How We Identify with Homelessness

Reading other blogs about homelessness is a curious thing.  There are blogs by those who are or have been homeless, those who work or volunteer with a homeless clientele, and blogs about other topics that mention homelessness once in a while (typically when the author has an encounter with a homeless person).

The most frequently commented upon blog articles seem to be those about an individual’s first night of homelessness.  I admit, I frequently leave comments on these articles myself.

Why is it that we’re so sympathetic to the person who experiences their first day of homelessness, but callous toward the person who has been homeless for months or years?  It’s a matter of perspective.  The person spending a stray night in a homeless shelter could well be us, we think.  

What if we lost our jobs and had a concurrent major illness?  What if a loved one (or ones) passed away suddenly?  What if . . . whatever combination of tragedies it might take.  I think we’ve all had thoughts that it could be us.  For some it might take more tragedies than others, but the possibility is there.

In considering the chronically homeless person, we’re less sympathetic.  Why?  Because we believe we cannot sink to that level.  We would pull ourselves out or find help somehow.

We may be able to make the leap to understanding who someone (even ourselves) can become homeless, but we believe that if you’re homeless for more than a few weeks, well, you must just be lazy.  Or ignorant.  Or an addict.  Why don’t they just get jobs after all?  Or just apply for the loads of benefits we finance through our taxes?  Or get social security?

We fail to consider the psychological effects of life on the streets.  It takes many of our clients several days to warm up to staff at the Respite and our mission is to help them.  Imagine how difficult they find it to reconnect with family and friends.

And all those “free benefits”?  True, they’re out there.  But how long can you afford to wait?  It can take weeks to qualify for food stamps, months to gain tenant-based rental assistance, and years to be awarded social security disability.

As for employment, would you hire someone who admitted to being homeless?  How about someone who claimed to have stable housing, but was mysteriously never home when you called?  Would you hire someone with dirty fingernails or ragged clothing?  Maybe you would.  Then again, maybe you’d prefer to hire the clean-cut teenager who made the honor roll last quarter.

Are we really as impervious as we believe?  Or is the hard truth that homelessness, once it happens, can be nearly impossible to escape?  How many of these truths do we ignore because they are simply too frightening to accept?

The ultimate truth is surely more complex, but everytime I read comment-loaded articles about an individual’s first terrifying night as a homeless person, I wonder.

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A Place of My Own: Mike’s Story

As promised, here is another story of one of our clients.  With the help of Center for Respite Care staff, Mike healed, was able to confront the issues keeping him homeless, and found housing through our program, Respite Permanent Housing.  This is his story, in his own words.  If you’d like more stories about people like Mike or if you want to help those who are homeless and sick, email respitesupport at zoomtown.com today.

 

I never thought that homelessness would happen to me, let me start off by saying that.  When drugs took over my life I had no idea where it was going to take me.  It was just a joyride, just today, but you put that string of days, weeks, years together it adds up. 

 

Somebody introduced me to marijuana at age 16 and said I’d get the same effect as alcohol without the hangover.  I smoked marijuana for 35 years, did some pain pills and cocaine along the way; whatever was around, I’d do it. 

 

Little by little, addiction took me away from my family because all I had on my mind was the getting and using of drugs.  I kept a job as a mechanic for BP for 19 years, but when I was introduced to crack, it was over with.  I was stealing everything in site – money from my bank account, money from retirement, my kids’ games, toys, the pictures off the wall.  From the time I got up in the morning until the time I went to bed, crack was on my mind. 

 

I was evicted, started living on the street, starting stealing for my crack and ended up in and out of jails and rehab for the next five years.  I got out of jail and kept doing the same thing.  And each time it would take a little piece of me – my paycheck, then my bank account, then my retirement, then friends and relatives started alienating me and then it ended up in a divorce.  And there are a hundred things in-between all that. 

 

I spent five years floating around like a butterfly; wherever I landed, that’s where I laid my head.  After I got a blister on my foot and started to feel really sick, I checked myself into University Hospital.  When it was time for me to get released, they asked where I wanted to go and told me about the Center for Respite Care.

 

It’s hard for people that don’t have an addictive personality to understand.  I didn’t want to quit then; I’ve quit now because I’ve had enough. 

 

I had heard about Respite from another person, but I didn’t have any idea it was the way it is as far as helping people.  I thought it was just another option toward getting healed before I went back on the street, but I’ll tell you what: it’s a blessing in disguise that I ended up in the hospital because this place is a gift.  The staff at Respite is going to help me get an apartment, they fed me, they took care of my medical needs and just little things: razors, soap, a place to take a bath, a place to sleep.  

 

What’s on my mind now is that I risked losing the relationship with my two daughters.  They mean a lot to me.  I talk to them at least once a week and I know now that it’s on me – I have to show them I mean business.

 

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Songs that Remind Us of Homelessness: “Harry Hippy”

This is week two of my latest installment, songs that remind us of homelessness.  ”Harry Hippy” is an old Bobby Womack song and is recommended by Kathy, our Housing Coordinator. 

This is a totally different style than “Mr. Wendal” and has a different message as well.  In our interpretation, Harry is a chronically homeless individual, one of the ones you can’t always reach.  We have some clients like Harry – sometimes we can help them, and sometimes they choose a different path.  Like Harry, they each sing their own song.

When someone choses an addiction or self-destructive habit over an outstretched hand, it raises so many questions; how did this person slip through the cracks?  What could we have done differently?  I think this song expresses some of that sense of loss and frustration. 

 

Coming next week . . .

Read the story of Mike T., a former mechanic and drug addict who found his way out of homelessness via Respite Permanent Housing – he’s moving into his new place tomorrow!  And although Mike isn’t a “Harry Hippy,” he used one of the same phrases that was used in the song when I interviewed him, “just floating around,” to describe homelessness.  His is truly a homeless success story.

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Addiction, Mental Illness Perpetuate Homelessness

Two of the biggest challenges faced by the homeless community are addiction and mental illness.  These obstacles are especially unfortunate because they may prevent homeless individuals from seeking appropriate treatment.  That is to say, a mental illness can make it harder for individuals to discern what is truly in their best interest.  Addiction, in turn, eats up savings and can prompt destructive behaviors such as stealing and lying.  

The image of homelessness is an uncomfortable one.  Few of us feel comfortable with the mere sight of a homeless person and, for some, this discomfort gives way to several charming (if typically untrue) fantasies about homelessness.

We tell ourselves that being homeless isn’t so bad.  People learn how to survive, right?  And what could be better than accepting donations all day?  But maybe we forget that survival can be scarring and that for every donation made, a thousand sneers pass by.

We tell ourselves that people choose to be homeless.  If they didn’t want to be on the streets, they’d go out and get a job, right?  The local fast food joints are always hiring.  But for every job opportunity that comes along, there are many barriers to employment.  In other words, you can’t rent an apartment because you don’t have a job, but you can’t get a job without providing a permanent address.

To illustrate, imagine the situation of a homeless person suffering from severe mental illness such as paranoid schizophrenia.  Waves of anxiety throughout the day make even simple tasks unbearable and delusions create conspiracies out of a simple sideways glance. Unable to realize s/he needs medical attention, the individual turns to illegal substances to mask the symptoms of mental illness.  Buying drugs is dangerous and expensive, of course, but nothing else effectively masks the terrors daily life. 

In this way, the cycle of homelessness starts.  Friends and family may offer temporary housing, only to turn the person away when they begin trading household appliances for drugs.  Soup kitchens and shelters provide meals and a place to stay, but may close on weekends or during the day.  Plus, many are simply unable to provide the holistic care these individuals require.

The Center for Respite Care is trying to close this gap by providing medical care, counseling, advocacy, and appropriate referrals for the homeless community.  There is, unfortunately, a much greater demand for our services than we can match with the resources we have. 

Certainly, there is a significant portion of the homeless community which struggles with mental illness and/or addiction.  It would be a mistake, however, to characterize the homeless community as mentally ill addicts, when this is only the reality of some.  Each homeless person has a story to share and the more we listen, the more we will realize that homelessness could happen to any of us via a string of tragedies.

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