I remember a while back some politician stating that he felt some people choose to be homeless. It caused a stir and an outrage because no one in their right mind would choose to be homeless, right?
R. is a young man with many personal demons. He sees things that aren't there and hears voices that put him down. Crowds and loud noises increase his symptoms. Inside noises we take for granted - the hum of overhead lights, the whir of a refrigerator, muffled voices of people speaking in the next room - all become insurmountable obstacles to being able to maintain. He finds his peace outdoors. R. has been in and out of mental health services for most of his young life. He has yet to find that space where he feels comfortable enough to make small talk let alone confide in another human being. Everyone is suspect. He has paranoid schizophrenia.
Many attempts have been made to give R. a better way of life. Since the age of 18, human service agencies have tried to engage him and get him involved in recovery treatment. Housing agencies have worked to secure him affordable housing only to have him abandon it later and return to his hidden places on the street. The police have picked him up and gotten him hospitalized where, for a short time, he will do well on medications. Then he is released to the care of some agency who starts all over again. And always he chooses the streets. It is a hard life that has aged him quickly. Now in his late 20's he looks more like 40. He is one of those people that strangers want to stop and help. The local office of the National Alliance for the Mentally Ill get cold calls from passers by who want to know why someone, somewhere doesn't do something. Then they call us. And the cycle starts again.
He does no harm. He doesn't cheat, steal, or lie. He's not a murderer or a pedophile. He doesn't drink or do drugs. He is a bright young man with an intrusive illness of the brain that makes him see and believe in things that do no exist. He cannot reconcile what is real and what is real to him so he copes as best he can in the only way that makes sense to him. And what makes sense to him - to live out there, in the quiet night, in the cold, in the dirt, in the heat, under the stars, in the storm - doesn't make sense to the rest of us. Surely, he would be better off put away somewhere? Maybe locked up somewhere? For his own good...
I hear that a lot. Do something, for his own good. Maybe the best thing we can do, for his own good, is to allow him to live the way he chooses and to leave him alone. We, who do not have schizophrenia or the demons he lives with, will never understand his decisions. But we must respect them.
We take him food and warm clothing sometimes. A sleeping bag this winter was a godsend, a tent, clean socks, used boots. We check in to see if he wants something more. He rarely does. And we let him be, leaving behind our names, numbers and address so if he ever changes his mind, he'll know where to find us.
You see, it is possible that some people choose to be homeless. Because when they are homeless, they feel most at home.
Showing posts with label homelessness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label homelessness. Show all posts
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
When bad things happen to good people....
We all have our share of bad things happen in our lives. I have seen my share of death. I've experienced the feeling of losing a loved one and a very close friend. One, my father, was at the end of a very long and fulfilling life. The other, my friend Dave, was taken far too soon by AIDS when he was just in his late 20's. Both times hurt like hell and it took me a while to get over the fact that those two great people were no longer physically in my life. But each time, I was surrounded by people who shared that loss and loved me enough to support me through it and so I did.
A couple of weeks ago, a man who was getting case management services though our program passed away suddenly of a massive heart attack. It was a shock to us all because he was someone who would come in every single day, often being the first one here and we all knew him very well. He was "a client". Another man, one who often came with him and lived in the same building, was his close friend. The man who passed away had many friends and family that cared about him. The man who was his friend only had him. These dark days since the man's death have been very hard on his friend. He still comes in but is lost and has no one close to him to support him through this. We reach out to him the best we can but we are "service providers" and its just not the same. He is struggling to make sense of a senseless thing and a loss that has cut him deeply.
These things haunt me. I see people on the street, obviously homeless, each with their own story, alone and it haunts me. How does someone get to a place in their lives where they have no one when there are so many lonely people out there wanting someone? These are good people, people worth knowing. Bad things happen to all of us but when there is no one to see us through those bad times it seems like the bad is amplified a thousand-fold.
This past week our agency participated in the "Count in Time" which is a state wide head count of homeless people in our communities. Groups of volunteers go out in the dead of night, looking in parks, at the lakefront, near the railroad tracks, in empty warehouses, to meet and count the homeless. They take them backpacks with warm clothing, blankets and food. This year the group found 37 people living under bushes, in tent cities and under viaducts between the hours of 3am and 6am and in the dead of winter. I can't fathom that life. I wonder how they survive. And I wonder still why they are there, lonely and alone, in a land of opportunity and wealth. Should make you wonder too.
A couple of weeks ago, a man who was getting case management services though our program passed away suddenly of a massive heart attack. It was a shock to us all because he was someone who would come in every single day, often being the first one here and we all knew him very well. He was "a client". Another man, one who often came with him and lived in the same building, was his close friend. The man who passed away had many friends and family that cared about him. The man who was his friend only had him. These dark days since the man's death have been very hard on his friend. He still comes in but is lost and has no one close to him to support him through this. We reach out to him the best we can but we are "service providers" and its just not the same. He is struggling to make sense of a senseless thing and a loss that has cut him deeply.
These things haunt me. I see people on the street, obviously homeless, each with their own story, alone and it haunts me. How does someone get to a place in their lives where they have no one when there are so many lonely people out there wanting someone? These are good people, people worth knowing. Bad things happen to all of us but when there is no one to see us through those bad times it seems like the bad is amplified a thousand-fold.
This past week our agency participated in the "Count in Time" which is a state wide head count of homeless people in our communities. Groups of volunteers go out in the dead of night, looking in parks, at the lakefront, near the railroad tracks, in empty warehouses, to meet and count the homeless. They take them backpacks with warm clothing, blankets and food. This year the group found 37 people living under bushes, in tent cities and under viaducts between the hours of 3am and 6am and in the dead of winter. I can't fathom that life. I wonder how they survive. And I wonder still why they are there, lonely and alone, in a land of opportunity and wealth. Should make you wonder too.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Diggin my way out of this damn hole...
Okay, so first let me apologize to you, my two or possibly three faithful readers, for the last blog entry where I bathed you in my endless shower of self pity. I am deeply sorry for dragging you into the hole with me. I have now slapped myself silly and snapped out of it. So, let's get on with it, shall we?
After I came up for air, I realized I can make a drama out of just about anything. I guess that's a gift...really? No. You see, there is drama in my life as is there in all of our lives. It's a matter of persepective. And when I start sitting on the pity pot it's best that someone just remind me that, by comparison, my life is pretty damn good.
Case in point, this week our agency is participating in the Point In Time Count. This is an all night count of homeless people. Volunteers bundle up, armed with food and toiletries, hit the streets of Kenosha and search in alleys, fields, and byways to find, count, aid and assist as many homeless Kenoshans as they can. Ever wonder how the government gets those stats on the number of homeless people in the US? This is how. Well, yesterday the weather here hit an all time low of -19 degrees Farenheit. It was not lost on me that there are people out there, possibly dying, because they are not as lucky as the rest of us. Suddenly, my so-called life drama seemed trivial and stupid.
Sure, I may wish to have more, do more, want more. I may worry about my family, my job, my money, my life. But damn, I am not huddled under a viaduct with nothing but a used sleeping bag and a hand me down Parka, hoping that tonight won't be the night I freeze or starve to death. Realizing this got me out of that hole pretty damn quick. Allowing myself to indulge in even one moment more of self pity would have been shameful.
So, yeah, today when you hear yourself complain about the weather, or you're feeling hungry, or you're bored, or you're just wanting a hug...think twice. You're doing okay too. And, by the way, if you're bored? Check out volunteering at your local shelters or food pantrys. Honest, do it once...just once...and you will go back again and again. Once you meet some of these incredibly brave souls, and hear their stories, you will want to be there. And bring a friend!
After I came up for air, I realized I can make a drama out of just about anything. I guess that's a gift...really? No. You see, there is drama in my life as is there in all of our lives. It's a matter of persepective. And when I start sitting on the pity pot it's best that someone just remind me that, by comparison, my life is pretty damn good.
Case in point, this week our agency is participating in the Point In Time Count. This is an all night count of homeless people. Volunteers bundle up, armed with food and toiletries, hit the streets of Kenosha and search in alleys, fields, and byways to find, count, aid and assist as many homeless Kenoshans as they can. Ever wonder how the government gets those stats on the number of homeless people in the US? This is how. Well, yesterday the weather here hit an all time low of -19 degrees Farenheit. It was not lost on me that there are people out there, possibly dying, because they are not as lucky as the rest of us. Suddenly, my so-called life drama seemed trivial and stupid.
Sure, I may wish to have more, do more, want more. I may worry about my family, my job, my money, my life. But damn, I am not huddled under a viaduct with nothing but a used sleeping bag and a hand me down Parka, hoping that tonight won't be the night I freeze or starve to death. Realizing this got me out of that hole pretty damn quick. Allowing myself to indulge in even one moment more of self pity would have been shameful.
So, yeah, today when you hear yourself complain about the weather, or you're feeling hungry, or you're bored, or you're just wanting a hug...think twice. You're doing okay too. And, by the way, if you're bored? Check out volunteering at your local shelters or food pantrys. Honest, do it once...just once...and you will go back again and again. Once you meet some of these incredibly brave souls, and hear their stories, you will want to be there. And bring a friend!
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Inside A Darkened Mind
SCHIZOPHRENIA
noun
"any of several psychotic disorders characterized by distortions of reality and disturbances of thought and language and withdrawal from social contact"
I work for a not-for-profit human service agency and in the course of my work day I meet and talk to people with many personal roadblocks - things that I can't imagine having to live with on a daily basis. One of the people I have met is a woman in her mid-40's or early 50's named Kathy. She has schizophrenia and, though she consistently takes the prescribed medication, her illness is such that it barely responds. I've known her for 12 years and she never gets any better. Every morning when I arrive to work she is there waiting for the nurse to arrive to get her morning meds. She waits for over two hours every morning. She sits at the side of our building rocking back and forth and talking to the voices only she can hear. Her personal hygiene is horrible. She's dirty and has a pronounced body odor though she is fully capable of showering and taking care of herself. Her illness makes her afraid of water. I speak to her every day and each time I am struck with how "normal" she can sound. I also see other people walk past her either ignoring her or looking at her with disgust.
Kathy started out the same way we all did. A normal birth to normal parents. Somewhere in her early life, her brain become cross wired. She started hearing voices telling her to do things that she normally wouldn't which led to her incarceration and several years in prison. The thing that strikes me when I talk to her is that she is always positive. She is happy when she sees me. She takes joy in what she might be doing on any given day - shopping, watching a movie, seeing a friend. She delights in those same things we all find happiness in. It's evident when I speak to her that she is struggling to hear me over what is going on in her head. She has taught herself to shut them out if someone in the real world is speaking to her. Despite her appearance and blatant symptoms, she is nice and likable person.
It bothers me that people don't know this about her, that there are co-workers at the agency that complain that she is there every morning. Her presence disturbs them. I think I know why. I think it's because that we all feel, somewhere inside, that Kathy could be any one of us. Then we would be that person, rocking back and forth, talking to inner demons, who gets ignored and spat upon. To me, Kathy is the face of who we all could be given other circumstances. She scares us. That in itself makes us uncomfortable because we know that we should respond to her in a more decent humane way. She makes us see ourselves and we don't like what we see.
noun
"any of several psychotic disorders characterized by distortions of reality and disturbances of thought and language and withdrawal from social contact"
I work for a not-for-profit human service agency and in the course of my work day I meet and talk to people with many personal roadblocks - things that I can't imagine having to live with on a daily basis. One of the people I have met is a woman in her mid-40's or early 50's named Kathy. She has schizophrenia and, though she consistently takes the prescribed medication, her illness is such that it barely responds. I've known her for 12 years and she never gets any better. Every morning when I arrive to work she is there waiting for the nurse to arrive to get her morning meds. She waits for over two hours every morning. She sits at the side of our building rocking back and forth and talking to the voices only she can hear. Her personal hygiene is horrible. She's dirty and has a pronounced body odor though she is fully capable of showering and taking care of herself. Her illness makes her afraid of water. I speak to her every day and each time I am struck with how "normal" she can sound. I also see other people walk past her either ignoring her or looking at her with disgust.
Kathy started out the same way we all did. A normal birth to normal parents. Somewhere in her early life, her brain become cross wired. She started hearing voices telling her to do things that she normally wouldn't which led to her incarceration and several years in prison. The thing that strikes me when I talk to her is that she is always positive. She is happy when she sees me. She takes joy in what she might be doing on any given day - shopping, watching a movie, seeing a friend. She delights in those same things we all find happiness in. It's evident when I speak to her that she is struggling to hear me over what is going on in her head. She has taught herself to shut them out if someone in the real world is speaking to her. Despite her appearance and blatant symptoms, she is nice and likable person.
It bothers me that people don't know this about her, that there are co-workers at the agency that complain that she is there every morning. Her presence disturbs them. I think I know why. I think it's because that we all feel, somewhere inside, that Kathy could be any one of us. Then we would be that person, rocking back and forth, talking to inner demons, who gets ignored and spat upon. To me, Kathy is the face of who we all could be given other circumstances. She scares us. That in itself makes us uncomfortable because we know that we should respond to her in a more decent humane way. She makes us see ourselves and we don't like what we see.
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