about homeless people (i.e. they are all active drug addicts/alcoholics/lazy, etc). Some of that has been accomplished. The negativity that began to show itself, however, and the obvious need for him to be in control of everything at all times, worked against him and, in my humble opinion and in my eyes, shattered his campaign... and his integrity. To me, he is the epitome of narcissism.  Again, just my opinion.

You can find most of his videos either on the Facebook page, which I link above as HOMELESS AND HUNGRY, or on his YouTube channel, at THOMAS REBMAN. The only videos that are missing from his YouTube channel and page are the ones in which he verbally bashed many of us. I have them on my computer.  If you want them, all you have to do is ask.  Actually, I may post one in particular at the end of this blog. You will also find his "Summit" video amongst the top listed on his YouTube channel, where he reported on the page that there was this great, amazing turnout to. He estimated 60-80 people. In the video, it looks to be more around 30 to me, personally, but hey.. I might not be able to count. 

What did strike me is the fact that a homeless guy -a distraught homeless guy, at that- apparently attended the Summit, and Tom addresses him, has him come to the front to sit down, and then pretty much pretends that he never said anything. The questions and answers are also missing, which I found interesting, unless they are posted somewhere and I just don't see them or didn't catch it. I will be completely honest here and say I did NOT watch the entire over-hour-long Summit video and only skimmed through it, because I really don't have that much time to waste. I was actually supposed to attend, but it fell on a day that I was not even in Central Florida, and to be honest, I'm rather glad now.

Moving on.

He also has a fundraising campaign set up at Orlando Teacher Goes Homeless for 30 Days! which it looks like was ended on August 21, 2014. Please note that is the same date that the FB page got turned over to someone else, because Tom couldn't handle it anymore. 

So, let's officially meet Mr. Rebman, shall we?

His own words: "My name is Tom and I am a Teacher in a Title 1 Middle School in Orlando, Florida. I am going voluntarily homeless for 30 days so that my students can see how difficult it is being without shelter and food.  I will start my journey with nothing but my ID card and the clothes on my back.  I do not know what will happen, where I will eat or sleep, we will al find out together.  Each day I will be posting a video and a blog describing the days events.  I will be interacting with my students and others on my Facebook page "Hungry and Homeless".  I am doing this to keep my students reading and writing during the summer. I intend to remain homeless for 30 days.  I am going to use only legal government services (Shelters, Food Pantries etc) to live.  I will be taking candid video to show how homeless people are viewed and treated.  I will talk to memebers of our community that are homeless and live as a part of their culture.  I will help my students analyze the problems they face and try and help come up with solutions to these problems. I need your support to get the word out.  I want to reach as many people as possible with this message and at the same time raise money so that my students can have a better chance in their life. Forty percent of the money raised will be used to buy iPads for Orange County Public Schools Intensive Reading Students.  Twenty five percent will be given to Second Harvest Food Bank, 25% will be given to the Coalition for the Homeless of Central Florida, and the last 10% to buy a vehicle for Ministry of Hope Food Pantry.  Our goal is $100,000 but the sky is the limit!!!"  [as taken from the Fundrazr story page at the link above, as well as what was previously posted on the Homeless and Hungry FB page.]

He's decorated. He was a teacher (note the word was, please). Blah, blah, blah. Squirrel.

A very little bit about me, because of the role I end up playing in this: I am what is called "essentially homeless." Basically meaning that I am homeless, but at the moment I don't have to sleep outside on the cold, hard ground, like most of Central Florida's homeless population. Some essentially homeless are "permanent" residents at shelters, while others like myself find or have a place to sleep that is temporary. I have a twin mattress on the floor in the foyer of a friend's house, located right by the front door.

That's me. Literally, right now, working on writing this article. You will hear no complaints. I'm sitting on a mattress, not the actual floor. It's the same mattress I will eventually fall asleep on. That laptop, the one I'm typing on now, is also the one I use to work as a medical transcriptionist, so I do not have to travel to a job, which is good because buses take hours and I have no other transportation. I pretty much have nothing, except for a huge pile of medical and hospital bills, the need for more medical care, my clothes, shoes, a few other belongings, and my cat.  What I have left of belongings is sitting in someone else's house, and just because I have a mattress for the time being, does not mean I'm not homeless.  There is this not-so-little thing called the "invisible homeless" and I fall into that category.  Also, in a couple of months I won't have this mattress anymore, because I'm simply not making enough right this minute to save what I need for a place to live, and I can't sleep in front of their door forever.  It doesn't work that way. (Edit 09/21/2014:  At this point, I ended up both on the streets for a little bit and in an extended stay hotel for 6 months that I paid for weekly that was mostly occupied by drug dealers and/or prostitutes, because it was all I could afford to do in order to not be sleeping on a sidewalk.  Someone even got stabbed in the neck on the floor I was staying on one evening, and I can honestly say that some nights I felt like I would have been better off living under a tree somewhere.)  YES, I NEED A LOT OF HELP!  I have a lymph node that has needed biopsied for MONTHS now to see if cancer has returned. I'm sick. I'm tired. My hair is falling out. I'm uninsured and have been denied by Medicaid twice. I'm employed, but get paid by production, and when you are physically ill at times, exhausted, and struggle with bipolar disorder that is made worse by homelessless, it is hard to be productive! I am not ashamed to say that, and I know for a fact as my circumstances improve, I will improve. The work trickles in sometimes, as well, and you just can't make it come any faster.  I don't sit there and get paid by the hour for doing nothing like the majority of employees have the opportunity to do at one point or another.  (No, I am not saying hourly employees do nothing. Please don't take it that way.) I had it set up to where you can read my own story and was tempted to place some shameless self-promotion, but I just can't do it.  I have more self-respect and dignity than that.  If you would like to know how I got to where I am or ANY of my personal life journey, contact me.  Leave a comment.  Someone ask me.  I'm an open book.

Now that I've posted a horrible picture and videos of myself, let's really get going.  At least no one can call me a liar when I say I'm exhausted, because it's pretty evident in what I've posted!

Tom started out his journey credibly enough. I can call him Tom, because I've met him, talked to him in person twice, and had several private online message conversations with him. We were friends or, in his words about me, so I thought.  His videos were interesting. His insights were great. He was mentioning resources, showing people the false stereotypes. I think the first red flag for me was when he announced that he'd been accepted into some type of long-term, 1-year residential shelter program. It was already striking nerves that he was posing as a homeless man, no matter what the reason he was giving; but when he announced that he was going to be taking up shelter space, far more people began to ask questions, myself included. We weren't being demeaning, giving him a hard time, calling names, using profanity, or anything of the sort. We were simply asking questions. We were questioning how he got into a space so quick and if it were that easy to do so, why weren't more homeless people off the streets.  We were questioning how this would help him experience homelessness, the true experience, if after only a few days on the actual streets, he was ready to take a bed that an actual homeless person might need.  We were questioning whether or not he had to lie on the application in order to retrieve the spot, because case in point, he technically really wasn't homeless, was he? We were questioning a lot of things, mainly because of his original mission statement, and also because he had said that he would never, under any circumstances, take anything away from someone who was actually homeless. Unfortunately, you won't find any of those comments, questions, or otherwise, because no sooner had we asked them, than they were perceived as "negative" to the page and deleted. That was red flag #2. Why delete questions and comments if you have nothing to hide?

Soon after, he claimed to have given his spot at the shelter to someone who really needed it, but then he posted pictures of the inside of the shelter the following night, where even though it didn't show their faces, doesn't it bother anyone that he is going around taking pictures of actual homeless people without them realizing it? While they are sleeping? He made a statement saying something to the effect of [see, I'm not taking anything away from anyone who needs it, it isn't full]. I'm pretty sure I saw only like 2 empty beds in that short segment and he could have been sleeping in one of them for all I know.

Things calmed down, people seemed appeased, and he made some good posts. He got very defensive in a few, explaining how trying to get shelter is part of the homeless experience. I really won't talk about that much. He did some good things, brought awareness, so forth and so on.  It can all be seen on the page.

During all this time, we had been messaging back and forth. Our very first couple of message exchanges were basically me introducing myself, telling him part of my story, us becoming "friends" and him telling me, because he's so passionate about helping the homeless and those in need, that after his 30 days were done and over with, he would not only share my Fundrazr campaign, but would support it, as well. Looking back at that conversation, knowing what I do now and knowing the things he said during the following weeks, I'm fairly certain that the only reason he made that promise is because he really thought he was going to be rich, or at the very least have gotten a lot more money from the campaign than he actually did. I reserve the right to hold that opinion based on our interactions and his subsequent lack of following through. As I stated in one of the videos above, this is not a bitter diatribe to Thomas Francis Rebman because I'm a scorned little girl who didn't get what she wanted at the candy store.  It's about more than just me.

I will say this, however. YES, I was hurt when I realized I'd trusted someone only to find out he wasn't even the person I thought he was. You can't go through an experience like this and remain completely unscathed. But, I seek no revenge.  Not for that; not for me.  I seek justice because he is a fake, a liar, someone who has hurt AND exploited more than just me, and does not have the right to use the misfortune of others for his personal gain. Plain and simple.

Even with the red flags, I still agreed to sit down and do a short interview with him, because he had been trying so hard to get me to meet with him. He spent most of his homeless experience in downtown Orlando, which really isn't all that far from where I am staying, but on the city bus, it takes about 2 hours. He had started to donate plasma for $50 a pop, because panhandling wasn't making much and he had already decided he wouldn't go to the first real job opportunity he was given because he was so beaten down already. (Welcome to a real homeless person's life, bro!)

In my mind, because even after all that I have been through in my life, I still make the conscious decision to see the best in everyone and trust way too easily.

This has been a life-changing lesson in trust.

Here is the interview I allowed him to do the first time he came to the vicinity of where I live. I met him outside the gate, near a bus stop, and we sat on the sidewalk in front of the school bus yard, amid the flying insects and chatted for a while.

This was posted on August 2, 2014. Before that meeting, he had mentioned or asked to meet me 6 times already. The first couple of times I said to come if he was on this side of town, but he never made it for one reason or another. Then I was busy during other times. The day after this was made, he instant messaged on FB me and asked me if I was up and "atum" yet at 7-something in the morning. I didn't respond until after noon, letting him know I had worked late (graveyard), and he messaged me at 1 p.m. letting me know he was outside the gate to where I am staying. 

This was a HUGE red flag for me that I had no choice but to pay attention to! Yes, I still have the instant messages to prove this happened. We had just met the day before, why would he be here again? I was already uncomfortable before going outside to meet him, and as time passed and the more he talked, the more awkward it was. Every second that went by, I was learning more about him; his demeanor, what he really thought of people, what his real objectives were, the delusional state his mind was in, and that he was "smitten" by me. Yes... smitten. I gave quite a long pause to that, unsure how to respond. So, in my comedic defensive manner, which is all I have left sometimes in situations like that, I laughed it away, and away it went - for the moment, anyway. By the end of our conversation, the person that walked away from me to get back on a bus was NOT the person I thought I knew or had talked to the previous day. I suddenly felt like I was floating on an air bubble. One that was going to burst; I just didn't know when or how.

Our conversation that day. Where do I begin? I suppose I will start off with the fact that right off the bat he referred to my best friend and her husband, the people who kindly let me sleep on their floor right now, as my "captors." This divulged from several factors, I believe. One being that it was extremely hot out that day, as it happens to be during the Florida summer afternoons, and he could not come inside. Even if the house were mine, I'm not sure I would have let an unannounced, uninvited visitor with whom I'd only met once inside, quite honestly. He asked me, "Do they know whom I am? Do they know I am homeless?", to which I replied, "He is the only one home, and yes, he knows you are pretending to be homeless." The word pretending did not seem to phase him one bit, as he went on about how my "captors" would let a "homeless guy" sit outside in the heat.

To this day I regret my next action of letting him sit in the shade too near the literal location of my temporary home. He jeopardized the roof over my head, and I don't think he ever really cared about that possibility, looking back on it. He talked to loud, every other word out of his mouth was a curse word, talking about his wife and other people - all very unbecoming of someone I would want teaching any middle schooler of mine!  He wanted to smoke a cigarette and I had to explain to him we needed to move away from the building. He complained about that, too, because it meant being in the sun again.

This is the conversation I wish I'd had the sense to record; but then again, why would I have? I never realized I would need anything he said as proof one day or that it would just be a piece of a much bigger whole that extended far beyond me.

During this conversation he said the following things. This is not verbatim, but as close to the actual words as I can get them. He talked about his promise of sharing my campaign link and supporting it once his 30 days were over and done with.  It went from that to him saying he was going to be rich by the time all of this was over.  Something about putting Buddy Dyer out of business, and that he was going to buy all the homeless of Orlando houses, because Buddy Dyer was a joke and so were the local homeless organizations.  He specifically mentioned a homeless buddy of mine.  He told me to put on my seat belt, because we were in for a hell of a ride while he was bringing people down and moving himself up, whatever that meant. He told me that he doesn't really love his wife; the only reason he is married to her is because she has a good heart and she was there to rescue him when times were rough. In fact, he says he is still in love with his ex and always will be.  He told me he understood how I felt about not having a good relationship with one of my daughters right now because he is estranged from his, while in fact, according to public record, there is probably good reason he is estranged judging by the domestic violence injunction against him from 2003. He asked me why I thought he'd come all the way out here to see me again, and honestly I had no clue, so I sarcastically said, "because I'm awesome."  He let me know that he is smitten by me and I was special - that he felt we were similar in a lot of ways and that I was one of the only people he could truly talk to about anything, because I understood him. He told me that if I were to look up bipolar, it would have his face next to it in the dictionary. [I'm afraid you've gotten bipolar and psychopath mixed up.]  He said if his wife didn't stop in her jealous ways that she would get not one penny of what he earned and he'd just have to be dumped 6 times now, or however many it is he is at (it's either 5 or 6).  He talked about how she would never survive on her salary, because it was his $90,000 annual that made their family. Teachers make that much??  His delusions of grandeur and nonsensical statements, if not quite rude and rash, continued for a good 30 minutes, while I offered little to no input, mainly because I just didn't know what to say.

After that visit and he left, the following day I left to spend some time with my children, by the grace of God. I'm so thankful that whole ordeal was planned before I became homeless and everything was mostly taken care of. What hadn't been taken care of yet, was provided for. I do not regret my decision to take 2 of my children on vacation whatsoever.

Even while I was gone, I'd get IMs, "hurry back, there's so much to tell you" or "as long as I'm breathing you'll never sleep on the streets." I never met with him again. After I returned to Florida, things on the FB page, Homeless and Hungry, escalated very quickly. People were starting to expose his lies, his motives.  He was deleting comments as soon as they would appear. Even if someone had a legitimate question, he would shut them down. He finally reached a breaking point and created a fake profile account under the name of Alice Castner, tricked me and several others into answering some questions, and after I posted a long response in a comment, got paranoid and thought I was going post every single thing he's ever said to me, in typing at least, so he acted nice under his fake profile and said he "had just moved to the area and just wanted to know what charities for the homeless were real and safe to donate to."  I have screenshots of him finally admitting it was him on the fake profile account before he deleted it.

He began posting all sorts of personal details about the 5 or so main people on his crap-crap list, on the Homeless and Hungry page. A lot of it was public record, but why go to the length and depth, and use so much time to gather so much on so many people, and post it on your public social media page that is supposed to be RAISING AWARENESS FOR THE HOMELESS and your former STUDENTS are keeping track of and watching over the summer holiday? I will tell you why: to take the attention off you and put it on as many other people as you can.  To expose the past mistakes of others in order to make yourself look as good in the light as possible. The more garbage you post about other people, the better you will look, right? Somewhat wrong. He lost over 200 followers within 48 hours, and while all the posts and comments are now gone from the page, I have screenshots of EVERY. SINGLE. ONE.

I must sound crazy at this point, like a screenshot-happy psycho, but if you had been verbally assaulted in a video posted for thousands of people to see, been visited uninvited and conversed with, been told so many things and then falsely accused of lying about what you say you'd been told, and had promises broken to you that involve your survival, you might be just a tad overprotective of yourself, as well.

I regret the day I ever met this person. I regret every single thing I ever told him about my personal life, because even though I blog a lot and I'm very open about who I am, I make a CHOICE when I talk to someone face-to-face or in private message about what is going on at that moment in my life, not expecting that choice to become a war of words in a public forum. Granted he didn't throw anything out about my mental illness issues or struggles when he decided to make that video, he may as well have, because he will never understand how much all this has affected my life; my mind. Simply calling me a liar when I KNOW and HE knows exactly what he told me is enough, knowing that he has enough followers to believe him and whatever he says about someone else, regardless of the proof we have mounted against him. That is something I do not get at all. It's right there in these people's faces and the ignorance overwhelms me. I will chalk it up to everyone wanting to see the good, much like I do myself many times. But, this... this has been so over-the-top, I don't see how the negative is possible to ignore.

Raising awareness is great. Lying to and taking away from the actual homeless is not. 

His page category, if you will, has gone from non-profit, to community, to social/culture, and is now back to non-profit organization again. He changed it from non-profit the first time when people started calling him out and asking for proof of his 501(c)(3). He would promptly delete those comments and ban anyone who questioned him. Someone finally did a little research. There are no non-profits listed for "Homeless and Hungry," so a search was done under his name and "Dollars 4 Scholars" came up, which is the name he wanted people to make a check out to if they decided to go that route instead of donating to the online Fundrazr campaign. However, it came up as Dollars 4 Scholars, LLC. And it is inactive.

Is an LLC corporation non-profit? If it is inactive, where did all the money go? He shows pictures of his supposed account deposits and WePay checks being made out to the organizations he promised donations to, but only AFTER all the hype about him being a fraud. Everything was supposed to be done when his 30 days were over, yet he waited to make everything out until August 18, 2014, 2 weeks after his 30 days were over and after so many people started questioning his motives. Also, he posted a link supposedly from the IRS about his 501(c)(3) status becoming active (shouldn't that have been done way before this actually started?) with him stating "doesn't matter now," but the link only took me to a survey. Now he complains about being broke and facing bankruptcy, and even goes as far as to state that he is facing homelessness now. Did he know beforehand that he would be going broke? Also, when did he really know that his teaching would NOT be renewed this year and he would not be back in the classroom for the 2014-2015 school year? That's right.. FORMER teacher. He claims he did not know that was going to happen before he set out on his 30-day adventure, but found out after he returned home. I have no choice but to question whether or not that is the truth, and if this whole thing, while possibly really wanting to raise awareness for the homeless, was really more a stunt to make sure he had a future income of sorts in the place of what he would be making as a teacher, had he been renewed to teach for the year. Another question that arises is why is he not teaching this year? What was the reason they did not bring him back? Several people have inquired with Orange County Public Schools and to be honest, I don't fully know those results nor do I pretend to. What I do know is that I'm tired and have no intention of doing any further research on the matter, because just defending myself to people I don't even know has become quite exhausting. 

It is a wonderful thing to want to help the homeless. Even though it may sound like the blind leading the blind, so to speak, I'm actually having a friend pick me up on Monday evening so I can go out with her to hand out clothing and items to downtown Orlando's homeless. That does not make me a hero by any means whatsoever. It simply makes me a human being who has compassion for others in that situation, even if I am struggling with it myself.  When I am helping others in need, I get out of myself and have the opportunity to GIVE, and that's what is most important to me.

You can't keep it if you don't give it away.

That applies to just about anything; love, strength, compassion, courage. Being selfless in a selfish world is hard enough as it is without people like Thomas Rebman throwing himself into the mixed nuts. He is a perfect example of why people don't trust charities and why people don't WANT to give to the homeless, because they never know the true motives of that person that is taking their well-earned money.

What is not a wonderful thing is taking pictures of actual homeless people sleeping on the streets without their permission and/or knowledge, and posting them to your Facebook page; taking videos of homeless people that are obviously mentally ill, not in an effort to show the faces of the homeless, but to exploit them; making promises to homeless people that you either cannot or have no intention of keeping. It is not okay to talk to me about another homeless person, tell me that person has some serious issues and isn't who they say they are, and then that homeless person then tells me that you told him I'm a whack job and you don't know why you are wasting your time with me. Did you really think I wouldn't find that out? That people don't talk to each other when our suspicions are raised? You went on a Facebook war-of-words-photo-bombing-personal-information-video-bashing-posting rampage, and I'M THE WHACK JOB? I might have bipolar disorder, Tom, but I'm not crazy. I'm not anywhere near stupid, either.

As I was working on this article, I got a message that really disturbed me. So much so, that I had to take an overnight break from finishing this. Even after all of this, after me talking to his wife personally through private messages [which I also have, by the way], knowing that the first time he did this almost split them apart, knowing he needs income now, knowing how many people he has hurt and lied to, including homeless people, after listening to him degrade his own wife and slander the local homeless organizations, and still having so many questions remain unanswered, I find this out:

You have got to be freaking kidding me. I don't care if it says (tentative) or not, the mere fact that he is entertaining this idea bothers me, a lot; it should bother other people, too. Notice he says the first $4108 will go to pay his teaching salary. 

**Update: I took those last 3 screenshots of him stating he is tentatively going homeless in another city late last night. It is 12:15 a.m. on August 25, 2014 and that post is GONE. There is now a video pinned to the top of the page. It looks like he really is looking for another place to "go homeless!"

Maybe I should just change the name of my Fundrazr campaign to "Pay Barbara to be homeless and tell you what it's like every day!" 

Yep. You really took the high road, there, buddy. Congratulations.

I hope I don't need a restraining order after posting this.

**Update 2: New video. He has decided he is going to either Houston or Los Angeles (among other top choices you will hear in his new video) next for his homeless adventure. Please keep in mind, regardless of whatever "awareness" he thinks he is raising, he is going to be getting PAID to be homeless as he uses your donations to pay what would be his salary for teaching! Personally, I feel it is unethical. If you feel that way too, you should spread some REAL awareness of this person's fake persona so more people don't get exploited, used, and possibly hurt in the process.

New video:

**Update 3: 06/14/2015:  He has now gone to several cities to be "homeless."  It amazes me that he has actually gained so many blind followers when he was actually losing them before.  I am guessing that is because there are no longer people around the page actually speaking the truth.  I just don't have time for that nonsense and I have also discovered it is in my best interest as far as health goes, both mental and physical, if I refrain from getting too upset at all the BS he is constantly posting. However, I HAVE gone through some of his posts, and there have been several people, still, in some of the cities that he has gone homeless in, calling him a fraud and saying he is only doing this to make a name for himself. Hallelujah, not all the masses are completely blind. He hardly ever has anything good to say about a place and my gathering is that if he were truly homeless, he would never, ever find anything to be thankful for.  Nothing.  

He also has two, TWO, fundraisers running simultaneously, but both stating the same purpose. Isn't that a little shady? No, it's a LOT shady. So what if the last donation was a month ago. The fact that people got duped into donating to one or the other is a super sad crime.  That's just my opinion, of course.  I'm just glad it wasn't a whole lot more money than he got, because GoFundMe money goes straight into your bank account. I just think that money could have gone to actually helping the people who are 100% already homeless.

I hope he enjoyed his cigarettes.  I mean, after all, that is what he seems to worry about getting most when he is in homeless fantasyland.