Hack Attack!!

This is a random post just to let you people know that I got another lap top charger and I hacked into shelter wifi! Woop woop! I've been trying to do that for 60-something days.

Goodnight all before I get busted.

Month Two Stats

The Status: Pretty fucking homeless.

Favorite Meal: Anything that doesn't resemble lasagna.

Who I want to kick in the face: Staff at the day services for how they treat Kitten Lady.

The Worst Injury: Having my lip ripped open by Spencer's claw or having an allergic reaction to the gloves for dishes.

The Most idiotic thing I've done: Stealing a giant hard to push wheel chair.

The Most interesting meal: Nothing in particular stands out but “potato casserole” which had powder potatoes with questionable substances in them

The Worst Meal: Lasagna.

World's Biggest Douchebag: The guy who traded Kitten Lady's cat for a bag of Meth.

Favorite Act of Kindness: Random lady giving us a giant bag of cotton candy.

Favorite Staff: Director Lady; she and I have really built up a rapport

Favorite One Liner: “If we were lesbians you'd probably be my soul mate.”

The Favorite Song: 

And:

The Favorite Dance Mom: Melissa; she's finally starting to stand up to Abby

Vomit Tally: 0 for me. 100 or so for Kitten Lady

Nights Slept Outside: Four

Who gave me the biggest headache: OHSU nurses

Spencer: Turning into a monster.

Favorite Moment: Realizing my blog is being read and followed by people outside of my friends.

Sweetest Moment: Tweak the kitten walking up my boobs to lick my lip in thanks for saving her from the tweakers who kidnapped her.

The Body: The scale says I weigh 140 which is the most I've ever weighed but I don't seem to be 140 pounds of chubby. I have a little two pack on my tummy and my legs are rock solid. The massage therapist said my muscles are pretty defined. Everything else is falling apart though. I'm sick as hell with all these different infections and the ear thing is just horrible.

Lasagnas Served: at least 7 but probably more like 20

The Things I Miss Most:  Spencer, Food stamps, private bathroom, sleeping in, having a closet, laundry machines, having a kitchen.

Outsiders: I think every time someone does something horribly unkind someone will turn around and do something incredible kind or vice versa. Somehow everything seems to always balance each other out. I'm not sure why or how yet.

Insiders: People never cease to amaze me. Street kids are really tough kids and for the most part we really do help each other out. Staff can be really douchey but I think all in all we make it work.

Faith in Humanity: Wavering

Feel free to comment with the stats you'd like to see. Keep me busy so I don't lose my mind!

"Everyone knows the power of a song and it takes you back to that place. Just that power of words can heal." --Jimmy Wayne

Day Sixty-Two

    ****NAMES CHANGED TO PROTECT PORTLAND'S STREET KIDS*****

In the morning Houdini, Kitten Lady and I go straight to Day Program #2 to try and figure out what is going to happen with shelter for Houdini. Houdini is still more like himself and less like an asshole which is making KL and I very happy. While we're at the day program I start sticking the pokey thing in my ear again to try and hear. Houdini isn't really up to date with the various health problems KL and I have going on now so when he sees me doing this he yells, "What are you doing? Don't stick that in your ear! You're not the cat!" He is so concerned and intense that KL and I can't help but laugh. His reference to us picking ear mites out the cat's ear is hysterical because he sounds convinced I really thought I was the cat.

Later I tell him that people have started saying that I am doing Heroin now.
"No you're not," he says just as intensely and we're giggling again.
"Thanks for telling her babe," KL says, "She was really worried she might be."

Our fits of laughter does not take away from the fact that while he is silly Houdini does really care. He was really concerned I thought I was Tweak.

KL and I decide that since I have my food stamps back we should go to a grocery store and get some yogurt for my tummy. We do our usual stunt of paying for a few things and hiding the rest. We are pretty sure we are being followed around the store. We steal from here often enough I know they must have caught on by now. Girls can't live off cookie dough alone. (Okay, maybe we could).

As we are walking out the door with our stolen goods I see one of the guys who has been following us take out his phone. "Not the yogurt," I hear him say, "No just call the police."

I may have never been in trouble before but I don't need KL to tell me that we just go busted. I push her up hill in the opposite direction that they thought we were going as fast as I can. We pass one of the dealers KL has been looking for but just keep running past. I keep yelling for her to tell me which direction to go. I keep telling her to toss the unpaid for food but she refuses. Fat ass. Finally she throws my yogurt by a fast food restaurant by shelter and we keep chugging along.

KL keeps dropping things and I keep having to backtrack to get them. She loses her shoe but I don't want to get it but she keeps yelling at me to so I let her keep rolling downhill while I run back for the shoe. There's a big drop off as she's rolling down and she thinks I'm still behind her. People watch as she crashes on the sidewalk and the kitten goes flying. I scramble to pick up her and the kitten while people just stare and laugh. Not that I can totally blame them. She was wearing a face mask after all.

We finally make it to the day program where we run in to hide and catch our breath. Once our breath is caught we start laughing. One girl who can barely hear running pushing another in a wheelchair that's wearing a face mask and holding a kitten; we must have been a funny sight. We agree not to tell Houdini. He doesn't like it when we steal. He gets irate about it sometimes. He has a point though, we are going to get in trouble if we keep it up.

When we're calm and eating ice cream I'm actually most upset about my yogurt. That grocery store is the only one that sells that particular kind. I'm happy KL didn't throw the ice cream though it gives us at least something to eat until I can go back and pick up the yogurt.

As I'm pushing KL up hill later we have a spat that to be honest I still don't understand what it's about. I finally decide to just let go of her and let her push herself. I turn around and go to the library where I hide out until it's about time to go to shelter. By the time I get there KL is already up but Houdini is still waiting down. Nerdboy Wonder calls me a bitch as he walks around wearing a bike helmet. Houdini chases him down. There are no words to describe the hilarity of the scene as Houdini was running after Nerdboy who looked terrified. Houdini doesn't hit him or anything though just chews him out.

I'm laughing when Houdini comes back up. He says he won't let any guy call me a bitch. He says they shouldn't even use the word bitch. It is true. Houdini may be an asshole sometimes and he may talk shit but he has never called KL or me a bitch. I've never even really heard him use the word at all.

Houdini tells me they are letting him back up into shelter. The upstairs where I am. I am genuinely happy about this. I hug him. I actually did really miss him when he was in jail. When we get upstairs and he sees that dinner is lasagna he groans, "Lasagna again?"
 "I bet you miss jail food now." I say.

In shelter we have the house meeting which I run. We are expecting a lot of drama in the house meeting but there isn't any. I expect an angry mob to chase me down for saying, "We are all the same amount of homeless. You don't have the right to tell anyone how to live because you're in the same situation as everyone else. If you had all the answers you wouldn't be here" but Ginger Kid doesn't say a word. I'm shocked and honestly kind of disappointed.

After this I go to bed where I write until my sleeping pills kick in.

--mm

Immobilization

Some days I look at all of us homeless kids and wonder how we all got here. It's not really something people talk about. Sometimes it seems we've all fallen from the sky and landed on the doorstep of shelter. When you really think about it it doesn't really matter what brought us here; we are all the same amount of homeless.

Regardless our stories are sad. I hear more sad stories in shelter than I have anywhere else and I hardly feel my problems could even begin to compare. Many of the gay kids are here because of family rejection. One of the girls says she is here because her family practices dark magic. Many are here because the options are staying in shelter or being abused. There are kids who cut themselves daily. Drug addicts are here for obvious reasons though what's not obvious is that for the most part it's relatives and care givers that got them strung out. The majority of us are foster care alum.

It's difficult for me. Previously I held down three jobs and a 4.0. Many of the kids have zero job experience and haven't even graduated high school. They don't care about books or literature or science. Why should they? The system has failed them. I in no way feel like I'm better than any of them for these reasons. I just don't know how to relate to them because of these differences. Many of them struggle with addictions and problems beyond my comprehensions. I often don't understand this world we are living in. I don't understand how I got here or how to get out.

A billion times a day I must walk past the place I used to go to brunch and the church I used to attend. My former friends are simply on the other side of the walls that separate us. Just on the inside of that building they do all the things we used to do just without me. My roommate who so abruptly kicked me out to the curb goes on without caring about what she did too me or where I am. She sings Unitarian hymns about peace and love and helping your neighbor but it was so much easy for her to just cast me aside when she knew I had nowhere else to go.This infuriates me to no end.

KL is consistently frustrated with being immobilized with her broken foot. She rants endlessly about not being able to go where she wants and being dependent on people to push her. I understand her frustrations because I feel immobilized too. I am immobilized by my health and the mountains of debt that surround me. I am immobilized by stigma and the abandonment of my so called "friends". I am immobilized by the nightmares that plague me nightly. I am immobilized by having to walk past my old life a million times a day. I am immobilized by being in a hole so deep all I can do is dig myself in deeper.

--mm

Day Sixty-One

    ****NAMES CHANGED TO PROTECT PORTLAND'S STREET KIDS*****

In the morning I can't find Kitten Lady. Seeing as she's in a wheel chair I'm surprised she's even able to disappear on me. I can only assume she has someone pushing her so I don't worry too much about it. I go to Day Program #1 where I'm offered a free massage as more ass kissing from Mother Goose. She also allows me to be on the computers which is forbidden at breakfast and lets me stay up an extra forty minutes. I'm loving this.

I go down for my free massage at the clinic which I'm looking forward to as every muscle in my body hurts. The lady confirms what I've already been thinking; that I'm getting rather buff from lugging around all my crap and pushing KL around.

In the afternoon I have to do an intake with my case manager. This was supposed to be done three weeks ago but since I was so abruptly dropped it hasn't happened yet. There is a long list of questions that make my stomach churn. Where is my family? Why don't I talk to them? What forms of trauma have I experienced?

"Could you go home if you wanted to?" She asks.
"No," I say. I don't even know where "home" is anymore. California? Atlanta? Alabama? New York?
"Are you willing to share what trauma you were exposed to, to develop PTSD?"
"No."
"Siblings?"
"One biological brother. Two step."
"Talk to them?"
"Not really."
"Was your stepfather good?"
"Uh. No."
"What did he do?"
Shrug.
"Was there any form of abuse?"
"Nothing too noteworthy."
"Was it reported?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
"Absolutely nothing."
"Were you ever in foster care?"
"Yeah."
It goes on and on. Does anyone ever really want to talk about this stuff? I sure as hell don't.

After this shenanigan I head toward the library where I run into Ariel. I ask her where KL is and she tells me that Houdini is out of jail so she's with him. This makes me happy. I go to Day Program #2 to find them. Houdini runs up to me saying, "Sister!" and hugs me. He looks like a little kid on Christmas. He talks about getting clean and getting a job. His parole officer agreed to lift the no contact order between him and KL if they go to counseling. I'm thrilled.

We go to the Day Program #1 where I ask for gift cards to buy yogurt to help my stomach with the antibiotics. Mother Goose gives me $15 in gift cards for yogurt. Silly lady really is kissing my ass hard. KL and I go and get yogurt and granola and ice cream and have a feast.

Houdini gets high at some point which sincerely disappoints me. I was really hoping he would get clean and stay clean. He's a completely different person when he's not using and I adore him when he's not. It's hard to  describe Houdini because he is so different sober vs. high. I don't really know all the details but he's had a really hard life raised by drug dealers. He's been doing drugs since he was fourteen. (I think that's the age). I think that his emotional development was stunted due to this and so he often acts like a little kid. He is easily excited when he's happy but just as easily excited when angry. I think it's a matter of self control that he lacks which is why I don't get upset with him when he gets angry like he did the day he went to jail. I know he would not actually hurt me and he's protective of me and KL. He really would do anything for us.

The possibility of having the no contact order withdrawn is a huge relief. It would be so nice to have all three of us together in shelter and services. I don't like to use the word "family" as I usually get screwed over when I do but I feel a particular bond with KL and Houdini that I haven't had with anyone in a really long time.

When it comes time for shelter I help KL up the stairs because the downstairs part of shelter is under staffed. They tell Houdini to come back in twenty minutes to figure out where he can stay. I tell him if they won't let him up I'll bring him down some blankets. However, when he does buzz up and they reject him they refuse to relay his message to me so I can bring down the blankets. I honest to God don't even think about it until I go to bed at 11pm. Massive fail.

--mm

Day Sixty (An Amazing Feat of Ass Kissing)

    ****NAMES CHANGED TO PROTECT PORTLAND'S STREET KIDS*****

Kitten Lady and I have decided to take the day to relax and pretend we are not homeless for once. After breakfast we go snack shopping for stuff to take to the movies. We buy four things but boost a bunch of snacks. The employees at the store are watching us so we think we are about to be busted at any second but we get out by the skin of our teeth without getting caught.

We head to the movie theater where we turn in our movie vouchers to see Disney's "Brave". We decide that we will pay for that movie ticket then sneak into the other films we want to see. They check our bags for food. KL hides the kitten in her sweatshirt. Our snacks are buried under glow in the dark animals and yarn so we get in without a problem.

Once we are settled in our seats we take Tweak and the snacks out. Tweak climbs from lap to lap and sticks her head up. She moves with the advertisements that are playing on the big screen. It is freaking adorable. She stays up for the whole movie and watches it with as much excitement as a little kid would, bobbing her head from side to side with the characters.

After "Brave" we hide out in the bathroom for about an hour where I pick at my ear with one of my pokey sticks. I amazingly enough manage to get a huge chunk of ear wax out and start yelling with excitement. It is the weirdest looking chunk of ear wax I've ever seen and I run to show KL who is in the bathroom stall. I can now hear a lot better out of the one ear, to the point where it is like wearing one contact.

We go to watch a documentary made by someone with Autism and OCD about his mental disorders. We last about ten minutes before we ditch that film. It's pretty bad. Instead of sneaking into another movie we just go back to the day program. The ear wax has me too excited to sit and watch another movie.

KL discusses her Oxy prescription she can't fill with Mother Goose. She explains that she cannot pay for it and it is in another kid's name. Mother Goose is kissing our asses so hard she goes and gets it filled anyways and rips off the name on the bottle. She lets us sit upstairs even though the services are closed for the day. Anything we ask for we get. I love it.

In the evening we go to Street Church. We get some clothes from their clothing closet. One of the ladies working in the closet is playing some obnoxious Christian music that is grating on my nerves so hard I want to leave. "I love when I play my Christian music here," she says, "They pick up our Bibles." KL and I groan at this ignorant lady. People don't like Street Church for a reason. Our other services do not have the ulterior motive of trying to convert us to a particular belief. Being in a place that helps you only because they desperately wants you to think like they do is pretty crappy.

S asks us to walk with her somewhere. I tell her we will if she pushes KL's wheel chair. I try to hand her the wheelchair but she allows KL to keep rolling downhill with no one holding her so I have to chase after her and save her from flying. When she finally does take the wheel chair she runs across the street throwing KL in front of a car and almost killing her. Thankfully, the car slams hard on the breaks and stops right before colliding with KL. "Oops." S says.

I run and take KL from her. We make up an excuse to leave.

"Still want to complain about my driving?" I ask when we calm down.
"No, I like your driving.You have your wheelchair pushing license."
"That's what I thought."

We smoke a few bowls before heading into shelter and going to bed.

--mm

Before and After

Being in Powell's is like finally finding a pigeon fountain when you need a drink after being on your feet for hours on a hot day. It's like finally finding a private place to drop a duce you've been holding for two days because you don't want to stink out shelter. Powell's is where I feel the same freshness and potential as a brand new notebook. The books stacked to the ceiling make me feel hidden, safe. I'd sleep there if they'd let me. Being surrounded by books makes me feel hopeful.

Writers tend to live tortured lives. Especially the ones with Pulitzer prizes and Oprah stickers. Yet, the ones that sit on the bookshelves are the ones who came out on top. The ones who survived when they shouldn't have. The ones who were where I am before they received those "best selling" stickers. They are my hope.

Once, I let my mother read some of my writing about what it was like growing up. She told me what I wrote was full of lies but followed that statement up with, "I always knew you'd be famous one day." I know it is childish to cling to the hope of being on a bookshelf someday but if I didn't I would not survive.

People often say that when shit hit the fan in their lives that their world was torn into two halves: before and after. This was not the case for me. I was so young there was no before. If I had to cut everything up into before and after there would be so many pieces I would never be able to sort them.

I've only ever seen one glimpse of "before." When I went to Atlanta to visit my maternal family my uncle brought me a box of family photos to sort through. As I glazed over pictures of relatives I never knew I found a photo that made me stop dead in my tracks. It's a photo of a miniature me, maybe four years old. I'm on the beach in a blue and white swimsuit with lace around the middle. I am running away from the tide that is nipping at my heels. My curly hair is flying behind me, picked up by the wind. I have a giant grin on my face. It is before. Before everything fell apart. It is before my mother married that monster. I didn't know then the things I know now about the evils of money and men.

It couldn't have been much later that he entered the scene but in other photos from that day you could never tell. My mother stands in one photo with her jeans rolled up to her mid calf with a pull over sweatshirt on. Her arms are cross against her chest and she's skinny. Healthy. My brother stands in the tide in a Tasmanian Devil shirt with his arms stretched wide as if the wind might pick him up and make him fly. I am in mid step towards my mother but looking back towards my brother. I can't see my mother's expression as her back is to the the camera but it's the three of us together not torn apart yet. My brother and I are both smiling.

My uncle says I was a happy baby. I was always small and carefree. I believed Jesus carried a magic wand that spit out love and happiness and world peace. I wanted to be an Academy award winning actress and veterinarian. I don't know this little girl; the one from before. I would like to but I know I never will. She is long since dead.

Kitten Lady says all the time that she doesn't know how someone like me could be homeless. It's simple really. When you don't have any family to fall back on you have nowhere to go when you become sick. One little mistake ruins your entire world, everything you've worked for.

All it took was for my body to form one little cyst. Only 3 centimeters in diameter. Three centimeters is all it took for everything to come crashing down because there was no home for me to go back to and get help. There was nowhere to turn.

It doesn't matter how lenient employers or teachers are. You can't make up three and a half weeks. You just can't. Especially in the journalism field. So what happens? You end up homeless with no before to go back to.

--mm