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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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!
