Before and After

I have a lot to fill you in on so I apologize if this post becomes long and garrulous but a lot has been going on.

After Gold died I found KL in the county jail. I sent her a letter to let her know that Gold died and that I missed her and wanted on her visitors list. She called a few days later to let me know I had been approved for visits. I did my best after being approved to visit every weekend. I think the first visit was the hardest. I hadn't visited anyone in jail in a looong time and I didn't know really what to expect now. I was intimidated by the cold and harsh atmosphere in the jail and the cops. I still really, really hate cops. Seeing KL was surreal. Unable to touch her through the glass it was hard to believe it was really her.

After that first visit I became accustomed to it. All of our visits were like very little time had passed. We spent more time laughing about the dumb shit we did than anything else. Visiting KL brought my street life back to me and made it real, instead of just some silly story I wrote. It was bittersweet. It felt so good but painful at the same time. I don't think anyone laughed so much in that jail before though.

Something I never realized before visiting KL is on the building there is an Martin Luther King Jr. quote carved in the cement. It's one of my favorites and says, “An injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” It made me sick to my stomach to realize those words were etched into a building so filled with injustice.

Did you know it costs money to put funds on an inmate's books? I tried to put $10 on KL's books and it was going to charge $4. Then you can pay for longer visits that you can have on your computer at home and you can spend $15 for a ten minute phone call. Our “justice” system is so broken you have to buy time with your loved ones. If that's not the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of I don't know what is.

I didn't want to support this system so I refused to do any of those things but I was always torn. Do I cut out time with KL to prove a point? I was about to cave when I got the best wake up call of my life last night. KL had been early released into treatment.

She now gets to call me every day and we get to visit without glass between us (starting next weekend). In two weeks she'll get passes to go out with me. I get to bring her clothes and books and a copy of the blog. Most importantly she gets to get the help she needs so that in three months she can start a new life. I can't wait to show her how good life can be after.

When my best friend Nat came to visit for my birthday two weeks ago I spent the first day showing her downtown Portland. I pointed out other landmarks as well but I took her to all the places that meant so much to me as a street kid. I showed her the day programs and pointed out the building that the shelter is in. I took her to the library and told her about all the time spent there. I showed her the church where KL and I slept; Hell where I napped, everything. I even showed her the blue wheelchair we stole.

She said it'd all make a good movie, especially the connection between KL and I. Being able to share all the intimate details with her about all experiences was incredibly healing for me. They were no longer secrets. They weren't a burden I had to carry alone any longer.

Since Nat visited I have been thinking about the differences and similarities of those relationships. I call them both my sisters. Nat is my sister from before. KL is my street sister. I was saying while she was visiting, that without Nat the rest of my life doesn't feel real. Nat has been there to be a witness to most of it, and she keeps me grounded that way. We remember different things. She can remember who I had a crush on when I was eleven and me dragging her to the Pentecostal church whereas I remember the look on her face when she opened her Christmas present in 2009 and dragging her to Unitarian church.

KL makes my street life feel real. It's hard to keep everything that happened straight even with the blog. So much happened in such a short amount of time. In the aftermath of getting off the street I buried everything that happened. I had a lot of harsh reality checks. Having KL back has caused me to have to face these things. This is proving to be good though, I think I'm beginning to come to terms with things.

Outside of those who lived through it (ie: KL, Nat, anyone else around at that time period) I have two friends who know vaguely of my street life. They don't know a lot of the details, just that it happened, that KL was missing and now she's in treatment. They have been hugely supportive. I've been able to get a fresh start. I have been able to erase my past and start over. KL will get this too.

Sometimes I miss sleeping outside. I miss waking up with the sun on my face and the way Portland smells in the morning. I miss the lack of responsibilities and all the time I had to write. I miss the feeling of community there was between the street kids. I miss waking up to every day being an adventure.

Even so, the street life is not one I would willingly go back to. I don't miss the way my body ached, not knowing what to expect, living in fear that those I loved would vanish or get arrested or get killed. Life before the streets wasn't easy. Life on the streets was brutal. Life after the streets can be good. It's not easy but it can be.

I had to fight for the life I have now. The culture shock when I moved off the streets was jarring. I didn't know how to have regular relationships or how to act in normal social settings. I was still hyper vigilante and ready to attack and fight on a moment's notice. I was suicidal. I had survivor's guilt.

It took years to learn I don't have to fight everything. Shit, I'm still learning that to some extent. I am learning how to have healthy adult relationships. I'm learning how to let other people take care of me, instead of being the one constantly taking care of everyone else. It is the first time I've had the opportunity to allow that role reversal. I still have a hard time with certain relationships but I'm learning.

My life is good and happy. It's hard to believe it was only a few years ago that I was so close to giving it all up. It just goes to show it does get better.

Before the streets I was naïve (as hard as it is to believe), I was hard, I was unloving and untrusting. I was broken and angry. After the streets I'm probably still a bit naïve, a bit hard but I'm learning to love and trust. I get to be "Auntie" to baby (now toddler) Cire. I have a chosen family. I'm really, truly, happy for the first time in my life.

While Nat was in town I played this song for her and told her it summed up my experiences for the last two years or so since I got off the streets. It really captures everything I could say about my life the last few years much better and much more concise than I could.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=si-Ato8gZ6o

Finally, I want to say that I feel I offered a rose tinted view of the homeless life. I had a lot of support that others didn't have. I had two years of college when most of those kids didn't even have their GED. I had the resources to escape on those occasions when I couldn't take any more. Those are things the average street kid does NOT have. So as difficult as my experience was it was a lot easier of a reality than what the average street kid is living in. I guess what I'm saying is I am not a spokesperson for street kids. These are my experiences and mine alone.

I'm not sure what else there will be for me to say on this blog. My life is very removed from my street life. I've come to acknowledge that  the life I lived then is a past life. It was something I lived while I was a different person.  I'm finding healing and closure now. I'm moving on, though these experiences and those kids will come with me.

I leave you with two quotes:

“Love isn't a state of perfect caring. It's an active noun like struggle. To love someone is to strive to accept that person exactly the way or she is right here and now.” --Mr. Rogers

“My responsibility in the past when I was sleeping outside every night was just to survive. My responsibility now is to stay real, stay grounded, and just tell the truth.” --Jimmy Wayne

**I actually got into two spats with the police officers. The first was when they tried to say I wasn't on KL's list because it wasn't under the name on my ID. This was resolved when I called the cops' boss and explained that the name on the list is short for my birth name. He told the idiot cops to let me in.

The second spat happened when I was told my shirt didn't fit their “dress code”. It's absolutely ridiculous that there is a dress code to visit inmates. It's as frivolous as saying your collar bones cannot show and you must be wearing underwear but that underwear cannot be visible. When they pitched a fit about seeing my collar bones I went and bought a new shirt but then I refused to wear underwear to every visit there after. I have to have my little rebellions somehow.

A Treasure lost

Saturday March 14 was Gold's birthday. It was also her funeral. She died Monday, March 2. I don't know how. To say I'm devastated is an understatement. Of all the street kids she was doing well. She was off the streets, working, doing everything right. I was saying the other day, you expect street kids to die; by overdose, foul play, suicide, illnesses, accidents, any number of things. You expect this and prepare yourself while they are on the streets; you aren't prepared when they've gotten off. Shock doesn't even begin to describe it.

I found out Thursday that she died. I ran into another street kid on my last break from work. He gave me a hug, pulled me aside, and said, “Did you hear about Gold?”

I said, “She's doing really well.”

He said, “No, she's dead.”

I refused to accept it until I went to the day program where he said he was told. I went to the back offices and buzzed the door. A woman in a business suit opened the door and with the annoyance palpable on her voice said, “Can I help you?”

I stumbled over my words until some variation of Gold and died came out. She gave a curt nod, and told me she would meet me at the day program side of the building. When I buzzed myself in there I saw her sending some other man to tell me yes she was dead, no they had no other information. The man who told me had never even met her.

I've been an absolute wreck. My doctor prescribed me Xanax. My friends have been almost babysitting me. I couldn't make the funeral which has left me overwhelmed with guilt.

Gold was a Treasure. I was so lucky to have her in my life. She was one of the first people to reach out to me when I was first homeless and terrified. When I was with her we laughed a lot. She brought life and excitement to the shelter which is no easy task. I think I was drawn to each other because we had so many similarities. She was a strong, independent woman who could stop and be nurturing too.

My favorite memory of Gold is when we were talking about Baby Mama going into labor in shelter. I said I was terrified of the thought. Gold said, “Naw, I'll be the midwife. I've got some herbs. We're good!” And even the shelter staff laughed.

The best people in the world are the ones who can look upon and live in adversary but still smile and laugh. Who can be facing their own demons and help people face theirs. Gold was one of those people. I don't know how we managed to lose her so soon but trust me she will be missed.

Healing

I've been thinking a lot about the whole concept of healing lately. I'm going through some things in my own life. One of my partners just left the Mormon church and is trying to deal with years of sexual repression as well as the pain of losing what's been his entire life for twenty-three years. My best friend back home is dealing with a pretty bad break up.

We all have things we need to heal from. There are demons in everyone's closet that we'd like to lock away and hide the key. We all have arrows sticking from our hearts where we've been hurt. And we all must choose, do we walk with them still sticking out or do we learn to heal them? If we choose healing how do we heal our wounds?

Of course we must face our demons. We must acknowledge our arrows. We must push them out. That's all part of the process. However, I'm coming to the belief that the real healing doesn't come from wrestling with our pasts. I believe the healing comes when we learn to let ourselves be loved.

I recently had a partner call me “a wreck” in the most terrible of contexts. He followed it up with, “you have all these health problems, and you drink, and....” It went on way too long before he stopped and said, “Wow, I just labeled you with a bunch of really negative stuff. I wish I could take it back.”

This guy claims he wants to be “a healer”. So far, there has been nothing healing in our relationship. And this is why.

Healing doesn't come from pointing out someone's weaknesses. It doesn't come from judgment toward their lifestyle. It definitely doesn't come from name calling. And it doesn't come from focusing on the negative.

Healing comes from love. It comes from acceptance.

I sent my friend a text message and told him what this partner (ex?) said to me. He called me and asked if I was okay. Of course I said I was but my friend said, “No really.”

“I was just starting to do better. I was feeling like myself again. Then this guy turns around and tells me he can't cum because I'm a wreck. Are you fucking kidding me?”

And my friend almost started laughing, “You are not a wreck. For everything you've been through you're doing pretty well for yourself. I love you, just how you are.”

That's healing.

My best friend and I went out to lunch later that day and I told her what was said, “It's true, you are, but who the fuck cares? It doesn't matter! We love you anyways!”

That's healing.

Healing comes when your friend is spending her day off in the emergency room with you and you're both laughing so hard when she breaks the heart monitor while the nurse is in the other room (the beeping was annoying) the doctors don't believe you're sick.

Healing comes when your friend gets mad you take the bus to the ER at 4am.

Healing comes when your friend takes you home because you've gotten too drunk and lost your keys and you wake up on his floor hung over and confused but with all your clothes on and despite how needy you are when you're drunk he still wants to hang out with you after.

Healing comes when someone else loves you when you can't love yourself.

Healing comes when your friend is late to work so he can have a beer with you and he gives you a kiss on the forehead and says, “Love you doll” before he runs out the door.

Healing comes when your friend spends Christmas day in the emergency vet's office with you and pays for your cat's euthanasia because you can't pay for that and your rent.

Healing comes from laughter.

Healing comes from realizing you can finally say, “I'm weak.” And your friends will carry you.

Healing comes when you surround yourself with people who love you how you are, faults and all. When you're with people who love you when you can't love yourself. Who see in you what you don't see in yourself. It's hard to find those people and you won't know you have them until you're at your lowest low but find those people.

When you do, the healing can begin.

unexpected but kind of expected loss

Today I lost a friend to a drug overdose. It was no one mentioned on this blog but instead a friend where I saw and watched the warning signs and said nothing. We used to get beer after work and while I bitched about our crazy boss he tried to be the devil's advocate.

He made me laugh and kept me from going crazy in a job I hated.

I remember one day when he was fairly new I told him,"Sam I like you, you make me laugh so you can stay."
He responded sarcastically, "oh good now that I have your approval I can sleep at night".

I've already been struggling this week due to other things but I just don't handle death well especially under the circumstances. I hate myself for sitting by and watching those signs day after day but doing nothing.

I got word while working my other job. I abandoned my desk and went outside and confirmed it wasn't a joke then started crying. I tried to regain my composer but I walked into my boss's office and began immediately crying. She told me to go home and take tomorrow off.

I've been drinking since I got home and trying to get myself under control. Ive had almost half a bottle of vodka and an anxiety pill but I feel nothing.

I don't know how it is I seem to find these broken people but I know that every time I go through this it hurts more like I should be able to stop it some how. I don't understand. I hate myself for it.

At this point I'm just ranting. I'm just so heart broken and feel so alone.  I'm trying to keep it together because other people need me right now but I have needs too and I just can't right now.

Fuck. I need more vodka I'm about to start crying again

Kl returns (again)

Kl is back in Portland, safe and clean. You can imagine my surprise when I saw her at work the other day. I was training a new staff member but I forgot her as I dropped everything and hugged kl repeatedly. I kept hugging her and rambling not knowing what to say. I was afraid if i let her go i would never see her again. I admit I am still afraid of this but she was on her way to the court house to deal with her legal stuff so I had to let her go. I sent my employees on break so I could smoke a cigarette and regain my composure. Seeing her soothed a lot of my worry though I do worry she will disappear again. I hold on instead to my belief that in the end everything works out as it should.

Found This Gem to Share with you Guys

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AqjxDaWlp9s

Snow Days

It's snowing. Not like flurrying, that us Portlanders pass off as snow and make a big deal about. Real, live snow storm. Four inches was the last report I heard. Which to people used to snow sounds like nothing but for us, who freak out when there's just a light dusting this is a big fucking deal.

Personally, I've never seen anything like it. I didn't even see snow fall for the first time until I was eighteen. You know, California doesn't do the whole snow thing. If we wanted snow we had to drive three hours to see it and then it was already fallen and hard. I didn't care for it much.

Snow falling is still new to me. So, four inches in unbelievable. I've never seen anything like it in my life and I keep making excuses to go outside and see it. I've built snowmen in my front and back patios. I've bought winter boots and scarves and hats from Walmart. I've made snow angels. And work has called me telling me not to come in because of the storm. I've baked more cookies in the last two days than I have in months. I've made soup and cooked fish steaks and twice baked potatoes. For this first time I'm running my heat. Because you know, I have the option to just turn up my thermostat. Sure, I pay for it later but I have the option.

And while this is all fun and games for me I know it's not for everybody. While I was on the back patio this afternoon watching the snow fall my new roommate came out. I rather dislike her and avoid her at all costs but with being snowed in I'm starved for human contact so I conversed with her. As always a mistake.

Her comment, “I wonder what the homeless people are doing right now.”

Of course, she doesn't know. But even so I wanted to punch her or knock her over. They're freezing. That's what they're doing. I don't have to wonder I know. If this storm had been last year I could have easily died of hypothermia. I know they've probably opened up extra shelters but I also know there is no way the city has provided a bed for everyone who needs one tonight.

Have people already died from the storm? Will everyone make it through the night? We'll never know because those that don't make it in the snow won't be reported. No one will care. And here I am safe and snug in my warm house while there are people sleeping in the snow.

I am ashamed. I know and understand the concept of survivor's guilt and imagine that is what I'm experiencing but I honestly have been tossing and turning unable to sleep because I know there are kids on the street, looking for shelter in doorways and under bridges. It's not fair that they should struggle in the cold and I'm here. If this storm would have been a year sooner it'd be me out there.

Crazy thoughts have crossed my mind like letting strangers stay in my house to keep warm or going to sleep outside myself. But I don't have the means to make my home a shelter and sleeping outside myself would do nothing to help. I think instead I will collect up my extra blankets (I have an overflowing closet full of blankets I kept for such an occasion) and take them downtown tomorrow and see where there is a need for them.

I ache for the children who are cold tonight and for my inability to do anything for any of them.And I hate that their struggle is coming at my delight to play in the snow.

One Year Off The Streets

Today it's officially one year since I moved into my house. One full year off of the streets. It feels both shorter and much longer at the same time. That was a much different life that I lived. I changed a lot while on the streets and I've changed a lot since reentering life with a home. Even my body has changed. I've lost almost 15 pounds since I've gotten off the streets. It's amazing what having control over your food and never having pasta will do!!

I know it sounds crazy but I think moving off of the streets was a much bigger culture shock then ending up on them. I had lived in such types of environments before. It was almost kind of nice. I was surrounded by people who were blunt and rough around the edges. People like me. I'd had to elbow my way through survival and fight all my life. So that was nothing new.

I've never in my life stayed in one house for a full year. That's so weird to me. That I haven't picked up and moved yet is crazy. I've finally made myself a home. Which is all I've ever really wanted.

I've been thinking a lot about life on the streets and musing over certain things. I wouldn't change it. I'd change maybe some of the mistakes I'd made. I'd be a better friend. But I wouldn't change that I ended up there. The most amazing thing for me while I was on the streets is that my entire life had always been a secret. I had never been able to share the things that happened to me or who I really was. I always had to keep this front up to protect myself from people finding out about my childhood or how my family was.

In the new Disney movie Frozen I found the Ice Queen most relatable character in the movie. Locked away and forced to keep her identity a secret even from her beloved sister she sings, “Conceal, don't feel. Don't let them know.” And of course she goes crazy keeping locked away until she's eighteen. And then she explodes. (Sorry, You know I'm always looking for a way to incorporate Disney into any entry.)

That was me before the streets. I spent twenty years hiding who I was from every one. It haunted me and my PTSD plauged me. I tried to be perfect to cover up the ugliness I hid. And then on the streets, I found out I wasn't the only kid like me. I wasn't the only one who had secrets. And with the street kids I didn't have to share my secrets but I wasn't burdened by them anymore because I wasn't alone. Some had secrets much worse.

Plus, there's no use pretending to be perfect and happy when you're homeless.

If I step back and think about it I was quite the unusual homeless kid. I never touched drugs. I planned a baby shower. I fought with the people who called and treated us shamefully. I stayed Mom to my cat. I crocheted baby blankets. I taught the other street kids to crochet. I turned my friendships into blog posts and I found the internet to be accepting of our trials and triumphs.

As for the people who got me there, my sperm donor and former roommate, I'm not incredibly bitter about their parts for putting me in such a position. If my roommate apologized, I'd forgive her.

I was thinking about this moment when I was at the gym earlier today. I remember one Sunday KL really wanted milk but there wasn't a way to get us any without stealing. So I took her into the Unitarian Church I used to attend because I knew they put milk out with the refreshments they have after the service. I saw my old roommate there and pointed her out to KL. I had to hold her back from going and screaming at that lady. I saw all my old friends there too. Part of me wanted to allow KL to say what she wanted to say. It wasn't a very “Unitarian” thing to do to just cast me out like that. They should have to look it in the face. Pot Head described the church as, “a bunch of rich white people who think being liberal makes you a good person” but they wouldn't give a street kid the time of day. I thought he was right. And I hated that I was one of them in my past life.

KL had said: “I'm not going to do anything. But she should know what she did to you. You don't deserve this.” She was probably one of the best friends I'll ever have. No, she still won't talk to me. I think of her every day. A year doesn't change that.

Houdini is selling drugs and pretty strung out. I still talk to him, though not as often. And he's still my brother. Pot Head's sister died so he went back home, which happens to be about 20 minutes outside of my hometown. I was surprised to find I missed him and not just for his weed. When I make a trip home I'll visit him too. I saw that Jesus was back on the streets a few months ago but haven't been updated since. Baby Mama broke up with her boyfriend and had to move to California because he was chasing after her and the baby. I saw her off at the airport and hugged Cire goodbye. I love that baby so much. It broke my heart to see them go. I think of them and miss them every day. They left about two weeks ago. I haven't talked to Gru since he moved out nine months ago. I don't miss him. One of my friends ran into him a few months ago and he immediately started talking about me and how I ruined his life. Nice to see how he's moved on.

For seven months I kept the place to myself and the cats. I have a new roommate now. It's been really rocky having someone else move in and she's definitely not my first pick. But, it's someone to help cover bills and we're on pretty different schedules so I don't see her often. I've yet to find a stable job which is discouraging but somehow I've still managed to keep a roof over my head. Which makes me happy and says something about my work ethic.

As far as school goes, I've dropped out. It's not that my grades were bad (they weren't) or the course work was too hard. I justified it with my health and needing open hours to work (both issues on my lists of reasons) but the real reason I left was I couldn't stand to be around people my age. The biggest culture shock of all was being around kids who thought getting a B was the biggest problem their life would face. While they were crying over a B I was worried about where my friends are sleeping at night, and whether KL has over dosed in a bathroom somewhere on the other side of the country. I hated being there. Shit, I got to the point where I did the bare minimum just to pass. I stopped going to class period. I hated every second I spent stuck with those niave, spoiled brats. In all honesty I've come to believe that college really is just for the rich, healthy, white kids. Personally, I'm terrified by the fact that I'm going to spend the rest of my life in debt just for a silly piece of paper that may or may not help get me a job.

I've slowly begun to piece my life back together again. I've restored old friendships that I lost while on the streets. I was with one friend on an adventure to the Goodwill Bins when he brought up my cameo appearance in Busted. So, busted I told him what happened.

“So that's what happened in the year no one heard from you.”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn't you tell us?”

I shrugged.

“If you don't tell us we can't help you.”

I am continually surprised by the compassion and empathy my friends are capable of. They are some of the most amazing people in the world. I'm surprised by the friends that helped me and the friends that turned on me. I really found out who my real friends were. I've also made new friends. None of whom know what happened to me. Or well, none but one now. Three of us went out drinking shortly after the new year. We have a bar we always go to and we know all the bartenders and regulars, it's kind of like Cheers. Well, this particular night I told the bartender to (I quote) “fuck me up in one drink”.

Well, he must have been successful because I started talking about my childhood and revealed a glimpse of what had gotten me into foster care (which they don't know I was in). I didn't know this until a few nights later when I went out with one of the two people I had been drinking with and she asked me something about my stepfather. I had only been drinking a Corona that night so I immediately downed it and asked for something stronger.

“When the hell did I ever mention him?”

“The other night when you were drunk.”

“What exactly did I say?”

Apparently I had told them that he hit my mother and left it at that. But my friends didn't judge me for it or think of me differently knowing that. Said it just explained some things about me. So that night when we went out and smoked a cigarette I told this friend about being on the streets. It actually feels kind of good when I can mention something that happened on the streets. I don't really have anyone left anymore who was there.

I remember when I was eighteen and had just moved to Portland. I was on the phone with my maternal uncle, and he gave me really the only piece of advice he's ever given me. He told me about how the gay community is so used to being outcast from their families due to their sexuality that they find their own families, they call their “chosen families”.

“Stay away from your parents and find a chosen family” was the advice he gave. When I was in Atlanta I was able to meet his chosen family and I liked them very much.

Today I have my own chosen family. I have people who like me and accept me as I am. I don't have to be perfect. I can make mistakes. My friends make me happy. Even when I don't want to go out I'm always glad I did and leave feeling happier and content. If I don't come on our Sunday drinking nights or no one hears from me in awhile they call or text to see how I'm doing. I'm really lucky.

And yes, I still keep secrets. But, they no longer burden me. It's funny how unimportant that stuff becomes. There are just so many other things to talk about.

It hasn't been easy to keep this roof over my head. I've clung on for dear life, some months I haven't been able to pay any bill besides the rent. I still don't run the heat in my house. Too expensive. I just yawned and saw my own breath and I'm inside right now. But this is also the first year I've made it through the holidays and January without a major PTSD issue. I've struggled. I've worked hard. But I'm happy. For the first time in my entire life I am really and truly happy.

At the same time I'm still very aware that just as I did before I can end up on the streets again. Anyone can. Another thing KL said when she heard my story was, “God, now I know it can happen to anyone.”

And it can. Still, I am happy. I am at home. I am at peace.

Also, as a celebration of my one year off the streets in the next few weeks I'm going to go through all of my old unfinished blog posts that never saw the light of day and post them for your reading pleasures. So stay tuned!

Contentness

Just so you know, I should be doing homework right now. But I'm writing to you, my much neglected blogger friends. I may be paying for this later but I really want to share my thoughts before they change!

This is the time of year that my PTSD fucks shit up. Very hard. Usually. This year not so much.

Normally, by this time I'm in full relapse mode. This year, not even a little bit. Of course, there's still plenty of time for my world to collapse but for now I'm incredibly content. Even without it being the holidays I should be freaking out right now. I had some serious work troubles. I went from a job that scammed me to a job where the owner of the company was trying to fuck me. I've struggled to pay my rent. And I'm failing my classes. (Though, in all truth, the grades are my fault. I've been horrible this term and done some things I'm really not proud of academically.) I have bills I can't pay. I have a shut off notice for my power. I don't have clothes that fit the new job's dress code. (Job that does not involve getting hit on or scammed). KL is still non communicative. Houdini is strung out. My cats (I have three now btw) are expensive little buggers. My pain levels with my fibromyalgia are beyond comprehension right now.

Yet, I'm really fucking happy. I've been wondering where this joy has been coming from so I did some soul searching about it the past few days. And I came to a conclusion after some thought.

You see, I had some brief contact with my mother a few weeks ago. When I first quit my job I called my uncle (her brother) to ask for help. He told me that he was also about to lose his job but my mother was doing well and to call her. So against my better judgment I did. Any guesses how that went?

“Yeah, I can't send you $10 to do laundry I'm buying a car.”

She didn't even realize how ridiculous she sounded. And it stung. For a few days I was in a slump. I thought, “If my own mother won't help me, who will? How could anyone want me when my parents don't want me? What does this say about me as a person? Am I really that bad?” Even though I cognitively understand my parents are narcissists, it's really easy to fall into this trap of thinking after growing up in an environment of constant verbal abuse.

But that Sunday night was drinking night. Every other Sunday I go out with my friends and drink at our bar. I went feeling rather worthless and crappy and left feeling warm and loved. And it wasn't alcohol talking! I didn't have any money so I didn't drink except stealing drinks from them. It was the companionship and how they surrounded me with support in my hardship.

Usually, when I get home after a Sunday night I text one of my friends to let him know I made it home safely. Well, this Sunday night I decided since I wasn't drinking I didn't need to send that text. Surely, I made it home safely sober, if I do it twice a month tipsy. Also, I don't pay any attention to my phone so I didn't notice when he blew it up asking if I made it home okay. He finally found me on Facebook, rather upset and concerned.

I felt bad for causing him to nearly have a panic attack but I felt so loved then. I realized I matter to people. If I don't make it home safely someone will worry and look for me. Then, I have at least three people who randomly show up on my door whenever they damn well please. Or in one friend's case, whenever he gets kicked out of the strip club by my house. It only recently dawned on me that it's probably not normal that at least twice a week someone just shows up at my door unannounced for no other reason than to see how I'm doing. (They probably do this because I don't check my phone and I'm not friends with them on Facebook but still!)

I'm rebuilding the friendships I lost while I was homeless too. Part of this is from me going to school so I see some of them there. I've started reaching out to a lot of them but a lot of them are also reaching out to me and letting me know I am missed.

Oh, and remember my friend who was having a baby in shelter? Well, her baby is walking now and when I come over he walks to me with a giant smile on his face. There is NOTHING in the world that could warm my heart more than that.

In the end, I'm realizing I matter to people. Not just one or two people but LOTS of people. Lots of people from lots of different groups. And I think it's helping me understand what I've always cognitively known. There are BILLIONS of people on this planet. My parents represent 2 of those people. 2 very broken people. Yes, parents are supposed to cherish their children. And it would be nice if all did but my parents cannot see beyond their own needs, wants, and desires. There is nothing I could do to please them. Therefore, I shouldn't care about their opinions.

As long as there are people in the world who care about me I'm not worthless. And I think I matter to a lot of people. My disappearance would be noticed. I may not know what my friends see in me. I may not always understand their warmth and kindness but they really have been there for me while I've been struggling these last few months and that has filled me with so much warmth. For some reason I am important to them. For this reason I am not worthless; I am valuable.

You'd think I would have realized all of this when I was the only street kid who received care packages and had people to hang out with besides other street kids! But, I think I needed some time to get all of the verbal abuse I suffered the last two years out of my system. Being with people who build me up is what purged all of that out of my system.

And even though my grades are suffering for my social life, I am so happy I've found so many wonderful people in my life. A few of them are so wonderful they are even getting on me for my grades! I now get messages telling me to get off the internet and study! (oops!) But it's nice that they care about me beyond my company too.

To my parents all I have to say is I don't need you. I have found other people to be my family. I will take my chosen family over you two any day. I am not the things you did to me or the things you said to me. I am stronger than any one from our family could have ever imagined. And I don't need any of you in my life. I have everyone I need.

Goodnight Blogger Family. <3

What To Give, How To Volunteer, How To Help

So I've had people ask me lately what to give/where to donate/etc when looking to help the homeless youth population. Thanks to reddit my post about this has skyrocketed with page views in the last hour. However, it was pretty early in the game to make that post so I thought it would be helpful to make new post on this subject.

Things to Give:
[Most people want to give food but most homeless youth (in Portland at least) don't need food. So I'm posting to offer some alternatives.]
*Money if you're comfortable with it
*Cigarettes
*Jackets
*Warm Clothing
*Blankets
*Tarps (to cover themselves at night when it's raining)
*Sleeping mats
*Crochet your own sleeping mat
*A night in a hotel room or hostel
*Toiletries
*Contact Solution (this was a huge need for me when I was homeless)
*Pet food
*First Aid supplies (another really big need for me)
*Over the counter medications (advil, allergy medicine, etc.)
*Hand Warmers (little packets you shake and they heat up to keep you warm for six hours or so)
*Bikes
*Mini Hair Straighteners and Curling Irons
*Make Up
*Shaving razors
*Puzzles
*Mini Board Games
*Gift Cards
*Shoes
*Books


Places to Donate/Volunteer:
*Big Brothers/Big Sisters
*New Avenues for Youth
*Project Metamorphosis
*Pear
*Food Banks
*Shelters



If I think of any more I will edit and add them later. Have laundry calling my name. :/

Puzzle Pieces

Lately, I've been feeling like my life is a huge clusterfuck of puzzle pieces that just don't fit together. You know how when you're doing a puzzle and you have those two pieces that look like they should fit but they just don't even though there's no other logical place for them?

That's my life these days.

I want Gru out of my life. It's his birthday today, well yesterday now. I refused to even acknowledge it. I've spent $600 on "his" cat in vet bills. And these vet bills aren't going to end either. Linus has been ripping his hair out to the point where his skin is scabbing. Gru didn't even think this was a problem. So I hauled Linus to the vet again today. The vet said we've gotten some undetected fleas and Linus is allergic to flea bites. So I had to flea treat the cats, give Linus antibiotics and antihistamines, and flea bomb the house. Gru has no intention of helping with this naturally.

Now, everyone knows my cat Spencer is my baby. I noticed some changes in his behavior. Namely, he is very skittish and won't come downstairs unless I'm home. The vet and I agreed it was due to me adding a snake (Fluffy) into the family. Yet, as I paid more attention I noticed if Gru wasn't home Spencer would be downstairs. If Gru was home he'd be upstairs waiting for me.

So I watched Gru interact with Spencer. I was not pleased. Not even a little bit. So now, I'm freaking out about my cat possibly being abused by this piece of shit roommate I can't get rid of at the moment. There's other issues involved in the demise of my relationship with Gru but you mess with my kitten you're in for a world of hurt.

This is made even more difficult because I'm having issues in the work department. I'm not going to get into it because really, I've been silent in this department to everyone in my life for a number of reasons. I've already found a new job (was offered a new job the next day) but I'm not sure how people would feel about it (no, I'm not stripping, prostituting, or selling drugs). And I want to wait until I have some pay checks under my belt there before I let anyone know what's going on.

This new job wants me to travel. Like, I might be going to my hometown next month. Which is part of the reason I took the job. I want to travel. The issue is, what am I going to do with the cats? I will not leave them with Gru. Not a chance. So now I have to find someone to take both of the cats for a few weeks every couple of months to make sure they aren't being hurt. Finding someone to take Spencer is not a problem. I have lists of people ready to take Spencer. Linus on the other hand, has to get medicine twice a day. He's less social. He's not everyone's buddy.

And to find someone to take both like the vet recommends? I have my work cut out for me. Then there's Fluffy. Even though she only needs to be fed/watered once a week people are a lot more squeamish about snakes than they are about cats.

So now I have a new job, which I am nervous about, pets I need help taking care of, and a roommate I really want to fall into a lake of fire.

My neighbors are loud assholes who play some shooting game at full volume at 1am. It infuriates me. The walls here are thin so I try to be considerate. I play my movies at night at a lower volume than I would like. And I end up listening to BOOM BOOM BOOM all night. I really dislike obnoxious people.

The situation with KL is still terrible. She will appear and disappear for weeks at a time. She refuses to speak to me. I try to say it doesn't bother me but  it bothers me a lot. Never knowing if today she will turn up dead; it's a feeling I will never learn how to describe. It's terrifying. I miss her so much. I feel so helpless.

I think about how I lost Megan without doing everything I could to see her. It torments me. If KL dies alone in St Louis will I be able to handle that guilt? Just the thought is paralyzing.

I am having trouble with my fibro but I need to find a new doctor. Apparently my doctor was still sharing my information with the housing program upstairs. Finding a new doctor is very stressful when it comes to fibro because many doctors think you are just drug seeking. I'm very concerned about this.

I'm homesick. This is the longest I've ever been without a trip to the Jelly Belly Factory. I know it's a small thing but I miss home so much. I miss my friends. I miss the jelly bellies. I miss the places. I miss that feeling I get when I'm home, like I can breathe easier. My hometown is a hell hole but it's my hell hole and it grounds me to go back. I miss it. I miss my mom, even though I know I don't want to fall into the poison trap again so I don't call. I don't even call the rest of my family because I don't want to fall into the slippery slope. I miss all of them. I miss my brothers that won't/don't talk to me. I shouldn't miss these things but I do.

I wish I could be one of those people who could afford to have a mental break down. I wish I could sit down and mourn the loss of Megan Penny but I still have not been able to cry a single tear for her or the two year old she left behind. I wish I could be angry at KL for running around St Louis and refusing to talk to me. I wish I could have a flipping panic attack about work. I wish Gru would try and hit me one of these days so I could beat the ever living shit out of him for the awful things he has done to my animals.

I really just want to run away and be someone else for awhile. Sometimes I miss the simplicity of the streets. I know I shouldn't complain. When it was hot I thought about how I shouldn't complain because I remember how impossible it was to be in the shelter when it was so sweltering up there. How it was preferable to sleep outside. It made me feel guilty for complaining about the heat.

I have a kitchen and lots of wonderful food that's not pasta though lately I've been eating out. And even eating out, I couldn't do that before.

So a mental break down is neither feasible or justified. Instead, I come online and complain to complete strangers. There are so many more productive things I could be doing but here I am whining at 12:30am.

Pull myself off the streets only to complain about life being housed? What kind of selfish fuck am I?

--MM

What The World Actually Needs

DISCLAIMER: After a year on this damn blog you'd think I'd be able to learn how to format the damn thing? Yeah, I apologize this entry is fucked in format too. Sorry. Any computer geeks want to go through and fix my formatting through the blog I'll bake you cookies. =/

I'm sitting on my comfy, plushy bed in nothing but my bathrobe, which isn't even tied. (Hi NSA!) There is a mountain of clothes on the end of my bed, serving as a foot rest. The mountain topples onto my floor. Laundry I was going to hang up...a week ago that's now a jumbled mess of both dirty and clean clothes. I have my entire wardrobe back and it overflows out of my over sized closet. I just got out of a warm bubble bath. After I write this I will be going to bed as I work at 6am tomorrow. College student abuse.

It's a different picture than what I was living six months ago yes? Hard to believe that this life and that life are both parts of my life.

I ran into Beard Man at Walmart the other day. I don't know if I ever explained this on the blog before, but when a staff runs into us in "real life" they can't acknowledge us until we acknowledge them. Confidentiality. His eyes lit up and he opened his mouth to say hi then promptly shut it, hung his head, and continued walking. I started laughing and said hi.

I will say, every time I run into staff in real life they really have never been able to be coy. I think it's funny.

Anywho, Beard Man has left the organization. "Too much bullshit?" I asked. He sort of shrugged and said, "After four years it was time to go". I was sad to hear he was leaving. I can't even possibly imagine that place without Beard Man. Who would I write grievance forms about? I will miss him though. It's a sad day for homeless youth.

Director Lady left shelter. She now works at the housing program geared to younger youth (not the one I was in). Houdini said shelter has gotten worse since she left. It's hard to imagine shelter without her.

Seems everybody is moving on and the faces for homeless youth are changing. It's summer now, not that Mother Nature agrees. And with summer comes a new rush of homeless youth and tourists. The clash between the two groups is already playing out in downtown. I was there the other day to sell my books at Powell's and I saw tourists harassing street kids I didn't know. I always just keep walking even though I remember how awful it was when I was that street kid.

I remember when I was in McDonald's and a fat lady started talking about snatching the kitten right out of KL's hand. "She doesn't deserve an animal." There was one time KL asked a man outside of a bar for a cigarette. "I support my habit. You support yours." He told her. She was stung. And both those times I was too. We weren't humans. We were street kids.

But, when I see street kids I don't know in downtown I just keep walking. I don't bat an eye when they are hassled. The other day I met up with a friend who insisted on feeding me Jack in the Box. He insisted on buying a medium fry when I only wanted a small. I ended up giving most of it away to a street kid sitting in front of my bus stop. I know that's not what she really wanted. She could have all the food she wanted by just walking ten blocks. I knew that. She knew that. But she took them and thanked me and ate them before I got on the bus.

Sometimes, when I see these kids I don't know, I want to tell them I've been there. I can never bring myself to do it. It's not like I'm that much better than them anyways. I'm probably losing one of my jobs. I'm not any closer to a career. My best friend and street sister is missing in St. Louis. My street brother is selling drugs. My relationships are in shambles. What the hell do I know? I'm no better. Tomorrow, my world could fall apart and I could be homeless again.

Today, right as I was clocking into work my friend Sleepy sent me this message:

so I've been thinking about what to type. I apologize if it's kind of weird that I insert myself into your life in a random way intermittently. The "dc4" is celeste [his cat] typing on my keyboard (no joke) as I was thinking of what to type, you know, the cat that reminds me of you and kath.
Anyways, I certainly thought about you and your predicament from time to time. I mean, I've read how you've pretty much bootstrapped your way from a homeless shelter > halfway homeish > jobs and now finishing up your degree. That is really admirable. I wonder if I could do something like that and I also envy that. Everything seems so superficial from my world, though that may just be my depression talking; it has put a damper in my attempts to communicate with you and pretty much everyone else. It says "Why bother?"

But I still want to catch up, I read your blog recently. I hope things continue to go well. You certainly work really hard and are very kind. We need more people like you in this world. I need to do the same.

I've had a lot of friends say similar things. I never really know what to say to it. I don't think what I did was all that remarkable. What would have been remarkable would have been never ending up there in the first place! I don't think of being homeless as a success or something to be proud about. You should all be proud you've worked hard enough to never end up in a shelter!
I think all of you would be capable of surviving if put in that situation. Thousands of people do it. I'm not the only one who has worked her way off of the streets. I think each and every one of you would be amazed at what you are capable of when put in that situation. We all rise to the challenge when put in those situations, because you don't have any choice but to rise to that occasion.
Most importantly, people need to realize I did not do this on my own. I never would have survived without this blog. There is no way I would have made it even a week without knowing that people were coming online, reading my adventures, and cheering me on. I never expected this blog to become anything other than my therapy to get me through it. I was AMAZED it became a "thing" and the views from all over the world increased every day.
I quickly learned who my real friends were. I was shocked by who rushed to help me. It wasn't my "besties". In fact, a huge group of friends abandoned me at the beginning in the most self righteous way. Honest to God, it was a team effort. I haven't missed them one bit though. Being liberal doesn't automatically make you a good person. Especially when you act hatefully.
Most of my support came from online friends like Sleepy. What was all the more incredible about it was the fact that I don't think I ever out right asked for help once. I received more care packages, letters, and money than any street kid I know and I never once asked.
I actually felt uncomfortable about it at first. Eventually, I learned that the help wasn't just for me. I think it made people feel better knowing that they helped. No one was able to just pluck me off of the streets and make my life stable and happy. But they could send contact solution and slip me money here and there or send me letters and candies.
And these things mattered so much. It wasn't about the items or the cash or the candy. It was looking at those packages and saying, "To this person, I am a human being. To this person I matter."
From people that were little more than strangers. That's real kindness.
This is not to say that my friends in real life didn't help. They did. Savior Man moved mountains for me by keeping Spencer, letting me cook, shower, and rest at his place. My friends stood by me and helped where they could when they knew. Most of them just plain didn't know and definitely didn't know the dirty details. It was just easier to share my struggles through the anonymity of the internet than looking my friends in the eye and saying, "This is my life now. It's nothing like how you know me."
The world doesn't need more people like me. The world needs more people like Sleepy and Bunny. It needs more people like you, who stopped what you were doing today to read this blog. It needs people courageous enough to stop and acknowledge the street people they don't know. It has enough me's. It needs more yous.

--MM

Day Three Hundred and Sixty Five

I was talking with a friend a few weeks when he said, "In the past year you've been through Hell and back". The statement caused me to pause. Up until then it hadn't dawned on me that it has been a year since this all started. But today is the exact one year mark since this all started.

I personally don't consider this year to have been Hell. I've seen real Hell and this year wasn't it. There are things in my life I'd change in a heart beat but I wouldn't trade being a street kid for all the money in the world.

I have never felt more alive than I did as a street kid, more than that I have never felt so connected to the people around me or more like part of a family.

I never really believe in love before this past year. I always thought it was just a four letter word people use to manipulate others. I don't even like using the word love. It's completely awkward out of my mouth. The only thing in the world I say "I love you" to is my cat. So, it's not something I casually throw around.

However, I think this year has taught me that love is a thing, depending on how you define it. Dictionary.com defines love as a "profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person or a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection". I remember in high school a friend told me, "Love is a choice, not an emotion".

I think both definitions are right.

I have a deep attachment to the kids that I survived the streets with. There's a connection between street kids that even after a year I cannot find words to explain. Even if the Ginger Clan came to me and asked for help I probably wouldn't be able to just walk away.

Love is not all roses and daisies and fairy tales. It's painful.

Street kids form their own families. Kitten Lady and Houdini were mine. Jesus too in some ways. I'd do anything for them. All three are still on the streets. I can't describe what it feels like to not know where your kin is sleeping at night.

Once again Kitten Lady has disappeared. It has been a month since anyone has heard from her. The last person who has heard from her said that she told him she helped a lady hit and the lady over dosed. KL tried to perform CPR but the woman died anyways.

At this point I am seriously considering flying to St Louis as soon as finals are over so I can find her and bring her home. Everyone tells me she is a lost cause and to put it bluntly, I should just let her die. I can't do that. People say the same thing about me, that I'm not worth the trouble. I know what it feels like when everyone has given up on you. I don't want to do that to her. If I would have stuck to her the way I should have she would have never gone to St Louis or been in this position in the first place.

Furthermore, I have never forgotten the day when we thought we heard gun shots and she covered me to shield me from the motorcycle we had mistaken for bullets. I know if roles were reversed she would go through whatever it took to bring me home.

I had her sing me a song on my voice mail. She sang "Lucky" by Jason Mraz.

Lucky I'm in love with my best friend. Lucky to have been where I have been. Lucky to be coming home someday. 

I cling to my blind hope that her singing that verse to me was her way of promising she will come home as I have been begging her to do. At the same time the song reflects my own feelings. I'm lucky to have had the experiences that I have had and met the people I have met through my experiences on the streets. I learned so much in the last year. It changed me.

One of the last times I heard from KL she said, "We were the happiest damn homeless kids. You've never seen a homeless person so happy." It's true. We really were happy. We had fun. It wasn't easy but we made the best of it. Our friendship is what got me through it. We laughed so much. Even our most awful experiences were the cause of laughter.

Like the day we were almost arrested for sleeping on the church wall but the cops were never able to get over the fence. I thought we were going to die. In the end it just proved Portland cops are too fat to hop a fence little homeless kids can climb.

Or when we got caught stealing food at Fred Meyers and had to run from the police with KL in a wheel chair, holding a kitten, with a face mask on. She lost her shoe and fell off the curb, sending the kitten running. I still wish we could have seen what we looked like.

We had a lot of hardships like KL's kitten being attacked by a pitbull or KL breaking her foot in Hell and having to carry her up while she was in agonizing pain. Then we had to use someone else's identity to get her into the hospital.

The girl who let us use her identity, we presume is dead. The last we saw her she was saying someone was after her. No one has seen or heard from her since. KL, Houdini and I all thought she was just being melodramatic.

There are some things I miss. I miss the freedom, the absence of any responsibilities outside of survival. I miss the connection to people, feeling like I was part of something bigger. Sometimes I feel lonely not being surrounded by people the way I was. Which is odd. I was always more isolated before being a street kid. Being alone was comfortable. Now, it's not.

I think overall I'm doing pretty well for myself though. This term I will finish my associate's degree. I'm working two jobs, both over minimum wage and I'm making good money. Not only that, I'm working two jobs I like. I have a nice townhouse and my cats are happy. In one year I pulled myself out of the streets. These are all good things. For the most part I am happy with where things are.

For awhile I was trying to get my old life back. I was trying to go back to the old lifestyle of dating, going out dancing, and being a social butterfly with my old friends. I still do these things but I've realized it will never be the same as it was before. I feel differently about things.

There is survival guilt. It's not really fair I get to sleep inside when I know my friends are sleeping out in the cold and rain. When it's nice out I worry less but when it rains I worry constantly about the people I know are sleeping out in the elements. I let people stay over when I can but with work and school I'm not always available.

Where has everyone else landed in the last year?

Houdini: is selling drugs to support himself but staying clean. He is saving up for a car and an apartment.
Jesus: is back in downtown Portland. He went home to his family but after various events ended up sleeping in a tent. He was working but eventually came back in hopes of getting services. He was denied services at OI because he left his job and is now sleeping outside.
Drama Girl hasn't left the streets or gotten her baby back but she is no longer dating Dreadlocks.
Dreadlocks I have no update for.
Baby Mama is doing well. She has her own place and little man is now six months old. He has a mess of curly hair, and just like in his ultra sound he always has his hand in his face.
Ginger Clan had a baby eleven months after they first claimed they were pregnant.
The majority of the kids I was in housing with were kicked out.

That's what I know.

It feels like it has been both longer and shorter than a year. I saw a lot of things that most people can't comprehend and I've faced a lot  of challenges but regardless, this last year is one I wouldn't change for anything.

--mm

Cliche Mother's Day Post

Things like Mother's Day makes me go back to my old school angry white rap music days. I was waiting at the bus stop today when an older gentleman wished me a happy mother's day. I replied, "I'm not a mother thank God." I found it hard to hide my snarl when he said, "Well, you still have a mother."

 My older brother was an Eminem fanatic when I was growing up and I remember listening to the following song and dreaming of the day I could settle the score with my own mother the way Eminem did, just probably through a different medium. ;)

I didn't come on here today to fight with my childhood though. I want to honor a mom that probably won't get the recognition she deserves; not because she is undervalued but because she is prized by people who have a hard time being vulnerable enough to express genuine gratitude.

Maybe my biological mother was a failure but there have been other "mom"s who have come through for me. One of which has been a mom to me for the past year.

There's a staff at #1, whom I don't even know what her job is exactly. I don't know if anyone does actually. My guess is that she's part of the drug program but it doesn't really matter. We all just call her "Mom". Regardless of what the job description on her paycheck is; that is the job she does for us. She's probably the only day program staff I genuinely miss on a regular basis.

I remember last summer she talked about her daughter getting married. I interrupted her almost immediately and said, "You have kids? Outside of us?"

I felt like she was cheating on us but I guess all that mothering had to come from somewhere.

She's about my size, so pretty stinking tiny, but she breaks up fights on a regular basis. She does this by asking the youth if they want to go smoke a cigarette with her. It's explicitly forbidden for staff to offer cigarettes to youth but she says if it's to break up a fight who cares? No street kid turns down a free smoke and she says it gives them time to vent to her and cool down. It works almost every time.

When I was torn up about how KL was missing she was the only staff to express concern and not tell me to "just move on". She is the one street kids go to when we really need to say what's going on  in our lives. Hugs are scarce within street culture. And youth just plain don't hug staff. Usually, physical contact between staff and youth doesn't go beyond fist bumps or high fives.  I personally loathe hugs. We all hug Mom. Even more remarkable is that the youth initiate the hugs, not her.

On Thursday I went to the clinic because I honest to God thought I was going to die. Mom was there so I yelled to get her attention. I called her by her first name to which she responded, "Who just called me that?" She asked why I looked so sick and felt my forehead saying, "You're burning up. You need to go to bed. No work for a few days." Then she yelled at me for sitting next to her while she was smoking.

Street kids are not used to maternal care but I think more than anyone we need it. I can't imagine making it through the streets without having a mom. The encouragement, the guidance, and most importantly: the comfort is so essential to surviving in such a difficult lifestyle.

Being a mother has nothing to do with giving birth and everything to do with investing your time, energy, and love into a child. I'm thankful for my downtown Portland mom and all the other "mom"s I've had step up when my own mother failed. I consider myself fortunate to have so many wonderful women in my life to model myself after.

--MM

Sorry I'm a Douche

Sorry I haven't updated. I started two jobs and with school I'm stretched pretty thin.

Just wanted to let you know I'm okay for the most part. We're moving into our place fine. and everything is good.

I found Kitten Lady. She's in St. Louis but she's okay.

I'll post for real again some day.

Moving On Up

Sorry for the continued delay in updates. It's been crazy over here! Moving is a lot of work. We are still without furniture. Every time we are supposed to go get our furniture OI puts it off. It's quite infuriating. I got most of my belongings back from my old roommate's house so we have a tv and I have my old futon but we are still sleeping/living in the downstairs and poor Gru is stuck on an air mattress.

We don't have a microwave or a toaster or pots or pans or any household essentials. This is becoming difficult the longer we go without these things. You don't notice how much you need them until you don't have any!

We finally moved the monster cat home. I am so happy to finally have him back. Before this we had never gone more than a weekend apart and we just spent almost nine months away from each other. It was devastating. He definitely knows who his mama is though and has gone back to sleeping on top of me and waking me up by drooling in my eye. Nothing makes me happier than coming home to see a giant orange fluff ball running toward me to give me a kiss. Having him back has truly improved my quality of life.

There are three weeks left in this term for school. This final push has been really difficult. I missed so much school with this move that I'm still playing catch up. I think I might be able to pass everything though I'm sad I've gone from a straight A student to happy with passing grades.

If we don't find jobs by April we're going to be in trouble. Gru and I have been working our butts off in this area. This weekend we went to a hiring fair for Home Depot. I did get a call back for a second round of interviewing. My phone interview went well so now I have to wait for the third and final interview. Gru didn't get a call back but we are interviewing next week with Petco which he will be a much better fit for.

After our Home Depot interview we went to Goodwill's hiring connection service. This was extremely helpful and ended up with us applying for several more jobs. I finished most of my applications though Gru is needing a kick in the butt to get all his done. She also gave me information on how to get my charge expunged so I'm going to go to that clinic on Monday. Hopefully, I'll be able to get that done and be more competitive in the job market.

Our goal is for Gru to get one job and continue school full time while I get two jobs and go to school part time. I only need two more classes for my degree and I want a break from school. Gru still has a ways to go for his degree so I want him to focus on that.

It's been rough but I think we're going to be okay. If we keep up this momentum we will find jobs soon. Our biggest concern right now is the lack of furniture. If you or anyone you know are getting rid of furniture or kitchen appliances please let me know. We will gladly take them off your hands. Or if you're looking for hard working kids to hire. ;)

Hopefully, there won't be a large gap between now and my next post. Stay positive and I'll talk to you again soon!

No Longer Homeless

God, I have a lot to fill you in on. I'm in between classes and really should be working on homework as I'm almost a full term behind in most of my classes but I just can't even think straight so I'm going to dump everything in a blog post before I head to class.

Last night Gru and I signed a lease on a beautiful two bedroom townhouse. It has a nice patio and huge living space. I'm thrilled we got it. The hotel we've been staying in is a nightmare. It had fleas and a few nights ago it started leaking quite dramatically at 4am. (We had to run buckets back and forth so it wouldn't flood.) We don't have any furniture or beds yet but it's a vast improvement from what we were dealing with. And we don't have to worry about homeless kid drama or the staff.

I'm worried that we won't be able to find jobs soon enough to make ends meet. We can carry ourselves for awhile with FASFA but there's not as much wiggle room as I would like. Bernard is going to help me get my theft charge off of my record so that I will have better chances finding a job.

This morning he helped me move my belongings into the new place. He picked up my stuff from the housing program then picked me up with the rest of my shit and drove me to the apartment. He was happy with the place I picked out and just plain thrilled I'm out of housing. He is furious with what has been done to me since I went to the other case manager. He's not allowed to say so but a few days ago he accidentally slipped and said he was upset and this whole thing was complete and total bullshit.

After we dropped my stuff off he drove me to school. He told me he used to be a cop which was surprising at first but made sense after I thought about it. He just asked, "How do you think I knew so much about your legal stuff?" I shrugged. I guess I figured that was part of the job description for working with homeless kids.  He was a cop for ten years before getting into social work. He told me to keep that information quiet, that he doesn't tell many people that. My guess is because homeless kids rather hate police.

No matter how hard I try I find it impossible to imagine the lives of the people who work at the homeless organizations outside of their job. This is unusual for me because I'm that person who imagines lives for people I've never met but anytime I try to imagine anyone from our organizations I just come up blank. The extent of my ability is only when we see doppelgangers. Which means now I can imagine Director Lady as a bartender but nothing else.

It's hard to imagine Bernard as a cop. Mostly because he's not an asshole. I googled him out of curiosity trying to figure out why he stopped being a cop. Found other random stuff instead. It's weird to think of people having lives outside of homeless kids.

He asked about the mother figure today. I've been talking to her because of Megan dying. She actually really liked Megan. I asked if I could still use the address of the program to have my mother send packages because I don't want her to have my address. He said he would take care of any packages that came for me.

He asked about Megan and I told him it was just like her to not tell everyone so they wouldn't worry. I told him how weird it was to talk to the old crew again. My first boyfriend is now divorced. To me that's the weirdest thing. (Although to find out his ex-wife cheated on him is actually almost funny if you knew her.)I feel so old.

I should be estatic and relieved that I found a place. In reality though everything is overshadowed by the loss of my friend. I feel like I have a knot in my stomach all day everyday. I have to remember to eat. I don't think I've even grasped the fact that she has cancer yet--let alone the fact that she's dead. I just can't believe it. I've seen a lot of death in my life but this one is just so awful. I'm really struggling with this.

--mm

Technology Eclipse

DISCLAIMER: I don't expect anyone to read the entirety of this post. I'm really just purging right now. For the shortened version here are the bullet points:
*I've been having a lot of problems with technology lately, hence the lack of posts.
*I'm living in a hotel room that has fleas, waiting to hear back on apartments.
*I'm having case manager issues.
*A dear, dear, dear friend of mine just died of lung cancer.
*I'm really having a hard time right now.

Sorry I have fallen off the face of the earth. My laptop blew up (literally. My roommate made it explode) and we've been having a difficult time with the internet. There's also just been a lot going on. It's really quite overwhelming. I don't even know what to say or what format to write this in. I'm just staring at the computer listening to Missy Higgins and waiting for the words to magically appear on their own.

I guess we can start with Christmas. For Christmas it was just Gru and me. Everyone else went to stay with their significant others and friends. We exchanged presents. I got him porn and he got me a zippo lighter that is secretly a pipe. We had seen it together at the porn shop by shelter and he had me picked out but under the assumption that it was for him.  Gru and I ended up encouraging everyone who was in housing for the day to join us in our dorm. We built a blanket fort and played cards until staff shut us down.

Gru confessed after a night of dancing that staff consistently ask him what his "intentions" are with me. He asked if staff ever ask me similar questions and I said no. He confessed that being asked this had made him question what his intentions were exactly and found that he does want more from the relationship. I had never even considered it. He is my friend's ex and we are roommates, those are two rules I have always been set upon.

The next day I met his dad. His dad is a truck driver and got a route to Portland with just enough time to visit. We insisted upon taking him on a quick tour of Portland. We forced him to walk, jaywalk, eat at food carts, befriend homeless people, and get a cock-n-balls from Voodoo doughnuts. I liked him. He reminded me of my best friend's dad. He insisted on taking pictures of me for his wife and when he talked to her on the phone he said, "She's liiiiitle". Pfft. Before he left he hugged me three times. It occurred to me then that Gru and I have never hugged once. I really hate hugs. A few nights ago he told Gru on the phone that he thinks I'm his future daughter-in-law. Oy.

Fast forward to last weekish and that's where the real drama begins. Zelda informed me that housing is indeed kicking me out and I had nine days to find a place. I can't say I was surprised. I was surprised that I've been left hanging without a case manager or any support for almost three months. And that they would do the kicking out in a way that provided me no options. My case manager has been MIA for the last month (not just for me, for everybody) and no one was going to step up until I went to Zelda and demanded to know what the hell is going.

She said she and Bernard were going to work on finding me a place but no one can find a place in nine days. When I told Gru what was going on he would not speak. Not a word. Lips tight, staring, no reaction. If I didn't know him as well as I do it would have been unnerving. But this is something Gru and I share. We aren't much of talkers when there's little to say.

We ended up gambling all night. I had science labs that desperately needed to be done but we went to safeway and bought scratch tickets until we just couldn't buy them anymore. We would buy the tickets at Safeway, scratch them there, then walk to Plaid Pantry to cash them out so we could walk to Safeway to buy more scratch tickets. And so the cycle continued for three hours.

While we were chain smoking and scratching tickets Gru made a proposal (well, he made several but one in particular is on my mind). Now, my plan for this inevitability was to get institutionalized, kill myself, or go to jail. I honestly don't know what else to do.

Gru proposed we get an apartment together.

My knee-jerk reaction was absolutely not. Then I thought about it more carefully. Getting an apartment together is a viable option. The money from school could potentially carry us until we could find jobs or get jobs from the temp agencies in the area. We also have our food stamps and food banks in the area. I'd be able to have Spencer again which would help me quite a bit. We'd be away from drama, homeless kids, and all of that nonsense.

So we've spent the last week and a half searching for a place. We've put in two applications and are waiting to hear back from them. One in particular we are aiming for that's 920sqft townhouse and $670. We don't know what's going to happen though.

Right now we are living in a cheap motel for $200 a week. Zelda turned on me a week or so ago. I caught her in a lie. I no longer talk with her at all. I'm angry with Bernard too, for other reasons, but I think I'll get over those real fast. The truth is I do still need him despite me saying I don't.

Today, I learned that my friend lost her battle with lung cancer. She was only 22 years old and leaves behind a 2 year old daughter. I'm completely heart broken. I was so wrapped up in my own stuff I hadn't talked to her for awhile. I didn't get to say goodbye. I really thought she'd win out over the cancer. I really thought we'd have more time, that I could get my shit together and then be there for her. I hate myself for thinking that way.

I've connected with our old friends from high school. One of them told me that she had talked to her boyfriend and he informed her that Penny had been lying about her health. When I had talked to her last she said they were trying new treatments and they were working. I thought they'd buy me enough time to go visit her. The truth is that they weren't working at all. She was lying to all of us because she didn't want people to be sad.

I'm heartbroken and furious with myself that I didn't take more time to put my issues aside to spend time with her. She was very important to me. I'm going to miss her so much.

I'm going through a lot on top of that. Things with housing really broke me. As ridiculous as that sounds. But walking into a place everyday and being told everyone there hates you, is really hard. I can't even stand to go by the building anymore. I don't trust Bernard, or anyone there, at all anymore which makes things even harder because I need to be able to trust Bernard.

I'm really, really depressed. I'm barely holding on anymore. I don't know what's going to happen to me if we don't get this apartment. I'm devastated by the loss of my friend. I'm really struggling. I really don't know what to do.

Please, just keep me in your thoughts.

--mm

A Very Difficult 24 Hours

I'm going on less than three hours of sleep. I need to go to bed but I can't. I'm so torn up about events that have happened in the last twenty-four hours. There is A LOT of housing drama. I'm also having personal drama and I'm pretty sure I'm having my midlife crisis twenty years early right now. There's been a lot of deaths around me. There's been a lot of just not good stuff. Then today was just all around awful.

I was coming back from an awful night in which my roommate and I got stranded in Clackamas, and our train stopped at the Union Station. "Oh God," I said, "This is never good."

The conductor got on and said that the train could not proceed into downtown due to an accident on the tracks. "Told you it's never good when the conductor starts talking on a stopped train," I said as the hundred or so people on the train clamored off.

Both of us had food poisoning and I needed to find a bathroom so we walked to my old work. In front of the entrance we found the "accident" the conductor had been talking about.

Accident was not the right word. Not at all.

A man had gone to the top of the building I worked in and jumped off the top floor, falling twelve floors to his death. We arrived at the scene as the police officers were covering the body with trash bags. A mother climbed out of the car in front of the scene cradling a small boy, maybe six years old, to block him from seeing. The man's shoe had fallen off and lay in the middle of the road.

Right where I used to work.

I can't stop thinking about that. I can't shake it. It was awful. With all the death I've been surrounded by, lately. I'm just, at a loss. And as such I'm on here instead of getting much needed sleep. I just don't know anymore.

Homeless Kids That Eat Like Kings

I've been in housing two months now. Hard to believe that it's been so long since shelter, yet it seems like a life time ago at the same time. Today, our housing director, Oliver, brought me some magazines from the Food Network. I had to share them with other residents but his thought was for me, which is really nice. I've kind of become a culinary legend around here.

Since I now have a fully functional kitchen and exquisite roommates to share it with I've been spoiling my roommates regularly with food. We are the only dorm that eats meals and grocery shops together. One of the housing staff came in earlier this week and laughed at our chore chart. One of my roommates had written his own chore assignment under the one staff gives us. He labeled me as the "cooker" and the other female in the house the "sandwich maker". He labeled himself as "man stuff". Apparently this particular staff found it absolutely hilarious because after he stopped laughing he said, "I'm really impressed with you guys; you took very basic housing and turned it into a home." We are the only dorm like ours where everyone is close and warm and fuzzy. We also are the only dorm with a Christmas tree. Although, ours is a Christmakah tree because we have a Jewish roommate so we are doing both Hanukkah and Christmas (or rather really failing at trying to).

The one thing that keeps us the most connected are the meals. We always announce when I'm done cooking and invite the other dorms and staff to our food. Only one staff takes the offer, though Zelda says she would if she wasn't vegan. (Well....kind of. Standing outside after the fire alarm went off for someone else's cooking she said, "I feel really dirty eating your guys' food; but then I also feel really dirty not eating your guys' food. I haven't quite figured that out in my head yet so I blame it on being vegan.) Technically, they aren't supposed to eat the food we make but it's not a set in stone rule. I do get offended when people refuse my food offers. Everyone who has tried my cooking though, sing my praises. Even when I ask my roommates for honest opinions they always tell me it's good. I believe them because there are rarely left overs! It's amazing to me how food brings people together.

Here are some of my meals:

I bake cookies almost everyday. I don't really like cookies but as we all know I really, really love cookie dough. Problem is that when it comes time to actually bake the cookies I get lazy and since they are really only for my roommates to eat. For this ginormous cookie I got sick  of making balls of dough and just put the three batters I was working with in one big cookie. My roommates still ate it without a single complaint. 

My roommates CONSTANTLY ask for Orgasm-in-your-Mouth Chicken. Cover the chicken with mayonnaise then bread with crunched up french fried onions. The Mayo keeps the chicken moist and delicious. Going to try this with Greek yogurt next to see if it has the same effect in a healthier form.

Thanksgiving breakfast. Pancakes with bananas, chocolate chips, and I forget what else with scrambled eggs with bell pepper/onion. There was also  bacon of course. 

Our full Thanksgiving feast. My first ever ham (10lbs!). Plus green bean casserole made with cream of chicken instead of mushroom to avoid a mushroom allergy, biscuits, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, stuffing.

Pumpkin pie made from scratch minus the crust. (first ever pie attempt and totally edible!)

Peanut Butter cake also made completely from scratch. (My first ever from scratch cake and it was actually good!) Even the glaze is homemade. We were celebrating a birthday in housing. We asked staff for special permission to light candles for the cake, which can result in immediate eviction. They said, "We won't be monitoring in here for awhile." So we lit the candles briefly so he could make a wish.  It was a nice night. 

--mm