Homelessness: It's Not Just For Crackheads Anymore Part 1

Okay, so there's the resultion to my cliffhanger:  I'm homeless.  Trust me, it takes a lot of effort to type out those words.  This event happened approximately 12 days ago, on October 23, 2011 (talk about a day that will live in infamy).  Within the space of 24 hours I went from having a decent apartment to being on the sidewalk with a pull-along carryon bag, a coat, a bottle of water, and no money and no place to go.

How did I arrive at that point in my life.  Through a series of events no doubt orchestrated on a scale so cosmic the mere mortal mind could not begin to understand it.  That, or it was a result of my own impressive fuck-up(s).  To be fair to the cosmic forces, let's go with the latter options.  What did I do?  That, as they say is a long story, one which actually encompasses a thread deserving of its own blog.  In short, I was diagnosed with a mental illness (this is not news to many people) commonly referred to as depression.  More formally, major depressive disorder which is a disability -- in so many ways.

In short, I simply began not to care about things.  Anything.  Like bills, or paying them.  Like working for work or pursuing an income.  Now, when you don't care about money and you have bills piling up (including rent and utilties) that's a formula for disaster.  But as stated ... I didn't care.  So I ended up being evicted (in fairly dramatic fashion which I'll detail in a future entry) and that's how I would up on a sidewalk in front of the Eastside Cannery Casino on that Sunday morning, Oct 23.  (Btw when Vegas says you can be evicted within 24 hours, believe 'em.)

The bitter irony of it all was that I did get the diagnosis and the medication, but too late.  By the time it started taking effect and I realized my horrendous missteps, the damage was done.  It was like trying to escape from a black hole when you're halfway through it.  Creditors and landlords have little compassion for illness.  Honestly, I probably wouldn't either. Would things had been different if I had retrieved treatment when I first started noticing symptoms?  Possibly.  At any rate, I don't see how matters could have gotten any worse.

Luckily I had a very resourceful (and generous) cousin to whom I could turn for help.  She was instrumental (and continues to be) in helping me maintain my wits throughout all this.  Because I can guarantee you I was freaking out on the inside and a lot of bad thoughts were flying through my head. 

I'm 51 years old and this is the first time I've ever experienced homelessness.  Like most of you reading this, it's something you imagine could never happen to you.  It probably won't.  But the experience is drastically altering my perception of the condition and the people struggling with it (and the people who enjoy it); it's also altering my perception of myself.

That Sunday morning, my familiar neighborhood suddenly felt unfamiliar and unfriendly.  All the familiar streets and landmarks now seemed distant and alien.  I'd walked down Boulder Hwy a zillion times.  That Sunday morning, it felt like I had just landed in a foreign city.  I saw a homeless guy sleeping on the grass by the side of the road and thought, "I'm like him now, except for better luggage."

Pulling along luggage is one sign of a homeless person.  I had always given someone pulling luggage down Boulder Hwy the benefit of the doubt.  There are a lot of hotels around, so it could be a tourist.  You examine the condition of the clothing, cleanliness of skin before judging if they're homeless.  The biggest giveaway is smell, or body odor.  But when you see someone with luggage on the sidewalk and there's no airport nearby, you begin to suspect it's a homeless person -- and you avoid them.

That's how I felt pulling along my luggage:  Like people were avoiding me.  I thought they'd glance at me furtively, sizing me up as homeless and hurrying along.  Maybe I was paranoid.  Very likely it was own sense of shame that made me feel like I was being scrutinized and judged.  At any rate, it was a long day.  It would turn into an even longer night.

That same Sunday my cousin wired me some money which I could use for a room and get some food.  The downside:  I couldn't get it until Monday morning.  After spending the day basically wandering up and down Boulder Hwy, I made a decision.  Although the Salvation Army was available, it was getting late and I didn't want to wander around an unfamiliar area after dark.  Given that, I decided to spend the night in a local park.  Located near Boulder and Missouri Ave, it's very small.  I would sometimes stop by to read or walk on a nice day.  More important, I knew all the exits, and the park is literally right next door to a fire station.

So I spent all night in that park, but I never slept.  From the early evening when families, couples and joggers came and went, I sat there occasionally eating generic Pop Tarts and getting drinks from the water fountain.  It got chillier, and would spend some time in the filthy public toilet (which had no toilet paper) to warm up.  Heading back out, I kept a constant eye out for anyone, especially police or park security guards.  For the most part, I saw no one on that cold, clear night.

I walked around to keep warm.  I marvelled at how quiet and still everything became.  All I could hear were some insects chittering, or hip hop echoing from some far off speakers.  Now and then there were some shouts from the public housing complex across the way.  Funny, how I'd always derided those who lived in those complexes.  Now I envied them the roofs over their heads.  In fact, as I looked around at the houses and their lit windows and imagined the people inside enjoying a snack, or a mug of coffee and watching TV, I wondering:  "Why them and not me?  Why am I the one out here?  Why aren't I inside where I could be warm and watch TV, play on the computer or whatever?"

And I realized that when I had all those things, I never viewed them as privileges.  I never really appreciated the stuff I had.  If I was watching TV, I'd think, "I wish I had a better TV".  Or I hate this cheap coffee.  Or this goddam apartment is too small, too noisy, and it stinks from all the people smoking constantly (I still stand by that last charge -- it DID stink).  I just never truly appreciated all the advantages I enjoyed.  Or how privileged I truly was.  And I never realized it until approximately 3:35 am in a cold, isolated public park.

I watched the indigo sky form pink streaks, the stars faded, the sky brightened, and I shivered from some early morning chill.  I felt like I was moving in a dream, but I'd survived the night with a lot of praying and attendant paranoia.  With that ordeal behind me I proceeded to claim the money sent to me by my cousin.  I got a room at a nearby Super 8 and after shaving and showering immediately crashed on the queen-size bed.  It was a nice room, and reasonable at $39.

Soon I would find other accommodations that would make $39 seem like a king's ransom for a room.  It would also involved getting involved with people and conditions that left me feeling like I was in a culture clash of sorts.  In effect, I felt like a stranger in a strange land -- my own city!

I'm writing this on a computer in the Las Vegas West Public Library, and my session is almost up.  I'll detail more adventures in the next installment.